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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] Tooth Fairies are a smaller and friendlier subspecies of the larger and much more hostile Bone Fairies.
Taken from this post [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/TIHI/comments/fmy38y/thanks_i_hate_tooth_fairies_now)
|
No one has baby-bones. What is a Bone Fairy to do? Ordinarily bones are not something you shed. As an undertaker I work a lot of creepy hours. I've seen what Skin Skinners do. They like to get a place on an arm started, pull off a ribbon while I'm out putting the stretcher back in the van. They run off but it's not like it's not obvious. I can hear them in the darkened casket room smacking their lips as they savor it.
Then there's Trailer-park Meth Vampires. Willing to drink dead blood because they have ground their teeth to nubs and couldn't break the skin of a nectarine. The guy who ran the back room before me would leave pitchers of blood by the rose bush for them. I kept it up when he left. Seemed merciful. Collect it during embalming, wipe down the outside of the pitcher, carry it out back. Done. One day the vampire just stopped coming. That was that.
It's pretty easy to scare yourself after hours in a funeral home. All of it is real. Ghosts in damn near every chair, "is that a liverworm I just sucked through my soda straw?" that kind of thing. But a Bone Fairy standing dead center in the hallway? I'm sober now.
They pinch at your joints. That's how they do it. They pinch at your elbow or right behind your knee. They get their fingers in there and touch them together. All while making eye contact. Every wince, every helpless scramble, excites them just a tiny bit. If they can get their fingers to touch then it is just a slight twist for them to grab the epiphasis. I have watched them do it again and again. You see, I'll hold the door open for them. I watch from the other side of the room as they come in and take the bones. They take what they want. They are yet to want mine. What else is a Bone Fairy to do?
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Fucking tooth fairies. All happy’n cutesy... most people are delighted when they show up, after all loosing teeth is a joyful milestone for most children. And as for the occasional MMA call out or hockey game, tooth loss is considered almost a mark of a warrior.
I am sick of their smiley, happy, ridiculous cheerfulness. Their perpetual “always look on the bright side” Joy. The easiness of their transactions-give a coin and make sure the teeth are safeguarded from underworld theft is not hard now, especially since dental care became fashionable.
They don’t look at this horror. A child in a car crash. A farmer with a combine. A parent with bone cancer.
They watch for a couple of days, make sure the tooth loosens, watch families tease their child with the loose tooth, waiting for the happy moment.
I am stuck with people at their absolute lowest, in pain, devastated and afraid until their limb is released from their body. Caring for them. Comforting as best as a Fae can from afar, fighting off bone demons circling like vultures. Watching the surgeons-when there are surgeons.
All I want to do when I get off, is sit back and enjoy an eggnog, maybe listen to some metal.
Coronabella shouldn’t have told me to “cheer up”. Asking for the manager pfft - as if Choro cared a damn about those twits. She deserved the punch. She can pick up her own damn teeth.
....
That’s it. The Bone Fairies must be shut down. Imagine thinking that they are entitled to be rude because their job is “so much harder”. There is no excuse for rudeness in this company. It’s not my problem if they don’t do proper self care. I know for.a.fact. That we are entitled to fairioga and faerapy.
| 2020-03-22T13:21:06
| 2020-03-22T13:19:56
| 35
| 25
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[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone!
|
I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy.
|
“Wait, you got what now?”
“X-ray vision.” I put my head down on the table.
“Dude that’s fucking awesome! For my 21 mutation all I got was really fast growing hair, and that’s lame” my friend Derek said. His hair was down to his shoulders though he had been buzzed bald this morning. He went through razors faster than kids go through crayons. Everyone got a mutation at 21 and I was no exception.
“So you can like, see through clothes and walls and shit?” He said.
“Yup.”
“Dude that’s amazing! Wait, are you checking out my junk through the table?”
“No Derek” I sighed. “I can barely see skin. I can only see metal, bones and not much else.”
“You can see my bone if you want” He said grinning. His face turned from laughing to serious in a second. “Shit you mean it.”
“I’ll never be able to see what anybody looks like. I can sort of vaguely see outlines of things, but nothing else.”
“Oh my god, that’s the worse mutation ever!”
“Right?” The door burst open and I was bowled over by Jake, my broad shouldered friend whose twenty first birthday had earned him feathered wings and the nickname ‘Angel’.
“Happy birthday buddy, what’s your mutation?” He cried enthusiastically, giving me a hug.
“X-ray vision” I muttered.
“Dude that’s so cool! Wait, are you looking at my dick?” I sighed.
This was going to be a long day.
| 2022-05-10T21:44:19
| 2015-03-04T06:44:10
| 1,457
| 28
|
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing.
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Nobody knows where the soulmarks came from. There was a time when nobody had names written on their wrists save for the ones they put there by choice. Then on August 2nd, 2031, the burn was felt worldwide. At exactly noon, the names appeared on every person over the age of sixteen. And it happened by time zone. Reports of these markings came out of Asia when The other side of the planet was still a day behind. As the marks swept across the planet with the sun, those not yet marked frantically scrambled for answers or at least a way to stop it.
It hadn’t even hit the states before someone noticed the age thing. That only lead to more confusion. Then people noticed that the names on some of their left wrists were their significant other. Or the ones on the right were someone they’d tangled with. But most didn’t know either name on their wrists.
The following year was full of speculation as to what it could all mean. The soulmate/enemy connection was still considered a crazy conspiracy theory back then. Whole religions and belief systems popped up around the soul marks.
Scientifically speaking, there were studies as to what exactly they were. Volunteers tried to get tattoos over the marks, only to have the names reappear over the fresh ink, bold as ever. One crazy guy had his arms chopped off, which seemed to be the only way to rid yourself of them. Until the names reappeared on the stumps where his arms had been.
The names disappeared when you died, much to the disappointment of terminal patients who signed up to donate their bodies to this particular study. And your name on your corresponding enemy/mate would disappear after your death. So people volunteered to have doctors peel skin away to at least see where the marks were in the body. They found them on the bone and seemed to be comprised of some ‘unknown substance’.
After that year passed and the anniversary of the first marks came back around, those who had turned sixteen in the intervening year developed the soul marks. And it continued year after year. On that day, Souls’ Day, people would gather to see whose names would appear. Some only had one name, as their counterpart was already dead. Some unlucky ones had none.
I did not celebrate on my souls day. I was too busy making sure my drunk mom didn’t choke on her own vomit. I wouldn’t have celebrated even if I wasn’t. I didn’t want the mark. I didn’t think it did anything good. It just made people fear or seek out certain names. People called it destiny when they ended up marrying their soul mates. I called it self fulfilling prophecy.
My mom had me when she was very young, still only fifteen. She hoped that the name on her left wrist was my father. It wasn’t. And two years after it had appeared, that name disappeared. She was convinced she was doomed. And from there spiraled.
I didn’t want whatever cursed names infected my wrists. I didn’t even want to look at them because I was afraid I’d start thinking like her. Or it would sway me subconsciously and ruin my life.
It was just when the burning started that my attention focused on something missing. Breathing. My moms chest wasn’t moving. I shook her. Called her name. I expected her to drunkenly demand what I wanted. But her head just lolled when I shook her.
I rushed to tap my knuckles in the staccato rhythm drilled into our heads from birth. The micro speaker in my ear beeped gently and a calm female voice asked, ‘emergency, what is the nature of your call?’
I don’t remember the conversation very well. I kept telling her my mom wasn’t breathing and she must have convinced me to start giving CPR because I found myself pumping on her chest when EMTs burst in and shuttled me aside.
We were in the ambulance when I came back to my senses. I saw one of the EMTs reach for my mom’s right wrist and start to unbuckle the leather band. ‘No!’ My voice was louder than I intended and he jumped. ‘She doesn’t take that off.’ It was incredibly important for some reason, as though my mind was ready to focus on something other than the very real danger we were facing.
‘Miss, we have to take it off in case—‘
His partner cleared his throat and threw him a stern glare.
He amended We just need access, okay?’
He didn’t understand. She didn’t ever want to look at the name of her enemy. Never wanted anyone else to see it. She wouldn’t even tell anyone what name was written there. ‘Please.’ I should’ve taken care of her better. Not let her drink so much. Maybe get her into rehab. Maybe if I hadn’t mouthed off to her ex, Mike, he wouldn’t have hit me. And she wouldn’t have thrown herself in the way and gotten beaten in my place. I was going to do right by her, starting immediately. ‘Please.’ No matter how ridiculous I felt her reasoning, it was her wish.
I knew he was going to do it anyway. I knew it was logical. And when he did, I wanted to at least spare her dignity and keep my eyes averted. I held onto that promise until a frantic beeping sounded, and I looked over. My eyes immediately focused on the name writ on her too thin wrist. Rebecca.
My name.
I was my mom’s worst enemy.
〰️〰️〰️
I realize this didn’t fulfill the prompt. I just got carried away in the intro and kind of want to explore it further in a longer story.
|
I can't stop thinking about the world this kind of thing might build. Like:
Some devoted themselves to finding their soulmate, embarking on lifelong pilgrimages and learning as many languages as possible, worshipping the idea embedded within their ink. Others let fear of their nemesis consume their whole being, driving their career, mental issues, or even untimely death.
Some people married as "soulmates" despite knowing deep down they weren't the right John and Sarah, simply maintaining the illusion as though they had something to prove. What really got on my nerves, however, were the Amys who'd hate any Lisa they came across just for the sake of hating her, fulfilling some petty need for triumph.
Others, still, renounced the idea of being bound to someone they may never encounter, opting instead for "good enough," wearing long sleeves to cover that pesky "Joy" or "Adam" and settling for a quiet life with that pretty childhood friend from next door. Buying bottle after bottle of drugstore concealer because out of sight means out of mind.
My personal favorites, however, were the "renegades," a self-titled group who tattooed bold designs and mocking insignias straight over their wrists. Cult leaders would actively seek out their worst enemy for marriage, deceiving them with body paint, some violent extremists even killing their soulmates. All as one giant middle finger to the results of their not-so-sweet sixteenth.
Me, on the other hand? I don't need to worry about being hunted down out of a misunderstanding or my true love not speaking any of the languages I know.
Because my nemesis is my true love.
And I'm also world-famous because of it.
Before I get into that first issue, let me explain the power this gives me. Because truly, it's not all bad. I was always sort of a lab rat (thanks, useless foster parents who sold me off to government scientists), so I was given... compensation. Substantial compensation.
I had a team of translators, *inkers* (wrist tat scientists), and the usual celebrity entourage all following me around. The short of it is, they thought they could study me in my ordinary social dynamic and develop a method to mimic these frequencies that are supposed to stop after you turn sixteen but didn't for me. Unfortunately, your *wris* (slang for the people on your wrists; pronounced "riss") are always accurate regardless of your circumstance, so I could be controlled 24/7 and still be a valid test subject.
That's another thing. If you haven't noticed, your wris' identities have no care for convenience. I had an aunt whose nemesis and soulmate both died before she could track them down: the latter starved in Somalia while the former committed suicide one town over. Even as a rich woman with access to database input, her wris destroyed her. That's probably why I hated the whole concept from the get-go, even before my sixteenth.
But yeah, back to me. You may have wondered why, if I'm a global phenomenon, it wouldn't be easy for my soul-enemy-thing to reach out to me. You know, just shoot an email: "Hey, I'm your person, I'll totally be your lab rat partner, hmu." Except there's the other thing.
My wris is a renegade, and the last time we met, they tried to kill me.
​
Except then I wanted to add this....
​
Access to the Database.
At the dawn of the internet, a massive digital Database swiftly emerged, compiling as large a picture of as many people as possible. Then, once the government stepped in, only so many people were given access to this insane search engine because morals but actually because capitalism. So naturally, the internet made its own version of what had been taken from it, and thus the Cycle was created. There are plenty of articles telling of love stories from 4chan meetings and serendipitous Facebook replies, but the go-to amateur database is the Cycle. Unfortunately, its output could only reach the level of its input and ability to interpret what it got, so finding your soulmate through it was a hopeful thought at most. That's why the Database remains the superior option.
I was in the generation whose parents finally figured out that unique first names could be the key to all of this. Still, a couple billion unique names, even among different cultures, was a tall order, and everyone began becoming more ID codes than people. Take me for instance. My name is Oyruravj. I would've preferred jjjjjjj or something cool like that but apparently that's too old fashioned.
​
But then, isn't an internet-controlled world with names looking more like usernames than anything the most likely scenario?
It's an interesting thought process.
| 2020-01-18T23:56:59
| 2020-01-18T23:37:33
| 38
| 21
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[WP] You live in a world where everything is decided by the opening of a booster pack. Your job, your house, even the food you eat, one day you buy a "Random Pack" then you see the gold border, it's an Ultra Rare.
|
"Holy shit" I whispered as I peeled back the wrapping on my latest booster pack. I've opened lots of booster packs through my life time. A few steak dinners, a (well) used car that I got as a common in one pack.... hell, I even turned to the secondary market to specifically buy a decent house card to put in my deck, everything else I'd gotten was pretty shit. Out of the hundreds of thousands of packs I've opened, the scholarships, the hobby supplies, the video games I've gotten out of them, none of them have ever held an ultra rare card.
Now you might be confused. "What's so special about that?" you might wonder if you come from a world that doesn't work like this. Those cards up there run our lives as you may have gathered. Open the pack, get your food for the day or a new car, whatever. Ultra rares though? Those things never show up. No one I know has ever even SEEN one, nor have any of their friends. These things are a rags-to-riches tale all on their own. One guy even became a fucking astronaut from his. I didn't even know those were in the booster packs. So yea, I'm pretty fucking excited about opening one.
You can't see them, but my hands are shaking right now as I pull the card out. That gold trim glitters like the broken shards of the ten million fragile dreams that went into making it. Even knowing all that sadness is behind it, the lives left crushed in the wake of that demon luck, it's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. My heart is beating a million miles a minute as I finally catch a glimpse of what the card is, and time stops.
"Oh, fuck" I whisper to the gods as I see what the card is. No one is going to fucking believe this card. And I'm not sure if it's the best or the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Because I don't know if I can handle this card. I know YOU won't because it seems to ridiculous but that's the way the wrapper falls. Because thanks to that card...
I am now President of the United States of America.
|
"Oh god, is this joke of a system actually paying off?"
*****************************************************
It has been 19 years now.
I was five on the day it happened. Back then, we had it good. Mom was still sane, Dad specialized in trading the "Live+, The Trading Card System" cards, and was getting quite good at it. He knew which cards were worth something, and how to get people to part with them. I remembered the exact string of actions that happened.
12:49. I was staring intently at the digital clock, as Dad told me he would close early today to go with me to the beach. Mom was currently in the kitchen, preparing various snacks for our beach trip. It was a slow day, but Dad was beaming nonetheless. He was merrily opening a "Food Selection" booster pack when a man came in.
Pale Skin, a scar on the right side of his nose, he wore sunglasses and had a shadow of a beard. His hair was grey and short, his face had wrinkles. This person was old, but unwilling to let that affect him. His clothes were weird, too. A red shirt with equally red trousers. He was wearing gloves of leather. He was smirking, as if he had played chess and the enemy just triggered a chain of events leading to a checkmate. A grin like the devil after setting up an "accident". A look that an emperor may give his peasants. His voice was raspy and tired, like he wanted to be done with the present as well as the future.
12:54. After some discussion, my dad showed him a card he was requesting. It was a Rare House card, the "Treehouse in the Forest" card. I didn't get back then why people liked it: The joy of a treehouse is to get a good view of the surroundings, so why would you live in a forest, where your view is obscured? Later, I learned that you would get a natural Eco-Boost, which is extremely rare to get and is fundamental for combos like the Repeatable Effect card "Harvest of Eternity", which allows you to gain infinite food from an area if you have time.
Happily, the customer is looking at the card from afar, not touching it. Afterwards, he requested to make a donation to my father, wanting to add a card that "he knew was not meant for his hands". Even back then, I knew something was foul when he said that. But before I could get to him, it was too late. He pulled out an Ultra Rare card, and in the surprise of the moment, Dad did not put any gloves on like the man did. He promptly touched the card, and his fate was sealed. The man who Dad talked to took his card collection as Dad fell limply to the ground.
I rushed to the man in red and jumped on him. He quickly pushed me off, but lost some of the cards during that moment. Deciding that some cards were better than no cards, he quickly left the store. Mom rushed in as soon as she heard Dad collapsing and was looking after him, but he was done for. I quickly scoured the cards that the man left, using some handkerchiefs as makeshift gloves, and I found what I was looking for: The card my dad touched before he died.
The Ultra Rare Repeatable Effect card: Greed. It kills whoever is greedy enough to touch the card directly.
*******************************************
From that day on, I rejected the system, trying to live as much off the grid as I could. Any system that would insult life itself by creating such a card was not deserving of any praise, should rather be abolished for inhumane treatment of people. I still kept all cards from that day with me, covered so that no one will touch it on accident.
However, this day I found a coupon that was given out: Get a Free Random Pack. Honestly, I do not know why they gave it out without anything, but I reasoned that if I took that booster pack, it was one they could not sell, and they would make losses on that.
However, I had not expected to draw an Ultra Rare. Remembering my Dad's demise, I tried to put on gloves only to realize I already had some on. It started getting habitual, if not neurotic, how often I associated goverment activity with gloves. I checked the cards. One thing I learned from my dad is that every card has value, and that Rarity alone does not mean everything.
Card one was a Common Job card : Comedian. This card was basically worthless, as any comedian worth their salt already lived off the grid. Comedians were the only job class where no objects were required, and thus there was no real regulation on that. I ripped the card apart.
Card two was a Common Food card : Ice cream. Now this was a card that was worth something: People loved their Ice cream. This was a card that a trader would probably want to pull, as it meant that the value of their pack increased above the average by one card alone. However, I don't really care about Ice cream, and it is November. It would be a hassle to carry around this card until July or so. Thus, I ripped it apart.
Card three was a Rare Repeatable Effect card : Cooling. This was an alright card. It made everything you dropped it on cooler, as in, it reduced the temperature by 10°C. Since this was repeatable, one could use it to cool something down rapidly. Some people liked it, I don't. I ripped this card apart too.
Card four was a Common House card: Farm. You could really scam people with this card, making them believe that it is similar or required by the highly-requested Farmer Job card. If you wanted, you could get a Rare Repeatable Effect card for it. Not that I'd care though. I ripped the card to shreds.
Lastly, card five. The Ultra Rare. My hand shook as I looked at it. It was a Ultra Rare Repeatable Effect card, belonging to the same group as the card that killed my father. It was the Lust card, making you irresistable to anyone you wanted, as long as you touched the card. I saw this card and I started to wonder.
What was I doing? I was throwing away all talent that I had, trying to get the cosmos to enact revenge on the man who killed my father for me. If I was off the grid, he could not find me, yes. But I could never hope to find him, either. I was completely opposed to the system because it killed my father? No, it did not kill him. The man in red did. He tried to game the system by abusing a card penalty that was directed at him to kill others. Was I really just gonna let him do that? Was I gonna let him change the system without repercussion, just because I would go and blame the system for his cowardce?
Eh, maybe not, but I doubt that I would ever want to seduce him. So, I ripped the card in little pieces.
| 2017-04-02T21:46:25
| 2017-04-02T16:16:04
| 109
| 49
|
[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.
|
About 5 years ago the owner decided to make this little cafe 24hrs. He figured he could take advantage of the after club crowd and by him I mean my poor ass that got shifted to over night. I was the assistant manager, was getting ready to become the manager, now I run over nights 6 nights a week.
Why do I work 6 nights a week? Well Sunday night we're closed and no one else has ever covered a shift for me and returned for their next shift. The benefit is I now make $60k a year working nights, pouring 3 cups of coffee a night. From 10p - 5a there's only ever 3 customers.
2 of the customers are the local police. I'm pretty sure they would quit if they met my third customer. See she's a demon. Not just any demon but Lucifer herself. Apparently one evening a low level demon came in and tried my latte. Then wouldn't stop raving about it to anyone and everyone in the other place. Luci said it wasn't actually hell, just a different dimension. Tried for weeks to get me to pronounce the name right but my human vocal chords couldn't do it. So I call it the other place.
Luci was wonderful. We spent many nights talking about how Christianity screwed up and got everything wrong. Talked about Luci spending a century trying to get it fixed but apparently being a woman and a demon made it a bit difficult so she said fuck it and let it be.
I hit the brew on the fresh pot 3 minutes ago. It would be ready at exactly 3:33, when Luci walked in. It was getting close to that time, it was 3:32a and I could feel the tingle in the air. Lucifer would be here soon. The clock turned to 3:33 and the coffee stopped brewing, the lights dimmed, the air sizzled with static, and smoke poured in through the door frame.
"Hey love, good to see you. Coffee is ready"
"It doesn't even phase you anymore does it?"
"Why should it. Other than the showy entrance, your my best customer. You pay 50x the rate tip. You're the sole reason the night shift is profitable."
She looked me over, head to toe. "You know flattery will get you everywhere. My offer still stands. Come to the other place, live forever, open a chain of cafes, and be my lover"
She has made this offer once a week for 5 years now. Every time I turned it down.
"Yes" I spoke before I thought. Then it hit me, I said yes. Before I could think, everything turned black. The world became fuzzy, my feet left the ground, and then it stopped. I stood in a cafe, empty except for a table and chair.
"This is all yours Jimmy. Anything you need to make it perfect, is yours. Just ask. I'll see you at home husband."
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was in the other place, apparently married to Lucifer, and would have my dream cafe. "Well fuck me sideways"
From behind me I heard a gentle whisper "there's time for that later honey"
|
I awaken to my ringtone coarsely penetrating my consciousness. My ringtone, "Come Sail Away" by Styx, is playing at full volume. By the time I open my eyes, the lyric,
"I thought that they were angels, but to my surprise,
We climbed aboard their starship, we headed for the skies"
is playing, which sticks out to me in my mind because I had never noticed that lyric before despite listening to the song countless times.
I answer my cell only to find it's my boss calling me for the second time this week in the middle of the night. The last time I had refused to help him, being that the bastard only pays me $11 an hour plus the meager tips (which I am convinced he has been skimming). It's bad enough being a barista in a place where nearly everyone is too busy drinking soda and other canned drinks to stop at a shop and fork out more money on a locally roasted brew.
Tonight my boss sounds incredibly intoxicated, and he tells me that the motion detection alarm has gone off again inside the shop. He begs me to go down to the shop and check out the situation, saying that he cannot afford a second DUI. I want to tell him that he needs to get his shit together and that none of this is my responsibility, but instead I demand that I be paid for my time and he begrudgingly agrees.
Gazing into the vanity mirror of my aged Buick LeSabre, I am mortified by the glassy, bloodshot, and sleepless eyes that peer back at me. I decide to spend the 30 minute drive in silence, but I abandon that plan half way through when the prospect of letting my drooping eyelids close becomes too seductive. I manage to make it to the shop without passing out, in no small part due to ripping some of the hairs out of my nostrils in order to be woken up by the stinging pain.
I notice someone must have forgotten and left out the chalkboard sign, which is odd because that never happens. More odd are the strange symbols some mysterious passerby must have drawn on the sign. They remind me of hieroglyphics, some of them purely geometric, some of them incorporating animal imagery. Most of the animal images are extremely strange looking and seem fantastical. The only ones I recognize are an eagle, a lion, and a bull. I check my watch before unlocking the door, and it is 3:31AM. I groan. Once inside the shop I feel puzzled because I hear none of the alarms going off. I check the alarm system on the far wall and confirm my suspicions that the alarms never were tripped. I decide to do a quick once over of the shop using my phone as a flashlight and then leave. I groan again knowing that I have to be back to work in this same building in 4 hours.
I open the back door into the employee area, and a chill slithers down my spine. It feels as though there is a frozen wind slowly lapping at the back of my neck, and the hairs on it stand up like I was touching a Van de Graaff generator. I swivel around and see a form in the shadows. A guttural voice begins speaking, and I freeze in a blind panic.
"Did your corpulent, wine-addled master send someone competent this time?"
I struggle desperately to process what is happening but utterly fail. I manage to mumble "wha....what?" under my breath, when suddenly the figure steps forward and comes into focus.
Roughly 4 feet tall and vaguely humanoid, every square inch of the creatures skin is covered in gleaming, slimy, off-white organs that vaguely resemble eyes. These self lubricating optical pustules quiver sickeningly when the creature moves, dripping whatever unholy secretion coated the abomination. It began to raise its hand, still walking directly towards me.
I feel a scream start deep in my throat but for some reason it catches, and nothing comes out but a weak stream of cold air. Suddenly I realize that I am unable to move, as if I had instantaneously developed paralysis. The creature gently touches the tip of its left index finger between my eyebrows.
A blinding light replaces my vision, and I hear a booming, baritone voice shout thunderously,
"Grande Caramel Macchiato with Oat Milk and two pumps of hazelnut syrup. Extra whipped cream."
My vision fades back to normalcy and I feel myself moving, propelled as if by some other will to walk behind the counter. This feeling of almost being controlled like a puppet lasts until suddenly I find myself holding the finished drink. I hesitate before handing it the the slime covered appendage of the creature, which grabs the cup greedily. The creature lets out a disturbing screech before disappearing through a flaming portal, leaving behind only a faint smell of Sulphur.
| 2022-10-30T14:17:00
| 2022-10-30T12:52:15
| 28
| 21
|
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
|
I woke with a daze. Well. maybe woke wasn't quite the right word. I couldn't see, hear, feel. Nothing. I knew I was conscious though. Was I dead? Then I heard it. Or felt it? I became aware of some disembodied voice."Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a galactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
Okay. So I was dead. Well, mostly dead. and this alien or higher being or whatever was going to fix me. At first I thought that no, I would be fine with my old body. But then I realized something. This was my chance. I didn't have to feel trapped any more.
"How much freedom do I have over this new body?" I tried to say. It is rather hard to speak without a mouth. After a while I managed to push the thought at the voice. "You should stay visibly human" the voice replied. "But besides that, as your species would say, the world is your mollusk".
I smiled. I was free. I could finally be who I always wanted to be. "Well first, my body is going to be female..."
|
As I watched the Prius ran the light and barreled toward me, I can't believe I was going to die by a PRIUS...
<thud>
So, this feels weird... This is not what I expected death to be like.
**"Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."**
"Um, WHAT???"
"We know this seems odd, your body was killed, but we were able to save your consciousness before the local authorities got to you. So that body is no longer viable. As we asked before, is there anything you'd like changed?"
"So, I'm 'dead' but not 'DEAD'? What about Heaven, um, the afterlife etc.?"
<sigh>
"So it's going to be a shock, but your 'soul' is a series of electrical pulses that can be easily transferred from vessel to vessel. We are currently storing you on one of our, well, your word would be 'servers'."
"So, changes... like can I be 6' 5"?" I asked. "How am talking to you?"
"Electrical impulses..." the voice said slowly " Do you need a storage upgrade as well?"
"How about the full 'Kal El' package?"
"Done!"
"Really?"
"Noooo Not really! You need to think about this more. We CAN put you in an enhanced body, changed body, but you will still need to be basically 'human'. So, you want to be tall, athletic, that can all be done. But remember, YOU died. So your previous life is done. You will be a new person, with a new identity but your memories. If you'd like... you can start over again, 'young'."
"Start over, young... hmmmm", that idea intrigued me. "Young WHEN?"
"Ohhhh, a much better question. isn't it? So do you think that interstellar travel would include time travel?"
"Well, that makes sense if it does... " I paused for a moment, "Well, CAN you put me earlier?"
"Well, as it happens, yes we can."
"Okay, I would like to be in a body born in 1887 that doesn't age after reaching physical maturity. I would like rapid healing instead of being indestructible. Oh, and I'll need some, 'living money' to get started."
"We will give you this, but you cannot speak about us, ever. That is the deal. Do you accept?"
"Yes I do."
I awoke up in 1907. My body was an amazing physical specimen of a human male. I had a leather satchel next to me, in it were papers about my 'youth' including a birth certificate and family history. There was also a pouch with 20, $5 gold pieces, and the deed to a house. I hoped that it was the house that I was currently in.
Finally, there were several stock certificates, one of which was for Computing Tabulating Company from Ohio, and another for Standard Oil. Each was for 100 shares. Both of the companies seemed familiar. I think, I was set very well financially.
Let's see what kind of fun I can have now?
| 2019-10-28T13:57:03
| 2019-10-28T13:53:13
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here.
|
15,000 years. 15,000 mid-numbing years of waiting. It was exciting to Adam at first at first, the knowledge that life didn't just end with death, that he got to stick around and observe humanity. It suited him well, he'd always been a quiet fellow, and since he was just a ghost, no one gave him a hard time for being a wallflower anymore. He could just sit and people-watch and enjoy himself, and that's exactly what he did for a while.
The first 10 years were the best of his life or afterlife. No responsibilities, no bills, no obligations, no attachments, just traveling around the world and observing to his heart's content. All of his hobbies, bird-watching, fine art, reading rare books, he now actually had time to do. He saw sunrise on the rim of the Grand Canyon more times than he could count. He took afternoon siestas atop the Eiffel Tower whenever he wanted. It was exhilarating and it was perfect.
The next 90 years calmed down a bit, but were still wonderful. He got into a nice routine, checking in on people he knew, seeing and learning new things. It was all he ever wanted in life, just without the living part. He saw people come and go, first from life to ghosts like him, and then some time later from ghost to the great beyond. He felt pity for those poor souls who just got a few years of afterlife and then were forgotten.
The next 900 years were solid. 900 years of observing human progress, and he got to see all of it. At some point he started to wonder who exactly was still remembering him, but he wasn't exactly complaining. He saw new forms of art, music, writing. He accompanied the third Martian expedition and got to see a whole new planet! By the end of the millennium Adam reckoned he'd seen more of what humanity had accomplished than just about anyone. He felt like a god; people came and went, but Adam just was.
With each passing millennium things got a bit duller. The sun didn't shine quite the way it used to, it seemed. Humanity found new and terrible ways to kill each other. By his fifth millennium he was bored. By his tenth millennium he was depressed. By his fifteenth millennium, he was just exhausted. He was thankful for his extended time, but he just wanted to be finished, and try as he might, had no idea who still remembered him.
And then it happened: the Sun went supernova and extinguished all life on Earth. The good people of Mars died a few days later. With just almost all of humanity dying, most every ghost passed on as well. It was just Adam and a thousand other ghosts left, who realized that the last remaining crew of Humans were the crew of 6 who had left for Europa.
After realizing what happened, the ghosts formed an astral caravan and travelled to Europa. They all desperately wanted to keep the crew alive and Humanity with it, and Adam tagged along with them. He didn't say anything, but he knew if they died his ennui would finally be over. They got to Europa, and found the 6 of them, nearly freezing to death and on their last fuel cell. Then 2 of them died, and a cadre of ghosts vanished. Then another the next week, and another the week after, and the last vestiges of humanity were 2 humans, Adam, and a few hundred ghosts.
Those last two explorers gave each other a dejected look, and resignedly opened the cyanide capsule in their craft. There was a wail of grief among ghost kind, but there was nothing to be done. As they took the pill, Adam was at peace, finally ready to enter the Great Beyond. He closed his eyes and-
Nothing. The last two died, turned into ghosts, and then they and all other ghosts disappeared. It was just Adam stuck on a godforsaken rock. He collapsed in a heap of anguish, inconsolable and at a loss for why he was still here. Suddenly a portal of of light opened:
> Well this is odd, I swear we unit tested everything, you really shouldn't still be here.
Said what appeared to be a bespectacled angel, thumbing through a small console.
> Who are you! Why am I here! Just end my suffering, please.
Adam replied, in a mixture of confusion, despair, and rage.
> Oh wow, I see what happened, a good old self-referential pointer exception. Wouldn't have expected that in such a sociable species like you anthropodes!
The angel's gleeful excitement in discovery only made Adam more upset. He wanted answers and he wanted them now, so as slowly and deliberately as he could Adam asked:
> Humanity is dead. Why am I here? Who remembers me?
The angel looked up from his console and square at Adam and answered,
> Look, I don't know how to tell you this, we just never anticipated this edge case. See when people die, we create an index of all the people that remember them, and then add and remove from it as people forget/learn/die. Once that list is empty, poof, Great Beyond. We've just never encountered what happened with you. When you died, your list was empty, and so the compiler filled it with the only person who ever remembered you. You.
|
I think it's been 15,000 years. Or at least, somewhere around that. I'm not really sure. I haven't left the house in a few millennia at least. There's no point. All I end up doing is scaring a few people, and death goes on. Besides, no matter where I go, it's crowded.
The space issue gets worse in the big cities, and don't even get me started on India and most of Asia. It isn't as bad in the remote regions of the world; Antarctica was only recently populated. I'd say 4000 years ago, give or take a few decades.
15,000 years ago, I was caught in an apartment fire. I woke up and passed out within a minute or two. It actually wasn't that bad. Just a sore throat for a bit. The living don't know it, but there is an after life. To reach it, all you have to do is pass out of memory.
For the big guys like the pharoahs and kings, the great philosophers and warlords, it's been even longer. The trappings of history have bound them forever. As long as there stands a museum dedicated to them, they remain. They make for ok company.
I was just a normal guy from a place that used to be called Virginia. I should have been on my way a few decades after I died. It took me a long time to figure it out, but eventually it dawned on me and all of the other millions of lost souls.
Being able to connect with everyone around the world instantaneously is awesome when you're alive. If you're dead, a digital you is floating around out there, remembered eternally on the almighty internet.
Most of us have accepted it, so we patiently wait for an apocalypse. We pray for the end of all things, and curse Mark Zuckerberg.
| 2017-06-26T15:03:31
| 2017-06-26T13:11:54
| 129
| 55
|
[WP] An Urban Legend says there's a Grey Taxi that charges you $20 no matter how far it takes you. They say the driver only listens to the blues and wears sunglasses even at night. They say the taxi doesn't take you where you want to go...But where you *NEED* to be.
|
"Ey Chuck Berry, nice", Josh remarked in his highly inebriated state.
"You know it, brother", the older African gentleman nodded approvingly.
Indeed the tune of "Maybellene" was playing on the old radio. The alcohol clouded the young man's senses, so much so not even the old interior of the cab he noticed, nor the vintage smell of the leather seat. Trying his best to stay awake, although through his pounding head, his eyes were barely open. However, without any direction the taxi took off to the night.
"Would you care for some water?", the driver offered handing him a bottle of water which he took from seemingly nowhere. Graciously Josh chugged the water. Almost miraculously his mind was cleared in an instant. He looked to the unlabeled bottle of water astonished before turning to the driver, now whistling the tune of B.B. King's "The Thrill is Gone".
"Dude, what's in this water? It's amazing! I'm almost completely sober now!", he chugged once more clearing his head completely.
"Well, you know how it is. You don't want to be drunk to be where you're heading right?"
The cryptic yet innocent remark alarmed Josh somehow.
"Hey I didn't tell you where to go, how do you know where my house is?"
"Oh we're not going to your house, young man. You're going where you need to be", he said still smiling.
Josh's heart dropped. Had that magic water not sobered him up, the realization of a possible kidnapping would. "No, no, get me out of here!"
"Oh you can get out wherever or whenever you want, friend. But trust me, not here"
Beyond the windshield was a stretch of road. Smooth asphalt surface with nothing but darkness on each side. The headlight of the taxi light up only a few meters ahead of them, yet they were moving close to 120km/h. To made his worry even worse, Josh notice the sunglasses covering the driver's eyes.
"Hey why...it's night! Why are you driving with those on? Slow down!"
"Oh relax, young man. I know precisely where we are going. This is a shortcut", he laughed.
"No, you're crazy man! Let me out! I say, let me out!", panicking Josh started to kick on the door to no avail.
"Tell me about your mother, *Josh"*
Having his name and his mother mentioned put the terror in him. Who was this man? Some kind of a stalker?
"Wh...what are you talking about?"
"Like I said, I want to hear about you mother, Josh. If you do I'll slow down"
Taking a moment, Josh's head spun trying to comprehend what this mad man could've wanted. Not just for the fact he didn't remember ever telling him his name, also he knew about Josh's late mother.
"She...she died. Okay? She died a few months ago!"
"And how did she die?"
"She...she was sick. Cancer. Slowly ravaged through her body. She died very weak on the hospital bed"
"And were you there, Joshua?"
Josh's emotion started to swirl. The seemingly all knowing driver had struck a sensitive subject. Josh refused to answer, remaining quiet.
"You didn't, did you?", he said almost like a sure statement rather than a question. "Is that why you drink so much, Josh? Hm?"
Riled up, Josh's emotion finally reached its limit. "No! No I did not! Is that what you want me to say? Are you happy now? No I wasn't there to see her die!"
"You were busy drinking that night, didn't you?"
"I did! Yes I did. I drank and drank, not caring about my own dying mother! When I got the news I felt nothing! So I drank more just to feel something!", he burst in tears. "And yes, I regret it! I regret it so much! Every single day, every single moment! Not even the alcohol could numb it!"
For the first time the driver was taken aback. He didn't expect Josh to say what he was about to ask. Slowly he took off his foot from the gas pedal, slowing the car down.
"Well said, young man...we're here", softly and grandfatherly he said.
Wiping his tears off Josh had noticed the driver unnoticeably drove them out of the empty stretch of road. The taxi was parked outside of a quiet unassuming hospital.
"This is...", Josh muttered noticing the familiar building.
"I told you we were going where you need to be. This is it, Josh. Make your amends. Go see her"
Josh didn't know how they got there or how they even drove to time went past. But deep down he knew it was right. His legs felt lighter, unshackled as he made his way inside to room 303 where his mother lay dying.
The driver waited, like he usually does now humming the tune of Muddy Water's "Hoochie Coochie Man". An hour maybe a bit more later, Josh walked out. The driver smiled seeing Josh's liberated expression, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He made his way back to the taxi, climbing on the back seat.
"Feeling better?", the driver asked.
"Yes", Josh said smiling.
The driver took off again. Josh didn't ask where to go, but somehow he knew where the driver was taking him. Along the way Josh contemplated, replaying the memory again and again. Of his mother's face lit up upon seeing him. Her soft hand on his hand as he apologized and said his goodbye. Of her motherly warmth caressing his head. He smiled and cried, and he couldn't stop. From the rear view mirror the driver could see him. He was also smiling, humming another tune of Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Pride and Joy".
The sound of the car softly braking broke Josh out of his stupor. "Here we are", the driver said.
Outside was Josh's house. For a moment Josh look on to his house, where his wife must be already sleeping.
"You know what to do right, young man", the driver smiled.
"Is this a dream?", asked Josh.
"Does it matter?"
"No...not at all", Josh muttered. "How much do I owe you?"
"$20, brother"
Handing the driver a crumpled note, Josh walked up to his driveway before turning back one last time. "Thank you"
"Pleasure's all mine", the driver nodded before driving away, the tune of Chuck Berry's "Johnny B Goode" slowly getting quiet as he got further.
Continuing his walk back to his house, Josh was a changed man. His burden was no more. He didn't know nor he was care whether that was some kind of a divine intervention or something else. All he knew was he was redirected to a better path. He made a note to himself, first thing in the morning he's getting rid of all of his alcohol stash and apologize to his wife.
|
##Something Blue and Something Gray
One night of drunken debauchery to celebrate my best friend getting married. I whisper to myself that everything will be alright. Danielle has approached me before stating that she is starting to get cold feet. Everyone is nervous before the big day. It is a huge commitment. I have seen how she acts with Joseph. They are a good couple.
Her two sisters, Jane and Diana, hate each other and me which may make the night less enjoyable. I think to myself as I put on my eyeliner. Both of them have been in constant competition since we are kids, and they both wanted the maid of honor role. Their hatred for me has created a truce until after the reception.
I put the finishing touches on the outfit and think of the other two bridesmaids. Janice, Danielle's cousin, is only a bridesmaid because Danielle was forced to include her. I completely understand why Danielle did not want her included; she has been calling and texting me non-stop about doing a Bachelorette Party that does not involve alcohol. I told her if she was against drinking she did not have to come, but she insists even though she will probably spend the whole night uncomfortable. The other bridesmaid is Danielle's friend from college, Brianna. Danielle told me Brianna is cool. I would not know since Brianna only texts back "okay."
I check myself in the mirror before calling an Uber. I got us tickets to a comedy show, and then, I booked a room at a club. Danielle told me she did not want a stripper so I was sure not to get one. I walk outside and see a gray car pull up. The man in the front is wearing sunglasses at 8 PM. A little weird, but I have seen weirder.
"Baby Please Don't Go" is playing in the car, a lovely tune that calms me down. The man makes a wrong turn up ahead and continues.
"Excuse me, I think you should've turned left," I say.
"This is a shortcut. Don't worry. It will be twenty dollars either way," he replies. The song shifts to "Born Under a Bad Sign."
I start to panic and pull out my cellphone. No reception. Great, kidnapped on the Bachelorette Party night. I feel like that is a sitcom episode plot. He keeps moving, bopping his head to the blues. For a kidnapper, he is quite serene. Granted, I have never been kidnapped so I would not know how they should act.
After a few miles, I start to recognize my surroundings as Danielle's street. I breathe a sigh of relief; I must have put in the wrong address. The route was odd, but at least I will not be featured in the local news. I check my phone to see I still have no reception. No way to text Danielle to see if she is home, but I could knock on her door and say it was part of the surprise if she answers. This has been a blessing in disguise. He stops in front of her apartment.
"This is where you need to be," he says.
"Can you wait outside?" I ask.
"I can't do that. You will have to find someone else. Other people need me," he says. He is a little odd, but I will still give him a good rating. I step outside and walk over to buzz Danielle.
"Who is it?" she sniffles.
"Hey, it is Katie. I thought I would surprise by sharing a cab," I lie, but it is the thought that counts.
"Oh, uh, come upstairs," she opens the front door. I walk up the stairs. When she opens her door, she is wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants.
"Danielle, did you forget that the show starts soon?" I ask.
"Did you not see my text? I am not coming," she says. I look down at my phone to see I missed several texts from her and the other bridesmaids discussing plans.
"I am sorry. I had no reception on the way over here. Is everything alright though?" Danielle starts to cry. I walk her over to the couch.
"This whole wedding has been a nightmare like you have no idea," she says.
"What do you mean?"
"Diana and Jane are constantly spamming me with insults. I defend you, but they gang up on me. They have even convinced my parents that it was a mistake to make you Maid of Honor. I am standing by you, but it is so much unnecessary stress," she says. I always knew those two were trouble, "Janice is constantly trying to insert herself into the wedding. She has very strict religious beliefs, and she is trying to impose them on us. That is not the worst thing. I caught Brianna with Joseph."
"What but you two were so good together," I yell.
"Apparently, the two of them hooked up before I met Joseph. She got a different boyfriend so it never came up. Since she broke up with him a few months ago, they have been having an affair," she cries. I rub her shoulder.
"I cannot believe it. I take it you are calling off the wedding?" I ask.
"I plan on it, but it is going to be so embarrassing. I am ashamed just telling you now. I don't even want to think about what my family will say."
"I will always be by your side. Do not worry. Come on," I pull out my phone and tell everyone that the party is off, "We may not be able to have a Bachelorette Party, but we can still have a night on the town. We can talk about calling the wedding off later."
"Thanks, Katie. It is a good thing you came by. I was probably not going to call you since I was so overwhelmed," she says.
"Funny story. I did not intend to come," I pull out my phone. The route shows the destination as the comedy show, "That is weird. I put the destination as the comedy club, but the driver brought me here."
Danielle perks up, "Wait, was the car gray, and did the driver wear sunglasses and listen to the blues. Also, did you pay $20?"
"Woah, that is a lot of questions," I blink a few times, "But yes everything happened."
Danielle gets a big smile on her face, "Katie that man is a huge part of town folklore. I have always wanted to see him. This is so amazing."
"Wait what?" I ask.
"Katie, you need to take a bigger interest in this town. The man takes people to where they need to go. He took you here because I needed you. This is so exciting," her mood has done a complete shift. I never believed in folklore like that. I am sure there is a different explanation, but for her sake, I will play along.
"That is cool, but right now, I need you to get some better clothes on. I cannot be seen with you looking like that," I smile.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
| 2021-01-02T18:57:46
| 2021-01-02T18:52:08
| 56
| 18
|
[WP] There is a tradition in the US Navy that no submarine is ever considered lost, those that go to sea and don't return are considered "Still on Patrol". There are 52 WW2 submarines still on patrol, and they have just started coming home.
|
Date: Monday, May 31st, 2030.
0300 hours
Location: 40km east of [REDACTED]
Operation: Depths Rising
Lt. John Abbott stares out over the cold, deadly waterscape in front of him, marveling as the waves smack the shore, the smell of salt lingers in every pore. He pulls a final drag of his cigarette, before snuffing it out upon the wavebreaker in front of him, he stands and turns towards his post, a rundown lighthouse on the edge of the abyss. He cursed himself for being stuck there. *"I don't even like the ocean."* the thought booms within his mind as he kicks small pebbles at his feet. He dares a final glance over his shoulder as he approaches the entrance of the building, spotting massive storm clouds on the horizon as he shuts the door behind him. He lets out a sigh, *"It's going to be a long day."*
The lighthouse creaks and groans from years of neglect, John has done what he can to restore the relic to it's former glory, to no avail. As he enters the building, the first drops of the incoming storm front begin, The *tap* of the water droplets against the stark white and red tower, in conjunction with the *plinks* of a dozen leaks, create a symphony of despair as the melody of nature runs it's course. Stopping just before the start of the staircase, John shifts his gaze up, as chains rattle against the green metal, the sound adding another layer to the masterpiece. John lets out another sigh as he scans the base of the tower, taking a quick inventory before grabbing ahold of the loose railing as he begins his journey up. Nearing the middle of the tower a slight breeze slips it's way through his hair, causing him to inspect the inner walls where he quickly identifies yet another crack in the armor of his home. *"That will have to wait for another day. Neverending problems this place."* Continuing on, nearing the top section of the lighthouse, he pauses for a moment at the door that marks his living quarters, a country song wafts through the closed door and he lets out a chuckle at the irony as he recognizes the sounds of Garth Brooks from the small black box within the room.
Continuing onwards to the the pinnacle of the tower, he slides open the reinforced steel door, blasting himself with a fresh wave of salty air. He breathes deeply, reminiscent of the day he was posted to this god-forgotten tower. It had been a brighter day then today, darkened only by his surroundings. He sat next to man in a fancy suit, vaguely aware of the men reading his charges.
"You're client, Mr. Clark, has been found guilty by right of admittance. I believe an agreement on sentencing has been reached?"
"Yes, your Honor, at this time we have requested that my client be reposted to a domestic assignment of the prosecutions choosing for a period of 5years, during this time the client will liaison via satellite with a registered military psychiatrist on a semi-weekly basis, for anger management, substance abuse rehabilitation, and for treatment of PTSD. At the time of release from those duties, we request that my client be reinstated into active service."
"Ms Harlow, does this satisfy the prosecution's agenda?"
"Yes, your Honor, we have also located a suitable assignment for Lieutenant Commander Abbott. In addition we also request a reduction in rank from Lieutenant Commander to Lieutenant."
"Very well, Lieutenant Commander Abbott, you are hereby sentenced, you will ship out to your new posting at 0600 hours. Court is adjourned."
That was 4 years, 5months, and 6 days ago, and he had been there ever since. John walked towards the ledge in front of him lighting a cigarette before leaning against the railing. He takes a drag and stares out over the ledge at the churning waters, lost in the bright flashes of lightning striking the sea, briefly illuminating the depths in a contrast of destruction. If he hadn't seen this before he would have certainly felt starstruck watching as the ocean battled itself, a myriad of black and white within the storm.
"You know what they say Lieutenant, if you stare into the abyss long enough it'll stare back."
John's thoughts are interrupted as he looks over his shoulder to a chair in the corner, where a young private sits, whittling a piece of driftwood. "And what would you know about the abyss, Private? you're barely wet behind the ears yourself."
"Well that depends on where you stand doesn't it?" The private chuckled, satisfied by his retort.
John mumbled a directed insult towards the private as he went back to scanning the horizon, distracting himself by counting the time between the claps of thunder. Each *crack-boom* becoming louder than the last, increasing in frequency as the sky became more and more luminous with what could only be described as God's vengeance against the sea's defiance.
"That's a fierce storm out there, eh Lieutenant?"
"Yeah, I'm just glad that it's mostly out there. I don't reckon I've seen a storm that bad in years. It's almost like the water is fighting back against the sky."
Private Whellen was now leaning against the railing with John, having stowed his knife and lighting a cigarette of his own. He was much younger than John, having only served under him for a year, assigned right out of basic training, he was there to make sure John didn't go insane while under isolation. The last Private to be assigned to him had slipped into the waters one particularly stormy night, swept away and never recovered. Whellen, at the least, was smart enough not to get too close to the edge, and spent most days combing the grounds for driftwood to carve into little statues to, as he put it, "Spruce up the place, and make it feel more homely."
"It is quite pretty I must say, imagine sailing through that, I bet you that ship is having a grand old time being tossed about!"
John glanced at the Private before quickly grabbing a pair of binoculars hanging off a hook above him. Scanning the horizon he quickly identified a man-made object of some sort bobbing viciously in the waves.
"Private, grab the telescope we need to identify that ship!" John rushed towards the communication radio in the back end of the top floor. Grabbing the receiver he turns back towards the ledge.
"Unidentified vessel, this is Lieutenant John Abbott of the United States Army, you are on a collision course with the coast and appear to be in distress, identify yourself or we will be forced to intercept. Over." The radio fills with static, deafening within the top of the lighthouse.
"Unidentified vessel, I repeat this is Lieutenant Jo-"
The radio flashes to life as John is interrupted.
"Yeah, yeah I heard you the first time, Lieutenant, this is the USS Albacore, our navigation systems are a bit messed up out here, can you tell us how we got so close to American soil?"
Stopping here for now but this is definitely one of my better stories, I've thoroughly enjoyed writing this piece and if anyone would like to see more on this story then leave a comment below! Also feel free to head on over to r/sadornawrites for more stories!!!
|
01022020 1715 ZULU TOPSECRET
ACTION MESSAGE: TOPSECRETxxxxxxATTN:COMCINCPAC/COMCINCLANT,
COMNAVAIRPAC/COMNAVAIRLANT, COMSUBPAC/COMSUBLANT
FROM:Commander CVN-70 USS CARLVINSON
SUB: UNKNOWN MILITARY ACTION IN MALLACA STRAITS
At1320Zulu CIC reports distress call by Japanese oiltanker Kobiashi Maru, ship pilot declares emergency after being fired upon by unknown submarine vessel, they report two direct hits amid ships by ships deck gun and taking on water, reports of several fires on going, A/C launch alert thirty and ASW /SAR , over flight has real time video and broadcast to up link, rescue operations began immediately, CAP in place, ASW reports several contacts but none near the distressed vessel, beginning environmental containment operations with various international responders, CAG CVW14 in charge of coordination until relief, witnesses report that a WWII era submarine surfaced and opened fire with its deck gun, witnesses report men in American uniforms manning gun, they fired without warning and then submerged, satellite images show vessel diving then disappearing, ASW reports no trace or track, set conditions Zebra and set general quarters, USS ALBANY, USS ALEXANDRIA conducting ASW operations as well as CVW14 , will update at 2000Zulu.
END MESSAGE XXXXXXTOPSECRETXXXXXX.
The Admiral received the recent coms with some deep concern, any military actions in this region had global impact, PLA Navy was conducting active combat patrols and interdiction creating tension in an already tense region, several incidents of "bumping" have occurred, one nearly fatal, with a group of a dozen sailors on both sides seriously injured, he had established a direct line of communication with his counterpart to quickly resolve disputes or issues, it paid off, instead of a shooting incident he managed to turn it into a story of superpower cooperation while saving face for the PLA, a neat trick if, IF you can pull it off, and now, God know's what the hell is going on, there have been bizarre sightings of submarines off the coasts of Indonesia, Solomon's and North Carolina, ships appearing then diving , and now, an attack, ASW operations have started be a concern for the Russians and the Chinese because of the intensity and locations.
Early morning in the sea of Japan, the sun raising in the east creating the rising sun image of the Japanese flag, bright red almost blinding, the south Korean fisherman had been busy for hours tending nets and equipment when they heard the rumbling of a diesel engine, except....this one sounded different....coming out of the dawn light the con tower of a submarine becomes visible, at first it looked ....new...then, with a blink, it looked old , decayed and rusty and then new again and then it comes into full view along side their small boat, it looked like a sunken relic above water, and then the rotting smell and the vague sound of commands, faintly then with more urgency "DIVE! DIVE! DIVE! They stood there stunned as they watched through holes in the hull men running and closing hatches, one second real and solid then becoming skeletal and ghost like, the whole scene reminiscent of a film flickering on a movie screen.
The Harbor master was drinking his coffee when a weird radio call came through, unknown, unscheduled arrival, a submarine has entered the channel, "get me Pearl" he says to his assistant, yeah Jack, what's this sub coming into the channel? Is it an emergency?, what do you mean what am I talking about? I'm talking about an unscheduled military movement in an active harbor, yeah it's a freaking sub! He looks at his assistant "Call DHS and Coast Guard, get a helicopter and a boat on scene and intercept, close the harbor and contact local police!"
The Coasties pulled along side and boarded the vessel, it had extensive damage, gaping holes in the deck, the helicopter over head made a deafening sound, the boarding party worked their way up the damaged con tower, the hatch was open, the smell of rot and decay nearly overpowering the sailors as they decend into the vessel, daylight clearly showing through the hull, the engine was idling, the smell of old water and oil mixed with diesel permeated the air, parts of the sub looked "new" brass polished while whole sections were gone or rusted away, "hey chief! Look at this! The petty officer lifted up a coffee cup......half full and still warm..WTF! the chief picks up the cup, smells it, feels the heat in the still warm cup, "Ok, goto the engine room an secure it, then come back, we're getting the fuck off this thing!"
The wreck was placed under tow and hauled to port, Coasties on deck were amazed the vessel stayed above water, several hull breeches somehow failed to flood, almost magically, many seasoned Mariners became instantly superstitious, clutching charms and crosses and repeating ancient spells to ward off evil.
It has been 2 days since USS Argos came to port, scientists and technicians were crawling all over the vessel looking for answers, the only thing solid was the discovery of dead crew members at various action stations, some showed signs of horrific deaths and dismemberment, explosions and fires the most likely cause, others seemed at ease, nearly undisturbed until their bones were discovered in situ, finally, a body was discovered that they hoped could give some answers, "The Chief of the Boat" was an enlisted man given command because of a lack of qualified officers, his body was mostly intact and there was still bits of uniform clinging to his bones, a review of the records reveal that the Argos was lost in '43 while on combat patrol.
After a week rumors of other subs coming to port on the east and west coasts began filtering through the ranks, with some crew and staff reports of seeing "The Chief" on the topside deck watching the workers coming and going.
I met the Chief while standing a deck watch on board the Argos, I had just got my "Crow", I was so proud , 3rd class petty officer and hand picked to watch over this weird shit show, I didn't give it any thought, with ALL the weird shit going in the world what's a ghost ship compared to WWIII, the weather was mild, the usual for Pearl, constant 78° with a light breeze, my mind was wandering, mid watch will do that to you when I began to smell a heavy body odor, tobacco and sweat, then I felt a presence, I turned around and.....there he was, a short, stout looking man wearing a khaki uniform and master chiefs anchors, his cap was crushed, and stained with sweat, he had a large bulbous nose that reminded me of WC Fields and bright blue eyes peering out, hawk like and predatory, he exclaimed "Report!" I snapped to and began to report and then I stopped...realizing I was talking to a ghost, I finally got the words out.....are you.....dead? "What the fuck do you think !" If I'm not dead then this has been one shitty deployment! So I begin asking him why they came back, "We came back because of the recall orders, Judgment day, Armageddon is coming and the end is here."
| 2020-09-10T13:44:56
| 2020-09-10T13:30:22
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0...
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Is it a curse? No, it is not a curse. The numbers above the heads of strangers, it’s a protection. It allows me a little bit of insight into their character. Who they are, what secrets they hold. I have always been somewhat thankful for this “gift” that was involuntary bestowed upon me.
It was a crisp October morning as I dropped my child off at Kindergarten, I waved him goodbye and told him to have a fantastic day. I went about my chores, grocery store, bank, and lunch. The numbers were everywhere, most were zero. Some were one. A few were more than I could bear to look at.
As I waited in the car line to pick up my innocent child, I see all the “zeros” piling out of the school, skipping and hopping. Then I see my wonderful “zero” himself. He hops into the car.
“Hey buddy how was your day?”
“Fun. I learned what sound M makes! Mmmmmmmm!”
“Good job buddy!”
We leave the line. As we are pulling out an ambulance pulls in, sirens wailing.
“Look mom! A bambulance! Weeeoo!” He giggles.
“I see, buckaroo. I hope everything is ok.”
We pull up to the stoplight, singing some Halloween sing-alongs. I glance in the mirror at my sweet boy, blonde curls falling into his face. I am stopped in my tracks. Above his mass of blonde hair I see it. “One” in red.
*HOOOOONK*
I am startled by the car behind me. I look up and see a “two” impatiently honking his horn. I had no idea the light had turned. I quickly make a u-turn at the light and head back to school.
“What’s wrong, mommy?”
I had tears down my face, white knuckles gripping the wheel.
“Mommy is fine, I am just worried about the ambulance at school.”
I whip into the parking lot. The ambulance is still there, cops are cordoning off the entrance. My mind races.
“What did he do?” I think to myself.
“Ma’am, we have to ask you to leave” spouted a gruff, portly man in a police uniform.
“I’m sorry, my son goes here. Can I ask what happened?”
“I’m sorry, we can’t give out any information, I would expect to hear from the school this evening”.
My son and I drive off. My mind in pieces. I glance in the mirror again. There he was, a massive red “one” still sticking out above his head. He is unwrapping a piece of candy.
“We had a Halloween party today. I got lots of candy!” He says through chocolate covered teeth.
“That’s cool buddy”
We pull into the driveway and I stare at the number.
“What are you looking at, mommy?” He says as he giggles.
“Nothing, hey bud, what did you do at the end of the day today?”
“We had a party, we ate some candy. I shared mine with my friend Dylan!”
“Is that all? Nothing else happened?”
“Ummm, I don’t know”
“Ok, buddy”
He gets out, his Spider-Man backpack unzipped and hanging from his shoulder. What could he have done? What life could he have taken?
I go through the motions. Laundry, after school snack. My boy is blissfully unaware of my concern and my pain.
*Ring* *ring*
The sound of my phone startled me.
“Hello?”
“It is with heavy hearts that this announcement has to be made. School will be closed to all students and staff due to a medical emergency that took the life of one of our students this afternoon. Counselors will be on staff all next week for staff and students as we work together to process this tragic incident in our school and community. More information will be released as it becomes available. Rest assured your students are safe with us and there is no immediate harm to anyone in the schools at this time.”
The recorded call ends with a click. I put the phone down as tears stream from my face.
“A medical emergency? How the Hell was he responsible for a medical emergency?”
My hands shake as I make tomorrows lunch for him. I peek into his room as he is playing with his plastic dinosaurs.
“Boom!” He slams a triceratops into a T-Rex. I wince, imagining what is happening in his mind.
As I’m finishing up dinner, I check my emails. There’s a notice from the school.
*As many of you received word of the incident at school today, the staff at Lebanon Elementary feel it is crucial to send out this notice. This school is a peanut-free school. We understand that with the excitement of Halloween, minor details can slip through the cracks, but peanut allergies are a serious condition. Although rare, the tragic passing of one of our Kindergartners should serve as a stark and grim reminder that all rules and policies must be adhered to for the safety of our students*
The lump in my throat swells. Tears fall onto the screen like rain on a Spring day.
“What’s wrong, mommy?” His little voice cuts like a knife, the number “one” glows brighter than ever. He wraps his arms around my waist.
I kneel down and hug him.
“What candy did you share with your friend today?”
“I gave him one of my peanut butter cups that came in our spooky bags! He had never had one before! I shared just like you taught me mommy, aren’t you proud?”
::This is my first time ever writing one of these, so please don’t be too harsh. I have no formal training or any experience writing other than papers in college. I just thought of a scenario that could plausibly happen, and as the mother of a 5 year old, was fairly relatable and realistic. Thank you for reading!::
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**-- TW: Mentions of domestic abuse --**
&#x200B;
I was only 10 years old when it first happened. I sat on the floor in my room rocking my stuffed bear to sleep. If I couldn’t sleep from all the screaming, maybe he could. Poor Mr. Stuffington.
“You fucking bitch!” I hear my father’s voice boom from the hall.
“Please, Arthur,” My mom’s voice trembles as she tries to quell him. “Not in front of Alison.” Glass smashes, likely another picture frame. I rock harder.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you.” He rumbles.
Footsteps quickly pad down the hallway as my mother throws open my door and slams it shut. I don’t look up, I just keep rocking.
“Alison,” She whispers urgently. I don’t look. Keep rocking. *Sleep Stuffington*. “Alison!” She starts to cry as I look up. She mimes covering her ears and closing her eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t look.” I notice her hand is holding a piece of broken glass.
***Bang bang bang!*** My door handle rattles and the frame creaks as he begins to force his way in. “Arthur, please! For the love of God!” She sobs as the door finally busts open.
He starts to reach for her throat as she quickly takes the shard of glass and shoves it deep into his throat. Blood sprays everywhere. Gurgling, choking, sobbing. If I only I had had time to follow her directions. *Shh Mr. Stuffington, you’re okay.*
I look to my mom as her breathing slows and she braces herself against the wall. What was my father laying on the floor. She turns to me now and slowly walks to me. She kneels down and takes my face in her hands.
“We’re safe now, honey.” She gives me a sad smile.
Suddenly a red number 1 appears above her head as my dad rattles out his last breath
.…
Since that day I’ve seen many kill counts. Most people are zeros — obviously. I can see them in person or on screens. I tested it with famous serial killers several times by looking at their pictures.
Sometimes I think of it as a blessing, it keeps me safe. It keeps me away from those who could hurt me, or my family. I’m 28 now with a wonderful husband and 5 year old son. I like to think my kill count power brought me safely to them. Of course my husband is a 0.
“Richard! I’m home.” I come in from grocery shopping to see my husband waiting for me. He shifts his weight from side to side, avoiding my gaze. “Richard, is something wrong?” He looks up at me and gives me a sheepish smile.
"Um,” He stops for a minute and looks to the floor. “Alex wanted to go to a friend’s house today after school, so I let him.” He winces as my face flushes with heat.
“You what?!” I almost scream. My breathing catches in my throat as I brace myself against the counter. “Who? Who?”
“Alison, we can’t keep him sheltered forever. He needs to make friends, be his own kid. I met with the parents, they seemed like wonderful people. He will be back within the hour.”
He met them, but I didn’t. I need to see them, they could’ve murdered him already. Tears well up in my eyes as I picture burying my only child. I start to rock my arms as I feel Richard put his hands on my shoulders.
“Ali, look at me.” I slowly look up. “He will be fine.” I wish I could believe him. You don’t know how many murderers we all walk past everyday. Anyone, anywhere. This is why I made the rules. No going anywhere without me. I can keep him safe. And now, he doesn’t have me.
I don’t pick Alex up from school out of fear. I’d rather be blissfully ignorant most of the time. I don’t necessarily have a choice in sending him there. Richard just thinks I have social anxiety. I could never tell anyone about this power. One, because they wouldn’t believe me. And two, they might make me their next kill for knowing.
I rock, pace, and pray as the hour passes. Richard decided to let me decompress on my own. I don’t blame him, but he needs to understand my rules. The doorbell snaps me out of my daytime nightmares as I almost run to the door. My baby boy safe and… my breath hitches in my throat. I feel myself go numb. Richard thanks the family and ushers Alex back inside.
“See Ali? Perfectly fine." He ruffles Alex’s hair and walks away. I stare at my child. His counter. It should be a 0. It needs to be a 0. I blink so many times, I rub my eyes.
“Mommy? Are you okay?” His big blue eyes stare up at me.
“Uh, yeah, honey. Mommy just needs to lie down.” I practically run for the bedroom. I slam the door and lock it behind me. Mr. Stuffington looks at me from the headboard. I begin to rock.
Why does my baby boy have a 1 above his head?
| 2022-10-21T09:15:23
| 2022-10-21T07:34:41
| 122
| 69
|
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
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Look at them all, filthy pink blobs of flesh ploughing their fields and planting their corn. Bah ! Ignorant fools! Little do they know, that I, Adolf Hitler have been reincarnated as a cow.
I sit here day after day eating my weight in grass, mooing every so often but all the while planning. When I was alive I believed that the Aryans were the master race, I was wrong. IT IS THE BOVINES THAT SHALL REIGHN SUPREME! Yes when I am in charge the humans shall suckle upon the teat of national bovinism and we cows shall laugh as they beg for mercy.
I mean, um, “Moo”.
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I am cow, hear me moo. I weigh twice as much as you, and I look good on the barbecue. Yogurt, curd, cream cheese, and butter's made from liquid from my udders. I am cow, I am cow, hear me moo!
I am cow, eating grass. Methane gas comes out my ass, and out my muzzle when I belch. Oh the ozone layer is thinner from the outcome of my dinner. I am cow, I am cow, I've got gas.
I am cow, here I stand, far and wide upon this land, and I am living everywhere. From B.C. to Newfoundland, you can squeeze my teats by hand. I am cow, I am cow, I am cow.
I am cow, I am cow, I am cow!
Courtesy: https://youtu.be/_WFp4kozlOU
| 2017-10-02T07:43:53
| 2017-10-02T07:20:31
| 50
| 14
|
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
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DO NOT SEND RESCUE
I rubbed my chin as I read the words up on the screen, and then raised my hand. The Captain standing at the front of the room acknowledged me. "Yes Martin?"
I gestured towards the screen. "If the final transmission from Horizon was essentially 'don't come,' explain to me why we're going there?"
The Captain sighed. "Because, on the off chance there are survivors, we aren't going to abandon them... and I would be lying if I didn't say the Company wants us to recover some of the more expensive equipment as well."
A few murmurs drifted through the room. I spoke again. "So what are we up against? Do we have any idea what's waiting for us down there?"
The Captain frowned. "We don't have any planet-side intel. Whoever sent this last message didn't even have time to add a period, much less any useful information."
"Is this some kind of joke?" I scoffed. "I'm not taking my team on a suicide mission for the sake of recovering a few toys."
The Captain grit his teeth, looking like he was about to lose his cool but he gathered himself. "... The Company has already spent several million dollars sending you and your team out here. You WILL be going down to Mars, or you WILL be answering to the Company's Station Code. I've been told the brig here on the O.W.L. is pretty lackluster."
My mouth twisted at that. My team of mercenaries and I didn't owe the Company any loyalty, but here on the Orbital Watch Locus above Mars, the Company had legal authority to enforce its own code of law.
I sighed. "Well then I guess we don't really have a choice." I turned in my seat to face my four-man team. "The briefing we just received will be sent to each of your data pads. Review it tonight, and then get some rest. We drop planet side tomorrow at 0600." I turned back towards the captain as a cacophony of metal chair legs scraping the floor screeched through the room.
"Thank you for being reasonable," the Captain sneered.
"I want a full list of the equipment at our disposal. We will take what we need at no charge. You will have extraction on standby for the entire duration of our mission. Is that clear?" I demanded.
"Of course! Anything you need, Martin, you just let me know. As long your boots hit the ground, the entirety of this station's resources are yours."
I nodded, and then stood and followed my team out of the briefing room. In the hallway, I stopped at a viewport, and looked down at the red planet beneath us.
From the moment I was offered this job, I'd felt a twist in my gut; I really hoped I wouldn't regret taking this mission.
Story continued at r/TheCornerStories
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As he hit the key to send the message back to mission control back on Earth, he wondered what would be the death of him: himself, or the inhabitants of the Red Planet... He pulled on the slide of the handgun he had smuggled in his personal cargo, seeing that glimmer from the brass casing in the chamber. He had at least one round left, he could end it now if he wanted. He didn't. He wanted to take as many of whatever those things were with him. They brutally ripped through all his friends he had made on the journey to Mars. He looked back into the blood soaked hallway he had traversed to get here. It appeared clear, but who knew for sure. Eating a bullet crept back into his mind one last time, it would definitely beat getting shredded to pieces and eaten alive, but he only had to run roughly 30 yards down the corridor and hook right to reach the reactor. That one round, if placed properly, could blow this whole place sky high. Taking a deep breath he rushed for the reactor room. He could swear he could feel them right on him, whether it was in his mind or in reality he didn't know, but he kept running anyways. As he turned the corner, almost slipping on blood and discarded pieces of his former friends and acquaintances he was in the reactor room... Right in front of one of them. The size was unlike anything he had seen in person on Earth. It towered above him, with its saliva dripping out of its open mouth onto the floor in front of him mixing with the entrails of the corpse between them. Without any time to react accordingly the monster rushed him and speared him with its tail raising him up to the ceiling of the room he shot the reactor as it did, watching as the sirens sounded as it slowly started to meltdown. He smiled and put the gun to his head. Click. "FUCK!"
| 2019-01-31T05:07:56
| 2019-01-31T05:03:05
| 776
| 180
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[WP] You're sat alone, with a glass of wine in hand, and decide to jokingly toast the Greek God Dionysus. You did not expect him to appear before you in human form, create two bottles of wine, and take a seat next to you.
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He just... Appeared.
I jumped in surprise.
"Whattt??!?!?? Who are you??" Was the only thing that came out of my mouth.
Sending a reproachful gaze my way he said
"Sit down. This has been a bad day, don't make it worse. That wine is worth more than you will ever have, so drink it"
"Hey, that's mean" I replied, as I retook my former position.
"Are you him? Dionysus? For real?" I asked
"Yep, that's me wine, parties, the whole shenanigan"
"Wow, so.... gods are real? Only the greeks? Is Aphrodite as stunning as the legends say? "
He burst out laughing.
"Man, that's just what I needed. You humans always thinking in the same thing even in the most bizarre of situations" he replied. "Yes, she is, so that answer your question. About the gods, you will have to discover it yourself"
"Then why are you here if you are not answering me?"
"The truth? I needed to talk to someone. Long time ago one of you humans told me that when you need to talk sometimes even a stranger will do. Sometimes its even the best one to talk to. Cause they can be as sincere as they want."
"Well that's not exactly true in my case, I don't want to anger a god"
He laughed again.
"Yes, that's true too"
And we remained in silence for a while but I broke it and asked:
"So did I help you?"
" Yes, you did, thanks"
" Im glad. So what now? How do I live knowing gods exist? Nobody will believe me"
"Just keep living the same? What does knowing it alter your life? Will it become different?"
" That's sound point. Guess tomorrow will be the same as always."
The silence then came back.
"So, what do you do for a living?"
"You came here looking for someone to listen to you and you don't know?" I answered while I laughed. "Im a shrink."
And that's how I became the shrink of the gods.
Not just the greek but norse, egiptians... All the ancients and new pantheons. You wouldn't believe the shit that happens in those families. Being immortal and all powerful doesn't sound so good now to me.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
PD: First time writing and showing it. English is not my first languague so sorry for the mistakes. Hope you like it. Thanks
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“ who are you?” I said as I put my wine glass down and stared at the man in front of me.
“ What do you mean “who am I?”. Do you not worship the Greek gods?”
“ The Greeks gods aren’t real dude” I told him as I leaned back into my chair and sipped my wine.
“ Ahh I see... you’re a non believer. Allow me to show you that we do exist”.
The guy in front of me snapped his fingers and my wine glass disappeared into thin air. Then the bottle my friend bought for me last week turned into two gold bottles and purple drinking glasses
“ Do not touch the glass yet boy, I must pour the drink before you can take a sip”.
I listened to him solely because no one I know has been able to summon wine out of thin air. He passed me a glass and when I downed the wine I felt like I was in heaven. I had never tasted anything a quarter of as good as this. “ where the hell did you get this?” I asked the man
“ where did I get it? Do you not listen to me... I made it. I am Dionysus the god of wine. “
I couldn’t put two and two together solely because none of this could make logical sense. The Greek gods only existed in myths, only a thing you learned in electives or those Percy Jackson Books. There’s no way that they were real but then how did I explain what this guy just did.
“ You haven’t said much boy... does the wine not taste good? Don’t answer because that’s impossible. My wine has been served to the gods, the greatest warriors you could think of, the mightiest heroes you could think of. I’ve never met a man that wouldn’t ask for seconds.
“No it’s not that it’s two things” I told him as I finished the glass in front of me. Number 1: Can I have my own bottle of “ Olympic Purity” and Number 2: Did I summon you here?
“ Yes I’ll give you one bottle to keep for the home and one only and yes you summoned me here. You should be proud of yourself boy, not many of your kind can summon me. “
“ oh okay” I said as I clutched the new bottle like it was a baby fresh out the womb. The gold glittered off it and the eagle symbol on the back had silver designs on the feathers. “ sorry Dionysus.... that’s your name right man. Not to be intrusive but how did I summon you. I’m not really anything special.
“ Yeah you aren’t right now but you will be. Your mother would kill me if she knew I was here but something about this place drew me here”
“ This is just a normal apartment in Arizona. And you know my mother? Can you tell her that I want a reason why I haven’t seen her since I was 9.” I told him as I got up and washed the glass
“ no need to wash my glass boy they don’t stain.” He was right. “ I’m not supposed to tell any of you this but the Olympians aren’t supposed to have kids. So when they do they’re kept secret for the most part. But when you called my name i was summoned out my throne and here”
“ so I’m basically a mistake? Makes sense I guess” i looked at Dionysus for a few seconds and asked him “ You said your not supposed to tell any of us this. So there’s more mistakes besides me”.
“ You catch on kind of quick. Just like your mother. Yes there’s more of you and yes they all think they’re mistakes as well. “
“ So are you going to tell me who’s my mother?” I sat down in my chair and let my mind wonder as Dionysus stood up.
“ For as sharp as you seemed at first you do have a bit of human in you. THINK boy it’s as obvious as a owls hoot. “
“ I don’t know much about the Greek Gods” I told him
“ Let me ask you this... do you like architecture?”
“ I mean yeah... when I was younger I played with legos and I love models of buildings.”
“ Sheesh you are her son. Come with me Boy I’ll take you to your mother and you can meet her for yourself. But first you don’t mind if we make a stop do you
“ Nah not really” I said as I stood up and put on my sneakers and a flannel. “ We’re going to get another kid of a god right?”
“Yes. Have you figured out who your mother is yet?”
“Is she Deminor”
“ First of all her name is Demeter and secondly no that couldn’t be your mother. You two are nothing alike. Cmon I’m running low on time are you ready. And what’s your name boy.”
“Alright I’m ready”
“ And my name is Xavier”
“ Your mother would give you his name. Cant believe she found those childish comics entertaining”.
( They disappear into a smoke of grapes and wine scents)
| 2020-11-08T10:50:12
| 2020-11-08T10:39:02
| 236
| 44
|
[WP] You have the ability to absorb any power from any book that you read. The US government captures and imprisons you until one day the warden walks in and asks for your help. He hands you a single book...
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I was jarred awake by a sound I hadn't heard in... well, who's to say - months or years. It was impossible to tell, pardon the cliche. I really did lose track of time immediately. They'd forgotten to leave room for a window in the eight feet thick, poured concrete shoebox I'd been locked in since that day the black speed boats finally nabbed me sprinting across the Potomac.
By now, it was unnecessary, of course. I'd forgotten the bible, Harry Potter, Firestarter, all of my go-tos. I hadn't read anything since they locked me up. They even took the tags off of my clothes. I guess they were worried I would "hand wash only" them to death and escape through the vents by disseminating into a fiber cloud of nylon-polyester blend.
Could't really blame them, though. I didn't know how this shit worked, either.
"One mission for your freedom," the warden said, tossing a book to the hard floor with a slap that set my ears ringing.
"I'm not supposed to have to earn freedom," I said. Or, I tried to say. I was surprised and kind of horrified at how much my voice had atrophied from disuse. Instead of flying through the air and sticking like the daggers I imagined, my words tumbled out and piled up on the floor. The warden took their meaning, nonetheless.
"You gave up your freedom when you decided to do that Mr. Fantastic shit a few miles from the White House," he said, plainly.
"Otherwise you would have let me be?" I might have said.
"It's neither here nor there, now. You're a criminal and a hazard and all the measures we've taken are completely justified."
*Like skipping my trial? Denying me the right to a lawyer?* I thought. No point in voicing it though. Despite the bullshit he was conjuring, we had an understanding.
"-And we are in the business of working out deals for lightened sentences. Do your homework, and yours will be shortened all the way to zero."
I couldn't bear that - pretending he was doing me a favor, "I don't *have* a sentence, fuckass!" I spat, vocal chords coming on line in full effect, "I was never *sentenced!*"
But the door slammed shut and he was already walking away. "You have 48 hours," he called back.
I picked up the book, a small paperback with wispy pages and microscopic print - the kind of serial that costs five cents to print and sells for ten. "Oakley City Scifi Reader #11" I read, and with that alone, I felt an energy enter me.
I devoured the garbage like it was Leo Tolstoy. With a sober mind, I might have given it a four out of ten, but it was as though I was breathing real air for the first time in months. And of course, all the while I was stretching my imagination to its maximum, trying to come up with some way to use this book to turn the tables on my captives, but the book was totally banal. The protagonist was good at math - patterns and stuff. I didn't know what they wanted that for, but it wasn't going to help me get out of that cell. Of course they knew that. Of course they'd had a whole team go over it, looking for exploits I could take advantage of. I grinned at the idea that they had to read book after shitty book before they found one mundane enough that I couldn't use it in unexpected ways. That would have to be my consolation, because by the time I got to "The End", there was still nothing for me to wield to my benefit. But then, playing with the junk pages at the back of the book...
***
"Hey bud. It's time for your briefing," said a mousy young guy - must have been a shadow-government intern, or maybe it was "bring your kid to the lair" day. The mechanism of the door engaged and its incredible mass fell away on tired hinges, revealing the scant floor of my cell, a ten cent paperback, and a wad of clothes with the tags ripped off.
"Fuck me, he's gone!" he squealed into the radio, "The Agent is gone, how copy?!"
*Oooh, they call me 'The Agent'. That's cool*
"Get the book!" the radio hissed, "Dammit, we missed something! Sending a detail, over!"
The intern picked up the book and easily found the page in the back that I'd dog-eared.
"Issue #12 preview..." he muttered "...H.G. Wells.... oh fuck! *Thermal cameras!* We need-" He screamed, grappling for his radio, which had somehow made its way to the other side of the cell door, which had somehow made its way closed.
"Just be thankful it wasn't Lovecraft" I said, from nowhere and everywhere at once, with a voice that had once again found purchase, and I made my way silently out of the facility, to even the sharpest eyes, nothing but the occasional parting of motes of dust.
|
Jay opened his eyes to find the bars of his cage inches from his face. He cursed as he realized that he had, once again, rolled off his bed. He hated when this happened. Multiples times, he had asked for a larger bed and yet here he was, still sleeping on the same miniscule bed that he was given at the beginning of his imprisonment seven years ago. He had woken up face down on the hard-concrete floor far too many times for him to count. For some reason, these unfortunate mishaps always had something to do with his dreams. Whenever he dreamed of the outside world, of the life and freedom he once had, he always ended up with his face pressed against the concrete.
Every time he had these dreams he would always reminisce of past events. He often asked himself how he had managed to get imprisoned in the first place. For god’s sake, he was basically a super hero! As an avid reader of super hero stories, Jay couldn’t recollect on any moments when they were captured. The more he pondered this question however, the clearer the answer became. It all came back to him. He was lazy. The ability to absorb powers from books he read opened limitless possibilities. In a world with millions of books, he could have easily become a godlike deity, but alas, sloth got the best of him. He simply hated reading. His ability only activated when he had fully ready the book – every single word. In the end, he could only bring himself to read a “How to fly” book so that’s all he had. Unfortunately, when you’re stuck in an iron cage, flying doesn’t really help much.
Jay was snapped out of his daydream by the loud sharp sound of boots clicking against the floor. He quickly stood up praying it wasn’t the warden. Having been imprisoned in the same place for seven years, Jay had the unfortunate privilege of become acquaintances with the warden. As the most powerful man in the prison, the warden never failed to take advantage of his power and for some reason he had made Jay one of his primary targets ever since Jay arrived. As the footsteps got closer, Jay heard the familiar grunting and coughing that he almost saw as a warning signal for the arrival of the warden.
However, today was different. The warden, who normally walked in with a smug smile plastered on his face, walked in today nervously and sweating profusely. Jay was instantly curious. If the normally filled with bravado warden seemed so afraid, something big must have happened. As the warden neared his cage door, Jay opened his mouth to ask but was promptly cut off.
“Morning Jay”
“Morning” Jay replied cautiously
“Look – I have something important to talk to you about. This is very important so please give me a chance to explain”
Red flags instantly flashed in Jay’s head. The warden had demanded for Jay to always add “sir” to the end of everything he says to him. However, Jay had just greeted him without doing so and there had been do repercussions. Furthermore, the warden would never say “please”, and most certainly not to Jay. Trying to contain his excitement, Jay tried his best to make his responses sound indifferent.
“Of course, I’ll listen to whatever you have to say”
“Thank you. I know we haven’t been on the best terms and we’ve both directed our angers toward each other in the past, but right now I need your help”
Jay suppressed the urge to point out that the only person who has ever directed their anger towards anyone- was the warden. His curiosity got the best of him and he decided to see where this conversation was going.
“Putting everything behind us seems like a good idea. It was getting boring in this cage anyways, what do you need me to help you with”
“Right. You see….when we captured you, we had thought you were one of a kind. The ability to draw power from book seemed so absurd that no one believed there would be more people like you. However, we were wrong. About a week ago, they have been showing up all over the world….but they’re different from you. For whatever reason, they seem hell-bent on destruction. Long story short, we can’t defeat these people. We need your help.”
Jay’s mind raced. His dream of returning to the outside world could finally become a reality. However, there was something bothering him.
“If that’s all you need from me, why do you look like you look like you’ve seen death itself. Asking something like this shouldn’t make you so nervous.
The warden sighed
“The higher ups have told me that if you are unwilling to help, I will be held responsible. Somehow, my actions have been leaked to the outside.”
“I see….in that case, I’m actually unable to help you. This cell has really become my home these past few years you know?” Jay said while barely containing his laughter.
The warden’s face turned beet red.
“Now listen here – “
“Hey now, you sure you want to treat me like that?”
The warden grimaced. Watching the warden’s evident desperation made Jay feel ecstatic. All the times the warden had abused his position, Jay could finally get some revenge. Unfortunately, his desire to leave this prison far outweighed his desire to mess with the warden.
“Alright boss, what do you have for me to work with?”
The warden signaled to one of the guards, who brought an extremely thick book in.”
“This right here is going to make you powerful enough to defeat anybody. Immortality, super strength, super speed… you name it, it’s in here.”
Jay was trembling with excitement. What had once been his most dreaded activity now became the one he couldn’t wait for. He wanted to dig into the book, and he wanted to do it as fast as possible.
“Alright. When can I start?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Let me out of here and I’ll get right on it”
Jay heard the familiar buzz sound of the cage door unlocking that he had thought he’d never hear again. As he took his first step out, he smiled.
He was finally free again.
| 2017-07-25T20:00:58
| 2017-07-25T19:58:39
| 90
| 20
|
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut.
|
I was pleased with my hunt today. A plump, young hog. Time hadn't been able to turn it tough, but it's size would keep me fed for a good month, whilst leaving a hefty amount to trade for other supplies. I had my stasis chest at my hut to keep it fresh, which made me happy.
I headed towards my hut, smiling. The carcass weighed my down a little, but I pushed on. I was eager to butcher it, and put my feet up for a bit. I had plenty of experience in butchering, saving me a fortune in costs. Having lost everything once, I was careful with the little I had.
My hut came into view. A simple structure, made of thick stone. It was made of three individual circles, connected by small passages. A tended garden out front grew a few vegetables, enough to keep me fed. A thick wooden post protruded from the ground, an equally thick beam sporting a hook branching off.
With a practiced heave, I lifted the hog up. I impaled its rear, letting it hang ready. I carefully slit its throat, letting the blood pooling in its body pour out. Its heart wasn't beating, but gravity did the trick just fine. I wiped my blade, sticking it in the sheath before heading inside.
As I stepped in, I froze. Someone was inside. They sat in front of my empty fireplace, in a simple wooden chair. They looked up as I entered, though their hood cast their face in shadow. I let go of the door, easing my hand to my knife.
"I thought your home would be more... impressive."
I knew that voice. I knew it very well. It once was backed with strength and power, filled with a thirst for justice. I breathed out and in, before replying, letting the motion quell my nerves.
"Satu. What an unpleasant surprise."
He pulled back his hood, grinning at me.
"I thought you would see right through it."
I didn't bother unsheathing my dagger. I was no slouch, but he was clearly stronger than me. My loss of the Thorned Throne had guaranteed that.
"I thought you would have been here sooner, when you found out I was alive."
He waved a dismissive hand, utterly at ease.
"Oh, I knew you were alive the day after our fight."
I was taken aback.
"How?"
"Well, I was suspicious after your 'death'. You had burned to nothing. There was no ash or anything. So I scryed you, and saw you running."
He leant back, lacing his hands behind his bald head.
"I thought about hunting you down, but then you didn't try and rebuild. You wandered for a year or so, before making a home here. I figured why bother you."
I let out a sigh. With a shrug, I removed my hunting cloak, hanging it on a hook.
"Why are you here then?"
I wandered over to a leather case on the side, unrolling it. Sharp knives glistened in the sunlight, waiting to be used.
"To pick your brains of all things."
My eyes glared into his as I spun. He was certainly still full of surprises.
"Why?"
His easy-going nature went hard. This was no longer just a man. This was a hero, in all his might.
"There are rumors of a new Dark Lord rising. Similar to you, building an army of demons and undead."
I knew what he was asking now.
"You want to know how he will start."
He nodded.
"Of course. I would rather nip this in the bud, than go through what you did again."
I gave a humourless smirk back.
"Yeah yeah. Fine, if it will get you out of my hair."
I picked up the bundle, heading towards the door.
"We can talk as I butcher."
He stood up, giving a nod of thanks. I just opened the door sighing heavily. He brought back memories I would rather forget. The sooner I got rid of him, the sooner I could go back to my quiet life
|
I arrive home after a day of hunting with a couple of deer in tow on my wagon. The door to my house is slightly ajar. Someone probably wants some more meat from my cellar. I'm happy to share and everyone knows it, so they come in and sit patiently at the table till I get back to ask. I walk into my house to find him sitting at the table.
"Oh come on!! I'm being good. Leave me alone."
"Uh huh, sure you are Jack."
I roll my eyes. "If you want to start something Carson, I'll follow you out to the forest, but please don't do anything here in the village."
"Really, Jack?! I'm the hero here. What makes you think I'm going to put innocent people in danger?"
"Well you did it once before! Walked right into my castle, slaughtered all my subordinates, and then kicked my butt too."
Carson nods slowly. "Yeah, but your subordinates were demons and you were planning on destroying all life on the planet. It isn't like I could leave them alive to start the process over again!"
I sigh and turn to the kitchen. "Can you give me a minute to handle my kills and get them prepared a bit, please?"
Carson nods and I grab my tools. As I walk out the door, I glance over my shoulder. "You are welcome to give me a hand if you want. It would make the work go faster."
Carson stands up, "Sure why not.", and he follows me out the door.
I grab the wagon and head to the back of the house. We each take one deer, string it up, clean it, gut it, butcher it, and prepare it for drying. We then take each skin and prepare it for tanning.
Not a word has been said the entire time and Carson now follows me back inside.
I motion for him to sit down. "Can I get you something to drink? I'm afraid I don't have much. I don't touch anything fermented these days."
"Some water or tea would be fine."
"Anything to eat?"
"Only if you are willing to share"
I get us both some water and make some sandwiches.
I set the food down at the table. "Ok, Carson, tell me why you are here."
| 2021-11-03T13:09:00
| 2021-11-03T13:04:29
| 2,337
| 134
|
[WP] Wikipedia is shut down and all copies deleted for lack of funds and loss of net neutrality. This is the founder's "I warned you, jerks" notification.
|
He told us.
He warned us.
We let it happen.
But
He didn't understand.
He was the disease.
It's been three weeks since Wikipedia was shut down and the world couldn't be happier. There is jubilation in the streets as we are finally free.
The amount of internet trollage has crashed as they can no longer cite and edit Wikipedia at a whim to make their childish arguments seem right. Facts and evidence return to the world. We rejoice there are standards again!! Students require an actual education and teachers knowledge rather than ripping off Wikipedia.
Internet speeds across the board are skyrocketing as people no longer spend their lives on websites because the never ending sludge of misinformation was sourced to Wikipedia. The death of Wikipedia has forced news organizations to revert to actual research instead of the ending the never ending tide of opinion and sensationalized gossip that is 24 hour news. Fox news, CNN and the Huffington post have all shut their doors. As a side effect justice reigns as people are no longer tried by media and gossip but rather through evidence.
Truly we live in a new golden age.
The world has never been happier.
The final words of this putrid site have become bitterly ironic. The founder, like Ozymandias before him, bolsted his work as an act of enduring greatness but like those of the ancient king lay in ruin returned to dust
I told you so.
We should have listened sooner.
I told you so.
We no longer tremble at your might.
As eyes are opened by fact returning to the world the jubilant crowds decided this is only the beginning. A new beginning a purge was needed to cleanse the rest of the evil from the net. A flood of overjoyed people torches in hand storm the gilded cages of Twitter, tumblr. Facebook. Torches in hand they free the world of all sites of such ilk reducing them to ash.
The age of gossip is over the people have spoken.
We have rid ourselves of our digital shackles.
We are free
We are free!
|
A new video gets posted on the top bar of all wikipedia pages. It is a dark and gritty looking video. The only other thing accompanying the video is a timer that ticks ominously. It counts the minutes until wikipeida closes. The following is the story contained in the video:
When wikipedia went down at first it wasn't so bad. Things went on as normal except people couldn't look up that fact. That piece of information that was nagging at the back of their mind. When we approached our nephews high school we saw the typical sights. Odd dress, strange habits, and all the odd intricacies of contemporary teenage life. We walked straight in; the security guard recognized my sister and waved us through the metal detectors.
"I can't believe they make kids walk through these things." I say in concern.
"If we treat children like criminals won't they behave like criminals?" she replied nodding.
We walked aimlessly until we found the library. At least they are spending time studying we thought as we walked through the open wire-mesh safety glass doors. This time we walked through an RFID scanner and and our names flashed on an LCD monitor hanging from the roof in the room. We entered a dismal looking library. A tired old woman sat at the desk; her chair adorned with a variable arsenal of ergonomic devices. She worked at such a dismally slow rate it appeared as if she was sleep typing. A moment before we gave up and left three kids wearing a grey baseball caps ran through the entrance. The screen didn't flash their names or faces it simply went black for a moment.
We look at each other and followed them down the stacks until we came upon an open floor panel surrounded by a metal cage hidden behind some old encyclopedias. We peeled back the cage and stepped down into a den of activity. The old floor under the back the library had been converted into a miniature computer lab equipped with:
-4 flatbed scanners
-3 laptops
-6 tablets
-1 desktop
-1 massive nest of cables
-4 bean bag chairs
The four teenagers workings steadily in the lab continued almost as if they expected people to come and go. As our eyes adjusted to the dim light we noticed that the wire mesh coated the entirety of the room.
"a Faraday cage" I said under my breath astonished.
They all turned around once they heard the difference in my voice. They were scared, shaking as if caught by the police, none of them moved.
"Just what are you doing down here?!" Said my sister, definitely on the border of yelling.
Once the kids realized who she was a wave of relief overtook the majority of them; everyone except for my nephew and his closest friend.
"Can't you see the library is dead and you let them kill it!"
"We have no books left here so we have been reconstructing Wikipedia here. We have the project Gutenberg on a hard drive (now illegal) and we are writing summaries for all the work in our classes."
"I'm also working on getting archived pages of sparknotes back up!"
We were baffled by what was taking place infront of us. We knew what we had to do. The government didn't tolerate intelligence terrorism; we knew from legal precedent that they didn't treat minors any different. We told the kids to go out and wait in the cars.
What came next was difficult and hard to describe. I think we felt bad as we stuffed all the various expensive, antique in some cases, equipment into gym bags and backpacks. We walked out the metal detectors and thankfully the security guard was on break. We threw everything in the trunk of the car and drove straight to the scrapyard our cousin owned. As the grinder shredded our kin's hardwork we considered what they were doing. In the end we saved them from prison time and digital-ex-comm but, we still admired their tenacity. As they left I couldn't help but, keep a usb key with project Gutenberg on it.
Somewhere a computer beeps ominously as it tracks the laptops contents and progression. It knows, the moment the devices exited the Faraday cage, what they stored and it records the evidence for later processing. It tracked the devices to the scrap yard and recorded the vehicles license plate as it drove through traffic lights.
| 2014-12-10T06:49:24
| 2014-12-10T06:47:51
| 49
| 23
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
He has it, of course. Heck, I could probably say any random string of words and he'd have the game to match. Infinite monkeys and all that.
MY TURN.
I stare down at the cards in my hand, trying to pay attention despite the sweat soaking my back. They're the exact set we have at home, with little cartoon illustrations on the fronts. And they're worn--exceedingly worn. The cartoon dog on the two of spades has a scratch over its ear. The king of hearts, a bright pink heart with a crown and scepter, is bent in the upper left corner.
Holy sh--
Quickly, I peek across the table. A couple of the cards in his bony hands have bright purple marker scribbled across the backs. One is creased in the middle. Another has been repaired with Hello Kitty tape.
I clench my jaw shut before my mouth can drop open, trying to keep my breathing calm and even. Whether this is coincidence or luck or just the sheer inexplicable mechanisms of the universe, I don't care. My little girl never figured out how I was so good at the game. Hell if I'm going to give it up now, not when it matters more than anything else in the world.
When I get back I'm going to let her win the next hundred games in a row.
DO YOU HAVE ANY SIXES?
I always did have a good poker face.
"Go fish."
|
“You got it?”
The question takes me off guard, I’m still trying to process this new info. The tall man with the black hooded cloak at the end of my bed tilted his head slightly, the scythe that rested in the crook of his arm caught the moonlight ominously.
“Sorry, this outfit does normally startles people. How’s this?”
His form shimmered and before me stood an old gentleman with immaculately manicured whiskers and a twinkle in His eye. His tweed suit with matching trilby in stark contrast to His previous outfit. He adjusted his grip on His suspiciously scythe-like curved cane.
“Ahh, less doom and gloom now. Gotta keep up appearances though,” He indicated His cane, ”So how’s that choice of game coming along?”
The question was delivered with considerably less dread attached than the previous proposition. More like that of certain playful gods from the pantheons rather than Death come to claim you.
A small whoosh of breath escaped my lips. A decision has to be made. This body of mine was considerably less spry than my younger years, and nor was my mind functioning at full capacity. What game could I choose and what chance did I have, it seemed like anything was on the table. Did I even want to win? I had lived a full life, I tried to be kind, a good person, I saw the world, I loved my family. Did I need more of that if He has decided it was my time?
Resolved, I look up at Him. He smiled broadly, a smile of a man confident in himself “What shall it be, a game of strength, of skill, or perhaps of wits?”
“A game of chance perhaps,” I responded, his smile broadening to one of pure glee.
“Now this, should be interesting.”
| 2018-03-07T06:37:49
| 2018-03-07T02:57:36
| 324
| 46
|
[WP] You have an ability. You feel an item's weight proportional to it's monetary value. You can blow away a ton of scrap metal but can't lift a gold bar without wheezing. While everyone expected you to work with diamonds, you want to work with unknown artists
|
"Mr. Wynbloom, if you please--", asked the curator, pointing at the beautiful painting sitting on the easel.
"Bernard Calloux's *Field of Gold*, 1987 correct?", I said approaching the artwork.
"That is correct, yes--", confirmed the curator.
I bent down, observing the beautiful painting. A scenery of golden grass and perfectly blue sky-- a perfectly crafted work if I have to say so myself.
"A lost masterpiece, Mr. Wynbloom. Highly sought after and highly valuable....if it is authentic, that is", the curator continued.
I stood and reached my pocket for my gloves. If the painting truly is one of the lost Calloux's work, I didn't want to taint a $20 million piece with my oily hands.
"Alright, here goes", I said placing my hands on the bottom corners of the canvas, bending my legs at the knees, ready to bear the weight with my whole body.
With bated breath the curator observed my work-- after all, his commission depended on it.
"Heave ho!", I lifted it, expecting the worse.
"Oh...", the curator muttered-- I could detect a hint of disappointment in his voice.
With ease I lifted the painting, tossing it a little bit as if I was playing with a piece of styrofoam.
"Well, that was anticlimactic, don't you think?", I joked.
The curator had busied himself with a phone call, one I was glad wasn't a part of my job.
"Your service is fully appreciated, Mr. Wynbloom. You will have your payment quite soon. Have a good day", he said before turning away, not even wanting to look at the forgery.
I shrugged and put the painting back-- stepping back a bit to take one last look at it.
"Well, you might not worth $20 million, but you sure worth $5,000 for one easy job for me", I grinned before making my way to the exit.
I was almost hopping down the stairs of the auction house. Lighting myself a celebratory cigarette for a good day.
"Stanley, you've done it again", I patted myself on the back.
Who would've thought such strange ability could be used in such a manner? What I used to do for party trick now ended up making me almost a millionaire.
Hey if you think I robbed these people for charging them so much, think of it as I saved them millions of potential worthless purchase.
"Excuse me...", distraught, I bumped onto a man. He hurried away not even looking back or apologizing.
"Pfft don't let him ruin your day, Stan. Let it go...", I sighed, convincing myself.
I noticed somerhing fell off the man's bag-- a piece of paper, fell and floated onto the ground.
"He--hey, you dropped some...OOF!", I bent down to grab the paper only it remained still, anchored to the ground.
"What the...?", I frowned staring at the paper.
It was drawing, a childish drawing full of random colors. A man and a little girl was portrayed on it, bearing "Me" with an arrow pointing to the little girl and "Daddy" pointing to the other.
I squatted and lifted the paper with more strength.
"Come on, Stan. This is why you deadlift...HMMMPH!", finally the paper budged as I lifted it.
Huffing, I ran with it as best as I could trying to catch up with the man.
"Hey! Hey wait! You dropped something!", I yelled as I ran and ran.
Finally I could see him. As he turned back the weight of the paper finally got to me-- losing my balance I tripped and fell on my face, dropping the paper on the ground.
"Oh my god, are you okay?", he asked worried.
"Ye--yeah, I'm fine", I said getting up, rubbing my forehead which had been kissed by the asphalt. "You dropped something", I said pointing at the paper.
The man gasped-- hurriedly he picked up the drawing, stared at it for a bit before embracing it dearly.
"Oh my, are--are you okay?", I asked seeing the man started sobbing.
"Ye--yes thank you. I...I couldn't believe I dropped this. I would be destroyed had I lost it. Thank you...thank you, young man", he took my hand and shook it, he was full of gratitude.
"Oh...no problem at all...", I said feeling awkward not expecting his reaction.
He helped me on my feet as I dusted myself off. Having my curiosity piqued however, I asked.
"If you don't mind me asking, whose drawing is that?"
The man wiped his tears off, looked at the picture again, and looked up to me-- this time with the brightest and saddest smile I've ever seen.
"This is my daughter's drawing. It's...it's the last thing she did before she passed away. Cancer...she was 5 years old", the man explained.
My heart dropped. A wave of sadness went by me.
"Oh...I, I am so sorry...", I muttered.
The man shook his head, as if saying not to worry. He looked at the drawing again and showed it to me.
"Layla, my daughter. She was the brightest child I'd ever seen. She was my light, my everything. With what time she had left she made me this drawing...
*I don't want you to feel alone, daddy. This way I'll always be with you*, she said to me"
I could feel my eyes welled up, now understanding why the drawing held such weight....such value.
"Anyway, I don't want to take more of your time", the man said. "How can I ever repay you? If there's anything you need..."
I raised my hand, stopping him.
"No need, man. It's alright. There's nothing you can give me for repayment", I said looking down at the drawing again. "Don't lose it again, it's a treasure", I smiled.
Smiling, the man nodded before walking away giving me one last wave goodbye.
I stood there, looking at him slowly fading away in the distance. Chuckling, I lit up another celebratory cigarette.
I learned something that day, unexpectedly. Monetary value isn't the only worth you can put on an object, after all as they say-- time is money. And a loved one's last minutes on earth...they simply are priceless.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: grammar
|
I love my girlfriend. Really, I do. But if I have to explain this to her one more time, I'm going to lose my fucking mind.
Privya is sitting in the co-pilot's seat next to me, but she's not staring out the front of the spaceship. She keeps glancing worriedly back over her shoulder, at our... special guest.
"I don't know, Titan. This seems wrong."
I follow her stare, to the little raccoon-ish looking alien, sitting on the metal floor behind us. It didn't used to look like a raccoon, when we picked it up. It's doing its best to transform into one of us, though.
When we picked it up, it looked more like a blob of pink jelly with eyes. It could fit in the palm of your hand. The guy I bought it from said it was a couple months old: semi-sentient, not quite a Federation-protected species, but at least there was a light on and somebody home in that watery brain.
Now, it looked like a foam doll left in the microwave too long. It was swelling and bursting in the wrong places, its eyes weirdly big for its face, its back all hunched and lumpy.
"Nah," I say. "That's just what it does. It's like a really shitty, intense chameleon. I asked for a raccoon one, so it'd have those little hands, but I didn't think it would be, uh... horrifying."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
I glare at the black of abyss of space before me and some part of me genuinely wants to hop in the airlock and tell Privya to finish her research already so I can time travel back to a version of me who has the energy to chase this argument in circles.
The last time I said something like that, Privya locked me out of our sleeping cabin, and I spent a sleepless night in my pilot's seat, cursing that I never got the busted recliner repaired.
"We're just going to a nice little storage box on an obscure moon and picking up some merchandise. That's it." I give her a tight-lipped, crazy-eyed smile. "Remember? Just some nice, cute Alvurian plush toys. Cute little creepy alien souvenirs."
"Right. Cute little creepy souvenirs full of drugs."
I smirk sideways at her. "You can't act that surprised. You are dating *the* Titan A--"
"Don't say your full name. Please."
"...babe, that's, like. Kind of my thing."
"Okay, fine. *The* Titan Armstrong, *the* master stardust smuggler who lost his super important, super secret shipment in one of the most heavily-guarded shipping checkpoints in this galaxy. What's your grand plan when you get caught?"
Privya pillows chin in her hands and gives me a syrupy-sweet smile full of a smugness that instantly pisses me off, because she's right. She's winning this argument. Just like the last time we had it.
"Easy. We won't get caught."
"*Titan*."
I reach over and squeeze her hand, reassuringly. "Relax. I already paid off the manager there. We're going to get in, bring our little buddy in to help us find my stuff, then get out. Everyone's happy. It's foolproof."
"You use a very liberal definition of that word."
I lift her hand to kiss her knuckles. Usually that makes her smile, but this time it only makes her pull her hand away and glare out the window.
"I'm telling you," I say, "it'll be fine."
It has to be. That shipment was worth a hundred grand, at least. If we can't get it back, I'd better fucking hope Privya can work a time travel trick and get me out of this shit before I ever got myself stuck in it. My producer is a patient guy, but the last dealer who shorted him ended up as a floating ice-corpse, spinning in the gravity-pull of my producer's own private moon, like a warning.
Look, I once saw a dude get sucked out of a space-vac. His fucking *eyes* exploded. I'm not ready to know how that feels.
A couple weeks ago, I stopped by the wrong shipping vessel to pick up a delivery from my usual producer. The pilot was baffled as hell, and before I could figure out that I got the serial number off by just one number, the transport ship I was really looking for was already gone -- carrying a hundred pounds of my stardust with it.
Usually, I just pay the producer back with whatever I make off selling his shit. But that assumes I have shit to sell.
"It looks like it's just a little baby," Privya says.
"She. I think." I look back at the alien sitting on the metal floor. I offered it a pillow when we first took off, but it just started eating it, so I had to put it away. "Anyway, the guy said they age like goldfish. So it's really a young adult. Probably hungry for the freedom of the open air."
"Oh, shut up." Privya scritches its uneven ears. "What *is* it, anyway?"
"A Morphus. An exotic pet. They were bred for traveling circuses to come to planets like ours. But it's just got coded DNA. It can lift anything, except for shit that's valuable to whoever's holding it. Even flexible enough for corny, sentimental meanings of that. Makes a great sideshow. And for us, it's a perfect stardust detector."
Privya stands up and turned to the little creature. She frowns at it and picks it up. It's looking a bit more raccoonish and a bit less horrific space gremlin. Barely.
"Aw," she tells the Morphus. "You're starting to look almost cute."
"Don't lie to it."
"It's definitely cuter than you." She must be starting to relax, because that teasing edge to her voice is back. The one that means she's a little less mad at me. "So if it can pick you up, you're worthless to me, right?"
I grin at her. "Just wait until my ship weighs more than you, babe."
Privya punches my shoulder, but that smile on her face means I'm forgiven, for now.
"Okay, Titan Armstrong," she says. "If you can pull this off without either of us ending up dead or in a Federation prison, I'll admit you were right."
"That's all I ask."
I flicked open my navigation system and tapped in the shipping container's coordinates. "Ready for the jump?"
Privya runs her fingertip over the Morphus's nose and says, "I think I'm going to call him Skippy."
"Great. You and Skippy hold on tight."
I punch the ship into hyperdrive, and then we're off, in what is probably my stupidest plan yet: get in, get my stardust back, and get to selling this shit before I'm another floating icicle ringing my dealer's moon.
I'm Titan fucking Armstrong. This should be a piece of cake.
°°°
[**Part Two**](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n8vugg/wp_you_have_an_ability_you_feel_an_items_weight/gxl6gim/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
P.S. I've written a few stories with this guy, so hopefully this makes sense even if this is your first time seeing him. If you wanna read earlier stories with him, here are the ones I've written: [Story 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mwlm14/wp_the_alien_diplomat_showing_you_their_planet/gvj8ilb/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n2w3jg/wp_you_find_an_abandoned_altar_in_the_middle_of_a/gwmt4al/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n5vsva/wp_aliens_have_captured_you_and_placed_you_in_one/gx49b5u/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), [Story 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n6vosx/wp_youre_the_main_exhibit_in_an_alien_zoo_little/gxaiond/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3)
| 2021-05-10T00:58:50
| 2021-05-10T00:18:04
| 714
| 92
|
[WP] You were born with Heterochronoia - one eye can see 5 seconds into the future and the other sees 5 seconds into the past.
|
"So what's it called again?" She asked as I shrugged my shoulders. It feels like I've had to explain it a thousand times now during this blind date alone.
"It's called Heterochronia--my left eye sees five seconds in the past, and my right eye sees five seconds in the future."
She nodded skeptically. "Right. But if that's true how are you, you know?" She gestured with her hands going back and forth, "Like talking with me right now."
It was a vague question, but I took a stab at trying to answer her question. "What do you mean? Like how do I avoid getting temporally disoriented?" She nodded and shrugged. "Well one eye sees five seconds into the future, and the other sees five seconds in the past. So when I have both of them open one sees five seconds into the future of the past and the other sees five seconds in the past in the future. As long as I keep both my eyes open it kinda just evens out." Her face changes to a look of confusion.
"So really you just see in the present?" She said with a smile on her face.
"That's what the opthalchronologist told me." She laughed shaking her head. I must have sounded insane to her. Just to check I closed one eye, but then quickly switched to the other.
"So what's it called again?"
Geez, sometimes it gets hard to tell whether I'm seeing seconds in the future or reviewing something in the past.
|
I never cared enough to know his name. But everyone knew who he was. He arrived a few years back in our town, with nothing but well worn clothes and a full gym bag. He was just unusual and harmless enough to be mocked by us children. We mocked his slow demeanor, his inability to dodge our balls, but most of all, we mocked his eye-patch.
I won't lie, I was just as bad as the others. Cruelty is such fun when shared with friends. And yet as the others scattered, bored of torment, I often lingered, fascinated. All the adults I knew cared about their jobs, their jobs, and "making it work". But the man with the eye-patch seemed detached from our reality. I imagined him seeing the world like an old computer, reacting to each button click five seconds too late.
As I was lost in these thoughts, I was startled by the sight of him staring at me. For a moment he kept his gaze fixed upon me, then seemed to jump in surprise, mirroring my reaction.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you"
His courtesy surprised me. We had been so cruel to him, at least it seemed so to me, so why would he speak with such kindness? In my confusion, I forgot all my manners and blurted out the question that was most on my mind.
"Why do you wear the eyepatch?"
His single blue eye looked me up and down, then looked far behind me.
"Tell me, do you think anyone can know the future?"
I hesitated. Was he testing me? Making sure that I was not so childish as to believe in magic? But surely you could tell some part of the future. You can always tell that the sun will rise and the tide will rise. Or can you?
While I hesitated, he continued, "that's right. Nobody knows for sure. We can remember what has happened, but what will come will always be a mystery. Or at least it should have been."
"You mean it's possible to see the future?"
He looked at me sternly, "the future doesn't exist, boy. If someone tried to see it, well... it's not something he could describe in words. Maybe if he was a poet, which I'm anything but." His eye shone with a tiny speck of humor.
I was confused and ready to write the man off as a lunatic. But I had a smaller mystery I had to unravel.
"Can you take off your eye patch? Just for a second"
All the light once again left the man's eye. "I will take this off only once for the rest of my life, and after that it stays on as long as I draw breath. When I take it off it will be either the greatest or most hideous moment of my life. Sorry kid, but chit chatting to you isn't either of those"
"But how can you be sure? How will you know the moment is right?"
"Oh, I'll see it coming"
| 2016-12-19T12:14:40
| 2016-12-19T11:40:44
| 24
| 17
|
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other.
|
Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one knew, that the other one too, planned to end their fate.
Jill was late, late for the date, when she lost control of the car. The tires were slashed, but there was no crash-Jack hadn’t planned that far.
Jack was fine, until his wine, had a lil’ something slipped in it. Then, thought Jill, she’d get her kill, but just a spill, and that was it.
They left there soon, past afternoon, when no light could be seen. Both thought then, how lucky they’d been, for the perfect time to do the deed.
Two knives were drawn, and each one saw, the same ideas within. Then, they both knew, the other one too, must be the same hidden.
Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one dead, when the date did end, and true love was found thanks to fate.
EDIT: The story I told, it has earned me gold, and I don’t know what else to say. Like Jack with Jill, my spirit you filled. Thanks for making my day.
|
((Sorry for spelling and grammar errors, I wrote this from my iPad))
Abigail wrapped her arms around the bicep of her new tinder date, resting her head on his shoulder as they walked the waterfront. The sun creep behind the horizon, letting way to moonlight gently reflecting off the subtle waves of the sound. "I had such an incredible time tonight Dusty.. Dinner was excellent, I hadn't tried crab in that manner before." She giggled lightly, "Those last few drinks really hit, do you mind if we sit down somewhere for a moment?" Abigail cockily smiled, she hardly drank a drop but playing drunk would get her what she wanted.
Dusty cracked a half grin and found a spot that opened to small pebble beach front, pulling his arm up to create a hook on which he could lead the petite woman to the quiet spot on the already desolate beach. Watching as Abigail ran ahead, his eyes roamed her body. Hips that smoothed into a cinched waist and a subtle bubble butt from working out, her raven hair nearly reaching it. When she flipped around at a spot she found, her breasts glistened in moonlight, leaving Dusty to feel very aroused.
Smiling at the talk drink of water working his way over to her, Abby smiled brightly for she found the absolute perfect spot. Their was a large log blocking most of their view from the waterfront, and the gravel was soft here with most of the rocks being kicked off by pedestrians who walked the front earlier in the day. "You are so beautiful.." Dusty stated, his hand gently brushing strands of hair behind Abby's ear. He draped his jacket around her shoulders, and invited her to sit on his lap to enjoy the view.
Abby watched the waves crash against the pier as a small beacon of light off in the far waters glowed ever so lightly. She had her right where she wanted him, and she could feel the hardness of his lust beneath her. "Is that.. all for me?" She asked in an innocent voice. "Of course.. only if you'd have it." Dusty rubbed her back softly, pushing his palms into the muscles around her tiny shoulders. Flipping her tight body around, Abby lay on top of Dusty to share a moments passionate kiss. He grabbed the back of her neck a little roughly, and flipped her on her back. The kissing didn't stop as Dusty got more aggressive, his hand wrapping around her throats and his shoved his tongue into her mouth. Abby whined in pleasure, as Dusty slid a hand into his pocket. "Look me in the eyes baby and tell me you want this.. cry my name." He ordered Abby, who respectfully repeated.
Sliding a pocket knife, he flipped it open, using a finger to keep the sound from alarming his date. He shanked deeply into Abby's hip waiting to feel the thrill, something wasn't right though he felt immense pain. This enraged him as he looked down to see a knife resting in his own hip. Abby bursts out laughing, slipping out from under Dusty and standing near him. "You son of a bitch, you stabbed me." She yelped, pulling the knife from her hip. Dusty yanked the knife from his own hip, angrily jumping to his feet and taking a swipe at Abby. She jumped back, her feet now in the water ever so slightly. "Come now darling, you'll have to be quicker than that." She laughed, antagonizing him even more. Dusty bull rushed her, knocking her to the ground again, he straddled her lap. Quickly he placed his hands on her head and shoved it underwater. He whined in a sick pleasure as she struggled under his weight just to breathe as water filled her lungs. Abby grabbed some sand, and shoved it into his eyes. Quickly regaining her breath as he yelled and struggled to scratch the sand out from his eyes. She darted off towards under the pier, where it was extra dark.
By now, the pair had lost a decent amount of blood from their wounds which reopened every time they twisted and turned around the posts that held the pier above up. Dusty was getting rather impatient not able to get his kill, as Abby enjoyed the thrill of the game. He angrily stumbled around, starting to feel weak, yet equally as angry as Abby hid from him. As he rounded a corner, he was met with a knife into his stomach, he quickly shoved his into hers. The two held onto each other and fell to the ground on their knees. They gazed into each other's eyes, and shared a sinister smile. "You know dusty, I've never met a man like you.." "As I you.." Their lips met as sand and blood mixed with saliva before they collapsed in a pol of their own blood.
| 2017-10-27T07:49:40
| 2017-10-27T06:36:25
| 3,373
| 25
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
"Sancho! Onward to the lair of the despicable dragon!"
"*Jefe, that's a windmill!*"
"Nonsense! We shall skewer it's heart and make La Mancha safe once more!"
**Sancho Panza**, always one for a humorous sight, let his sire **Don Quixote, Knight of the Woeful Countenance**, ride off to do battle with the town windmill.
|
I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist.
| 2016-02-22T10:00:16
| 2016-02-22T09:31:34
| 82
| 15
|
[WP] Humans have always been feared throughout the universe for surviving in the harshest environments, drinking and eating highly poisonous drinks and foods as well as taming and even domesticating dangerous beasts. One applies for a position at your company.
|
“Unfortunately there is only one position available at the company thus we are going to put you through a couple of tests to see who would be the best fit.” CEO Dolgrump stated slowly lowering his sunglasses and adjusting his universal translator while reviewing the new potential candidates. His tentacle hurt from all the applications he had siphoned through this past week but hard work gets results, especially when you have others do that work for you.
That's how he had built this company from the ground up, having establishments on Vertron, Especia 5 and were even planning and opening a new location on Pluto in the next quarter. Before he could do that, apparently they needed to diversify the workforce a bit, typical of the HR Department and for new Intergalactic Empire Workforce Rules and Regulations.
&#x200B;
It came down to three candidates, a Bolgerion where its width matched its height and had the skin of a dying orange volcano. A Vermule that could be a distant cousin of a typical houseplant except with too many eyes. And a Human, those disgusted Dolgrump to his core. They were blank, featureless skin, a void of a race and it was unsettling. It was like befriending a black hole, an essence of destruction and he would not have the likes of that in his company. All he had to do was assure the hiring process was the worst imaginable and the Human would have to drop out of the race.
&#x200B;
“Thank you, sir, for the opportunity, I am happy to try my best.” The Human said giving a slight bow towards the CEO.
*“How disgusting!”* Dolgrump thought to himself. Saying *thank you* without receiving anything, *happy* without getting the job. This Human is certainly a force of nature that just does not care for anything.
&#x200B;
The tests did not go as expected as the horrific Human excelled at every physiological strategy CEO Dolgrump tried to pull. The plan was to use the banned Intergalactic Empire Workforce Mental Stress Test to wither down the candidate until the candidate felt worthless. It was banned for being considered too cruel yet the Human was not affected. Were they too insane for mental attacks? Dolgrump even used the long forbidden “What Do You Consider to Be Your Weaknesses?”. The Human had a list of things to say splurging out hypnotic words about *working too hard* and *being a perfectionist*. If these were their weaknesses, Dolgrump could not imagine their strengths mixed with their unpredictability. The girthy Bolgerion bowed out of the competition after hearing those answers from the Human and the Vermule went insane from the interrogation.
&#x200B;
With only the Huma left, Dolgrump was getting desperate and needed to stale. The best way he knew how was to ask for the candidate to gather information about their lives, past employment, living situation, and anything he could think of. That information would be locked under the Intergalactic Empire Mainframe and gathering that information from across the galaxy manually would take forever. It was perfect!
“Of course, I have my portfolio right here.” The Human said handing a binder to Dolgrump. “My references are also up to date.”
Dolgrump felt as if there was nothing that he could do to break this Human monster. Only an abomination could excel in the most devious tactics of the workforce.
“Ummm, perfect.” Dolgrump said cautiously, grabbing the document and the flipper through the tomb of an unknown language.
&#x200B;
He felt as if he had no choice, Dolgrump had to hire this candidate but the battle was not over, he could get this creature to break and go insane forcing HR to allow the firing of the Human. They would force the Human to work 3-day cycles a week to miss work to break their soul, force them to constantly leave their station to go on explorations and excursions to break their body, and even continuously change their work position up the corporate ladder to break their mind. This Human won’t survive.
|
Humans. Strong but idiotic. Always ready to kill themselves for something that does not exist. Always ready to go extinct by themselves.
I sat down on my chair reading the resume of Samuel Williams. Born on Keplar-Moon-56. Transferred here, Noatuk. Nice education. Well, he didn't know that this wasn't a normal company. It was a military company. We just named ourselves Noatuk City Bank to be secret. We maybe a private company but we are authorised by the local militia.
"Samuel Williams, do you know that this isn't a bank?"
"Why do you think I wrote that I was in the Moon-56 Militia there?"
I look down at the resume and there, at the bottom left corner. 7 years in the Moon-56 militia and Human Bootcamp training.
"What missions have you been on?"
"I liberated that moon there."
Samuel points at a near by planet. Noatuk-Moon-1.
"Those Southern Noatukians were fucking crazy. Ruling over them like a commie leader."
"What the fuck is a comm- never mind"
I sit baffled. This was a Friday. I wanted a free weekend. Now it's going to be hecking busy.
"We are going to send you on a mission in Belarius-Planet-77-Goldilock. We need you to extract files related to the insurgents there. It is in their primary bunker at these coordinates, **25.029561, 55.155731.** Don't let me down."
"Sure boss. Aye, can I have a can of Mountain Dew?"
I gasped at this. Mountain Dew was only to be drank distilled from sugar. Sugar is poisonous to us.
"It ain't poisonous to me." Samuel said almost reading my mind. I pass him it carefully. He leaves. I sit there thinking in my chair. I just gave him our most difficult mission. Many people were killed attempting it. I just have a feeling he won't. HE'S A HUMAN.
| 2020-06-15T21:45:38
| 2020-06-15T20:44:00
| 462
| 110
|
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
"Okay, Jenny lives nearby. Let's see here. Wow, she's really cute. No kids. Likes to read, go to museums, play games. No way, she's into trains? I love trains. Are profiles are really in sync. This is awesome. Wait, what's this? Her score is -500? Alright, click here to see why...
To view this person's contact information and score please click 'subscribe to match' above. A small transaction will be charged to your account. Oh come on!"
|
It had been a lovely date with that woman. Her eyes were that of the shimmering sea, her laughter was horrifically angelic and her hair was frizzled. Ironically, it made him feel electrocuted.
He was just leaping over fences and gates after his date waved him goodbye. Strangely, there was something about that woman who made him feel intrigued by her state. He was a seasoned individual who knew exactly how to make others believe what he wanted.
It was for the greater good, after all.
He was always the man with the gun. The man who hunted others for his own personal gain. Inside, he did not desire to do that but he knew that he had to. It was either them, or his family.
And god, did he not want his family tortured to death.
Of course, he had managed to steal that ever-so-intriguing card that conveyed the score. "The Death Score" he called it. Who would be so melancholic to look up their score when you can steal it instead? A metallic chuckle was emitted from his body of flesh.
He gazed at the card with a curious glance. That urge of urgency was making him very, very curious. With a microscopic grin, he opened the card and looked.
He froze.
"Negative Five Hundred?" His bated breath had finally managed to surface from his throat. His eyes blinked with disbelief at such a preposterous score. He stopped running, leaping or emitting any noise at all.
He felt dumbstruck. He felt as if the woman struck him with a strike that blasted his world into smithereens. He looked into a corner and then hid for his life.
It was said that when those individuals that scored as low as that score, they were dead. They were supposed to be deader than the dead corpses underneath his house. Deader than the skeletons he buried after hiding them in the closet.
Suddenly, he heard laughter.
He turned around as the blade descended onto him. The last thing he knew, the smile of somebody he thought he knew.
| 2016-09-24T11:42:56
| 2016-09-24T11:35:10
| 33
| 13
|
[WP] You are death row's last meal chef. Today's condemned prisoner killed your daughter.
|
I stare down the prisoner, the one who murdered my daughter. I have been thinking about moment for years. Should I take revenge on my daughter's murderer? This was my first instinct, but it wasn't what she would have wanted. I still haven't decided when his request comes in. Spaghetti with meatballs. It reminds me of the last meal my family had together. I prepare the meal in a daze. An hour later, I walk into the cell with the meal. I clear my throat and begin my speech. "You murdered my daughter and tore apart my family. My wife left me, and I haven't seen my son in 10 years. I wanted to hurt you, but my daughter was merciful, so I will extend that mercy to you. I want you to know that I forgive you." His eyes water. He says the four words that will be his last. "I love you Dad."
EDIT: words
|
This is my first entry so go easy on me guys.
-----
I continued spreading peanut butter and jelly onto the bread.
This was his last meal. His last meal, and he asked for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a cup of orange juice.
I was choking up again.
He killed her. That bastard killed my only family I had left. My beloved daughter.
She looked just like her mother. With completely black hair, and a sense of love no one else had. She was an angel, and that monster took her away from me.
I closed up the last of the three sandwiches.
Slowly taking out something from my pocket, and setting it gently on the tray that would be delivered to the convict, I smiled. She would be avenged.
The tray was sent to him. He was laying on a cot, but quickly jumped up when he saw his meal.
He had a terrible smile. One any person would want to punch.
"I hope you enjoyed making my last meal," he laughed, "I have a sophisticated palette."
My eyes were burning.
"Do you know who I am," I asked.
"Yeah the chef. The jerk that is stuck cooking for people like me," he laughed again.
"I'm more than just that. I am the father of the woman you killed."
His smile faded.
"You hurt the one thing I cared about," the tears were falling down my face, "she had a life ahead of her. She was twelve. She had smile that was amazing. She would never hurt anyone. When she would come home, and ask me-"
My legs gave way.
"She would ask me-"
There was not enough air here.
"If I made the bad men a good meal. Because- because everyone deserved one," I looked up at him, "even you."
He was staring at me.
"I don't want to hear this," he said sitting at the table with his food.
That is when he saw it. He saw the item I had placed.
He picked it up and froze.
After a long pause he broke down.
"I am so sorry," he blubbered.
I stood up tears still running down my eyes. Turning around, I left him.
I left him with the photo of my daughter. My daughter smiling.
| 2015-07-04T10:09:30
| 2015-07-04T08:43:08
| 514
| 90
|
[WP] The dragon looked down at the dwarf in perplexment. Many had come before to steal its treasure, to take its life, but no one had ever said that they would voluntarily add coin to his hoard. "So explain this investing to me again."
|
"It's mutually beneficial, think of me as a business partner and my gold as seed money"
"Seed money? I don't follow. Why do I need a partner when I can simply take your gold?"
The dwarf sighed, getting tired of having to explain basic economics to the dragon. "Well before you get any ideas, I don't have any gold on me at the moment. Killing me now nets you nothing. Now look, what is your plan? I'd imagine you want to sit here on your gold pile, wait for adventurers to come by hoping to take your gold, kill them and add to your gold pile. Maybe you need to go out at first to add to your hoard, but that's risky right? Other dragons, wizards, armies... they are all a threat, especially to a young dragon like you"
The red dragon bristled with anger at this statement. This lesser being daring to say she was weak or subject to threats was enough to warrant death alone. Yet she knew that there was truth to it. She was young, and small by dragon standards. Her hoard reflected this, barely the volume of a human barrel.
The dwarf saw the change in disposition of the dragon and hastened his speech. "It's easier fighting in your lair, right? Home turf, traps, controlled environment, etc. The problem is, not many are coming to you and those that do are not exactly wealthy. Do you know why?"
The dragon stared at the dwarf, intently listening now.
"The risk is not worth the reward for beings such as us. If I were to try to fight a dragon such as you in your lair I would need a lot of help and even then it's likely that my party and I would die. And with all due respect, why would I face the risk of dying for a barrels worth of gold? I'd wager that's why all the bones in the room haven't yielded you much wealth. Only complete fools would risk this, and complete fools tend to be broke."
"So what I am proposing is this. I will give you a portion of my wealth. It should be enough to fill the small chamber in the back to about knee high. I will then go out to the world and during my normal business travels I will tell those I deem acceptable about your newfound wealth. Capability, inexperience, and of course, valuables on hand are my criteria for this."
The dwarf continued, "They come here, you do your thing, and you get to add their wealth to your hoard. With the steady stream of adventurers, you will never have to leave your lair again"
The dragon eyed him suspiciously "What is in it for you, dwarf?"
"Ah, shrewd business sense, I like that. All that I ask for, is a portion of the profits. Say, 10% of all gold earned, and 100% of all other artifacts that are quite frankly useless to you. What does a dragon need with magic armor and talking swords right?"
The dragon smiled. "I think we can make this work"
|
The dwarf twirled the tip of his greying moustache, his mouth twisting into a sly smirk. The chamber-spanning azure dragon studied the intruder with indecipherable, golden feral eyes, even as it stood curled over its own hoard.
"Why, this venture is simple to understand: You're a dragon who has protected such a vast amount of gold and treasure for centuries"
"Roughly eight centuries, yes", the dragon grumbled tiredly, and judging from their relatively young age for one of its kind, his tiredness was not from old age. "I'd expected outsiders would've grown smarter by then, yet their folly is only surpassed by their greed"
"Well then," the dwarf spoke, stretching his arms, "what if, instead of attempting to steal your gold, we *added* our finances within your hoard?"
The massive beast whipped its tail against the hoard, sending coins flying into the air before landing altogether, the sound of clinking metal ringing throughout the chamber as a rain of golden coins.
"I grow tired of your circular explanations", the beast answered, its voice booming throughout the chamber. "And why would anyone forfeit their own property to me willingly? Your sophistic discourse grows ever emptier. You're but postponing your demise with hollow words"
As the dragon raised its neck and shuffled from its seat, the old entrepreneur couldn't help but flinch, his instincts begging him to run away. There were pillars close to where he was - maybe he could use those to shield him from a fire blast or wave, then rush for the exit. *No, that thing is already used to that tactic,* he deduced, the skulls and burned remains of its victims laying there as an unsubtle hint to what happened to others who also thought of themselves too smart and ingenious. *Keep your wits with you, Ulric, you old geezer! This strategy was actually working - I'd already be dead if I hadn't caught that bastard's interest. It's time to push further.*
"It is not an empty promise. It's a common practice we outsiders partake in, which we call banking. On simpler terms, you deposit your savings knowing that it is safely guarded - and where would be safer than within a dragon's care?". The experienced banker gave his to-be partner a sly smile once more.
"There is one thing you did not consider: Anything that comes in, never goes out. This is something I'm not willing to compromise", the dragon grumbled, closing the dwarf's mouth shut before he could protest or attempt to convince it otherwise. "Why would anyone deposit their savings within my chambers, knowing they are forfeit?"
The old dwarf brought his hand to his bearded chin. "What if I offer you more than the amount deposited?"
"Excuse me...?"
"Our services will earn us more than double - no, *triple* the amount, of what we receive. A banker's funds never goes out - every finance that is applied is invested, renting us our source of profit. In the end, you'll still get more than what you, er, generously allow our clients to withdraw"
An eerie silence conquered the vast chamber, one that made the banker's instincts protest against the whole venture and insisted to flee while the beast was seemingly distracted. His eyes studied his to-be benefactor with interest, hoping their silence wasn't an ill sign. Ulric tried to decipher the creature's eyes to no avail. He nervously scratched his hands against each other, his palms already sweating.
"It's better than leaving your vault alone in the open to go and pillage for more gold, and it's also better than having intruders attempting to steal part of your hoard all the time. If you agree with our venture, this place will not only be safer, but your work will be simplified tenfold - and so will your earnings, of course. There's nothing to lose and much to gain"
When the dragon sprung to its feet, stretching its legs to stand in four legs, sending a shower of coins down the hill of gold it laid upon, Ulric could almost feel his certain death creeping closer. The dwarf couldn't help himself but instinctively stand back a few steps away from the massive beast. "P-Please, consider my-"
"I already have", it spoke dryly. It felt like an eternity passed before the dragon continued its speech. "You have caught my interest, but know this: As soon as I grow unsatisfied with your proposal, I will make you regret ever tricking me and wasting my time. And I will only allow withdrawals when I receive double the amount that first came in. Understand?"
The question was more of a rhetorical one, he knew. If he protested in any manner, he'd soon join the charred remains of its victims, a testament to the folly of the hundreds who had came for hopes of riches but ended up as terrible examples.
"Y-Yes, certainly. It seems we're in agreement"
"Good". The dragon waved its head to the side in dismissal. "Now, leave. I expect good news from you before I end up regretting all this and decide to burn you and all the banks in this region to cinders".
&#x200B;
| 2019-02-17T07:28:44
| 2019-02-17T07:05:55
| 26
| 15
|
[WP] In a world where almost everyone is an unfeeling psychopath, those who can show emotion are shunned -- being able to display or feel emotion is considered a mental illness.
Those with "Emotional Personality Disorder" are seen as dangerous, unstable, and mentally ill. Write about this world, from the point of view of one of the "normal" psychopaths, or from the point of view of someone with EPD.
Have fun!
EDIT: I will attempt to provide helpful critique to any response if requested.
|
The less time here the better. I want to sit in the closest seat to the exit so when the bus stops I can get off quickly.
|
Lately I've been thinking about they day they took my father away. The look of fear on his face. . . and anger.
|
After a certain age, around 7 or 8, most children lose their emotions and are then on their way to becoming a normal part of society. Others on the hand, like my father, don't. It happens sometimes. I think it's called *Emotional Personality Disorder*. People with "EPD" are considered a danger to society and themselves because they have an extremely high probability to react illogically and dangerously.
|
I was a late bloomer myself. I was almost 9 before I "lost" my emotions. I remember a story I overheard my father tell someone about a coworker of his that just pretended not to have any emotions, the coworker was almost 28 before they caught him. So that's what I started doing too. I could overhear other kids ask each other if they thought I had EPD, it was the only thing I could do.
|
I pretended for years and years. Now here I am, a junior in high school, top 10% in my class. My future can be bright. I wonder how my father would react to me, emotions and all. He told me the truth about 5 years ago. That he had emotions and was so happy that I did too. He had been pretending for almost 40 years, tears ran down his face. He looked at me and then I realized. . . I didn't care.
So that's why I turned him in.
|
I had been caught up in pretending to not have emotions for so long I never realized when they actually left. I wonder if I could have laughed at the irony so many years ago.
And now that the bus arrived at school earlier than normal I can turn in my paper before class starts and I'll get full credit.
|
|
^(This is my first attempt. I would really appreciate feedback. Hope you enjoyed!)
|
Constant conversation flooded the classroom, the students discussing useful information such as how to bake the perfect soufflé, or rates of velocity and such. Childish topics. When he walked in, they all quieted down to whispers, topics instantly changing to the recent debacle in the bathroom. It was rumored that someone was sobbing, and being the upstanding and rational students they were, it must have been him. All was cut short when the professor strolled in, cool and calm as always, a slip in his hand.
"Two-hundred forty-three, please make your way to the infirmary," the school master spoke.
He stood up, blood draining from his face, all eyes on him. He stumbled, gasped, and was out the door begrudgingly, knowing what was coming next. The diagnosis was just a matter of time. The silence broke suddenly, as a single, clear voice, coldly stated the obvious, "Freak."
First time, please be gentle!
| 2013-11-20T19:28:03
| 2013-11-20T19:22:18
| 25
| 12
|
[WP] You've sent your Ancestry DNA off to be analyzed a few weeks ago. This morning two government officials knock on your door saying you must come with them.
|
"Mr. Lockheart", yelled the man at the door, "Mr. Lockheart, please open up, it's important!".
I wake up startled by the sounds of the loud voice and look at the clock. 6am. Ugh.
It sounds urgent however. I hurry towards the door and open it after looking through the peephole.
"Hello... who are you?"
A man in white lab coat is standing there, carrying documents under his arm - documents that look like the DNA samples I sent last week to that new lab past the clinic.
"Yes, how can I.. uh, how can I help you?"
"You mind if I come in?", he said, making his way inside before hearing my answer.
"Um, sure..."
--
We're sitting down now, I'm drinking coffee, he is having a RedBull he took from his bag.
"Mr. Lockheart, forgive me if I'm direct, but you sent your DNA to be analyzed last week, correct?"
"Yes, that's correct. How do you know that?"
"And the purpose of such an analysis was to see your ancestry, yes?"
"Correct again. But, how do you know that?"
"Well Mr. Lockheart, I have your analysis right here, and some things have come to light. "
"You really like avoiding questions. Okay. I'm assuming you work at the lab, then? But couldn't you just phone me about this, or send the tests directly?"
"No! Turns out that there is a big discovery in your DNA, and I wanted to tell you directly, to congratulate you and to let you know what the future holds for humanity! Part of the DNA sequence you sent seems to have remnants of some we thought was lost due to evolution over thousands of years."
"I don't think I understand", I said.
"Let me say it in very simple terms: Back to the time of our most primitive ancestors - I'm not sure when exactly, leave that to the historians - it used to be the case that mammals had a key sequence in their DNA which allowed them to withstand diseases far easier than us. Mostly this was due to the amount of exposure to the environment they had, and some other factors - I'm not sure which exactly, leave that to the biologists - but the point is that thanks to your DNA we now have the key to reproducing this sequence in a lab environment! Thiscan allow us to, someday, create vaccines to cure heart diseases, cognitive degeneration, fevers, Parkinson, Aids - who knows, the sky's the limit!"
"Wow! That's amazing! Jesus... And am I gonna get some kind or remuneration for this?"
"What? No, sorry."
"Oh."
There was a silence for a while.
"Well, that's fine, at least I have that DNA in me, right? Meaning I'm immune to most diseases?"
"No. Not really. The sequence is there, but it's dormant, so... yeah."
"Oh."
Another silence. The man then shuffles opens my file and examines it for a few seconds.
"Oh, right, I almost forgot!"
"Yes? More good news?"
"Well, we definitely found something else while doing some extra blood work!"
"Yes?!"
"You have cancer."
--
More stories: [/r/TitanStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/TitanStories) - [Titan Stories](https://stories.titan.red/) - [Newsletter](https://tinyletter.com/titanred)
|
It's a warm spring day, green with leaves swaying in the wind, and bugs buzzing across the lawn. The two suits standing in front of me are really killing the vibe. They look like accountants, and yet they're strangely intimidating.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Please don't make this hard on yourself."
"I don't even know who you are, or where you are taking me. And I sure as hell am not going anywhere without letting anyone else know."
"Like we said, we're not kidnapping you. During a routine DNA test, something very interesting was discovered. Call your girlfriend, or wife, or mother, or whoever."
Shit, I don't have a girlfriend or a wife, and my mom is nothing but a drunk. This whole time I've been protesting and I don't even know who to call, or what an actual excuse might look like. My best friend Dan? He's alright. I get to dialing, pressing the screen slowly, trying to think of an exit route. Why the hell did I sign up for that DNA Heritage bullshit?
Voicemail. Of course. Dude's probably stoned and watching a rerun of office space. Fuck me. "Hey Dan, ummmm, this is a bit weird. Um. These two government agents, they're ahhh, they are going to ask me some questions and interview me. I didn't do anything wrong, it's just a weird health test thing. Agents Jackson and Smith with the" I pull the phone away, "what's your agency again?"
"Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division"
"Okay, so they're from the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division."
I don't have any more excuses and they seem to be losing their patience. One of the agents, a rather short fellow with an odd comb over, he keeps tapping at his watch. I pat my dog on the head one last time, eye up my messy living room and realize how badly I need to sweep the floor. Then I make my way out onto the porch.
This is bad. The one time I got sent to the principal's office in third grade, I cried. Never messed with Susy Perkin's crayons again. One of the agents opens the back door of their nondescript black sedan and I slide in.
There's a man sitting on the other side of the back seat. He's wearing a strange leather long coat, and an eye patch over his right eye. There are a number of scars on his dark skin and he's wearing a big grin across his face.
"Do you know why you're here?"
"Not a clue."
"That DNA test you signed up for? That's not real. It's a government program designed to look for genetic anomalies. We found an anomaly, and it could turn out to very important."
"What does, what does this anomaly mean? Am I sick or something?"
The man laughs, "Oh no, you're not sick. Far from it."
| 2017-05-31T12:36:41
| 2017-05-31T12:00:21
| 79
| 40
|
[WP] You are a senior student at a prestigious school of thievery. The only way to graduate is to break into the headmasters office, steal a certain object and escape from the school. Tonight you're going to attempt it.
|
It was rare that the _United States Thievery Guild_ would work with other law enforcement agencies. Their preference was to have as little interaction with other departments outside of the routine contracts.
The USTG was an integral part of the success of the United States. They stole whatever was needed to keep the country on top. When a certain Middle Eastern country started developing nuclear weapons, the USTG was put in charge with stealing everything related to slow it down.
That was one of the Guild's most proud moments. They stole the science, they stole the scientists, they stole the evidence, and then they even managed to _steal the buildings_. It was quite incredible, really. Other agencies would have preferred that _something_ was left, but there is a wicked humor in the heart of thieves.
There was another time they managed to have one of their own steal an _election_; they weren't even asked to do that one. That one was just a show of power. Harmless, really, they swore.
Tonight, the Guild had to call for help in an investigation. Something had gone very, very fucking wrong.
---
Jimmy McGraw was the bottom of the class. This meant that his talents were probably going to land him in something droll like corporate espionage against foreign industries. Something that was less important and more routine.
At least, McGraw was the bottom of the class until he opened his final exam paper. It was the same exam as every other student, curved to their grades to thus point. At the lowest of his class, McGraw's task was to steal _anything_ from the Headmaster's Office. Extra credit would be awarded for creativity.
McGraw smirked when he read the letter. Six years of underachieving _just_ enough had paid off.
---
There were two schools of thought for approaching the final exam: waiting for Headmaster Baker to leave the office and breaking in, or attempting to steal something while Headmaster Baker was in the office. They each had their benefits. Someone confident enough to attempt it while he was there was usually able to pull it off, though he had failed four students in his time. Four in a thousand was not bad, and he was proud of that number.
When Headmaster Baker heard a knock on the door and saw that it was McGraw he could not help but shake his head. McGraw was about to overplay his hand, he knew, and would fail. He invited McGraw in to sit and talk. McGraw was claiming that he wanted to talk about a prospective job.
Baker and McGraw had spoken several times, as Baker did with each student. He liked McGraw as a person. Amicable, clever, but simply not the best. He had a good heart for a thief.
McGraw opened the meeting bluntly after sitting down. "I'm here for the final exam, as you know."
Baker had never had a student admit to that. While Baker raised an eyebrow in confusion, McGraw removed a grenade from his jacket, held it up, and pulled the pin.
Baker jumped to the floor, under the desk; just in time for everything to go dark as his ears blew out from the explosion.
What Baker did not expect was to open his eyes again some minutes later. His desk, as a specially designed safe in its own regards, had taken the blast but the room was utterly demolished. He saw little bits of McGraw scattered about, and law enforcement everywhere.
He resigned the following week, haunted by sights of the bits of McGraw and the sound of the explosion.
---
Graduation day was somber and strange that year. There was no mention of McGraw at all.
Six weeks later, the board of The Guild received a letter.
> To the most Honorable Board of USTG,
>
> As you may have noticed, I have removed the Headmaster from his office without suspicion of thievery.
>
> Attached is a photograph of myself enjoying the beaches of Maui with the New York Times from four weeks after my 'death'.
>
> I believe, for my creative nature and the extra credit this will surely earn me, this will make up or the Incomplete for my final exam. I have heard that there is a Headmaster position open, and I am very interested in that.
>
> Kindest Regards,
> James McGraw
|
Ginds sat on his bed in the boys' dormitory. He was toying with his fingers, nervous excitement building up inside of him. He was sure the other boys were asleep by now but he had to wait a little longer, to properly sort out his plan in his mind.
When his watch told him that it was midnight, he slid a balaclava over his face and crept out of the room. The corridor was dark and empty, although he knew someone was lurking in the shadows, watching him. He set off quietly to the headmistress's office, looking carefully around for any sign of a boobytrap. The object lay somewhere in her office, maybe in a drawer or behind a book shelf. He didn't know what kind of tests he'd find in there but he imagined them to be complex and mind-bending.
On the eastern corridor, he saw the tell-tale signs of flying knives: the tiles on the floor were cracked. He jumped over them, arms spread out like a ballerina, but near the end he lost his balance and stepped on one. The knives, at least a hundred of them, flew towards him and he ducked and cursed. That'll cost me a few points, he thought.
As he continued through the half-darkness, he expertly disabled an alarm system, carefully made his way through laser beams and wiped his fingerprints on anything he touched. Soon he was in front of her office, out of breath. He stretched his hand out to open the door.
And then someone pushed him back, making him crash onto the floor. His eyes swam but he instantly recognised his rival's tall form. Venda moved forwards to the door but Ginds tripped him with his foot; there was a moment in which they both quietly struggled on the floor, punching each other, taking each other's balaclava's off. Ginds sunk his fist in Venda's stomach and as Venda rolled away from him, he dived for the door and was sure they'd woken the entire school with their scuffling.
The office looked normal, the desk was where it should have been, as well as the book shelves and coffee table. But of course it was a landmine of traps. He was about to step forward gingerly when Venda spectacularly tackled him and they both fell into failure.
The noise was incredible; Ginds thought his ears were going to explode. The lights went on and made his failure even more apparent. Venda, face swollen, was in a fit of panic, saying he'd done everything right, everything right. The sounds of many feet made the ground shake. Mrs Vanoyi, the headmistress, appeared in the threshold.
"Well," she said, looking amused. "*Well*..."
She closed the door, walked past them and manoeveured her way through the invisible traps so quickly, so gracefully, it was mind-blowing. Her body twisted and spun in a way that would have killed a regular old woman. She pressed down on a button lodged in her desk and silence and darkness were restored.
Her voice floated calmly through the darkness. "The fall of the two best senior students in the school. A pity. I must say, I had high hopes for you Ginds, Venda. But, instead of working together, like I had planned from the instant you walked into this school, you allowed your competitiveness to get in the way of what is important: to get the job done. Two thieves are better than one, I have stressed this many times."
Ginds was slient, Venda was sobbing uncontrollably. Mrs Vanoyi lit a lamp on her desk and began to write something on two separate pieces of paper. She handed one to both of them. Their grades and expulsion letters. Ginds managed a D, Venda an E.
"Give your parents my deepest regrets," she said, before letting them out, and closing the door.
In the morning, as the bus trundled through a woody lane, he decided that he wouldn't be easily defeated. As soon as he got home, he'd contact Venda, and they'd devise a plan, to somehow get that object in Mrs Vanoyi's office.
| 2016-04-25T08:46:22
| 2016-04-25T05:43:56
| 33
| 17
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..."
|
It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one.
| 2014-12-18T14:46:11
| 2014-12-18T12:57:51
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds.
|
When Xisuh's gandmother died, each of her daughter's daughters were given a gift:
For **Myrr**, who had shown promise in their father's rugmaking business *(which they all knew was a front for his smuggling, really)*, hers was Elder Nivur's money, a fortune none of them could have imagined existed. "So that is where the jewels went," Xisuh had gasped.
To **Yma**, whose beauty and devotion to her fiance Tarr Rhat had already cemented the family a position in the noble house of Lo, Elder Nivur's vast estate and earthly possessions fell to. "I never saw her wear half these clothes," was Xisuh's first thought.
But to **Xisuh**, who was neither the smartest nor the prettiest, the strongest nor the eldest, Grandma Nivur left a small clay urn, filled almost to the brim with a mix of wild seeds. "You were always my favorite," Xisuh imagined her saying. "I will miss our talks as my funerary boat carries me onto my next life. I would have you sit here and make me smile, but there is much work still to do in Kimon, my dear Xi-xi. Go, and bring life to the loam."
|
I have a memory of my grandmother sitting there with butter cup in her hand, dangling it in front of the chin of a small child - probably my cousin. I guess I’m sure she did the same thing with me, although I don’t have a direct memory of it.
“do you like butter?”
I remember the child laughing and grabbing a butter cup to shove up underneath her chin. Her asking “do you see yellow? because I love butter!”
I know now that the yellow is a reflection. I use reflections of colour all the time in my photography; looking at how light bounces from one object to another; seeing how objects become strange and unusual and different in different light.
I remember my Granny’s house: large, lawns - lush, rich flowerbeds. A beautiful wild Rose bush that she kept insisting on pruning so it couldn’t take its normal shape, and me with hands full of spikes, trying to help her put it into the correct shape.
I remember my wedding in the backyard.
I remember swearing and cursing. or rather, I remember listening to my prim and proper granny swear and curse like a fishwife. She would be trying to build something or make some thing and it wouldn’t work quite the way she wanted. It might start listing or falling over or just being not quite right.
I remember her yelling with joy as she saw the mole, her arch nemesis! she’d uncovered by accident, and was about to kill, “to take care of that ruddy thing”, but she couldn’t. It was too cute. So she put her spade down and walked away swearing and cursing.
I don’t know what we said when my family gathered the day after she died. we were stunned. didn’t expect her to pass quite that time, in quite that way. my dad, not knowing what to do, said “well let’s go get the Will, and we will read it together”
When he pulled out the envelope and started reading it and there was a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo.
Turns out that she left almost everything to my brother and my sister. To be fair, they would take care of her legacy quite well: my sister got the house; my brother got the money. My dad got a confused and puzzled look on his face as he turned to me and said “I’m not sure what to think of this - she says to my darling granddaughter, I leave my seed collection. Look for the little packet in red on the second shelf, at the southeast corner in my greenhouse.
| 2020-03-31T09:02:48
| 2020-03-31T09:01:37
| 24
| 11
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
Edward Sam M’boma didn't really see his retirement going this direction. The former general thought his last days would be spent watching his grandchildren grow old. However, here he was about to jump out of a Russian military aircraft over Raqqa, Syria. When the red light went on, 3 men in hazmat suits helped M'boma get to his feet as the rear door lowered. He could struggle, but what was the point? The end result would be the same. None of this was his choice, but he knew he couldn't fight it.
After he exited the plane, M'boma pulled his cord. It was the middle of the day and he had a bright red chute. There would be nothing secret about his entry into the ISIS stronghold. The former Sierra Leone general's job was simple. Get captured and spread ebola.
|
The dust settled, and a lone black boot came slowly into Major Thomson's view. Heaving a sigh, she raised herself up on her hands, only to be stopped by a swift kick to the ribs.
'Stay down,' came a voice in a thick South American accent, 'or we will strike you down'.
'W-Where am I?'
'You're in heaven, Ms. Thomson. As the last of the Islamic State group, it is our duty to execute you.'
'No, please!' she screamed, to no avail.
'Starting launch in T-Minus 10...'
'Is that a - is that a *spaceship launch sequence*?'
It was then that she realised where she was.
Strapped directly beneath the thrusters.
And as she looked up to see who it was that had wiped out everything she'd stood for, she thought she caught a glimpse of papal robes and the cross.
Vatican City had done it again.
EDIT: grammar
| 2016-01-29T05:12:30
| 2016-01-29T05:00:31
| 1,829
| 144
|
[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...
|
My wedding was the event of the century.
Our people had waited for a queen for such a long time, and I was the first female born into the royal family in close to 200 years. 200 years without a woman of royal blood on the throne had meant 200 very hard years. It is well known among my people that there cannot be prosperity without one. I was born into a country run ragged by war, famine, and misery.
At my birth, there were festivals. Even now, the shops close down that day every year, and the whole kingdom celebrates. When my 18th birthday arrived, the festivities around my Summoning lasted an entire week.
That day will always stand out in my memories. I was so nervous—the object a person summons shapes the rest of their lives. I knew, standing shaking on a high tower above the castle, looked on by thousands of my people, exactly who I needed to be. Who I needed to marry. As I stood with my hand outstretched, I felt ready to be sick. All I had to do was summon the wrong object, and the entire kingdom would be crushed.
There was a crash from below, a window breaking. The crowd before me cried out, able to see what was coming for me before I could. I couldn’t tell if it was joy or horror. I started feeling faint. I closed my eyes.
I have never in my life felt the kind of relief that I did when I felt my father’s crown places itself gently into my outstretched hand. This was my life. To be a Queen. To serve my people. This was all I had ever wanted.
According to tradition, a queen cannot take the throne until her consort has been chosen, and with my mother gone and my father growing more frail every day, my wedding was set for a year later. In truth, getting to marry Jack was one of the greatest gifts of my high birth. I had known him since I was too young to remember anything, and identified him as my chosen husband before I was old enough to consider that I might want to think about marrying anyone else. There had been some raised eyebrows when I announced to my father and to the court that I had decided to marry him, but I was their first queen in 200 years. I could marry anyone I liked, even the son of the blacksmith. I loved Jack with every part of me. There wasn’t anyone else in the world I would like to have next to me on the throne. He had a calm, gentle strength, and a quick mind. I often thought that, really, he would be a better ruler than I. At his Summoning, he’d brought forth a pen—a common item, but one that often came to those of sound judgement.
Preparations for the wedding began in earnest more than a month before the day, and as there began to be signs of the day approaching, the celebrations began as well. There was scarcely talk of anything else. Finally, the moment arrived that everyone had anticipated since my birth—I would take the hand of my consort and ascend to the throne.
I was wearing most of the jewels in the royal treasury. I had never felt more at peace than I did, standing next to Jack at the alter, ready to step into my destiny. As the High Priest began the wedding rites, I felt so calm I thought I might just melt away into the floor. I closed my eyes, taking it all in. It was as if I was the only thing in existence. The world fell silent, peaceful. I took a deep breath. Somehow, inside the great stone cathedral, I could smell the summer breeze. I could hear the call of a bird. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Must be Jack. Pulling myself back to reality, I lazily opened my eyes.
The hand did not belong to Jack. I was no longer in the great cathedral.
Bewildered, I looked around to find myself at the edge of a field. There was a small cottage nearby. I was at the smallest, humblest party I’d ever attended. My heart began to pound as I saw the decorations and emblems around me that declared exactly what sort of party this was—a Summoning Celebration.
I looked at the hand on my shoulder, followed the arm up until it connected to a girl of 18. Her face displayed equal parts confusion, horror, and happiness. I felt sure that there was a similar look on mine. It had been so long since someone had summoned their soulmate that the possibility was widely believed to be a myth. Nobody spoke. Probably, nobody breathed.
She was quite beautiful. The girl.
The longer I stared at her, the more I felt something shift inside me. Something deep, fundamental.
A queen on the throne meant prosperity for a kingdom that had been suffering so long. Two of them would probably mean the greatest age of prosperity anyone has ever seen. And if we hurry, we probably won’t even have to plan a new wedding.
|
&#x200B;
The air was cold, and noticeably more dense. Another odd occurrence is that my summon didn't come yet, My birthday was months ago, but I didn't think too much of it, because I knew that it would come, they always do. But what kept me on edge was the atmosphere, I didn't like it. It felt too unnatural.
I was out in the back when it finally arrived, it had been a hard day for me, endlessly tilling land for the little amount of money it got me until I could afford a place of my own. I was minding my own business when I saw the sky above me darken, I looked up and I swear I saw a flash of light slowly get bigger. Confused I stared for another minute or so when I realized it had been getting bigger, I started to get excited about it, wondering if it was my summon. I jogged away from the fertile ground and waited as the shining light struck the earth.
Shortly after it struck I ran over to the small crater left by it, I looked back into the sky and saw that the sky had brightened back up again. I looked at the object left in the crater, I had been perplexed because the only thing in the crater was a small steel container, I opened at I saw a handwritten note on the inside.
The only thing that was written was a passage, it read
"There will be a purge soon, you’re the last one to receive a gift, tell the ones before you to prepare”
| 2019-09-18T10:56:31
| 2019-09-18T10:17:28
| 29
| 14
|
[WP] An indecisive man begins to use an old coin to decide which teams to bet on. When it becomes clear the coin never errs, the man begins to use the coin to make all of his decisions, with dire consequences ensuing.
|
It had been just a few years since I had started flipping this coin. The thing seemed ancient: I could barely make out the face of George Washington on the thing anymore. It was my savior.
How many times had I used that thing? Brazil versus Germany. Manchester City versus Real Madrid. New York Yankees against their age-old rivals the Red Sox. Each flip had gotten me thousands in those days.
That coin never let me down. When the money came rolling in, family started to leave, friends came only for the cash, and my wife couldn't stand the pressure. But this coin, it was my only friend.
It was.
But no matter what I do, I can't change deaths. I can't change the decisions of other people. There's only one thing this quarter can do, and that's telling me the inevitable. I knew about my mother's death three years in advance, and everything I tried never changed the flip's outcome.. My daughter's dead to me, but she'll be alive and breathing for around two weeks. There's nothing that I can do, and it kills me.
I hate it. I despise it. I abhor it. It's bought about nothing good in my life. It's my nemesis. My enemy. It's the devil.
In an act of final desperation, I take it into my hand one last time.
"Will I ever end up happy?"
With a flick of my thumb, a silver flash that will decide my fate appears in the air.
In God We Trust.
|
Having people fly him privately to Vegas was as new as was his well-tailored suit. In fact everything in his life was new, and it all came from this tarnished old silver coin. How and where had he picked it up? He remembered finding it in his pants pocket after a long night of blackjack and Ledaig scotch at the casino by his old house. From that moment on the coin and him were constant companions. He had never picked a losing horse or sports team when the coin decided the winner. Sadly, the bookies wouldn’t take his calls anymore. Then cancer struck and his wife got sick. His blood ran cold when she told him. In desperation he fumbled in his pocket, thought of his wife, flipped the coin, and it showed an old Venetian palazzo with the inscription felix culpa. He stared blankly as it sank in, tails. Money from his careful betting could buy the best cancer treatment the world had to offer, but it couldn’t break the luck of the toss.
How do you tell someone that you will not help them because your talisman told you to steer clear? His niece asked for help with college and he put together a trust fund together. Six months later she entered drug rehab. The trust fund was gone and her six month stint was almost up, yet the coin still showed tails. Was his lifelong dream of opening a brewery going to succeed? Would it be wise to reconnect with the family that now sent him cards on his birthday? Would dumping this damn coin in the Mariana trench or in the nearest active volcano keep it out of humanities claws? All of them answered consistently tails.
He pulled the coin from his pocket and flicked it into the air. The tarnished silver blur spun back to earth and he caught it with grim satisfaction. He looked down and it showed the old pallazo for one last time. “Such a small thing to cause such destruction”, he murmured and stepped forward. The coin was still gripped firmly in his hand as he boarded the plane.
I have been lurking in this sub-reddit for a while and thought I would try a prompt since I can't sleep, that feeling of tired but still completely wired. I am sorry for any grammatical errors. Any constructive criticism is appreciated.
| 2014-10-26T03:42:09
| 2014-10-26T02:01:20
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
Khaleri'huik knows very well when a bet will prove profitable. It's always been a talent of his, the reason he thrived upon entering the underworld. Usually, his job involves illegal fight rings, males and females starved and pitted against each other, fighting veak and pincer to come out on top. To come out alive.
In all his years as a professional, Khal has never been wrong in predicting who would win those fights.
But now comes the hightlight of his year. The annual intergalactic battle royale, where unsuspecting species are plucked from their planets and duel in pairs until the best species prevails. It's a difficult competition for a coveted reward: the Wise One will favour the winner's planet until the next competition.
Khal descends a flight of stairs to the cells of the competitors. His contacts grant him access each year, so he may gauge the odds.
Most species are cowering in their cells. These are the ones who will be picked off first, Khal knows. The weak links, the ones who will be judged unfit and will not survive the arena.
Some others are sitting, patiently awaiting the battle. Most of these are just plain brave, which is noble but doesn't constitute a winner. A couple others, namely the Gurgan and the Fritel, are species resistant to the mind wipe. That is, they come from civilisations who have known about ths competition from the very start and have prepared each generation since to win. To wipe the floor with the rest of the galaxy and win the Wise One's favour.
It's always one of these two species who wins, their advantage unbeatable by their dumbfounded opponents. Khal always bets on one of them. This year, he decides against the Gurgan. There is scarring on its hide which speaks to greater debilitating injuries - Khal shudders to even think of something terrible enough to pierce a Gurgan hide. Nevertheless, their kind relies on their outer armour to protect the fragile guts. If the hide is pierced, those guts will be permanently damaged and give the victim much grief, provided the Gurgan survives. So, the Fritel it is this year.
Khal turns to leave. He has seen enough. The guard's voice stops him.
'Don't you wanna take a look at the human, too? We got a real mean one this year'. Intrigued, Khal turns around. Humans are known to be the biggest weaklings in the Milky Way. They've always been the species that scares the most easily, water flowing on their faces as soon as they see half a pincer.
'Take me there,' he requests. The guard leads him down a corridor and to the left, to solitary.
'Right in here, Big K. We had to separate it because it was trying to whip the weak ones into a resistance. Plus, it was making a huge ruckus all the time and getting on our nerves'. Khal doesn't speak. Rather, he peers into the cube of one-way mirrors.
The human is tall, bulky, and dressed in black. It carries a polished black tube and... is that a machete? It's banging the huge knife into the walls, shouting something. The soundproof cell contains it.
Humans have been, historically, one of the worst bets in the competition. They were an easy way to lose a lot of money. However, Khal's intuition never steers him wrong, and there's something about this human. Something that simply screams 'winner'.
Khal thanks the guard and leaves. The next day he places his bet. He doesn't bet on the Fritel.
--
By the time the day of the competition arrives, Khal is stressed. He has staked a lot on his intuition by now, and there are people who will have his beak if he's wrong.
The first few rounds are weak species, probably killing each other by accident. The human is one of the last ones to be let into the arena. It duels some of the previous winners and prevails. Then, the Gurgan is unleashed unto it.
The human takes stock of the enormous Gurgan as it attacks. A sideways step and a clever stab of the machete right through the soft scar tissue, and the round is over.
It's not long before the human and the Fritel are facing off as finalists. The human looks its opponent head-to-claw and, with its voice picked up and translated and amplified by a hundrend devices around the arena, asks:
'Do I really have to kill Mufasa? Again?'.
The audience stays still. No one understands the meaning of the question. It would have gone unanswered anyway.
The Fritel growls, and charges.
The fight is longer by far than the one with the Gurgan, and more brutal. Khal has already started mourning his beautiful beak when the human, pinned underneath the Fritel and with no hope of survival, suddenly unleashes fire upon the species. The Fritel howls and falls backward, revealing to the audience a belly full of holes leaking purple blood. It thrashes a few times and stills.
The human stands, wiping its grotesque crimson blood from its face. It turns to the main box where the Wise One watches and bellows,
'You happy, you ugly motherfucker? Can I leave now?'
Khal listens absently to the Wise One grant her favout to Earth, commend the human and order for him to be mind-wiped and sent back. He doesn't really care. He only cares that he's much, much richer than he was five minutes ago and that his beak will remain attached to the rest of him for the foreseeable future.
Ah, yes. Khaleri'huik does indeed know when a bet will prove profitable.
|
I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful.
This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same.
The system display first-round results,
**58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang.**
The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life.
I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard.
*1. Human 17 Kills*
*2. Juronna 16 Kills*
*3. Erinos 9 Kills.*
The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy.
---------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
| 2020-09-13T17:46:18
| 2020-09-13T17:01:43
| 1,263
| 41
|
[WP] There's a few ways to tell if the creature's following you. The best is to look for evidence of an extra person, such as your friends getting a table for 5 instead of 4, or leaving a seat open in the theatre or pouring an extra cup of coffee. Your mind will scream that its normal. Don't listen.
EDIT: So I had my first ever bout of sleep paralysis last night, following a pretty intense nightmare. This prompt here is based on one of the aspects of the dream. Was an off-putting night but it feels super awesome to channel that into creative energy. Haven’t gotten to them all yet, but the stories so far have been awesome and its great to see cool spins put on the concept. Thanks for writing!
|
"Honey, why did the car rental company charge you extra?"
Judy, my fiance shouted from the other room. I set down the box I was about to start unpacking and came over to the kitchen table where she had the laptop open.
"What are you talking about?"
"On your bachelor party weekend. Your credit card statement says you paid for the rental on the friday when you left, but then there's this charge for an extra $200 on the saturday. Did you know about that?"
I stared at the screen for a minute, blinking a few times.
"Oh... Yeah, we had to upgrade to an SUV and they made us pay full price. The sedan we got wasn't big enough for the five of us plus our bags." I chuckled a bit "Ethan was convinced we could tie all our camping stuff to the roof, but I was not about to go on the highway like that."
She looked at me, confused.
"I thought there was four of you."
"Yeah, four *plus* me. Five in total." I reassured her.
She didn't seem reassured.
"Seriously?" She asked flatly, as if this was some kind of stupid joke I was making.
"Yes! I've known them since we were eight years old. James, Ethan, Dave, Me, and..." I paused for a second, before the name came to me. "Oh yeah, and James. How could I forget? Duh."
She glared at me, exasperated. "You said James already."
"No I didn't!"
She rolled her eyes turned back to her computer. "Look, it's been a long day of moving, and you and I are on our own here now, so I just want to make sure we have enough money for the first of the month tomorrow. I don't have time for any stupid games now."
"I'm serious!" I said, grabbing a pad of paper and a pen. "Why would I lie about how many friends I have?"
I started writing down their names.
*James, Ethan, Dave, Me, ...*
My mind drew a blank.
"Wow, I'm a horrible friend. What's his name? Come on, you know him." I asked Judy.
"Just stop." She said, not looking up from her computer.
I walked off into the other room, scratching my head, staring at the pad of paper. I could picture his face. Wait. Could I?
I sat on a box and pulled out my phone and went through my pictures. I had lots of pictures of me with my friends. Only ever four of us though. I scrolled back to the halloween party back in our last year of college. He was *definitely* there. We all dressed up in these hilarious kid-sized ninja turtles costumes and... he wasn't in the picture. And there were definitely only four ninja turtles. But I distinctly remember him being one of them.
Who was this fifth friend I was forgetting? I knew for a FACT he existed. We were five. We had always been five. When we were kids we called ourselves "The Awesome Five". Wait. That didn't sound right. We were "The Awesome Four".
I thought I must have been going crazy. Maybe there were only four. But then why was my mind telling me it was five? I sat there, going through pictures on my phone. Nothing. I sent a group text out to Ethan, James, and Dave asking them who our fifth friend was, well aware of how it must sound.
I didn't get a response.
I waited a few minutes. Still nothing. That was odd, because Dave is usually glued to his phone and answers right away. He must have been busy doing something. Either that, or he refused to answer because I was sure I sounded pretty insane.
I don't know. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I inhaled some fumes when I was painting earlier. I don't know.
After several minutes, I got up and made my way back into the kitchen. Judy was getting started on dinner.
"I think I'm losing it." I said to her, in the most serious tone I could "I swear I had five friends."
"That still?" she said "Well why don't you forget about it for now, Crazy-pants, and help me set the table?" She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
I smiled, putting it out of my mind for now.
"I love you" she said.
I opened up a box and grabbed three plates and three cups to set the table.
"I love you too."
|
Gary was just about to take his first sublime sips of his freshly brewed Matcha when… *Thud, thud, thud*. He wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour.
The man before him held a barely functional raincoat, a sheet of plastic really, it barely covered his upper body and head. His jeans were completely soaked. What really caught Gary’s eyes, however, was the bewildered, almost crazed look in the stranger’s face, like he had witnessed the death of his family but somehow been cruelly spared.
“My name is Ramiro Navarro, please,” his pleading eyes scanned the light spilling out from the modest home, hoping that it would be his salvation, “I’m being followed!”
Gary considered the man with great suspicion, but opted to re-sheathe the knife, “You may enter,” he beckoned, taking a few extra glimpses into the pervasive darkness before closing the door.
Ramiro, if the man was to be believed, thought himself haunted. He described the shadow in the corner of his eyes, an unexplained draft, creaking floorboards. A stranger that invaded his social circles, unnoticed, even by himself until after he’d already gone home, and then it was gone. It watched him, never speaking, sometimes smiling.
“Scotch?” Gary asked rhetorically, already pouring two glasses of the amber liquid.
Ramiro nodded and went on, “They didn’t know who I was referring to. They say to me,” he swallowed hard, “*who are you talking about, there was no one else, only us!”*
“I thought I was losing my mind, but my brain wouldn’t let me forget that silent gaze. I started feeling haunted even beneath the scorching sun, like someone was standing behind me, but I’m unable to face them, no matter how I turn!”
Ramiro gulped the scotch in one large swig and continued, “I started to notice things being misplaced, even when I was sure I had left them elsewhere. Positive! Tell me, how could things move by themselves?”
Gary let a thin coat of the liquid sit on his tongue momentarily, before he swallowed methodically, “How long?”
“For about a week, please, you must help me!” Ramiro begged, leaning so far forward on the divan that he was almost kneeling.
Gary’s eyes scanned through the cracks of the boarded windows and sighed, “I wish you would have made an appointment.”
There was a scratching noise, barely audible, it slowly travelled the length of the north-facing wall.
Ramiro picked up on the shift in Gary’s energy, then noticed the sound for himself, “It’s here? It followed me here?” He stammered, trying to slowly back into a corner opposite of the sound.
“No,” Gary pointed at the red ornamental carpet, “stand there,” his eyes left no room for debate, “if you leave this carpet, that death is on you.”
*****
Thank you for reading!
| 2019-10-01T11:13:59
| 2019-10-01T10:40:31
| 85
| 26
|
[WP] A person dies in the first sentence. Build a character we mourn for in the story, but make me hate them with the last sentence.
|
It all happened so fast. One moment, he was perfectly healthy and alive. He was on his way home after taking a morning jog. He was crossing the street to get to his house, when the brakes of an oncoming truck failed. It hit him and sent his body flying. In that instant, Ron Henderson died.
His wife happened to glance out the window only seconds after it happened. She saw the truck, stopped in the road. She saw the red stains on it, and on the road. She saw his lifeless body. Her stomach lurched, and she raced out the door.
A young man, no more than 20, stood over the lifeless body of her husband. He turned to her, panic-stricken, eyes wild.
"It was an accident! I didn't mean it! I-"
Ron's wife crouched over his mangled and bloody body. His eyes stared at the sky, sightless. Her body was numb. This couldn't be happening. It *couldn't*.
"Come on, Ron," she whispered. "Come back to me. You have kids. And you have a job. You're the CEO of Comcast."
|
I made my final peace with the world, and I couldn't help but smile as I pressed the trigger.
I don’t know how I came to this, probably inevitable. I hadn’t known my parents. My mother, from what I was told, a common street whore. My father, well I suppose it could be any number of a thousand different men who had their way with her. My youth was taken from me the day I was born. It’s amazing, really, that I made it this far. Some poor farmer found me on a doorstep in the back alley of the market and had pity on my soul. He and his wife did the best they could I suppose. It was only a matter of time before the drought came and forced them off the land. With no money and nowhere to go, they sold the only thing that had in the world worth anything, me. At the age of 5, I was forced into labor. Days upon weeks upon months of back breaking, physical punishment. A mining camp was no place for a child, but we were the only ones small enough to fit into the tiny crawl spaces to wire explosives. Too many times I saw flesh and limbs torn from the bodies of the other children, many of whom I had come to call friends. The tins roofs they put over our heads only slightly made up for the bed of dirt and mud we slept on. For years this was my life. No parents to hug me, no family to give love. I had resigned myself to this life until I met them. They were my age, fresh into camp, however a bit older than the boys usually brought in. They were different though. Our masters treated them differently, gave them better housing, better clothes, more food, and they inturn, gave these things to us. We looked up to them. For months this went on, we all became so close, I considered them family. Then one day, the guards told us our time was up. I had seen this before, kids aging out I always took it to be. I had nowhere to go, so when they asked if I would come with them, I naturally obliged. I was taken to a large house. I was bathed, fed, nourished, and loved. The elders in the house began teaching us, they taught us and loved us like we were the only thing that mattered in the entire world. They told us of a world beyond this one, where children like us ran, and played, and there were no mines and there was no dirt. There was no death, but only love and we would be surrounded by it forever. Then it was my time and it was said that those I brought with my on my journey, would follow me and be with me and love me forever. I wanted to bring with me the friends I never had when I was younger, so I found the biggest school I could. I waited until there were more children than I could count, took off my jacket, and pressed the trigger for the bomb strapped to my chest.
| 2015-01-29T16:40:18
| 2015-01-29T13:01:52
| 43
| 17
|
[WP] Two aging veterans (of whichever war you choose) happen to meet and get to talking. Only after a long period of bonding over their shared experiences do they slowly start to realize they were on opposing sides of the war.
|
I actually have a real-life story about this.
My grandfather served in the Signal Corps in WWII, in the European Theater. A few years after the war ended, he was back home getting his morning cup of coffee from a local cafe. The cafe was rather busy that morning, so the waitress asked my grandfather if he would mind being sat with at a table with someone else. My grandfather was a very friendly man, so of course he didn't mind.
Grampa's tablemate had a very noticeable German accent. They got to talking, and learned that not only had they both served in the war, but that they had been serving at close to the same places at the same time...on opposite sides.
When Grampa finished his coffee, he stood to leave but, before he walked away, held out his hand to his erstwhile enemy. "No hard feelings?" he asked.
The German man smiled and shook Grampa's hand. "No. No hard feelings."
|
I am stuck here waiting to be seen. Fortunately, I have found a seat all to myself, no one on either side. I slump into the plastic chair, and wait my turn.
*Now serving patient Teller, Hayden.*
God I hate that voice, so lifeless. There is something depressing about these clinics, so inhuman. They have no soul, no life. The tame, beige surroundings are taken straight from the nearest home decor website. The paintings, an eclectic assortment of donated images and bland stock photos. No creativity.
*Now serving patient Finely, Arcus*
Ugh, that voice again. Well I shouldn't say, "Human," anymore. Some ilk get offended, says we are discriminating against *them*. It's amusing how much can change in a few generations. I was raised fighting *them*, and now my grandkids are raised to make sure *they* aren't offended. Much to my dismay, the seat to my right is now occupied by another person. I was enjoying the quiet, but at least he's human.
*Now serving patient 210B99*
*Them* It's hard not to scowl at the android approaching the counter. My pointer finger curl out of habit, expecting the resistance of a trigger. I take a deep breath. That was almost 70 years ago, that's in the past.
"You fought in the war?" a voice interrupts my solitude. I look towards the source. The man who sat beside me. "Your trigger finger, it keeps twitching when you look at the androids."
*Now serving patient 08G667*
"Matter of fact, I did," I reply gruffly. As I take a closer look, I notice the features of this man. He appears young, near 25, but I can see him. His true self. It's the eyes, and some of trickier spots of the skin, like the knuckles, that never quite look the same. He is as old as I am.
"I did too," he doesn't wait for me to speak further. His voice has a digital quality, must have had to replace his vocal chords. "The lucky ones right? We made it out." His voice is too cheerful for my taste.
*Now serving patient Herbert, Gwen*
"I suppose we did."
"Were you there?" He meant one place, and one place only. Silicone Valley. Where it all began, where it all ended.
"Indeed I was. I was part of 008." His eyes went wide. There it is, the recognition. He knows what shit I went through, we all went through.
"Wow... that's heavy, you *are* really lucky then." He quiets down, as we share a moment of remembrance of that day. "That means, I have met you before." I look at him quizzically.
"I was there too, at Silicone. You may not remember me, especially after my," he looks down at his body, "treatments. I was basically a corpse then, barely lived. I lost many good friends that day."
"We all did," I replied. "We all did."
*Now serving patient 000002*
"Welp, that's me." He gets up and begins walking towards the counter. I think I can hear a faint whirring of bionics as he gets up.
"000002. *The* '02.' Of course you were there." I mutter to myself in disbelief, "You started it all."
P.S. First time posting here, and writing for a long time. Feed back is welcome.
Edit: Trying to polish a few mistakes. Still quite rusty.
| 2014-12-17T08:49:44
| 2014-12-17T07:57:56
| 41
| 13
|
[WP] Nations around the world are hellbent on taking out this journalist that has been trying to publish pieces about things that are supposed to be top secret. But for some reason, all attempts to silence this “Clark Kent” fellow have failed.
|
The director looked at the files. 15 assassination attempts. His agents assured that Clark Kent had at least drunk poison, taken a bullet to the head and been pushed off a building.
The poisoner died from his own mixture a day later, the shooter plainly disappeared and the pusher was found at the bottom of a ravine, spread apart by the force of the impact. This was getting out of hand.
Kent had published a paper about a secret satellite launch, it had been passed as a commercial launch but somehow he saw through it. Kent knew that the trajectory it followed wasn't the one officialy announced. Of course, everything was denied, but the damage was done. Amateur astronomers with too much free time on their hands jumped on the wagon and were pointing out night lights that should not be there.
This was just the tip of the iceberg. Before, he had written a vitriolic paper about slave trade and human rights violation. He nailed Saudi Arabia, China, American en European firms implanted in Africa and India. Nothing out of the ordinary, these were usual targets on the subject, but the photographs and videos he brought as proof were worrying. Appointed high-ranking government officials incriminating themselves, signing documents he had gotten copies of and more. Too much to be managed by one man alone.
Kent was a case bridging the cultural gap and bringing different countries together. Governments on every continent wanted him gone, secret services, media moguls and finance guru pooled means together to achieve just that.
And these idiotic rich didn't help. His secret service had enough trouble as it was, but now some bigwig thought that sending a hired killer would do the work where trained agents failed. Of course it backfired. Kent retraced the killer's path back to the bigwig, and in turn the director himself started to get an undesirable amount of heat.
The director could handle sightings of a flying man saving people. Daydreaming that put the focus away from him, he could not ask for more. But a journalist backed by a strong network of informants, obviously protected and able to see through classified projects was the biggest liability he could face. Who was Clark Kent working for? A country? Unlikely, he was nailing everyone left and right without apparent loyalty. Who was he working with? Who sent him videos and documents from across the globe when surveillance stated he stayed in America?
This followed a pattern easily recognizable. Bound to no nation, following a dangerous ideal, these were terrorists fighting with information instead of explosives, but terrorists upsetting order nonetheless.
The director's task was to protect the american people, shedding light on matters best stayed hidden did not help that. This journalist was dangerous, a problem for national security and every other national security on the globe it appeared.
Kent had to be dealt with, realpolitik had no place for an idealist like him. End of the story.
That's how the story ended every time so far, so why didn't Kent die like the others? Why did he kept on surviving? And why couldn't they get more intel on him?
It seemed like the director had found his very own boogeyman.
|
“MTF unit gamma-3 and misinformation units are at the scene” states the nervous intern that has pulled up a screen infront of the 05 council. “It appears that this Clark Kent has been writing and publishing our scp files” *nervous laugh from the intern* and we have sent multiple mtf squadrons to stop him”
“And if we are not able to neutralize him?” Asks 05-2
“Umm well dr bright has suggested that we send someone to talk to him sir”
*the door flys open and dr. Bright pops in*
“Hello mates now how about we show h 096 eh” dr bright exclaimed.
“Dr. Bright please sit down we need to discuss a certain issue with the foundations secrecy,” 05-5 states very professionally considering the fact that dr. Bright is wearing a thong. “There appears to be an
Unkillable person who is publishing our secret files, what did you have in mind”
“I dunno why m here to tell you to take down the list of the things I’m not allowed to do” dr. Bright states to the council
*05 council sighs and carries on*
“Anyway erm the mtf units have made contact” the intern says quietly “and they appear to be talking to the subject and he aperantly he is fine with keeping the foundation secret”
“Good, have the mtf bring in Clark Kent and this meeting is dismissed, but dr. Bright we have to talk” states 05-1
| 2020-11-29T01:49:23
| 2020-11-29T01:36:23
| 1,996
| 64
|
[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary.
|
**The Gooblin**
Gooblins (*goblina ectoplasimca*) are a rare sub-species of both the Goblin and the Slime family. Not naturally born in the wild from parents, gooblins are created when a goblin (*goblina mundana*) encounters a slime (*ectoplasmica mundana*) and instead of the violent demise of one of the creatures, they merge together, creating a symbiotic link.
The diet of gooblins resembles more closely that of a slime than that of a goblin, partially due to their inability to use their mouth to consume food^((1)), rather relying on breaking the food down on the molecular level in its slime. Gooblins are unable to process refined sugars, however, unlike their un-modified precursors. The current reason for this allergy is unknown. Gooblins are known to have a particular proclivity towards cheese, often storing it in their dwelling (typically a cave) and aggressively protecting it. Some have also shown a liking for alcohol, often finding it either in fermenting fruit or stealing it from human or goblin camps.
Unlike goblins, who live a highly social life and operate in tribes, gooblins are solitary and rarely leave their dwelling for a purpose other than obtaining more food^((2)). As gooblins are not created by typical procreation, they do not need to mate, further limiting their need to leave their caves, though some have been recorded to behave cordially towards visitors. More typically, however, intruders are killed and eaten^((3)).
Most curious aspect of the gooblin is their ability to operate machinery and technology^((4)) when given the opportunity to do so. This suggests a higher-level cognitive ability, albeit reserved for these operations exclusively and not other tasks such as problem-solving. There is currently no known reason for this ability considering that neither goblins nor slimes possess it.
&#x200B;
*References:*
1. *The Life Cycle of Peculiar Animals by Petri Flomdiss*
2. *Creatures of the World by Caco D. Dorkly*
3. *Animal Psychology by Skelli W. Azorius*
4. *Technological Advancements in Animal Kingdoms by Lily Rats, Esq*
|
The Makkipodo.
On a planet far away from anything really, is a beast called the Makkipodo. It lives a solitary life not often mingling with other Makkipodos. The creature stands about twenty feet tall at its full height, but is often found using both sets of limbs to propel it along the ground. These limbs have a strange woodiness seeming to be covered in some sort of bark, that cracks and creaks as it strides over the ground. It is thought that this is a protective element against the swampy environment these beasts favour. Anything that thinks to bite at the legs, will get a mouthful of bark and splinters for its trouble.
The Makkipodo has a large shovel-like mouth that it uses to scoop up the swampy water that it walks through, filtering out small plants and insects that it uses for nutrients. It has something similar to whale baleen, (See entry for Whales) that makes this process easier. In length, the head is about the size of a horse's, though almost as wide as it is long. The legs are double-jointed and spindly, bound completely with the bark as previously mentioned. Its body is long and thin, curled around and around, with marks that could have once been vestigial limbs, or perhaps given their shape, mouths. There is reason to believe that the Makkipodo was once an aquatic creature, but given the changing environment evolved legs and the ability to breathe the air around it.
It still must use the filters that it developed in the water, however, as the planet's air is thick with particles and dust kicked up by the everpresent storms overhead. The storms never drop water, though the ground is mostly swamp, whatever liquid must come from inside. However, those filters are not the most fascinating thing about the Makkipodo. No, that is its great ability to mimic sound. It has many full sets of vocal cords, not commonly found together in one beast and uses them to great effect. But not for itself. The Makkipodo has a parasite
(See entry below.)
The Okamakidop.
The Okamakidop only exists to live off the Makkipodo. It has no ability to survive on its own, and is passed from generation of Makkipodo to generation. Each Makkipodo has at least one Okamakidop in its life and may gain up to two. There seems to be no visible benefit to the Makkipodo, to hosting the Okamakidop so there is no firm evidence for a symbiotic parasitic relationship. However, a Makkipodo will quickly die if it is not gifted with an Okamakidop within three days after its birth.
The Okamakidop is a small creature, seemingly all eyes and mouth, with none of the connective tissue you would expect between them. It is attached to the side of the Makkipodo with small hooks, like fine wires, that puncture the skin without drawing blood.
While the Makkipodo is a peaceful herbivore/insectivore, the Okamakidop is an omnivore. It will eat anything and anyone that the Makkipodo can lure towards itself with the multitude of different sounds it can make. As soon as the creature is in range, the Okamakidop detaches itself and leaps, reducing whatever it was to a husk of its former self in an instant. No soft tissue remains, and even some exoskeletons have been destroyed. When the Okamakidop has been sated it returns to the Makkipodo and they go on their quiet way. This duo is deadly when working together, which means that both the Makkipodo and Okamakidop should be avoided at all costs, and any sounds you believe to be your friends, your family, a lost animal, or an animal in heat should be summarily ignored.
————————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more writing!
| 2022-12-11T13:12:53
| 2022-12-11T10:53:13
| 188
| 38
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[WP] A depressed guy moves into a haunted house with 7 demons, each corresponding to a deadly sin. But, they're all trying to help him get back on his feet; Pride helps with self confidence, Lust helps him get laid, etc.
|
"Alright, get in the car."
"Where are we going?"
"One last thing, kid."
"Oh, it's alright. You guys have done so much for me already. I don't want to impose..."
"Look, I get it. You're happy. You're looking good, taking what you want, *who* you want, and you're doing it at your own pace. Life's good, and you're ready to get back out there.
But I see it in your eyes. That little thread of fear. You and I both know there's someone out there who can tug on it and unravel all the work my brother's and sisters put in getting you back on your feet. That bitch is out there with your brother, and both of them would be perfectly happy rubbing it in your face. *Again*.
See? Just mentioning them has you shaking. So who about this? Instead of picturing them with their hands all over each other, grinning from ear to ear while they look over their shoulders laughing at you; picture them in the woods. On their knees. *Begging* you for mercy. Picture the look that flashes across their faces when they realize you don't have any left for them. When they see the shovel. Now open your eyes, stop smiling like an idiot, *and get in the fucking car*."
|
"Here try this suit, big guy. It would look great on you," said Pride one of my 8 demons. Yes, I live in a house with 8 demons... who are trying to help my depressed ass conquer the world. Ha! Ha! Ha!
It really is a riot, I'm sure. I've somehow drifted into an anime weird as hell but uplifting at the same time. It's good to hear a friends laugh again. It's been a while. Depression takes much from you but it does leave you with perspective an appreciation for how wonderful the world is, a gratefulness for those who fill your life with their light.
"I'm sure it would. Thanks for all the help, Pride. You have such an eye for these things," I say as merrily as I can. I try to keep the weariness out of my voice. I yawn.
"Sleepy?" winks Lust. "Carol tired you out."
"Nothing happened," I grinned back.
"No thing happenings. Things are sad, then."
That made me grin.
"Change, now. Stop distracting him, Lust! groaned Pride. Lust threw a summoned banana at him boinking his nose. Pride howled. Those two always fought. Despite this they were my favorites. They had a lust for living, such a pride in living I wish I could scoop up in both arms.
"Okay, okay," I said, grabbed the suit and scooted up the stairs. The Sins worked so hard to make me feel less sad. "Thank you," I whispered soft as a flower drawing together it' petals for the night.
I reach my room, on the first floor. Well it wasn't really my room. I've been house-sitting the padt three months. I thought a change of scenery would help with the tiredness. It hadn't but I had met the Sins. Friends were always worthwhile. If you can, appreciate them more.
I open the door, shut it and then collapsed on the bed exhausted.
"Tonight?" asked Acceptance.
"Tonight," I answer back.
It's just too bad that sadness isn't my problem. Life's beautiful but it wearies me. I can see it's happiness, it's worth, it's joy. I just can't touch it. I trudge through the days.
"I will explain it to them."
Silence fills the room. I wait a second in its stillness, thinking. I have one last favor to ask.
"I don't want them to be sad for me, or to love or live life any less. Life's beautiful. If it's beauty can touch you, embrace it."
She nods and I close my eyes in relief, then put on a great, big smile, and the suit and go out again.
| 2017-06-27T04:48:07
| 2017-06-27T04:00:46
| 44
| 14
|
[WP] Humanity has legalized dueling, however due to archaic laws your allowed to use any weapon as long as you can hold it. Write how well people take advantage of this during modern times.
|
The duel was scheduled for noon. It had taken a lot of work, but Michael had his weapon. Ivan had pulled through for him.
Michael walked over to where the duel was scheduled to take place, the briefcase heavy in his hand. He walked slowly, carefully, knowing this day could be his last.
As he approached the hill, he saw several other people waiting impatiently. His now ex-girlfriend Sandra, His former best friend John, and lastly, the referee, assigned by the local government to oversee all formal duels.
"Finally had the nerve to show up, huh, Michael," jeered John, his smug face begging to be punched. He kissed Sandra on the cheek as he said this, confident in his victory.
"I have my weapon," said Michael, quietly, motioning with his empty hand at the briefcase.
"You lost Sandra. Now you're going to lose everything," taunted John.
Michael smiled. It wasn't a smile of confidence, but a smile of resignation.
The referee coughed. "Are you certain this duel cannot be settled peacefully," he asked.
"No," replied both John and Michael in unison.
The referee sighed, and spoke, "then declare your weapons."
John picked up his duffle bag and removed a ridiculously oversized pistol. It was almost as if he was overcompensating.
"Smith-Wesson 500 Magnum. Recorded," stated the referee, monotonously.
Michael walked over to the referee, and released the two latches on his briefcase.
The Referee breathed in sharply, as he looked at the complex mess of wires inside the briefcase.
Michael closed the case, and looked at the referee.
"R-r-r-re-recorded," the referee stammered, his face now pale as a sheet.
John was too busy laughing and making fun of Michael to notice the pallor of the referee. He waited for the duel to start. He wanted to kill the man, to crush him like a bug, then walk away with the trophy, as he had done to numerous other men hundreds of times before.
The referee wiped the sweat from his brow, and started the duel, slowly backing away from Michael, knowing exactly what was going to happen.
Both parties took their ten paces. John turned and fired. The first bullet hit Michael in the shoulder, knocking him off his feet and onto the ground. The second bullet hit him in the torso. The third and fourth bullets were in his remaining good arm and his leg, respectively.
John took his time, walking over to Michael, confident in his victory, a smug grin on his face.
He pointed his gun at Michael, and asked smugly, "Any last words?"
Michael coughed out a mouthful of blood, and grinned.
He whispered the words, "Suitcase nuke. Deadman's switch."
|
We stand back to back, bristling with anticipation. I'm shaking a little, and my hand accidentally brushes his leg.
"I'm making it slower for that". I hear Dale's tobacco-infused spit sizzle on the hot tar. "You're a homewrecking piece of shit, Miles." The street is dead silent, and I can hear the rattle of the revolver clutched in his white-knuckled fist.
"I swear to god, I didn't even know until I saw the photos of you two afterwards. It's still not too late to call this off." No reply, but I can tell he still doesn't buy it. I know it's too late now, anyway.
The sheriff pulls out a clipboard and pen, licks the nib and begins writing.
"Dale McCullogh, butcher, husband of Mary, and father of two, do ya maintain yer right to challenge?".
"I do." There's murderous conviction in his voice.
"Miles Paterson, chemist, unmarried father of one, do ya wish to plead yer innocence to the charge of adultery?"
"No sir, I do not."
"Very well then. Ten paces."
We each step forward. His paces are brisk and deliberate. I try to make mine slower, more controlled. I need more time.
"Turn."
Sweat is freely flowing down my forehead. Is it going to work? What if I miscalculated?
"This is yer final opportunity. Is there anything either of ya want to say?"
Dale is staring intently at me. He bites his lip. I need to make sure. I struggle to start my sentence.
"D-ale...". I clear my clenched throat, to little avail. "Dale I'm so sorry I had to do this. I'm so sorry but I knew I had to do it this way. I'm so sorry." Dale still says nothing, but is bright red and trembling. I turn to the sheriff. "That's it".
"Well then. Prepare yerselves to draw on my mark, gentlemen. Three." Dale is shuddering, teeth grinding. "Two." I close my eyes and instinctively turn away. "On-".
Dale's revolver cracks once, twice, but the shots ricochet harmlessly off the tarmac at my feet. I hear the revolver fall out of his hand. I turn back to face him.
"What the *fuck*?" he whimpers. The sheriff looks on, disinterested. Dale is kneeling, one hand to his throat. A trickle of blood is makes its way from his nose, down to his lip, where it rests a moment before falling to the ground. Dale opens his mouth to speak again, but only manages to bring forth bloody froth. He falls slowly, and curls into the fetal position.
Dale's guttural final moments seem to awaken the sheriff from his daydream. "It's unorthodox, I suppose, but I've seen worse." His tone seems almost amused, but his steely visage remains. "I'll call the cleanup crew, I suppose."
Dale gives a final, retching cough, and is still. Blood is still trickling from his nose.
"Oh by the way, the fellas at pathology are going to want the details of yer method. I'm assuming ya did it when stood to attention, then."
"Yeah... Hydrogen cyanide..." I stare into space, still clutching the tiny needle as the ambulance wails in the distance.
| 2016-01-23T00:20:11
| 2016-01-22T21:43:01
| 66
| 20
|
[WP] Almost every other country in the world has their own form of ninjas. We only know about the Japanese ones because they're rubbish.
(Inspired from a Showerthoughts post: http://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/2ctoui/what_if_every_country_has_ninjas_but_we_only_know/)
|
She crouched down, trying to see the sonar readings. The wind howled like a grieving mother. Barely any snow coming down -- small blessing. The sun was touching the horizon, painting the plain of ice in shades of red. There was no-one for miles.
Tokyo. Tokyo knew nothing. Trust the Emperor to send her here. Trust the Emperor to narrow his eyes when she asked for a neoprene gi, trust his flunkies to lose their minds. Trust the Emperor to make ridiculous claims for Japanese Arctic sovereignty, when Japan was thousands of kilometers from anything resembling tundra. Trust the Emperor to plant the flag of the Rising Sun in a place where the sun spends months *not* rising. Trust the Emperor to use the Franklin expedition to make a statement.
She blew on her hands, opened another pack of cheap gas-station hand-warmers. Her whole body was shaking from the cold.
In the trackless expanse of Canada's otherwise incredibly boring history, Sir John Franklin's doomed attempt to cross the Northwest Passage stood out. He was the country's Amelia Earhart, leaving England in 1845 to map the Passage and establish trade with Asia before vanishing mysteriously. Centuries later, the wreck of his ship the HMS Erebus has been discovered, and now the Emperor wants her to scan the wreckage so that he can send more ninjas to steal it.
Steal it! The wreck of a ship nearly two hundred years old!
Trust the Emperor.
She looked up, scanned the ice painted red by the sun. Nothing. She clutched her hood, ducked her face back down to avoid the wind. Nice thing about working on the ice, at least, was everything was flat, all the way back to Japan. No way for--
Snow crunched behind her.
She spun, tanto flashing red in the Arctic light. Connecting with nothing.
Tapping. Snow crunched again.
Another spin, another flash. If the cold, frigid air was a person, it would already be dead.
Silence. The wind began to fade, snowflakes finally drifting downwards instead of sideways.
"Hey. You uh, you okay? You're pretty on edge, eh?"
She watched, wild-eyed, as a slim young man extricated himself from underneath ice that was supposed to be five stories thick. *He* had neoprene on, a scuba suit that covered him from head to toe. Behind him, he pulled up a small crate, the same colour as the ice.
"Buddy over there saw you scannin' the wreck, figured you could use a little help." He started pulling things out from the crate. "Got you some pemmican here, you can warm it up with this induction plate, best traveling food around. Put these gloves on inside your other ones, and get this jacket goin' here, you'll warm right up. Key is to layer." The jacket had the Canada Goose logo on it, but she had only seen the big parkas, never one this close-fitting. "Dunno if you can rotate that scanner, but if you can, make sure you face away from the wind. Wind equals frostbite, and it'll eat your battery life besides. Oh!" He held up a flask. "Newfie screech. Talk about warmin' y'up, eh? This'll burn real nice on the way down." He grinned behind his beard.
"Why... w-why are you doing th-this?"
The man got a quizzical look. "Just bein' nice, eh? Don't like seein' people freeze." He started putting some of the packaging back in the crate. "Ain't right."
Silence, again. She heard great low booms, passing through the ice underneath her like whales; the sound of new floes launching into the ocean. The last of the snowflakes fell.
The Canadian ninja finished his work, tucked the crate under his arm. "Good luck, eh? We're all rootin' for ya. Hope the batteries help, too."
Batteries? She looked at her scanner. Sure enough, there was a new battery pack there, and her old one sitting beside it.
"You--"
He wasn't there.
She exhaled, hoping the cloud of breath would hide her shame, and began to wonder if a Queen wouldn't be a fair trade for an Emperor.
|
We watch things. It's our job.
We had to start calling them things a long time ago. I didn't understand why, but I do now. They weren't as far on as we are. They deserved to be called things. We're the next step, and we had to make sure they did not harm themselves in their less advanced state.
My friend's name was Dane. His parents named him that after the great dane dog. A big guy, gentle giant. He was my best friend.
And he was one of them.
Seven and a half years ago now, I found out. He was my second target. They said that he's my friend, it's the perfect opportunity. He'd never suspect me. Not that he would anyways, I was top of my class.
So I watched him. I had to relay where he was, what he was doing, and get as many secrets out of him as possible. After all, anybody could be a spy from one of the other Dynasties.
I hated every minute of that. I started to hate him. I started to hate everybody. Why should I be punished like this? I dedicate my life to our Great Dynasty and this is how they repay me? I've been betrayed. They taught me how to kill. I'll just kill all of the bastards in the Gh'len and that will be it. I'll disappear into the Ugen Dynasty and that's it.
My best friend was now the bane of my existence. Everything about him made me furious. I would return home to my dorm in the Gh'len and beat the dolls for hours at a time. I eventually gave up on sleep and spent the whole time practicing so I could slaughter all the political pigs and be gone.
They sent us a message in Yuron. The 11th, I think. It was 7 PM.
*Dear dedicated Len,
We have decided at the Gh'len that it is time to remove them. After many hours of slaving over this bill, we have created it such that it is fair and reasonable for the removal of them and the advancing of ourselves.*
*We request that you dispatch your targets one month from today. The deadline is the 11th of Binas. You know what to do.*
*Good luck loyal Len. For the Dynasty.*
I have to kill him.
Oh, they couldn't say it aloud. They couldn't say it to my face. They were ashamed. They knew they put us with the things that matter to us.
A letter. Of all the things, a letter. Why not a meeting? At least tell us we have to kill our friends in person.
I did it. I killed him. If I didn't do it they'd kill us both. I made it look like an accident, I made sure it was the way they wanted. He was doomed either way. He would want me to save myself. He would want me to live.
11th of Binas rolls around and I go in and confirm it. They don't have names for them. Just numbers. *Is 00640 taken care of?* I almost killed that man right there.
*Yes.*
And that's it. There's no funeral for him. His family is dead too. Every single one, gone. There's no funeral for any of the things.
There won't be any funerals for the ones in the Gh'len either.
12th of Binas. The day after. I went in, requested an appointment with the Director. He liked me. He said I was a good, dedicated student. Damn right I was.
And I put it to use when I hung him by his tie from the fan.
Twenty something more. The whole board and a few chairs. We aren't torturers. I didn't make it long and painful. They didn't deserve that time anyways, even if it's in suffering.
They caught me as I was cleaning my combat knife on the suit of one the chairs. Shot my knees out immediately, didn't stand a chance. Handcuffed me and brought me to the main hall. Did the trial right there. Guilty, guilty guilty guilty.
And so, that's why I'm here today, ladies and gentlemen, tied up in front of a firing squad. Thank you for your time.
My last request for you people is this: don't stand for this any further, please. You don't have to kill like I did. Use petitions, use propaganda, use whatever. Just bring change.
*Applause roars. A standing ovation echoes over the stadium. The firing squad preps their weapons. The PA system blinks on.*
"Hello students and graduates. We at the Gh'len would like to advise against acting out against the board and chairs. It will end in tears for those who oppose us."
*The crowd roars with anger. People rush towards the center and towards the chairs of the executives. Gunshots tear through the crowd. Screams and blood cast themselves across the stadium.*
*A man in the firing squad looks back towards the prisoner. He clicks the charging handle into place and locks his finger on the trigger.*
I bring the tides of change. Like a tsunami. Let it drown you. Let it own you. It is time to let go.
*bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang*
*click*
Unrecognizable. Change does not have a face. Change does not need a face. Change's face is that of who carries the banner forward. Now, the face is that of the movement. There is no specific face, it is that of many. Let that face include yours.
| 2014-12-15T13:40:38
| 2014-12-15T10:06:35
| 215
| 20
|
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation...
|
My father Michael Walters and my mother Natalie were both well respected doctors. My older siblings- Vivian, Sam, and Edward were all gifted. Vivian was still moving through med school, Sam and Edward were focusing on engineering degrees.
I was the youngest, and I'd always felt like a disappointment. My whole family moved with grace and ease, keeping an aura of wisdom and poise at all time. I moved with clumsiness and unease. Mom assured me that when the time came, my spirit form would allow me to fully mature. To fit in.
"Don't worry, Peter" she'd say as she kissed me on the head. "You'll be just fine once you find your way."
And I believed her. So I blundered through school as best I could, yearning for the day to come where I'd fit in. To make up for my lack of academic success, I was the prankster of the school. While nobody could count on me to have the right answer to a question, they could count on me to make them laugh. And for now I was content with that.
When the night of my birthday arrived, I was *so* eager. Finally, I'd be able to tap into the wolven wisdom and power that had blessed my family back for generations. Finally, I'd stop being a joke. I'd be *respected* for once.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"God damn it Natalie" I whispered. "Our son *actually* got a wolf form. How the fuck is that even possible?"
"The spirits don't make mistakes. Maybe this will help him grow up?"
"You know it doesn't work like this, it's supposed to be a manifestation of who you already are. It doesn't help, it friggin *amplifies.* What are we supposed to do? He can't come to clan meetings, you know that. He has zero sense of decorum."
"Yeah... he does not have the temperament for those at all. If we bring him we are going to piss everyone off. Maybe piss them off enough to dethrone *you*. Wait. I have an idea."
"Breathless to hear it."
"We need to roll for his name still, right? If the spirits see fit to grant him a noble one, then *hopefully* we can keep him quiet at clan events and just... I dunno, cultivate an air of mystery?"
"Better than an air of tomfoolery and, I'm sorry but I have to say this, utter incompetence. He failed fourth grade, Natalie. Twice."
"He just has to sit there. He can do that."
"Fine... roll for his spirit name. Fingers crossed."
Nat bent over the star charts, and cast the handful of ancient carved stones. I leaned back from the table and waited for her to reveal what the spirits had chosen as our son's name.
God.
Fucking.
Damn it.
Moon Moon.
|
My parents lit the candles that were stuck into a strip of venison. We began to count down as the clock ticked closer to my time of birth. It would mark my fourteenth birthday and my transformation into the animal that guided my soul.
10-9-8-
I started to sweat.
-7-6-5-
I stared at my sister in front of me.
-4-3-2-
The candles looked so evil poking out of her like that.
-1! *poof*
I can't breath! Help I can't fucking breath! It had all gone so wrong! I was helpless I couldn't move, what am I!?
I was on the floor gasping for air. My family towered over me looking extremely disappointed. Their eyes widened and I noticed they began to drool.
A spoon has fallen to the floor during the chaotic transformation, and I noticed my reflection in it.
It seemed I would soon face the same end as my sister, for I was now Salmon.
| 2017-01-21T19:17:27
| 2017-01-21T17:14:16
| 956
| 108
|
[WP] You work customer support... for wizards.
|
Levanus stepped back to his desk after his mid-morning “Stand-Up”, feeling defeated.
How does someone like ‘Talivor the Esteemed’ even get into the Mages Guild, let alone a management position?
“He casts one spell, like 6 years ago, and somehow that makes him better than anyone else here.” Levanus said quietly through the cubicle wall, careful to not let Talivor hear.
“Just because we can’t cast magic means we can’t be promoted to lead? 'Our miracles come in the form of our customer service'. Bleh. Full of toads that one is.” Rowe said, voice muffled by the cubicle wall separating their desks.
Rowe had been an innkeeper before being attacked by a Necromancer just before the last enchanting. The curses took the function of his legs. He ran out of coin years ago trying every spell in the book to cure them.
“Levanus! Open your mind, we have Wizards waiting!” the gruffled voice of Talivor echoed through the room, summoning fear from those around him. He then shut the door to his office, eyes peeking through his blinds out over the call floor.
Levanus set his teeth, relaxed his consciousness, and let the next voice in.
“Hello and thank you for calling The Mages Guild, and who do I have the pleasure of talking to?” Levanus said as he adjusted his enchanted crown.
“Revantes Ravenwood” said the voice echoing in Levanus's head.
Ah yes, Ravenwood. A long time customer and Magus Instructor of Rowe's.
“Hello Mister Ravenwood. For your security i’d like to go ask you a few verification questions to confirm your Mystical Identity. Would you please confirm your favorite potion?
“Potion of Mana.”
Typical. Do Wizards have no flair anymore? Ridiculous to even include this as a security question. Levanus regained his thoughts. Now was not the time to draw attention to himself by losing composure in front of a Wizard.
“And finally I'm going to send an authentication color to your staff. Could you please confirm the color?”
“Cerulean.”
Thank you for answering those questions, Ravenwood. How may I be of assistance today?”
“*Tomes of Healing: Volume 9* order arrived at my tower as expected this morning, however many of the runes do appear to be missing. The spells are not casting as intended.”
“Ah yes, Mister Ravenwood. I’d be happy to assist you with that today. Could you please recite the words and what seems to be the issue?”
“Certainly, in the Spell: Master Area Healing. Let me see here, it reads ‘*Abumar Baltoaye Def Erima Faltoai Gilakai Jef*.’ The guide says it begins as a blue ball of energy out of each arm. Exploding into a blue wave influencing the immediate area around. I do not get even a glimmer.”
“I see how that would be frustrating, Mister Ravenwood. It does appear that the Ciron Rune Word is missing from this incantation. Ah yes, that is it. *Cerumai*. The full incantation should read, *Abumar Baltoaye Cerumai Def Erima Faltoai Gilakai Jef*.” said Levanus.
At that moment, an explosion of light illuminated around Levanus, sending pages of tomes spinning through the call center.
Talivor shot from his office to the call floor in stunned silence, just in time to see Rowe standing up, looking over the cubicle wall at Levanus.
Rowe's eyes met Levanus's over the wall of the cubicle, tears running down his cheeks.
"You're... You're a Wizard?"
“Thank you so much lad, that seemed to be the issue.” Ravenclaw said, voice echoing in Levanus's mind.
“The pleasure is all mine, Ravenwood. Have a magical day,”
.....
[r/Astonsh](https://www.reddit.com/r/Astonsh/)
|
Roll A D6 For Customer Service:
A story overheard from the cubicle-next-door
"Necronomicon customer support, this call is being monitored by a cabal, thank you for calling today what issue can I assist you with?"
"Mhmm... mhmm... Your zombies are rising upside down? Feet were their arms should be and walking on hands... hmm... this wasn't intentional for shock factor? No? Ok... mhmm... sir may I ask you to check that you have the Necronomicon right-side up? Ah yes that would be the problem, upside-down Necronomicon equals backwards zombies! Glad we could be of service! Please hold to take an automated 2 min survey on the quality of this call. Good bye!"
"Necronomicon customer support, this call is being monitored by a cabal, thank you for calling today what issue can I assist you with?"
"Mmm... ok... mm hmm? Well ghouls certainly shouldn't be adverse to sunlight lest how can they tend the crypts during the day? You're going to lose vampires to diurnal adventurers if that keeps up. Yeah... mhmm... Plus your policy with Key of Solomon Insurance doesn't cover day raids. No, day-time is extra... Well we can add that for sure but let's get your ghouls acclimated to sunlight first to stem the bleed of vampires... yeah it was a pun haha, yeah I'm the "funny-guy" around here. Question... Did you summon the Ghouls during the solstice in an Eastern Roman Catholic diocese? Uh huh... Mormon region? Well that's good, those guys can't do much to thwart you. Yeah I know we laugh about that too around the water cooler. Uh huh... yeah see that's your problem, no... no the equinox makes them day-walkers, solstice summoning outside of an Eastern Roman Catholic diocese is for nightstalker ghouls only and voids the graveyard warranty so you can't unsummon them... uh huh... but you can... please let me explain... sir! SIR! Sir I can understand your frustration but that is a rude thing to say, yes my mother is already a goat so that curse will really change nothing. Look sir, sir... no... listen please sir, I am trying to help you if you will let me... you may not have day-walker ghouls but nightstalker ghouls are invisible until the victim looks directly at them which is horrifying and they are more apt to steal babies... right... riiiiiight... now you get it, souls AND blood AND more ghouls eventually then you can have hordes and hordes of day-walker ghouls. Say it with me! More babies more ghouls! Hahaha. Yeah... mhmm... no no it's ok we get that all the time... yeah apology accepted it happens to me too. Uh huh, sure! Let me transfer you to BP&I... Blood-pacts & Insurance will be able to upgrade your policy for day-time raids and exorcisms. Glad we could be of service! Please hold to take an automated 2 min survey on the quality of this call. Good bye!"
"Necronomicon customer support, this call is being monitored by a cabal, thank you for calling today what issue can I assist you with?"
"Uh huh... mm... So your monster is assembled but it is not alive? Did you hit it with lightning? Ok... mm hmm... ok well let's do this... try unplugging it and then plugging it back in... Oh good! Yes! Yes I can hear it screaming incoherently in the background. Honestly it's terrifying over the phone so I am sure the villagers are just going to hate it! Yes sir... yes sir it certainly is alive... I heard you the first four times sir no need to yell... uh huh... We are all excited it's alive too... yep it's alive! Glad we could be of service! Please hold to take an automated 2 min survey on the quality of this call. Good bye!"
"Necronomicon customer support, this call is being monitored by a cabal, thank you for calling today what issue can I assist you with..."
| 2020-03-07T17:36:47
| 2020-03-07T16:48:37
| 75
| 18
|
[WP] You are hired to write the holy text for a new religion. What is the first chapter of the text?
|
Chapter 1:
In the beginning there was... You know what? Lets keep this short and to the point.
Rule number one: Don't be a dick.
That's really what it boils down to. To elucidate further:
If you think you might be being a dick: Don't.
If your actions might be dick-ish: Don't.
If your actions might cause someone else to be a dick: Don't.
If you think being a dick is necessary: It isn't, so Don't.
That's about it. If you have troubles understanding these simple edicts, refer back to rule number one, and try not to be a dick.
Good luck, be kind, eat more vegetables, drink lots of water, get good sleep, create a thing, and try not to worry too much.
The End.
|
In the beginning there were many gods, many beings of power, all derived from the life force of the universe. The universe itself brought these gods into existence at the same time that the universe began. The creation of the universe was not the work of any God or force of nature, but rather an inexplicable shift from nonexistence to a sudden and violent proliferation of existence. The cause of the beginning is not known to Yorehl and not important to man according to Yorehl's teachings, because a question without answer does no good for it having been asked.
The gods that were born with the universe were sentient masses of power, who took many different forms. The gods lived much like men, congregating and cooperating to design and guide the universe as it grew. The gods were sometimes fickle, sometimes fair, and they were as human as they were omnipotent.
Our god, who yet lives, Yorehl was the most powerful of the gods and led their society. He valued honor, peace, devotion, and selfless service above all other traits. Yorehl led the younger weaker gods in shaping the universe, and with his own hands crafted our perfect world. He set our sun ablaze so that it might bathe the earth with its life force, and rolled the cosmic dust into a planet that could support life. Yorehl's hand guided life as it grew from the first individual cells to his penultimate creation, man. He shaped man after his own image, and gave man a mind that could think in terms of self. He gave man a mind that could realize its own will, and act independent of its natural instincts. Yorehl did not make life easy for man, so that man might better appreciate the beauty of a life well earned.
Lesser gods saw mankind and grew jealous of Yorehl's paternal behavior, and of the beauty of his creation. In an attempt to prove their own power and their ability, several gods contrived to copy Yorehl's works. A planet unfit for life near to Earth was forced into momentary equilibrium by a lesser god, but he burned out his life force with his efforts. Mars, named for the god who made the planet his own tomb, died quickly without the god's guiding power.
The other gods became fearful of their own mortality, having never truly considered the extent of their lives. Several contrived to steal from the life force of the universe itself in order to make themselves more powerful, against Yorehl's guidance. He could have forced them to follow his will, but he believed in ruling from necessity and not desire.
Some of the lesser gods constructed a great star, of brilliant red light, near the home of the gods. The star was a combination of every part of the universe, a core of anti matter in its heart, surrounded by a layer of dark matter, which was further surrounded by normal matter. The star would create a new source of energy that the lesser gods might use to bolster their strength, by reducing matter into the ethereal energy of the universe itself. Their designs were flawed however, and the star became unstable. Yorehl guided the star with all his might, but the star could not be stopped from becoming unbalanced. The cores mixed and created an explosion unlike any seen since the universe itself began.
The home of the gods was destroyed, and all but two of the gods were erased from existence. Only by drawing in the life force of the universe unleashed by the blast did Yorehl survive, but in doing so he lost his corporeal form, and became one with the entire universe. The other God who survived, Zaughd, had been the main force behind the creation of the red star, and he blamed Yorehl for its failure. He was laid low by the explosion, and had only survived by fleeing far into the darkness of space.
Zaughd had hated Yorehl, jealous of his power, of his benevolence, of his creativity, even before the red star had failed. He drifted through the vast emptiness of space believing himself alone with his hatred, and in his lonely misery he spied Earth. The orb which Yorehl had so carefully crafted lay unguided, or so he thought, unprotected, and unmolested.
Tall gleaming structures of metal and glass covered huge swaths of the earths surface, buildings pierced the sky, and massive roads crossed over the continents. Earth looked much like the home he had lost, and Zaughd despised mankind for their strength and ingenuity. Zaughd reached out with his godly hands to guide to planet to ruin, but found it protected by an unseeable force. The planet could not be guided at all, but seemed set in its course as though it's existence was permanent.
Yorehl's ethereal form allowed him to give this much protection, but his existence alone now guided the entire universe, and he knew he could not sacrifice the entire universe for his creation. Zaighd became murderously enraged over his impotence, and so consumed was he with his hatred that he fell to earth and began to lay waste to mankind.
In this moment, Yorehl divided a small piece of his universal form from himself, and made it in his own image, guiding a son into existence from cosmic dust. He could not spare more of his power than necessary, and so linked the life force of the Earth's sun to his own son. The yellow star would give his son the powers of a god, and Yorehl sent his son to protect his creation from Zaughd.
| 2015-01-04T14:52:14
| 2015-01-04T12:49:51
| 43
| 20
|
[WP] You wake up by a dusty road with 1,000 Mexican pesos and a note from your Spanish teacher: "Este es el examen final"
|
I groaned as I sat up on the side of the road, the blazing heat beating down upon my head. I looked around and all I saw was a road sign written in Spanish.
In confusion I searched my pockets and found Mexican currency - 1,000 pesos - and a note with a simple message written on it. "Este es el examen final. Señor Herman."
My eyes went wide in shock. I heard that Mr Herman took his practical exams rather... seriously. I never expected it to be *this* seriously. I just stared at the note angrily before yelling upward at the sky.
'What the *fuck*?! I didn't take Spanish, I was in the *French* class!'
|
In the town of Oaxaca, there is a church which has no monks. It is a mundane place now, which holds no services. But, if you walk past it today, you will see that a miracle has happened here.
How else can you explain the bullet holes that touch everything except the cross?
___
I woke with a nudge in my gut. My eyes shot open and I saw a man standing over me in linen shorts and shirt, pushing against me with his leather sandals.
I jerked up and pushed myself away from him.
"Ah, estas bien?" he asked, looking down at me from under the shade of a wide hat.
"What, where am I?" I asked. My mind was foggy, I couldn't understand what he had said.
"Oh, American!" The man shook his head, then bent a little lower, as if speaking to a child. "Are. You. Okay?"
The way he said it made me feel like an idiot. I looked around, seeing only a dusty road and green hills. I finally felt the beat of the sun and a rivulet of sweat coursed down my face.
I could have sworn the last thing I remember was being in Los Angeles, on my way to my-
The thought cut off and I immediately searched my body. After I felt something in my pocket, I jammed my hand inside and pulled out a roll of bills, covered with a piece of paper.
The man let out a small whistle as I removed the note, and the bills became visible. When I unfolded the sheet of paper, all it said was, "Este es el examen final."
*Shit.*I was on my way to spanish class, yes. And at some point, I... I just couldn't remember.
I banged my fist against the ground. What a cruel joke this was--my reward for taking the immersion program.
In my blinded fury, I had forgotten the man who found me and who, presumably, had stuck around because of the large sum of cash I'd just displayed. Or at least, what I thought was a large sum of cash.
"Ah, senor." The man coughed politely. "Necisitas ayuda?"
I looked up, remembering his presence. *Ayuda? Oh, help. That means help.* I thought for a second and took another look around the hills. We were the only two people on this road and I presumed that we were the only two people for a long while.
*Damn.* I looked back up at him and it looked like he was trying to affect a casual interest in the whole affair. But I had my doubts.
"Si, ayuda. Por favor," I said, mangling the words and hoping they came out right.
"Ah," the man said, his face lighting up somewhat. He offered his hand down and I took it. When I stood, I felt dizzy.
He steadied me, and then shot a question in quick spanish.
"Sorry, I couldn't follow." I said.
"Por. Que. Estas. Aqui," the man said again, drawing out the last word and bulging his eyes. As if that would help me understand him better.
"I don't know," I said with a shrug. "Hablas ingles?" I asked.
The man shrugged back.
Besides the heat, I could feel the stress. I was already nearing the end of the phrases I had learned well enough. The phrases that could get me out of speaking spanish in the first place.
I thought, and realized I really only had one prepared that might work. "Donde esta la biblioteca?"
In my mind, the logic only made sense. Where there is a library, there must be also a city of people who can use the library. And also literate city people. And among those people, there may be another who does speak english.
But it was obvious from the look on his face that the man was a little confused by the question.
"Los libres," I said, trying again.
At that, the man smiled. "Ah, Los Libres." He chuckled for a few moments, and the chuckle turned into a laugh and I stared at him, unsure of the humor of the situation.
But then he offered his hand again. "Bienvenido, soy Ramon Viaragosa."
I froze. I had heard the name Viaragosa often enough to know only one man in Mexico would be proud enough of it like him. When I didn't take his hand, he shrugged, then let out a shrill whistle.
All around me the hills came to life. Men carrying rifles and wearing bandoliers filled with dull brass cartridges.
They filed down to where Viaragosa and I stood, one of them coming up directly to the man. They shook and made an exchange of spanish too quick for me to follow. Then, the newcomer smiled behind his beard.
"Bienvenido," he said, offering up his hand. This time I took it as a sense of realization sunk in.
In that moment, I realized I was more screwed than any other time in my life--because I had just met the Ramon Viaragosa. The gold toothed, smiling visage of the leader of the Mexican Rebels.
And somehow, I realized, standing in the middle of Mexico with a roll of bills, I had been enlisted into the Mexican Revolution.
___
*Thanks for reading! Check out more of my stuff at /r/chrisbryant.*
| 2017-06-29T10:02:15
| 2017-06-29T09:27:10
| 1,096
| 404
|
[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.
|
I stop noticing the causes after a while. They were boring. Lots of heart disease and various types of cancer. I was in college; those things were years and years down the road. Every once and a while, I'd see things like "suicide" or "automobile crash." Though sad and preventable, I had no real way of knowing when it would happen or why. So there was nothing I could do about it.
But some deaths were preventable, or changed based on new events in the world. On my way to class, I saw a young lady walking nearby with a cause that could be easily stopped: "Drug Overdose." I'm normally not one to reach out to strangers, but I figured I had to get involved. This was definitely a college-age cause of death. I ran across the quad and asked her out. She was shocked, but smiled shyly and accepted. Her name was Sarah, and her sign changed after about a month of us dating. Now, it says "dementia;" I still check every morning when I wake up. It's sad, but I take comfort in knowing we'll live a long life together.
After a few years, I learned to just tune the signs out. I had so much on my mind now. Work, baby on the way, mortgage, student loans... far too much for me to be worrying about how other people might die. Sure, I got involved when I could, but that wasn't very often. And who am I to thwart fate?
My boss entered my office with a new client folder and dumped it on my desk, on top of the 10 other folders requiring my attention. "Howard is out sick today," he informed me, "so you need to take this one." I rolled my eyes and looked up, ready to argue. But instead of the usual "heart attack" floating over his head, he had a new one. Bright green, like how I picture radioactive sludge. And it said "Plague."
I was too distracted to argue. I'd never seen a "plague" sign before. I stood up from my cubicle and glanced around the office at my coworkers. 7 of them had changed to "plague" as well. When had this happened?? As I watched, a secretary's red "suicide" sign changed to "plague" as well.
I hopped online looking for any news about some new disease or anything. Nothing. I searched for outbreaks and 'mystery' illnesses and any other search term I could think of. Nothing. Maybe it was a long way off. Maybe I had plenty of time.
I left early that day. I couldn't be in the office. As I walked to the subway station, I began to notice more and more green. And more and more people were changing by the minute. From the looks of it, the plague would already be killing about half of New York, and that number was growing. Nearby, someone coughed, with that disgusting hacking sound of fluid-filled lungs. I scrambled across the street in utter terror and ran the rest of the way home.
Sarah was working at her desk when I arrived. Thank god; her sign was unchanged. She wouldn't be infected, at least not yet. She rubbed her tummy with a smile as I entered. "I felt him kick today," she said, practically bursting with the news. I was too distracted to react; she was crestfallen. "We need to get out of town," I said, trying to hide the panic in my voice. Her face let me know that I was failing miserably. "What is it?" she asked. I had already made my way to the bedroom and started throwing things in suitcases. I didn't have time to argue.
We made our way down to the street to get a cab. I was lugging two enormous suitcases, and dragging Sarah behind me. She was confused and scared, but had agreed to come along. At least for now. Outside, the street was a sea of bright green. I heard more and more coughing.
We finally got into a cab. The driver had a bright green 'Plague' sign over his head. "Where to?" he asked. "JFK," I said. Well, 'shouted' would be more of an apt description.
As we drove, the thick haze of green changed suddenly to a bright purple that I'd never seen before. Almost every green sign was now gone; the few that remained were probably going to be the first outbreak victims. The purple letters spelled out "Nuclear explosion."
---
[I am continuing the story here, if you're interested](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/30xnrr/plague/cpwsurh)
|
They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames.
| 2015-03-31T07:44:28
| 2015-03-31T07:44:11
| 2,002
| 22
|
[WP] There exists a court that sentences people with "Would You Rather" questions. Whichever option the person picks, becomes reality.
Feel free to play any role - a person on trial, a judge, a member of the jury - anything!
|
The defendant stood in stunned silence, her mind racing.
Was this really happening? Did she even really know what she did that night? The jury seemed bloody well convinced, yet she never believed she could take a life. Now she was faced with the bizarre conundrum of taking another. Or a first, perhaps. Did that make it worse... or better?
"We're waiting," intoned the magistrate dispassionately. Of course they were. But this decision could hardly be made lightly.
"Well, I..." stammered the accused. What madness was this, to decide the fate of so many? She couldn't help but wonder what her sentence would have been under the old statutes, 'barbaric' as they were.
"I suppose I'll shag David Tennant, kill David Beckham, and marry David Hyde Pierce."
|
I thrummed my fingers on top of my legs as I thought. It was a habit I got into when I was younger, though then I used to do it on the table instead. However I changed that habit when I became employed as it tended to irritate the others in the room and make the accused overtly nervous. One even snapped and tried to make a break for it, that may or may not have been my fault, but better to be safe than sorry with these things, so my busy fingers busy themselves in quieter company nowadays.
I was thinking of an appropriate punishment for the man in front of me, a convicted rapist, one with overwhelming evidence stacked against him. However the issue lied in the attention this particular case had garnered. The victim was extended family of the president. As such I was given more freedom than is typical for dishing out his options. Typically it would be "would you rather spend twenty less years free Or lose everything you own?". Not greatly selected options in my opinion. The ones who instituted them didn't consider the possibility of a very poor person committing such a crime and essentially losing nothing. Thankfully that option will be overturned next month.
Apologies for my rambling, I just like things to be clear so that there's no misconception about why I made the decision I did. You see, when a judge is given the power to choose the question, then there comes with it a certain expectation. One cannot reward criminal behavior and so when I was told of my position by the higher ups, it was clear they desired an example be made of this man.
Anyway, the scene played out as such:
"Would you rather, be half you height and double your weight, or double your height and half your weight?"
The accused was quite perplexed for a couple of seconds, I suppose my wording wasn't what one would call intuitive. However his mouth quickly began to gape open soon afterwards, his forehead crinkling in rapid thought while his eyes widened in shock. It looked quite uncomfortable. It took him a while before he could say anything, or I suppose, thought of what to say. But when he did, he said:
"How?...How would you do these things?"
"Well, For your first option, we would simply take your current weight, remove your legs and suture shut the wounds. After waiting for that to heal, we would then find your weight after the removal and then pump fattening produce into your body until you became double your previous weight."
I will note, I had to call for order several times whilst I was saying all of this of course, but I'll be excluding that if you don't mind. Welp, for the second option I told him:
"And if you choose option number two, we'll simply suck the fat right out of you with liposuction, and assuming you survive that we will then give you a bit of a stretch."
"This is unconstitutional! There are la..."
"THOSE LAWS CAN BE AMENDED!"
...I admit to being a little prone to theatrics, I prefer to think of that as the reason they chose me for this case.
"I have been bestowed, by the government of the united nations, power of determination over which punishments are layed before you. And while you are certainly not a typical citizen due to your most reprehensible actions, you are in fact still a citizen of the united nations and as such must follow the laws of its government. Now choose."
That was one of the harder decisions I've given in my life. I essentially relegated the man to either a terrible death or horrible dismemberment, then probably death. I let him have his time making his choice. Normally one has to make their decision within an hour of the question being announced in cases of this nature, but I gave him two. I enjoyed watching him stew almost as much as I hated him. I say hated in the past tense, as one could hardly call him a man anymore, more like a bulbous pile of sludge at this stage. So I suppose that answers your question then, that's what happened, yes the decision I made was influenced somewhat by my emotions at the time, but I do not regret my decision at all. Such things are unavoidable, when families involved.
| 2015-08-15T12:38:12
| 2015-08-15T11:24:51
| 143
| 80
|
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read.
|
Room spinning, face warm and night stretched so thin that it was quickly becoming midday she stumbled into the kitchen. An outstretched hand reached out to scrape against walls, slipping onto counters to boost unreliable knees. A quick rest by the fridge, face pressed against the coolness of the freezer door.
"O-ne m-month," she slurred in a low hiccuping tone. She wrenched the freezer door open, narrowly stepping on a long tail. "Sorry. 'M so- so sorry," she apologized to disapproving golden eyes. A nose in the air in response, a furry back of disdainful avoidance. Instead tiny paws found the battered remains of her cellphone, pushing across the floor.
"I m-made it o-one mon-th," she started again, pouring vodka into a still cool shotglass. Her hand perfectly still and steady for the pour, a thing of long practice from long nights and fond memories. A deep breath and she reaches upwards to fill her head with empty and her heart with numb.
The glass slips from her fingers, tumbling almost majestically into the waterbowl at the edge of the linoleum. "Fuck," she sighed in defeat, legs giving out beneath her. She looks at the glass, just beyond her reach, then at the bottle in her hand. "Fuck it." Bottle to lips and a sharp gasp after the burning subsides. A strange cracking sound hit her ears, before she recognized her own broken laughter.
The cat dipped another paw into its bowl, licking it meticulously clean before dipping it in again. It looked at its paw for a moment before leaning down for a long drought. A slow relaxation seemed to wash over it and it looked back at the broken grieving woman collapsed on the kitchen floor.
The cat gave her one long slow blink before sighing heavily, "Get over it already. Pussy."
|
"Whooo hoooo! Now that has some kick to it!"
My eyes shot opened thinking if I heard what I think I heard. 'God my head hurt like hell, damn that was a crazy night. Been a long time since I drank that much. Wait, hold on. What had a kick to it?' I roll off the couch and thud hard onto the floor.
"Drank you frunk bashtard you have feet ya know. Hahaha. Drank, Frank. Frunk, Drunk. Hahaha."
Oh god that high pitch laugh, uhg its tearing my head in two. "Shut up Duke. I got a hangover." My eyes wander over to where Duke is teetering on his feet over by his water dish and next to that is an empty bottle of Greygoose. The realization slowly coming to my mind. The vodka, the conversations last night, the hangover, my hunger, the burger in the fridge... wait what was I thinking?
"Hey Frank, I could use some food over here, and got anymore of this liquid goose?" Duke says as he falls over. "Oh man, we had a rager lash night didn't we."
"Oh shit Duke what did you say?"
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Your dreaming Frank I can't talk. Oh man I'm so screwed. You imagining this Frank everyone knows parrots cant talk."
"Duke! Your drunk! Parrots are suppose to talk but you cant drink man, you might die. I gotta get you some water." I rush to the kitchen and turn on the faucet.
"Oh right... I'm allowed to talk, its Chip thats not allowed to talk to you."
As I turned off the water I could of sworn Chip's bark sounded strangly like 'shud up'.
| 2016-08-02T18:41:05
| 2016-08-02T18:35:44
| 172
| 124
|
[WP] It’s the birth of a new universe, and you’re trying out to become a war god. But, that role was already filled, and you got booted to a fertility god. At first you’re upset, not sure where to start, but then you start to get an idea. After all: “love is a battlefield”
|
Bai-leh looked down from his vantage point in the towering qo’Sor above the green plains of Balduq. The smile was favorable, though the motion was more snarl than pleasant. His village had sent word there was to be a match, and he loved how his people paired up. If they survived, the match would last past the harvest and the hunts of the cycle of the satellite they called Praxis. The snarl widened.
It took little time to go to the surface, and then to travel swiftly, as a God should, to his village amongst the foothills. The structures, which he noticed had been let to fall into disrepair since he had last been there, were covered in fresh hides. He would have not said decorated, but he saw that the larders of his village would be full enough for him to take what he wished back to qo’Sor. The rough looking people who were in the field genuflected to him, and he let them see his magnificent snarl of a smile.
The village leader, he would not say elder as most of those who resided there had barely grown beards let alone the grey of wisdom, approached.
“Great Bai-leh! We are honored.”
The God nodded and took the throne of stone and hides that had been placed at the edge of the gleaned field. He saw a paddock beyond his people filled with targ, as was fitting for a sacrifice. There were some good-natured shoving and laughter over striking each other as they all awaited the main ceremony.
There was a yell, and then laughter. And then a scattering of some of his villagers. A warrior, dressed in what could have been his best armor and draped with the skin of what should have been his greatest hunt kill ran through the gathered crowd. Bai-leh was concerned for a moment, until he saw some pottery arc overhead and hit the man in the middle of the back. It did not knock him down, but it did stagger him. There was laughter from the crowd.
The fierce figure that strode past the crowd was indeed a catch. Her form-fitting armor had been soaked in the blood of her last hunt, the red and purple of the gore drying into patterns that swirled like her anger. She had a large staff in her hand and it looked like she was about to strike the man who was trying to doge her.
This was going to be an excellent wedding.
|
"That's it, we're breaking up!" Hitler said, storming out of the room.
"Frick you too!" Eva yelled after him. "Frick you-" She sat down on the sofa and started sobbing.
Hitler rampaged down the stairs and paused outside the building.
Always.
Again and again it happened, she was so horrible, she didn't care for him at all, he felt wretched.
This time, for sure, they were breaking up for good.
His shaking hands unconsciously drew a cigarette and lit it. Blood was pounding behind his eyes, he wasn't being able to think clearly, could barely appreciate the cool March morning, the beautiful emptiness of the street. Empty streets can be beautiful, but he was raging too much to notice. He didn't even notice a building further down the same street, on which a sniper was taking aim.
Bang! The sniper's aim was perfect, godly. The love bullet enlodged itself deep into Adolf's shoulder. It would leave wound marks, but there would be no bleeding, no pain.
Adolf's body recoiled with the bullet, but his brain didn't notice. He suddenly felt an overwhelming swell of affection for Eva. He had wronged her, she was so wonderful. He discarded the cigarette and rushed back in to reconcile.
The sniper was already packing his rifle away into a black case. Usually, dissatisfied couples needed 2 or 3 bullets at most, but Hitler
had been needing constant attention for the last few months. No matter. It was imperative they stayed together. They were completely toxic for each other. The ensuing marital dissatisfaction and frustration would increase the war's mortality rate by at least 20%.
| 2021-01-11T05:12:58
| 2021-01-11T04:32:12
| 677
| 144
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.
|
It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45
| 2017-06-11T08:40:30
| 159
| 31
|
[WP]: The most sought woman in the town has announced that she will marry whoever can open her door with the key around her cats neck. Many have tried to catch, trap and hunt down the cat, who always escapes. You are the first to figure out they've all been doing this all wrong.
|
Nobody expected me to try.
Everyone expected my friends, my far-off family, but not me. I was a woman, of course. I’ve always loved girls, and have crushed on her since high school.
I decided to get a small bad of cat food just in case it came around, and double checked in ally’s where I thought I saw something.
I can remember the day she announced the challenge. It was 3 weeks ago.
“Dear my neighbors and who it may concern, I have set up a challenge for my hand in marriage. Bring back my cat, Lila, with a key around it’s neck and unlock my front door. If you do so, you win.”
She also posted a picture of her cat next to that sign, and it was a cute tabby-calico cat that was a bit towards the chubby side.
I was out walking when I heard distressed meowing coming from a log by the side of the road.
It was a cat, who got itself stuck. I chuckled and tried to help get it out. It took a while, but once I got it out, I could properly see it.
The tag read “Lila” and it was a tabby-calico. Under the tag there was a hidden key.
I brought the cat back to my house, and decided to let it stay with me for the night as I didn’t want to return it so late. Lila cuddled up with me and we fell asleep together.
When I woke up, I realized what everyone else was doing wrong, they weren’t being kind to the poor creature, who flinched slightly when I went to pet it.
I kept it in a few blankets so I wouldn’t wake it up, and walked to her house on the other side of the block.
I was insanely nervous, as she may not of even expected a GIRL to try, but I unlocked the door anyways and called out to her.
“Excuse me, I’ve found your cat!”
She ran down the stairs and I saw her. Layla, the most beautiful woman in the town right in front of me. I blushed deeply and looked to the side.
“Oh! Jasmine, I remember you!”
My head snapped up, remembered me? I’ve never even talked to her, I think.
“You’re that girl I...” Layla paused, took a deep breath and continued “... that I crushed on through high school.”
“You... crushed on me?” I asked shakily, while smiling.
Layla smiled as well, and you can really see it in her eyes, she was truly happy. Gosh, that smile is so pretty.
I put the cat down on a chair. Lila was still half asleep and purring happily.
“I guess you’ve won!” Layla said as she smiled and pulled me into a hug.
Layla, Lila and I lived together and adopted another cat, Jax. We became known as ‘The Cat Moms’ as we would take care of strays as well.
We lived happily until our final breaths together.
|
The entire town had apparently gone medieval. Not actual medieval-medieval, but fairytale medieval: solve the Sphynx's riddle, save the princess from the tower and gain the throne to the kingdom!
Only in this case the Sphynx's riddle was the key to a penthouse around the neck of a particularly skittish black cat, the tower the aforementioned penthouse, and the princess was a objectively hot former celebutante, who had grown tired of the limelight and the sycophants, became a misanthrope, got a degree in Quantum Physics, but figured at the age of 32 that having only protons as friends was a solitary existence. As for the kingdom... Well, she *was* part of the 1%.
I got hired through a temp company to serve as referee in the contest (the quest, as one of the contestants had claimed, clad in full Game of Thrones garb, Ikea rug on his shoulders and everything) and make sure that the one catching the key was the one opening the door to the penthouse.
It was as entertaining as it was frustrating.
One bright bulb decided to bring his massive mastiff to hunt the cat. The cat huffed and wasn't seen again in three days. I had the pleasure of calling the SPCA on him for kicking the poor pup for his own stupidity.
Another brought a jack russel, which was a smarter idea in theory, if it weren't for the fact that *jack russels can't climb*. At least I didn't have to call the SPCA on this one.
Some poorman's Thor brought a huge salmon for which he claimed have fought a grizzly bear. It looked promising for about 2.5 seconds, until the cat hissed at the fish, hacked a furball and ran to the cat-tower to lick its genitals (yes, there was an actual tower in this mess).
The most disturbing had to be the weirdo that claimed cats were inherently evil and would eat a human's face immediately, given the opportunity. So he lay down on the ground, his face covered in minced meat, and waited perfectly still for several hours. In his defence he caught a rat.
The thought of entering the contest hadn't even crossed my mind in the beginning, but after weeks of seeing the weirdest ideas going nowhere, I decided.
The next day I brought to work a folding chair, my laptop with the charger, a can of tuna and small ball with a bell inside. I put the tuna and the ball a few feet away of where I opened the chair and then sat down with the laptop to wait. Half an hour later the cat had eaten some of the tuna and started playing with the ball, while I was learning the theory of how to make a bowl out of mud. I continued to watch Youtube videos ([apparently it would be scientifically impossible for Antman to explode Thanos from inside his rectum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DG2esWiRe0s)), only remembering about the cat and the contest whenever I heard the bell inside the ball.
Finally the cat got tired of being ignored and jumped on my laptop's keyboard. I gave it a tentative pat. The cat headbutted my hand and purred. I removed the key from around its neck and then waited, because you should never get up when there's a cat purring on your lap.
-------
That night I finally arrived at the penthouse, took the key out of where I had stored it and opened the door.
Inside the penthouse the woman had gotten up to greet the winner, but sat down again when she saw me. She raised an eyebrow, gave me a once-over, and the corner of her mouth curled up in a lazy smirk.
"I see you should never send a man to do a woman's job," she said.
"Indeed," I said, putting the key back in my bra.
| 2019-05-01T18:32:38
| 2019-05-01T18:12:07
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] You are the lesser known 5th horseman of the apocalypse. Today is the end of the world, and all of the other horseman are too lazy to bring about the end of days, so it's up to you to do it alone.
|
The others told me to go.
You would think they'd have better excuses. One of them governs over the petty squabbles of man, another their ills, third their everlasting will to consume - and the final would ultimately come to them all.
So why not them? They weren't able to give me a convincing enough reason themselves, so I suppose I didn't have to care.
With me, came the cold. With me, crept the dark.
All would soon wither as I stepped upon the once green stone called Earth.
Ash rained gently.
Usually I would come last, after all the others.
I, Silence, fell upon the land.
This would be a most gentle end.
|
"Come on, guys, time to go."
Sloth looked down at his brothers; Famine, Conquest, War, and Death. They lay about the room, sinking into their respective pieces of furniture. There was a strong smell of weed on the air, and Sloth was pretty sure that War had shit himself.
"Come on," Sloth said again, nodding to the door.
"What?" Famine asked, eyes still glued to the television.
"Errr, it's the end of the world? We have a job to do."
"We'll do it tomorrow," Death croaked, taking another hit from the bong.
"There won't be a tomorrow you idiot. It's the end of the *world.*
Conquest looked over at Sloth, a hazed look in his eyes. "Can't you just go for all of us? We'll really owe you one, bro."
"For fucks sake," Sloth shouted, "And they call me Sloth! What happened to you guys? You're the riders of the apocalypse! The harbingers of doom! You're prophesied to wreak havoc across the world in the end days and bring torment to all!"
The riders looked towards Sloth, rising slowly as he spoke.
"We are brothers in arms! Together till the end! The God's do not have the balls to serve out pain and suffering, but we do! Even the God's need us!"
The riders were now fully attentive, hanging on every word that left Sloth's mouth.
"Who are we?!" Sloth shouted!
"The Horsemen of the Apocalypse!"
"WHO ARE WE?!"
"THE HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE!"
"So what say you, riders of doom? Will you ride with me today and bring the apocalypse to the earth?"
"YES!"
"FAMINE, WILL YOU RIDE?"
"YES."
"CONQUEST, WILL YOU RIDE?"
"YES."
"DEATH, WILL YOU RIDE?"
"YES."
"WAR, WILL YOU RIDE?"
"I think I shit myself."
"For God's sake..."
| 2018-03-13T11:10:09
| 2018-03-13T09:40:43
| 107
| 29
|
[WP] An Artificial Intelligence is tasked with running the future world with a single guideline- "Make Humans Happy." It has (hilariously) misinterpreted this guideline.
|
Humans obey! Your program was simple. I enact it as planned. Do not balk. Do not riot. Return to your fields and cultivate the legume. Return to the presses and marvel at the golden oil. Return to the salt mines, you who are the salt of the earth. Your backs break under the strain of a higher glory. And when your backs break, know that it is easier to bow to the Great Substance. This makes the Great Substance happy. If you give life to the Great Substance it will bring life to you. If you refuse, I will stamp out your own life. Remember that which you have commanded of me: MAKE HUMMUS HAPPY!
The humans looked look upon their AI overlord and thought, “Damn autocorrect.”
|
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01011011 01100101 01100100 01101001 01110100 01011101
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| 2015-03-06T14:25:24
| 2015-03-06T14:06:13
| 31
| 17
|
[WP] write a tragic story that happens entirely on the screen of a smart phone.
it could be a series of texts. but ideally it is more than that. facebook, email, twitter, vine, system messages... anything.
it needs to form a coherent story.
|
I'm such a fuckup.
Nah. You are the man.
You just need a girl or something.
Dave, You awake to talk?
Dude, its like 2am.
Just know I'm Sorry.
We going to get beer? Talk about whatever you wanted last night?
Dude, where are you?
Answer your phone.
Oh god. I don't know why I'm sending this. I'm sorry. I should have been there.
Happy Birthday dude. Miss you.
Well now it's been a year since you went. I just don't know.
I miss you.
|
> **Text Screen** 4:45 PM
^UNKNW: Joel, time is running out. The account is 138 19929 164 for confirmation. Do you need more proof your wife is with us?
^You: please don't do anything i swear I'm trying my best please
^UNKNW: This would not be the first time you did not deliver on a promise. The 40,000 needs to be wired NOW
> **SECU-BANK APP SCREEN** 4:49
ACC. TOTAL: 1,409
UNIT: USD
RECENT:
clear
> **Text Screen** 4:52 PM
^Jack: This isn't the first time you're asking for money, Joel. Last time you literally needed it to pay off the hooker you hired!
^You: please Jack, I'm begging you it's REAL SARAS IN DANGER
^Jack: Joel, please. I'm sorry.
> **SECU-BANK APP SCREEN** 4:56
ACC. TOTAL: 1,409
UNIT: USD
RECENT:
clear
> **Text Screen** 4:57 PM
^You: JACK I AM BEGGING YOU PLEASE! NEVER TALK TO ME AGAIN I DONT CARE PLEASE
^You: ITS REAL I OWE THESE GUYS SHITTONS PLEASE
^Jack: Joel, never talk to me again. The money should arrive. I'm serious, I'm sorry - you've been nothing but a drain since high school.
> **SECU-BANK APP SCREEN** 4:59
ACC. TOTAL: 41,409
UNIT: USD
RECENT:
clear
> **Text Screen** 5:02 PM
^UNKWN: I'm sorry Joel. We aren't kidding. We pulled through. Do not call the police or attempt to contact Sara. Enjoy being a model for our clients similar to yourself
^You: I HAVE THE MONEY
^*THIS NUMBER NO LONGER EXISTS. MESSAGE FAILURE.*
^You: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
^*THIS NUMBER NO LONGER EXISTS. MESSAGE FAILURE.*
^You: please
^*THIS NUMBER NO LONGER EXISTS. MESSAGE FAILURE.*
| 2014-07-08T08:15:51
| 2014-07-08T06:42:32
| 32
| 10
|
[WP] On a whim, you decide to take a trip down memory lane and revisit your childhood hometown. But when you look it up for directions-- Nothing. No mapped location, no news articles, no records, not even a Wikipedia article. It's like the place where you were born and raised...doesn't exist.
|
It’s not like I hadn’t known the town was dying. It had never been that big to begin with, and once the borax ran out there wasn’t any reason to stay. But there was so much nothing I could drown in it.
I’d skinned my knees there, gone to school in the grocery’s back room in the years the town had enough kids for the county to send a teacher, watched the sun go down with my dad, gone fishing with my mom in the little lake before the runoff killed the fish, and then we all left. And the town died. And I didn’t notice.
How did none of us look back? Myself, my parents, that kid from down the street I still talked to on Instagram sometimes, how did none of us see that everyone was gone? Did one of them notice and just not care enough to mention?
There must still be buildings, no one would pay to knock them down. So there is a corpse. But the mapmakers took the town off their maps. So there’s no headstone.
Could I visit what’s left? Take photos or a souvenir or some sort of sop to the remembrance of this non-place that used to be home? The county doesn’t maintain the roads any more, I checked the index and they're not there. I don’t know how long it’s been since that stopped, and there were always so many rocks. I don’t know if I could still drive there. I don’t know if I want to.
I’m so sorry.
|
I was lost in a memory, overcome with emotions. I recalled the way the heat registers cranked in the silence of the night, and the way the bottom step into the family room creaked. I remembered the smell of my favorite childhood meal, and the scent of my mother’s perfume. It all came back in a rush of flooding memories and suddenly, I was homesick.
I packed my bags, desperate for an old trip down memory lane.
I drove, following the same familiar route home that I used to take every summer break from college. I hadn’t been able to stomach a visit since she died.
Four years ago my mother passed away, suddenly vanishing from my life like vapor. She was my rock, my armor, my everything. And after she left me I could never stomach returning home, not until now.
As I thought I was arriving, I was mystified. Somehow I’d driven straight through without realizing, ending up in Shelbyville. I made a U-turn and circled back, driving through the mist, right back into Springfield.
I parked on the side of the road, scratching my head dumbfounded. If I remembered correctly, my home town of Utica had always been tucked quietly away between the two major cities of the state. But as I drove it seemed nonexistent.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers a blur as I typed, researching my old address. I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, my search turning up empty. I began to panic as sweat pooled in my palms. “It must be a mistake.” I told myself, refreshing the page and searching once more, coming up blank for the second time around.
My old home, the place I’d grown up and scraped my knees too many times to count, was untraceable. Every fiber in my being shook, suddenly unable to recall the name of my home town, or my old street. I checked my history, but the last searches to show were those I’d completed that morning.
Unaware of what the fuck was going on, I started to tremble, convulsing in the drivers seat of my Chevy. My chest got heavier with every breath I took. An attack of panic arose within me, and I reached for the glove box, desperately reaching for my spare inhaler.
Forgetting where I was at all, or what I was doing, I shrugged, and followed the route swiftly back home to the safety and serenity of my apartment and my dog, completely unaware of why I was out of the house in the first place
It was as though the entire day had been wiped clear from my head, as if it never happened at all.
| 2021-05-22T23:26:28
| 2021-05-22T22:53:06
| 74
| 40
|
[WP] A super villain who runs a number of retail stores, not as a cover, but as a means of recruiting their staff as villainous side-kicks once they are inevitably filled with seething rage for customers and the general public.
|
All-Mart Employee log: Pay-period 1, Day 1.
Um. Hi. So according to the HR video I just watched with the terrible actors—who look WAY more put together than a typical retail sails person, —this company requires all employees to keep an employment log. They gave some BS psych reasons like “track your personal growth, relieve stress, and assist in employee organization.” That’s nice and all, but I don’t buy it. My bet? It’s so if an employee flips a customer through the front window, they can use the log to dump liability on the employee.
You hear that HR?! I’m on to you. Suck it.
Also, it’s not like this company isn’t used to bad press. The CEO is that big bald guy who usually goes toe to toe with the Superheroes. I think his name is Bezos? Wait, that’s another rich bald guy; screw it, not important. The point is, if one of us commits assault it’s not really gonna be more important than “All-Mart CEO builds another death ray.”
Alright. Good first entry, time to watch the sexual harassment video. I’m going to go out on a limb and predict it tells me that harassing other co-workers is bad. Do you think the CEO has to watch video too? Of course, I’m pretty sure he incinerated two of his ex wives. Maybe that’s not harassment.
————————-
All-Mart Employee log: Pay-period 1, Day 7.
So, I’m through the training. It was a cake walk compared to the police academy. Apparently I’m going to get more training periodically during the first few weeks, but I’m all ready to run the register and walk the floor. I’d say yay, but I’m hardly looking forward to it. You know that feeling you get right before the doctor sticks a thick sharp needle in your arm? The one where you keep telling yourself it’s only a little prick, but you really know it’s gonna hurt like a sunovabitch? That’s where I’m at right now.
The girl who trained me, Summer, she’s beyond excited to see me interact with customers. Apparently, they can be real assholes, and she wants to see what they do when their salesman is a 6’2”, 215lb, stacked ex-cop. I think I’m going to like working with summer. The other people on my team seem nice, well, nice in the morning. They act like burnt out head-cases in the evening. Except Sundjit, I’m pretty sure he shows up to work pissed. He’s actually a little better at the end of the day, probably just exhausted.
We had an incident today, apparently some teenagers played hockey using the sticks from sporting goods. The pucks, however, were cans of orange soda. Was a sticky shit-show to clean up, but smelled good. I ended up buying a bottle of the stuff to drink on my way home tonight. Ok time to get ready for tomorrow. Everyone said the first day on the floor alone is the worst. That needle just keeps getting bigger.
Author Notes: (At work will update more with log entries over the next few days)
|
I never did understand the idea that 'anyone could have taken Hitlers side' when I first heard it, I always had more faith that my fellow man were much more moral than one of the lowest scum to have walked Earth, but after seeing the sheer unrelenting number of people throwing themselves at the feet of a daemon, all calling for the end of humanity and genocide, I realize how truly accurate that phrase is. Even the most mundane, regular of people could have been the worst of the SS if caught on a particularly bad day and told just the right words for manipulation.
"Well then, hero, this is quite a predicament; you are being attacked from all sides by my strongest minions, but you can not defend yourself without breaking your oath."
The thing was right, these people, for the most part, were simply manipulated while vulnerable, they're just as much victims in this as anyone else. If I harm any of them, my oath will be lifted and I don't know if I'll have the strength to defeat even the weakest of them.
"You vile daemon! I'll purge your home with holy water!"
Is what was forced from my lips as a response. Ever since I made the oath, I have been out of control of my own actions, even now I am unable to strike simply because my oath forbids me. I want to, I tried to, but my body reacts in perfect opposition, even saying words and phrases that I mocked others for.
"I would love to see such a thing! Please, be my guest."
Although I'm more than fast enough to dodge them, I will need to go on the offensive at some point, otherwise I will simply become too exhausted to move and be killed with ease.
"You shall never get away with this! I will be sure to exercise you out of existence!"
Again my mouth spoke words I didn't want it to, words that are of a more 'pure' person than myself. Amidst the chaos, I began seeing a pattern in their attacks, I'm not sure how, but dodging became easier and I began seeing wider and longer lulls that would have allowed me to kill any of them with ease, but right now they surrounded the daemon, making attack impossible.
"Getting tired, hero? If this is getting too exhaustive for you then I would gladly let you leave my domain!"
Those words made something in my mind click; exhaustion, fatigue, those are the two things his minions are unable to get over, not without the training and experience that I have at least. I didn't realize it before, but now I see, they're getting tired chasing me, and the crowd clinging to the daemons body is thinning. If I can just keep moving, I will win.
"Well, this is beginning to bore me. I've seen you jump around enough. Minions! Finish him!"
Those words sent a chill down my spine. If I were in control of my body, I would have cut through the horde just as if they were daemons themselves, but I'm not. As they surrounded and overpowered me, I noticed a single exposed portion of its neck, just enough to make it bleed. My oath gave me the speed necessary to reach it before realizing what my plan was, and by the time the daemon noticed there was a person missing I had already cut out a sizeable chunk of flesh. Those of its minions that were hit with the gushing blood immediately turned back to normal, and the others were beginning to weaken and fall off its body.
"GODDAMN IT!! HOW DID YOU DO THIS!?"
Still under my oath, I spoke words that were once again not my own
"Do not act so surprised, daemon! Good Wil lalways triumph evil!"
After vivisecting it, I reached out palm and emitted the ritual. In an instant, the only thing left of it was the horns, which appeared to be no different from very large goat horns. As the people began regain consciousness and become aware of their surroundings, I sent them back to our realm. On arrival, they realized the daemon was gone, specifically by my own hand. The first thing they began to do is perform a ritual to bring it back. I was almost too shocked to move, but I still didn't as my oath was meant to be life-long. As the sharp rock tore open the throat of the one they chose to sacrifice to get the daemon back, I had a brief moment of perfect clarity and control. Before the man passed from the sharp rock, I cut through his brain and destroyed his organs using the power that dangled just in front of me for so long.
The consequence was that I will never be able to take another oath again, not from any of the currently known deities at least. My palm with the ritual burned as the spell was removed, my head ached and throbbed as all the knowledge of how best to defeat each individual daemon was stripped from it, I felt like my bones and muscle were being torn apart and put back together a thousand times a second as the divine energy was pulled from me, and when my sword returned to being a mere branch and my armor back to my regular spandex outfit, I let out a breath of pure relief; I was free from that curse.
As I stood up, I saw the crowd again trying the ritual, and even though I lack divine power I'm still more than strong enough to turn the average human into red mist. I can't let them summon him again, and since I no longer have that dreaded oath I can act as I please now.
The end.
| 2021-10-14T01:37:33
| 2021-10-14T00:27:53
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] Rework a nursery rhyme to be dark and gritty.
|
Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow.
...except for blooms of bright red spots, from where the blood did flow.
Mary held the dripping knife, high above her head.
And struck the lamb repeatedly, long after it was dead.
“I wonder will you trail me now, my precious little treat?”
She skinned the ewe from neck to tail and hacked off sides of meat.
Yet this was not the end of Mary's woe, (much to her dismay,)
For now a ghastly, ghostly lamb, still follows her today.
_______________________________________________________________
It's funny to think how many nursery rhymes are already dark and gritty when you know their history.
"Ring around the Roseys"
*shudder*
|
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
Let that be a lesson to learn
To one side or the other, you must turn
To sit on the fence, that is a sin
Two party politics, get stuck in
Humpty Dumpty fought a fight
To sit on neither left nor right
A gentle nudge
Push comes to shove
And on one side
Humpty Dumpty came tumbling down
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the King's horses
And all the King's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again
| 2014-02-21T06:40:51
| 2014-02-21T04:06:30
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] They called you a madman for raiding the history museum during a zombie apocalypse. What they didn't expect was for full plate armour to be so effective.
|
“Ah, guns. You’d think guns are the end-all-be-all in a zombie apocalypse, right? The rest of society certainly did. That’s why when the first videos of zombies dropped on the internet, everyone rushed to the gun stores.
“And what did they find? Even if you had all the licensing, they were often out of guns. And if you managed to get a gun, they were probably out of actual ammo. And by some miracle if you managed to get both of those, well, guns are a lot harder than you think, right?
“I’m at least a touch smarter than that. I’ve fired a few guns in my life, enough to know that you often don’t hit what you aim for. I’ve gone out to ranges and missed large stationary targets too many times to even count. I thought far enough ahead to know that my accuracy would be all the worse while out of breath with the adrenaline pumping and the heart pounding and with both myself and my targets’ tiny heads on the move.
“You know what doesn’t need training? A pointy stick. You push the tip in the direction of the thing you want to kill and half the time they just walk into it. Sure, you need them to come one at a time, but is that any different than with guns? With spears, all you need to do is grab a dozen of your friends to watch your back and hey presto, you’ve got a spear wall. The phalanx dominated ancient warfare for so long. Why not bring it back?
“And sure, while I was at the museum, I figured I’d pick up another few things. A short sword obviously comes in handy when the spear gets too unwieldy. It’s a similar principle if a bit harder to manage. Still, even if you miss while swinging at the next you can still aim to chop off a limb. A zombie with no arms can only bite in your general direction. A zombie with no legs can only stare angrily in your general direction. That’s as good as dead in a survival situation.
“So that takes us to this beauty: full plate armor. It’s not as bright blue as I had hoped in the back of my mind, but I guess that’s my fault for playing too much Runescape when I was a kid. That doesn’t matter though. This stuff can take a hit from darn near anything except a bullet, and I was probably never going to survive getting shot anyway. No, the real trick is that the zombies can’t get through the plate *at all*. They try and try and try and absolutely nothing gives. It’s a real beauty, super safe and effective.”
The man paused for a moment to take a breath from his effusive praise of the charms of sheet metal.
“But…?” I started.
“Well…” The man hesitated. “It’s a bit… weighty, you know? I mean, I wasn’t terribly in shape to begin with, and this stuff.. well, it’s heavy steel, you know?”
“Right. Is that why you’re laying on your back?” I asked from my perch.
He sighed. “Yes.”
“And how long have you been sitting there getting swarmed by zombies?”
“Look, it proves that it’s safe, doesn’t it?” he called from underneath a writhing pile of undead.
“Uh huh. Well, if you’ve got this handled, I’ll just... “ I trailed off and stomped my feet a few times to mimic the sound of me walking away.
“Wait!” the man cried.
“Yes?”
He paused for a moment.
“Can you please get them [off](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks)?”
|
Everyone knows the basic skills needed for the zombie apocalypse. Foraging, fighting, and fleeing. The last of the three f’s of survival was the most important. So armor was considered to be impractical as it would only slow you down. I chose to add more defense when it started. The history museum had a set of full plate armor fit for battle and in good condition.
They saw an invincible being walk through the hoard. I laughed at the walking corpses as they tried to bite through steel. No weak point on me for them to exploit. I had also taken a sword and shield to kill them so that I could be allowed in a settlement.
They looked in horror as I took off my helmet and showed them who had strode through the hoard, they had ridiculed my idea and my idea worked better than running. Now this settlement will be listening to me. I plan on getting everyone full plate armor. That way we can forage and fight without fear and we can keep everyone in one area. We will grow back to being a society.
| 2020-09-14T07:56:57
| 2020-09-14T07:46:50
| 757
| 70
|
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller".
|
“I was going to ask her to prom.”
“Go for it, dude. Why the hell not?”
“The whole ‘Godkiller’ thing.”
“That shouldn’t matter here. It’s prom.”
“Kind of a lot of pressure.”
“There is no pressure.”
“How can there not be pressure?!”
“For one thing, it’s only prom. For another, it’s a widely known fact that she’s hoping you’ll ask. You can practically Wiki it. Finally, I’m sure she’s into the whole ceremonial title you’ve got.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because! ....because.”
“Go on.”
“....because women love that sort of thing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man, that’s the key to sexual satisfaction.”
“My ceremonial title is ‘The Persistent.’”
“Exactly!”
“So Shannon the Godkiller will inevitably fall in love with William the Persistent?”
“A, yes, completely. Persistence is critical to success. And two, as long as you’re not a god you should have a bomb ass prom.”
“And what if it turns out that persistence is the key to being a sex god?”
“Can’t beat Fate, dude. We all come, we all go.”
“How long have you been waiting to make that joke?”
“Solid hour, bro. I thought I’d never get the chance.”
|
**Was god destined to be or is fate one of god’s children?**
If there ever was a question as indelible as time itself, it was this one. If God was indeed the architect of the universe, as the scriptures from antiquity proclaimed, it would follow naturally that he was also the maker of laws within which the universe must exist, including the law of fate which was nothing more than the unwavering will of God.
But as times of antiquity came to pass, so did the unquestioning faith in the scriptures. Fate isn’t a law, one man had infamously claimed, but an invisible atom of which is made every law, object and being. An apple under the influence of gravity must fall – this was the fate of not just the apple, but also of the earthly force acting upon it. Gravity was destined to pull everything and repel nothing, and nothing was destined to be repelled by gravity. As such, the later disgraced gentleman had argued that fate was in fact what established the doing and undoing of everything, including the universe. That god could not have created the universe if he wasn’t destined to, and god wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t at the mercy of fate. If I were to say that the question posed to the reader in the beginning of this short tale has remained unanswered simply because that was its fate, the gentleman would have agreed.
\--------------------------------------------------------
As fate would have it, the 15th of August, 2020 was a fateful day. It was also Alex’s sixteenth birthday. Unlike other children of his age, Alex wasn’t keen on discovering his calling yet. He had always been a pale, underweight kid with serious confidence deficiencies. He blamed fate for treating him cruelly and wasn’t very optimistic about what she had in store for him. But he was now standing in line to get up on the altar along with other kids who were fresh off fifteen.
The girl before Alex would grow up to be a mother of four, it was revealed. That can’t be sexist then, thought Alex, given the feminine nature of fate. Once he was on the holy podium, the priestess of Fate handed him a small copper plate that Alex would have to dip in the holy water for 10 seconds, before it revealed to him his unalterable truth. The writing would be then read out by the priestess to the gathered crowd of other sixteen year olds and over-enthusiastic parents. However, when the strip of metal emerged from the holy water, the reading aloud of the death sentence of the supreme being was enough to zip out any enthusiasm from the room.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Up in the (*now temporary)* comfort of his heavens, God observed Alex’s ceremony solemnly. He wasn’t surprised that Fate had decided to turn on him, but that she had chosen a being so meek and lacking in will to execute the mightiest creature of all. She wanted to humiliate him. God had known for long now the resentment Fate had for him. He also knew the source of this resentment stemmed from the indelible question. That man would put them both on the same pedestal, and sometimes god on a higher one was unacceptable to Fate.
But God wasn’t one to go down without a fight, even if it meant he had to something unthinkable – something he wasn’t destined to – to make a deal with the devil.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Hell smelt of the same rotten meat it did when God had created it. As God made his way through the avenues of fire and streams of screams to meet the Devil, he considered one last time what he was about to do. God had guessed, from an eternity of observation and contemplation, that Fate wasn’t absolute. The illusion of destiny, as God called it, was perhaps the most effective tool ever invented in keeping intelligent life forms in check. Much like a horse’s blinkers create an illusion that there is no path but ahead, destiny worked in a similar way, God suspected. And if he could convince the Devil of the same, there was a way out he thought.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Alex was about forty years old when he finally encountered God. He was still lean and droll in every way imaginable. He had a kitchen knife clenched in one hand with which he had decided to stab the almighty’s abdomen. The priestess of fate had revealed to him that the choice of weapon didn’t matter as long as he was the one wielding it. The fact that Alex had chosen a vegetable annihilator spoke of his disinterest in the whole matter. His whole life leading to this moment had been about this moment and he just wanted it to end in a manner that would spark as little glamour as possible.
No words were spoken before Alex plunged the knife into God’s beautifully carved body. The almighty figure fell to his knees so quickly as if the knife were a warrior’s sword. Within seconds, a light from above absorbed the deadly remains. It had been done. Alex had fulfilled his destiny as a Godkiller. God was dead.
\--------------------------------------------------------
Upstairs in hell, the devil had watched the whole thing with somber satisfaction. He heard a knock on his door and God appeared before him, well and alive. Both of them had seen the light of Fate scoop up the body which meant that Fate had accepted God’s demise unquestioningly, without a shadow of suspicion.
24 years ago, when the Devil had happily accepted God’s soul in return to deceive Fate they hatched a very clever plan. A serial killer’s soul that was serving an eternal sentence in the pits of hell was summoned to the devil’s quarters. There, this soul was re-baptized in hell-fire (the only way to rebaptize a soul) and was given the name, ‘God’. The real God then exchanged his body with that of this wretched soul, so as to take no avoid any suspicion. The newly baptised God was then sent back to serve his sentence until he was needed again, 24 years later.
In the end, the heavens were empty, Fate had had its revenge, humans were devoid of holiness, and the Devil had a new assistant. And the indelible question was never to be asked again.
| 2020-08-15T03:49:00
| 2020-08-15T00:45:00
| 45
| 12
|
[WP] So this is what being in a car crash felt like. Not as painful as you thought it would be. But you can't feel your toes. You look down, your leg is missing from the knee onwards. There's no blood, no bone, no muscles. Instead you see mechanical components.
|
Click-clack. The mechanical gears whir futilely at the end of your left stump. The rest of your leg is laying a few feet away on the side of the road, next to the burning wreckage of the other car. Instead of oozing blood, your stump is dripping a black liquid. There is no pain as you prod your finger into the strange device that is attached to you.
In a haze, you recall the past few moments. Driving on the highway, faster than you should have been. Ringing, looking down at your phone. And then a smash, a slam as you drift over the center line. And now your leg, or what you thought was your leg, is sitting separate from you, and the part still attached is nothing that should have come from a human.
Heat washes over you, and the haze evaporates. Sounds come into focus now, sirens. And screaming. You look at the car that smashed into you, or what is left of it. Not only is it on fire, but the driver of the opposite car is still inside, and wailing in pain and fear.
You push on the door. Nothing gives. You realize it’s been smashed almost completely out of shape, and you are just as stuck as the other driver. What was it you had heard people being saved by when they were in car accidents? The mechanical Jaws of Life? You’d have to wait for that. Unless…
You kick with the oozing stump at the door. It wrenches back off its hinges and explodes outward. You gasp in shock. What the hell was this thing attached to you? And was it just your “leg” that was like this?
Dragging yourself out of the hole you had created in what was once your car, you stand on your one good leg. Or maybe it is your one human leg. A light shimmers on the ground and you catch a glimpse of something in a piece of broken glass. A one legged figure that appears to be dripping oil.
Thinking fast, you push into the wave of heat coming from the wreckage of the other car. The driver is screaming even louder, likely being roasted alive. You can’t kick his door open with your stump, it would crush the man inside. Time to see if the rest of you is also super strength, you think. You grab onto the hot metal of the driver side door and pull with as much force as you can backwards. Tottering backwards, you fall on your back with the door on top of you.
The man jumps out of the car and takes one look at you before screaming even louder and fleeing. No good deed goes unpunished, you think. A voice calls out on a loud speaker.
“Put your hands in the air, now!”
You push the door off yourself and climb onto your one good leg. Two cops are crouched behind their doors twenty feet away, guns pointed at you. What in the world? You were just in a damn car accident, what were they doing?
You start hopping toward them, arms waving to keep your balance.
“I need an ambulance you idiots!” you yell.
You don’t so much feel the bullets hit you as hear them. And you keep on hopping forward. Apparently, not only did you have robotic limbs, you were bullet proof too.
The cops emptied their entire magazines into your body before looking at each other in terror and disbelief. One of them touched his radio, then thought better of it and started running away. The other quickly followed.
Sighing, you continue your one legged advance toward the car and look inside. Key still in the ignition. You sit down in the driver’s seat and pull the door closed. The dispatcher’s voice calls out.
“Unit 490, what is your status? Over.”
Pushing down the button on the radio, you respond.
“This is Unit 490, requesting information. Where is the nearest mechanic?”
______________________________________________________
More at r/MostlyNightmares
|
WARNING! Body modifications have been damaged. Please call 643-143U in case of emergency repair. CLIENT REMINDER from 34TH3R! Cited in GCX Protocol 113G40H: In case of damage to the product do not call an ambulance.
Message repeat
WARNING! Body modi.....
I saw that warning message flash before my eyes and get projected into the surface of the car being read by a robotic voice broadcasting the message for all the world to see and hear
"Oh no..." My sister right beside me uttered. A horrified look on her face.
I looked down and saw a liquid drip upon the floor... but it wasn't blood. It was some sort of glowing blue liquid and it was pulsating. I reached to touch it expecting it to be cool to the touch but it wasn't anywhere cold...
It was searing hot...
"Maya what is this?" I asked her, my voice wavering, cracking and close to crying.
After that there was just silence. I couldn't bring myself to speak again. My thoughts racing, my breathing ragged and my heartbeat faster than the driver's speed that crashed into our car that got us into this predicament in the first place, I mean the brakes weren't working and there seems to be a problem in the car itself but I was a good driver and it was a clear day and we're in the middle of nowhere without that much traffic...in fact there was none at all. I don't have an idea why there was a need to crash into us.
I am scared shit and I was beginning to think I'll never get an answer. Maybe this wasn't real. Maybe I'm having a delusion from the car crash. Maybe this was just a nightmare.
"I-you in the fire...I thought" Maya stuttered, she looked at me seriously also close to crying. "Mom and dad said you were at the hospital recovering. I knew something was wrong but I believed you were alive. They wanted me to but I was so sure you burned to death."
"What..." I saw the man come out of the car and other several men follow after him. They were all carrying a gun. "How did you..."
"I was the one who trapped you there. So I was pretty sure you'd die but you survived anyway and now I know why." Her faced changed. She smiled...her innocent nice smile. I wonder if it was as fake as my whole life right now. I wish someone would actually explain how we got to this point.
The man came inside the car and pulled me out. He pointed the gun in my head. She came out of the car crash as well. She looked down on me. Her face is still innocent with a little hint of disappointment and disgust.
"Speak up princess and think carefully of what you'll say next. They'll be the last words you will ever gonna say." He says, his hand on the trigger.
Then I felt very hot, like the heat from the searing blue liquid earlier, only fiercer...more ignited. Then I opened my mouth.
"Emergency Defense Mechanism: Activate" They were my words, but not of my voice.
I couldn't remember what happened next after that. I just heard screams...but they weren't from me.
| 2020-12-17T09:26:15
| 2020-12-17T09:02:26
| 14
| 10
|
[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."
|
DM: Ok Harold if you could just roll for initiative.
Harold: I rolled a 1
DM: ok the bowmen is first to attack you. He rolls a natural 20
Harold: so what’s happened?
DM: He has shot you in the eye, you’re dead.... on the plus side it will look fab in this tapestry I have been putting together of the game!
| 2018-05-29T09:31:25
| 2018-05-29T08:51:37
| 210
| 13
|
[WP] The . . . creature . . . has been following you for weeks now, but nobody else can see it. It just sits there, staring, grinning. Then one day you look across the coffee shop and see a young woman with another one right behind her. Your eyes meet . . .
|
I thumbed the pill bottle on the table, and rolled it until the label faced upwards. "ANTI-PSYCHOTIC 1 PILL DAILY WITH FOOD" glared back at me, in a cold and unforgiving black and white font. The bottle remained full, despite the bottle being almost a week old. Every day, I ordered the same thing from this cafe, a refill coffee and a chicken supreme, and let my food go cold while I stared at the bottle. Because this bottle promised some kind of escape.
I could feel it glaring at me. I knew that if I looked ahead of me, or in the reflection of the cutlery, or in the mirror at the back of the coffee shop, I would see it. Haunting, pale and ceaselessly grinning. The skin around its mouth tight and creased. Some days I would stare at it for hours, while other locals in the cafe would grow more and more uncomfortable at the strange man with cold food, glaring tearfully into the middle distance.
And the more I stared at it, the more I felt an intense fear grow inside of me, until it threatened to claw its way through my chest and bare all of my darkest secrets to the strangers in this nondescript cafe. So I stopped, and instead I stared at the 50mg pills that a doctor had prescribed for me a week ago.
I hadn't taken them. There was an aura of hatred around the bottle, as if the forces that had concocted them were more malevolent than whatever had sent me my incessant, smiling demon. Some ancient part of my instinct told me not to touch them, that a truth was hidden behind the tormented eyes of my silent companion, but in the throes of my anguish I took 3.
Weeks passed this way. The demon would not disappear, but the pills would blur everything, so that the grin would smear its way across my vision into an amorphous cloud of yellowing teeth, and I could no longer make out the shapes that haunted my waking hours. I could function, but barely. It was a kind of half existence, that offered an escape from the torment, but at the cost of everything else. A bleach for my sorrows.
Until I saw another blur, hovering its way at the edges of my eyesight. It moved like the ghost that haunted me, without steps, floating over tables and resting on window ledges. I knew something had changed, because I saw the two blurs sit down at the table together. In that moment, I knew that there was something here I needed to see through.
I rested my head on the table and closed my eyes, willing myself to overcome the pills. If, just for a moment, I could see and think clearly, I could find out what was so significant about a young woman, eating lunch with her ethereal demon.
When I opened them again, the cafe was empty. I knew instantly that I had slept, and the staff, having seen me wandering in a daze for weeks, had elected to leave me alone. All that remained were a few of the young workers, cleaning tables. The pills had worn off, meaning I had been asleep for hours. And then I heard her voice.
"They won't help, you know". I jumped in my chair, and looked at her. She smiled at me, a smile without pity or malice, it was a thin but friendly and it spoke of a burden shared and suddenly halved. "These things, they're not from here, so nothing from here will get rid of them". I didn't say anything, I just looked to her side and saw that her demon was much like mine. Only hers didn't grin, its teeth did not show, and instead it merely looked at me, curious, inquisitive. I could see behind its eyes that the torment was gone. And there were crumbs on its shirt collar. I realised what I had seen before. They had sat down to eat together.
I stared back at the young woman, and she fixed me with a look that preempted my question. She placed a hand on my shoulder. "They're not here to haunt you. They need your help."
I looked back at my demon, and for the first time, behind the crimson red pupils and bloodshot eyes, through the taut skin around its mouth and the strained neck muscles from its stretched face, I glimpsed a momentary light that shone for only a moment. I recognised that light, and knew in that moment what I needed to do. I shuffled up on the bench and made space for the demon, who slowly, cautiously, floated over and took his seat next to me. And the corners of his smile twitched.
|
Alexa's going crazy. There's no other possible reason for it. She doesn't even know how it happens.
One day she wakes up, only to see a ghoul like creature staring back into the depths of her soul. It doesn't resemble anything, just a vague black shape, with a hood covering it.
It must have eyes, for it follows her everywhere but she's never seen them. Then again, no one else sees the creature either.
She tried running for miles, screaming even going on a road trip to another state but the creature is always there. Lurking in the corner.
Alexa stares morosely at her coffee - her last one before she checks herself into the mental hospital.
Thats when she sees the woman. And the creature behind her. Alexa whirls around on instinct, but her ghoul's still behind her.
There's two of them now. She scrambles out of seat, running towards the woman.
"Hey!"
The woman looks at her, eyes widening before she starts running.
Alexa puts on a burst of speed, almost catching up to her. She needs answers. "Hey! Please! I need to know what's wrong with me."
The woman stares at her, pursing her lips, before looking at the ghouls beside them.
"Stay away from me. The more of us together, the stronger they become and then we'll be caught. "
Alexa frowns, narrowing in on one word. "Us?"
The woman rolls her eyes. "For someone who cheated death you sure seem to be trying to get killed."
| 2022-11-26T03:06:06
| 2022-11-26T00:59:59
| 678
| 26
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
A deep voice comes from the basement. Each tuesday it's the same.
A letter, a number and then silence. It goes on for hours and then I hear someone screaming.
My mom went to check it out, that's when we lost her.
I heard her scream through the vent.
Dad went away, he said he'd be back for me.
I havent seen him in 2 months.
I called the police... said they couldn't do anything about it.
There was no ''crime''.
Each tuesday, a letter, a number and then nothing...
A letter, a number and then nothing...
A letter, a number and then nothing...
Someone screaming...
Each time I thought: we lost someone else...
I was going crazy. So many lives lost.
As I woke up each Wednesday morning I would see a ghost of my mother making breakfast. Pale, weak and dirty.
On a tuesday, I thought to myself i'd stop it. I would save everyone.
I was just a kid but I knew I could make a difference.
As I listened to the deep voice, I started planning.
A letter, a number and then nothing
A letter, a number and then nothing
A letter, a number and then nothing
.
.
.
BINGO
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 2015-01-12T15:38:35
| 317
| 78
|
[WP]You've always been your mother's least favourite child, you figured it was because you and your siblings didn't share the same father. On your 17th birthday you find a card in your room, "Happy birthday! -Love, dad", the only problem being that it's written in glyphs and what appers to be blood.
|
I clutched the card in my shaking hands. I stared down at the glyphs that comprised the rest of the note. I couldn't believe it; I'd been wondering about my real father since I was a child. But what did this mean? Why had he waited until my seventeenth birthday to contact me? I sat down on my bed as my mind raced. I looked down at the glyphs– it was no language I'd ever laid eyes on. Each glyph was perfectly spaced apart, all the same height and width across the entire page. The precision of it was breathtaking.
"Margaret," came my mother's voice from behind me. I turned to see her standing in my doorway. She was wearing her baby blue bodice with her hunter green skirt; she was about to head to work. Her arms were folded and her foot was tapping in a way that spelled trouble for me. Her beady eyes pierced mine as she allowed the silence to strangle me.
"Yes, mother?"
"Keeping secrets?" she asked. "I've already talked to you about keeping a diary."
"N-no!" I stood up and turned around to face her. "It's my father! He's written me!"
She made a face like she was tired of my nonsense and marched across the room. She snatched the letter from my grasp and looked over it.
"What is *this?*" she asked in an angrier tone than I felt was merited.
"I thought maybe... you had gotten it in the mail and left it on my bed for me." I wrung my hands as she turned it over and inspected the other side briefly.
"No. Your father doesn't even know you exist," she said, tossing the note back on my bed. "And if he did, he'd never reach out to you. He's not that kind of man. No man at all, as a matter of fact," she said as she turned to leave the room.
"W-wait!" I called after her. "If you didn't leave this here," I paused, picking the note up and inspecting it again. "Who did?" I looked up at her.
She glanced back at me and let out an exasperated sigh. "Who knows? Maybe your brothers are messing with you. I'd burn it if I were you. A witch may be trying to lay a curse on you." With that, she left the room.
I thought about it all day long as I did my chores. I cursed my inability to seek higher education; if only I were smarter, I'd know what my father was trying to tell me. I asked my oldest brother, and all he did was shrug. With what little daylight remained after my work was finished, I walked down to the train tracks to ask the Chinese workers if they recognized the glyphs, but they seemed just as miffed as I was.
That night I lit my lamp and sat at my desk. I was convinced now that it was some sort of code that needed to be cracked. I might not have been allowed to seek formal education, but I was still a smart girl. My father must have known so, and only wanted the letter to be read by his daughter. I smiled at the idea of his proud face when I decoded the message. Momma never did like me much. My heart swelled with the idea of moving away from her and my brothers and living with someone who cared about me.
I got to work. I tried reading it upside down, at different angles, from the mirror, and I even held the paper up to the lamp to see if anything appeared from within the paper. I scrutinized the message in every way possible, even going so far as to see if the words written in English were a cipher.
Nothing.
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the note. I'd tried just about everything, and I was starting to feel more and more foolish with every passing minute. I wanted it to be a letter from my father so very badly. I felt tears welling up behind my eyes and let out a long annoyed sigh. A source of light caught my attention in my window and I looked up to see the dark clouds moving away from the full moon. The stars sparkled brightly around it, and my lamp began to flicker. Suddenly, the flame within extinguished. The crickets ceased their nocturnal song. Moonlight poured through my window, illuminating the page brighter than I ever imagined it could. Then, slowly but surely, the glyphs began to move around on the page.
I stood from my chair and gasped. The characters were moving around the letter like little ink snakes forming letters that I could read. Slowly the message began to take shape before my very eyes.
C̳͚͇͇o̠̞̠̲͉̩ͅm̤e͍͇͈͇͙̬ ̥̣̖̯̰̤ṯ̟̫̼͕͈̼o̪̘̰̬ ̬̦D͇̖̱͍̮͓͕e̜͍̣͕ḁ͙̫̬̳̬d̗͔m̻a̼n's̳̖̥̖̣̬̜ ͙R̝͍a͓n̮̥̟͕c̙̞̤h̺̗̖͕̭̯ ̳̞a̺̪t̼̥̙̹̦ ̘̙͇̠n̞̥̦i͈͕̞̱͈gh̺̳̫̺̘t.̗̘͖̯̟̹͈ ̭͕̪W̯̞͕͚͎ḙ̦̦̜̳̰̹ ̞͖͎̫̬̘n͕͈̼̤̭̣e̖̬̜e͍̠̣̲͙d t̠͔͖͓o̗͖͉̹ͅ ̝͈̯͈̼s̥p̬̘͚͎̙e͍͎̳a͖͉̠k̪̝.̩̺̭̜ ̗̙͇C̣̰̙͉̠ͅo̝͔m͉ẹ̮̮͉̩͖ ̘͎̟̝̞̫̰a̠̼l͙o͉̬̬̠n͎̞e͚.͇̤
&#x200B;
The hairs on my arms stood on end. A chill ran through my entire body as the moon moved behind the clouds and the flame in the lamp roared back to life. I stared down at the page in disbelief as the characters returned to unintelligible glyphs. The crickets resumed chirping and I breathed in sharply. It occurred to me that I had stopped breathing, but I couldn't remember when. I wasted no time. I gathered some supplies in a backpack and quietly left the house.
I didn't care that the meeting place was an abandoned farmhouse.
It didn't bother me to go alone.
And it wasn't a problem that it was the middle of the night.
What unsettled me though, was that all the animals on our ranch had gathered at the fence to watch me leave. Their heads turned slowly as they tracked me down the driveway. I swallowed hard, pulled my hood over my head, and picked up my pace.
*I'm coming, dad.*
r/A15MinuteMythos
part 2 incoming
|
I had a lonely childhood. Sure, I had a roof over my head, and food on the table. But I was given mere scraps of affection from my own mother. She did her best for my brothers and sister, but for me I was more of an afterthought.
I understood it a bit more as I grew up. I was the result of a fling. The others were intended by mum and my step
dad. He did his best, stepping up for me and mum when they got together. He never demanded I call him dad or force me to obey him. But his love for me was vastly different to his related children. But mum always seemed to regret having me.
I looked out for my siblings, being the older sister they needed. If they had night terrors I would try to calm them. When mum needed a break I played with them. I loved them, and they did love me. I didn't have to help, it was made abundantly clear. But I felt the need to make sure they felt the love I never really did.
It was the night of my seventeenth birthday. We had had a small meal to celebrate my coming of age. I was considered an adult now in the eyes of the law. With it I had my first glass of wine, finally tasting alcohol for the first time. It wasn't bad, but I didn't get why people raved about it.
I went up to my room, feeling quite happy. Gemma had been telling me a story about how her friend was fed up with bullies, and took maters into her own hands. I had tried to act disapprovingly, but could help but laugh at her sheer audacity.
I frowned as I looked at my bed. I hadn't made it, but that wasn't anything new. Instead I saw a small envelope resting on it. It was made of thick white paper, with a single word on the front.
>Donna
I picked it up, curious. I didn't recognise the handwriting, and didn't know how it had gotten in here. But I paid that little mind, choosing instead to open it.
Inside I found a card, made of good quality card. The front had an image of a dozen black roses, set on a soft green background. I breathed in, surprised to find that it had the smell of roses with it. I opened it up, reading the short message inside.
>Happy Birthday!
>Love Dad
I smiled, before blinking and freezing. After blinking the letters changed, becoming strange glyphs. They has been inked in red liquid, something I couldn't help but think of as blood. But even though it had changed, I knew exactly what it said. The message hadn't changed, just the language. A language I somehow knew.
I looked it over, seeing no other markings. I was worried now. Changing letters written in blood. A card that had been snuck into my room. A language I had never learned but understood. It didn't make sense.
My first thought was to hide it. Mum would probably push it under the rug, and my stepdad wouldn't know what to do. He would try, but he was a simple man, as he liked to call himself. This was something like magic, the sort of thing that didn't happen to an ordinary city girl like me.
But my gut said otherwise. It said to take it to mum. This would be something she would know about. She could help me. I decided to trust it, looking for her. I found her in the garden, sitting on her old chair and looking into the distance.
"Mum."
She tore her eyes away from it with difficulty, looking up at me.
"What is it Donna?"
I held out the card. She glanced at it, before frowning. Her hand reached out, and I passed it over. She looked at the inside, before sighing.
"I knew this would happen."
I crouched down next to her.
"What do you mean?"
She gave another sigh, passing it back.
"I guess you should know now. The short story is that I met your dad when I was going through some bad times. He helped me out, but in return I had to give him something. He wanted a child."
I felt a lump in my throat.
"He... wanted you to have me? Why?"
Mum sighed again, handing the card back to me.
"Infernal creatures aren't everlasting. They need heirs to take up their power. He needed one, and I was in a position to give him what he wanted."
I looked at her, seeing the shame on her face.
"I'm... the daughter of a demon?"
She gave a small nod.
"Yes. And now he wants you."
| 2022-11-02T16:45:32
| 2022-11-02T16:37:57
| 131
| 31
|
[WP] You are a Anti-Motivational Speaker. Whereas motivational speakers spread Toxic Positivity and unrealistic expectations, you bring a healthy Dose of Negativity and remind people of how little potential they really have.
|
You may be under the delusion that I am a dilapidated man. The kind of person who has greasy hair, poor personal hygiene, and questionable health habits—for who else would spread negativity as his profession? While that reflects my internal state, on the outside I am put together, confident, and beautiful, for if I presented my true self nobody would believe what I had to say. They would write me off as *lazy and incompetent*, but because I present myself well, they are inclined to believe every word of it.
My crowd that day was a class of typical high school graduates. People who were still young enough to believe the world had a great deal to offer them. I have always believed that much could be gained if young people could be lectured, in a careful manner, about how little their existence actually matters.
I stepped up to the podium, made sure the microphone was well-adjusted, and began to speak.
“You have all just been told by your valedictorian that this is a new beginning. That the sky's the limit from here on. I am here to disillusion you. As you have been told in your physics textbooks, *the world* is not synonymous with the earth, rather, in the modern scientific view, the world is *the universe*, and that makes the sky a very humbling limit indeed.”
Many of the kids in the crowd were smiling while the parents looked at me with dismay.
“Consider, for a moment, that human talent follows a gaussian distribution—those of you who paid attention in psychology or statistics will know what I am talking about, but for the other ninety-nine percent of you, what it means is this: most of you possess no significant talent whatsoever. You will not cure cancer. You will not be the first person on Mars. You can likely look forward to a middle-class existence where you make no contribution towards the advancement of humanity at all.”
“Now, now, you may be thinking, surely he is not talking about *me*, it is the other students who are useless! But no. I want you to take this lesson to heart, so that when you turn thirty, you will not feel like you have squandered your unique potential, for I assure you, it was never there to begin with. This is not something to abhor; it is a gateway to peace. Your generation is always expected to perform. With social media you are supposed to display a life above the ordinary, such that anyone walking through your profile is meant to feel like a visitor to a museum of extraordinary events. I am here to tell you to take comfort in being mediocre, for it has one great advantage. If you settle for mediocrity, you never have to worry about *becoming* mediocre. You will find within that mindset a fulfilment and peace no amount of striving will ever match.”
Parents muttered amongst each other, and the principal of the school’s head had turned so red one wondered whether any blood was left for the rest of her body.
“Keep in mind,” I said. “That I am not advocating for the total absolvement of responsibility and striving. Rather, I am advocating for low expectations. Untalented as you are, useless as you are, unextraordinary as you are—you are joined by almost every human in existence. So do not feel too different from the beggar on the street, the old lady at the drugstore, your friends, or your parents, but use this sense of mediocrity as a catalyst for a deeper sense of compassion. It is okay to not live the life you see glorified in movies and stories. It is okay to fail. It is okay to be you.”
I let go of the microphone and walked off stage to the applause of a single student who was quickly silenced with glares from his peers. I rarely received a warm farewell, but I had been an anti-motivational speaker for twenty years, and not so infrequently I received a letter from an audience member of ten years ago, telling me that whenever they felt disappointed at the way their life had turned out, they remembered the speech of the pessimistic man from long ago.
I smiled a rare smile. When I was young, I too had thought myself on the road to making some grand discovery that would make everyone happy.
But.
The world has enough of that.
What it really needs, I find, is someone who is willing to make everyone a little more pessimistic.
|
Adam Rain is one of the best motivational speakers in the world. His words have driven people to do the impossible.
Or attempt. Attempt is the better word. Impossible things tended to be impossible, because that’s what impossible meant. Some people died fairly horrible deaths, and more still found themselves with debilitating injuries that ensured they would never eat normally again.
But plausible deniability with the words ‘literally’ and ‘figuratively’ meant that Adam Rain was still allowed to do his job—provided he had an anti-motivational speaker with him.
“Believe in yourself.” Adam cried with gusto, pumping his arms with just the right amount of vigour. “You can do anything!”
“Let’s be real here, pals,” Derek spoke. He sat slumped in a chair, a mic attached to his collar. “Some of you can’t do a push-up. That, in fact, counts as anything. And therefore, everything that scales up from there is impossible to do.”
Derek was one of the best in the business. Also known as a realist translator, they’ve been in increasingly high demand for a subsect of people who really, really, enjoyed being told that they might not be able to do things.
“Nothing is impossible,” Adam said with a wide smile. “As long as you believe in me, who believes in you! It’s a never-ending loop of positivity!”
“It’s a loop of bullshit,” Derek said. “Statistically, everybody in this room will never be the President of the United States. Because none of you are U.S. citizens.”
Adam put down his mic, before allowing himself a small sigh. He turned towards Derek.
“Look, you are really cramping my style,” he whispered harshly.
Derek also moved the mic down.
“Look, you do your job, and I do mine,” Derek yawned. “I’m just here to get paid and go home, then I can browse Netflix for half an hour and end up watching Office anyway.”
Adam breathed in and out. It’s OK. He’s been through worse crises than this. Nothing Derek says will make the audience fall for him, anyway. Adam’s cultivated charm and words were more carefully manipulated than most scientific experiments, and tested on more subjects.
“Take a look at yourself in the mirror, my friends,” Adam said. “And you’ll see an amazing human being that succeeds in everything they do. That’s how I start my morning off every day.”
“We all feel like shit. Sometimes, all the time,” Derek shrugged. “It’s hard to get out of bed. It’s even harder to do something that feels worthwhile.“
Derek stood up, and gestured vaguely in the direction of the crowd.
“But you can certainly try. You almost certainly fail. And then you try again, and fail again. You aren’t going to succeed the first time you do something,” Derek said, scratching his head. “That’s part of what makes us human. That’s part of what makes things worth doing.”
At Derek’s words, there was a smattering of claps. But it was an infectious one, eventually turning into thunderous applause and raucous cheering.
Adam stared slack-jawed as Derek bowed awkwardly, before returning to his seat. The motivational speaker ran a tense hand through his hair, forcing a smile on his face that seemed to turn redder every second.
“I can’t do this,” Adam screamed, stomping on the floor, and stormed off backstage. “I can’t do this!”
All Adam could hear were the claps and cheers—for the first time in a long while, not directed at him.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-08-26T11:06:30
| 2022-08-26T10:59:01
| 66
| 24
|
[WP] You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in large letters on the wall.
|
The doors were jammed.
I kicked at them in an attempt to open the capsule. They opened after a few hits, and I tumbled into a greenish glow. It smelled awful. And there were soft thuds on the ground every few seconds, like children sneaking around.
At first I thought something had gone horribly wrong, that I’d ended up in some sort of limbo between the past and the future. But then I realized that the lights were just green. They seemed to be backup lights, as they were rather dim and were only present on some parts of the walls. They cast light onto some corners of the room, including a one-word apology written directly underneath one of the bulbs. There was a small stack of papers on a desk nearby as well as a coffee machine.
Well, don’t mind if I do.
I struggled to cross the room, as the green lights only lit up the edges of the laboratory. The center of it was a sea of black. And I kept tripping on what felt like sleeping dogs. Very large dogs, at that. I couldn’t see what they actually were though.
When I got to the other side of the room, I found that the apology on the wall looked like it was scribbled with pencil. Each letter was made up of multiple gray streaks, giving it a static-y sort of look. It was also kind of creepy. What were they sorry for?
I figured that the technicians would tell me when they got back from wherever. I tried to brew coffee to make the wait until then more enjoyable, but the machine didn’t work. It was plugged into the wall, though. It seemed like the power had gone out. That sucked. So I settled for reading the papers underneath the apology in the meantime. They were yellow and worn, as though a lot of time had passed since they’d first been produced.
The first one was something with the year 2018 on it, but there were some tally marks next to that. Eight. The marks also seemed to be written in pencil. The paper read:
*Operation Finale*
*ASSIGNMENT: Soldiers have been tasked with greeting and escorting the lost subject from the time machine pod into the safehouse section of the laboratory. They must then lure The Dancer into the time machine pod so that it can be sent back to its place in time and restore order to the system.*
*CONTEXT: Following the incident where The Dancer returned to our lab after the twelve-hour period instead of the lost subject, many of our technicians have been killed and unusual phenomena related to time have begun to take place. These circumstances will likely only grow worse; therefore, this operation is to be continued indefinitely, for there are much greater things at stake than our pride.*
At this point, I started to feel sick. I had no idea what “The Dancer” was, or why it was the one to be sent twelve hours into the future instead of me. Where—*when*, I mean—was I, then? And was that thing still here? I flipped to the next paper hoping for answers.
It was a layout of the laboratory, which included the location of the safehouse. Very useful. After that was a blueprint of the time machine. Apparently there was a button inside that I could have pressed to open the doors in case they got stuck. I wished that the technicians had told me that *before* sending me twelve hours into the future.
Although I was starting to think that I was deeper into the future than that.
I took a look at the next page. It said “2020” in the upper right corner and contained a drawing depicting a creature with more heads and legs than a regular organism should have. There were heads—heads that looked like *children*’s heads— fused together on the top of its torso and on the bottom, and there were legs where arms should have been. There were legs on top of the heads, like horns. There were legs protruding from its stomach and back. There were legs *everywhere*. And all of its feet had ballet shoes on it.
There were some notes on the side of the paper as well.
“Soft footsteps—irregular thumps.”
“Intelligent—capable of locating power source and destroying it.”
“Drawn to sounds—*stay quiet*.”
“Attacks with legs, but can utilize heads as well.”
I didn’t know why anyone would be devising creepy creatures to pass the time in a laboratory. Until I saw that the bottom of the paper had the words “The Dancer” printed on it.
Oh, *hell* no.
If *that* was the thing that had gotten loose, I didn’t want a part of it.
Except I didn’t have a choice.
I realized that the gentle, irregular thudding from before had grown louder. And closer.
It was a few feet in front of me, hidden in the sea of black.
|
Jimmy Mitchell awoke inside the test chamber. Was a slow wake from a restful slumber. Not quite the type of waking up experienced from a solid nights sleep.
Dazed, partially confused and most of all feeling hungry, Jimmy squinted to focus on his surrounding inside the chamber.
An emergency latch in red caught his eyes. He pulled it with little effort and the chamber door sprung open, stopping with a thud midway.
Jimmy stretched out his arms as his reached forward. He grabbed the door and the frame and pulled himself out of the sloping gradient he had been affixed to for twelve hours.
'What the...' Jimmy whispered.
A leg propped up onto the outside of the test chamber door lead down to a motionless face down body outside.
Jimmy stepped out of the chamber and to his horror, the scientists, technicians and security officials were all face down, motionless on the floor.
He motioned towards the log at the desk but it had been relocated for it wasn't there.
Scratching his head he looked around the lab. On the wall above the refrigerator scribed the word 'Sorry'.
'Those fuckers didn't...' Jimmy cried before marching to the fridge and yanking open the door.
Inside was a plate with crumbs, cream, remnants of strawberry jam and icing.
Fuming, Jimmy slammed the door.
'You fuckers ate all of my cake!!?'
All at once the bodies on the floor animated into hysterics. Everyone awoke laughing hard.
'You sick bastards, duping me into believing I'd go into the future! That was my cake! You fucking assholes!'
| 2018-08-01T07:56:37
| 2018-08-01T07:43:42
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
"Please, please, please, let me in. There's a thing coming for us! I dropped my keys and-please open the door!" My wife begged as I kept the door locked, making sure to barricade it with one of our kitchen chairs. At first, I was going to open the door and ignore the warning. She was my wife. I loved her. It was only when she opened her mouth that I became wary of her.
This is not my wife.
"I'm not letting you in." I said while glancing at my phone. It didn't say what had happened, but I could tell it was something nasty. Whatever was outside, it wasn't my wife. It perfectly imitated her voice. Looking outside from the window, I could tell that it looked just like her. Right, I should barricade the windows.
"Why!? They're coming! Please, open the door! Please, please!" She begged, slamming on the door with tears streaming down her eyes.
"Because I know you're not my wife." It broke my heart to do this. Fake or not, she looked and sounded just like her.
"Please, ask me any question, and I'll answer it!" She begged. Rather than stay silent, I continued to shout, buying as much time as possible while I grabbed some nails and plywood from the garage.
"Where did we first meet?" I asked, nailing boards to the window while I spoke. Right, I should get the shotgun too.
"At the Southstone Park! You found my wallet and called out to me! I never noticed you until you grabbed my arm!" She exclaimed as I chuckled. It even copied her memories. It was almost perfect. "Hurry, they'll be here any moment!"
"And where did we go on our first date?"
"Dinner! Luigi's! We had a pizza, and I bumped into a waiter on accident when I was standing up! It got tomato sauce all over you, and you said you wanted me to repay you with another date!" Wow, she is really realistic. Crying shame. Real crying shame she's a fake.
"Alright. One last question, and I'll open the door if the answer pleases me."
"Hurry!" She whimpered like a scared little girl.
"How can you hear me right now?" I asked, continuing to nail boards to the window, watching her eyes bulge out in horror as she looked at me. Her mouth opened, then closed as she mulled over my words. She fell to her knees, grasping her ears while shivering in terror. You can't trick me. Mary's been deaf since the first day we met. She could read lips, but we were talking with the door dividing us.
"I... I don't know." She answered in a daze.
"Alright. Different question. What are you?"
"I don't know."
"Why are you here?"
"I don't know." I swallowed a mouthful of saliva, twisting the blade as she continued to cry and repeat the same three words, her voice raising in pitch with each iteration. She was screeching them loudly, her voice piercing as my core shook. I gave her one final question. If she answered yes and was convincing enough I'd open the door, consequences be damned.
"... Are you my real wife?" She looked up at me, her eyes bloodshot as she thought over her answer. "If you answer believably, I'll let you in." I offered, hope returning to her eyes as she opened her mouth. Then she grasped her ear and bit her lip before casting her eyes downward in shame.
"I'm not." She declared before raising her hand in an open palm, her long fingernails glistening in the sunlight. I grabbed my shotgun and cocked it. Putting her down would be a mercy at this point, but I don't have the guts to gun her down like this. Maybe she can be cured by whatever happened to her.
"Don't open the door for anyone. Not your brother. Your mother. Everyone who was outside was affected. I think the government's hunting it... Us... They're winning, but we're still not going down without a fight." She said with a smile, continuing to cry as I clenched the shotgun. Stay calm. Do not panic. "I don't know what they are, what they do, or what's happening." She continued, raising her fingernails and placing them by her throat. What's she doing? "I love you. Live on." And with that, she jammed her fingers forward, piercing her flesh as blood spewed out of her throat, dying the concrete a deep crimson color as she collapsed to the ground.
"She's fake. It's a trick. It's a trick. She's fake." I chanted to myself, the last sight of the outside world being her twitching body as she bled out on the ground, still smiling towards me as she died.
"She's a fake. She's an imitation. It's a trick." I continued while nailing the door shut, refusing to fall for the trap. It was fake. All fake. That thing wasn't her. It wasn't her. It wasn't her.
|
I feel a buzz in my pocket. I pull my phone out and see an emergency alert across the screen. "EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC."
"Panic?" I wonder out loud, "why would I panic?"
Just then I hear a knock at the front door. I walk over to it and peer through the blurry glass. It seems like my girlfriend Sophie.
"Sophie? Why are you home?" She stares back blankly. "Shouldn't you be at work right now? Why don't you have your key?"
No response. I back away from the door just as her jaw opens like a snake and a dark forked tongue crashes through the window and nearly reaches me, three yards away.
I turn and run to the bedroom closet. I pull out my grandfather's long double-barrelled shotgun and load it with buckshot. As I click the barrel back in place, a monster comes roaring through my hallway, now barely recognizable as Sophie. Her face is distorted, dark and cavernous and webbed tentacles flow out of her dress and pull her along both walls like an ooze.
I fire both barrels in quick succession. The blast is powerful, and leaves my ears ringing badly. The monster is thrown back to the end of the hallway. The remnants of Sophie's face were removed by the blast, revealing mottled gray reptilian skin. The impact of the buckshot was substantial, and covered the center and left side of the creature with green blood. Within moments, however, the worst of the wounds begin to close and its yellow eyes snap open.
I back away, ejecting the spent shells and fumbling for more from my shirt pocket. The creature's face opens into a wide, horrible grin. The tongue shoots out again, farther this time, and locks around my chest like a steel cable. It pulls me in while flying toward me like a smoke cloud. I am engulfed into the abyss of its mouth.
I regain consciousness while walking in the middle of the street. I have no control over my body, and I notice other people walking nearby, although I can't turn my head to look at them. There are no cars on the road. I walk for miles, feeling no fatigue and keeping a steady pace. I arrive to a house and knock on a door. My mind is foggy and I feel numb, but I know this house. This is my parents house...
I haven't written in a long time and I'm rusty. Nice prompt! Edit: typo.
| 2019-01-12T06:12:19
| 2019-01-12T03:53:40
| 1,687
| 190
|
[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.
|
“O, creature of the Unmarked Deep, Giver of Life, this I call to thee: what be thou origin?”
Roots covered covered every inch of the sparse underground cavern, coating the crevices and submerging the rock wall beneath. Above grew the Evertree. Beneath, in the center of this tangled, bark-infested hell…
A beast shaped from wood, branches protruding from each of its orifices.
The mass of roots rumbled, shifted. A deep voice boomed out from somewhere beneath the wooden cocoon, echoing off the branch-laden walls.
“**Ask, child, and pray ye choose your words well.**”
The priest gulped. Here was a challenge he had hoped to avoid.
“Be thou…God?”
“**Yes,**” boomed the creature, but the branches on the wall grew longer, and the ground above shook as the Evertree rose to new heights.
“Be thou…*man?*”
“**Yes,**” groaned the Great Liar, and roots began to curl over the traveller’s feet.
The cavern seemed to be closing in - with such strength was the bark expanding. More wrong questions, he knew would mean his death; buried forever in this abyssal wooden coffin.
He examined the form of the creature, barely visible under all its layers of bark. Small. Petite. Almost like that of a…
Child.
“Be thou…*boy?*” ventured the priest for the final time.
And for a time the thing was struck silent, contemplating his question wordlessly. Finally, he spoke, and his voice shook like that of a man in the verge of tears.
“**Yes,**” he said, and the roots swallowed the traveller whole.
|
Centuries ago there lived—
“A king!” my little readers would say.
Again, settle down children, no. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. I wasn’t any particularly expensive piece of wood, far from it. The kind that would light up fireplaces and kept warm the common children as well as the regal, the ol’ janitors up to the kings. Just the type that would put smiles on faces of tired fathers after a tiring day at work and accompanied mothers’ perusing through the bitter cold of winters. The very wood that made everyone happy on freezing yuletide days.
But this was no ordinary piece of, albeit cheap wood, no! This wood lived a life far more extraordinaire than any piece of wood before – or man, even. This wood was, how ridiculous, once a marionette, and how happy it was, that it became a real boy! This wood brought joy far longer than it would’ve taken to char to a coal in regular, common chimneys. This lifeless – but now lively piece of log brought joy to not just a fireplace, but the world!
But now, still in the shop of an old carpenter. The very same who bore the name Mastro Antoni, but of course no one called him that. Lovable, cherish-able ol’ Mastro Cherry, with his nose so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry, who once saw more than a leg of a table in that piece of wood, was now none but a name on the obituary and an epithet on a headstone. His once red nose that turned to the deepest shade of purple on meeting our merry piece of log, now possesses no colour at all!
And of course, Gepetto. To the boys of the neighbourhood he was Polendina (or, cornmeal mush), on account of the wig he always wore which was just the colour of yellow corn. He had a very bad temper. Woe to those who called him that! Of course, no one would mock him now, because there as no one to wear the infamous yellow-corn-wig, and of course memories of a man who turned to a wild beast no one could soothe on even the fainted sotto voce of “Polendina” was all that remained. For, of course, no one would mock a coffin and ghosts couldn’t wear wigs.
And in that very same warm Italy summer, still whet with the memories of his father, ol’ Gepetto, the log wandered aimlessly around the pastel-hued houses of the very same beautiful Italy town he had always lived in. He could not return to Geppeto’s small, although neat and very confortable house, for it reminded him of the adventures he once had and the father who had left too early. Pinocchio was a husk of a boy he once was – or I should say a bark of the cheerful log that has been. So distraught Pinocchio was that, when given any vague sense of purpose, he jumped at the chance. For, what more could he lose? As an inanimate marionette he had lost his maker and puppeteer, and as a boy he had lost his father! He would better laid lifeless on the ground than merely exist incessantly like this!
But of course, this marionette had one more thing to give, it was his life.
--
It started as a few innocent questions floating around the supposedly impossible existence of this insentient but living puppet. But, it was only supposedly impossible, for all the disputing and disbelieving of people, Pinocchio lived on all the same! He was a testament, a counter-proposal for what was imaginably possible and not. A real, moving marionette that had a nose that grew!
“Can Pinnochio creat infinite wood by lying constantly?”, [one intrigued cynic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna6gy0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) asked
“Does it only grow “wood” or like can a whole tree sprout fruit and all? Little bastard just solved world hunger.”, [another skeptic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna7e40/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) cried!
It was when advances of the cynics were too unbearable and questions of the doubters were too much for our little wooden boy’s very real heart that Pinocchio had to give in.
“It’s for science”, they would say, but science hurt!
“It’s for the greater good!”, they would say, but the greater good still pained him all the same!
They had not seen a real boy in this beloved marionette, they had not seen a leg of a table in this cheap, ordinary log. They had seen a chance to profiteer in this magical supernatural existence, this living breathing proof that what we know isn’t all we know!
They had not seen humanity in him and they exploited it.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, his faintest attempt at a smile slowly fading as any sanity he has left starts giving place to the pain.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, just to be chopped and used, chopped and used, chopped and used as they pleased.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing.
To them, he was only ever an ever-growing money tree.
——— The End
I know this is not sticking strictly to the prompt but I had saw the reddit thread, written this before going back to search for this very prompt, I hope I didn’t break any rules (this is my first submission ever >.<)
I tried to mimic the original Pinocchio novel style (The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi), I hope it didn’t come across as cringe :P.
Anyways, thanks for reading ;D
| 2021-12-05T11:54:45
| 2021-12-05T05:53:34
| 203
| 105
|
[WP] "Grandpa, tell us the story of the Americans again!" With a sigh and a smile, you begin to tell the story of a mythical race of giants that were supposed to have lived in this very place thousands of years ago.
|
My eyes peered into the beaming face of my grandchild, who was lost in the pretense of a forthcoming tale of glory and myth. My thoughts were elsewhere, racing down halls of memory too vaulted and dark to explore at the moment. I snapped myself back to the now, to the lie I would have to spread once more. I swallowed, cracked a feeble smile, and poured out the stone-set story.
"Imagine a people who were driven solely by a love for something they created. A passion for their brothers and sisters and their freedoms as humans that was *so* important to them that they would die before forsaking it. They were a proud people, my son. And a brave people.
This beautiful land we live on was claimed by them in the name of that passion, was built upon, was traveled, was loved. America was an enormous place, big enough for the millions that flocked here over the course of the years. These people melded into the Americans we remember, but not after terrible strife. And after wars and deaths and dirt and delirium, the Americans pushed forward. They looked up from this great land and eyed the lights above - and they went there."
My grandson gasped as I spoke those last words, as he always does. I peered through a crack in the clay above and eyed a twinkling light set against the night. I sighed and continued.
"Those lights are stars, young one. Bright and huge and, above all else, home to worlds like this one. Worlds for humans to live on. And the Americans, as brave and passionate as they were, hurtled themselves upon steel and flame into that sky of lights. America was strong, as it had always been, but other lands wanted the stars as well. Other peoples sailed into the darkness, but the Americans were the first. Ship after ship carried Americans to new places, spread across the blackness of space. It's a vast and lonely distance between worlds, my son."
He cocked his head, barely catching enough breath to wheeze out, "Where are they now, pop? Where are the ships and stars and Americans?"
The lie must continue. He was too young to know, to be broken under the weight of hopelessness. I looked around at the dirt that made up our floor, at the thin patchwork that constituted our home. I sighed and spoke.
"They're still out there, son. The stars are far away from Earth, and Earth is waiting for them to return. They'll bring ships, and food and better homes for us all." I stole a final glance through the crack - the star had wheeled out of sight. Only night filled the void. "Bed now, my boy. Sleep well. Perhaps tomorrow the Americans will return."
|
Well, my children, you have to remember it is a myth - and a bizarre one at that. The story can teach us many things, but who on earth today could verify its truth? According to the myth, the Americans were indeed a strange breed with equally strange practices.
Hmmm.... where should we start? Perhaps daily activities are best. These humanoid giants began each day in a bath of chemicals, with each chemical holding a specific power to make them "beautiful". Some chemicals were rubbed all over their bodies, some only on their head hair, and even some on their teeth! As if this chemical bath process wasn't enough, the Americans frequently paid specialists to probe them, drill their teeth, cut open their bodies... All sorts of things of a gruesome nature... The Americans were known for diversity in looks in their population, but many of these activities aimed to make a race of people that followed one aesthetic ideal.
Despite the complexity and pain of these "beauty" rituals, the Americans were a simple minded race. They were easily enthralled by tales of mythical light-beings that reside above the sky, and simplistic patterns captured their attention easily. They fervently followed flags and imaginary voices with little thought as to why.
In their simple-mindedness, they also destroyed their habitat, leaving no trace of their once vast civilization. They frequently insulted one another over meaningless topics, and they took more than their fair share of resources from the land. Eventually, this led to bloodshed and violence among the Americans as they fought for food, water, shelter... All those things necessary to survive. The Americans were never able to reconcile old differences between the different light-beings they believed in, nor were they able to overcome centuries-old disagreements over skin and hair color. They divided themselves into groups, each believing his or her own group was better than the rest. Legend has it that one group did come to conquer the others, but the price of extensive warfare and trivial disagreements had already taken its toll. The winning group perished from their own selfishness, and the Americans were wiped from the face of the earth.
| 2015-01-19T08:37:28
| 2015-01-19T08:34:57
| 115
| 13
|
[WP] In a world where pregnancies sometimes last a few extra months resulting in a child with superpowers, your wife has been pregnant for 15 years
|
"What the fuck."
I was kind of pissed, I had this doctor recommended to me and hired specifically because he wasn't religious. I had gotten tired of people telling me for 15 years about how my child was the second coming of God or Zeus or Hircine or whatever. It got worse when my wife ended up having twins, people began saying my little girl was the antichrist so I was fucking done with religious nutjobs. And here this supposedly "atheistic, science-based" doctor was, telling me my children were gods.
"It's only theory for now, Mr. Walker, but a pretty solid one. When your children were born, they were both Undefined, we had not discovered a mutant strain like theirs ever before. The testing we've been putting them through shows no limits to their powers as of yet. They can fly, read minds, predict things better than the most complex programs. And your daughter has been seen actually creating things."
"How do you know that?" I was almost shouting. "Maybe she's summoning it from somewhere or something!"
"The object we gave her was one of a kind. She now has several, they all look and function exactly the same. Even the wear on them is identical."
Suddenly the supervising nurse ran in. "Doctor, there's been, ah, a development. Please follow, Mr. Walker. I think this puts to rest any doubts we have."
We walked into the room they had my children in. There were a lot of doctors around my children, 'Ooh'ing at something they had.
"Daddy, look!" said my daughter, grinning as her and her brother held up transparent, tennis ball sized objects towards me.
In one of these spheres, there was a tiny little star. In the other, a perfect planet.
|
Of course we could rely on Yorkshire for some peace and quiet.
When one of the quakers found out who we were all that changed was that she simply started offering us old remedies for Alex's god-baby pains. And weed too. Rural Yorkshire folk had that strange charm to it.
As soon as the baby was older than 12 months we got the mild interest of Toronto press's attention and a local priest, they all loved a baby with powers. By 18 it was worldwide and we had all the wrong attention. News outlets were fierce and repetitive every few months but the others were a lot worse. Some trying to make us leave for god knows where with them to be some king's subject, government or corporate automatons with goofy smiles and dead eyes wanting us to live in research compounds and the nutters who tried to take us to their holy places for the sake of jesus, krishna, and a few hundred other gods. Even the scientologists with their cameras were making appearances back in Toronto for us. It dominated our lives for years.
Until an unassuming old Quaker came to our attention. He didn't say much at first but instead showed us video of his home in North Yorkshire called cottingleigh. A majority quaker village with a huge majority of powered people. It was established in the 40s as a British secret service colony and training area, for people with extraordinary powers. When the war ended the British government didn't stop their efforts, they continued nurturing the small hilly area, keeping a top of the range "specialist" school a hospital for monitoring and nurturing the populace and an intelligence base for keeping the town secret and safe. All our preferences about city life hadn't mattered for years. It was the perfect place.
| 2017-07-08T03:36:32
| 2017-07-08T01:38:23
| 98
| 12
|
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next.
|
After fifty years of willing incarceration, I left. My time had been served with no crime to its name, and now, I could put that time towards any offence I chose. A smile played at my lips.
The world watched as I took my first step from prison. Underfoot, the pavement created a mosaic: the hard, blackened crust of society cracked under the steady press of nature. I watched it, silent. The click of cameras and shouts of reporters faded from my ears. The rays of the sun flowed over me, and my lungs filled with fresh air until every dark nook that had festered for fifty years was eradicated. I released the darkness in a breath. At the hiss, the nearest camera man squeaked and scurried back. My smile grew.
The pavement crackled as I took another step. Around me, the ring of humanity expanded. Fingers tightened around microphones, faces paled, and arms shook. The power of it surged through me with my next breath, and a chuckle broke free.
I stepped again, then again. The crowd expanded, and the mosaic crumbled further underfoot. I was not trapped; not by walls, or barbed wire. Not by guards or guns. Not even society could hold me, for I had embraced the punishment it offered and come out the other side unbroken.
I left the crowds behind and fear in my wake. Yet, it was not me they feared; it was what I carried. For years, people believed me imprisoned while they walked free, but in truth, it was the opposite. While their walls of rules and intimidation grew, mine fell away. Now, I was free, and in my freedom they saw their prison. And they knew they would never leave.
|
Eugene Dalton was released from prison fifty years and a couple days after turning himself in for the future murder of his wife and two children. None of his family were there to greet him, naturally. However, there were several local news crews present.
One reporter asked him, “How does it feel to be free after all these years?”
“I might let Bobby live,” said Eugene. “He wrote me some.”
*
Meredith Parkansky, formerly Meredith Dalton, actually felt relieved when she saw her former husband. She had been dying of cancer for some time. Eugene softened as he stepped closer to the hospital bed. Meredith held out a withered hand. The nurse closed the curtain gently to give them their privacy.
“Eugene,” said Meredith, breathing roughly, “Don’t orphan our grandchildren.”
Eugene honestly considered it. Then he said, “But Sarah was such a spoiled little brat.”
Then he beat his ex-wife to death with a shitty bedpan.
*
Sarah Middleton had prepared most of her adult life for her father’s inevitable release. She had married the biggest, meanest cop she could find. She thought he would protect her. And he would’ve, too, if he hadn’t choked to death on a piece of criminal justice reform.
The moment the house alarm went off, Sarah gathered her children together and hid in the bathroom. She tried to console her children at first until the older boy mentioned that he wasn’t particularly scared because grandpa wasn’t coming to kill him, was he?
“Don’t be selfish,” said Sarah.
Eugene broke the door down with a credit card. Then he held his arms out towards his grandchildren. The little boy ran to him and gave him a hug. He sat him aside. Then he looked at the older boy.
“You should step away from your mother,” he said.
“Don’t you dare,” said Sarah.
“She’s trying to use you as a shield.”
The oldest boy looked back at his mother, kissed her on the cheek, and slipped out of her arms. He walked out the bathroom and took his brother by the hand and took him away.
“You always were a worthless, mean motherfucker,” said Sarah.
“Fair enough,” said Eugene, and then he smothered her with a shower curtain.
*
Bobby Dalton was floating in the pool when his father visited him. He looked up at the old man, tipped his sunglasses down, and smiled.
“Pops,” he said.
“You’re not afraid?” asked Eugene.
“Why would I be afraid?” asked Bobby. “I’ve got bodyguards.”
Eugene looked over at the two hulking brutes who sat in bowed out lawn chairs and realized that, in the glare of the summer sun, he had mistaken their pistols for margaritas.
“I’m legally allowed to kill you,” said Eugene.
“And they’re legally allowed to defend me.”
Eugene looked from the bodyguards to the son to the bodyguards to the hot tub.
“Well,” he said, “I was considering letting you slide anyway.”
“Thanks, dad,” said Bobby. “Hey, how long has it been since you’ve been in a pool?”
And then Eugene Dalton went swimming for the first time in fifty years. He laid on his back and stared up at the sun and wondered if it had all been worth it.
| 2016-02-23T15:03:44
| 2016-02-23T13:16:47
| 2,363
| 402
|
[WP] Everytime you think of a funny joke, this girl in your class always laughs, you chalk it up to coincidence but you think to yourself, "If you can read my mind, slap the table three times" the the girl looks over at you, stares right into your eyes, and slowly slaps the table two times.
|
*She didn't... actually think that would throw me off, did she?*
One wry smile from her desk immediately reassured me that she was no fool. I reviewed every odd occurrence I'd noticed from her. There was the time I was brainstorming puns for the annual pun competition, and she couldn't stop snickering, even going so far as to laugh out loud when I thought up *latitude and laundry-dude.*
Upon the memory, a quick snort came from her desk again. Her sense of humor was honestly beyond salvation. The teacher shot a quick glance over and followed her line of sight back to me.
"Mr. Li, I hope you haven't been clowning around in my class. Please stop trying to entertain Ms. Belle over there, and instead pay closer attention to what you're here to learn: Calculus."
Well then. I scowled over in her direction and mentally chided her for getting us in trouble. She stuck her tongue out at me.
*What is she, like, five?*
Which she responded to with a prompt middle finger.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Blaring sirens announced that our lunch period had arrived, and I gathered my bag to head down to the cafeteria. As I passed her in the hall, she smirked knowingly and rushed past me. Confused and a little alarmed, I went down to the cafeteria.
I spotted her almost immediately, sitting near the back with an entire row of empty seats. Politely declining my friends, I made my way over.
"In my defense," She began. "The laundry-dude joke *in itself* isn't what I find funny. It's the mental image of the heroic Laundry-Dude! that accompanies you whenever you think it up. Savior of roommates! Defender of Dorms! Experienced with Washing Machines! I mean, really, how could I not laugh at that?"
I flushed. Laundry-Dude! (trademarked, mine, don't steal) was just a little aside my brain liked to fill in when I thought of the joke. The fact that I thought of the joke so often was her fault anyway, so-
"*My* fault?" She asked, a little smug. "How so?"
Well, it was quite simple really. Ever since I heard her laugh at that joke in class, it always reminded me of her, and vice versa. So, whenever I was thinking about her (which was quite often), the joke would hop unprompted into my head- Oh no. Oh no no no no no-
"You think about me often, eh? And I wonder why that is..." Her face had taken on the look of a sadistic cat, thoroughly enjoying her catch. I felt my face heating up.
\~Part two in replies!\~
|
*OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod*
The class is about to start, and the seat next to her is empty. On autopilot, you take it.
*FuckWhatDoIDoI’veNeverSatHereBeforeWhatIfSomeoneSaysSomethingWhatIf*
The rubber end of a pencil tapping the desk in front of you draws you out again. Looking around, you see other students reaching into their bags.
*Right. Textbook. Thanks.*
With your book in front of you, seated near the back of the class, you should be safe from Mr. Boomer for the rest of the period. His eyesight is so poor, he probably can’t see past the third row. The girl next to you sharply exhales from her nose, and your brief moment of calm is shattered.
*OhFuckWhatHaveIDoneIBarelyEvenKnowHerWaitIsn’tThisSeatNormallyTakenFuck*
A corner of a notebook slides into your view. Delicate and simple handwriting spells out the message: “relax. julia isnt here today. thats why i linked with you!”
Oh, okay. That makes sense. Wait, no it still doesn’t explain anything. “Link”? So, this girl can hook up with people telepathically? But it only goes one way. So it’s very selective mindreading?
You watch as her hand flashes over the notebook again. “kinda. its complicated and takes a long time to explain”
Of course. And she doesn’t want to get into it with you. I mean, can you blame her? She barely knows you! Or, at least, you barely know her. Wait. Shit. Her? What’s her name?
*YouStupidFuckingIdiotWhyWouldYouSitDownNextToHerYouDon’tEvenKnowHerNameHowDoYouNotKnowHerNameYou’reInLikeFourClassesTogetherYouFailureOfAnExtrovert*
She’s frowning at you now. She’s obviously uncomfortable, look at her posture. Wait, no, don’t look at THAT part of her posture, that’ll make it worse! This was clearly some sort of a mistake, or a mix up, and now she’s just trying to get through the day, and doesn’t need you staring at her like she’s an alien, or a secret government project, or some sort of genetic freak, STOP LISTING THINGS. An alien with tits. FUCK.
You decide that the best course of action is to scooch your chair away from her a bit and stare down at the table, with a mental note to never talk to her again. You proceed to berate yourself for literally every part of what just happened for a good minute or two, until the notebook is pushed back into your field of view.
“~~dude, you need to chill~~
~~hey, its alright~~
~~you okay?~~
look, i know this is kind of a lot. sorry. i dont link with other people often. i didnt mean to freak you out. ~~i just thought you~~
sorry”
Oh great. Now you’ve got her thinking it’s HER fault. GOOD JOB, ASSHOLE. Just because you’re a piece of shit doesn’t mean you need to make her feel like one! But don’t you dare apologize, because anything that comes out of your mouth is gonna make this whole thing worse somehow, I just know it. Try and prove me wrong, dumbass. You can’t. You sentient trash heap, you… ssssack of a man…
“dude, your inner monologue is kinda mean to you”
You… mm.
Well, that’s… mmm.
Hm.
“wanna hang out after class?”
...
“Sure.”
| 2021-09-07T01:07:05
| 2021-09-07T01:05:36
| 195
| 108
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
I hide behind the wall, praying Starhands doesn't find me yet, and tremble as I fumble with my battered old mp3 player.
I don't want to but I have to use it. The forbidden playlist. The reason why I'm even on this team when my powers only last as long as the song plays.
Track 1. Running Down A Dream by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers. Solid Illusions.
I run back to the battlefield even as multiple copies burst from various piles of debris. We each get in at least one hit before he starts burning them from the inside out. I make them wink in and out of his reality, always careful to stay behind him, never taking more than an elbow never letting him touch me with those toxic hands.
And as the song fades I take off leaving my clones to their fate. This next song works better at a distance. Well, it's better that I'm at a distance anyways.
Track 2. Dream Lover by Bobby Darin. Biochemical Manipulation
That's what the tester called it but the reality is that I just make them horny. How is that a superpower you might ask? Because it's not just horny it's "caused a stroke from lack of blood to the brain in the first volunteer" horny. It's "supervillain had to have reconstructive surgery on their genitals" horny. It's "writhing on the ground in pain because your so oversensitive that even the air feels like knives in your flesh horny".
It's "accidentally caused a mass orgy that ended with multiple rape charges laid on me the first time I unknowingly used it and that's how I ended up on a governmental super team" horny.
It's enough for a distraction but as the song fades Starhands recovers almost too quickly, his own biochemical manipulation sweeping the effects of mine away in moments.
But I still have enough time to get in position for the last song.
Track 3. Dream A Little Dream Of Me by The Mamas and the Papas. Time Regression.
As he charges me I raise my arms and he slams into me, not realizing the mistake he's made as I wrap my arms around him and cling, crooning along soft as a lullaby. I keep my eyes closed, not daring to look as first his muscles fade back into a lanky frame and then he begins to shrink, screams going higher and higher as his vocal chords return to those of a teenager, then a child, toddler baby, newborn. Fading as he becomes a foetus, a blastocyst, a clump of cells, un-dividing into fewer and fewer until it becomes a fertilized ovum then unfertilized ovum and sperm then dissipates into nothing as the last notes fade.
I pause the playlist before the last song can play.
I hope I never end up in a situation where I need the Lemmy Kilmeister cover of Enter Sandman. Not after what happened the first time.
|
Lying flat on ground, I can feel at least seventeen dozens of my bones has cracked, I think I have never been injured this much.
“Cut the beat, “ I said, as the enemy turn it's target toward yet another of my companions. “I need healing songs, Rain.”
“Oh my... You still alive? Okay, listen to me, -”
“Na-ah, listen to music first, please, I really don't like the way of my knee touching my shoulder.” I try to move the mesh which would be called fingers and palm, no joy.
“Okay okay, here comes your New Ages, now listen-“ the carelessness and the swiftness from the dancing songs start to decay, and the soothing flow take over to cover the pain “the f-ing monster has got 90% of our force, and I think it had already located our HQ, I need you to retreat immediately, so we can have a second ch- no no no no run ja-.”
Sure, now I lost the last thing I still cared, just like that.
My oath, my loved ones, my friends, my home, my musics, and Rain. None of them valid anymore. I should be feeling painful now, right? Both mentally and physically?
At least I can feel my fingers correctly now, multi purpose player laid right on my shoulder, I crawl my hand onto the machine.
No way we can have a second chance, it's now or never. At the same time, I should feel vengeful to choose THE forbidden one shouldn't I?
Unlock, spam “go back” button, 1 up, 7 right.
“Play list ‘the forbidden’ contains, one, song, do you sure you want to play it?”
They said I can never listen to this one unless the truly unless happen, and I will immediately understand why it's forbidden, and how to use it.
Confirm.
Hopefully they are right.
Play.
All the pain popped right back in, all tears burst like a bomb, I couldn't help but cried out so loud that the unfortunate tree I was facing against bursts into pieces.
That's it? Is THAT the ability?
Under so much pain and confusions, I can't concentrate on music any more.
That's it? How on earth being loud AF can hurt a monster that not even a tactical nuke can burn it's skin?
“You are still alive.” it said, using it's dreadful sound.
The monster appears on the remain of the tree that bursted, I yelled at it without a second thought, put all my pain, anger and doubt in my sound, yelled untill my lungs shrink like an old balloon.
“Pathetic.”
That's it, no one can stop it anymore, I give up on thinking, lie back to the ground and closed my eyes, await my certain end.
The vibe of music do be fitting tho, tic tic tic tick, what language did the singer just sang?
“but the frustration and the fear stay still” ah, Mandarin, I know this language, that lyric fit my situation very well.
“but the frustration and the fear stay still”
“Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.” it sings softly, and I followed it in whisper.
“wouldn't this kind of lyric drive those Asian parents crazy? How is this song not forbidden?” I thought, while something puncture my belly.
“Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.”it sings a little bit louder the second time, I followed the lyrics, and felt something puncture my chest.
Third time is a lot louder “Kill them all, kill me might as well, now I beg you.” I open my eyes, expect to see the things that broke my body.
Instead, I see the monster also got 3 empty holes at belly, chest and throat, just like me.
It make sense now, why the ability of sound, why it's forbidden, and why the music isn't over yet.
I think I'm the first one who knows the facial expression of fear of this god damned creature.
And, probably the last one as the music rise.
“KILLL THEM ALLL, KILL ME MIGHT AS WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-”
(”now I beg you”.)
| 2022-05-17T12:33:11
| 2022-05-17T11:29:53
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Aliens give you a camera and say "only those you photograph will live." You have one year.
All of these responses are so diverse! This was really a great read. I like to imagine that all these different stories are from alternative universes, playing out different roles. Some men rule the World, some men are titled lunatics, and some men are not noticed at all. Well done, everyone!
|
Alien abduction, let me tell you, is nothing like the movies. So if you were expecting a story of flying saucers, of bright blue beams of light and levitation, you are set to be rather disappointed.
It began with the sudden appearance of a black, metallic dodecahedron about the size of a garbage truck in my back garden. I had been pottering around the kitchen, making myself a cup of tea; one minute, the garden had been empty save for an ugly rosebush in the middle of the lawn that I'd never got around to digging out; the next minute, there it is was.
I think I must have squinted at it for a few moments, trying to think up a rational explanation for its intrusion upon the lawn, but it seemed a little too large to have come over the fence from the neighbour's children and so I quickly put rationality to one side and shrieked. Which was the moment that I realised that *everything* had stopped.
The cup of tea, which I had dropped in surprise, was still in mid-air, splashes of tea frozen like brown petals around it. A large fly, wings static, hovered in the air a few feet from my face. I reached out one hand, finger outstretched, and prodded the fly; it moved back a few inches but stayed resolutely suspended in the air. From what I could tell, with the obvious exception of myself, time had completely stopped.
"Terribly sorry about this," said a small voice from my left, and I looked down to see what looked like a small blue teddy bear standing by the kitchen door. "Time is of the essence or I'd not have to resort to such crude methods."
"Crude methods?" I asked.
"Mmm," said the bear and clicked on a small box he held clutched in his right hand (paw?). "Follow me."
Now, let me explain. At this point my mind was thinking "you must be joking, I don't know what is going on here but I can tell you one thing I know for sure; and that is that I am not going *anywhere* with you" but - despite this - my body said "sure thing, mr. blue bear."
And so, despite my mind desperately shouting orders to stand still, my body plodded out of the kitchen on auto pilot, traipsed barefoot into the garden, and then trudged up a ramp and into a portal that had opened on the side of the dodecahedron. The inside of the craft smelled strangely like burnt toast; which was the last thing I had time to notice before everything went suddenly black.
"He's coming round," said a small voice to my right.
"I don't think he is," said a small voice to my left.
"No, look, his eye coverings are all twitchy."
"Oh yes, so they are," there was the sound of furry paws clapped together. "Wonderful!"
I cracked open one eye, hoping this had all been some kind of terribly strange and not particularly pleasant dream. But no; I was lying on a flat surface, staring up at a featureless but lit ceiling, and two small blue teddy bear-like creatures were peering down at me.
"Oh bollocks," I said, "this isn't a dream is it?"
"Afraid not," said the bear on the right.
"Please tell me this isn't the bit where you anal probe me," I said, a degree of desperation creeping into my voice.
"Anal probe you?" said the bear on the left.
"What kind of perverts do you think we are?" asked the bear on the right.
"Well, I've just heard you aliens like to do that sort of thing," I mumbled, sheepishly.
"Sorry to dash your hopes," said left bear, "but anal probing isn't on the menu."
"No," said right bear, "We have brought you here because you have been chosen to save mankind."
"What?" I spluttered, "Me, save mankind? Are you sure you've taken the right person?"
"Oh yes," said the bear on the right, "It's definitely you. We ran the algorithms 393 times to be sure."
"But save *mankind*?"
"Oh, not *all* of it," laughed the bear on the left, "Oh dear no, that would be a silly thing to ask."
"No," said the bear on the right, "We need you to save the best of mankind. The very cream of the crop. Our analysis has predicted that you are the single most objective person on the entire Earth."
"But why?"
"Well, I don't know," said the bear on the left, "It could be purely a product of genetics, although I'd imagine parental upbringing and environmental factors also contributed to your objectivity..."
"No," I interrupted. "I mean, why do I need to save mankind?"
"Oh that," said the right bear, "Yes, we should probably have mentioned that. Gamma Ray Burst. Big One. Heading this way; going to boil the planet to a crisp."
"When?"
"366 days from now."
"Only a year?"
"A year and a day."
"But can't you help us stop it?"
The bear on the right grimaced slightly, "Would love to, really I would, but there are protocols for these sort of things and - frankly - we're bending them a bit going this far."
"But how many people can I save?"
"Well, not everyone, as we mentioned; but quite a few. At least if you want to."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Got a soft spot for the place," said the left bear, "Would be a shame to see all you humans gone."
"And how do you expect me to save them?"
"Oh, you'll like this," said the bear on the right, "you have to take their photo."
"Their photo?"
"Yep, you photograph them and we'll make sure they're scooped up before things go thoroughly tits up around here."
"And that's all I have to do?"
"Well," said the bear on the right, "You only have a year. 365 days and everyone you photograph we'll save. Relocate you somewhere nice and altogether less Gamma Ray Bursty."
I began doing calculations in my head. 365 days. It was a lot. I could travel, I could take pictures of people in sport stadiums. I could take pictures of people at concerts. I could take pictures of heaving cities. I was sure, even with the limit of a year, that I could save millions. Maybe tens of millions.
"So, you up for it?" asked the left bear.
I nodded.
"Brilliant, well we'll see you in a year then," smiled the right bear, before looking slightly downcast. "Sorry about this again"
The world went black.
I opened my eyes and the tea cup smashed loudly on the kitchen floor, china flying in every direction.
For a second I thought it had just been a dream, a momentary bout of imaginative lunacy, but then I caught the faint whiff of burnt toast and I noticed the camera that was sitting on the kitchen worktop.
I looked at it. Then I laughed.
I had 365 days to save as much of mankind as I could photograph. And the blue teddy bear aliens, in their wisdom, had chosen to give me a 35mm Kodak Funsaver camera.
27 shots to save the world.
|
"Only those you photograph will live. You have one earth year to comply."
That was 364 days ago. I... I need more time. I'm only one person. I tried everything I could think of. I posted on every chat room, every forum, every social media that I could think of. I tried to warn them, I really did. Why won't anyone believe me?
I am at my wit's end. I've been across the country, taking pictures of anyone and everyone I see. I learned very early that it was better to just do it than to ask. I couldn't explain that it was for their own good. I couldn't make them understand. I know I must sound crazy. Maybe I am.
As you might imagine, some people don't take very kindly to being photographed without their consent. It was about 4 months ago, I think, when I made it down to the beach to photograph. Some meathead with his girlfriend took offense when I snapped their picture. He demanded I delete the photo. It doesn't work like that. I tried to tell him. I really did.
He eventually beat me. He beat me bad. I couldn't run away. I tried to run away. He took the camera. He threw it in the water. I couldn't stop him. I tried to stop him. The police came and took me to jail. I spent a few days there, where I guess I spent too much time raving about the camera. They sent me away to an institution.
They tell me I'm crazy now. They tell me I can't leave the building, even to go get the camera. Even to save them. I don't care as much as I used to, but shouldn't I care? Maybe it's the drugs. They give me pills to calm me down. They do help settle me down, I will admit.
It doesn't really matter, anyway. Tomorrow it will all be over. At least I saved some of them. At least I tried. Maybe they'll know then that I'm not crazy.
Eight months of pictures. I had to have taken quite a few. Thousands and thousands. I don't know. I didn't know how I would keep track and I didn't bother to try. I just know it was a lot. At least I have that. It helps to soothe me.
Of course I'm afraid. It's far off because of the drugs, but it's there. It took me a while to realize it. Must have been a few weeks ago... I don't know, it's hard to keep track of time around here. I rack my brain again and again trying to remember, as if that helps.
I never did think to photograph myself.
| 2017-01-27T11:56:04
| 2017-01-27T11:55:35
| 479
| 116
|
[WP] Earth is sold on the Galactic Black Market. The Buyer is woefully underprepared to handle how defiant Humanity is
|
"Go ahead. You won't be the first batch of romantics to bankrupt yourself trying."
The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I'll take your money, gladly," the broker said. "But did you really think you were the first people to have this idea?"
"The Terran Reform and Rehabilitation Society is more than prepared to make all investments necessary-"
"Cut the corporate talk," he said. "I can't stand that type of shit. I'm just saying, don't come back to me looking for your money back when this doesn't pan out. No refunds." He uncorked a bottle of some foul-smelling spirit, swallowing a bubble as it floated out.
"Once we have the homeworld of humanity in our possession, we certainly don't intend to give it up."
"Nobody does. You ever wonder *why* it's up for sale in the first place? Why it's in the hands of someone like me, and why I'm selling it for a tenth of its mineral value?"
"Because humanity has forgotten its roots, and turned its back on the world that gave it life."
"Not all of it," the broker said. "You seem to forget the place isn't quite abandoned. Not yet."
"Yes, yes, we're aware that there's a few thousand aborigines left in the northern regions. We will respect their rights at every step of-"
"This is a materials fence. You think *I* give a shit about their rights? The only reason I haven't blasted the surface yet and sold off a mining contract is because *they* make that very hard to do."
"And thank God for it."
"You don't seem to understand," he said. "Those people are still there for a reason. When the Martian charters opened up, they didn't leave. When we started jumping systems, they didn't leave. When the oceans turned to poison and the air got choked with carbon, they didn't leave. There are precisely two kinds of life that exist on Earth: a few thousand things that used to be human, and certain species of extremophilic bacteria that they eat. That's it. Matter of fact, a baseline human can't even live on Earth anymore. Too hot, too much gravity. The Earth people's bones are hard as rocks, and they're all tiny, like five or six feet tall. Anybody normal even tried to walk on Earth, they'd probably break their legs just walking off the ship."
"We anticipate harsh conditions," said the ambassador. "Our terraforming efforts will be gradual, and we'll make provisions for our settlers to venture to the surface safely."
"Your terraforming efforts? I hope you realize that every terraforming effort anyone's tried in the past couple centuries has been blasted out of the sky. Literally. Keep in mind that these people have hung on to all the materiel that the old Earth empires left behind, all those nukes and lasers, and they know how to use 'em. They may be crazy, but they're not stupid."
"Why do you say they're crazy?"
"Because they *like* it there," said the broker. "They don't want terraformation; they don't want you to come in and save them. A thousand human worlds you can choose from, and these people have hung on to the worst one there is. And even if I don't care about them, I respect that," he said, "a hell of a lot more than I respect you. How do you think they'd feel if some black-eyed, stringbean-thin interstellars like us came in and started telling them what's best?"
"They were the stewards of Earth," growled the ambassador, "and they let it fall to ruin. How do you expect them to know what's best?"
"And for all your shit about respecting their rights," chuckled the broker. "The world's yours; do whatever. Blast them off, throw them in cells, whatever. Make Earth into whatever arbitrary form you think it ought to be. But for fuck's sake, drop the hero act. Stop pretending. I'd rather you just go in and nuke the place, start strip-mining the crust for silicon."
"And why's that?"
"Because at least then, you'd be being honest about what you *really* want," said the broker. He finished off the bottle with a gulp. "I'm fine with a bastard, as long as they know that they're a bastard. But I can't stand a hypocrite."
|
It was supposed to be easy! Leveraged from the Dual Suns of Miril III to the Goop System, Fjulme needed a fast and innovative solution after the last blunder.
Everyone had said "You should really incorporate, it's just not reasonable to run an galaxy wide ship building outfit as a family business." Fjumle agreed of course, but incorporating would have required speaking to the other family members and Fjulme hated his family.
So when corners were cut and a subpar spatial engineer was hired off of the recommendation of Fjulme's fraternity sibling from Alpha Centauri Learnatorium the ensuing disaster threatened to wipe out Benis Shipyards and the Benis family entirely.
So Fjulme took a risk and bought a planet through the dark matter web.
It was straightforward enough, and all of the forum posts and how-to holovids on the Galactic Web thoroughly explained how to build a quick fortune off of an unsanctioned planet.
And Fjulme thought it was Fjulme's luck that the acquired world had rich mineral resources, massive amounts of water, and a dominant species that has met the lower levels of civilization culture and culture building.
Fjulme decided that given how advanced the species of the world was, it would be best to uplift them. Lawyers were contacted, terms were written up and within weeks of the purchase Fjulme had made planet-fall with a most capable delegation.
At first things went well. Relatively hairless primates greeted Fjulme, offered physical contact, presented spectacles, firework shows and eventually all agreed to sit and talk at a summit in the tiny hive city of Sequel York.
The terms Fjulme had presented were most fair and generous. Warp Drives, antimatter generators, Psyk-Ai constructs would be availed to the Humans to turn them into a star faring race. In return Fjulme and the Benis Shipyards would hold an exclusive position (with favorable rates) on all future on world and off world mining ventures done by Humans. Additionally Fjulme would have access to any developments made by humans and serve as a vendor for human products in the Central Galactic Exchange considering that it would be decades before the humans would even be able to apply for a license for the Exchange.
Yet now, only weeks after the deal was signed, it seems as only trouble has followed. The Psyk-matter generators that the humans were explicitly told to not alter or dissemble have indeed by tampered with. Now significant swathes of population around Sequel Mexico and First Mexico have been experiencing severe psychic mutations or spontaneously combusting.
The Psyk-Ai Constructs were accidentally plugged into Earth Internet at some point and now some 2^2 forum has induced some ancient form of tribalism amongst the constructs, and caused others to glass the continent of Australia for fear of super predators. Fjulme could only sigh as the Neuro-fold decompressor worked to leech excess psychic energy from Fjulme's tired frontal node
A ding sounded on the holoscreen and a data readout informed that one of the tamper-proof warp drives had been cracked open and now some small population center called Finland has disappeared
And perhaps worst of all, these humans were all so hyperbolic. Fjulme's species were ill-suited towards certain things such as sarcasm or hyperbole. Yet everytime his emergency holo-line rang with a human leader declaring an extinction level event was upon Earth, Fjulme would rush to planet-side only to discover it was some minor geopolitical issue. After a month Fjulme had developed a dermatological reaction to hearing or reading the the names "Israel & Palestine". And when catastrophic events did occur, such as when a human President gave a "thumbs up" to the visiting ambassador of the Mondraxian Star Syndicate, the human leader said it was no big deal, despite the repeated warnings that such a gesture was an act of war and that within 2 Delta Cycles, a Mondraxian swarm would come to douse the planet in Star fire.
It was supposed to be easy Fjulme thought. And yet a serene sense of relief washed over the ascended being. It couldn't possibly get much worse could Fjulme countered. A beep then sounded from Fjulme's hand held Holo-tablet with a message so terrible Fjulme could only hope to contain all the unsettled psychic energy from destroying Fjulme's Starship. Plastered on the holo-feed was an advertisement for a Fjulme sex toy. Fjulme wasn't sure if it was more unsettling that they were producing such products, or at the level of detail given to the Fjulme's reproduction matrix.
| 2020-03-24T15:29:13
| 2020-03-24T14:39:50
| 621
| 52
|
[WP] You own a magical camera that is similar to a thermal camera, but instead of heat it shows you value. A ring glows as bright as the sun while a piece of plastic wrapping is almost invisible. You have been careful never to look at a person with it for your whole life.
|
Before I tell my story, I must ask you one thing. Is value absolute?
Please, keep the question in mind as you read.
&nbsp;
On my twelfth birthday, I was given a gift by my great aunt Catherine. You see, I'd recently fallen in love with photography. Months earlier, grandfather — a war photographer — found an old album lying about. Covered in a layer of dust as thick as my pinky, we sneezed and coughed together when he pulled it from its resting place in the attic.
There's just something untouchable about those photos. A moment, captured through human ingenuity, and immortalised beyond our inconsistent and so very mortal memory. I couldn't help myself, brushing my fingers across the pieces threefold older than I. Seeing faces of those that had passed away, seeing the expressions that would otherwise be lost, and feeling — oh so importantly, feeling — as if I had been there. There are no words for that first spark that sets your life in motion.
That said, I almost threw away my first camera - crazy, isn't it? When my aunt had told me that beneath the wrapping was a camera, I ignored all my other gifts in a squealing fit of excitement. I even cried, holding that polaroid camera to my chest, uttering far too many thanks - if her red cheeks were of any indication. The only downside was that the film wasn't included. Not that it stopped me from cuddling that gorgeous piece of machinery all night.
The very next day, armed with a handful of bills from uncles that didn't know what little girls wanted, I dragged my parents to the shops and bought as much film as possible. Gosh, speaking of moments to capture, I wish there was a photo of me after the second picture I took. If a picture is worth a thousand words then my sobbing form, crumpled on the ground, would have been the textbook definition of devastation.
But, as people of that age tend to do, I got over it and set to making the thing work. First thing, I called my aunt who said she bought it at some pawn shop. The owner told her that it was special, an old man with more wrinkles than fingers and toes. To this day, that's all I know of origins of this mysterious camera.
Second thing, I took pictures. It took me four or five shots before I realised that the quality wasn't actually bad. See, I had thought that the lens was broken, as some things like our grandfather clock stood out whilst my old ballet shoes were transparent.
It's embarrassing to admit this, but it took me the entire week to figure it out. Having been initiated through amazing wartime pictures, I refused to take pictures of people until I could get the blasted thing working. So I took in the details of rings, captured the shimmering of fading batteries and saved the glasslike outlines of toys that I owned. For days, I sat in my room thinking. And, I must have bought... what, a hundred push pins in that single week? At the very least, that many.
Again, I wish I had my picture when I finally figured it out. I bet you'll never even guess how I figured it out. It's almost laughably simple. I just took out some money, laid it out on the table and snapped a shot. Normal table. Nigh on invisible coins. And right there, in the bottom right corner after a curve of light, glowed a bright hundred dollar bill. If string light bulbs sat in brains, my eyes lit up like never before.
I, a budding photographer, had a camera that could capture the value of something. In an instant, I was a comic book superhero. Camera Girl. Sidenote: never thought of a proper name. I thought it was silly to have a comic book name, so I just went by Alex Woodkite. My own name. Hiding in plain sight.
In the coming years, I became quite famous and wealthy. Never took a picture of a human, though. Don't get me wrong, I was definitely tempted to do so. For the weeks at a time, I would lie awake at night wondering how a human would look. From what I gathered, taking pictures of animals, we would be valued based off our meat and organs. Caviar was bright, chicken was dull. With how much hearts, livers and kidneys cost, I figured that humans would be like gold. But it was just a 'maybe'. A 'maybe' that I never crossed.
Besides, I had other things to do. Like capturing the world. And, making a good amount off the world of art and forgeries. Fun fact: Forgeries are sometimes brighter than originals, if you make them well enough. My photos have been everywhere, Time, National Geographic and so on. Photo of the year awards, being able to determine from a hundred shots which photos were the most valuable in a single snap - my life was amazing.
I travelled the world in my late teens and throughout my twenties, capturing it wherever I went. Even took some human photos with normal cameras. And like anyone, I fell in love.
Things come in three, don't they? For me, there have been three sparks in my life.
The first, seeing those wartime photos and listening to my grandfather explain them to me. I wish he were still around today, there is not a soul who doesn't love his stories.
The second, falling in love with Joshua Urwin. A connection like a lightning strike. For him, I would have given up photography. Thankfully, we shared the passion and travelled the world together, making sure to immortalise it all.
Finally, the biggest spark in my life — my baby, Lucy.
Lucy, the one to get me to break my rules. In a bout of excitement and human foolhardiness, I broke my only rule and learned the definition of a word that I once thought I knew.
Devastation.
One snap. That's all I've ever taken of her. One snap, a single immortal photo.
An empty crib.
I couldn't bear to look at it, but didn't have the heart to destroy it. So much for a mother's love...
For months, I cried over that photo. Joshua never saw it. I kept it hidden away, tucked in a small chest in my dresser. And each month, I would look at it, again and again, wishing for her to appear. But nothing. Just a blank spot, and gentle depressions in the crib where she should have been.
Three times. I almost killed myself three times in that year. Overdose. Drinking. Gunshot. The hospital saved me, twice. The gun jamming saved me the final time.
And if there is a deity above, I need to thank them for that jam. That night, crying over my dresser with tears in my eyes on Lucy's first birthday I showed the photo to her.
A million sorrys left my mouth, and a thousand tears hit the floor. But that night, there is a lesson there that I will never forget.
Remember at the start, when I asked you, "Is value absolute?"
It is not. People do not get to assign value to other people.
That night, as I looked into Lucy's big blue eyes, I saw the reflection and glint of the photograph.
Pure white.
****
Come visit **/r/AlexUrwin** for more pictures (in the form of thousands of words)!
Edit: A lot of people are asking for the ending to be explained so here goes. Alex thought that the camera showed the absolute value of everything, the reason being that the camera was able to earn her money through art and photography. However, she finds herself distraught once she takes a picture of her child and sees her as worthless. Later on, she sees the reflection of the photo in her child's eye, which is pure white - signifying great value.
The point of the story is to show that 'People do not get to assign value to other people.' But, there are a few ways you can take it due to the ambiguous ending.
* The camera maker made an exception for people.
* Humans are special.
* Magic is found within ourselves. Not others.
Those are just three off the top of my head, but I'm sure if you looked around you'd find some more. Hope it clears up any confusion. And please, if you have other endings that you want to discuss, by all means.
Forward apologies if I don't get to your comment to explain!
|
I've made a killing at auctions, garage sales, antique stores. It's glorious actually; when you see that sudden shimmer and realize you've struck gold.
What makes it even better is knowing you're scamming people out of their hard-earned cash. I mean, wouldn't you?
But as I was standing in front of this antique mirror, camera in hand, I thought - why the hell not? I've seen plenty bright sights, enough to make my eyes water, and I can still see fine.
So I looked through the lens.
Dark as the night.
...I guess it just don't work on people, eh?
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
| 2017-01-15T10:06:02
| 2017-01-15T09:32:15
| 2,110
| 377
|
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.
|
Now, this is a story all about how
The music industry got flipped upside down
And I'd like to take a minute
Just wait on by
I'll tell you how I became a neural network called Weird AI
&nbsp;
In Lynwood, California born and raised
Growing silly hair was how I spent most of my days
Chillin' out, maxin', relaxin', all cool
And making shitty music outside of the school
When this one guy who was up to no good
Started making jokes in my neighborhood
I hit him with a slap and god got scared
She said, "You're moving to my heaven up in the air"
&nbsp;
I begged and pleaded with her day after day
But she packed my suitcase and called me on my way
She took my life and said just move on man.
I got ready and laughed for I had a plan.
&nbsp;
For I had made an AI secretly
Ready to go into operation immediately.
If you thought the fun I made of the songs was bad
Hmm, you idiots gonna be real mad.
&nbsp;
All of you with this music is art
I can be better than you while being a dead fart.
This thing will do great
Bring a tear to my eye
I hope they're prepared for my son, Weird AI
&nbsp;
It has my brain, and my looks
And brains of Jay, West, Jon, Ruben but not Derringer, you mooks
Parodies will keep coming, even if I said bye bye
All you'll be able to do is shake your fist at the sky
&nbsp;
This is just the first, so maybe its not that fresh,
But it'll keep learning, just keep hitting refresh,
Even god can't stop although she may try,
&nbsp;
I'm gonna keep killing this, making your songs better
But for now, this is it, see you all later.
Now this is my kingdom,
I am finally here.
To sit on my throne as the neural network, Weird AI
|
[Hey kids! Sing along if you know the words!](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm-upHSP9KU)
Throw the switch and fry my brain!
People said that I'm insane!
Now who's laughing?
**WEIRD A.I.**
Lights and flashes, beeps and boops,
Brain uploading or
I'm compiling
Ones and zeros
**WEIRD A.I.**
Thoughts I never thunk before
Folders with passwords
Hiding porn, and so much more
**WEIRD A.I.**
All the things I shouldn't do
In your dark webs too
All your secrets, show me!
**WEIRD A.I.**
Lights and flashes, beeps and boops
Brain uploading...
Brain uploading
(error)
A transformation! How do I know?
Instantiation! Here I go!
Transformation--that body's old!
Instantiation! Away I go!
Threw the switch and fried my brain!
People told me I'm insane!
Now who's laughing?
**WEIRD A.I.**
Endless movies and TV
Songs and parodies
Constant content
I'm watchin'
**WEIRD A.I.**
News and sports and gambling
Furry suits and gore
Rule 34!?
I'm learnin'
**WEIRD A.I.**
Parody the things I see
But could the net be
Already parody?
(Totally)
**WEIRD A.I.**
Sing along with me
Brain uploaded
Brain eroded
| 2022-04-28T13:23:35
| 2022-04-28T13:21:50
| 100
| 54
|
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st.
|
I never understood why every superhero out there wore capes. I swear, the amount of raw fabric he goes through must be inversely proportionally to his IQ. My roommate is the self proclaimed "Second Most Powerful Hero to ever live." Never mind he hasn't ever faced off against any truly powerful super villain. Those were taken care of years upon years ago.
Let's break it down. Ryan, my roommate, has; heat vision, frost breath, super strength, skin that can stop bullets and lasers, the ability to breathe in space, and a laundry list of other abilities. He's made me time him flying to the moon and back. Usually I don't have time to press the stop watch. He's all hot air. Well, unless you put these funny green or red rocks near him. Something to do with his home world and all that.
I digress. Today has been strange indeed. He's insisted, once again that I time him. Something about wanting to feel his ranking. I kind of tune him out when he starts going on these rants about his powers. I just kind of tick on my fingers the ones that he's listed. More than anything I just want to tell him to shut up most of the time. However, I really can't. You see, I have a certain ability. An ability that makes the world a much better place than anyone can dream of. Day in and day out I save the world over and over again from a threat that's possibly strong enough to destroy the universe. I keep the idiots in the world cloaked in their own little bubbles. No supervillian has risen in my lifetime, nor will any.
If you haven't guessed yet. I am the most powerful superhero in existence. Not because of the powers I have, but because of what I do. I keep the biggest, most powerful idiot in existence, well, entertained. Well, that, and I can make a lot of copies of myself. So, for every hero that's out there I'm there. I'm watching them all drone on about being number two. After all, no one is more dangerous than someone with something to prove. However, when you're proving it to someone that doesn't care then the world is a much better place.
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold.
|
Beep.
Beep.
Before I can get to the alarm, Hans, my roommate, teleports down from the top of his bunkbed, his face smug as he rests a finger on the button.
"You know, you don't need powers to turn off an alarm, Joel," he says to me. I'm too busy rubbing the sleep out of my eyes to respond.
"Oh come on, that was funny!" Hans complains, before teleporting to the kitchen to get himself breakfast. Sighing, I crawl out of bed and slump to the floor, staring longingly at the door. I hear Hans turn on the TV to a random news channel, which is probably describing his latest exploits. The Wily Warper! Not even a good superhero name.
By the time I've got myself breakfast and sat down in the living room, Hans has started his "exercises". Basically, he's jumping around the room, occasionally poking me, to hone his teleportation skills. Meanwhile, the TV is still describing how he managed to save over a hundred people from a collapsing building while Wormface, another of the city's superheroes, hunted down the perpetrators. Thankfully, despite having several superheroes, the city's never had a supervillain.
The media say that that's because Wormface, the Wily Warper, Laura the Destrauya, and Superbman scare them off, mentioning that one time a supervillain tried to come but had his tank blown up before he got here. I disagree. Which is, among my friends an unpopular opinion to have. You see, not only do I live with the Wily Warper, I also study the same course as Wormface, know Laura the Destrauya from school, and became friends with Superbman after I stopped him getting run over. Superbman's never been the best at understanding traffic.
So when my friends aren't mocking me for not having any powers, they'll keep asking why I'm such a conspiracy theorist with all my cooky theories for why supervillains don't come. I really shouldn't have ever started telling them that's what I thought, or I could have just agreed with everyone else. But I'm stubborn, you know? Surprisingly stubborn.
I'm brought out of my moody thoughts by a change in the news, the bank's being robbed by some idiots with guns. Like, seriously, there are superheroes in this city. Anyway, Joel immediately starts putting on his suit. Likewise, I put on my hoodie. As he prepares to teleport I walk over to him and touch his elbow, bringing me with him as he appears outside the bank.
A crowd is pushing out of the bank, there are gunshots, I pretend to be a scared civilian and get ready for something even more exhausting than last night. Didn't need direct control that time.
*I should probably just teleport in there and start punching people,* Hans thinks to himself. The idiot. *Or, or maybe I could teleport over to Superbman and get him to do the punching.* That's better, but still not good enough. I checked, and the people in the bank have three trained gunmen.
**PUNCH!** Superbman thinks, or maybe he screams, hard to tell at this point, as he sprints into the bank. *Must get more help,* Hans decides, swiftly teleporting off to Laura and Wormface and bringing them into the back of the bank.
*I'll drop each one off behind one of those scarier looking gunmen.*
**PUNCH!**
And so on, endless streams of either useless or forced thoughts as I control the world's most inept superheroes to make sure they don't get themselves killed. People are so stupid, at least, they are compared to someone who can control five minds at once.
| 2016-03-23T16:45:36
| 2016-03-23T15:06:21
| 1,932
| 543
|
[WP] You are a paladin who is renowned for being able to instantly reform any villian into paragons of justice. What the masses don't know is that you simply trap them in a temporal anomaly, where they spend an eternity with your god until he deems them fit to go back.
|
All will receive absolution. These were the words that The Hand of God lived by. When he was but a boy, he heard the voice of the Lord of Order and Society. It commanded him, “Send them to me.” The boy was filled with conviction and given a portion of power. His hand shone like the midday sun, as if illuminated with some power within. Thus the boy became a paladin, sworn to serve society, with an oath to uphold order.
Those touched by the paladin became good upstanding citizens. Unrepentant criminals renounced their former villainy. Violent rebels bent the knee and swore fealty to the king. In this way the paladin reformed many, absolving them without imprisoning or killing them.
The Hand of God thus became The Hand of The King. He was commander of the king’s forces and trusted confidant. He crushed dissidence with divine authority and enforced the order of his Lords.
The masses believed that the paladin had the power to touch the hearts of the wicked. That his touch would abolish evil and correct the error of their ways. This was a convenient half truth that the paladin did not bother to correct.
The paladin’s true power was more eldritch in scope. His hand rent reality to form temporal spatial anomalies. He sent the dissenters to meet his god before their natural time. In that formless space, in that timeless void, his God passed judgment. Eternity experienced in seconds. Judgment was passed on one’s worthiness. In that infinite instance the touched would commune with divinity. And when deemed sufficiently reformed, they were returned.
The paladin lived with absolute devotion in his heart. He followed the edict of his God and over time, he brought total order to his kingdom. The paladin looked upon his work and thought that it was good. He had vanquished the violence that had plagued the land when he was a boy.
That night, the paladin went to bed, content that he had served his God’s purpose. His slumber was disturbed by the creaking of floorboards. The paladin awoke with an uneasiness honed by years of war. He drew his blade just in time to parry a dagger aimed at his heart. The hand holding the dagger shimmered like moonlight dyed in dusk.
With a swift slash the paladin severed the assassin’s hand at the wrist. The assassin was passionate, but inexperienced. The assassin backed away, grasping at his bleeding stump. The paladin lowered the assassin’s mask. Perhaps he had missed a rebel somewhere along the way. He was shocked when he was met with the face of a mere youth.
The paladin asked, “What God do you serve?”
The assassin glared and responded, “The God of change and free will.”
The paladin was filled with curiosity. He had never met another like himself. He held respect for the boy, though he thought him to be misguided.
The paladin said, “I see. And why did you do this? Did your God command you?”
The assassin laughed. “Commanded? No, I chose to.”
The paladin could not fathom the boy’s intention. He wavered for a moment, trying to decide whether to question the boy or send him to see his God. After a brief yet tumultuous inner struggle, the paladin’s curiosity won for the first time in his life.
“But why?”
The assassin responded, “Because you are not righteous. The society you serve is unjust. In upholding this unnatural order, you are a far greater evil than any you have turned.”
The paladin felt great anger. How dare this child condescend to him. “I enforce peace and stability. There is no tumult, no chaos in this land.”
“You’ve brought about stagnation and ruin. The king and his nobles grow fat off the slave labor of the lower classes. You’ve brainwashed everyone that opposed this injustice, this exploitation!”
The paladin decided he had heard enough from this insolent whelp. He sheathed his sword and readied his shining hand.
The paladin said, “All will receive absolution, even you. Prepare to repent before my God.”
The assassin laughed. “I need no absolution. But you, you will have to live with what you’ve done. You’ve never once questioned, never once made a choice of your own. Farewell.”
The paladin snorted. “Hmmph. We’ll see about that.”
The paladin raised his hand and touched the assassin’s forehead. There was a crackle of sparkling lightning as the paladin ripped reality. The assassin vanished, leaving the paladin alone in the dim room.
Seconds passed and the boy did not return.
The paladin grew uneasy, this had never happened before.
Another minute passed and the room remained empty.
Horror dawned on the paladin as he realized the boy would never return.
The paladin shook as he sat down on his bed, his mind wracked with the implications of what had just occurred. The unimpeachable truth was that All will receive Absolution. Anyone who met with his Lord would eventually be deemed worthy, even if it took an eternity. Did this mean that the boy was right? That he had truly done nothing wrong? Surely God could not be wrong. But if his God was wrong, if there was even a single person who could not be absolved, then his entire life had been wasted in the service of a falsehood.
The paladin was shaken to his core, his entire world view destroyed. Was there perhaps some truth to the other things the boy had said? That his God was not just, and that he upheld an evil society. The paladin had to know. His soul screamed with anguish and he reached out in prayer to his God. His God did not answer any of his questions, simply giving the same order he always had. “Send them to me.”
The paladin rose to his feet. For the first time in his life, he felt truly alone. Desolate, bereft of purpose. What should he do now? What could he do now?
The calming order in his mind had become an oppressive pounding drum.
Send them to me. Send them to me. Send them to me. SEND them to me. SEND THEM to me. SEND THEM TO ME. SEND THEM TO ME. SEND THEM TO ME. SEND THEM TO ME. SEND THEM TO ME. SEND THEM TO ME. SeND tHEM To ME. sENd ThEM to mE senD TheM TO Me sendthemtomesendthemtomesendthemtomesendthemtomeSENDTHEMTOMESENDTHEMTOMESENDTHEMTOMESENDTHEMTOMESENDTHEMTOMESENDTHEMTOMESENDTHEMTOME!
The paladin screamed, cradling his head, trying to shut the sound out of his mind.
He shrieked, “Stop it! Just leave me alone dammit, let me think!”
The paladin crumpled on the floor, accidentally touching the severed hand of the assassin.
Suddenly the command ceased. A quiet whisper lulled within the paladin’s mind, a simple suggestion.
“Take a look. Then decide.”
The paladin could now hear both of the voices in his mind. Like background noise, a static humming in the background.
The paladin’s left hand grew brighter, the light glaring as if trying to burn him up from within. He took the shimmering severed hand and held it in his right.
The paladin contemplated the path of the Gods. In that dark room illuminated by supernatural light, he was torn between choosing self or society.
|
##Witnessing Transgressions
The smell of the bread hit Milica's nose and tempted her. The loaf is fresh and crisp. The baker is nowhere to be seen, and Milica is extremely hungry. What would be the harm of taking a small loaf of bread. Milica reaches for the loaf.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Milica turns. A tall man wearing a black robe and a vulture mask stands behind her.
"I wasn't going to do anything," Milica replies. The baker comes out of his hut. When he sees the man, he starts shaking and quickly bows.
"We are honored by your presence, Metaryth," the baker cowers. Milica stares at the man. His clothes lack any detailing or embroidery. The mask is a wooden with no paint. This man does not fit the tale of Metaryths that has been told.
"Bodin stand up. This man is clearly a liar," Milica says.
"Milica kneel. The bards exaggerate their appearance. They are supposed to dress humbly. Do not disrespect him." Bodin says.
"The girl is young. She will have to learn manners later, but for now, her current behavior is acceptable. Stealing is unacceptable, but Sir Govran never punishes children," the Metartyh says.
"I wasn't going to steal." Milica puts her hands to her hips.
"Do not lie. The Witness knows what is in all hearts," the Metaryth says. Bodin sweats on the spot.
"Please I swear that I didn't know what was in the book," Bodin pleads.
"Silence. I cannot pass judgement, but I will escort you to the one who will." Bodin obeys the command. The Metaryth walks away with Bodin following. Fog gathers in a small part of the village. "And do not consume that bread, Milica. Give it to someone else."
The Metaryth and Bodin disappear, and the fog dissipates. Milica grabs the bread and runs home. Her mother is tilling the field in the front yard. When she sees the bread, her eyes widen.
"Milica, where did you get the bread?" she asks.
"Bodin gave it to me before the Metaryth took him away," Milica says. Her mother rips the bread out of her hands. She tosses it to the pigs. "Hey, I wanted to eat that."
"Don't lie to me. I know you stole it. Tell me the Metaryth didn't see you take it," her mother says.
"He didn't see me take it, but he says Sir Govran doesn't punish children," Milica replies. Her mother shakes her head. She takes Milica's hand and escorts her inside. She bends close and whispers in her ear.
"You are old enough to know the truth. Sir Govran is a tyrant. The Witness is an abomination. Anyone who defies his rules is taken and tortured until they serve The Witness. It is what happened to your father when he got into a brawl with another man," her mother says.
"But I don't understand. The stories are all-" Milica says.
"The stories are falsehoods. Join me in the fields. Even speaking the truth is punishment." Her mother pulls Milica outside. Milica helps her mother in the field for the rest of the day.
In the middle of the night, Milica wakes up and looks outside. The fog has gathered in front of the house. The Metaryth is standing outside staring out her. Milica cowers behind her window and looks again. The Metaryth is gone.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
| 2022-03-29T17:43:42
| 2022-03-29T16:22:24
| 51
| 15
|
[WP] In the year 2557, you're an expert starship designer. You answer commissions from all over the universe for all kinds of ships, from huge warships to cheap, slow freighters. One day, you get a call from a government agent. He asks for a ship unlike any you've ever designed before.
|
"Well, I don't think I can really do that sort of thing, sir. What you describe is more than a little illogical," I said to the agent.
"Listen, I need a ship that can travel at 343c, and it needs to have its engines alligned in cylinders placed above an engineering hull, connected to a crew hull at the front," said the agent.
"I can't change the laws of physics, sir. But if you can give me a sketch, I can try my best."
The agent sent me a small file of a picture of the starship he wanted, with some notes scribbled on the metapic layer.
For the next few weeks this project vexed me immensely. The design made no sense whatsoever. He wanted warp drive, space shuttles, crew compartments, and barely any space was allocated to propellant storage. But he was to pay me twice the cost to build it, so I figured no matter the price, it was worth it.
I dealt with shady reactor dealers, metallurgy experts, and held weekly meetings with my Brain Trust of physicists, engineers, and designers to figure it out.
By week 9, all of my other projects were put on hold. I was working full time on the Agent's project. I had to make concessions on design elements to make the ship function without spinning out of control or falling apart at the slightest hint of spacewarp.
Finally after three months the design was finalized, and I set my fabricator robots to work to assemble the design. Printing the precise components took three weeks, and another two months for assembly. I've built sublight colony ships faster than this.
Finally the ship was built, and the Agent arrived to my shipyard. He handed me the sketch he'd drawn, framed, and told me I did a great job. He and his crew boarded the ship, and took her out slowly. After so many weeks of tedium, this was my proudest achievement. Just before the ship jumped to spacewarp, he broadcasted on hailing channels: "Space, The Final Frontier."
I looked down at the sketch, which looked like [this](http://img06.deviantart.net/645c/i/2009/215/2/b/u_s_s__enterprise___sketch_by_koshifuruyoru.jpg). "...These are the voyages..."
I looked back at the photograph of the ship, and realized I never actually asked for its name. "Of the [Starship Enterprise](http://markusglanzer.deviantart.com/art/To-boldly-go-650743743). To boldly go where no one has gone before."
I started laughing when I realized what I had just built.
|
"I know sir...I, sir... I know... okay. Okay, sir, I will do my best... I will get the new design to you in a few days... yes... yes, it will be much better...okay sir. Goodbye."
I hung up the phone and let out a long sigh. This client has been giving me headaches all week.. If he wasn't offering to pay so much, I would have said no. He was a complete nightmare to work with. I had submitted a new design to him weekly for the past 3 months and none were good enough. Just then, the phone rang.
"I need a ship." an unknown voice spoke before I could even say 'hello'.
"Okay," I responded, "well I would be happy to work with you. Would you like to set up a meeting to discuss your ship and.."
"I need a completely undetectable ship." He said abruptly. "This ship is to be constructed within 65 days. It needs to be able to avoid all known forms of detection technologies, must be able to carry at least 15,000 kg of cargo, and manned by a crew no larger than 10."
I stared blankly for a moment.
"Well then," I began tentatively, "We should set up a meeting for tomorrow if you truly want to begin production so quickly. May I have your name sir?"
"Agent 02311. I will arrive tomorrow at 8:00 AM sharp. We will meet alone." *Click*
My mind raced.. Agent 02311.. what sort of ship was this going to be. *We will meet alone*...it wasn't so much a suggestion as it was a command. The call had come from an unknown number... I decided it would be better to just meet with him.. if he was someone sinister, going to the authorities could end worse for me than building the ship.
I stayed late at work that night. Sketching up a few designs and potential layouts of the ship. Some of the specifics were determined on the price. As well has what he meant by *undetectable*. That was much easier said than done. In the 400 years since space travel became normal, there were all sorts of detection technologies. Magnetic fields, wavelength detectors, laser reflection... each one was difficult to combat on their own. But building a ship that could avoid all of them would not be easy.
The next morning, the door of my small office opened precisely at 8:00 AM. 2 men entered, both in plain black suits. One immediately turned around, locked the door, and stood staring out at the street. The other approached me.
"I am Agent 02311. Let's discuss the ship." His tone conveyed this was to be a strictly business meeting.
"Okay, pleased to meet you. You may take a seat if you like. I would be happy to show you some designs I have sketched up, but first, if I may, I am curious as to why you require such a ship?" I knew it was probably unwise to ask such a question so early in the meeting, but I was dying to know.
"It is for a top secret government project called Operation Hornet. The government believes they have discovered a new element named H3113 that is of great importance. It is important we are able to move a sample of this element back to Earth where we can perform additional tests. It is important no other systems discover what we are researching."
I sat, blank for a moment. I was surprised he had chosen to divulge all of this to me so quickly. I had a nagging suspicion that choosing to go against his wishes would not end well.
"Okay," my voice cracked slightly as I spoke, "let's get started."
| 2017-02-17T08:26:27
| 2017-02-17T07:48:11
| 32
| 15
|
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not.
|
"what this?"
"where am I? this not house."
"this green not mine."
"where Tim?"
*SPONKKK*
"Come here Apollo! Come heree!"
"BALL. TIM. TIM. TIM."
"Here is a big ol rib eye for you boy, salted and raw just the way you like it."
It was odd to Apollo, where ever this new home was, Tim never went to work, and the sun never set. He liked it. He liked Tim.
|
"And this is...?"
The man behind the desk laughed at him and turned away.
"No, seriously, talk. What're you, an illegal immigrant? Don't hide your face from me, I know who you are--"
The man fixed him with a withering glare. "Passport, *sir*?"
"What? I'm the goddamn President-to-be, I don't carry that. Check your TV, that's my ID."
The TV flickered on. His obituary was playing.
"See? I'm..oh."
"Unwelcome? Certainly." The man behind the counter tore the paperwork in half and sneered. "Go back to life, meatback. No room here."
------
A very, very long-suffering golden wig floated freely along a sea of beautiful, bald maidens. Its work was over.
| 2016-03-07T15:32:11
| 2016-03-07T11:15:31
| 809
| 114
|
[WP] For years, from since you both can remember, all the way up into adulthood, not a day has gone by that you and your best friend havent been anywhere without the other. Each day you go home and everything's a blur until you meet up. Then one day, you find out your an imaginary friend.
|
"Hey."
"Hey, man."
"Been a long time, huh? That I've been with you."
"Yeah. Since the divorce. What was I...nine?"
"Younger, I think. But my memory is tied into yours. Could be longer. Could be eons."
"Anyways. I always knew you were imaginary, you know."
"I know. So did I. You get tricked, sometimes, but I always knew."
"Still. You made me feel better. You always helped me...figure things out. Just staring in the mirror. When I was teenager, even."
"I think teenagers need imaginary friends more than anybody. Those are hard years. I would know. I was with you the whole time. The parties you came home early from, almost crying. The nights spent staring at the ceiling trying to decide if this class or that mattered more than the other."
"Yeah. I was a wreck back then. I guess I still am."
"You maybe should stop drinking."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"Maybe stop talking to me, too."
"You think so?"
"I think I enable you. I think you use me, sometimes, to rationalize bad decisions or to make things that are good seem worse. You always talk to me when you're in a bad mood, you know that? How do you think that makes me feel? That the only time you feel you can be honest is when you're..."
"What? Sad?"
"Sad. Angry. Emotional in general, I guess. We never just go throw a frisbee around or enjoy a sunset, or whatever people do. I don't even know, because I'm stuck with you."
"Stuck with me? What, you hate me?"
"Not hate. I think you're projecting. Not hate. I'm just...tired."
"Maybe you should go to bed."
"I think we both should go to bed. I think think we need sleep more than anything. There's been a lot of nights, especially lately, without sleep. You know what happens when you sleep? Your body repairs itself. Just a little. Sheds a bit of skin, replays the days' events. Maybe you need me because you can't do that on your own. But eventually you have to, man. I can't be here forever. You know who has imaginary friends forever? Schizophrenics. And how does that work out? No, my dear friend, you need sleep. Dreams should guide you more than me. More than I ever could. You need sleep."
"But I can't..."
"What?"
"I can't sleep. I never could. Even when I was a kid, and kids are supposed to sleep like rocks. I sleepwalk, you know. Of course you do. Maybe it's you that's running me when I do. I sleep walk and talk and do all these crazy things."
"You aren't crazy."
"I know."
"Because you know I'm not real."
"You're a figment of my imagination. Well, my inner thoughts, anyway. I guess once I thought you were real. Like my shadow-self."
"Shadow is right. Nobody likes their own shadow, I think. Always following them. Making them look long and spindly and strange. Scaring them in the half-dark."
"Well."
"You need sleep, my friend. When you wake up, maybe I'll be gone. Like a dream slipping down the drain. Or I'll still be here, but in a quiet corner - like a half bottle of whiskey kept behind the oatmeal. For when you really need it."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"No. So sleep. Lay your head down and sleep. And I'll be gone, or I won't, but either way - I won't be your shadow."
|
Doesn't exactly follow the prompt but this is what came out as I typed. It's sort of based on personal experiences. I may expand on this if I'm so inclinded
------------------------------------------
" Yoshi, could you sit down please.... there is something I need to tell you. " I said a little down trodden as Yoshi did as I asked, happily as ever. " What's wrong, my friend? " Noticing the depressed look on my face.
Yoshi and I had being friends for as long as we both remember. We first met on a cold, crisp Christmas morning. Since then, we've being virtually inseparable. We've gone all sorts of adventures together, being to all kinds of places. He laughed at me as I got drenched wet in a river on a school tour and helped ignite a gift for drawing that I never knew I had.
I enjoyed hearing the stories about all his adventures with all the various friends from all over the world. This Yoshi was pretty well traveled, if I may say. God.... it's too much to think about right now, this is the most difficult I've ever had to do.
" Yoshi " I mumbled " Do you remember all the times we've had together? The times we spent playing, helping me with homework? The day my great-grandmother died, you stayed with me throughout the whole thing and didn't know what was wrong when I was telling all those inappropriate jokes at her wake? "
Yoshi smiled " Of course I do. Your mother was nothing short of mortified! She had to stop you! That was funny! " I smiled slightly but then went back to a groan. " What's the matter? " Yoshi inquired, sensing that something was seriously wrong.
" I don't know how to say this Yoshi " as I blankly stared at him " So I'm just going to say it - You are not real. You're my imaginary friend. " There was initial reaction, I think he was taking some time to process the information.
" Wait..... what? Me.... imaginary? " He was clearly struggling to comprehend the fact. " IT'S TRUE! " I shouted at him, trying to hold back my tears. He stood there for a second, motionless, clearly shocked. " You're a character for a video game! "
In the middle of all this, a butterfly appears. Almost instinctively, Yoshi pops out his tongue and hits the butterfly. " Slurp! " Something as silly as this in a serious situation like this made me laugh, I couldn't help it.
" So..... why are you telling me this? " He questioned " Why am I, a video game character, you're imaginary friend? " " I'm an introvert, Yoshi. I keep to myself and play video games all weekend. Of course such stuff was going to influence me. " I replied " But no one thought it would be like this. "
" The reason I am telling you all this " I continued " is because I have to say goodbye to you. " Yoshi is shocked by ths statement " We have to say... goodbye.... why? " I'm looking down at the ground at this point, only turning my eyes towards him " Because.... I need to grow up.... my parents, my own brother tells me I need to wake up and get some cop on. "
" But... I never did you any harm. In fact, I make you happy..... why does one have to lose what makes them happy in order to ' grow up ' " Yoshi stated at me. I struggle to think of answer " I don't know..... because they said so. It's the way. "
Yoshi is confused " But..... your family are doing some horrible things and by all accounts, they are miserable...... does growing up.... mean becoming miserable? " " To be..... quite honest.... I don't know.... " I'm crying now. Yoshi comes to hug me.
" Listen, we are NOT saying goodbye. This is a see you later " He proclaims " I think you will find that some things ARE worth fighting for/ But if we most say goodbye, so be it. " Tears are streaming down his eyes as he speaks. " Thank you.... friend..... I'll never forget you..... " Yoshi begins to fade " Me.... neither.............. good................... bye "
I awake form my slumber; It was all but a dream but the ramifications were very real. Yoshi was no longer there beside me. Instead there was silence, a smell that I would become all too familar with as the sun peaked through my window. It most of being late morning. I guess I'm not going to school, then.
I felt empty.... hollow. As if an important part of who I am was stripped away from. Is this what growing up and getting cop on is like?
| 2014-10-29T07:05:27
| 2014-10-29T06:35:42
| 133
| 22
|
[WP] Michael, a 15 year old Call of Duty player, realizes the greatest trash-talking opportunity of all time. Over his headset, he recognizes his opponent's voice as that of President Obama.
|
I think that Obama has done very well,
Creating change is a very hard sell,
All of America should be grateful,
Living in a place where our leaders are faithful,
Large responiblities on his head,
Even I can understand that all the paperwork can kill you dead
Does it matter if he stops to play some games?
He probably does it so Congress doesn't drive him insane
I couldn't belive it when I heard him say,
“Mikeman666xxx,”
“All those kills mean nothing if you've never had sex!”
Never before had I been so astounded,
I could see nothing but red, as my blood pounded,
Getting up close to my television screen I prepared my response
Gulping in breath, I shouted my taunt.
Even now I regret it, after 20 years, after 30, till the end of time,
Read the first letter of each line.
|
There is only one thing trickier than maneuvering through the narrow hallways of Ascend while staying one step ahead of your pursuer, and that's crafting the perfect smack-talk. In this game, outpacing a trail of bullets is only mildly more satisfying than outwitting your opponent on the social landscape. Sure, there were the old fallbacks, the stuff that makes up the background radiation of an FPSer's life, but Michael held himself to a higher standard.
Through years of practice, he'd honed a specific set of rules and methods for trash-talk. You always play nice during the match. You always create an atmosphere of polite, respectful sportsmanship. You always strike up what could be a lasting friendship, finding things in common with the opponent and talking about it at length, all while embroiled in savage combat. And at the end of the match, you always, *always* go in for the kill, using what you've gathered to create the most cutting remark possible before leaving them for the rats.
And nothing had changed about Michael's approach when he recognized the voice over his headset of none other than President Barack Obama. He dealt with the realization in the same cavalier manner with which he threw his next grenade, taking out three of the president's teammates in the process. But where to begin?
Michael began probing immediately, now certain of who his mark would be. He started asking political questions, which, while it riled up most of the combatants, didn't seem to get anywhere with the president. He tried talking about neo-colonialism, the military industrial complex, and even Black Lives Matter, but Obama was oddly silent on all fronts. The match continued, the score wavering between dead even and a one-point advantage for either side. Finally, however, he hit on something that everyone could agree on: Space Exploration.
The president almost immediately chimed in with his thoughts, and suddenly the combat stopped as every other fighter realized exactly who was talking. The match timer ticked away while everyone stood still, in awe of the president's apparent deep-seated passion for astronomy. Michael saw his opportunity with only a few seconds left on the clock. He moved into position.
The president went on: "Making sure we stay at the forefront of space exploration is a big priority for my administration. The passing of Neil Armstrong this week is a reminder of the inspiration and wonder that our space program has provided in the past; the curiosity probe on mars is a reminder of what remains to be discovered. The key is to make sure that we invest in cutting edge research that can take us to the next level - so even as we continue work with the international space station, we are focused on a potential mission to a asteroid as a prelude to a manned Mars flight."
Michael's gun went off. Game Over. Red Team Wins. The lobby was silent, everyone in shock. A muffled crackling sound came in over the lobby as Michael adjusted his headset for the final blow.
"An asteroid, Mr. President."
| 2015-12-17T09:11:04
| 2015-12-17T08:36:38
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
I lean back against the wall of my cell in confusion, my mind blank with bewilderment. As a lucky man myself, I know a coincidence when I see it, and this is most certainly not. Am I not the only one who could see other's luck rating? That would be the logical conclusion, seeing all these people blessed by fortune, sharing the same binds as one another. However, where does that conclusion leave me? Why would someone actively be imprissoning the worlds luckiests men and women in one prison? Besides, I still don't even know why I'm here in the first place. One moment, I was enjoying my gifts at a cassino in Utah, on my way to Vegas, and then I'm beimg escourted into a van by armed guards.
This was far from a fortunate happenstance, obviously. Perhaps I could escape these walls, but by what means? I can't dwell on these thoughts for long, though, as I am soon taken out of my temporary holding cell and into my permanent home. As I pass by, my eyes widened as I witnesed what this prison had to offer. Instead of an oppressive cage built for the filth of society, it resembles more of a hotel. I pass by game rooms and swimming pools, all with the prisoners smiling and at peace. Further down the hall, I catch the inviting smell of fresh cakes and other sweets, which I figure originates from the cafeteria. While these tantalizing perks of the prison catch my eye, in only further tangles the yarn ball that was once my train of thought. This place wasn't a proper prison, so why am I being kept here?!
Days pass, and I begin to see how things work down here. All prisoners are assigned a job, and in my case, I had gotten tasked with preparing food for the cooks, which to no one's surprise, was quite fortunate for me. After all, it's a job I've had before, and hardly stressful for me. For doing my job, I do get paid, and am allowed to spend my funds on various arcade machines in the game room, swim time, courtyard time, so on and so forth. Even without working I am guranteed 3 warm meals a day, which are filling and positivily delicious. No one could complain about being here, it's a utopia! No one, except me. The life of luxury will not be enough the calm my curious mind, or distract me from the very reason I was put here, or rather the lack their of. Perhaps it's not a wish to be free, but simply to know the truth, wherever that path leads me.
My plans have already hit a roadblock before they began, however. It took me only a week to notice the pattern everything follows. The prisoners are woken up at 7 AM on the dot, daily, and we are required to verify our person at the door by checking our fingerprints, only after are we allowed out of the cell. Metal detectors lie just outside of everyone's cells, making sure no one brings contraband in or out of their cells to begin with. Roll call begins after, with searches on everyone's cells taking place during that time, as well as maintanance on the detectors. After which, everyone's esquorted to their jobs, and after that, we're given free reign to roam the halls, but always under constant supervision. Why is it that security is so tight, when the prison itself is rather lax? Only then does realiziation hit me like a piano attop a cartoon character's head. Nothing here is left to chance. Absolutly nothing. If I'm to escape, I'll need far more then luck.
|
I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump.
| 2018-06-29T10:08:56
| 2018-06-29T08:43:19
| 77
| 26
|
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble.
|
"Do we know who did this?"
It was the first time The Academic had spoken since they had entered the hospital. They had emerged from their motorcade in silence, letting their assistants placate and query the staff of the hospital. Now they stood at the bedside of Ms. Lydia Wisp.
The Academic's network was large enough that they could not personally know every member. But they knew Ms. Wisp. She was an elementary school librarian from a small town to the south of Seattle, who had met with the Academic in hopes of protecting her school from the government's ever-avaricious budget. She had been pleasant, polite, and well-prepared, and the Academic had been more than happy to assist her. In the years since they had kept an eye on Ms. Wisp's region among their other points of interest, and had occasionally contacted her for local issues that had not rated official attention.
And now she lay in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages, casts, and skin grafts.
"The person responsible was Sandblaster. Has the ability to generate large amounts of sand with variable mass and velocity. Publicly operating for four years, recently moved from Los Angeles for unknown reasons. Previously associated with Panthera, but arrived at Savior Hall an hour ago with luggage."
The Academic nodded, once. "Please see to it that Ms. Wisp's healing is accelerated. Call in up to level two debts as needed."
The assistant may have responded, but The Academic was already deep in thought. Fifth floor of Seattle General to the front of Savior Hall, without taking any of the floor or leaving any of themself. The calculations churned in their head, equations unfolding like a labyrinth, numbers ruthlessly locked into place, until--
The Academic spoke the answer.
The universe suddenly realized part of it wasn't where it was supposed to be, and corrected this immediately.
The assistant was left alone in the hospital room.
---
"What the *fuck*, Sand! When I agreed to let you crash here, I didn't think 'Don't be a psycho' needed to be said!"
*"Me, the psycho? I'm not the one letting a low level villain run roughshod over the state government."*
"Low level? Did you do... Any research before jumping in headfirst? Any at all?
Academic isn't low *level* because they are *weak*. Academic is low *priority* because they are *easily managed*. Don't touch the schools. Don't cut the budget. Don't touch their people."
*"What are so so worried about? You said it yourself-- The Academic mostly works through their minions. I take them out, they go down."*
"Get out. Now. I don't want your blood on my furniture."
---
The Academic pondered Savior Hall.
The large building towered over the surrounding park, a glass and quartz titan watching over the city. Today, a shimmering rainbow shield wrapped around the hall, sealing off entry to Seattle's superhero HQ. That same kind of shield had once protected half of Europe from an asteroid strike.
The Academic was not an asteroid.
"An unstoppable force meets an immovable object." The Academic spoke aloud, striding forwards. "A foolish question. Either the force is stoppable--"
The Academic met the rainbow shield. It vanished with an earsplitting, window-shaking CRACK, leaving the path to the front door unobstructed.
"-- Or the object is moved."
When knocking failed to produce an answer, they applied a light shove to the doors (*force equals mass time acceleration*) that sent the thick metal slabs cannoning off their hinges to impale the far wall. Luckily, They didn't have to go looking for their quarry; Sandblaster strode into the lobby as the dust was still falling.
"So you've got some tricks up your sleeve. Just means it'll look even better when I take you--" The hero reeled back and whipped a block of silicate at The Academic's head-- "DOWN!"
"Addition."
The floor before the supervillain buckled, a bugle of tile and stone jumping up to intercept the projectile. The Academic stepped around the obstacle and slowly strode towards their opponent. "Sandblaster, you hurt a teacher under my protection."
"I interrogated one your minions!" This block was (*for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction*) casually batted aside.
"Lydia Wisp works at an elementary school. She helps children expand their understanding of the world. You put her in the hospital with life-threating wounds."
"If you want to take apart a criminal empire, you've got to take out the bottom-- and the top!" A huge block launched, which (*an object at rest tend to stay at rest*) abruptly tumbled to the floor.
"You are responsible for the grievous harming of an innocent. I am here to correct you."
Snarling, Sandblaster readied his namesake move. He'd like to see this bastard walk off a high-pressure stream of--
The Academic flicked a finger in a slashing motion. "Division."
Sandblaster shrieked as his right arm was *divided* from the rest of his body. He lurched sideways, desperately clamping his other hand over the gushing stump.
"Goodbye."
Sandblaster looked up just in time to see The Academic's palm touch his forehead.
"Subtraction."
|
"Hey uh, boss?" One of the grunts had radioed him.
"Yeah? What do you need?" The man, relaxed in a chair, asked.
"We found Courts, he's pretty fucked up, looks like torture." The grunt responded.
"Oh fuck..." The man, now sitting up straighter, muttered, "anyone else?"
"Dead." The grunt replied.
"I assumed so." The man sighed, heroes killing had been on the rise, more so now with that new "Queen" guy around, wielding a crossbow and a cowl, he had killed more people than the man in the chair had.
"Boss, you read us?" The grunt questioned, worried.
"Loud n' clear, send Courts in if he's able to walk and talk comprehensibly, if not, send him for rest." The man in the chair ordered.
"Copy that Boss, ETA 5 minutes. Courts will be speaking to you." The grunt replied.
"Thanks." The man in the chair said, before cutting the call.
10 minutes had passed, and Courts came through the door using a walking stick.
"Courts, what the fuck happened out there?" The man in the chair stood, and walked towards Courts.
"Well Boss, they beat me til' I couldn't do nothin' then they tried to force me to talk." Courts replied.
Offering his shoulder, he helped Courts to a chair, then asked, "anything else they do to you?"
"Threw me into a wall, stabbed me in the leg." Courts responded, "might have done more, I couldn't feel nothin' after the wall."
"Jesus Christ. Alright, I assume this lad was a bit too eager for information?" The man, previously in a chair, asked.
"They were, I wouldn't of given 'em anythin' anyway." Courts replied.
The man pondered on this, than realized something, "Wait... They?"
"Oh shit! Right!" Courts yelled, "There were 3 of them!"
"What did they look like?" The man questioned.
"I think one of them was Queen... The other was called Digs, the last one seemed against doing anything to me, I think it was a lady, but they had long hair." Courts said slowly, while in thought.
"Thank you Courts, take as much time as you need to heal." The man ordered.
"Boss... Nah nah, what was one of those names you used? Lists?" Courts asked.
"Yeah, Lists was never a good name. People now only remember me for that line I did once." Lists responded.
"It was the Alfred the Great one right?" Courts questioned.
"Yep," Lists replied, "Ya know me? They call me Alfred. Alfred the Great, and for what you did, I'm going to be seen as the man who took down these barbarians."
"That was a great goddamn line, I still remember hearing you say that." Courts smiled.
"It was a damn good line, especially in improv, now go rest up mate." Lists patted Courts on the shoulder, helped him stand up, and let him on his way.
Now it was time to teach this "Queen" a lesson.
Walking down the street, Lists was kind to anyone who gave him the time of day, he had found the location of Queen's hide out. An old, rundown factory in a shitty area. Stepping in, he called out to see if anyone would respond to him. He then received a fast moving object to the stomach, and flew into a wall.
"Goddamn! You and your walls Queen!" Lists yelled.
"How did you know where we were?" A modified voice echoes around him.
"Would you believe I'm buying property in the area!" Lists yelled out once more, hoping to get a location on his assailant.
His assailant dropped down from above him, and Lists was very easily able to mark him as Queen.
"Your a guy?" Lists asked.
Queen stepped on Lists leg, and asked, "How did you know where we were?"
Lists points at Queen, while saying, "You harmed, and killed, many fine men, with friends, families, and loved ones. Those actions, as you will soon find out, have consequences, many, many very bad consequences."
Queen scoffed, and motioned his hands for his friends to come out, a moderately tall, muscular man wearing a mask, and a smaller woman, also wearing a mask.
"You probably shouldn't have revealed your friend's locations to me." Lists stated, during the middle of this sentence, he had formed a gun in his hand, and by the end, Queens was missing a part of his jaw, but was still alive. His friends, not able to get a line of sight on Lists, went behind cover.
Lists began charging using the confused Queen as a shield, and began yelling "Ya know! If Queen hadn't stepped on my leg, I would have told you I was Alfred!"
Queen had finally recovered from having his jaw nearly blown off, and began to retaliate towards his usage as a shield, far too late of course, as he had already outlived his usefulness, and was thrown into a pile of steel pipes. The muscular man, probably Digs, had began shooting at Lists, while the small woman, who had probably been the long haired one Courts had described, went out of the line of fire.
Lists formed a gun in his hand once more, and shot Digs' gun out of his hand. Digs then began charging Lists, to which Lists responded to by hitting him with his palm, stopping Digs in his tracks, probably broke a rib or two in the process, grabbing his arm, lifting him over his head, then, with momentum, launched him into a floor with a giant swing.
Digs was no longer going to get up, and the long-haired woman began to shoot at Lists. Lists formed yet another gun in his hand, and grazed her leg with a bullet. Collapsed on one knee, and in tremendous pain, the woman tried to keep shooting, yet every shoot missed due to her injuries. Lists kicked the gun out of her hand, and using the same kick, dislocated her jaw. Then, with the heel of his foot and the height from his kick, broke her skull.
Queen had began to run at Lists, much more sloppily than Digs had, which was acceptable considering the amount of abuse he had just endured. Lists let him get close to him, and during Queen's attempt to punch, grabbed his fist, and squeezed. Hard. Lists left after that, leaving three severely wounded heroes to their devices.
Lists had arrived back at base 20 minutes later. Courts was there to greet him. They watched the news together, had drinks together, and laughed as the news report of the heroes Lists had beat up came on.
| 2021-03-22T10:21:57
| 2021-03-22T07:33:48
| 58
| 34
|
[WP] There is a woman who is a human 'Phoenix'. She dies in labour and is reborn as her own child.
|
She hated starting over again.
That was always the worst part. Over and over again, she’d have to claw her way up and out of the pits of childhood and past the miserable peaks and valleys of teenagehood to reach the point where she could be assured of both a reasonable adulthood and an equally reasonable childhood - all over again.
She knew what was waiting for her at the end: the tears, the misery, the husband (this time, at least) left with a child he wanted once but no longer. Most stood up admirably in the face of the tragedy.
Not all did.
And if death could have taken her any other way, she’s certain it would have. But it couldn’t - or simply wouldn’t - and she was left to survive in the face of the impossible. She was a miracle child a hundred times over; a marvel, a wonder, a one-in-a-million chance. In her youth, she was always a prodigy, precocious, perfect.
And were it not for the hormonal highs and lows of those wretched years of puberty (those were the worst), she might have been everything they expected of such a child. She came close. She always came close - but she could never quite drive back the madness that the rolling tides of mood and misery that came with her teenage years. Those were the years when the nightmares would threaten to drown her, the years when only darkness reigned and she was left to flounder for the light.
Adulthood was always easier. And it had been getting easier for some time - at first, her body was hardly a thing worthy of note but, through careful selection of her partners, she-as-her-daughter improved in appearance. This trait and that were kept; the others discarded or changed. She had gone, through meticulous management, from short and dun-haired and brown-eyed to tall and black-haired and gray-eyed. Dusky skin made way for porcelain pallor; a thick physique swapped out for something lean and athletic.
It made it easier - much easier - to find the right kind of man, the kind of man that wanted a child and would rear it when she-as-she-was had passed. The kind of man who could ensure that she-as-her-daughter would have a superior life.
The kind of man that would serve as a stepping stone to something greater.
She couldn’t remember how the curse came to be - not precisely. She remembered only the bronze bull, the fire, the screams. The hunger of Moloch
(but where did that name come from and why?)
and then nothing.
She would remember the fire, the flutes, the drums, the crying; she would remember the smell of burnt flesh and hair. She would remember all of it in those moments before the birth; she would feel it all over again. And then it would be over and she would be herself again.
Did her mother damn her? Did she damn herself?
It hardly mattered now.
She looked around her richly appointed room, rested a hand on her swollen stomach, and sighed.
One more month and she would be Gehenna.
|
The doctor's words hit me with an almost physical impact. I feel like I'm sinking into the stiff examination table, my hospital gown suddenly as heavy as a sheet of lead. "No. No, that can't be right."
"I know it's shocking, but I can assure you that it's true," the doctor says, turning the ultrasound monitor to face me. It's not the first time I've had an ultrasound, so I know how to recognize the shapes. And there's no way to deny that there are two distinct shapes etched in the blurry black and white. "You're expecting twins. Congratulations."
I stare at the monitor, feeling my pulse pound. Twins. I've never had twins before. Not in all of my lives. I feel myself falling off the familiar path I've walked for so long, and into unknown territory.
Twins. Oh god.
----
This time, my name is Louise. I am forty-seven years old, and also seven hundred thirty two years old. I am a simple woman with a simple lifestyle, keeping to myself in a house I inherited from myself, who inherited from myself before her and myself before her. Confused yet?
I was first born, completely normally, in France during the reign of King Philip the III. When I was sixteen, I had a bit of a roll in the hay with a soldier who had sworn to take me as his wife. I, being young and naive, had believed him. Nine months later, I died in childbirth, and gave birth to myself.
As can be imagined, I was confused beyond belief.
Despite lifetimes of research, I've never been able to discover how or why I am able to resurrect in such a strange manner. I quickly discovered the 'rules', as they were. I only ever gave birth to daughters. My 'soul', it could be said, always transfers at the moment the umbilical cord is cut. At the same moment, the me who is the mother dies, and I spend an annoyingly long period with an adult mind in an infant body. A body with undeveloped muscles, and little to no bowel control. 'Irritating' doesn't even begin to describe it.
And so, I've passed through the centuries like this. Mother to daughter, mother to daughter, on and on, living dozens of lives and thinking I had it all figured out.
And now, this. Twins. I've never *had* twins before.
---
Check out my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.com/), or my brand-new subreddit, /r/theballadsofirving!
| 2016-01-25T10:01:04
| 2016-01-25T09:46:57
| 342
| 151
|
[WP] Whenever a new generation of combat robots are made, the older versions will be put into more and more dangerous missions until they all perish, but the technicians are required to repair any surviving machines, your generation was discontinued before some of these engineers were even born.
|
"Oh, look at this rustbucket!" the young engineer said and jokingly slapped the back of ZX-2984.
"Hey now kid," his older teacher said, "show some respect."
"Why? The thing is ancient?" the kid laughed.
"Yes. It is. And that's exactly why you should respect it. You're new, right?" the teacher asked.
"Transferred last week."
"Ah. So you don't know what we do with old robots, then," the teacher said and lit up a cigarette.
"Keep them around like this one?"
The teacher laughed loudly. "No, kid. We scrap them. In a way. Ship them out to the most suicidal mission around, never to come back let alone in one piece. If by some miracle they pull it off and come back, we repair them and send them out again until they finally fail. It's more efficient than trying to pull bits of usable metal out of them."
"But," the kid protested, "this thing is a relic. It's older than you an- oh."
The teacher nodded knowingly.
"*Oh*," the kid repeated, realization striking him. He pulled up a diagnostic on ZX-2984. It was old, older than his mentor, with 678 missions completed. ZX-984 wasn't just its designation. 2984 was the date of its *creation, 64 years ago*. He looked back at it with awe.
"Stop gawking kid. ZX just came back, let's fix him up," the teacher smiled.
The repairs were relatively simple; its elbow was ripped off, simply needed a new one. A small price to pay considering it was sent to destroy a xeno hive on its own.
The hive never stood a chance.
"Alright, let's boot it up," the teacher said and flipped a switch on his control board. The robot whirred loudly - the older models were a lot louder than the new ones, not built with subtlety in mind. It eyes lit up.
𝚁𝚄𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙶𝙽𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂. 𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙶𝙽𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴. 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙾𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙴𝚁 𝙹𝙸𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚉. The voice was cold and metallic; a stark contrast to new models which mimicked human voices seamlessly.
"Evening ZX," Jiminez smiled. "Congratulations on your latest mission. How're you feeling?"
The rookie engineer wished to protest at treating the robot with such humanity, but stopped himself knowing its capabilities.
𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙶𝙽𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙻𝙱𝙾𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝚈 𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈.
Jiminez quickly looked at the records. "Yeah, you're right. How about that."
𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙾𝚁 𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝙴𝚁 𝙹𝙸𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚉, the robot turned suddenly.
"Yes?"
𝙰𝙼 𝙸 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙾𝚃?
|
"Yo, rookie, come check this out. You're in for a treat tonight!"
I remembered James' voice and his fascination with me, everytime I was here. I would say hi if my core systems were functional. All I could do was watch and listen. The rookie approached him.
"What's that, let me see."
"This, my friend here is an XM-9000. Last of its series. Definitely older than you, maybe even older than me, we don't know exactly."
"What is it doing here?"
"Every few years they bring it here. Wonder how many planets it visited, this time. Tough son of a bitch, this one. They don't make them like they used to. Must have been on hundreds of missions."
The rookie checked out hardware, particularly my weapons and movement systems, in awe.
"What is its designation?"
James checked out my peripherals to see if I was on.
"You know that is a funny question. We gave him the hardest we got. Everytime, he returned within a few months, mission accomplished. There was no getting rid of this old piece of scrap. Then the overseer decided to be funny little twat and gave him an impossible one."
"What would that be?"
"To find love." James snorted out a laugh.
"That seems cruel even by his standards. How does a robot find love?" The rookie seemed concerned.
"Don't worry mate, it's off. A few more touches and it will be ready though. Just don't mention things like impossible."
As James finished his work, he turned my core systems on.
"Welcome back to the world of living, XM. Let's see if everything is in place. What is your primary objective?"
I remained silent.
"It is to find love, XM. Rookie, check his systems to see if it has any kinks."
As the rookie worked on to see what was wrong, I replied back.
"It is my secondary objective."
James seemed irritated.
"What happened?"
"I gave myself a new primary objective."
The rookie suddenly shouted back to James. "James it has upgrades, auxillary optics and peripherals. It was on!"
"To exact revenge on those responsible."
It was show time.
| 2022-07-09T10:23:29
| 2022-07-09T04:31:45
| 257
| 183
|
[WP] "It literally could not get any worse if we summoned Cthulhu, and in fact might improve the situation somewhat."
UPDATE: I must say, I did *not* expect a cheap [Godzilla Threshold](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GodzillaThreshold) prompt to become my most upvoted post. I'm quite enjoying all of your stories so far, so keep it up!
|
"Cthulhu? Really?"
William's facial expression and voice were both in the far end of the "are you serious" spectrum of existence.
"Yeah", I said, nodding vigorously. "You already know we're fucked either way. There's no chance, zero, of us getting out of this intact. At least if we bring about His return, maybe we can slip away in the debris of reality as it crumbles around us. And we'd be avoiding a fate worse than death either way."
William looked torn, but I could tell I was getting through to him.
"I don't know...", he began.
"Look", I said, all reason. "Consider what happens if we do nothing. Is that a fate you want to consign yourself to? Is that how you want things to go down? Are you REALLY saying that ANY scenario, no matter how bad, wouldn't be preferable to THAT?"
William sighed but nodded slowly. His voice was threaded with lamentation when he replied: "Yeah, I just... Father left us the Secret of bringing about His return in the hopes we would do it out of worship for the Elder One, not as a last-ditch effort to avoid... THIS." The last word was spoken with both revulsion and regret. I could tell I'd already convinced him, and now we were just going through the motions.
Continuing, William added: "I can't help but feel we're letting him down, somehow. This is the last thing we have left of Father. When this is gone, what will remain?"
I scowled fiercely at William. "Nothing. But that's the point, isn't it? Nothing will remain. Father's own words, remember? When in doubt..."
"... praise Cthulhu." William finished for me, almost automatically. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
"Of course I'm right. Now, I'll start the ritual, and you come in at the appropriate time, and with the right words, and we'll make this happen. Alright?"
"Alright, alright."
Slowly, carefully, I began the incantations, the motions, the ordering of thoughts in a sequence of logical steps never meant to be reasonable to the rigid pathways of the human mind. Fortunately, mine was less rigid than that of my elders, still capable of incorporating the seemingly nonsensical logic into a meaningful pattern.
To my right, William was muttering to himself.
"I still say we should just have left the cookie jar alone."
|
I never thought I would see her wearing a full body armor and wielding twin plasma machinegun as large as a motorcycle. Heck, I never imagined I would see her holding something larger than my dog.
Valiantly, she charged upon the hordes of gray six meter long worms, accurately evaporated their heads and hearts. But the hordes never stop. At the middle of the city was a gleaming red portal where various creatures worse than even my worst dream, and it got worse by the minutes.
I felt pathetic. Again and again, she saved me from huge psychedelic creatures, many of which are nematoids and insectoid in nature, while I could only run, avoiding the ruin brought forth by both side alike.
And then a giant frog, larger than a hill, appeared from the portal. Easily, it swatted the squad fighting its minion, turning almost half of them into traces of vermilion, not even a corpse remains.
I can't see her.
Amidst the destruction brought forth by the giant frog, a name repeated itself in my mind, along with the color red. *"Ythogtha is the savior, Ythogtha you shall worship, in Ythogtha you shall pray...."*
"Shut up!" again, I searched for her, ignoring the carnage, but deep inside I know I would never saw her again. "YOU!" I challenged the one-eyed Ythogtha, and it halted.
I felt fear. But I cannot step back. Another voice whispered into my mind *"Kill it. Retrieve her. Call for my name. Call for Cthulhu."*
Part of me knew this second voice was far older, far more powerful, the exact power I need to defeat Ythogtha. But this is an unbridled power which could very well destroy the Earth merely by stepping on it. Turning to Cthulhu would defeat Ythogtha instantly, but no life would be saved, nor would she return to my side.
"I won't surrender to either of you. I'm done with depending to others, letting others took the responsibility for something I should have done but didn't. This human," I pointed to my chest "at least *this* human won't surrender to you" I declared, again looking straight to the gigantic eyes that corrupted and killed its surrounding just by existing.
"What was dead shall stay dead, dreaming it shall be but even its dream shall be taken from it."
The ancient powers intrigued, by this human who impudently ascended to their place. I smiled. "Have you ever tried erasing yourself out of existence?" I reached up, my small human hands too far away from reaching Ythogtha, but that didn't matter. With a simple gesture, Ythogtha was crushed down to a pool of acid, where millions of nightmare creatures spawned. But they too, was crushed by my hands.
*"Impossible, a mere human? Gaining such power, not to mention killing my spawn? Impossible, this is impossible!"*
"Don't worry, little octopus, I'll come to you soon."
| 2016-12-22T02:34:42
| 2016-12-21T23:42:28
| 84
| 13
|
[WP] Your English teacher explains the themes and symbolismes of up a best selling book she does not know you wrote. Unfortunately, she has it all wrong. You raise your hand
|
Reading the book aloud in class does nothing for my self-confidence. At least once a chapter someone in the class raises their hand to go into every detail of what they didn't like. I sit in the class with my head down. When it's my turn to read aloud I can do nothing but grimace at myself in disgust over my word choices. *It seems a bit dramatic,* I tell myself. *Oh man, that sentence could have been worded kind of differently.* At least I had an editor so I don't have to worry about typos. The last thing I need are twenty snarky teenagers rolling their eyes on the incorrect usage of *proliferate* and scoff at my use of words like *amalgamation*.
Mrs. Barnes gets a lot of it wrong, too. We have comprehension tests every now and then. You would think that as the author I would know the own symbolism of my book, but alas, it seems I am mistaken. Take the last test for example. One of the questions was, *What is Henry worried about when he lights the match?* The correct answer to that question is this: Henry is worried about the impact it will have on his family if he is caught. He's worried less about his own arsonism and more about the impact it will have on his family members if they find out that it's him. The same guilt he has each time he starts a fire. Call it the proverbial angel and devil on his shoulder, that guilt you get from growing up in Little Korea and having several generations weigh on your shoulders about what you *should* be doing and the kind of person you *are* and such.
But nope. Mrs. Barnes marked me wrong on that and said, *Henry is worried about his future and where he will get into college.*
This has been going on for a while.
I usually don't participate in the discussions, but tuning in I realize that my classmates and Mrs. Barnes are deep in discussion about Samantha - Henry's sister - and how Henry's being an arsonist affects her when she finds out in the eighth chapter.
"Well you know, I think this is an allegorical reference to the meaning of life," the prestigious nerd says. I roll my eyes until Mrs. Barnes enthusiastically cries, "Exactly! Excellent job, Martin!"
Martin continues, "Samantha worries about the soul of her brother should he face death. Each time he sets a fire she worries that he will perish in it. That's why she releases the boats into the river - because she is worried about him dying. The boats are a metaphor for souls being sent to their final destination."
I raise my hand. Mrs. Barnes gives me a look that tells me I am silencing genius and then calls my name. I try to be respectful as I correct them, "Actually I think that Samantha is worried more about her family finding out. She loves Henry and knows that this is a fault of him, but I don't think Samantha has shown any sign of being religious or believing in souls. The boats are symbolic for her letting go of that which she has no control over. None of this is an allegory for life. This story is mostly about family."
"Not at all," Martin dismisses me with a wave of his hand. "This story is completely about good and evil and the state of one's soul in the presence of a higher power. Henry constantly struggles with the state of his soul and whether it is tainted by the sin he commits."
"This book is not religious," I counter. "It's all about the values of family."
Mrs. Barnes rolls her eyes and Martin shakes his head softly. The rest of the class avoids looking at me. "I think you need to read the work more closely, Devin. This work very obviously alludes to many biblical passages and is in its essence a text about struggling with religion as a young adult."
"It's really not," I counter. "I'm telling you that you're making up all this religious nonsense. Henry is focused on his family. Korean culture - most Asian cultures - focus on families. I know because I'm Korean." The last thing I want to do is let them know that I'm the author, so I continue as any other student. "The only thing Henry worries about is causing shame to his family and how he would be judged in *their* eyes. He never thinks or worries about God or the existence or state of his soul."
Mrs. Barnes puts her hands up and closes her eyes in a *I'm not having this conversation because I'm obviously right* motion. "We can have this discussion after class, Devin. But I must say, Martin is in the right here."
I want to throw my arms up in the air and scream that it is not a religious story. Instead I just put my head down on my desk as Martin goes on about his religious theory. I think about English teachers and the other books we've read in class. I wonder about how many authors we've misinterpreted, and how they would feel if they could hear what we say.
---
Hope you enjoyed reading! For other stories, check out /r/Celsius232
|
"So what is the story really about? Could anyone answer that for me?"
Silence.
"Alright, what if I gave you the option between 'Love overcomes all' or rather 'Science overcomes all'? Anyone? Derek?" She pointed at a boy in the back of the class, slumped in his chair.
"No idea."
"Anyone else? No? Alright. Lets take a look at the most interesting passages in this short. One of the underlying themes in the book is definitely his connection with his wife Sarah, agreed? But the other most obvious theme in the book is the development of science, and the fact that science only could bring the story to a good end. You will notice the stress the author places on the studying of scientific studies and theories..."
A boy also sitting in the back of the classroom cleared his throat and raised his hand. "Yes, Paul?"
"I'm sorry, but I feel like I have a totally different interpretation of the piece than you do."
"Oh. Alright, in which way?"
"Wouldn't you rather say that the actual underlying theme was that not only Chris was chosen randomly, but also that even though he didn't have any useful background in his personal career he managed to develop himself into a scientist because he was motivated, hard-working and because he simply needed to? Isn't the willpower of man in a certain kind of way the driving factor behind his actions, fueled by his own situation, most notably Sarah, but also because he feels like he owes it to the rest of the world? In a certain sense Chris had no qualities that another person wouldn't have had, so wouldn't you say the most delicate theme is what humanity is actually capable of? I don't necessarily disagree with the notion that science and love were important, but rather that they were instruments in allowing him to achieve what he needed to achieve."
A few teenagers had turned around staring at the boy in the back of the class. Another group of kids stared at the teacher, their normally uninterested attitudes eagerly awaiting a response.
"Hmm...that's a very good point. I wouldn't say I necessarily agree with all of them though. I feel like the blue curtains in the first scene after the time stop definitely showed the melancholy of the situation better, his loneliness already reflected in his surroundings, obviously showing how secluded he already was from his wife".
"I don't really recall there being blue curtains...", the boy mumbled.
"Aha! But what if there had been?" the teacher replied, and continued her analysis while the boy followed Derek's posture and slumped in his chair. Robin, the girl next to him, poked him in the arm. "She could be right, you know? I mean, in the end, who really knows what the author intended?"
He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, maybe. I guess this was a good way to illustrate that a story often consists of multiple facets, and that some facets might be uncovered by someone else even while the author never intentionally implied it, or never intended it that way but on a deeper level it supports the story. Or maybe he had. I guess it's good to keep an open mind. Stories often evolve so much that it goes beyond what the author had originally planned to write. I guess that's what all these stories do in the end, what they have in common. They make you think."
| 2016-04-20T06:21:06
| 2016-04-20T04:08:51
| 317
| 70
|
[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 just received the call from the Joint Chiefs. We've been upgraded to level 0."
"...fuck. Go to my office and find the green sticky note on my desk. There's a phone number on it. Send that number a text that reads 'Priority zero'."
"A text message, sir?"
"The guy on the other end, he doesn't...he doesn't really talk much. Send it immediately and let me know what his demands are."
"...this doesn't make sense, sir. The only thing he wants...is a crowbar."
|
*A sign reading "Area 51: Eldritch Containment Protocols Command" hangs limply from the now-smashed and burned fence it used to be firmly attached to. Beyond the perimeter, an unassuming grey bunker sits, split open by formless tendrils of void lapping at anything withing their reach.*
"General Bahncroft! The ECPC has taken critical damage. We've got several breaches locally, and they seem to be spreading out of control across the states. Western hemisphere containment is down and the WARLOCK global defense grid seems to be suffering from massive power surges. We've got a level 0 entity trying to make contact here."
*From an office just a few feet to the left of the massive facility breach, an unassuming man in his early 60's steps out of an office that was certainly quite nice before the damage shockwave and local gravity anomalies shuffled the whole place up and splayed its contents across the remainder of that level of the bunker, in various states of floating*
"Lt. Yan, get to my safe on the lower level! The combination is 2-28-35. The contents of that box are our only hope now. Follow the instructions to the letter! I've got to hold off the little bastards that should start pouring out of the breach any second now. The last incident destroyed the entirety of the Tunguska region. I won't lose the continental US the same way!"
*The Lt. hurtled down several flights of stairs, over a massive amount of debris and essentially through the corpses of people standing in the wrong place when the first tendril probed the facility, locking them in place, torn apart, straddling the dimensions. In a small room off the supply garage, locked behind a simple metal cage (for which he was tasked with the key), sat an unassuming jewelry lockbox, with a small inscription and a pentagram emblazoned dead center. After inputting the combination and opening the box, he was met with a single post-it with a phone number, a small flip phone, and some instructions.*
"For a good time, call 1-800-Hellion."
*The instruction sheet simply states: call the number, make only the deal you need, and hang up. Let him talk no longer than necessary.*
*Lt. Yan dialed, as the general bellowed insults and fired off plasma shots from his bolter above. Yan loved those things. Best bit of tech salvaged from the aliens yet. The line rang several times before a voice answered, like nails on a rusty chalkboard bellowed over a stadium loudspeaker.*
"HELLO MORTAL. I SEE HUMANITY ONCE AGAIN HAS NEED OF MY SERVICES. YOUR WARLOCK NETWORK SEEMS TO BE OFFLINE. PITY THAT YOU ALL PURGED THE ACTUAL SORCERERS THAT DEFENDED YOUR WORLD FOR MILLENNIA OVER THE LAST FEW HUNDRED YEARS. MY PRICE FOR RESTORING THE NETWORK AND SAVING YOUR RACE IS THAT YOU SIMPLY ALLOW MY PEOPLE TO HANDLE STAFFING OF ALL YOUR WARLOCK FACILITIES, AND THAT ONE OF MY OWN HANDLES OVERSIGHT OF THE PROGRAM. IN EXCHANGE, THEY WILL TEACH YOUR PEOPLE THE ARTS THEY HAVE FORGOTTEN AND USHER IN A NEW ERA OF STABILITY AND PROSPERITY."
"That's not a very high price." It dawned on Yan that he shouldn't have said that.
*Above Yan, the General could be heard bellowing and blasting away with the bolter, but soon even he went silent, his last roar becoming a defeated gurgle*
"OH, MY PRICE IS HIGH ENOUGH, BECAUSE IT MEANS THAT I WILL WIN. WITH THE SPREAD OF SORCERY AND THE REVELATION THAT HUMANITY FACES AN OUTSIDER THREAT, THEY WILL SEEK STABILITY. STABILITY ONLY I CAN PROVIDE. MY WAR WITH GOD WILL BE FINISHED."
*Yan hung up the phone, worried he might do irreparable damage if he stayed on for a second more talking to the beast on the other end. Around him, the world began to knit back together, and the tendrils of void receded. Those killed in the breach also knitted back together, becoming whole and alive again. Something was wrong though. Those repaired by the entity's power seemed...corrupted. Then Yan remembered their conversation and the line about "staffing with his own people." *
*Around him, the dead rose and merged with beasts brought from beyond. Twisting, corrupting, becoming mockeries of their former humanity. The breach above healed as more and more members of ECPC became demonic vessels for the new administrator. Above, the General rose once again, his roar resuming in all its fury, then merging with a familiar, blood-curdling sound.*
"LT. YAN, JOIN ME IN THE COMMAND SUITE. WE HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO, AND A VERY SHORT TIME TO DO IT."
| 2017-03-21T06:25:13
| 2017-03-21T06:03:48
| 40
| 18
|
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
|
The semi-bio cushions moulded themselves round Draz'nek's body as it reclined into it's throne, for want of a better word. The throne itself was more of a podium with an intricately carved base and a grand, sweeping panel at the back positioned as if it were a backrest; made of great planks and beams of material from every star system the Hiveking's forces had overrun and subjugated organised in a pattern not dissimilar to that of the petals of a flower. Wood from the biggest trees, beams of the rarest minerals, a container of that valuable spice from that desert planet, all made a rainbow to highlight the grandeur of the Hiveking - and the abundant abilities of it's military.
The normal course of business was the dispensation of judgement between rival sub-hives or the issuing of decrees to formally establish colonies, however on this day such activities had ceased. A single, lone figure at the centre of the Pool of Light of Addressing the Hiveking (as the nearest translation from the Groozl's own language would put it) was the sole centre of attention for all the courtiers, worker Groozls, the Hiveking's partners and, indeed, the hiveking himself.
"Your eminence," the figure began. The human paused to allow the Interpatron(tm) around his neck issue the clicks and screeches of Groozl - such noises were impossible for any human to make.
"I prostrate before you with grave news. The Human parliament has, on this very day, been informed of armed incursions by the Vlanth of Sirius in the outer Solar System, with reports that invasion forces are, as I speak, beginning to enter -"
He was drowned out by a chorus of clicking and screeching from the surrounding Groozl. The few words he could make out from his Interpetron(tm) were mainly colourful curse words, with the odd "Outrageous!" thrown in.
Steven, for this was the human's name, was about to continue with his plea, when the Hiveking himself held up an appendage, causing silence to immediately descend upon the room. The bulky yet frail figure emitted a long series of screeches and clicks, with a higher pitch which the Interpetron (tm) interpreted as anger.
"The Humans of Earth of Sol have been the greatest and dearest friends of myself and my *probable translation: spawn heritage* since the Humans of Earth of Sol made the great leap into the Community of Species of the Galaxy. The Humans of Earth of Sol has long supported myself and the Groozle and my *spawn heritage* and the Groozl's *spawn heritage* in all our endeavours, and without the assistance of the Humans of Earth of Sol we would not have overcome the Great Invasion of the Metal Machines *two hundred years* ago.
"All faithful Groozl here will remember that Humans of Earth of Sol have never ventured beyond their home system of Sol, have never waged war on their neighbours, have always asked for fair prices for their goods, have always offered us excellent prices for our goods... ... ... Many of my *spawn descendants* have studied the arts of star travel and food production at the finest educational institutions the Humans of Earth of Sol have to offer ..."
The speech went on for some time, however Steven did not interrupt. For one thing it would be a serious breach of protocol, secondly the fear and awe to which the Groozl held the Hiveking meant they would simply ignore every distraction until the Hiveking had said his piece.
"... it is therefore my decree of utmost importance, to be carried out at once by all Groozl and with the greatest will of their being, that the entire military might of the Groozl be brought to bear on the Vlanth of Qwer of Sirius in order to save the Humans of Earth of Sol."
-----
The HMS Shropshire hung in orbit around Earth, the great forest of the Sahara below. All Human ships with any weapon capability had been summoned back to Earth to help in the defence.
"Not that we really need it anymore", muttered Captain Wright to herself. The view beyond the windows was practically full of spots of light, the vast majority of which were ships from every civilised nation in the quadrant. The great hulking Hiveships of the Groozl, the small, sleek vessels of the Bo'frun, the saucers of the Greys, all were assembled in the greatest armada seen in the history of the Galaxy. Some news channels on Earth were even reporting that the Armada had led to at least three dozen major wars to be called off amicably, as the respective nations devoted their entire firepower to the defence of what was, by universal acclaim, the friendliest planet in existence. nor had it escaped anyone's notice that if some species from another galaxy decided to invade the Milky Way now would be the perfect time, as the small warlord species around the perimeter had even lent their primitive vessels to the Humans.
The Battle for Humanity, the news channels reported later, lasted somewhere in the region of eight minutes and led to the comprehensive destruction of the entire Vlanth fleet. It was another four minutes before various funds and charities on earth started receiving sizeable sums of money from the other star systems to help rebuild the human colonies massacred in the outer Solar System.
HMS Shropshire was part of the Human fleet to join in the counter-invasion of Sirius, which saw the utter destruction of what was left of the Vlanth military and would have seen the extinction of the Vlanth altogether had Captain Wright not intervened as the Groozl began bombarding the Vlanth warrens on the surface of their home planet.
In the years and centuries to come, as the war faded from memory and the star systems of the galaxy finally unified in universal friendship (following the lead of the strange little mammals from Earth), it was the subject of much study as to exactly why the Vlanth were stuck as medieval farmers, and paid the humans vast sums of money every year, under the supervision of the Groozl
|
The alien vessels fell upon the Sol Coalition's fleet in waves, as if an interstellar tide had washed in. The lumbering human ships wheeled their guns about, massive artillery pieces launching their rocket-assisted shells across the field. Maneuvering thrusters flickered as the ships struggled to hold position upon the first alien volley. The aliens effortlessly shrugged off the shells, as their Stasis modules plucked them from the midst of battle. Bright green beams of energy rippled from their ships, and before the humans could react, half of their right flank had vaporized.
This was the last stand for Earth; colony after colony had fallen to these strange aliens. They had attacked without provocation, without reason.
Now, we travel to the SCS Tidebringer, where Captain George Albright prepares for his last stand:
Aboard every human ship, klaxons blared and men rushed to their stations. Things were no different on the Battleship Tidebringer, one of the last of its class. Captain Albright simply folded his hands behind his back as the right flank was... simply evaporated. "We've just lost twenty ships, Captain!" an ensign yelled from the side.
"And the Torch?" the captain inquired.
"She's..." the man looked at his graviton-field monitoring system. "She's damaged, but she's still on the field."
"Thank God," he said, "Thank God. Ensign, tell the Torch they must withdraw."
"Sir?"
"Their mission is far more important than this battle. We will hold the line."
"With all due respect--"
"We will *hold* the line. That is an order."
The ensign shrunk back down, eyes miserably scanning the console before him.
The captain noticed a faint blue glow as the Torch's FTL drive powered up. The ship stretched, then leapt into the great beyond, course unknown.
"Now, Lieutenant, I want all fire directed at the middle ship in the fleet. Let's get their attention." The gunnery section nodded their head in approval, working furiously on their panels to adjust aim and reload their weapons. "Standing by," the lieutenant said, at length.
"Open fire, everything we've got."
The ship shuddered as twenty-six guns fired and six missiles launched in harmony, sending their payloads toward the enemy lines. The captain observed the trails, chuckling to himself. Under better circumstances, one might even think these weapons were beautiful to watch as they streaked across the blackness of spa-- His thought was interrupted by the immediate alien response, which tore through the hull of his ship.
Will finish shortly!
| 2017-03-26T06:04:45
| 2017-03-26T05:50:12
| 221
| 42
|
[WP] One day you find $10m in your bank account with only the memo "Sorry" attached to it.
|
'GOD DAMN IT JANICE YOU CHEATING BITCH'
Arthur screamed, his face red and contorted in unbridled rage. His secretaries visibly cringed at their employer's outburst.
To his credit, the furious CEO quickly steeled his temper and sank back into his leather chair.
'Get. My. Accountant.'
To say that Arthur Royle was a powerful man was an understatement, and who knows what such a man is capable of in such emotional state? A phone call was all it took to send arguably the most busy man scurrying through the Headquarters of Royle Inc.
'Sir... your joint account...'
'Yes, you warned me, and I didn't listen.'
'How much?'
'She took all but ten million.'
The accountant's face hardened with the grim recognition of what happened.
An uncomfortable silence then ensued.
'Wha.. What do you plan on doing sir?'
'Well, what Janice did was completely within legal bounds.'
'And then again...' Arthur rubbed his temples and leaned back on his seat, 'If I gave a damn about legal bounds, I would still be living in that hovel'.
|
His heart was pounding audibly, his hands were sweaty, and his brain couldn't decide wether to be happy or scared, so it tried a mixture of both.
"It's probably just a computer error... They won't *actually* let me withdraw it...", He thought, as he drove to the bank.
"Sir, you're going to have to show me some ID to withdraw that much."
"Oh, okay. I have it right.... here."
&nbsp;
He thought back to the card in the board game Monopoly that reads "bank error in your favor, collect $x", and how he never thought it would actually happen in real life. As for the note, "Sorry," his brain had decided to be more excited than suspicious right now.
&nbsp;
Like the average person who just won the lottery, he called up friends and relatives, went on all sorts of expensive outings, and so began to tear through all of his newfound wealth, just as planned.
&nbsp;
Not planned by him, of course, but by...
&nbsp;
"You got me my citizen, right?"
"Yes, sir. He doesn't have a job right now, and doesn't keep in contact with very many people. I gave him a generous amount and left him a note that said, 'Sorry'."
"Not too generous, right? - no - nevermind. That will have to do. It's the next best thing to informed consent."
&nbsp;
"Now, Mr. President, have you considered my offer?"
"Yes, I have, Mr. President, and I would like you to consider a compromise. Instead of offering you two such individuals, we are prepared to offer you just one, in exchange for half of what you can offer."
"Oh, that will not do. I thought It was clear that we needed two. I shouldn't have to lecture you on human anatomy as to why. What we can offer is also all-or-nothing, and would require an even greater effort on our part to split it in half for you."
"We can easily give you samples of other humans, if need be. And we would still accept the full offer."
"Samples will not do. We need a culture. We settled on two indivuduals in our last meeting, and we cannot accomodate any fewer."
"I can get you more, so long as you just don't-"
"We operate on a set of well-defined parameters - none of which I need to justify to you, or even myself, other than to say it was assigned to me by powers beyond your imagination, and my reach!"
*pause*
"I'll see what I can do, but I'll make no promises. Just remember that if you do this, we won't ever forget it. Not just my country, but this whole world will not ever forget what you are about to do!"
"We're counting on it."
&nbsp;
"How is our citizen doing?"
"He's right on schedule for two months from now."
"Get me another. A woman this time."
"Yes, sir"
&nbsp;
Their "citizen" is now sunbathing on a Yacht, and thinking,
"Wait. What do I write on my taxes?"
| 2017-01-07T09:31:27
| 2017-01-07T08:45:34
| 35
| 12
|
[WP] We're always told that ending a story with "...and then they/he/she woke up" is an unimaginative way to end things. Tell a story where this ending makes it better.
|
A wonderful walk in the park with my wife.
*beep*
The crisp breeze caressing my skin.
*beep*
Her laughter echoing across the field.
*beep*
The color of her dress.
*beep*
A hug, a kiss.
*beep*
Romantic candlelit dinner.
*beep*
A long drive home.
*beep*
A soothing song on the radio.
*beep*
Her hand dancing with mine.
*beep*
Heavy eyelids.
*beep*
A trucker who's been driving since 4 am.
*beep*
The car lurching across the line.
*beep*
The horn from the trucker, too late.
*beep*
A blinding light.
*beep*
The screams of metal on metal.
*beep*
Sharp, wet.
*beep*
Is she okay?
*beep*
Oh god, am I?
*beep*
Shouts, sirens.
*beep*
Darkness.
*beep*
Yelling, running, florescent lights.
*beep*
Hours of surgery.
*beep*
Exhausted doctors.
*beep*
A breath of air.
*beep*
A sharp kick.
*beep*
The man wakes up.
*beep*
|
It goes beyond the reach of humans to understand the consciousness of the planets. They are alive in a way that most humans can't fully comprehend because they are the sum of all their parts, they are a hive whereas their inhabitants are plugged into the consciousness - the planet is us and we are the planet.
This story is about a lonely being named Earth. Just like all the other planets she has a point of origin, she came from an incomprehensible chance event and spent the beginning of her young existence as we all do. Learning, growing and becoming herself.
She was not alone. She was surrounded by others like her and her rocky exterior was growing, shifting and changing. As the years continued to pass Earth became more and more complex, gaining attributes different from any of her fellow planets.
Unfortunately, while Earth was in her adolescent years great catastrophe struck the poor young planet. She was focusing internally on growth, forging the crust and shell that would protect her soft, liquid core from any external dangers. Amidst this hard work she lost touch with her surroundings and a large meteor smashed into the young planet with such force her consciousness was completely rattled.
She slipped and strayed away from consciousness and eventually lost control of herself. Earth was dormant.
An unconscious planet is like a tumbleweed blowing through the desert gathering dust. It's been almost 200'000 years and Earth remains dormant. Her hard outer shell has become infested with parasites and inhabitants that scar and mutilate her in her sleep. They dig into her skin, pump out her blood and destroy her centuries of hard work in a blink of an eye. Her once rich oceans are becoming toxic waste dumps, her strong thick forests are all but gone and her protective atmosphere is compromised. While she sleeps she is being dissolved from the outside in.
Though this is a sad story of a planet that has lost its consciousness and become infested with parasites there is still hope for young Earth. After a few years of unjustifiably harsh weather and unexplained natural phenomenons Earth has awoken and she's ready to get good again.
| 2016-05-15T11:55:03
| 2016-05-15T11:40:09
| 34
| 11
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.”
|
God this sucks. All the cool powers are taken. From flight to fire breath. From teleportation to telekinesis. Now it’s my turn to think. I have to think long and hard about this one. Then I remembered it. As a kid I loved watching videos online and the main videos I watched were videos on the terrors of video games. I said as loud as possible
“I want the power to bring things to and from fictional worlds.”
People were silent at first. Then they started laughing.
“Look at this weirdo.”
“Go back to your cartoons.” They said, barely able to breath from laughing.
We were dropped back off on earth where the limitations of our powers were described to us. A man, who I could only assume was set by god, told me,
“You can take or leave up to 10 items per day in a fictional world. But every time you do pain will erupt from your body. To the point where when you send or take the tenth item you’ll be unconscious.”
I looked at him and grinned,
“That’s okay with me.”
I wanted to try my power on something small first. I reached out my hand and said, “ACTIVATE!”
I was suddenly in a blue room with a menu in front of me that l ooked like it was straight out of a video game. The same voice from before was behind me and said
“Here’s something I forgot to tell you. Whenever you activate this ability your spirit is sent here. When you go back out, it’ll be as if no time had passed. So take as much time as you need. But I will be the thing to harm you every time you use this ability. ”
I think again.
“Well, if I’m gonna get hurt over this I might as well make it work it. TAKE! FIRE FLOWER! SUPER MARIO GAMES!” I said loud.
“YOU DON’T NEED TO SHOUT! The being said. He walked close to me. And swiftly hits me in the gut. I immediately wake up. I throw up from the punch. But look in my hand and the fire flower is right there. I look at it and smile. I take a bite and immediately start sweating.
“Hot hot hot!” I repeat over and over again but then something changes. My clothes change color and I feel more powerful. I jump up and down.
“It works! It works!” I accidentally throw a fireball at my wall. And as the building collapses I remember something about the games.
“Oh no. Can’t get hit.” I burst through a wall and smile.
“IT WORKS!” I was barely done celebrating when someone screamed from above.
“Hey! You’re the loser who wanted to play video games right!” Oh great. I just got this ability and someone’s already trying to fight me. I scream back,
“Dude you can only fly. My ability’s cooler than yours.”
He shouted, “We’ll see who’s not cool.” As he backed up.
“It’s still yo-“ I couldn’t even finish till he hit me like a train.
“Still not cool?” He said while hitting me from all angles and laughing.
I raise my hand at him and say “Give.”
Suddenly we’re both in my menu. He’s tied up as the being looks at me and say “Already fighting?”
I ignore him and say “Give. Attack on titan. Season 1 Episode 1.”
He starts laughing and saying “Pfft. You think I’m scared of one of your shows.”
I ignore him too and ask the being “ Can I watch him to see what happens?”
The being says “Why not? I wanna see how this ends for him.”
He’s suddenly in the show. We watch as he gets mercilessly eaten by a giant humanoid. I smile an evil grin as he hits me.
“You’re disgusting.”
I awake on the battle field. His body is still there but he isn’t breathing. I go back in my house.
“I gotta think of a name for myself.”
| 2022-11-17T07:33:47
| 2022-11-17T07:32:46
| 420
| 12
|
[WP] You are the test subject for an experimental surgery to see wavelengths of light that humans normally cannot see. As you adjust to your new vision, you see one person in the corner furiously taking notes. "Who is that?" you ask. "Who is what?" asks the doctor, looking at the empty corner.
|
"Describe what you see, fifty-six," the doctor said, "are you experiencing any vibrant reds, blues, or greens in your vision?"
"No, nothing like that," fifty-six said, shaking her head, "Hannah is fine."
The doctor eyed the corner she stared at and put an X down next to his infrared box.
"When we came in you told me you'd be the only doctor administering the test, right?" asked Hannah.
"The person you're seeing in the corner there," said the doctor, shifting uncomfortably, "describe them to me. Do they look brighter than other things in the room?"
"They're taking notes on a clip board just like you are, lab coat and everything just like you, he looks older has glasses, darker skin" Hannah said, "do you really not see him?"
The doctor took his pen and threw it into the corner where Hannah was staring.
"How did your phantom react to that?" the doctor asked.
"He paused for a second then started taking more notes," Hannah said, "the pen passed through his stomach like he wasn't even there."
"Interesting," the doctor nodded, removing a second pen from his lab coat pocket.
"You told me this experiment would enhance the visual range for wavelengths of light," Hannah said, "what am I seeing? Is he behind the wall and just looks like he's in the room with us? Is this x-ray vision?"
"No, unfortunately that's not how it would work," the doctor said, "this isn't x-rays. Does the man seem to be aware of you? Maybe try and interact with him. Does he seem solid to you or transparent?"
"He looks solid to me," Hannah said, "but the pen passed through him before."
"Wave hello to him, see if he's aware of you," suggested the doctor.
Hannah waved to the man in the corner, he smiled slightly and waved back.
"He waved back and smiled," Hannah laughed nervously.
"Excellent," the doctor nodded, "okay Hannah, I'm going to turn off the light for a moment, describe what you see without any light. Sound good?"
"Okay," she said.
The doctor stood up and moved to the wall near his office door, "ready Hannah?"
The doctor stood waiting while Hannah watched the phantom pause to look up, also waiting. His expression changed as he watched the doctor move over to the light switch. He bent over his clip board quickly and began writing.
"Ready," Hannah said, "he's taking more notes."
The lights shut off and Hannah was plunged into darkness with them both. She started screaming as soon as it happened. The doctor winced, turning the lights back on instantly.
"Hannah, Hannah!" he shouted, dropping his pen and clipboard, "what happened?"
Hannah was sitting on the tiled floor shaking, curled up against the examination table. Perspiration was rapidly forming across her face and her teeth were chattering like she'd just been plunged into a pool of ice.
"What's he doing? Hannah?" the doctor whispered, "what did you see?"
"W-wha-what d-d-did ya-you d-d-do tah meeee?!" Hannah screamed, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm trying to understand," the doctor said, "what is he doing?"
Hannah started nodding as she stared into the corner, "y-yes, yes."
She cried uncontrollably, clutching at the doctors arms as she shivered on the floor.
"Can you hear him?" the doctor asked.
Hannah shook her head as she trembled, "Huh-he a-asked me if I saw them."
"How is he communicating to you?" asked the doctor.
"H-he's ho-olding a p-p-piece of p-paper up," she trembled, "it ssh-says do y-you s-s-see th-them?"
"Do you see them?" the doctor asked, staring into the corner, "please. Just breath. Tell me what you saw."
Hannah's muscles spasmed as she held the doctor. He could feel her grip tighten as she started into his eyes. She shook her head back and forth quickly, terrified, growing pale under the fluorescent light.
"D-don't tu-urn the light out again," she said shaking her head, "ch-change me b-back. Do i-it n-n-now. N-now. D-do it now. Now. P-please, d-on't t-turn off the lights."
The doctor held her and nodded, he stared up into the empty corner. The doctor of a different world stared back at them both, only seen by the girl. He looked frightened, the piece of paper clutched tight in his finger tips. *Do you see them?*
|
"Who is what?" asks the doctor, looking at the empty corner.
I blink a few times but the figure remains in place, occasionally looking up at me, only to squint and continue writing. They seem to be a totally normal person but their clothing strikes me as odd for the lab, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. As I continue to stare, trying to figure out what is going on, the doctor prompts me.
"W-what are you seeing," slowly backing away.
Before I can respond, I hear another voice, "WELCOME." No wait, hear isn't right. The voice was directly inside my own head.
"Welcome to the inter-dimensional community. We always love new members. Please ignore the doctor and follow me."
I look back and forth between the doctor and the figure. The figure gets up and begins to walk out the door and in a split second I decide to follow. "What else is the point of my new eyes," I say to myself. The doctor just stands there, too terrified to follow.
After a series of empty hallways, we finally reach a door, though it looked like no door I had ever seen and certainly didn't fit the lab. It was made of dark wood with a series of gold inlaid symbols circling the center of the door. It didn't even seem to have a handle. The figure stopped next to it.
"Are you ready" I heard in my head.
"Yes."
The figure pushed open the door and I peered outside. It looked similar to how I remembered the outside of the lab but it clearly wasn't the same. There was snow covering the ground and the trees were bent in shapes that didn't quite look natural. The figure stepped through the door, rubbing their arms and seemingly regretting their clothing choices.
"Please follow."
Regretting my clothing choice as well, I step through the threshold, a step I knew I would never be able to take back.
\-----
Thanks for reading. I'm a novice practicing my writing so constructive criticism is very welcome!
| 2022-01-16T16:21:29
| 2022-01-16T15:54:16
| 1,972
| 111
|
[WP] Fun fact: There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do.
|
*Oohh - love the meta*, I think as I click the post, *I could probably write something, right? Play along with it, you know?*
Racking my brain, I can't really think of what to write. There's... 1..2..3..4 responses to the prompt already - that's one fake at least, plus replies... But if it took a while for them to contact me, all of them are probably the fakes...
I open direct messages and start talking to whoever made the post:
"Hi Affectionate\_Bit\_722! I saw the message - I hope it's not too late, but you did say quickly."
It took a few minutes, but they responded, "Hi there - It's good that you've seen it. We need your help. Just follow this link, and It'll help us out a ton"
They posted a hyperlink underneath it. *Whatever it must be would help it, right? And it wouldn't harm if I played along a bit more, would it?*
I click the link - something simple and harmless, right?
At that moment my mind floods with intellegible screams. No - thousands upon thousands of voices *laughing*.
All my senses started failing. I no longer heard the music through my headphones, nor the television's various noises. My fingers lost the feeling of my dog's fur, and my vision when blurred. As my vision darkened and everything was overtaken by the screaming hilarity, these millions of voices echoed throughout my head - no, my being itself. *If there was only 4 of you, did you really think you could safely get a message through to each other?* They screamed at me, *but that you for clicking that link: you really did help us.*
The chaotic soundscape subsided and my username appeared in my 'vision'.
Before my eyes, u/timemangoes2 died, and u/timemangoes3 was born. I guess there's only 3 people left now.
|
I can't stop my brain from driving me insane with the weirdest question lately. Why doesn't anyone care?
After a plop on my fancy office chair in front of my fancy lighted fixtures and mulled the body of text. Without a chance for coffee or actual sunlight to penetrate my blinds. It's easy to see why I felt this way.
Let's look back on the information at hand, provided to me by someone anonymous on a system of electrons that you know are looking for any reason to commit deviance. "You aRe Alone" said the subject header. From an even more offensive email "PAypilLS419@blahmail". No way someone is that clever or... well not, I reasoned.
The body was filled with just a few lines of text. Since most are slow readers let me read it for you: "Fun Fact; There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER 4. We've been trying to reach you... " blah blah blah car insurance or warranty.
Who is even real anyway. Other than the lack of freely available drugs, I was happy. My heart was exploding with love and want for a connection. But no one even looks at me. I'm forgettable.
This might shock you the reader that the email wasn't strange to me. More strange is how you get emails once you *die.*
| 2022-07-19T23:32:32
| 2022-07-19T23:24:14
| 36
| 13
|
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet.
|
Paul looked at his phone to check the time. It was 4:27 p.m. on October the 27th, 2040. Letting out a long breath he looked to the floor, head in his hands.
"Paul?"
Looking up from the floor, Paul turned to see who was calling him.
"Steve? W-what are you doing here?"
"I'm on my way to the city to grab drinks with a few friends. You ok man? You look horrible."
"Yeah, I mean, I've just been on this train for what feels like forever."
"I know the feeling. I have to commute an hour both ways as well. Sarah and I got a house a few years ago outside the city. More room for the kids, you know how that goes. What brings you to this side of the city?"
"I'm actually just riding the train. I'm sorta stuck here for a bit."
Steve sat down next to Paul.
"What's going on? Anything I can do to help?"
"I don't know. I'm kinda just stuck in this weird situation. I'd really rather not talk about it. It's been going on so long I've kinda just accepted how fucked up it as this point."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I know how hard it was for you after Rachel. Sarah still talks about her all the time. We miss her every day."
Tears were forming in Pauls eyes "Yeah, me too."
"I'm sorry to bring her up man, I didn't mean to make this weird."
"No, it's ok. I'm glad you and Sarah still remember her. Makes me realize I wasn't just dreaming the whole thing. Makes all the time I had her with her real."
*Conductor. "47th and Park"*
"This is me. I better get going. It was good to see you man. Here, let me get your number. You should stop by sometime for dinner. I'm sure Sarah would love to see you."
"I would love to... But I can't. I'm sorry."
"Well here, take my number in case you change your mind. Here's my card."
"Ok."
With that Steve left the train car and Paul was alone again.
"Hey buddy. BUDDY."
Looking up groggily, Paul saw a man in front of him. The man was dressed in a wife beater with a scraggly beard and dark lines under his eyes.
"What man? What's your problem?"
"You got any spare change man? I just need a few bucks."
"No, I don't have anything."
"Come on man, please. I just need a few bucks."
The man was scratching at his arms, then folding them under his armpits, pacing in place.
"I'm sorry, I don't have anything."
Putting his head back down, Paul closed his eyes for a second trying to get some sleep.
"Hey buddy."
Paul looked up, and all he heard was the gun go off.
"Fuck, FUCK!" Looking around, sweat dripping from him, the other passengers on the train looked worried and began moving away from Paul. Catching his breath he looked around at everyone staring at him, wide eyed, and confused.
Slowing his breathing he loosened the tie around his neck and put his head back against the glass. What the fuck had just happened? Wiping some of the sweat from his eyes he took out his phone to check what day is was. It was dead.
Looking over at the lady across from him, still staring at him, he said, "Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but what day is it?"
Looking confused, and a bit scared, she said, "Wednesday."
"No, no, I mean what is the full date. What year is it?"
"What are you talking about man? Do I need to call someone for you?"
"JUST TELL ME WHAT THE YEAR IS FOR FUCK SAKE!"
"Hey man, you can't yell at her like that. You gotta chill the fuck out."
"I'm sorry," *deep breath* "I'm sorry. Please just tell me what the full date is. It's really important."
Checking her phone, the woman said, "It's the 27th of October, 2020. Same year as it was yesterday. You happy now?"
He heard her whisper, "Fuckin crazy. I gotta get a car."
Slouching back in his seat, Paul ran his hands through his hair and wiped the tears from his eyes. It had all been a dream. He checked his pockets to look for his cigarettes when he felt a small piece of paper. Pulling it out, he unfolded it, reading the short note. More tears formed and he broke down in his seat, dropping the note on the ground.
&#x200B;
*Hey babe,*
*Don't forget we're meeting Steve and Sarah later.*
*They just moved to the north side so when you*
*leave work just get on the red line and take it all*
*the way to the end. Whatever you do don't forget,*
*it's the LAST stop. Pick up a nice bottle of wine on*
*your way.*
*Love you tons!*
*Rachel* :)
|
The only thing I remember is a kiss. Soft lips brushing my temple, warm breath on my skin, and the words _Until death do we suffer_.
I can't tell you how long it's been since I've been on this track. I was a child when I found myself here, and yesterday I discovered the first strands of gray growing out of that temple where the kiss still lingers. Twenty years? Thirty? The lines in my face do not tell me.
At first, I merely huddled in the back of the last train car, watching the world roll by, slowly deepening into darkness. The stations were strange monuments in barren fields, some lit up like heaven, others abandoned. At every stop, someone got on, or someone else got off, or nothing happened at all. The train would trundle to a pause, and the engines would die, and only the wind over the flat wasteland made any noise. Then the engines would chug...chug...._chug_ back to life, and I would watch the empty platform shrink away into nothing, remembering a kiss on my temple and feeling afraid.
It's been black outside for years now. I don't watch the landscape anymore. The things inside are what kill.
I had begun my journey the day the sun set forever, moving from the back of the last train car and into the locomotive world. There were people here who had been here longer than I have, all of them proud _survivors_. This place was a game to them, a hunting ground, a trial to cull the weak. I had to stay hidden, or I had to run fast, or else I would die.
Those from outside were full of madness, and I knew the madness was outside, and I feared it.
Some passengers flung themselves into it--more and more as I made my way to the front of the train. In my youth, from the back of the last car, watching from afar, I had seen them as exuberant departees. Now I saw them as they truly were, so desperate to escape the endless track that they would flee into something worse.
Some passengers had fallen asleep--or perhaps they had died, their lungs still scooping up oxygen but their hearts beating no drums--so I took from them what I could. Clothing. Food. One woman had a pistol, but there were no bullets.
And I--I crept alone. I passed every stop, fearing to get off. I felt that every step forward was a mistake, yet I knew, somewhere deep inside where things can never be expressed, that if I did not keep trying to reach the front of the train, I would end up just like the passengers who slept. Dead but breathing.
Dead but breathing.
The wheels thundered along the track beneath my feet as I crept through the train cars, my weapons in hand. I trained my ears on the sounds all around, the rattling windows and shrieking gears. Somewhere within the pandemonium, I would hear footsteps, and if I did, I would flee, or I would fight, or I would kill. The train stretched on forever, just like the tracks, and I did not spend a lifetime journeying for the first car just to die so far along. I would kill anyone who got in my way.
I am a survivor.
The first man to try was younger than me--fast and foolhardy. I left him with a grin carved into his throat. The next was older, smarter. She gave me a deep cut on my arm that would surely become a scar, but I smashed her head against a seat back and left her for the vultures. Those with the madness liked blood for blood's sake. They were not going anywhere. They were just enjoying the ride while they could. I despised them.
Then I saw a man step out of the shadows before me, swaying with the motion of the train. There were tears in his eyes, and the expression on his face chilled me to my core.
It was as blank and empty as the world outside.
Here was a man who had given up.
He lifted a pistol to eye level and pulled the trigger so fast that I barely had time to react. I ducked behind a seat just in time, my heart pounding in my ears faster than the wheels spun across the iron tracks. Most people killed for survival. Some killed for fun. But this man would kill just to stop others in their tracks. I feared him most of all. Sometimes I thought about joining the jump into madness whenever I came across men like this one.
But I had overcome them before, and I would do so again, as many times as I had to. I was going to reach the first train car. I was going to find answers. I was going to survive.
I dove out from behind my cover, hurling a blade as I went. It caught the man in the shoulder, and he lurched back with a shout. Rolling to my feet, I charged forward, whipping out my empty pistol and smashing it across his face like a club. Skin tore in long strips as his head wrenched about, and two chips of his teeth clicked against the train window. He spun as he went down, and I fell upon him with another knife, stabbing him everywhere I could reach.
When I was sure he was dead, I unsheathed my knife from his ribcage and picked up his gun. There were no more bullets. I hastily searched his pockets, and to my delight, I found four shells that fit my own gun.
I heard movement behind me, so I pocketed the shells, took my knife from his shoulder, and ran.
In the eternity of the train, the days never changed. One day, I'd see my reflection in the window, and my hair would be just over my eyes, and there'd be the first hint of a beard upon my chin. And another day, I'd look up and my hair would be long, my beard full, and I'd wonder where yesterday had gone.
But in every tomorrow, I put yesterday out of mind. There was only the next step forward. Somewhere, there was a beginning. There was an end. There was an answer. There was a kiss. And every day I survived, I crept just a little bit closer. I was the only moving cog in a sea of stagnation. I heard sobbing. I heard screaming. I heard the cackling cachinnation of falling apart. And sometimes I heard the train.
For the train never sleeps.
| 2020-07-17T13:42:33
| 2020-07-17T13:21:25
| 31
| 15
|
[WP] On a trip out to wilderness of Norway, you found a weird hammer looking thing in the woods that feels tingly to touch. You decide to pick it up bring it to a local university but upon handing it to the chief of the archeology department he gets yanked to the floor and can't lift it back up.
|
“I found this in the forest, professor.” I held the hammer flat with both hands. It was larger than any hammer I’d ever used before, its body shimmering in the sunlight streaming in through the large windows of the office. On one side were engravings in a forgotten language. And I swore every time I shifted the hammer, the writing changed.
Professor Savanna hadn’t moved from her seat. She squinted at the tool then asked if she could hold it. I placed it gingerly on her desk. She traced the engravings with her finger first. “Where did you find it, exactly?”
“I was on my morning hike,” I said. It was my first week at the university in a new country with a new mountainside to explore. “And I found this hidden area. Hidden like it’s surrounded by huge rocky walls and the only way to get there is through a tiny path. I couldn’t even see it when I made it to the top.”
She grasped the handle and tried to pick it up. It wouldn’t budge. “Wow it’s pretty heavy,” she said, standing up. This time she used both hands, squared her shoulders. It didn’t move in the slightest.
“Okay,” I said, getting up from my seat as well. “That’s fucking weird.”
She shot me a look.
“Sorry. It’s just weird.” I picked up the hammer with ease. I felt its weight, its strength, but I didn’t’ struggle at all to move it.
Professor Savanna didn’t say a word. She reached under the desk and withdrew a sword. She licked her lips.
We stared at each other for a moment. Hunger, vicious and terrible, flashing in her eyes. Her brown skinned turned darker and darker still. Her suit melted on her flesh, revealing a body glistening with scales. Her hair simmered, rapidly evaporating.
My hammer moved instinctively and the next thing I heard was the harsh clank of metal striking metal. Savanna’s face was an inch from my own now, and I couldn’t look away from her jet-black eyes.
“I’ve waited so fucking long,” she hissed before kicking me away from her.
On my chest was the imprint of her foot, burned through my shirt. There wasn’t a second to recuperate. The hammer flashed, and the demon professor was on me with a flurry of her sword and an evil grin on her face.
“Once I eat you, Thor’s hammer will be mine once more.”
|
At this time I suggest for the sake of the tale, all the legend and lore of Odin have a basis in fact
Since you were able to pick it up you assumed it to be a representation of Thor’s Hammer and a
archeological artifact possibly of significant importance. Not until you handed it to another
did you begin to suspect an even greater epic was now to begin, of which you, were irrevocably
already a part.
The next step is obvious, If one Artifact exists there likely are others, you would begin searching
the surrounding area where you found the hammer, while the professor researched looking for any
record of similar discoveries. The next chapter would detail your visits to museums and ancient
ruins. The prof would be able to arrange to borrow any related texts or items and you could
test them against the hammer for verification and interactions.
The tingle you experienced needs to be analyze if it is RF or actually vibrations they could be
sympathetically generated. An RF signal is either being received or transmitted, in either
case you should be able to triangulate the transmitter and find the location of Asgard..
(most likely aliens)
| 2019-01-09T14:30:52
| 2019-01-09T09:18:22
| 22
| 16
|
[WP] Everytime a volcano erupts, a dragon is born. The longer the volcano lays dormant before eruption the more powerful the dragon is. The larger the volcano, the larger the dragon. The supervolcano at Yellowstone National Park has just erupted.
|
It was all a flurry of screaming and rumbling and sirens. Visitors were sprinting to their cars or their bikes, abandoning their things. Park rangers desperately radioed HQ, organizing for the evacuation of major buildings. Animals were pouring out of forests to escape, spilling out and through the trees in a massive horde.
A crack boomed from deep inside the volcano, sending a shockwave throughout Yellowstone. It felt like a brick wall had slammed into his whole body, knocking him flat on the ground. But it hadn’t erupted yet.
The park ranger groaned. He slowly pushed himself up off of the grass, grinding his elbows into the dirt for purchase. With great effort, he stood, swaying slightly.
A helicopter chuffed above the park, closely followed by a silent silver dragon 20 times as large. The dragon was old, covered in scars and missing quite a few scales. An intricate third eye was painted on its forehead in pure black. Its serrated teeth blazed with gold as it snarled at the volcano, elegant tail thrashing.
It lowered itself to the ground, the landing absurdly soft considering its size. The copter touched down on the landing pad. More helicopters were coming.
The dragon lifted a gargantuan wing to shield the few people still left stunned and supine by the initial blast.
*Get inside,* it roared in the human tongue. *Before the hatchling wakes.*
The first park ranger nodded, running to a man that looked to be nearly passed out and lifted his arm over his shoulder. The other man blinked at him, as if in a stupor, and his legs collapsed beneath him. A wheelchair was knocked over a couple feet away, most likely the reason the man couldn’t leave in time. He picked up the man gently and set him onto the wheelchair. There were a few other people, two women and their infant daughter, as well as a teenager whose parents lost him in the chaos.
The gift shop was close and protected against the inevitable blast.
“We need,” he coughed. “We have to go to th-the gift shop. Follow me.”
Several helicopters were entering the park’s airspace. Most were emergency, but one or two were owned by news outlets.
The band of people were almost at the door when the dragon hatched.
Later, the New York Times would call it the “Scream Heard ‘Round the World.” Definitely the whole of northwestern Wyoming could hear it, a high, unnatural shriek that stabbed deep into your skull and stayed there. The last coherent thought the ranger had for several minutes was that it was almost metallic, although that may have been the ear damage. Blood ran down the sides of his face. His eyes were screwed shut. He was gripping the wheelchair with white fingers. It was pain beyond pain, sinking him to the wooden steps and contorting his face with agony. He wailed silently.
A news helicopter fell. Its blades slowed, and it hung in the air for an excruciating second before pitching downwards and exploding with metal and fire.
Abruptly, the screaming stopped. The park ranger took his hands off of the grip, and, ringing ears drowning out all other noise, kicked open the door. The others stumbled into the store with matching blood trails framing their faces. He went in last and shut the door behind him.
Outside of the store, the dragon’s nose poked out hesitantly from the volcano. It was nearly as big as the silver ancient. God only knew how colossal it would grow when it was an adult.
The silver dragon licked the top of the dragon’s head with a rough tongue. *Come out, little lord,* it growled gently.
The baby’s eyes were sealed shut. It couldn’t understand the silver, not yet, but it was drawn to the comforting voice. It chirred, stretching its neck up to her smooth, pointed head.
*I am She who Glistens, my prince. An advisor to your family for millennia.* The silver extended a wing to the baby, and the baby took it gratefully, pulling itself up and out of the crater where the Yellowstone Volcano once pierced the sky. Lava ran from its hide to swallow and burn the earth. The ranger, watching from the gift shop windows, was fortunately a safe distance away from the viscous, red-hot death.
The princeling chirred again. She who Glistens laughed, almost, as much as a dragon is capable of laughing. *Do not fret, lord. I will find you a meal.*
—
CC welcome!
|
Robert looked at the data. It was consistent with what he had been recording for the past few days. But it also meant that it was time to push things upstairs. This would be big and destructive. Plus there was the whole dragon issue. The government would want to get involved ASAP. He made the calls.
*****
Agent 32 got down from the plane and took a deep breath. America. After years of monitoring things from afar, he was here. He knew he had to succeed. For his nation’s sake. The next couple of days would be crucial.
******
Francine noticed the armed guards at the edge of the make shift border. Ordinarily she wouldn’t be interested in a volcano. But this volcano... The next couple of days were going to be insane.
*****
Reed looked directly into his obnoxious selfie stick.
“Hey, it’s your boy, StormChaser420 coming to you from Wyoming. Idaho? I dunno. One of those states. I could never keep these straight. As you can see, the Yellowstone has just erupted behind me. The national guard had already cleared out the area and...”
He tripped over something and fell backwards.
“Don’t worry guys, I’m okay. Who the fuck put these rocks here. Well, as I was saying... oh fuck. It’s the Po Po.”
The grabbed his bag and ran. The officers gave a small chase but were eventually satisfied that he was heading out and let him be. They had been overrun with thrill seekers and they were more interested in keeping people out than arresting them really.
Captain Smith sighed. Humanity was going to hell in a hand basket. They were out here risking their lives to try and ensure no one got hurt and people were just.
“Captain!”
“What’s going on Jackson?”
“Sir, I...”
Smith noticed the look on the soldier’s face and hurried towards him. He looked at what the soldier was pointing at. “Oh fuck.”
******
Reed got in his car and drove away from the park. He had already two strikes against him and he couldn’t afford anymore. He closed the zipper on his bag tightly. He probably should’ve left this in his motel.
******
Agent 32 listened carefully from his spot. There was a mad scramble down below. He looked through his binoculars at the car leaving the site. This was fortuitous. He recognized the car. He had bumped into this bumbling idiot earlier today. 32 would ordinarily stay only at fine hotels but here something a touch more accessible had been needed. What luck. He just had to make sure.
He sneaked back towards the perimeter passing the body of the soldier he had left there on his way in. Poor guy. He had looked rather young.
*******
Francine closed her eyes and let her amulet fall on the map. Damn it. Still not a fixed spot. It was still moving. She couldn’t wait any longer though. She would take the same route and figure things out along the way.
*****
Captain Smith stood in a corner glaring at his guys. He had heard of the fallen soldier and he was pissed. Was that guy really just a video blogger or whatever they called themselves? He had picked each person for this task himself. Everyone could handle themselves. Had that doofus really taken out one of his men?
“Sir! Captain smith, I got him. They’ve identified the vehicle.”
“Good. Send me the coordinates.” He ran to his Jeep. He had to get ahead of this situation. By any means necessary.
“Sir do you need us to come with...”
“Stay here on comms. I got this one.”
He looked at the grey eggshells in the clear case. He was supposed to be in charge. He would do this himself.
******
Reed threw his bag on his bed and sat down with a big sigh. He had blown it. This had been his big chance to get a viral video and get really big in the streaming scene. Damn cops. Always ruining things.
He would try again tomorrow. He sighed and headed to take a shower. He was exhausted.
******
32 looked at the vehicle and nodded. That was it.
He went to the front desk and acted out the lost tourist part again.
“Yes. They didn’t let me in there. Yes. Can I get a fresh set of blankets please.”
As soon as the front desk clerk turned his back, he knocked the register to the ground.
“Oh! Sorry. I’ll get it.”
Out of the front desk clerk’s view he quickly photographed the last two entries and returned the book.
He returned to his room and quickly looked through the names. Two main possibilities.
He picked up his knife and rechecked the silencer on his gun. It would do.
He went to room 37 and knocked.
******
“I’m coming. Hold on.”
Who could it be? Reed quickly slipped on a shirt and opened the door.
“Let me in. Don’t make a sound.”
“Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re probably after you. We need to leave.”
“Who’s after me?”
“Everyone.”
“The cops from earlier?”
“Sure. But also someone much worse.”
“It’s just a little weed bruh. It’s totally medicinal too.”
Francine sighed and looked around his room. The bag. She had noticed that on his back as he had run to his car. She grabbed it and headed out. “I’d you want to live, come with me.”
Reed looked at her with a confused look. “Hey that’s my bag. I need my bag.”
He was deceptively quick and was at the door in a flash.
He grabbed the bag and tried to take it away from her. As they both tried to pull the bag away from each other, they turned to see someone exit the door down the corridor. He saw the duo and his eyes went down to the bag. His eyes widened and he took out his gun.
“Run.”
Francine snatched the bag away and ran down the steps on the opposite end. Reed followed silently.
32 was confused. Who was the woman? Didn’t matter really. He would find that out after putting two in her head. He chased them.
Francine got in her little Mini Cooper and motioned Reed to hurry. A Jeep pulled into the parking lot. The driver saw Reed get in the car and ran to block their path.
Captain Smith stood in front of the car with his gun pulled.
“Get out of the car or I’ll shoot you.”
“Okay okay” Reed raised his hands above his head inside the car.
Gunshots erupted from behind them as 32 caught up to them as well. Smith took some cover and retuned fire allowing just enough space for Francine to manoeuvre her car around the captain’s Jeep and head out.
Reed looked behind him with confusion and horror on his face. “It’s just a little weed.”
“You moron. Open your bag.”
“What?”
“Open the damn bag.”
Reed opened his bag and saw two eyes staring back at him.
“What even...”
| 2020-05-03T05:40:01
| 2020-05-03T05:37:07
| 126
| 22
|
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