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2022-12-31 14:34:19
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[WP] Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 lands in Beijing Airport, 3 Months late - passengers claim to have flown as normal.
|
"Uh, what's that?" one of the new recruits in the PAK ATC was heard saying. The control manager spoke up "Yeah, I see it too. It's probably just a glitch in the old radar. It happens from time to time, focus on your flights only otherwise you'll start to get behind"
The recruit shook it off and went back to telling the CCA330 where to land, runway 7 looked nice. Especially for an airplane of that size. He gave the instructions then looked at the radar again before he heard an abrupt sound from the earpiece. "Tower MAS370, good morning."
Lin tried to take in what he'd heard, he had 3 flights to look after at the moment, none of which was a Malasyan Airlines flight. He also glanced at the schedule which stated his next flight was another CCA and wasn't due for another 14 minutes.
He called out "Anyone dealing with Malaysian Airlines? Seems to have been patched to me?" which got the officers attention. "We aren't supposed to have a Malaysian Airlines flight in our radar for another 53 minutes? What's going on? Put it on speaker"
"Good morning, tower PEK, please state your identification again." Lin asked.
"Malaysia Airlines 3-7-0, I repeat, 3-7-0. Approaching PEK Airport." The voice rung around the room, few had forgotten that MH370 is no longer a used flight number. Hushed whispers had already begun amongst the staff.
The commanding officer took an empty radar terminal and opened up coms to the plane
"MAS 370 - Please descend to four zero and circle south-west of PEK."
"Copy that" came the response.
He turned around and shouted to Lin, "Get the military on the phone right now. We have an unidentified aircraft coming in, possibly imitating another aircraft. I'm not letting the damn anywhere near Beijing until we have full visual. Just.. make sure the interceptors are unarmed."
|
"This is Frank Lapidus of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 coming in for a landing," the voice from the radio says.
"Did you hear that?" Jack asks his coworker, Sawyer.
"I couldn't have, it's impossible!" Sawyer yells out, slamming down his cup of coffee.
"Um, clear for landing," Jack cautiously says into the radio.
"Ooh-kay," Frank Lapidus says.
When the plane lands we see only a few people in the windows. The door opens and a Korean man stumbles out, mumbling one word, "Others."
| 2014-06-25T15:19:07
| 2014-06-25T14:42:13
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
----------------------------------------------
|
I didn't expect to close my eyes in one moment only to open them the next and be escorted down a fiery flight of stairs to Hell. I thought I'd led a pretty good life. Never had a run in with police nor did I ever treat someone with less respect than they deserved. I was honestly quite surprised to be taken to Hell, but I guess I had some repenting to do.
I took my place in the queue behind a young man who looked quite complacent here.
"What do you think they're punishing you for?"
"Infidelity" He said matter-of-fact turning to face me, the bullet hole in his head glistening red.
He walked up to a demon who printed off a piece of paper that revealed his sentence.
"145 years? That's...not so bad"
A wave of excitement washed over me. If he only got 145 years to repent then surely I'll have much less!
With a pep in my step I walked up to the demon. It barely glanced at me before printing my ticket of sins and shoo-ing me away.
I took one step out of the queue and gazed at the number. I was horrified.
"No no this CAN'T be right?! 186,292 years?! I did great things for people! Brilliant things! I was a bloody lawyer!!"
| 2018-09-26T07:41:09
| 2018-09-26T06:12:57
| 1,768
| 881
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy
|
I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41
| 2017-11-05T22:26:46
| 102
| 11
|
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next?
|
I keep questioning why I took this job because I'm going crazy. Is the money really worth it? Does the phone even work? How did I even get to this position?
Suddenly the phone goes off.
"H-hello?" I tentatively answer.
"Uh is this the Krusty Krabs?"
"No this is Patrick," I said and hung up.
|
Damn, it's hot in here. How'd I even get myself in this situation?
I guess most of the days in which I found myself sitting in that white plastic chair were much the same. A bit of thumb-twiddling and whistling favorite tunes helped out a bit, but lord was that job *slow*. But, y'know, who wouldn't sit their ass in a spot all day, every day, three-hundred-sixty-five times for a sweet million? Sure, it was boring work, if it could be called that - at the end of the day though, who cares?
Even so, those long, drawn-out days have a way of wearing down a man. Most of those tired days, I spent a whole lot of time slouched in that chair, thinking about my days with the Company. When I wasn't twiddling my thumbs, I was wandering my daydreams about the future where I'd actually get to spend that cash. Those daydreams had a way of passing the time. At some point, my eyelids got the better of me.
I drifted off into the dream land of plush leather chairs and Lamborghinis, and a ring-a-ding-ding nipped at the edge of my consciousness. The void called stronger.
That day, yesterday, made five years. Coincidentally, it was also my last day of work for the Company.
It's a shame that they take being fired so literally.
| 2017-12-16T23:39:18
| 2017-12-16T21:53:13
| 173
| 31
|
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I looked over at my sister- nine years younger than me, and yet somehow the same age all of a sudden. Her head was in her hands, the air of defeat around her almost visible.
Next to her a tall, handsome boy slept peacefully on his back.
I heard her heave a deep sigh, and looked over as she ran her hands over her tight, flat stomach, and smallish, perky breasts in disbelief.
"Julie," she whimpered. Her eyes made contact with mine and I could see the desperation in them before she threw her gaze over to the young man next to her. "What am I supposed to do? How can I handle this? I only gave birth to him two weeks ago."
|
I woke up. It was any other day. But I had a certain pep in my step. Something that couldn’t quite be described. I went over to my closet to get ready for work.
They were back
I tried to convince myself that all of this. It was just a dream. A twist on that nightmare I had so many times before. I swiftly ran out of my room Into my bathroom downstairs. Pure panic overtook me but it all subsided when I finally got to the mirror. Part of me wanted to look away but my eyes were dead locked on this person in the mirror staring back at me. This person is not who I am. This thing in the mirror is not me. I tried to make sense of it all but I couldn’t. I grabbed my phone of if the kitchen counter that I forgot the night before. Still half dressed I skimmed my text messages.
At that moment I realized that this wasn’t a nightmare. I put it my phone down and the same word kept repeating in my head
“She”
| 2020-11-02T10:49:46
| 2020-11-02T10:14:02
| 105
| 30
|
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager.
|
“Now this guy, for the love of god... you threaten to poison the earth’s water ONCE, not even twice, but ONCE, and you’re ‘always a villain’”, The slightly raddled, rusting, master villain says.
“... maybe he’s right.” Says the super hero justice board head, Steve.
“W-what? How the hell is he right? I’m retired man! I retired after he broke my knee cap the first ti-“
“-to be fair, his hero name is the kneecapper...”
“I don’t care, I’m retired, I’m tired of having to go to the hospital every time he sees me. My god, he yells “somebody poisoned the watering hole”, takes out his sledge hammer, and absolutely ka-stonks on my knee cap. Do you know you can only get a joint replaced once? Do you know how many times my broken-ass knee has been glued, stapled, and at this point, TAPED back together?”
“I, uh, can’t really do much for you man. I mean, you did threaten to poison everyone.”
“Well, yeah, but it was 30 years ago and I didn’t even do it. I want you to call him in here and tell him to stop, RIGHT NOW.”
*sigh* “fine, I will”
“Good! I’m done with you heroes now and forever!” Says dr Dunbarton III as he leaves.
“Oh, dr dunbarton?”
“What?” Says Dunbarton just in time to see Steve pull out a sledgehammer...
|
God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!!
| 2019-08-01T18:53:47
| 2019-08-01T18:30:21
| 22
| 11
|
[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.
|
Naxos was a long slim cat, half Siamese with a light mottled coloring that reminded Julia of the marble from the Greek island that gave the cat her name. Julia wasn't usually one to take in stray animals, but when she first saw the cat hiding from the rain on her doorstep, soaked, she let her in to warm by the fire, and fed her, and after that Julia was her owner, as far as Naxos was concerned. She got out all the old cat stuff from where it had been stowed in the garage and that was that.
The dead mouse on her bed the next morning was a little concerning, but since the mouse had obviously been inside the house already she decided that she preferred it to whatever the creature had been doing before it got to her bed.
"Good job, Naxos," she said, stroking the cat's fur. "But you can keep that. Mice aren't really my thing."
The next morning she was awoken by a lot of movement on the bed. Without opening her eyes, she mumbled to Naxos to settle down.
"Oh, sorry," said a deep voice from beside her. Julia jumped out of bed and scrambled for the wooden dowel she kept under her nightstand as a weapon. She saw the source of the voice was a handsome, half-naked man.
"Who are you? What are you doing here? I'm calling the police. Get out."
The man raised his hands in surrender to the stick she waved in front of him. "Sorry, the cat made me come in here. I think it was supposed to be a surprise, but I realize — yeah — thinking about it now... It's kind of weird. Imma head out."
Naxos was sitting at the bedroom door as the man left. Julia gave her a look. "You should be preventing strange men from coming into my bed. Especially ones that are — I'm gonna say drunk? No men in my bed." The cat seemed to nod and sauntered off.
The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She reached out a hand towards her dowel. "That better not be a drunk guy," she said before opening her eyes.
"The cat told me to come here," said the woman sitting on the bed. She was not nearly as half-naked as the man. In fact, she was wearing an old sweater covered in cat hair.
"Out, you crazy person," Julia said, pointing with her dowel. "Cat's can't talk and I'm getting new locks."
"Well, Naxos said you needed company and weren't into men."
"I'm into men just fine. Get out. Cats can't talk. Naxos, can you talk?"
"No," said the cat.
"See. I've known that cat three days and she's never lied to me."
When the woman had left, Julia turned to the cat. "Did you talk before?"
"Meow," said the cat.
"That sounded like you just said the word meow instead of actually meowing."
"Purr," said the cat, rubbing up against her leg.
"Imma get some coffee."
The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She already had the dowel in her hand under the blanket. "That better not be a person," she said. "If it is and the cat told you to come here, just leave. The locksmith is coming today."
When no answer came, she peeked open an eye. Naxos was sitting on the bed, next to a pile of cash.
"Where did you get this?"
"Um— Meow?" Naxos responded, refusing to look Julia in the eyes.
"I don't need these gifts. You can stay here without them."
Naxos bent to pick up one of the bundles of bills in her teeth, and began to take it away.
"Wait. Since it's already here you can leave it. Just stick to mice in the future."
"Okay. Purr," said the cat.
Julia squinted at Naxos and pursed her lips. "And cats can't talk."
\[This story dedicated to Naxos, the clumsy half-Siamese furball, R.I.P.\]
\[More at r/c_avery_m\]
|
Mimo, black-tailed and otherwise white as snow, hopped onto the kitchen counter and presented her master with her most recent catch: an ear.
"M-Mimo! Not again. I've told you, I--"
Her innocent eyes sparkled and her tail danced behind her as she plopped the ear down on the cool granite. Konrad sighed. Yesterday it had been a nose. The day before that, a glass eye. One of these days, he reckoned, he might catch Mimo pulling an entire head by its hairs across the living room. Well, she almost had already. Bit by bit.
The body parts were all a pale shade of blue. A cold shiver went down Konrad's spine as he considered that there may be some decomposing neighbor--a woman in her late 40s, perhaps--lying on the floor in a house nearby, her cadaver picked apart by a stealthy feline intruder. But this ear went against that whole idea. It was drooping at its tip and there had never been an earring in it as far as Konrad could tell. Was that a common thing? Women with masculine ears who never bothered to have them pierced?
Konrad didn't know many women. He knew his mother. And he knew his sister. Barely. She had gone off to Belgium on a whim when he was in preschool and she'd never returned, not even for holidays or birthdays. There was a woman working at the local deli with whom he had been building a report over the past years. By now she knew exactly how he liked his sandwich and also when he'd like to have it. Not as well as his mother, sure. But not even Konrad knew how he liked his sandwich as well as his mother. It hadn't been easy describing it to Jane, though Konrad had tried his best, and Jane had tried her best as well in following his ramblings about mustard and slices of ham and just how to place the lettuce (it makes more of a difference than you might think). Jane wore earrings. Silver, circular; for months Konrad had been researching in an attempt to find out what brand, precisely, she preferred so that he could buy her a nice present. But right now he had his hands full with a different lady.
"You could at least eat them," said Konrad. "Instead you leave me with your troubling ... evidence. I'll flush this one down like I did the rest, but it's the last time, you hear? If it happens just once more I'll be flushing you down instead."
Mimo purred and hopped off the counter, apparently satisfied with their brief discussion. She tippy-tapped over to Konrad's bedroom and, presumably, went to enjoy a long nap.
The apartment was filled with dolls, ornate pillows, bookshelves packed with crime fiction, and a whole assortment of dead plants. Dust covered most of it like pollen does a street come spring. Konrad put on his coat, the thin, dark grey one that he preferred for intricate missions, and quietly closed the front door behind him as he left to investigate. In his mother's books, the private eye would often huff and puff as he--or she--worked cases on behalf of poor, helpless relatives or friends or lovers. But with his asthma something like that was out of the question. His lungs couldn't take it. Konrad's mother had even gotten him a medical exemption from PE. "My poor boy," she had cried in front of his entire class. "Look at him wheezing, gasping for air; the horror!" Strangely, though, he'd never reacted with coughs nor asthmatic fits to Mimo. She had entered his life abruptly, and it had been something of a blessing. Konrad had found her shivering in the side of the road, and he brought her home, even risking messing up his suit. It wasn't such a big deal. He'd only worn it once, and unless things worked out with the Deli woman he couldn't think of a reason to wear it in the future.
He wasn't sure what sort of signs to look out for. Something unusual. Something suspicious. Perhaps a mailbox stuffed full because its intended recipient lay lifeless on their floor somewhere? Or maybe a smell. He could follow it, if there was one. Alas, he couldn't detect anything like it. But just as he was growing frustrated with his lack of ideas--they seemed to come so readily to the detectives in his mother's books--he had a mysterious encounter. Something so unexpected and unusual and suspicious that it had to be related to the case, because at this point he had begun to think of it as a case; it was a woman, and she smiled at him. She had long, brown hair and as she passed Konrad she looked him in his eyes and she smiled. He took a deep breath. His first clue had arrived, and he intended to pursue it.
TBC
| 2021-12-17T07:48:14
| 2021-12-17T07:31:47
| 65
| 31
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[WP] A technology is invented that allows us to hear sounds locked into the clay of ancient pots as they were being formed. What is extracted are conversations that will alter the perception of history in the most terrifying of ways.
|
"Samir, are you ready to translate?"
"Just as soon as you turn it on, Dr. Zvedny."
"Okay, we're recording to three sites and local storage, along with the livestream, so we're ready for you, Dr. Ghanem. I'm going to flip the switch. Remember, it might be kinda rough as this clay was grog-heavy and not porcelain-fine, but the algorithms should smooth that out soon. ...enough delaying, I'm turning it on."
The long-dead potter's hands were the needle and the clay was the record. All the sounds from that ancient studio should be retrievable. It had taken hundreds of tries to find a single vase large enough to record a clear, clean "pull" of the potter's hands up the side of the piece. The entire vase had been scanned and the "pull" became a single track of sound. It was digitized and analyzed. The software had needed dozens of tweaks to compensate for heartbeat, breathing, swallowing, the thuds as the wheel was propelled with hand or foot, and the potter's breath itself shushhhing over the clay.
A string of high-pitched gibberish whizzed out of the speakers. An agonized, horrified moment was broken by almost-hysterical giggle. "Sorry, we forgot to account for normal shrinkage during firing. I'll run it back slower." Everyone broke the tension with a smile or a chuckle, and then a moment of silent hope... and then a long-dead language rang out for the first time in millennia. All eyes were on Dr. Ghanem.
She listened, then gasped. The recording finished. "That couldn't be... it must be verb drift... Play it again. Put it on loop. I must be sure."
She was silent through two, three repeats of the 40-second track. The only sound from the Linguist was the flip of her trained hands through her own books. Finally she straightened, pressed her left hand to her headphones, and at the next replay quietly said:
"*I miss the easy old ways of powered production, and the fun of our great cities, but I don't miss the pollution. There is less disease in these small, dispersed settlements even if they are idiot animists. Our children's children may not be able to do complicated maths but at least no more will die in these crazy floods. I hope returning to rural ways will stabilize the rain and wind patterns, our yearly rains have been...."* Dr. Ghanem closed her eyes and swallowed. "That's it, it stops there. The word for 'complicated maths' may mean algebra or calculus or a higher math, and the 'rain and wind patterns' may have included words for millibars. I've never heard that word before, but this is such an old piece that its dialect is almost out of reach. I just..."
She closed her eyes and shook her head, took her headphones off. The room was silent.
|
We heard sounds you wouldn't even be able to imagine. It was about ancient, forgotten languages, wars we never knew, love that never should have happened. We heard gossip from all around the world, but all of this was never really interesting, and neither important.
Then a day came. It should've been a normal day in our laboratory, we had a vase from ancient rome. It was a day like any other, until we heard a very certain name, within an old unknown language: Adolf. For you it might be nothing, but for us it were everything. An evidence for something that never should've existed, that never could've happened, a real prophecy which got true. But sadly, we will never know. And i do not even know why, or how. But this is my Story. This is my story of discovering our real history.
| 2019-03-18T17:14:53
| 2019-03-18T13:36:43
| 44
| 13
|
[WP] There's an urban legend that's been circulating for years about a taxi cab that doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night you step into this cab.
I realize "night" might be a little too constricting so feel free to break the prompt and write about the day if your story requires it.
|
'step inside,' he says.
he's got
such white teeth.
it's too dark to see
the rest, but
he's still the best thing
I've found all day.
*you're the night driver?* I ask
without moving my lips. he nods,
this shadow in the taxi, he nods,
and I climb into his car. there's
the scent of static in the air.
I'm trembling as I pay my fare - two coins -
but he says nothing. a gentleman. such a
rare find in times like these, but
from him I'd expect nothing less.
outside the window,
the city and the world
are sliding away.
his wheels are soundless as silk.
engraved on my seat
is the company motto:
**A C**^h **AR ON EVERY NIGHT**
(and we're flying forward so fast now
I just can't help but smile).
darkness fades as the view ahead
gives way to blinding light.
I whisper, *will you tell my ma*
*that I put up a fight?*
he grins. he nods. a gentleman -
his teeth so gleaming white.
|
Long have I heard about this cab. They said that it will take you to wherever you need to be, so that destiny will play its part. Ever since I was young, I was plagued with many disturbing visions that cause me unspeakable nightmare, it was so real that I couldn't know what was dream and what is real. Because of it, I could never live like a normal teenager. I was target of bullies no matter where I go. I was the weirdo that cant distinguish the difference between my dream and reality. So I say fuck it, let take the cab. It can take me to some organs seller for all that matter, just make these neverending nightmares end. As I enter the cab, the driver spoke:
"So you want to put an end to your misery right boy?"
"Anywhere but this hellish dream. Anywhere"
"Alright, you may want to sleep for the trip would be a long one"
My eyelids close and I sleep through the entire trip without experiencing anything, the soundest sleep I ever have. As I wake up, I see that the cab had stops in front of a big mansion, the driver said:
"Here we are, the fee had been paid by that gentleman, my job here is done. Now is your turn"
I get out of the car and walk toward the men in wheelchair. He was a old, bald man. Before I could ask who he is, he spoke:
"Welcome to Xavier School for the gifted, my name is Charlea Xavier."
| 2016-08-29T02:09:21
| 2016-08-29T00:09:38
| 312
| 21
|
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
He was a stage actor and assassin with a cold heart.
And HE was an American president and theater goer with a heart of gold.
But when his shot doesn't penetrate the back of HIS head they are going to learn that sic semper doesn't always tyrannis.
Can a confederate assassin learn to forgive? Can an American president learn to love again? Find out this summer in "my American assassin".
|
I had been waiting for 15 hours. Dark, muddy, rainy, and freezing from my lack of proper gear. My hands were shaking not from the nerves, but from the cold. How was I supposed to get an accurate shot off with a trembling trigger finger? Even so, I thought to myself 'not my worst Saturday.'
He should have been there by now. Hell, he should have been there hours ago, but that was the way it was with politicians. A last-minute change of plans could take them to the other side of the state. 'Maybe he won't show and I'll have to be back here next weekend, great!' I thought to myself sarcastically.
I sank lower into the leaves as I contemplated my options. The setup was perfect. A small hill overlooking the governor's mansion from 500 yards, just enough tree cover to be cloaked in darkness, and an easy getaway down a back road and into the night. Perfect - minus the lack of a target.
I begrudgingly began packing my things as the anxiety started to rush over me. There was nothing worse than waiting. Action was easy, you were in it, you took care of the job and it was over. Waiting, however, brought on night tremors and 5 hours of sleep a week. 'Well, I guess it's one more week. If his schedule holds.'
It had been a painstaking process to line everything up with the governor's busy schedule, and it would only get worse as the election grew closer. The men who hired me would not be pleased with this development. Time was running out to give their candidate a clear path to victory, but what was I to do? You can't kill someone if they aren't there.
As I stuffed my sniper rifle into its case, I heard a faint noise in the distance. Could he be coming in late? I jumped back to my position and peered through my binoculars. No, just a group of drunk college kids zigzagging their way home.
My car was parked 200 yards away, door unlocked and pointing down the road - an easy getaway. Trudging through the puddles I started to iron out the plan for next weekend. I would have to check the governor's updated schedule, but if my recollection was correct, he would be arriving at around the same time the next weekend from a fundraising event.
I tossed my gear into the trunk of my 2013 Nissan Maxima, which had been rented under a pseudonym. Another layer of secrecy between my boss and the hit.
I started the car, flipped on the lights, and there he was - the governor. All by himself, with only a tiny umbrella to keep him dry.
Startled, I jumped out of the car and began to run.
"Mark!" he called out. "Stop, come back here and talk to me."
I didn't know if it was the cold or some sense of odd respect, but I inexplicably turned to face my target even though my cover had been blown.
"Governor, how are you?" I tried to sound as normal as possible. Well, as normal as someone who was soaking wet on a Saturday night outside the governor's mansion could sound.
"You know you don't have to do that?" he replied.
"Do what?"
"Anyone who has known me as long as you have doesn't call me governor. And my best friend sure doesn't have to."
"Alright then, Robert. How was the fundraiser?" again going for normal.
"Terrible, you know I hate those things. It is a necessary evil I guess, but I don't know how much longer I can endure. What I'm curious about is, what brings you out here at 1 AM on a Saturday night. Seems a little late for a hike doesn't it?"
"Uh, well...sometimes I can't sleep and I need to get out of the house..."
"Mark" he interrupted. " I know why you are here."
My heart dropped. Could he really have found out? Everything loose end had been tied up, every track covered. Aliases used and his boss had assured him of the utmost secrecy. How could this happen?
"I, I... just..." dumbfounded, I still couldn't get a word out.
"Do it."
"What?" I replied.
"You heard me, do it."
"But.."
"I don't want to be here. I don't want to be governor but the train is moving too fast for me to get off now. It has been a long time since I have been happy. The office forces you to do terrible things, unspeakable things. I went into politics with rose tinted glasses and the idea of saving the world, but reality hit and there is nothing to live for anymore."
"Robert, I don't know if I can.."
"Why not? You were all set up to take care of it an hour ago, what is the difference? Can't face me like a man and take care of business? For what they are paying you, it seems like an easy trigger to pull."
"But your staff, they must know you are out here. If something happens to you and they see me pulling away, I'm dead to rights."
"I've pulled them off and snuck out for the night. Seal training still has its uses."
"Robert...I don't think.."
"DO IT!" he yelled, becoming more impatient.
I reached into my holster and pulled out my pistol, hands trembling. Walking over to the governor, I couldn't help but wonder how this would play out on the morning news.
Taking a few paces towards him, I took a deep breath to calm myself. 'Just do it'
BANG
As soon as my finger hit the trigger I felt a rush of remorse flow over me. How could I have done this to my best friend? Sure I needed the money, but at what cost. I buried my face in my hands and began to cry. It would be a cold long night.
Then, a hand on my shoulder. "Mark" I glanced up and there he was, ripped suit over his heart, but not a scratch on him. "I thought this might happen. I wanted to be gone so badly if I could not live the life I wanted, but now that I know, I want to be with you. There is a million dollars in cash in a bag down the road. Let's go"
It took just a second for me to make the decision. In the back of my mind, this had always been a thought, but it seemed so ludicrous, it could never happen. Motioning to the governor I hopped into the car which was still running and dropped it into gear.
"Robert" I said. I think we are going to be just fine.
| 2018-04-24T04:31:34
| 2018-04-24T03:01:07
| 102
| 12
|
[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).
|
Lieutenant Colonel Freeman sighed. The gunfire starting to die down. He knew it wasn't a good type of die down either. It wasn't stopping because they were winning. It was stopping because his men were dying.
The General had already been killed and that put command over this base on him. The General had declared this a level 1 emergency before he had died. But if they broke the surface it would have to escalate more. There was no way they could evacuate even a 10th of the planet in time. No, they would have to detonate the nuke and take out the facility before the surface could be breached.
The Lieutenant Colonel looked over at his remaining staff, Sargent Jackson and Captain Koh, the only ones to stay behind and help keep command while everyone else was fighting to protect the bunker.
"Captain, run over who has escaped again." Asked the Lieutenant Colonel.
"Sir, the Martians escaped and freed the Venutions, who freed the Plutonions, who freed the chubacabra, which chewed through the cage of the big foots, uh feet? Regardless, they in turn broke the aquarium holding the Loch Ness monster, which fried our systems and unlocked the cages for the Giants, unicorns, Michael Jackson, Elvis, and the original Paul McCartney. They are all fighting for the surface and are at the main bulk head."
The Lt. Colonel sighed "shit."
"Sir," this time it was the Sargent's turn to speak, "the President is on the line."
The Lt. Colonel sighed again and looked at his computer screen, "put him through." His skin crawling as the lizard appeared on screen.
"Colonel, I am aware of your situation. It is now a level 0. Handle this now." The President hissed.
The screen went black and it seemed so did all the noise. Slowly the Lt. Colonel shifted his eyes from the black screen to the orange square with just a number scrawled on it. "867-5309"
Slowly he reached for the phone. Dialing the number. His breathing heavy and labored. Listening as the line rang before hearing someone pick up.
"Hello, this is Chuck Norris."
|
Project EXILE had seemed to be humming along just fine until the shift change on Thursday morning. Seemed.
PFC Johnson was one of the few A51 staff members to be a Qualified Sensitive. Rumor had it there used to be more, but budget cuts took their toll as more and more money was devoted to recent saber rattling instead of ongoing domestic operations.
And there weren't a lot of Qualified Sensitives to go around. That designation took a very special individual, one who possessed a very rare set of inherent skills, but didn't want anything from them. Someone who could be perfectly happy as a PFC for an entire career, in spite of being the hopefully unknowing backbone of the entire classified site.
PFC Johnson possessed all the requisite characteristics. Incurious. Placid. Uncreative. Trusting enough in his superiors to take orders without question, in particular, the order to never, ever take orders from the man in Cell Block C. And willing to accept an entire career without a promotion based on some vague hand waving about how important it was that anyone working on Project EXILE never have "dominion over man."
On Thursday morning he put on his uniform, like always. He picked up a tray of raw eggs and bacon, like always. He carried it through the mostly empty cell block, like always. He slid it under the door of the only occupied cell, like always. He waited by the papyrus covered iron door to see if the inmate had anything to say, like always. He waited in vain, like always. He walked to debriefing, like always. And he answered the only question he was asked each day with mild impatience, like always.
Once debriefing was over he was clear to play video games until lunch, after all.
"How was the inmate this morning?"
PFJ Johnson scratched himself in a manner s PFC would normally be disciplined for doing in front of a superior officer, and said, in words that lit up security and diplomatic lines world wide moments later:
"I dunno. Seemed different this morning, I guess. Dunno why. Just a feeling."
And then he played video games while the world screamed into action.
A swat team stormed Cell Block C. Twelve virgin men consecrated as clergy in no fewer than thirty seven faiths (three apiece, except for one try-hard marine core officer at four) armed with never before used experimental weapons kicked in the cell door, only to stand, impotent, in an empty cell.
Tanks rumbled to life in nearby bases. Jets deployed. A shocked and terrified public was placed under martial law in nearby towns, as roadblocks were pointlessly established, out of sheer habit and weight of institutional momentum.
International allies mobilized. Militaries leapt to high alert. Silos ran readiness drills by the hour, on the hour. Millions of people rushed to and fro in a frenzy.
Nuclear launches on civilian population centers were contemplated.
All in the absence of one key detail.
Any identifiable target.
A grizzled officer walked down a hall to the A51 barracks, an Aramaic cell phone in his left hand, and a faded post it note in his right.
PFC Johnsons video games were interrupted.
"We need you to make a phone call," the officer explained.
PFC Johnson's face scrunched up in confusion.
"To the inmate in Cell Block C."
"I didn't know he had a phone," PFC Johnson complained. *He* didn't have a phone. Security reasons or some such. It just seemed irresponsible to give an inmate a phone if a PFC couldn't be trusted with one.
"He doesn't, exactly, just..." the officer sighed. "Please just dial this number. And tell him we'd like to negotiate our surrender."
| 2017-03-21T06:56:08
| 2017-03-21T04:50:35
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
|
The last of the wooden planks was hammered into place as the farmer dabbed at his brow with the rags hanging from his neck. It was hardly what one could call a temple. The farmer had fashioned the crude wooden shrine himself, carving and hammering the planks and poles with as much care as he could muster. Still, it looked unimpressive. The edges jutted out awkwardly, the pillars were uneven, and it had no fanciful decorations that one might expect at a proper shrine or temple. No garland of flowers hung from the flat roof of the shrine, no incense smoke trailed into the sky, and no prayers or prophecies were chanted. Most conspicuously, the spot where the idol of the god would sit- in the centre of the shrine- was empty. If this was a temple, it provided no clue as to which god it was meant for.
And yet the farmer was content, eager even. He had left the shrine unfurnished on purpose. Each temple or shrine was a home for a god, a resting place for the otherworldly, powerful beings that governed the laws of nature and weaved human fates with their fingertips. It was said that those who built these sanctuaries would receive a blessing from whichever god decided to take up residence there. Now, the farmer simply hoped that there would be a deity willing to possess the modest temple that he’d created. As he ambled off to sleep, he prayed for a suitable god or goddess- Demeter, maybe- to bless him, with bountiful harvests for the rest of his days.
The next day, he gingerly placed a bowl of rice in front of the shrine and knelt down. Unsure of what else to do, he mumbled “Gods or goddesses that be, please accept this humble sacrifice,” and waited. A moment passed. He chuckled to himself. Of course, no god would be willing to resign themselves to such a shabby place of worship. He’d long been prepared for that outcome. He began to rise to his feet.
Then he heard it. He had to strain to make it out, but it sounded like someone was speaking to him. A faint voice, coming from the rickety wooden altar that he’d fashioned. The voice was quiet, and sounded almost weak. “Child,” it said, “Thank you for the offering. I’m afraid I can’t do much for you now, but come back tomorrow. Perhaps then, I might be able to reward you.”
The farmer’s eyes opened wide, as the burly, middle-aged man almost fell over from surprise. He’d never spoken to a god before. And yet, it was different from what he’d expected. Weren’t the gods meant to be mighty? Powerful? Then what was this tinny voice coming from the shrine? He pushed the invasive thoughts out of his mind. A god was a god, and it was best not to think disrespectful thoughts in front of them. He bowed deeply, and vowed to bring a better offering the next morning.
This time, there was a bowl of rice, accompanied by a dish of meat and a glass of wine. “Gods or goddesses that be,” he repeated, “Please accept this humble sacrifice.”
The voice that echoed out from the shrine was clearer than the day before, and the farmer could now ascertain that it sounded female. A goddess? “Thank you, child. It has been a long, long time since I have received an offering, and I was forced into hibernation until you sacrificed to me. I can’t seem to remember who I am; but I remember another goddess who once asked me a favour. Her name was… Demeter? I am sorry child, if you don’t mind coming back tomorrow, perhaps I will have regained enough strength to remember by identity.”
Excitement thrilled through the farmer’s veins. A goddess related to Demeter? Perhaps his simple wish really would come true, and he’d see bountiful harvests for the rest of his days. He quelled his exhilaration, and waited patiently for the next morning.
As usual, he left the sacrifice in front of the altar, and knelt down. The voice manifested once again, this time even clearer than before. “Child, I have remembered,” she spoke. It was good news. *“Yet she does not sound happy,”* the farmer thought to himself silently. The goddess’s voice was quavering slightly. Rage? No, nothing like that. The goddess sounded melancholic, almost, as if she had recalled something she would much rather have forgotten.
“My name is Limos,” she said. “Child, thank you for the offerings. But I must go now.”
“Why?” the farmer cried, “Oh but goddess, you’ve barely arrived! Stay a while, at least, and won’t you let my crops grow well? I won’t ask for a lifetime of bountiful harvest, but would you at least help me this season?”
Though he could not see her, the farmer felt the goddess shake her head, almost imperceptibly. And then, she was gone.
Even when he brought the offerings the next morning, and the days after that, Limos never returned.
*****
Limos faded away from the shrine, cutting away her attachment from the temple that the man had built. She shut her eyes, and prepared to sleep again. This time, she didn’t know when she would wake up. The faintest tear trickled down her face before dissipating into a hazy light. She had been so happy when a mortal had called her, worshiped her, given her offerings. It had been so long, after all. But then she’d remembered who she was, *what* she was.
Limos, goddess of starvation and pestilence. Looking at the pure-hearted, simple farmer who brought her offerings every morning, she knew that she could not stay. That was her fate: she would only ever bring disaster to those who called her. She would be spurned, hated, cursed, and ultimately- forgotten.
As her consciousness faded away, she saw the faint image of a man kneeling in front of a clumsy, wooden shrine, food and wine in his outstretched hands.
*****
*I write a story a day [here](http://yearofpilgrimage.wordpress.com)*
*more stories at /r/chasing_mist*
|
Mama always used to say "The worst thing you can do to a god is ignore him".
It took us a long time to find one. The usual gods had been snatched up before we got ourselves in the game. Even the rare ones had become rarer. A few unclaimed gods came to us and begged us to take them in. But Regnolia was no easy town. Regnolia was no beggar. Regnolia was built on the blood and tears of slaves and Regnolia deserved a God who was no slave.
We wanted no rain. We wanted no prosperity. We wanted no sun. We wanted no war. We wanted no wind. We wanted no fame. We wanted nothing and we wanted a God who could give us that valuable nothing.
So, we built our temple.
We picked a spot deep in the cornfields. We burnt a square dang in the middle of it and we got to work - 40 men; three shifts; 47 days. We knew no hunger. We knew no thirst. We knew no sun and we knew no snow. The time might as well have not passed for nobody paid any heed to it. For 47 days, the town slept none.
On the 48th morning, we were done. A modest temple in the middle of nowhere - built of fiery red brick and built to last an eternity. 8 walls of solidarity stretching to the high heavens sending out our message to the world - Are you worthy of this noble abode?
Men from across the world dropped in, envious and awestruck. Those gods that had already sought shelter fumed at us and cursed at us - but Regnolia cared none. We waited. We waited for the God who was worthy of us.
Time passed, slow as a snail and swift as a river. The doors to the temple remained unopened. Until one night.
It was a night that spewed more darkness than it usually did. Thunder reigned above in the skies and we sat huddled under our roofs. That was when a light was lit in our temple. Confused, we hurried. The door was open.
"Who's there?" we yelled, as a single voice.
"Who are you to ask?"
"Come out and show yourself."
A towering being staggered in front of us, a tunic carelessly thrown on his body and his beard the color of dust. His right hand held a half-filled vessel of a liquid and his left hand clasped a broken scythe.
"Who are you?" we asked, our voices trying not to tremble.
"I am Minafe, the god of scarcity. I hereby claim this temple as mine. Feed me and you shall live. Anger me and you shall suffer in every one of your births. Go now mortals, go now so that you can feed me when the time comes."
Here was someone who finally deserved us. Here was someone who didn't seek us. Here was a God who finally settled in of their own volition. Here was a God who was fit to serve our hunger.
Regnolia was built on the blood of slaves and Regnolia finally had one.
The doors to the temple closed. A single piercing shriek cut the air.
| 2018-01-19T07:32:31
| 2018-01-19T07:22:34
| 638
| 243
|
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
|
I am considered "normal" by the whole student body. And not in a good way. From my perspective all these so-called "gifted" people have a limited definition of what it means to have a superpower. I have one and I exercise it every day.
Three years ago I arrived at the academy with my mother, a shape shifter who was just hired as accountant for the SFSG. Part of the deal was that we would get an apartment at the school and I would be accepted as a student.
From the moment I arrived I got the feeling I was not welcome. Not by the students or the teachers. The condescending tone in which teachers answer my questions. The way they preface certain lessons with "most of you understand..." Even classes like Literature and Math seem to be taught from a supernatural perspective that shuts me out of the conversation.
But I'm not the kind of kid who keeps her head down and tries to disappear. I'm generally protected from any real abuse from teachers. So my hand goes up every day and every day teachers have to deal with me. I think by now I've even earned some respect for my academic prowess. But that first day they were definitely not happy to have me in class.
Students were another matter entirely. On my first day in first period I got a new name. "Corn." It means I'm not a unicorn, not special, not unique. Just corn. It's weird how an ordinary word coming from the mouths of a gaggle of mean kids can sound just s bad as the worst insulting swear word. In every class, several students called me "Corn" and used whatever superpower they had to pull my chair from underneath me, erase the answers on my papers, and generally give me a hard time.
Because of my mom, this isn't my first time at a Superpower school. In elementary school, kids have fun with it and are still amazed by each other. Since I grew up with those kids from Kindergarten they just accepted me for who I am. I wasn't prepared for this. I could blame my mom but she's just not the sort of person who would expect this either. She's all numbers and order. She Shape shifts to help people.
At lunch I was showered with pellets of corn. Which may not seem so bad until you consider that these projectiles are coming from someone with superpowers. One kid with object manipulation powers tried to do kinky things to me with ears of corn in the lunchroom. A teacher shut that one down and hauled the kid off to the headmaster.
A group of girls cornered me in the bathroom after lunch. I found myself suspended head down over the toilet.
One of the girls squatted down and got in my face, "That was my boyfriend."
"Are you okay with what he tried to do to me?" I tried to keep a calm voice.
"You don't belong here," another girl said.
My head hurt. I felt words pouring into my head that didn't originate in my brain. "You are trash. Kill yourself. Kill yourself. Kill yourself."
"I'm supposed to be impressed because one of you has telepathy? I'm actually unimpressed because you have this gift and use it so uncreatively. That' really the best you can do?"
A girl standing outside the stall stamps her foot and the thoughts inside my head stop.
"If you drop me into the toilet there is no way you won't leave a mark," I say.
I'm lowered slowly. My hair gets wet but I manage to bend and get my feet to the ground.
I dry my hair as best I can and go to Music. At least I'll excel there unless someone messes with my vocal chords. I resolve that for the rest of the afternoon I'm taking names.
I do mean literally. By the time school is over I have the first and last name of every kid who harassed me. Next stop the library where I check yearbooks and look up parents and families in the wealth of documents available. I am careful to avoid leaving any digital fingerprints regarding my research.
My lovely mother always uses my birthday as a password so getting into student accounts is easy as well. I'm careful to scan lists rather than looking up any particular name. This way she won't get in trouble either.
That evening I ask if we can check out the nearby town. I tell her my day was okay but that it will take awhile for me to fit in here. It's truthful. I know my mom feels guilty about moving me so she agrees to drop me off in the town square and pick me up in three hours. She has a lot of beginning of school-type work and promises Saturday we'll do town together. It's fine. All I need is an internet cafe.
The next morning every student who harassed me wakes up a little bit poorer.
I realize I don't need to tell every kid, just Little Miss Telekenesis. She's in my first period. I sit next to her, keeping my voice friendly and conversational.
"The thing is, I don't get scared. I get mad. Injustice makes me mad. Being the object of injustice empowers me. Maybe not in the way the rest of you have powers, but check your account.
I think you are going to be on pretty strict budget this semester. And mommy and daddy aren't going to be able to help you out. Nobody's going bankrupt. Yet. But things might get really ugly for you if you attack me again.
Use your cute little trick to pass that along. Maybe instead of Corn you can all just call me Karma.
Oh, and there is no way anybody is going to believe I'm responsible. I don't have any kind of superpower."
I walk away feeling a little bit lighter. Like Eliot Ness getting Al Capone on tax evasion. Superheros still have to pay for things.
I still don't have any friends at school. My mom bought me a Moped so I can go into town after school. I'm in a band and otherwise hang out with my boyfriend at the internet cafe. He's a home schooled day trader. College is going to be fun. And paid for.
|
"Alright class, welcome to 'Intro to Personal Abilities 1'. Before we introduce ourselves, can anyone tell me what the three classes of powers are?"
A bookish girl with large glasses raised her hand.
"The first class of powers are mental abilities. Mental abilities are controlled by the mind, and are often exerted against an outside environment. People with metal abilities are often physiologically identical to non-powered humans."
The professor smiled. "Very good, Samantha. Can anyone give me an example of a mental ability? John?"
A student wearing a black motorcycle jacket with a slicked-back hair looked up groggily from his desk. He gave a slight wave of his hand, as the chalk by the professor's podium picked itself up and scrawled "telekinesis" on the chalkboard.
The professor chuckled. "A verbal answer would have sufficed, John, but I appreciate the demonstration. Now, can anyone tell me what the second class of powers are?"
A burly looking student in athletic wear raised his hand.
"Physical abilities. Physical abilities involve a change, or uh, the *ability* to change, a person's own body." The student's arm morphed slightly, his very skin changing into a form that resembled cracked concrete, as he picked up the empty desk in front of him with one hand.
"Correct! Now, can anyone tell me what the third class of power is?"
The class looked puzzled as they sat in silence.
"Anyone?"
Samantha shook her head, and several others responded in kind.
The teacher grabbed the chalk and wrote "META" on the chalkboard.
"The third class of powers are meta-abilities: powers-over-powers, if you will. The ability to sense another person's power would be a meta-ability. It is the rarest class of power, and can be either physical or mental."
The teacher clapped his hands "With that said, I want everyone in the class to introduce themselves. Say your name, your power, and what class you belong to".
One by one, the class introduced themselves, until they reached a introverted-looking student in the back corner of the room.
"Hi, uh, my name is Liam" the student shuffled uncomfortably in his chair "and I don't know what my power is. My biomark results were 145/150, but they didn't match any known ability. The Dean of Academics decided that I should attend classes anyway, at least until my ability shows."
"That's fascinating" the professor said, thoughtfully "and a smart move, on the part of the Dean. Rest assured Liam, you won't be left behind in this class. Powers or not, you're a part of this school, and I'll do my best to accommodate"
His sentence was interrupted by a shrill class bell.
"We'll finish up tomorrow, class dismissed!"
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside the classroom, Liam made his way down the hallway and toward his next class, when his path was blocked by four upperclassmen. They towered over him and moved in closer, causing him to step back slightly.
"We don't take well to spies around here" said one kid as he clenched his hand into a fist, powerful arcs of electricity crackling between his fingers, "You said you didn't have a power, which means you're either lying, or a spy"
"Guys, I'm not looking for a fight, and I'm not a spy. If you want to talk to the Dean, then by all means do. I've told you everything I know"
"Go taLk to thE deAn" the electric-kid said mockingly "Know your place, new kid!"
He opened his hand an a bolt of lightning shot out, hitting Liam in the chest and making him double-over in pain. Electric-kid's cronies laughed like comic-book minions.
"Or there will be more where that came from!"
Liam struggled to catch his breath as he crouched on the ground "I'm......not.....afraid of you"
His response was met with a chorus of "oooooooooh" from electric-kid's cronies. Electric-kid cracked his knuckles.
"Well, well, well" Electric-kid laughed "Looks like someone wants to play!" He swung an electric-charged kick toward Liam's head, but Liam grabbed his ankle, narrowly stopping the kick. Liam braced for the electric shock, but felt nothing.
"Get off of me, freak!" the electric-kid yelled as he freed himself from Liam's grasp with a kick to his chest. He pointed his finger as if charging up another lightning strike....but nothing happened.
"What!? What the fuck is this?" the electric-kid stood wide-eyed and bewildered.
Liam, meanwhile, felt...different. Something within him had changed, and it moved through his very body in a way that was immediately noticeable. An energy, buried deep within, finally surfacing.
Liam staggered to his feet as electric-kids cronies took a fearful step back. He looked at his hand, expecting burns where he had grabbed his leg, but instead found tiny arcs of electricity trickling up his arm and arcing between his fingers. He stretched his hand, and bright arcs crackled from his fingers like a tesla coil. He walked slowly toward electric-kid and his crew.
"You....you can't!" electric-kid cowered, tears welling up in his eyes as the reality of the situation set in "You can't attack me, that's cruel! I can't defend myself!"
Liam was unphased. He continued to walk, slowly and menacingly, toward electric-kid.
"YOU'RE A BULLY!" screamed electric-kid as he burst into ugly tears "YOU PREY ON THE WEAK AND DEFENSELESS, DON'T YOU FEEL THE SMALLEST SHRED OF EMPATHY YOU MONS..."
His hysterics were cut short by an electrically-charged backhand slap, which sent electric kid flying down the hallway and into a set of glass doors, which cracked on impact. Electric kid lay writhing on the floor, bawling his eyes out and clutching his burned face as his group of cronies fled the scene.
Liam stared him down from the other end of the hall.
"No."
EDIT: [Link to Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yk0r0r/comment/iusxz6s/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) in the reply comments
| 2022-11-02T10:47:35
| 2022-11-02T09:00:33
| 286
| 177
|
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
**Anxiety**
Pressure fills my chest as my heart beats wildly inside.
The tingling moves through my fingers, up my arms.
I grasp at my chest, push against it.
I feel every part of my body -
the blood pulsing in my head,
the prickling of every nerve.
You ask what's wrong.
Don't you know?
It's just...
me.
|
Surprisingly sharp, slicing slowly, shifting suddenly; shuddering, somewhere something sneaks.
Cautiously creeping, careful, cunning, callous, cold; crazy cutting clown.
Tick, tock, terror time; teeth tearing, touching, turning.
Helpless, hapless, hopeless; hellish horror, heavy heart.
Laughing lunatic, leering Lamia looms; languish.
Maddening, mysterious, mutilation; morbid monstrosities.
Ripping, relentless, rabid, rancid.
Gasping, groping, guilty.
Invincible, inescapable.
Fear.
| 2015-02-12T23:52:27
| 2015-02-12T22:22:59
| 40
| 14
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
|
First the texts. Then the MMS images. Then every insta, fb post, live stream, Reddit post, tweet. Every inbox at 0% capacity as it was all FWD FWD FWD FWD : MOON all the time.
After a few days we realized the vast majority of Internet traffic was solely automated spambots. Everybody else was outside looking at the moon, or sleeping all day wherever they last witnessed the moon..
Tritanopia is a form of color blindness that reduces the blue/yellow/green portion of the spectrum.
Us lucky one in ten thousand were unphased by the moon... Get it? Moon puns.
For reference,
1:10,000 expands to
100,000:1,000,000,000
And there's seven some billion people total, so you'd think seven hundred thousand people would be able to coordinate.
But then you have to look at population densities, distributive models of where tritanopia can be found, how difficult it is to travel when almost everyone is standing in the middle of the road to quietly worship the moon.
Imagine being at a festival with a target audience of docile septuagenarians. You don't like the grateful dead, don't get why
everyone is fixated, just want the whole thing to end. You try making a call on your phone but it just plays Phish songs That's how it felt.
It's like not being a hockey fan in Canada.
So. 700,000 functioning humans remaining. All ages. All ability levels. The vast majority lacking applicable skills or the psychological tenacity required to face this world. I was only 12 when it happened, just on the cusp of being forged by the new world yet with fond memories of the old ways.
Most animals that could look up and had some visual acuity also became enraptured. I wanted to help the animals but I didn't know how.
My first two days I tried to go about my routine as normal. Except there was no more no normal routine. No supply lines, no infrastructure, no social contract. Ran into a lot of lunatic strangers that got a start on the hoarding and mad max fashion early. My family had a close personal bond with either the moon or stolen wholesale liquor, depending on sight abilities.
A tritanopia support myphp forum briefly assembled IRL and tried to stage a coup of world power, but taking over the white house and the UN when there really isn't anyone to enforce your will doesn't matter much. Nobody to answer the phone for the nuclear launch codes, nobody to pop in the 8.5" floppy disks to get the nukes into the sky. Infighting led to the fast dissolution of that group, especially when the yahoo group insurrectionists gained traction.
The moonies just stopped participating. Beat them up, bash them to death in the streets, run them over. No resistance. Just single most minded dedication to the moon. A sadist's mcplayland.
They didn't eat or drink but they didn't die of exposure or dehydration. After a while their skin became ashy during the day. They went from monosyllabic grunts to utter silence.
A bit later, some of them grew wings or horns or scales . Some grew hair and became funky werewolf-gargoyle things.
The transformed congregation moved in packs but continued to stare at the moon. They'd only respond if provoked but you'd be dead before you realized you had provoked them.
Then came the Sound Eternal. Somewhere between Gregorian chanting, Cthulhu summoning , and Tibetan throat singing. Constant, from sun down to sun up. From the beasts, from the people.
It was declared cured five or six times. Half of those just lies from crumbling provisional government. The other half lacked real testing or distribution standards. Giving injections to hoards of swaying gnarly mutants that may lead to heads exploding one way or another wasn't going to work out
And so modified aerial viruses delivered via crop dusters, foggers, modified tear gas canisters, anything that could contain the smoke.
They all cocooned out for a bit after the dusting misused some lies masquerading as legitimate research.
I saw the aftermath and heard the confessions but I can't tell you in great detail how that all went down. Too busy rhen with the fight for survival, a sixteen year old keeping a nuclear reactor running on a submarine turned makeshift unethical medical experimentation laboratory.
The less said, the better. Dark time for submarines.
Most Moonies came out of chrysalis fit as a fiddle, back to full health, lost all the medieval art features.
Lived a mockery of their old routines, spring in their step. Go into the abandoned office to push pieces of paper around and tap keys on unpowered terminals. Then every night, back to the moon gazing.
You were probably born during this time period. Probably not the most rational decision that could've been made, but after surviving weregargoyles the social fabric didn't have much space for rationality.
They'd peruse ransacked grocery stores, exchange idle moon-themed pleasantries with each other. Morning jog through fields of corpses, oblivious. Flip.through the same old magazine until it disintergrated. Barbers and janitors would go to rubble that used to be their workplace and sweep with purposelessness . Tradesmen could sort of resume their jobs, more or less, but only served their own kind. After a few months, they used noise singing to gather a crowd and coordinate at a task, building ungodly architecture overnight or sacrificing a hundred mile long line of people to send an electrical signal from one necropolis to the next.
They'd all look at us and they would know. They would say "better not look at the moon" in the same deadpan attempt of reverse psychology. I'd reply "What a beautiful night out" while bug eyed stating at their moon. And sing about the moon hitting my eye like a big pizza pie. They just didn't understand thar moon magic wouldn't work on my snarky 19 year old deficient peepers. I had fallen into a bad crowd of pharmaceutic redistributors.
I'lll admit I developed a bit of a moon dust habit.The dust made their late 20th century satire of mid 20th century values schtick a little more tolerable. What else is there to do during the longest flash mob installation art piece? Swap rumors and lies about how places beyond the horizon were getting by?
Someone - nobody knows which side - invented glasses that compensated for the color blindness, let the impure finally join the teeming masses. That caught on big once we realized us last few unchanged had successfully flushed all chance of rebuilding or becoming something other than marauder junkies. I was around 22 at the time and in middle of trying to preserve priceless irreplaceable cultural artifacts from the Smithsonian, mostly by defending an adjacent outpost and running a little mercantile ammo shop on the side. Missed out on the suicide sunglasses phase. Gave away the only pair I stumbled across in the ruins to a real go-getter errand runner.
Then, next phase began and their molting started. Human skin left lying around everywhere, giant insectoid snakemen picking fights, the usual. Moondust purity went way down, market nearly tanked. By then I had a cybernetic arm and a laser eye. I spent most of my time in pipes, guarding various keys and providing clues to riddles.
I betrayed everyone that trusted me at every turn and regret nothing. I had once decided to live like a forgettable side quest NPC in a sub-par video game series. But when the laser eye was installed, I could see the full beauty of the moon in all spectrums, even those invisible to the limited human eye.
Didn't take long to round up the remaining twenty thousand some for free laser eye replacement. There's some logistics, sure, but you concentrate everyone into camps, chop off some limbs, erase the notion of free will or anything but service to the moon.
Turns out the moon does not mind if you scoop out significant portions of the prefrontal lobe before conversion. The question is will you be complacent enough to realize your higher calling or are you going to be another meat log for the stumpy field?
Either way, the implants will a little itch bit at first. Hopefully this bit of storytelling has enlightened you. Now, please, let us experience the moon together now.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59
| 2018-04-06T19:57:39
| 103
| 30
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
|
"don't get me wrong, you won't be a hero foretold in legends or a scientist that found the cure for cancer, but you will shape humanity with mundane clumsiness"
"mundane clumsiness?! That's not much of a super power is it?"
"well you did kind of broke that middle eastern lamp you found at a yard sale and were forced to buy it and it contained me. Soo yeah..."
"oke fair enough, but still how do i oops my way to saving humanity?"
" in 8 months you, a server at Starbucks will knock over a tray of coffee on a young man. That young man is an aspiring oil executive. He's on his way to a job interview at a small oil company. It's not much but it sends him in a path to become the world largest oil influence and he will lobby for fossil fuel. This will destroy every last chance for the world to recover. Because of you he didn't get the job. Because of your mundane clumsiness ethan, he will fail. "
" but what about the 7592, is there anything i can do to prevent that? "
" thats the one percent ethan, i suggest you don't"
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03
| 2018-08-15T03:47:40
| 374
| 186
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
|
"A runner arrives with your orders. Would you like to read them out?"
"Sure." Katie unfolded the paper that Danny, the DM, just passed her. "It says that the Ruskis are carrying the guns away, and want us to stop them."
"So we charge those guns? That sounds ... dangerous."
"There's, like five-hundred guns. What are the rules on volley firing like that?"
"I'll look them up."
"It's got to work. Danny wouldn't TPK us, would he?"
"I will if you keep metagaming."
"Fair. Okay... well, we charge the guns, cut them down as they retreat, and take them. Yeah?"
"Katie, are you sure this is a good idea? I've only just rolled this character up. Couldn't we refuse?"
"Orders are orders. It's not for us to reason why."
"No, just for us to do or die."
"HEY! That rhymes!"
"Well done, Alf. Write a poem about our heroics later."
"Who brings a bard to a battle anyway?"
"We do: sound the trumpet to face East."
"Wait," interjected the Danny, "East?"
"Yeah, that's where the guns are right? So East."
"Guys..."
"On my mark, we charge."
"Are you sure about this guys?"
"Get 'em."
There was a horrible terrible silence.
And then Danny said, "can you pass me the rules on volley firing?"
"Sure."
"Oh ... it does not look good for you guys."
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T07:34:04
| 303
| 104
|
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one.
|
It starts with a family.
And a warning.
“Be wary” the oracle screams, swaying with the steam cascading from the vents of the cave.
“One of your children will bring evils to the nation of the likes we would never see, and one will bring it to heights we can only wish for. Use this warning wisely!”
The parents to-be shook in fear, but the priests gathered for the ritual nodded their heads sagely. The pure child would bring their nation to greatness, just as was foretold. The evil child could be disposed of. When the twins were born, the entire country seemed to gather outside of the birthing chamber. The priests in attendance lit their incense and sent their prayers to the heavens. And thus, two children were brought into this world. It seemed to the priests obvious which child would bring calamity, and which would bring prosperity. With their third eye, they could see the boy had the countenance of evil: dark shadowy wings pooling below him, and horns poking distastefully through his forehead. The girl shined with inner radiance, wings like light folded softly around her and a softly glowing halo.
So, heeding the oracles warning, they left the boy on a far mountain as an offering of understanding to the gods, who had put prosperity within their reach. The naming ceremony was that night was a grand affair, the capital lit up with all manner of celebration. Wine and drink flowed freely, and the nation talked of their savior. However, on a mountain far away, another naming took place. A small clan of goatherds celebrated their new addition by the light of a smokey fire.
And so, with celebration in the air, two screaming, swaddled children gained their names that night: Clio.
When Clio was three, she learned what it meant to be loved. She had always known she had it. People told her, after all. They told her when she passed them on the street and in the halls. Told her they loved her, for she was their savior.
“Mama, do you love me?” She asked one night, when all the people had gone away from giving her things. Her mama didn’t respond, she had drunk all the wine that people had left as offerings and was snoring on the dias.
“Daddy, do you love me?” She asked the second night. She asked it to the empty room where her Daddy was supposed to be, but he was away talking to important people.
On the third night, she went into her room and looked at all her things, given to her by people who said they loved her.
“They love me” She said to herself, quietly.
When Clio was three, he learned what it meant to be loved. Some of the other boys had pushed him, saying that his parents didn’t love him. That they had left him on a mountain to die.
“Mama, do you love me?” He asked one night as his mama tucked him into bed.
“Of course I love you, you are my child.” She said. Then she kissed him on the head.
“Daddy, do you love me?” He asked the second night. “Of course, you’re my son.” The old goatherd responded gruffly. Then he continued showing his son how to start a fire.
On the third night, he asked his brothers and sisters “Do you love me?”
“Of course” they responded. “Those boys were mean and dumb, and they’ll never say that again.”
Clio smiled. “They love me.” he said to himself, quietly.
When Clio was nine, she learned what consequences were.
“It is nothing.” Said the priest, sweeping away the shards of broken vase. “Should you do it, it is meant to be.”
“Ok” said Clio.
When she snuck out that night to go look at the river, a kitten came up to her and purred. Surprised, she looked at it. It was dirty and skinny, but perhaps Clio could pet it. She tried to grab it up and hold it, but it scratched her. Outraged, she threw it into the river.
But it was fine.
After all, what she did was meant to be.
When Clio was nine, he learned what consequences were.
“You ripped the basket, Clio. Now you must make a new one.” Said his mother, sweeping away the broken sticks. “Go get more twigs, I will show you how it's done.”
That day he and his friends ventured into the woods to hunt. He shot and killed a fox, but later found its crying kit. Guilty, he attempted to scoop the kit up, but it bit him. Shocked, he drew his hand back. Then he reached into his pocket and offered it a bit of jerky instead. The kit took it, and let Clio carry him home. It died three days later without its mother’s milk.
It wasn’t fine, and Clio cried.
When Clio was fifteen, she learned what it was to be powerful. A man, married, had spurned her advances. She had wanted him, wanted him to hold her and to love her. And he had said no. And so, she told her priests to bring him his head on a plate, for he had hurt her. Their savior.
They did.
She smiled.
When Clio was fifteen, he learned what it meant to be powerful. His father groaned as he levered the rock up off of the trapped goat, and Clio scrambled to grab it from under the heavy weight. His father dropped the rock, panting heavily.
Exhausted and grateful, the goat dropped his head against Clio’s shoulder.
Clio and his father smiled.
When Clio was twenty-one, she learned how to lead.
The crowd was deafening, willing to follow her to the ends of the earth. And she would lead them, bringing them to greatness while dancing on the corpses of those who got in their way.
When Clio was twenty-one, he learned how to lead.
“I’ll go.” He volunteered. The clan meeting went silent, having been discussing their warmongering neighbors to the east. “I will find out what is happening in the city. I will find out if we are in danger”.
Four of his friends immediately volunteered to follow him.
When Clio was twenty two, she learned she loved sacrifice. Specifically, those her people made to her of their enemies.
When Clio was twenty two, his family was the sacrifice.
When Clio was twenty three, she put down her first rebellion.
Clio is twenty three when he leads his first.
When Clio is twenty four, she learns the value of loyalty.
“Where do you think you are going, you cowards! They’re just rebels, we’ll kill them.” She screams as her priests flee. They don’t even grace her with a reply
When Clio is twenty four, he reaps loyalty’s rewards.
“Will you stand with me?” He asks his star general, best friend, his brother in arms.
“There was never a question” Comes the reply.
And so, it starts as it ends. With a family. Two siblings fight each other on the battlefield. The smoke gives the illusion of dark wings, like an angel of death, to both as they clash. The light halos them, diffuse through the smoke.
Clio dies, and the blood pools around them like dark wings.
Clio lives, shrouded in the light like a sign of victory.
|
There are two strange things about prophecies, that everyone seems to so very easily forget.
The first; That every prophecy glimpses upon the future, and in doing so, speaks of a world where that 'future' already exists.
The second: That prophecies are, nearly always, self-fulfilling.
​
"The child born of the serpent's line shall become the darkness that shall devour the sun."
​
You fools hear those words, and turn all of your fear upon a child. All of your fear becomes malice, and teaches he who would nurse garters back to health, who found fascination in the forests, how to *hate.*
He who would have loved the bubbling brews of medicine and remedy finds refuge in poisons instead.
He who would bandage the wings of birds, takes company in vipers who know the paranoia of those who are both prey and predator.
You fools hear the words of prophecy, and forge your own downfall with the darkness in your *own* hearts.
​
And so we come to me.
​
We have spoken of the second rule of prophecies, so now let us return to the first.
To know and speak a prophecy aloud, is to catch a glimpse of a world where that future has already come to pass.
​
*A* world, yes.
There are many.
Countless as the stars above, each a single leaf upon a tree that grows from a single seed. That seed sprouts with time, and a new branch is born upon every decision made, no matter how small.
​
My clan is that of the Timeless. We who are born and renewed in world after world, and never forgetting that which we have learned.
Not quite immortal, no, but... Close.
Close enough.
​
"The child born of the serpent's line shall become the darkness that shall devour the sun."
I have seen this come to pass. The world, the life I lived before this, drowned in blood beneath the half-light of an eternal eclipse. I had lived a life of a civilian scholar, adhering perfectly to the rules of my clan- Watching over and teaching, but never interfering.
​
And what, I ask, did that get us in the end?
​
"Interference is the very mistake the mortals make! No, we are not meant to act. We are Timeless. We are not meant to love those of the sand. Your heart may bleed, child, but do not get attached. All shall pass, and there is nothing to be done for those who will not listen."
...Perhaps we are in agreement then, for I think I am quite *done* with Elders who will not hear that they are not, in fact, infallible.
​
We are not *gods* to presume over the worlds we are born into. Watching and waiting and speaking words of wisdom only goes so far when fools are so quick to take action.
​
Enough.
*Enough.*
I shall act.
And I shall teach.
​
To the serpent's child, wounded but not yet broken, I shall go.
And I shall give him that which the world will *not.*
Open arms, open mind, and a friend.
​
I shall allow myself to become attached, no matter the wounds it will inevitably inflict upon me, for how else will I teach those who are loathed to love?
How else will they know the warmth and joy that life can bring if I do not first open my heart and light the way?
The serpent becomes the darkness because you refused him light. *(So I shall give you mine.)*
​
A child who knows not the love of its village will burn it down to feel its warmth.
​
And so we have come around to the beginning again.
Words of prophecy ring in the air, spoken with weary weight by a man who's eyes are filled with grief.
Orochi's eyes narrow with derision, silver scales glinting in the candle light as he turns to meet my gaze. Pride and love swell in my heart in equal measure as I see the decision in his eyes- Righteous anger and determination fueling a fire that shall bring warmth to another.
(In a world previous, that fire blazed with grief and hatred- And fueled a madness that would drown even the sun.)
​
I stay seated even as he rises, playing the obedient and subservient wife. (An act that never fails to make him laugh once the time comes for the masks to finally drop. A greater lie could not be spoken than that I am meek and submissive.)
​
He speaks to the man in quiet, wheedling tones, a gentle and cold charisma that so easily bends those to his will. It doesn't take long at all for the whole story to come out.
A prophecy of two children- Twins, one destined to be a good and great hero; the other to be an evil and wicked blight. The glass cracks beneath my hand, and I repair it with a silent spell before my temper is noticed by any but the attentive golden gaze of my husband.
Two years ago the man's wife gave birth to twins, and they knew they were the ones the prophecy spoke of. A girl with angel's wings and a brilliant halo, and a boy with devil's wings and horn. The man's voice chokes as he admits that even though the choice was obvious, he couldn't bring himself to kill the boy. He'd been tending to him in secret in a locked cabin not too far away.
​
But the town had heard. They had found him out, and in the morning were going to go and burn the cabin down. Their fear of facing a devil in the dark of night was the only thing that stayed their hand until then.
​
The man admits in a choked voice that while he knew it was probably for the best, that it was surely the only way to ensure their safety... he still considered the boy his son. He could do nothing to save him. Could do nothing to stop them. So he would sit here and drown his grief, hopeless and helpless.
​
"You could give him to us."
​
The man's head snaps up, eyes wide and wild with a desperate hope. Looks between us, a medicine woman and her adventurer husband, well known and respected in the area, and swallows.
Nods.
Holds out a brass key on a thick chain, and it disappears up Orochi's sleeve as quick as the serpent sleeping in the other.
​
"I am a fool," the man whispers into his drink, and I shake my head, and tell him of Fenrir, of a sun devouring serpent, and the choice we all make upon hearing the words of prophecy. When we turn away, there is a strength there in the set of his jaw that was not there before.
(A starving wolf and a gentle man brought to anger are both things you should never turn your back on.)
​
We disappear into the night, just another pair of travelers to the rest of the village- And cheerfully lament to each other the lost chance of a warm bed this week.
​
A child who knows not the love of its village will burn it down to feel its warmth.
But there is room at our hearth for one more, room for children's toys amongst bottles of remedies and drying herbs.
​
We have chosen to act, to not just teach but to fight and love and *live.*
And that is the lesson I shall bring to you as well, little one.
| 2020-05-07T13:27:35
| 2020-05-07T12:22:22
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] Write two small stories with the exact same words in the same order, but with punctuation giving them completely different meanings.
[deleted]
|
I watched you dance in the rain. It was beautiful. You smiled, I smiled back. Then there was joy. And now, you are still beautiful like a flower.
I watched you dance. In the rain it was beautiful. You smiled. I smiled. Back then there was joy. And now, you are still. Beautiful like a flower.
|
My morning toast is ready, red and full of pockmarks. Mom lays on the couch. "When did it fall?" I wonder, looking at the old family picture face down on the floorboards. Dad wouldn't have liked all this mess. Time to do some house cleaning!
 
 
My morning toast is ready.
Red and full of pockmarks, mom lays on the couch.
"When did it fall"? I wonder.
Looking at the old family picture.
Face down, on the floorboards: Dad.
Wouldn't have liked all this mess.
Time to do some house cleaning.
| 2015-09-23T10:42:41
| 2015-09-23T08:50:09
| 630
| 31
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
It was the first day of school.
I was so excited.
New students every year.
I had such high hopes.
The kids would love me.
They would sit, be comfortable, and learn.
The first day came and went.
Class after class.
I was ignored.
No one wants the chair in front.
I wish I was a concert seat.
|
I'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.
| 2016-02-22T09:42:54
| 2016-02-22T09:31:34
| 578
| 15
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Tommy,
​
I appreciated your letter very much and I am touched that you offered chocolate chip cookies, although I do prefer oatmeal raisin. Unfortunately I will not be able to give you a ride in my sleigh as I prefer to travel by winged abomination, which is not very good with children. As for your wish to get a puppy, that is something I would be happy to do. My own dog Cerberus just had hell-puppies and frankly we don't have many veterinarians here so I would be happy to give you one.
Happy Holidays,
The terrible lord of evil and eater of souls, Satan.
(I am new to writing and greatly appreciate any feedback)
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
| 2018-10-28T10:09:15
| 2018-10-28T10:08:58
| 164
| 10
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
Emily,
I know this isn't where I should be writing this, and I know i should just tell you outright, but I think everything's just too fucked the way it is right now. Shit's complicated, and you found someone else who might be able to make you happy.
I've done a lot of wrong, both to you and everyone else I've loved, and I know that if you had found out our arrangement would have ended much sooner. I never did thank you for it, it was a little bit of joy in a very grey life.
I can see your name pop up, and I can't bring myself to click it. You're happy now, you stopped drinking and started living healthier, and I can't ever drag you back to where you were.
I do hope I'll hear from you though. Maybe hang out, mix a drink and play some Puzzle League or run a dungeon, like we used to.
Live long, and live well.
Leo
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-06T00:29:03
| 27
| 13
|
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.
|
"Really?" I asked in wonder, as I prepared the needle for the latest mark.
"Yep." was the simple response.
I'd wondered for a long time the meaning, but I had no idea why until today.
"Wow," I replied, still shocked, "You must be very talented..." He nodded again as I trailed off.
"Every time. Just gotta get that son of a bitch Mew now, and I've caught them all."
|
"Brooke, he's here again." my assistant informed me. I took a look at the way he's looking and there it is, my favorite customer.
I never really got the chance to ask him why but every couple of weeks, without fail, he comes here just to get inked with a tic to add on his almost-covered right arm of endless other tics. I've always thought, because based on his appearance he looks like he's still kind of young and we're on the same age, it was just for "aesthetic" or whatever hipster thing the kids call it nowadays. But this-- this is getting ridiculous. It's been three years since he made it a habit to come to my shop.
He did his usual thing, with a frown plastered on his face, he took a seat without a word, closed his eyes and waited for the needle to make contact with his skin. I needn't even to say a word for he will just answer me with a nod or a shrug so what's the point. I already know what I should do, given those three years. And after getting inked he will pay, let me keep the change if there's any, and leave the shop without a trace. Then I go on with my normal life.
But this time, I decided to give my life a little spice.
After he left, I told my assistant to manage the shop while I'm out, and then hurried outside to see where the customer went. Without him noticing, I followed him until he stopped on a cafe. But it seems like he still isn't where he wanted to be.
"Adam, you've done it again. You need to stop this." I saw someone approaching him, holding out his right arm and examining it. "Riley won't like the idea of you hurting yourself."
"But I deserve this." I heard Adam reply. "I never felt her hurt. I was dense. I was never there for her when she needed me. I deserve to feel her hurt."
"Look it wasn't your fault that Riley was hurting. Besides, you were the only one who truly understood her--"
"But never fully! You see? I wasn't even good enough to know why she took her own life. I never knew her that deep! I wasn't trustworthy for her."
"Adam, you know that's not true!" the woman sighed. "You have to move on, Adam. I may not know Riley that much but I know that's what she wants for you."
Adam walked away.
| 2016-07-09T18:17:55
| 2016-07-09T09:19:24
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] Instead of the oceans covering the earth, forests are in its place, making it possible to walk from continent to continent. Like oceans, it gets deeper and darker and creatures get more aggressive and rarer to see. You are tasked to document a trek through one of the oceans of your choice.
|
*Journal of Julian Jhonathan Orston, September 1st 1844*
At present time, I, and my expedition's crew are ten kilometers from the British coast, preparing to make our descent into the Gaian Wood. The goal of this expedition is twofold; to determine the feasibility of a terrestrial traverse from Greater Britannia to the new world, and to study the flora and fauna of the hitherto unplumbed depths. I myself will be assisted by my colleagues from the Royal British Transport Commission in charting paths from mercantile convoys. Joining us in this endeavour is a team from the University of Edinburgh, directed by Charles Darwin, who seeks to document species, yet undiscovered, in the tenebrous depths. Additionally, our contingent is supported by some two-hundred men and three sixty-meter carriers. Airships will support us for the first hundred kilometers of our voyage, carrying what supplies they can to lessen the burden upon our own, limited, stock. Our stock should be sufficient to feed our number for some three months, however, should food and water be procurable in sufficient quantities during the traverse, our expedition could continue indefinitely.
The comment has been made to the effect that a three month supply is excessive. Indeed, the airships of our Royal Fleet can make the journey to the new world in a matter of weeks. However, the airship flies at a consistent altitude in direct transit, we must descend an unknown distance into uncharted territory. Unaware of what awaits us, we must be prepared for inevitable detours, as an impasse will surely befall us in due time.
We depart in Her Majesty's graces, and in high hopes. Time only, will tell how long these spirits may be sustained.
*September 2nd, 1844*
Today, the airships departed us. Delays were suffered as the tethers caught upon the dense lower canopy. Many hours were devoted to carefully extricating the cables from the tangled branches so as not to bring the airships crashing down upon us.
We now depart in earnest, leaving behind our comforts and trepidations for the adventure that awaits below. We expect it will take several days to reach the known borders of our exploration. Though others have surely ventured deep into the unknowable expanse, we shall be the first to properly and officially document our progress.
While our surroundings are not yet unfamiliar I shall take time in leisure to document the specifics of our expedition. Recent developments are what have driven our expedition. It is known that air pressure increases as one delves deeper into the unkown. Past a certain depth, the increased abundance of necessary compounds in the air allows trees to assume a greater size, this size, in turn, allows the trees to reach closer to the precious sunlight that sustains them. The result is a near total absorption rate of the sun's rays, and a near permanent penumbra on the forest floor. In the past, exploration had been constrained by the limited scope of flame torches and oil lamps. Today, with the advent of the electric dynamo and incandescent bulb, our light may reach as far as we need it. Our carriers have, themselves, been outfitted with great lights that shine as daylight in the most obscuring conditions.
Though, now I wish to rest, perhaps tomorrow I shall write of our carriers, great behemoths of steel and steam that carry us in safety on our voyage.
*September 6th, 1844*
We have now passed into the uncharted areas of the Gaia, the penumbra is permanent and our electric torches are lit in perpetuity. The terrain is much unchanged in grade or nature, our carriers have no trouble pushing through the scarce underbrush, pushing trees aside as necessary. Charles, with whom I am now well acquainted, has noted no great aberrations in the wildlife, though he has taken several specimens to be sure.
Only time will tell what may befall us in the strange locale.
*September 10th, 1844*
Today marked the beginning of our hardships, and the beginning of our true work. At an estimated distance of two hundred kilometers from the coast from whence we came, the terrain has become much less even, our advance is often halted by sheer cliffs and great rockery. Charles has begun to note distinct differences in the native fauna. Birds have given way to flying mammals, similar to bats but Charles assures me that they are indeed different. Reptiles are scarce, unsurprising to even an amateur of biology such as myself. The general appearance of the land is one of stillness, winds are so hampered by the tall trees that scarcely a thing stirs in the darkness. Trees upon trees are illuminated by our lamps, the native creature unperturbed by the glaring beams. Sight is not a common incidence for these darkness dwellers.
*September 15th, 1844*
The grade of our descent becomes ever steeper, our advance is crawling to a halt as we encounter new obstacles at every turn. I fear my frustration will wear me thin before our expedition is not yet half done. To alleviate this I have begun charting a geographical map to supplement our topographical charts of the area. Charles is, of course, unaffected by the delays. He revels in the discoveries of his field.
He recently told me of the peculiar quandary faced by life in these climes. It appears that sight is a forgone sense, with little use it has disappeared from the region. In stead, creatures have contrived some manner of sensitivity to body heat. Predators and prey alike seek the telltale warmth of living flesh to direct their instinct to fight or flight. This in turn gave rise to a class of creatures with thick fur, reminiscent of mammalian origins, but with the remarkably low body temperature of reptiles. Charles is afuss over whether these creature are members of a new class of animal life.
Several of the predatory species seem to have evolved tusks with which to run through their prey. If you could imagine a wild boar the size of a dog with the long bristles of a porcupine you would have a fairly complete image of the usual predators of the land. All herbivores are much like rodents, subsisting on the bark of the ever present trees with their large incisors. Rats of varying sizes are the single most populous species we have yet to observe.
*September 17th, 1844*
A crewman is dead, Richard James O'Donnel has lost his life in this strange land. May his memory remind us of the danger in the unknown.We have only just observed what must be the apex predator of the present ecosystem. Whether it only resides in these deeper climes or whether they have been stalking us for days and evaded notice is yet unclear.
With progress slow, we opted to allow the crew a measure of "shore leave" a chance to leave the carriers and stretch our legs on the solid earth beneath us. Though the crew are reminded to be careful in these periods, it is clear that concern for one's safety had long slipped as a priority for our expedition.
We, strangers in these parts, must be quite curious to the heat sensitive members of the ecosystem. Moving about in these great behemoths of a heat that must be near blinding in its intensity to their senses. We ourselves must stand out as moths about a lamp with our hot mammalian blood.
It is then, no surprise, that one of our number found himself the victim of a singularly surprising and vicious attack. The assailant, was recounted to have resembled a panther, with a sleek black coat and lithe body. It sprung from the shadows and viciously mauled a crewman who had ventured too far from the reach of the carrier's lights. His mates rushed to return for weapons from the carrier's armory. Once they had returned to the area of the attack, they set about searching for the beast only to find the mangled corpse of their fallen friend. The body bore several deep wounds, Charles intimated to me that the creature likely sports aggressive incisors that allow it to tear the flesh from its prey. The claws it used to grab the corpse of the unfortunate crewman appear to be opposable, capable of gripping the terrain and manipulating a catch.
More must be known of these creature before I can sleep soundly again. We have made stop to allow time for the crew to recuperate their spirits. Traps are being placed and baited, we hope to make more discoveries before we make move again.
|
"Do you know what's in the darkness out there? Do you know how horrible they say the monsters are? Do you know?" Says the old woman.
"Yes, mom, I know, but it's important. More people have walked on the moon than have gone to where I'm going. We have to know what's out there."
***
Two years later, I regret my words. The horrors in these forests have killed my crew. I radio for help, but it doesn't get out. Satellite imagery can't locate me. I write letters to the family of the men that have died. I write my own letter to my mother and to my siblings. There are also my reports.
I do a quick inventory of my remaining supplies. I have 23 rounds for my rifle. Twenty-two rounds for my handgun. Climbing supplies to climb the trees, and a weather balloon that would not pierce the canopy nor carry me.
So, this is how the trek ends. I should have listened. This is how I will die, but I will climb first. From up there was where the screamers came from, remnants from the cretaceous period. The canopy was projected to be at 6000 feet. So, I climb. I can probably climb 2000 feet a day.
On the first day of climbing, I kill two forest newts. Much larger than their cousins, they are carnivorous. They are fast and dangerous. I have somehow climbed 2300 feet. I long for the sky, be it cloudy or sunny.
Day two the bats come out in full force. They are the size of a man, but you kill one and they will feed on their own. Animals out here are more beastly than I could ever imagine. The worst thing I've ever seen was two of my men being torn apart by these flying monstrosities. I finish at 4100 feet. I am almost there. I expect the screamers to be the last obstacle.
After the third day of climbing, I reach the canopy. My body hurts so much. The screamers fly over head. I didn't realize until now, but they are scavengers who feed on the dead and hunt the weak. Screamers circle around me. I start a fire up here, and they back off. I inflate the weather balloon and attach all of my letters and reports. The message is simple. Stay away. I try my satellite radio, but I only hear static. The balloon is off. The screamers leave it alone. I watch it go. I wave goodbye to it. I don't plan on climbing down. I may jump.
I spend a night above the canopy waiting for my radio to come to life, to crackle with a message. It doesn't. I watch the sunrise and watch the battery die. When the sun sets, I will jump. It will be one hell of a death. I watch the sun set and slip off the branch. The fall is beautiful, a welcome relief.
***
If you enjoyed this, I have more writing at r/nickkuvaas.
| 2015-10-25T11:25:12
| 2015-10-25T10:16:39
| 207
| 126
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all.
|
4 digits. For a moment, my degree in mathematics failed me, as I struggled to count the numbers before me. Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre. There was no mistake, though the existence of such a person...frightened me. My vision had always been right, as evidenced by the guilty looks on the minors' faces when I turned them out of the bar. I'd never had to kick someone out for being overage. But 5746 years was a lot of time, far before Anno Domini 1. Was he immortal? A god? Or some old guy with a superpower? I didn't know, and I definitely didn't trust the 'Age: 30' that his ID proclaimed. Maybe my powers had faltered this time. Maybe...
From behind, I saw another man slowly approach me, his IDs in his hands. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened in fear. I saw him whisper into the 4-digit-old man, with visible shock on both faces. That was when I saw the age of the newcomer. 5746.
I tried my best to suppress my shock, though I failed miserably. 1 was surprising enough, but 2? 2 men that had lived for the exact same time from so long ago? I was about to demand an explanation, but one of them beat me to it.
"Why are you 5746 years old?" he questioned, fear in his eyes. I opened my own wide. Could he read ages too? And was I...that old? No. That couldn't be right. I remembered my childhood, the photographic proof of my birh just 28 years ago. But they didn't seem to be lying, and the mention of that 4-digit number again was chilling. What kind of sick joke was my powers pulling? Or were they the ones pulling my leg?
"We've found another suspect, boss," one said into a walkie-talkie. The other drew a gun from his pocket, training the muzzle on my forehead. "What are you doing? You're-" I tried to explain, but he cut me off. "No more words, time traveller. We've waited long enough to catch you and your gang," he replied, smirking as a group of policemen appeared from the darkness. I felt the cool metal slide around my wrists, as I was forced towards the car. "Move!" one of them shouted. That voice...I seemed to recall. The cold handcuffs. The interrogation. Disjointed images flashes before my eyes, as they slowly became clearer, culminating in...
I knew now. But...why were they doing this? Was it a plot to throw of the police? "James!" I shrieked, to the man I'd once been partners in crime with. He chuckled, though I could tell it wasn't just for effect. I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the signature twinkle he gave when he condemned a foe to death. My other pal Aldrich stood by, his eyes conveying his helplessness. James' face wasn't one of friendliness anymore. It was one of animosity and hatred.
"Good riddance," I saw him mouth, as I was shoved into the car. As we drove off, I could still see him, as he advanced slowly towards Aldrich. I closed my eyes in cowardice, though I knew what would happen. What I had feared when I agreed to sacrifice my memories...it had all occured. There was no way back.
Even inside the driving car, I could hear the terrified screams. The circle of betrayal had been completed.
| 2017-09-01T23:43:36
| 2017-09-01T22:15:29
| 30
| 16
|
[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.
|
I think most people would have hurt feelings about getting "nothing" out of an inheritance.
For me, though... when I held that little packet of seeds in my hand, it took every fiber of my being not to break down sobbing in front of the attorney and my siblings.
Growing up, our mom was pretty... explosive, to put it nicely. It broke Grandma's heart to see us treated that way, so she would "kidnap" us as often as she could, to make sure we were safe. To make sure we were happy, and that we felt loved.
She took special care to make each of us feel like we were her favorite, but I'd like to think I actually was.
She and I used to spend *hours* in her garden.
While she was showing me how to pull weeds and aerate the soil, I was learning how to pay attention to detail, and have patience.
While she was teaching me where to plant different vegetables to optimize their nutrient absorption, I was learning about careful planning, and results/consequences.
While we were getting dirt all over ourselves, burning in the sun, and building blisters and callouses on our hands - she was teaching me the value of connecting with nature, and persevering with hard work despite hardship.
We spent hours talking about *everything*, and as I got older, the subjects grew more serious. It started with 'silly' things, like toys, makeup, cooking, school. Later, the conversations turned to morals, ethics, the difference between infatuation and love; the difference between spirituality and religion... I learned all my best "life hacks" from her.
She might have been my grandma, but she was my *real* mom.
As I got older, life got busier. I spent less and less time in her garden. I'd make sure to call her as often as I remembered to, but it wasn't nearly enough. I know that now. It breaks my heart that I wasted so much time...
But whenever we *did* talk, and whenever I *did* visit, it always came back to gardening. It was easy to sink into a good conversation about which annuals she wanted to plant this year, or how much fertilizer prices have increased. She usually did most of the talking, but I was always perfectly okay with that.
When her health started to deteriorate, a dark pit grew in my stomach. I knew this was inevitable, but at this point in my life, she had always been there, and it felt like she always would be.
She was invincible, in my eyes. She never got sick; she always ate well, and was always a sturdy woman.
So when she started losing weight, when her eyes started to glaze over, when she started forgetting things more and more... I was watching her slip away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
We still talked. Sometimes, I'd have to gently remind her of what she had just been saying, or remind her I was in the room with her, but I needed every moment I could get with her.
My heart sank one day when she told me, point-blank,
"It's almost my time."
We had a painful, but necessary, conversation about life, death, regrets and nostalgia.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, she said something I'll always remember:
"Life is like a beautiful garden. There are some weeds, some pests, some bad weather - but there are also the flowers, the fruits and vegetables, the birds, bees, and sunshine. You build your garden. Let the weeds grow, dump garbage in it - you'll cheat yourself out of a good crop.
Stay on top of the weeds, and remember to stop and smell the roses once in a while. If you do that, by the end of your season, you'll have everything you'll ever need, and then some.
I've had a *good* season."
The conversation eventually turned towards her estate, financial planning, and burial plots. It wasn't the first time we talked about it, but it seemed to take on a different kind of urgency that time. A numbness washed over me, so I was able to keep a calm demeanor while we talked.
I cried the whole drive home that night, though, and the next morning, she was gone. My world was destroyed.
She wasn't a rich woman, so there really wasn't much to arrange. She gave all her savings to my little sister, with the condition that she used it for school. I know that meant everything to her. She's a smart kid, and she's gonna go far if she keeps making good choices.
My newly-married brother is expecting his first child in a couple of months. Money has been tight for them lately. When he found out he was getting the house, he called his wife, in tears, telling her everything was going to be okay; that they didn't need to worry about finding a bigger place anymore.
I was handed a letter with the packet of seeds. I waited until I got home to open it. I was already doing my best to not completely break down at the time, and I knew it would be game-over if I read it in front of them.
She wrote:
"To my dearest Cassie:
The sun is shining so beautifully through my window as I write this. I wish I could go outside today, but I'm afraid I can't quite get myself out of bed. I've been confined to this bed for a little while, now, but things aren't so bad.
Did you know that sunrise has always been my favorite part of the day? The mornings are always so crisp and beautiful, and it warms my heart to hear the birds chattering away through my window. There's a bluejay that likes to sit on the windowsill every once in a while. I've named him 'Perry.' I think you'd like him.
Perry doesn't come by on cloudy days; I wish he would. But even when the sunshine is missing, and my windowsill is empty, I still have joy.
*You* are my sunshine. I love all of you dearly, but I think I can confess now, that you were always my favorite.
I won't be able to plant these perennials this year, unfortunately. I was hoping maybe you could plant them for me.
What is that song you like? The one that goes, 'every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end?'
I never liked that song much, but that line is beautiful, because it's true. The old plants make way for and give life to the new ones, and the garden grows stronger with each season.
Take care of your garden for me, will you?
With all the love in the world,
- Grandma Vi."
My eyes are still red. My heart is still heavy. My world still feels empty.
But my sister is doing great in her classes, and my brother and his wife are starting to move their belongings into their new home.
The blackberry lillies in my garden are thriving.
I know she would be proud.
|
*A true story narrated by Wesley Bingham Gerhardt*
Gran was one of those old mysterious types and would probably have been condemned a witch in the early eighteenth century. She owned a large estate in some German wald where she spent the remainder of her days. I shouldn't say this, but I suppose I was her favorite grandchild, and I was, therefore, disappointed when all her money and the property went to my brother and sister. Bill, of course, would make good use of the money in one of his start-ups, and I'm sure Paula would find something creative to do in that estate. Still, that all I got was a packet of seeds, I felt betrayed.
I came straight back to my apartment, after the flight from Germany. After putting my daughter, Jo, to sleep, I took a hard look at the seeds. They looked like more like shriveled goat shit than gardening seeds. But a plant in the house seemed like a good remembrance for old Gran. Might have brightened up the place too, but boy was I wrong about that. I placed the seed in a pot of damp mud and went to bed.
My daughter woke me the next morning, shouting something I couldn't catch being drowsy and all. I could hear some clattering coming from the living room. I put on some pants and made my way there. Little wooden creatures were jumping about ripping up my designer cushions and playing frisbee with my Chinese crockery. Gran had mentioned them: They were called ents, forest guardians that were in essence trees with faces and limbs. And they had not brightened up the place.
I began to scream at them and they just laughed, so did Jo. And soon I was chasing them around like Smurfs in that movie. One of them jumped on to my shoulder and bit my ear. Then they decided to explore the city and jumped out the window in the concrete jungle. I decided that they were not my problem, and Jo and I got ready for the day. After I dropped her off at school, I made my way to my insurance agent.
My precious Chinese crockery was insured, you see, because I'm a smart lad. So it all was well for me. After all the pleasantries and small talk, I explained the state of bone china, excited to receive my money.
"Your policy doesn't cover juvenile tree people. I'm sorry, " he said, half laughing.
"Ents are sentient creatures with human souls. So they should be considered human, right?"
"Say they are, we would need proof of that these creatures did it"
I sighed. "If I brought you an ent, would give me my money."
"Sure."
I walked out of his office, aware of the smug grin spread across his stupid face. Just need to find one of those things. I looked at city news on my phone to learn that they had found some condo developer to harass. After a long metro journey and a trip up a posh elevator, I laid my eyes on the condo developer, who had a bunch of ents clinging on to him. There were a bunch of police officers too.
I search my memory for a phrase that Gran had told me would make angry forest folk docile. I shouted it out loud and the ents stared at me as infants stare at adults in conversation. They laughed as they began to race towards me and hump my legs. Apparently, I had muttered a call to mate. I shrugged at policemen and walked to the elevator. They had tired themselves out by the time we had reached the subway station.
Back at the insurance guy's place, I set down one sleeping ent on the office table, before the idiot began to poke it with a pen.
"W-well, I don't think we cover ent..."
"Listen here, I have an army of ents down in my car. If you value the tidiness of your office, you will give me my money."
"Yeah sure."
My good fortune that day revealed to me the value of those little critters. And soon, I was rich as...
*Wesley was arrested two years later for his vast number insurance scams. The ents were given to Paula Gerhardt where they would guard the sacred walls as their ancestors did many years ago. One of them became an environmental activist and is currently suing the president of the United States.*
| 2020-03-31T09:52:23
| 2020-03-31T07:19:24
| 48
| 29
|
[WP] You are a detective in 1890 Austria. The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge. You can't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child, let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was.
|
The heavy door creaked loudly as Agent Müller slammed the door to the dimly lit interrogation room. He was clearly having a hard time at that point and frankly, so was I.
The murder had been so callous. So brazen. The man had simply walked up to the baby and his parents in plain sight of the whole town and drove a knife straight through the baby's skull. There was no expression on his face as he presented himself to the nearest constable for arrest.
Even then, through the lingering cigarette smoke and the poor lighting of the underground interrogation pods I could make out a blank stare; the kind of expressionless demeanour that indicates that while his body was present, his mind was not.
What was it about that stare? That slightly cocked angle, the glossed over eyes I had seen infect some of my closest comrades during the wars against the French some 20 years earlier. But it was more than that.
It was that slight smile and not a happy smile either. It was the ominous grin of a madman. Someone insane and beyond help.
"He hasn't responded to anything at all. He's just sitting there staring at nothing."
Müller blurted out. His voice was calm but his tone betrayed his professionalism. He was getting angry and he clearly wanted answers sooner rather than later.
"I'll go in. Give me a couple minutes, let me try at least."
I was curious to get a closer look at this man, to see if I could surmise anything by sheer proximity to this murderer.
"If you think you can get him to talk. The agents that processed him found this notebook in his bag, by the way. The text is written in English. We have a linguist from the university coming to examine it as soon as he can be reached. Seems like the piece of shit was taking notes on his victims. We only looked at a couple of pages though... "
His voice trailed off as he yawned and reached for his hip flask. I turned and I entered the room and closed the door to the all-familiar creak. The suspect didn't give any indication he knew I was there. If it were not for the sweat beading down from his closely shaved head, I would have said his body wasn't present enough to understand the environment it was currently in.
He wore a plain grey long sleeve shirt and a darker grey pair of pants. Both of these articles sat weirdly on the man, revealing his muscular shape. They were clothes I had never seen before, or at least they were styles that I was unfamiliar with. They seemed simple and designed to be minimalist and practical. His pants contained pockets on each leg and while they were not tight against him, they were certainly form fitting.
I sat down at the table across from him, hoping to meet his gaze. The wooden chair squeaked as I pulled myself in closer and I folded my hands together on top. He continued to stare blankly, unnerving grin completely unchanged. I found myself staring back at him, pondering what I should open with. Minutes ticked by as I began to get deeper and deeper in to my own thoughts. I was almost staring as blankly as the man across the table before I realized he was looking straight at me now.
My blood ran cold as I tried not to look startled. His expression went from completely gone and child-like to a sort of intensity that made me uncomfortable. I was trying to work up the courage to say something when suddenly he asked me a question in a low but clear voice.
"You are Agent Josef Eisler, correct?"
I was stunned. I fumbled for words before he repeated himself.
"You are Agent Josef Eisler, born May 1852 in Grieskirchen, Austria. Correct?"
I could not believe what I had just heard.
That murderer, this strange man with the blank stare and dark grin had just said my name and the place of my birth. Although he had not said very much, his German accent sounded Bavarian. I strongly desired to ask this man many questions: how did he know my name and where I was born? Why had he murdered a baby in front of his parents? Why did he carry a note book written in coded English? I cleared my throat and suppressed a shudder.
"Who are you?"
I wasnt sure what to ask so I figured names might be a good place to start.
"Who I am is unimportant."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because what happened today wasn't about me."
"Well then who was it about?"
He paused for several seconds, clearly aware that his next words would carry weight.
"It was about all of humanity."
The mans' voice changed audibly for a brief second. There was something painful behind that claim and I was eager to know what. I had to remind myself that while he had shocked me at first with his creepy knowledge of the intimate details of my childhood, he was still a confessed murderer. I saw him look down and saw an opening to pry a little bit.
"The parents, Mr and Mrs, uh, Hitler; do you think they share that same opinion?"
He averted my gaze now and was becoming slightly more agitated, although I could see him actively controlling his breathing. He didn't answer my question so I repeated it.
"Do you think the pare-"
"Open my note book."
I was taken aback by the sudden change of conversational direction but I played along.
"Any page in particular?"
"57"
I opened the notebook to page 57. A feeling that had become chillingly familiar that day creeped up my spine. I couldn't read most of the text but some was obvious; a picture of me and my home, my height, my weight, the fact that I'm Jewish. All of it was on this book. I saw the name of my wife interspersed throughout and even more worryingly, the name of my mistress. This was a detail few people were even aware of, let alone keeping notes on.
"What is this?"
The man had become completely relaxed and leaned forward on the table, hands clasped. He spoke in a low voice that was urgent but concise.
"This is information on your life. What you've done, what you're doing and even what you will do."
"Will do? As in, the future that hasn't happened?"
"Yes".
I was completely paralyzed. This couldnt be happening. How was any of this real? The adrenalin pushed the ice through my veins as I looked at the words on my page.
After a few minutes of silence, the man leaned in further yet and began to talk in a voice that was almost a whisper.
"The baby. His pages are 5 through 31."
I was slightly puzzled. At 38 years of age and a successful stint in the Prussian military, I had compiled barely enough to fill one page of this mans book.
"Why does a baby have that many pages?"
The mans piercing eyes met my own gaze and he spoke very matter-of-factly.
"Because evil paints a vivid and detailed picture, Mr Eisler."
|
We get about five of them every month now. Some come armed with knives, some with strange revolvers. Some bring only their bare hands and hubris. All of them are looking for the boy.
The most unnerving thing is that we can't figure out where they're coming from. For all intents and purposes, they seem to appear out of thin air.
It's no use asking these foreigners for documents, of course. Most of them can't even understand German. They just stare at you blankly, or else produce an obviously forged passport. The birthdate is always wrong, and sometimes the country doesn't even exist.
At first the Hitlers were terrified. Who wouldn't be? Gradually, however, they've adapted to this way of life: the 24-hour patrol outside their hut, the escorts through town. They assumed everything would be easier once Klara had the baby, but the threats only escalated.
It hasn't exactly been easy on the department either. "There's too many resources squandered on that one family," said the chief at our meeting yesterday, "Even if he does see his first birthday, that kid's going to be looking over his shoulder every day for the rest of his life. It's just not worth it." The chief has a knack for stating what everybody feels, but never dares to say. Perhaps that's why he's the chief. Or maybe he can only be so bold *because* he's the chief.
For my part, I can't agree. Alois Hitler is a good man and a better friend. We grew up together, and our wives are as close as sisters. If anything were to happen to Klara and Alois, I've already sworn I'd raise the child as my own. One thing's for certain, though: we'd definitely have to change his name.
| 2015-03-30T01:09:11
| 2015-03-30T00:55:12
| 126
| 16
|
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait...
|
At first we didn't understand how it was possible, 90% of the population just dropped dead and no one knew how, there must be a reason those of us that survived were given the right to keep on living but what could it be...
We searched for a connection between us yet it seemed to be as random is it can be until we finally arrived at the conclusion, we all forwarded that one chain message that said we would die if we wouldn't forward it
|
Eleazar could not speak the language well, being a foreign man on American soil. But there were many other things for him to be grateful of on this occasion. For one, though his suit jacket had been folded and packed into his black Google branded backpack, Mountain View was a cool enough city to allow him to comfortably search the neighborhood in his button-up shirt, slacks, and suit vest. He strode across a yard, and sized up the last house on this rich, beautiful street.
A woman’s corpse was at the front door. A bag of groceries in a reusable bag were beside her, and keys clutched in her dead hand. Eleazar pitied her, of course, but was also relieved because he would not have to break a window, or hammer down the door in order to search the house. His breath quickened as he heard a peal of laughter, and with renewed urgency, he tested the keys in the door until he found a match, and entered the hall.
A child sat, alone, on a wide leather sofa in the large living room. A device, an iPad, played some colorful video for her. She seemed versed enough in technology that she found battery sticks to attach to the tablet, as she would not have had enough electricity in the last 29 hours to keep it going indefinitely. Cookie and cracker and juice packages were piled in the trash can, and only toys were strewn around the floor.
“Hi.”. Eleazar crouched low to the ground, though his back cracked with the effort. He smiled anyway, and let the girl look over him and fully consider him.
“You didn't knock.”
So he took a step back towards the hallway, and knocked his knuckles against the hardwood floor. “Hello?”
“Who’s that?”
“I’m Elea.” He smiled gently to her. “May I come in?”
She was a little flustered - maybe the adults she knew never indulged her demands so much. “Yeah.”
“Are you Kim?” he asked. He was very sure she was, because there were plaques of her with her name on some of the shelves, some for soccer, some for little Daisy Scout awards. She nodded.
“Would you like to see friends?” He asked. He had no children, but did have (had?) headstrong nieces and nephews, who demanded to be treated like adults with choices. Kim nodded again, and quickly started grabbing up some of the things around her - a school workbook, the iPad and batteries, a hairbrush.
Eleazar packed as well - found some still-good fresh food in the warm refrigerator, and some bread and canned food. He hated feeling like a thief, but he also could not let resources go to waste. Kim looked finished, and he took her hand to lead her away.
“Wait!” She seemed to remember something, and ran into another room. Eleazar followed, and found himself in a rich, sun-lit home office, with a powered-off computer and walls of books. On the floor was a congress of blonde plastic dolls. There were 9 sitting in a semi-circle, facing the big maple desk.
“You were playing?” Eleazar asked, speaking as slowly and simply as he could. The tiny girl nodded as she found a bright pink bag, and carefully organized her plastic dolls in them, so that all of the doll heads faced up, and could breathe.
“I’m the president, and they are my helpers.” After she felt the dolls were secure, she looked back at the room, particularly at the computer. Some doubt crossed her face, and she looked up at Eleazar. “I haven't seen Dad, or Nana.”
Were he talking to an adult, he could have given her a straight answer. But he had looked at the walls, the books, to glean some kind of insights about Kim’s parents. A NASA plaque and highly theoretical math books in one cabinet, and books on languages and foreign treasures on the other. So he said, honesty, “I do not know. But we can look.”
He did not go through the front door, though he locked it from the inside before seeking another exit. He found the back sliding doors and locked them after him, then offered Kim a piggyback ride. It was easy to distract her as he hurriedly moved through the front yard, because a helicopter flew in the distance above, and didn't give the girl cause to look back at her dead Nana at the door.
“Where we going?” she did ask, as they turned out of the street.
“There is…”Eleazer struggled for the words, “a flying cloth, in yellow. Could you look for it for me?”
The task made the girl brighten, and she straightened up and looked over his bald head with more keenness. He knew where he was going, of course, but the girl still shrieked minutes later when she saw the yellow flag flying over the fire station, a pleasant five block walk from her house. When Kim spied a local child playing in front of the firehouse, she squirmed and complained, until they were close enough that Eleazer felt secure in letting her down and letting her run the rest of the difference.
Besides the young children playing in the firehouse driveway, there was a teenage boy studiously organizing cots and sleeping bags in the main hall, and some elderly adults organized at a circular table, passing papers between them and hotly discussing the management of the town, given the current situation. Who was to mind the orphaned children, in the long term? Would it do to tear up the parks to make gardens, or would the food infrastructure in the rest of the state hold? What duties should the remaining police and fire officers hold, and would payment be enough to motivate them?
He was distracted by the spirited debate such that he didn’t recognize a familiar voice until it had called for him twice from the chief’s desk.
“Mister Bayu?” A woman looked at him, her forehead creased with concern.
“I apologize, Ms. Lopez, I didn’t hear you.” He smiled in apology as he approached the desk, but then gestured to the girl and her council of dolls. “I found Miss Kim.”
The woman gasped, and looked past him to confirm. “Thank God. And thank **you**." She stood up and shook Eleazer’s hand. Lopez dressed casually now, but still squeezed his hand just as firmly as ever. “You have your own concerns, but you have helped us so much.”
“There is not so much I can do. You have done much to help me, and I am happy to help yours.” He handed Lopez the keys to Miss Kim’s house, and she made a note of them before putting them in a safe box. The food he placed on the desk.
He hitched his corporate Google backpack up on his shoulders - it was a gift from Ms. Lopez herself, from earlier in the week, from when he met with her team and discussed the possibility of partnering with his relatively modest information network company back home in Gondar. He didn't know if he could continue to call himself the CEO, though he did, in his heart, doubt there would be anything of his company left if he returned.
She turned to a map of the neighborhood, hanging from the wall, and held a yellow highlighter to it. “Can I strike off Cornell Drive?”
“Yes. I will try the last block.”
She touched his shoulder, before he had the chance to turn away. "Wait. The Caltrain to San Jose will run tonight, at 8. Then it is a short walk to the airport. They are trying to organize enough pilots and fuel to get people to their homes.” She spoke with authority, but then again, nearly everyone left did. “I doubt they can take you as far as Africa right now, but perhaps New York, or Georgia?”
He smiled, grateful she would be so considerate of him, even when she herself was in need. “Thank you. But I am not so much in a hurry, and would prefer to be of use.”
Lopez looked at him, perhaps measuring him, but then just nodded and let him be. She then turned back to her work, communicating with other volunteers via her radio. Curfew would be at sunset, and everyone would return here and plan for the following day. But before then, he wanted to search the last houses in the neighborhood, and make sure no other children had been left alone.
Perhaps, after he finished with his immediate duties, and electricity and water systems were properly reestablished, he would ask the elders if he could lead the effort to build gardens. He loved to help, of course, but his hands itched for something of his own to shape and build once more.
| 2016-10-22T03:50:18
| 2016-10-22T03:39:15
| 56
| 29
|
[WP] You fail to realize that your favorite restaurant is actually a front. One day you decide to try that one weird entree that you keep overhearing others order.
|
Alfredo’s Legitimate Italian Cuisine was my go to spot when I was craving some real authentic Italian food. I mean, seriously, their bolognese sauce was to die for. Perfectly seasoned, made with quality wine, minced beef, and extra virgin olive oil imported right from Italy itself.
The atmosphere was what really made the dining experience. The kitchen staff were all Italian, for one thing, a real family run business. The chef was always drunk, the waiters barely spoke English, and the dining area was always dimly lit by candlelight. It’s what I imagined a real Italian dining experience must be like.
I was glad to see that candle light as I waked in, too. It was the end of a long work week, and now I just wanted to relax with a bowl of pasta and some relaxing ambiance. I waved to the hostess and she waved back as I took my usual seat in a corner booth. The wooden seating wasn’t that great, but I didn’t mind.
“Ah, you’re back.” My waiter said, walking up to the table. “What’ll it be?”
What indeed? Ravioli would hit he spot, but so would a bowl of spaghetti... though, there was something else I’d been meaning to try. There was a dish, it wasn’t on the menu, but I’d heard some of the other regulars order it. I never bothered asking about it, I didn’t want to seem like a dummy. I mean, everyone seemed to know about it but me. Tonight was the night, though. “I’ll have He Saturday night special.”
The waiter raised an eyebrow at me. “You will?”
“Yes.” I said confidently.
“Yes?” He glanced around briefly. “I see, and how spicy?”
“Oh, mild is fine by me.” I said. I didn’t want to give myself indigestion.
“Gotcha.” He made a note on his order pad. “Anything else?”
I wondered briefly if I would even like this mystery dish, whatever it was, “an order of garlic bread, too.” I said. If I didn’t like it, I could always fill up on bread.
He nodded, and went back into the kitchen.
I waited, excited to try whatever mystery dish seemed to be the favorite of all the locals. Something really, extra authentic, I bet.
The waiter returned in short order, with a big brown paper bag. He set it on the table, and walked away before I could ask him what was up. I hadn’t ordered to go... maybe that was what the Saturday night special was, a meal to go?
He hadn’t offered me a bill, though. That was strange. The prices here were very reasonable but they weren’t that good. I took my bag, the scent of roasted garlic wafting out, and walked up to the front. I was going to ask the hostess what was up, but before I could say a word she just nodded at me. “Have a good night, sir.”
“I, uh, thank you.” I said. I realized what was going on here... they were letting me have it for free! They must have appreciated my regular business, maybe they liked me as a customer as much as I liked them. I did always leave a good tip. “Have a good night.” I said cheerfully.
I went back to my car, and opened the bag. There was my garlic bread, and an aluminum to go tray under it. I took it out, and removed the lid... there was no food in it. Just an envelope, and a gun.
“Ooooh.” I said out loud to myself, smacking my forehead. “Saturday night special, I get it.” I laughed. No wonder it wasn’t on the menu. Boy, was this embarrassing.
In any case, I checked that the gun was loaded, and put the address into my phone’s GPS. It was fortunate that I was a serial killer, and Alfredo’s made amazing garlic bread.
|
"Jack, I'll have the pub burger extra rare, no bacon. I'm on a diet."
"Yes sir" Replies the waitress. I believe her name is Elizabeth. She is always my favourite server. I found O'Flannigan's Pub when I first moved to the city and it’s been my local watering hole and eatery since I first ate here five years ago. I always found it peculiar how everybody calls every one "Jack". I started noticing this a few months back. I figured that it was just an Irish thing, maybe after JFK. After I noticed this, I discovered a few more interesting things about the pub.
The people were in LOVE with the burgers. Now, I’m an on again, off again vegetarian but these people always ordered burgers. But they came with very specific directions. I would hear, “Jack, I’ll have the pub burger, lettuce on the side” or “Jack, I’ll have a pub burger, ketchup on the bottom bun”. I can understand being pernickety on food choice, but that in particular? It was time I got to the bottom of it. After all, I am a loyal customer! And I enjoy having a little adventure in my life.
“Here you go sir, just as you ordered” Elizabeth replied.
Next to my order, loaded up with bacon and buns soaked with cow juice, was a note. It read: “Eat three bites, exit out the back, the car is waiting”.
I have a bad feeling about this, but I am too damned curious to find out what’s going on here.
After I eat my three bites I exit out the back. Elizabeth didn’t seem too phased by me not paying. She just nodded knowingly. I really wish I knew what about.
In the alleyway a black car is waiting for me. The door is open and I can’t see through it. A voice calls me inside.
“So… I like your guts. You must really want to prove yourself to the family” a gruff Irish voice tells me. “We haven’t had a hit like this in… a generation at least”.
“I… what?” I stammer.
“Don’t play dumb. I heard your message clear. So what is your plan? Bomb the station? Or do you have a particular cop you want to take care of?”
I think I am in way over my head. I just wanted the special.
“Now you do this job, and you’re in with the family. You got that, Jack? We are watching you. Now get out and don’t come back until you finish the job.”
I am kicked out of the car as it speeds off. I look up into the night sky and wonder how I got into this mess. There’s no way I can join the Irish mob. Besides, I’m Italian!
| 2018-03-30T09:54:09
| 2018-03-30T09:08:30
| 53
| 30
|
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
|
“This is really bad.”
“Diplomacy at its finest.”
“Would somebody help me out here?”
“She’s of a psionic race. They read thoughts.”
“Remind me not to play poker with her.”
“Funny.”
“This is not my fault.”
“She looked at you and started screaming and pointing.”
“I have that effect on women.”
“Yes, but usually only at last call.”
“I still think this is less my fault than everyone else does.”
“They induced a coma to make her stop screaming.”
“I didn’t induce the coma.”
“Only the screaming.”
“Allegedly.”
“What were you thinking about anyway?”
“I can’t get that baby shark song out of my head.”
|
"Aaaaaauuugh!" Rang out Fuerbors' agonized scream, "Gwaaah! Urrrrrgha! Hooooooow!" He raved on. Harold Barlett the first human Ambassador to the human race was on his knees next to Fuerbor the Ambassador to the polflongs' a race of blue/green squid-esque people.
"Ambassador Fuerbor? What's wrong?! Someone get him medical help!" Harold yelled! "Quickly! He is in pain!" Harold shouted. Within a minute medical personnel were hoisting Fuerbor onto a hover stretch and starting first aid. "Your mind! So full! Soooo complicated!" Fuerbor screamed in agony, "Ambassador what are you talking about?" Harold asked in confusion. Harold reached out a hand to Fuerbor in hopes of comforting his fellow ambassador but Fuerbor writhed at his touch, his screaming intensifying tremendously. "Please Ambassador Bartlett, stand back!" Said one if the medics. They rushed him off, his caterwauling dying off as the doors to the chamber slid shut.
"Ssssuch a ssssshame..." hissed Caldarc a snake like ambassador from Drouga, "Fuerbor wassss a good entity, a real Polflong among Polflong." He hissed reverently. "What happened to him?" Harold asked, concern visible on his now pale face. "You didnt know?" Caldarc inquired "Polflong are pssssionic, he tried to read you mind." He explained. "You mean h-he's telepathic?" Harold said in disbelief. "Of coursssse, asssss are my people, Polflong are expert readerssss, even while converssssating with othersss." Caldarc explained to Harold. "So when he read my mind it hurt him? But how!?" Harold queried with no understanding of telepathy. *Caldarc sighed* "You human people are a very interessssting sssspeciesss. Your mind conssssstantly buzzing with mental activity. He ssssshould have tethered hissssself to your forethoughtssss to not get lossst in your head." Caldarc spoke, somewhat condescendingly. "You mean my thoughts were to much for him to sort through?" Harold asked. "That issss exactly what I am ssssaying." Hissed Caldarc "He will be okay though. He managed to pull himsssself out on hisssss own. Nothing a few rotationssss in the infirmary wont fix. Worry not Ambassador. But pleasse, I implore you... next time, clear your mind before ssssspeaking to another being, it'ssss the polite thing to do."
| 2019-09-29T21:58:03
| 2019-09-29T18:06:35
| 233
| 119
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.
|
"It's such a nice day for a drive, don't you think so honey?" He talked to his wife, eyes on the never ending country road in front of them. She was quiet. Taking a long side glance, he saw her eyes closed, soundly asleep in the passenger seat.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you sleep? You look so graceful, almost like Snow White." He remarked, his proud smile spreading wider on his cheeks.
Howard always loved morning drives with his wife. Their first date was a drive along the country roads surrounding their city. Their honeymoon was car camping in every province of Canada. Their company debut was celebrated with a long drive after the party to the harbour for a romantic picnic under the moon. He smiled at the nostalgia that filled his mind. Wouldn't it be great if this could last forever?
His eyes swelled with tears as the thought of the company came to mind. Their advertising company debuted over thirty years ago, on the same day as their wedding anniversary. It was almost like a gift from Howard to his wife, a dream she's always had finally coming true. Business was excellent until the recession hit. He remembered it well; employees were being docked, clients dropped them as means to save, their bank account slowly decreasing and finally, the bankruptcy of their company. They owed millions in debt and are still trying to pay it off even ten years later. They've scrounged and saved but nothing seemed to be helping. In the end, they've lost it all.
Making a short turn, he stopped the car close to the cliff overlooking Scarborough Bluffs. The seagulls were calling, the waters were waving and there were even some people on the beach just a few hundred meters below. He sighed at the rising sun brightening the waters and giving the sand a warm orange hue. If only life was as beautiful as this view. Getting back into the car, he noticed his wife's eyes still closed. Turning the ignition on and shifting the gear to drive, he placed his foot gently on the gas and watched as the car drove closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. On the way down, he looked over at his wife and said;
"If only you were alive to see the view before we- *CRASH*
Edit: Wrote this in the morning. And edited some things... like how a car works and Ontario being a province of Canada -_-
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T06:38:29
| 1,143
| 47
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
The time has come to say farewell,
I doubt I'll do it very well.
The skills involved I lack you see
They, like my life, were not to be.
I'll miss the sky, the purple tree, my last blue pie, my last high tea
I will not cry, I will not try, I will not swim, I will not fly
I never could, I never should,
death comes soon,I hoped it would.
I draw my last and gasping breath,
green eggs and ham will bring my death
this note I leave for all to see,
life goes on, but not for me
|
I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting
| 2015-01-17T09:07:52
| 2015-01-17T04:21:47
| 29
| 15
|
[WP] Time slows down for you when you are in danger. The greater the danger, the more time you have to work things out. A terrible car accident once gave you almost a minute to react. Time has nearly stopped for you for subjective months now, and you still don't know why.
|
I first noticed the strange lag in time when I was ten and my mother was driving my brother and me home from soccer practice. She was frustrated with our baby sister’s wailing over a dropped pacifier, my brother was crabby and refusing to just get it for her. My mother in a rush of frustration let go of the wheel with one hand and twisted, reaching back for the pacifier. Then she stopped.
Everything stopped.
I recalled looking around, seeing the truck that was just a foot away from my door, my mother in her exasperation accelerating through the green light without looking and the truck having not noticed the red. My brother and I both seated to the right, directly in the path of the silver F150. I sat frozen, watching as the man behind the wheel realized in increments what was happening, as my mother’s face turned and her mouth opened in horror, as my brother looked to her and started to turn his head.
Then just like that, time had snapped back and the truck had smashed into us with the ferocity of a tornado. I will never unhear that shriek of the metal. My mother and my sister had survived the impact – mom with a broken arm and pelvis, little sister scratched by the flying glass. my brother had not. I had, of course, although not without harm.
In the years following, as I grew used to my prosthetic leg and got quite adept with it, I had noticed more and more of those long bouts of time hiccups. I had also gotten much better at sussing out the dangers they portended. I seemed to be a magnet for unfortunate events, truth be told.
So when time stopped two months ago, I had thought it would be momentary. Then, as time didn’t return, I began to worry. In fact, I began to panic. Then I began to get *bored*. With the world around me frozen in place I couldn’t light a fire to have a hot meal. A few efforts had ended with sparks hanging in the air. I couldn’t watch television. I couldn’t travel unless I could get there on foot or by bike. The Internet was silent.
Everything was silent.
It was a relief when finally, finally, the asteroid that had been creeping closer and closer to our planet unbeknownst to me impacted.
|
I walked through my normal mundane day to day routine; waking up, taking a shower, packing my lunch and going to school almost desperate for any kind of change. Finally I made it to the school bus and I was not in the most talkative mood so I mindlessly walked to the back of the bus not really paying attention to anyone around me. Finally the bus started as I starred out the window still half waking up being that I forgot my coffee this morning. But as I starred out the window I saw a man slowly walking passed the bus getting slower by the second as he reached in his pocket he had practically stopped before pulling out what I could only assume to be his phone.
Finally jolting out of my daze I realized this was going to be a bad situation, I have never seen time move this slowly before, so I jumped up from my chair and ran to look outside of the bus and could not see anything wrong; I checked under the hood, the wheels... but there was nothing. Anyways at this speed there is no way it only had to do with the bus. So I looked everywhere, I must have walked 20 miles checking everything in sight but there was nothing... it was useless to even try anymore, how would I ever find what was wrong by something at this intensity.
I walked home and the bus had barely moved a centimeter. I rolled my eyes as I went in my house and drank some coffee. Realizing everything was going to be gone soon enough I went and enjoyed my last time on earth. It was impossible to know how much time I had left; could be years while everyone else probably had seconds.
After months of doing what ever I wanted I returned to the bus still looking as if it hadn't moved. I went in and messed around with the mean kids on the bus, I know it was mean in that they would die in seconds but I mean its been months I was bored out of my mind. I looked out the window and saw that man who was walking by had managed to pull that item half way out of his pocket but he was not looking forward anymore... no his face was turned towards where I was sitting with a sick possessed smile resting on his sad frozen face...
I ran out side and pulled it out of his pocket, it was a trigger and his thumb was seconds even in my time away from pushing it, I pulled it away from his sad miserable fingers as I glared into his eyes... but as all time maintained stopped the man caught my hand and turned his head towards me and laughed...
| 2017-06-28T10:50:57
| 2017-06-28T09:49:35
| 77
| 39
|
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
"And he signed it?"
"Aha"
"Knowing fully well that he would be selling his soul"
"Yup"
"For a lunch"
"Yes"
"A bag with a tuna salad sandwich, two apples and a juice brick"
"You got it"
"Man, humans are dumber than I thought". The demon said very casually. "Well, not all humans" He gestured towards me. The demon held the piece of paper between his fingernails, barely touching it. "I actually don't know if it counts, but it's not that hard to test". With the fingers in which he held the stump of paper reading "Sell your soul to Devon, Signed Bradley", the demon snapped. The paper turned into a bright ball of fire before the fire took a new form. A 50-centimeter long piece of parchment, an official contract. A long section of text I didn't bother to read filled the page, and on the bottom of it, the signature. "Bradley Stevens".
"I guess it worked" the demon handed the slightly glowing paper to me. "That thing there contains the soul of Bradley Stevens. I looked at it, amazed. "What'll happen to me if I sell it?".
"What do you mean?"
"If I sell it. Doesn't that make me a bad person?"
"In the sense of the word, I guess".
"But does that mean I'll end up in hell when I die?"
"See kid, that's the thing. If you'd sold your soul to me, I'd probably had sold to Lucifer for a WAY higher price. You see, Satan doesn't own any soul that ends up in Hell, the human is still the owner of the soul, God just decided that they were in the minority of people that didn't deserve to go to heaven and were bad enough to deserve eternal punishment. So, he can't really do much more than punish them. But the souls he owns, he can use for so much. I can't really go into details, but trust me, he finds them very, very useful..."
"Wait, a minority of people go to hell?"
"Yeah, a minority, what did you think? That God sends the vast majority of his own creation to live in eternal pain and suffering?"
"That's kinda what the church has been teaching us".
"And you got my boss to thank for that. Anyways, Jesus died for your sins, remember? Getting into heaven nowadays isn't that hard. The worst is probably that you have to actually walk through the gate to heaven which is painful for a second, and the pain is based on how sinful you were in your life".
"But, does that mean I'll end up in heaven?"
"Yeah kiddo. The gate might be slightly more painful than the average Joe, but if someone willingly sold your soul to you, the big man upstairs ain't really gonna do much about it. It's a fair deal, he knew what he was doing when he sold his soul".
"huh."
The devil extended his hand towards me. "So, you gonna sell that to me?"
"Yeah" I replied as I handed him the piece of parchment. The second it was in the demon's" grasp, it lit on fire and became nothing
"Now, name your price..."
|
While waiting a dark and dingy lounge of the Demon Inc, I was thinking what my lawyer said "This might be valid contract that you own bully's soul, but whether you will be entitled to the benefits (tangible or intangible) coming out of deal with the demon is debatable. The law is not very clear on this. It might happen that Bully is actually true recipient of the benefits. Our legal system has always been scared of demons since they always bring bad luck, hence no concrete law has been made. It is generally left to the discretion of the demon to decide who is the real benefactor in such cases. However, the bully can always challenge you in the court and demons, historically, don't interfere because they feed on the agony and distress such court cases cause."
I was in deep thought on how will this meeting go? More important question was what should I ask for in return? I had some ideas but had to first gauge what CDO (Chief Deal Officer) of Demon Inc had in mind. What value did he see in the soul of a bully?
Suddenly, the announcement happened "token number 621, please proceed to the conference room 5". This was me. A chill went down my spine. I am only 12 years old and going to make my first ever deal that too with Demon Inc, the most notorious organization in the world. I was scared.
The conference room was dimly lit and on one end an old demon was sitting. He was just staring at me with a blank face. I just said hello and he directed me to sit on the chair across him.
He said "so young man, you are too young to forget the word of lord. Why so? Don't you have trust in your god or you are too young to understand his miraculous ways?"
I was not ready for this. I just wanted a simple trade which I was promised. I was not ready for a spiritual discussion. I said "I thought we were going to discuss what I will get in return for the soul. I already emailed the details and was told that this meeting is for negotiating final terms"
He laughed and said "Ofcourse young man. I was just trying to break the ice. I like how you want to get to the point so soon. Ok. So tell me what you want. You do know that I might allocate your wish to the true soul owner too, right? So don't be too greedy and be reasonable in your ask"
I nodded and felt uneasy at his mention of allocation of wish to the true owner. I was hoping that this point won't come during the discussion.
I cleared my thought and said "I want to be never bullied in my life. Nor me or any of my family members till eternity. I have had enough with my lunch money being taken away by these bullies. This needs to stop. So please grant me this wish and in return I offer you the soul of the worst bully I ever met in my life."
The CDO smiled at me and said "Don't you want to become bully too? I mean what's better than bullying the whole world?"
I got puzzled. I didn't think about this. But I also remembered that Demons play tricks. They trick you into bad things that can have adverse effect, so I said "No, after being at the receiving end of it, I have no intention of becoming a bully. I just want to be safe whole my life".
"Fair enough", the CDO got up and started walking in the room. He said "but you see this is not how things work. I am removing an obstacle from your life, in return I will have to add another obstacle in your life. Especially in your case, since I am not even getting your soul to torture or do whatever with it, it has to be a zero sum game. You understand that right?"
I nodded.
He continued, "this is precisely the reason that sometimes the benefits, in such kind of trade, are handed over to the true owner of the soul because that maintains the balance of the universe. So unless you opt for a sin or, to put it out mildly, agree for something bad to happen in your life, I can't agree to your demand."
I started thinking. What is not so important in life? Family, parents, friends, money, education, xbox, iPhone, health?
He figured that I was confused, so he said "You don't have to tell me right away. You can come back later and we can have one more meeting." But I didn't want to wait so I said "I want to be a bully. I don't want to lose anything in life. Fuck it. This is hard".
Before I could finish, I passed out on the floor and when I got up in the hospital few hours later, I had a signed agreement in my hand stating that "I, my family, and any of my offsprings will never be bullied till eternity. In return, I have agreed to become a bully for life. Since all the deals of Demon Inc are constitutionally required to have zero sum impact on the universe, my family and all my future offsprings will also be bullies."
I choked when I read that. I didn't agree to this. It was never disclosed to me. But it was too late. Demon Inc has not customer service and agreement can't be challenged in any court of law.
I was a bully now and we were a family of bullies. "Go fuck youself now!"
| 2021-03-27T03:50:30
| 2021-03-27T01:43:59
| 34
| 13
|
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
|
You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
|
My deepest cut? Easy. Upper right hip, curving from almost my navel to my asscrack. It's an unusual, but fortunately concealed, spot for me; usually I'm an arm guy, so my parents always dressed me in tshirts, for conveniences sake when asking if I'd done my homework. You'd think they'd have figured it out, after I was held back a grade...
But this chick. Now, I'm a man who knows what I like. Short, curly hair, sundresses, enough scars to show a wild side, few enough scars that I know I won't get a 'git-scar. Happened to one of my buddies once; after his girlfriend found out his "I'm not cheating on you" mark was hidden under his beard, she cut more than hair in taking it off. I told him dating a girl with skin textured like prairie grass was bad news, but he just couldn't resist the crazies. Birds of a feather, I suppose...
But back to this girl. She had it all. The dress. The hair. The... scar. Some chicks hide them, some showcase them. She was a shower, and damn, did she have a lot to show. The dress had to be custom tailored, for it framed and flattered the deep colors of the scar along her back perfectly. But other than that... flawless. Already I longed to stroke her smooth arms, kiss her milky neck, lift up her already short dress...
I approached, and distracted by the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction, went with the lamest, most common of openings. I gestured towards her. "That's quite the display. Is it 'git?"
Her laughter, as expected, sounded like the tinkling of bells. "But of course it's legit!" she said. "It was a tragic accident..." she looked solemn, for a moment, as if getting lost in a painful memory, but then her smile, refreshing as a spring shower, returned. "Though of course, that might not be the case. After all, I only ever speak in lies."
| 2016-12-29T16:31:53
| 2016-12-29T15:27:26
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples.
|
Sergeant Flores was the third to step into the portal, right behind Dr. Penn and PFC Smith. Instead of the expected near instantaneous transfer through black, she saw blurs of light, and at the same time all the air was sucked out of her lungs. She felt like she was falling, and at the same time like something was trying to pull her head and her feet off. Her tears started to boil straight off her eyeballs and she closed her eyes. Her ears felt like they would burst.
Just as she was about to lose consciousness, gravity and air returned and she fell heavily onto her backpack. She lay on her back, unable to catch her breath. She opened her eyes and saw blue sky overhead, but then lost consciousness.
Slowly, she became aware. At first she thought she was waking in her bunk after being ill - she couldn't recall what had happened. But, it wasn't her bunk - there was bright light behind the closed eyelids. She heard a voice, the voice of a weak old man, heard as though at a great distance - her ears hadn't full recovered yet. She opened her eyes and saw a wisened old man leaning over her. "Welcome Sergeant Flores!" The man smiled.
"What happened? Where am I?"
"You've had a shock. Take a minute to adjust - you'll need it. Here, sit up and have some water."
She sat up and found she was sitting on soft grass, surrounded by a forest. The old man was clothed simply in homespun cloth. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. She accepted the water he offered in a wooden cup.
"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.
"I don't know. I... think it was training for a portal mission. I don't remember the mission though. I don't even remember going through the portal."
"That's because the trip through the portal wasn't typical. You're expecting to remember a brief blackness and then someplace else. It didn't happen that way."
The memory came flooding back and her breath stocked. "Where's my team? Am I on the target planet? What happened?"
"You are on the target planet. As near as I can make out, the portal path passes very close to a black hole, causing both prolonged transit and delay in transfer." He looked at her expectantly.
"The target planet is supposed to be virgin. Who are you?"
Instead of answering, the old man scratched the back of his head, looked down at the ground, then looked back at her, expectantly. Just the way Dr. Penn did, when he was expecting her to come up with the answer on her... own... "Oh, God! No! No! No!"
"I'm afraid so."
"How do we warn them?! How do we stop them?! They'll all die here, just like us!"
"We can't. They're all in transit, and have been for hundreds of years. Just like you."
"Hundreds of years? How old are you? How long have you been waiting for me?"
"It's been just shy of a hundred sol years. A day here is 25 hours and a year is 296 days - I've been keeping track. I was 19 when I stepped into the portal - quite young for a doctor."
"How did you survive?"
"Smith left a shelter and lots of notes on what is edible and what plants and animals are otherwise useful, that helped a lot. Are you familiar with the theory that calorie restriction prolongs life? It appears to have worked for me. That, and I come from long-lived stock. If you're feeling up to it, I'll show you around."
"What's the point? We're all going to die here! Why prolong it?"
"We all die sometime. What's the point when we aren't stranded?" Again, he scratched his head, looked at the ground, then looked at her expectantly.
What was the point? Coffee aside, why did Sergent Maria Flores get up in the morning? "Because my team needs me."
"Yep. I needed Smith. You need me, and at this point, it's a miracle I've lived this long - I need you, too. Come, let's see the camp." And with that, he picked up a cane and slowly, carefully got to his feet.
Her heavy pack pulled at her shoulders, so she undid the straps and slid out of it, then slowly stood up - she was still feeling unsteady from her trip through the portal. The old man, Dr. Penn, she corrected herself, was slowly making his way down a beaten dirt path, speaking aloud to himself as he went.
...
"So, from here, you can begin to make out individual buildings."
"What, you made a whole small village, just for yourself?"
"More of a farm at this point. Those two buildings over there away from the others, they're the cooking building and the forge. Both burned down twice before I made them from stone. The wood from the trees here catches easily and burns hot, which has its advantages and disadvantages."
She looked for, and saw, the old white scars in the wrinkles of his left arm and leg. The side where he held the cane.
"Over there is the paddock. Betsy is a dear old soul and is very patient when I strap myself to her. I daren't ride without tying myself tight anymore."
"What? You found horses here?"
"Of a sort. They have six legs and are slower than Earth horses, but they're good in tough terrain. It was a bitch training them, and I don't want you to have to start from scratch."
"I see you've built yourself some wind power over there. Do you use it to pump water?"
"Actually, no. I use it to generate electricity."
"Electricity?! What on Earth do you need electricity for?!"
"Well, for one, to recharge my laptop batteries. For another, I like having light at night. And then there's the refrigeration unit."
"What... how... are you ... why? If you have enough to eat and get by, why not relax?"
Dr. George Penn scratched his head, but then said "I thought we went over this."
"Because my team needs me. But... I'm the only team you've got, and I don't need all this!"
"Well, no. But you might. Especially if you don't want to be alone for the rest of your life."
"But, ..." Her eyes grew wide. "No! No, no no! I'm too young! I haven't finished my commission, I... oh, fuck. I'm an idiot."
"No, you're not. You just haven't had time to adjust."
"Isn't it rather presumptuous to think I might want to... especially when you're so old?"
"Would it have been presumptuous of me to not offer when I could? Besides, I made sure there are more options: if you prefer the artificial way, you'll find little vials in the refrigeration unit and complete instructions posted on the door. After all, it was only luck that I made it this far."
...
PFC Nusbaum fell heavily onto his side and passed out. He awoke to someone gently shaking him. "Welcome, Private Nusbaum" said a young woman. "We've been expecting you!"
|
The first one would see a new world. The 2nd would see a flag marking a path to a place to take shelter.in the shelter there would be a Journal of the marine life. On the new world. 3rd see a sign showing him the way to the shelter. In the shelter there would be a starter kit. The help the new marine out . Something 2nd wishes the 1st did. There would be two journal now. The one that 2nd left. Give more info. To make it easier on the new marine. This keep happening the new marine. Has all the previous marine wisdom. By time the 12th marine ever thing has been done for him . Water wells has been doug. Really good house has been build. Food has been stored. Map have been drawn of place to see. Journal have been save to help them out in bad time. Flag is fly over the graves.TO MAKE IT SHORT 11 MARINE 1100 YEARS. BLOOD , SWEAT and TEARS. TO GIVE THE 12TH MARINE A VACATION.
| 2014-09-02T12:33:17
| 2014-09-02T08:01:32
| 33
| 11
|
[WP] You were recently granted immortality by God. For years, you have seen immortal characters in media say that it is a curse, not a blessing. You just think those guys have been using it the wrong way.
|
"Seeing everyone grow old and die while you dont age, or seeing people you love, dying of sickness or disease, its agony, immortality is a curse."
"No matter how many things you try, drugs, booze, base jumping without a parachute, it all gets old. You become numb to everything and wish you could wither away like the rest, but it will never happen."
"Seeing entire nations rise and fall, witnessing all the wars and bloodshed, it's enough to drive you mad after a few centuries."
It's always the same old talk, immortality is a curse, itll drive you mad, make you wish you could die again. And it's all bullshit. See, the issue is that when immortality is brought up, everyone thinks of selfish ways to use it, and they get bored after a while. The truth of the matter is that it's all in how you use it.
Sure there are going to be tough times, just like in any mortal life. Loss of friends, family and loved ones, natural disasters, wars, but theres always something worth living for, even when you're unable to die. All these people preaching about immortality being a curse, they're just using it wrong.
The true way to use immortality isn't to be worshipped, or revered as a god. It's not about the drugs, money, or adrenaline either. Imagine being able to rush into a burning building without caring for your safety, just to help anyone left inside escape. Imagine being a rescue diver for people trapped or lost in underwater reefs or cave systems, not needing to worry if your tank runs empty. Or how about volunteering to be infected with any number of viruses or diseases to study their effects and symptoms, and working towards a cure or treatment to help save millions. All these things and more, that's what I've been living for the past few centuries to accomplish, always staying nameless or vanishing after people have been saved, giving the credit to others.
Immortality is only a curse when you use it for yourself, but it's a blessing to everyone else when it's used right.
|
A rainy night.
The smoke is thick.
The sense of fright.
The trigger's click.
++
I see a hole.
In my partner's nose.
My turn ahead.
And let me not be dead.
++
For it is too early
For the death's cold grip.
My luck is curly
But the win is cheap.
++
I pull the trigger.
CLICK!
I take a breather
And pass it to Chip..
++
He trembles.
I smile.
For he dies.
And I may be alive.
++
A few were granted such a gift,
And fewer enjoyed it.
Traded it for a curse very swift.
And got all the fun killed
++
God, have mercy upon this soul,
Don't let him rise again!
For tonight he is totally broke,
And with a hangover for a day!
++
Three players, all immortal
Play russian roulette
With adrenaline wthdrawal.
One with eternal Tourette
Two are just normal.
++
And here is swearing Chip
Holding a 100 year old grip
On a gun trustworthy to me
For the safety pin is now totally free.
++
A splatter of blood,
An ending of life.
He had enough gut
To make the victory mine.
++
A small vessel
Of a godly poison
Was the last blessing
For us, the spoiled.
++
The last chance to die
Could bring an end
To one of us tonight
So we could comprehend
A true value of life
++
Good god I won
This precious vial
For me to destroy it
Without any denial
++
I step on it
No hesitation is left
Crushing it, the last blessing
The gift of an immortal's last breath
*This is my first writing prompt in English language, please be gentle in critisizing.*
| 2018-08-29T05:53:02
| 2018-08-29T03:41:44
| 235
| 62
|
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all!
|
"I just don't understand why you're so broken up about this."
Zildjian paused from his pacing around our office and looked at me incredulously, his face twisted into a scowl.
"Oh, you don't understand, do you?" He spat. "The problem is that you hired humans!"
"So? They're incredibly cheap and our budget is tight. Honestly, I'm surprised more people don't hire those apes."
"Do you want to know why no one hires them?" Zildjian pointed at me. "It's because they mess everything up. They just gum up the works. It's like it's in their nature to be insufferable."
"Well, Earth Inc. has a no-refund policy. I can't-"
"Bloody hell! We should've just gotten some of those blue workers from planet Beta-2. Or an AI program."
"That would cost a fortune. We've only got a thousand or so credits left, remember? We spent the rest on the actual resort?"
Zildjian shook his head and sat down.
"Okay, we can give them a try." He reluctantly accepted. I grinned. "So when do they arrive?""Oh, they arrived today."
His eyes widened. He looked up at me, alarmed.
"You're kidding." He stood up. "Oh no. Where are they? We've got to check on them."
Zildjian walked briskly out of the door. I followed and led him to the construction site, where the humans were. He seemed repulsed by the sight of them.
''Sir!" One came down and shook my hand. I was taken aback. "We've been making good progress on the site."
I smiled at him and looked at Zildjian. We had nothing to worry about. In the distance, I saw some humans chatting, and the human talking to me seemed to notice.
"Sorry about that sir, our election's tomorrow and many people are still discussing it."
"Elections?" Zildjian asked.
"Yes. We're deciding whether the Pool group should secede from the union, and whether the Courtyard group should be allowed to form a coalition with the Roof and the Nature groups."
I frowned. Zildjian gave me a look.
"Also, we've been meaning to ask you - could we get better vacation days?" He beamed up at me, flashing his teeth.
I shot a confused look at Zildjian, who sighed deeply.
"Now do you see why they're so cheap?"
\---
[https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/TyanWrites/)
|
Τhis is from phone, so excuse some mistakes and structure stuff~
I'm not poor, despite what my infamy suggests. I'm not stingy either, despite how much I loath spending more than needed in some occasions. I just find some of my money put into a better use than overpaid resort colony.
It's a semi-permanent offer, and while many would jump at it, the cost would be too big to properly manage. Paying for the upkeep didn't need to be tripled just for some more worthwhile colony.
To that extend, I was right. But to no extend did I imagine what sort of terrible mistake I had made when picking the second cheapest of all sentient species to hire.
Humans; a peculiar race living forgotten amidst all the other hidden away races. They didn't have many differences as opposed to some of the more exotic species recorded, no, that wasn't the reason they were peculiar.
Sitting back on his comfortable chair, the overlord's face pondered on a single incident when deciding whether to hire humans in his colony as opposed to some other species without the same history.
It was a single event, yet that event made humans to be cast aside from most of the alliances and species.
A single human managed to annihilate an entire empire after all, and that was not a small thing to think about. When talking about that event, the words that came to mind were pity for the empire, even if they did not deserve all of it.
They weren't defeated, nor was it something so light one could recover from. That human had managed to wreck the empire so hard, the empire didn't even think of sticking back.
He felt it was laughable that all humans had managed to get such a bad fame from that event alone, but the events that led up to it were anything but that.
The sheer trickery and cunningness that went through in order to destroy that empire left a lot of the real powers with dislocated jaws as they tried to process the entirety of the matter.
Add in a few other isolated incidents and you had yourself the most infamous race of all, humans.
That said, at least they came in cheaply. Recognising how bad their situation was, they knew it was only about to get worse before it got better.
It had been a long time since anything notable happened concerning humans, and it was due time to see if he was right in the end.
Heck, what could they even do at his resort? Closely supervised, monitored and controlled, he doubted any of the more volatile species would be able to do anything, let alone them.
With those sort of thoughts he pressed his order forward and waited for the humans arrival. He had checked in with five hundred of them for starters and if nothing happened he could double that number.
Days passed peacefully, and aside from a few minor scuffles, it had seemed like his choice was the correct one. Saving money as well as getting a highly adaptable stuff? It was a deal made from heavens themselves!
He kept that thought till the near end. He had mentioned after all that it was semi-permanent offer.
Alas, when humans got too enthralled with something, they could go above and beyond for it. It was theorised this was a result from their previous short lifespans, something which had been amended a long time ago.
Still, that didn't change the fact one of them managed to reverse engineer the core energy of the abode and create his own unstable copy.
It was fun how they liked to expiriment with everything they got in touch, and even a bit captivating as he watched them move through information as well as some of the higher races were able to. What one could not manage, a few dozens most certainly could.
It was because of his enjoyment of watching them do their own stuff that he was too late in noticing they had made a ticking time bomb.
He probably would have noticed even if half of the planet wasn't destroyed, but it sure as hell speed things up.
He watched with tearful eyes as an explosion so big and intense destroyed most of his fortune and property. He doubted even that exploding the main core they had tried to duplicate was able to cause such an explosion, let alone making it from scrap materials found around the planet.
He shook his head at the thought of what came next. The damages were so great it would set him a few years back to recover.
Ugh, no! This was the time to get rid of them. These poor bastards had even the audacity to laugh at what had happened. Sure you learn from mistakes, and sure they had time to evacuate, but these sort of "mistakes" if you could call them that, weren't acceptable.
Instantly as he thought of a way to get out of this predicament a call rang in front of him.
An old friend, he recognized, although he was the one whom he liked the least. Always first to tease him, always first to prank him.
Suddenly, a thought sprung up to his mind. Sure he couldn't just fire all of them due to the contract, but a swift allocation wasn't impossible. Not just that, but he had long since been wondering what gift to take for his friend, or if he would even attend to his thousandth year celebration.
Oh he definitely wouldn't want to miss this. He would plan long and hard, but if the end result was like what he imagined, it would all be worth it.
| 2019-01-26T08:26:55
| 2019-01-26T07:27:28
| 139
| 55
|
[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?
|
"I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all.
"Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?"
Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win.
"Have you heard of The Game?"
|
"Alright, so you're telling me that if I beat you at ANY game I can go back for another 10 years?!" said the man.
"Yes." said Death. "Any game of your choosing. Cheating is all-"
"Yeah, yeah. Cheating yadda yadda. I heard it the first time." the man snapped.
Death furled what the man assumed to be his brow at the man cutting him off.
Death sat there in silence, motionless. Just waiting for the man in front of him to pick his game.
The man started, "You know, I've play SO many games in my life. So many that I can't even remember what the stories were about anymore, they all just seem to run together."
Death looked on in horror as the man's name started to make more sense.
"I'm guessing you're starting to recognize me at this point, just like it says on the paper you read my name off of-" said the man.
"...I'm Gary fucking Gygax."
Edit: I never really do any prompts. I just thought this sounded fun. Critique if you want. I won't mind it!
| 2018-03-07T07:43:55
| 2018-03-07T06:04:24
| 251
| 97
|
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror.
|
Please, no more “he said weakly as he sits hunched over in his throne.
He lifts a shaky hand to his eyes to cut the glare emanating from the piles of gold, rubies and diamond that loom so high they could be mistaken for walls.
“Oh, don’t be that way” The large man says as he snaps his fingers causing a mountain of gold to appear. The old man shows his frustration by running his gnarled fingers through his wispy hair as another tear run down his wrinkly cheeks.
“Why won’t you just leave me be?”
“Friends don’t abandon each other!” the large man says as he does somersaults around the smaller piles of gold coins.
“But it’s been a five centuries”
“You were the one who said, *The large bearded man pulls out a pair of tiny glasses and reviews what appears to be a stenographers record*and I quote- "I want our love to last forever" I gave you that. You will love *her* forever” he said as he points to the ornately decorated alabaster urn, the final resting place of a long dead woman.
“It was just a romantic sentiment” the old man says with a sob as he stares at a faded picture of a beautiful woman.
“I gave you what you wanted. I’m still giving you what you want.” The large man says as he lands lightly in front of his friend.
“You wanted to be rich. I gave you all the wealth you could imagine”
“You've made gold worthless.” the old man interjects!
“You promised your Kingdom a thousand years of peace. I have given you that”
“You destroyed all the other Kingdoms with disease and fire! You left thousands of refugees to die a slow painful death in the barren wastelands that remain”
The large man smiles as he nods. A large hand appears behind him and pats him on the back.
“You blue skinned devil. I wish we’d never met”
“You're all out of those. What I do now comes from the kindness of my heart.” The big man says with a boastful smile on his face.
The old man pulls a diamond encrusted gold handled knife from his sash. He opens his mouth and with a quick slash cuts off his tongue. A gurgling scream escapes his lips and his body trembles in shock.
The blue skinned man shakes his head in disapproval before snapping his fingers causing last ten seconds of reality to rewind leaving the old man’s mouth if not his mind, intact.
“Oh Al, What would you do without a friend like me?”
|
I need to explain my actions here so it makes sense in the end.
I can't get my head to stop pounding. It's the singing. It *has* to be the singing. And somehow I think they don't understand.
They don't get it. That's how I got my name.
I'm so uncomfortable in my own skin, my depression - this lack of serotonin, - it has adhered to my features. I am a walking scowl. I no longer wear shoes I am in so much agony. I bark commands at people I supposedly love. Love.
I continue to walk with them. Rumors of poison. Our food is not safe. Because that vain bitch is out there. Protection. It's just a few of us out here. Living.
We all love her. We always have. The singing continues. I tell the only one that can help - "I'm miserable. You have to help."
He gives me something. For a few hours I feel like *him*. The opposite of me. And then after the comedown, the miserable irritation that has been my life, my namesake - continues. The meds make me feel like the stupid one of our clique. Everyone knows him by name, and seem to be fine with his mental capacity - it only pisses me off more. The fucking moron. Head aches. I am bitter. I walk in the woods.
Lets *sing* about how bitter I am.
I am not the only one who is sick. But I don't care. One of us is constantly under diress from allergies - uncontrollable and volatile. Disgusting and grotesque. She is ok with it. She loves it. She doesn't love all of us. That cant be possible. It's got to be survival. The other victim is in a coma. Or something. Barely awake. Barely breathing. Like her. Until *he* arrived. True love is bullshit. The vain bitch knows. That's why she did what she did. That's why I did what I did. I have his rifle.
Last, I see the one with anxiety - he's constantly redfaced, but not like me, its more of shame. Guilt. I think he compulsively masturbates. At least he isn't the junky fuck constantly asleep. I take it back. Coma my ass. Sick. Yeah. We all are. One look and you know something is wrong with our group and the things we do to just be living in fear of curses and evil. Looking up constantly, as though at a god. There is no one up there. It's just in our nature. To look up. At the canopy. The darkness. To wonder how I can just be at peace and control myself. The woods grow darker. I feel it.
I don't know why I am describing these people. I think it will help me continue on with what I need to do to get out of this. To end it. To stop it all. The posion. The loveless feeling. This horrible *anger*.
Let's *sing.*
I have collected 8 bullets from his lodge. They have all been fired, except one for me. The blood will make this hard to read, for that - I still don't care.
After the kiss I knew it would be over for at least me... They don't care.... It's just something else to *sing* about.
I am not sorry. I am not sorry. I am. Not. Sorry. This is a nightmare. Whoever finds this: remember I didn't want to be this way. I was born into this and under this and its all gone now. Goodbye.
*-Grumpy*
| 2014-08-04T07:31:04
| 2014-08-04T06:01:48
| 118
| 73
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy
|
Justin,
It's been a little over 3 years since you died. I still get hit with random emotions that make me burst into tears thinking about you. Both anger and sadness. I think about how things would be different if I had said or done things another way. If I had told dad you could come live with me, would you still be alive? I miss having you around for sharing stupid things off of Reddit or Imgur. I miss Netflix-ing Korean horror movies with you over Xbox Live and trying to time it just right on both of our consoles so it was like we were in the same room. You pushed me to start playing Call Of Duty which, silly as it is, has lead me to the wonderful life I have now.
I wish you could see your nephew now. He's so big and smart, and he looks so much like you that it made mom cry the last time she saw him. Your niece never got to meet you, but I will make sure she knows who you are. They both have the same defiant streak you had, which is both frustrating and heartbreaking.
Why did you have to take those drugs? I wish I had let you come down and live with me. You never would have met those shit heads that left you to die instead of calling 911. I can't say that I think about you everyday... It hurts too much. But I see you in my dreams. I always try to save you, but I never can and it hurts just as bad as when I got the call from Uncle Joe while I was at Disney World, because dad couldn't compose himself enough to talk on the phone. He has destroyed himself because you two didn't have a good relationship and it kills him that you never will now. I am afraid he will kill himself when grandma dies. She's the last person he has that needs him, now.
I don't believe in an afterlife, and neither did you. But I hope wherever you are... nowhere, or wherever people go when they die... that you aren't suffering. I love and miss you.
XXOO
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41
| 2017-11-05T21:34:09
| 102
| 17
|
[WP] You are a time traveler in 1918, and you just accidentally said "World War One"
|
"World War One?" Christopher asked with a quizzical gaze. "Why are you calling this hell that we've been dropped into World War One? It's not like it's certain something like this is going to happen again, I'd be surprised if we saw any conflict again in our lifetime after the atrocities we've been witness to."
I didn't have the heart to tell poor Christopher that whilst this war we were fighting in did matter and would change the world, it would not be the last war of this magnitude and the worst was yet to come.
I'd traveled back in time to the first great armed conflict of the 20th century to do first hand research on the archaic weaponry and tactics used by the military bodies of the past, as well as to gain an accurate record of how it affected the politics and people of the time.
I'd done all this just to write a first grade thesis on how war has evolved with the times and the negative impacts it carries and I just made one of the biggest screw ups any person who messes with time travel could make, I referred to this hell scape before me as World War One.
"Ah, just a slip of the tongue Chris, you know it just sounds right, rolls off the tongue." I answered as the enemy troops continued to fire on our position, one of the soldiers of our platoon falling down beside me as a bullet strikes into his skull "I'm sure you're right and we won't have to see, take part of, or loose friends in a conflict of this scale again"
As the firing halts on my position momentarily, I lift myself up out of the trench, readying my rifle I take careful aim and shoot at an enemy soldier who has just raised his head from their side. He falls, dead or wounded I don't know, I'm aware what I'm doing is foolish, actually taking part in this war could change events on a massive scale if I kill or even merely injure the wrong person.
I duck back down into the trench after seeing this unknown soldiers body disappear from my line of sight, those thoughts at the back of my mind, surviving being at the front.
"You think so? You think that after we teach these bastards that they should have stayed at home that we might have a chance for peace in the future?" Christopher smiles at himself with the thought before lifting himself up from the trench, only to fall back down, dead.
"I hope so Chris... I really do hope that there will be peace after this war, sometime..." I grip my rifle tightly ready to try to take down one of these bastards for Christopher, I lift my head and-
(Sorry for the bad writing and lack of knowledge, been a while since I've had a look at WW1 but writing this has got me inspired so I may go read up on my history and come back and revise this at some stage.)
|
Doctor who much? ;)
I guess I gotta contribute now...
"You're a soldier from world war one, a cap-"
He cut me off,
"World war one! You... You mean there's going to be another one?'
He looked at me with a worried expression, not blinking staring right at me.
"Yes..." There was nothing else I could say.
"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry"
He had a tear in his eye
"You mean all of this, all of this fighting, all of this carnage. It will be for nothing?"
His voice cracked,
"Do you know how many friends I have lost... How many men, good men I've lead to their deaths"
I looked at him
"I'm sorry" that was all I could say...
| 2017-12-10T10:39:32
| 2017-12-10T10:14:54
| 21
| 13
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
|
"How the hell am I supposed to make the perfect hard boiled egg?"
"It's your job. you've got to do it or I get out scot free. My only other question is is there a time limit?"
"Not that I know of." the guard says hesitantly before slipping out of the solitary confinement cell. He wipes his brow then walks down to the kitchen to talk with the chef for the prisoner's last meal.
"No problem." The chef boasts when he hears about the perfect egg, "Boiling eggs was a specialty of mine before I was employed here. Survived a year off of them and some take out."
The guard nodded to the cook then walked out of the kitchen without saying anything. In his stomach he feels a lump form then slowly works its way up until he lets out a solid burp that tastes like overcooked eggs and smells of rotten ones.
The guard wanders around for a little bit then gets notified that the egg that would send this man to hell was ready. When he arrived the cook was standing there beaming over a small oval of white framed in something green on a nice plate.
The guard took the egg to the prisoner and was stopped before he could even fully set the plate down.
“Nope. The garnish ruins it all.” The prisoner says almost passively before he sticks his finger into the center of the egg. He followed with a small chuckle and, “You won’t be getting off so easy with me.”
The guard returned to the kitchen flustered and, in an impersonal manner, set the plate down and said, “No garnish.”
The cook took the egg and ran it under some water and grabbed a new plate.
The guard sighed then relayed the prisoner’s message while revealing the mark that he had put on the egg.
The chef looked disappointedly at the finger sized hole punched into the side of his prized dish. “I guess I’ll cook another one.”
“You better.” The guard mumbled as he walked out of the room.
Four more eggs passed into the room each with something wrong with them, one’s yolk was too dry, another was too runny, one was undercooked and the white of the fourth was rubbery.
An exasperated guard brings the last egg back to the chef. “The white was too rubbery,” he huffed as he impersonally threw both the plate and the egg into the trash can.
“I don’t know what else to do. I’ve never dealt with such a picky eater before. Most people on the mile will eat anything you put in front of them. Some of the more intricate dishes cause the prisoner to become too stunned by the fact that I was able to make it to even give a shit. Dragon eggs, alien meat, fairy tonics, all of that is bullshit. None of those things exsist but the idiots are dumb enough to believe it. This guy must have done his research.”
“Quit your babbling and cook another egg.” The guard exasperatedly buts in before storming out of the double doors locking them both open.
The cook looks again at the carton of eggs that was bought at the nearest grocery store. An idea pops into his head and he talks someone into going out to get organic eggs.
Twenty minutes later the sixth egg is sent to the prisoner. He takes a bite and gives his compliments that the yolk is perfect and that the white isn’t too chewy then spits it out.
“This isn’t an organic egg?” he asks concerned as he begins to retch.
“Uh yeah.”
“I’m allergic to any egg not given from a chicken raised from GMOs. It’s in my file.”
“That’s bullshit. You are just leading me on. That first egg was just fine. You just want to be a little prick and try to cheat the system.”
All of this was lost on the prisoner who was now heaving up his stomach onto the floor tiles beside his chair.
“Good show.” the guard says sarcastically as the guy finally rights himself, “Now it is time to meet your maker.”
“That could’ve killed me if I hadn’t spit it out.”
“Would have saved some time then.”
“You don’t fucking get it do you? Does your thick skull not understand that if I die before I am strapped into the chair it goes on you for not protecting me?”
“Oh fuck your little whining fit because I beat you. Is it not also true that if a prisoner refuses to eat what is given to him it voids his/her right to a final meal?”
“Not if said meal will lead to premature death.”
“Ok. You win this one. But if you’re shitting me I am going to be the one who pulls the lever.”
The prisoner shrugs and gives him a I-don’t-give-a-shit look before the guard leaves the room.
“I need the file for the prisoner about to be sent to the chair.” The guard says to a younger lady who stares at him for a moment then shuffles back to the prison’s files.
“Number 572?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Here you go, enjoy.”
The guard sneers at her as he walks away in just the same manner he used to sneer at his school librarian who would get worked up when wny child wanted to check out one of the dusty books that had sat where they were since she had attended there. As he walked away he began flipping through the file, grimacing at the terrible things the man had done before he got to the page he wanted.
In the section marked allergies three things were listed; Peanuts including any nut butter, Aspartame, and organic, non GMO free range eggs. Disgusted, he slung the file to the ground and went back to the chef, “He’s allergic to the new eggs.” He nearly screamed from between his teeth before starting to kick the plastic trash can in which he had previously discarded the plate and the egg which had been too chewy.
A few minutes later a new egg was brought to the prisoner and he found another thing wrong with it. A whole dozen eggs were wasted on his cause before the guard gave up. When he brought in the prisoner’s last egg he had flown over the edge and even had a plan ready. Instead of putting the plate on the table he would shove the egg into the man’s mouth then use a shard from the plate to stab the man to death.
When another guard happened upon the scene they apprehended the guard who was now hysterically stabbing the table repeatedly.
When the guard went to have his last meal he ordered the perfect boiled egg.
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08
| 2022-07-17T19:57:23
| 129
| 30
|
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself.
|
The buzz was real, the hell was upside down, and Satan was pacing back and forth restless.
"Where is he? Why is he taking so long?"
"He moves slowly".
"How dares he makes me wait!? No one makes me wait IN HELL!". Satan was losing his cool, a visible twitch on his eyebrows, his hands wet with sweat.
"Sorry Satan, nothing I can do!"
The public, lost souls and demons, Hitler and Killers, everyone was afraid, that someone worse than Satan would come, someone that would make Satan Himself afraid, someone that would bring the fury of Jesus and God, someone that would rewrite the history of the world.
Rolling in his wheelchair, a placid brow, a illuminated smile, a bald fat middle aged man, without legs, coming down through the Hell Gate.
Gasps of surprise went through the crowd, someone heard Hitler ask
"Oh my god, what did he do!?"
Satan himself came down to answer him:
"He built a car workshop on his garage!"
Oooooh, the crowd roared.
"He was fixing the cars of his friends for free...."
Everyone started to scream, All Hell Broke Lose.
|
A young man came down the stairway to hell. His walk was slow, his view broken and mindlessly focused on his own feet.
As he came nearer the markings on his neck became apparent. His face had a lovely purple hue which beautifully contrasted his black clothing. When he reached the gates, he didn't even look the Unholy One in the eyes.
"I... I... don't... I don't understand", the lad said.
*Silence*.
Satan might not have shown it, but the oldest souls noticed the confusion the Lord of Hell must've felt. And that was already the second time confusion spread this week. The last time was when this other guy *almost* entered the gates and then abruptly disappeared, leaving only part of his soul behind.
"He... He... He never... How could he do that?", the hanged man's voice was only a whisper.
Unimpressed and in a deep and bone cracking voice Satan announced for all souls to hear: "You are accused of mutiny and subsequent murder in your petty life. You may now spend your eternity in the hellfires of darkness for that."
The broken man mumbled something unintelligible.
The muscles of Satan relaxed visibly as he continued, much calmer: "So much for the formalities. Now tell me true. Nobody has been sent here by the creator himself for ages. What did you do to incur his wrath?"
"He even... How could... He swung..."
Satan *sighed* and turned back to the auditorium that was assembled behind him, "Give this guy to the others at Level 1, we're not getting anything other than denial out of this one. Everybody back to their business!"
Satan raised his voice, this time towards Heaven: "Ehem..." A slit in the ceiling opened, holy light flooded the gates to hell.
Satan, this time mildly annoyed: "George...?! Why the hell did you send this poor lad down here? Did Dan and Dave fuck up again?"
| 2016-10-14T07:23:26
| 2016-10-14T05:48:38
| 122
| 53
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
###### CNN (Chess News Network) Alert ########
###### For Immediate Publication ########
The final match in the greatest chess tournament of all time is underway. The flip of the coin came out heads and the Russian Alexei Kusnetskov elected to start. The challenger from China, Ming Zhang, ready and waiting for the first move.
We are currently in hour number 15 of this epic game, as Alexei is yet to decide on an opening move that Zhang won't anticipate.
Updates to follow.
########################################
|
*Literally the first time ever really writing something so please be nice.
They sat at the park and played chess. An old man approached and challenged the "Chess Master", as he called himself. He was apparently and literally a visionary.
The frailest of the two men sat and pierced his eyes into the younger mans forehead. The master payed no attention however and instead his focus was diverted toward the board. In his mind he saw his opponent make his first move.
The pawn moved triumphantly across the board. The younger man smiled and with pride conjured his own returning move in advance.
The smile quickly faded as the glistening image of the white pawn faded away.
"A knight?", the man whispered to himself as he stared into his opponents eyes catching a fleeting smirk past the white beard. The elder continued his obsession with his opponents forehead.
Not once had the vision changed for the sprightly young man and this newfound realisation created a seething rage inside of him. He created another vision in his mind however it was forged by him own will.
In his vision he threw his fist to hit the other man in the centre of the nose, not out of malice, to let of steam. He watched the face distort around his hand before reality snapped back and he continued play. He trembled as the image changed again.
How could he have this power?
This is all I have, is he here to take it away? This is all I'm good for in this depraved world.
He imagined his wife. "Would she be proud of me?" he said to himself. He imagined their faces on that day, it tore into his soul the same as the image always did.
"I'm sorry", the master spoke for the first time. "I need to get some space quickly".
The old man looked up at him. "I don't there is any need for that, try again".
The man calmed his breathing, he wondered what the point of the vision was if it were to change. He ignored every instinct and played by heart without thinking. The game continued for some time until an overbearing thought entered the master's head.
This time the vision was strong and sure. The master saw the white king in checkmate, he was going to win.
"Well played!" said the old man as he started to stand up.
"But we haven't finished!" the master protested.
"I saw all that I needed to know, the belief in your heart that nothing is set in stone." said the old man as he pointed in the distance."There is the nearest flower shop, you'll probably need it. But understand this: you will fail if you follow that power of yours."
The master pictured his family happy in his mind, the vision kept showing him the failure of his endeavor but he forced the curse away. He saw himself walking over to that flower shop regardless. "Wait, how do you know about me?," he asked.
"I don't but I saw enough" the old man smiled.
"You believe too much in those visions you know? The future can always be more than what your mind creates, only action creates certainty so I don't need to see the future like you, only the present."
| 2017-01-19T16:03:28
| 2017-01-19T15:37:46
| 129
| 21
|
[WP] The vaccine for autism has just been announced. Your anti-vax family does not know how to handle the news.
|
The reading was drab, but I read it all. The vaccine series would sensitise the immune system to the modified cholesterols produced by the CL332-Marcove mutation, causing the body to keep it flushed. This in turn prevents the P332A40 protein complex from accumulating in the myelin in the sensory nerves. This in turn prevented the stacking of secondary signals in the axon of long-run sensory nerves.
It was essentially a vaccine for Autism. Given at six, twelve, and again at twenty four months, the Autism outcomes should be reduced to about one case in nine thousand.
Given to older children with an active autism diagnoses, if the series is completed before the cessation of puberty, the progression of symptoms is minimized or halted, and the likely hood of long-term reversal (e.g. "growing out of it") is increased by two orders of magnitude.
Completed after the cessation of puberty the vaccine was largely ineffective, having reports indistinguishable from placebo.
I begged my mother to let me try it. I showed her the internet. She just started shouting about how I can do whatever I want once I'm an adult. I don't think she knows what "cessation of puberty" means.
She just kept shouting "I'm the mother!" and "I know better!" and bunches of stuff I could tell were names and "proof" from the way she made lots of the words sound all capitalized.
My father is just scared of my mom. He thinks I don't know. But I've seen her torture him with essential oils and chiropractic calls.
I need a lawyer. I need to sue. But I can't find anybody to help me, I'm homeschooled. I don't get any chance to see anybody to ask for help.
Mom is pregnant, I'm going to have a baby sister. What about her?
Can you help me Uncle Bobby?
...
I hand the paper to my uncle, and he says "What is this? A dinosaur?"
Damnit, the paper just looks like scribbles now. What happened to my words? I can't make anybody understand. I just want to scream, and scream, and _scream_... it's all they hear, it's all I can do.
|
"Breaking news, a cure for autism has been found. The groundbreaking discovery was announced today by the genetic science firm, MercuroCor, after researchers discovered the missing link in a search for a cure to this debilitating disorder which affects so many.
Testing has been successful in over 3,000 test patients spread throughout MercuroCor's various facilities around the globe. The vaccine has had a 94% success rate in those tested, with return of numerous normal functions returning within a week of administration. Benson McCormick at our UK affiliate has more on this developing story....."
Eddie shot a quick look around the room. They stared at the screen as though they'd seen a snuff film. Angela sat nearby, her features vaguely locked as she continued stacking various Jenga blocks in a meticulous pattern; blissfully still aware of what even just occurred. His father locked eyes with him next, his mouth opening in sheer anger in slow motion.
"I fucking told you..." Eddie began bitterly, cutting his dad off.
"You..." His dad stammered again angrily.
"*I fucking told you* that this could possibly be fixed someday!" Eddie said again as he stood up full of rage, "But I'm the crazy one here because I believed science could fix this!! What kind of fucked up shit is that??"
"That's no way to talk to your father!" His mother imploded as she jumped off the couch. "Those scientists are probably the reason your sister is in the condition she's in. IT'S ALL A BUNCH OF DAMNED LIES ED!! We should keep doing what we always do-"
"Doing what we always do??" Eddie foamed, "DOING WHAT WE ALWAYS DO?! You mean praying and hoping that one day, maybe *never*, that God will magically come down from the sky, or send an angel, and just fix Angie?! I don't know about you but this is a sign if I've *ever* seen one!"
"Don't you fucking talk to your mother like that!" His Dad roared as he stood, Never talk like that in front of Angie again-"
"Or what?" Eddie stomped, "You'll beat my ass?? Take away the car? Kick me out of the house?"
"THAT'S RIGHT; KICK YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE!!" His dad countered.
"*LIKE I GIVE A FUCK!*" Eddie said as he violently kicked the coffee table over. Angela whimpered in protest at the chaos unfolding, before her parents began to coddle her quietly in her corner. Angie began crying softly to herself as they held her tightly, tears staining her blouse that she wore. They glanced at Eddie with resentment for a moment.
"You know;" Ed's mother choked, "We always wished it was you, and not her."
"There's a vaccine for that now." Eddie remarked, "But we don't do vaccines remember? Guess you'd better pray about it some more."
Eddie took his car keys and stormed out the front door. They could hear him speed off down the street from inside.
"Ed...." Angela murmured as her parents held her some more, "Ed....". Angela pointed at the TV, the gesture seemingly omnipresent even though she couldn't register. Her parents followed her gaze as they listened.
"....Orders for the vaccine have been backlogged for weeks as numerous countries have vied for rights the surpluses available. Vials of the vaccine are due to reach American shores by the end of this month, with mandatory vaccinations due to be ordered in pharmacies across the nation. I'm Daniel Thompson, and with that we will return with more GNN coverage of this groundbreaking development after this commercial break...."
| 2016-06-07T01:33:35
| 2016-06-06T20:23:09
| 54
| 22
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
He looked at her expectantly. Waiting.
“Orange?”
He waited.
“Orange! CAT! MOTORBIKE!”
She tried so hard to get through to him but felt like nothing was happening. She searched for his eyes. Hers were beginning to moisten with the hopelessness of her situation.
“TELEPHONE!”
He looked straight at her, so confused. None of this made any sense. A grown women, almost twenty. What on Earth was going on?
“OCTOPUS! OCTOPUS!” She was screaming so loud now her throat was starting to hurt. She wanted water. Just one glass of water. She was trapped. She hoped it would be over soon.
He decided to end it. He reached his hand out and pointed.
“POTATO!” she screamed out through tears now covering her face.
He shook his head as he turned away from the one-way mirror and it took a moment for him to realise that this woman was the first in all his years of testing who had correctly guessed all six objects.
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01
| 2015-01-12T15:45:13
| 317
| 18
|
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss.
|
Sitting in my car, I sighed and checked the address on my phone. This was it. I looked up to see my girlfriend excitedly come out the front door. I sighed again. I hate having to meet parents. I got out and met her half way, greeting her with a quick kiss on the lips.
"I'm so glad you came! You finished your appointment with Roscoe?"
"Yeah," I said, smiling, "It was just a broken leg. He's like a big puppy. He got excited because he smelled another dog near by and tripped up."
She smiled proudly at me, "I'm glad you're saving the day for pet parents."
"Oh yeah," I said rolling my eyes as we walked into her parent's house.
"Mom! Dad! Nick's here!"
I followed her into the kitchen where her mom was cooking dinner. She smiled and gave me a hug. Sabrina looked just like her mom. Then I turned and to greet her father who walked into the kitchen behind us. I broke into a cold sweat as I looked at her father. Sabrina's father was my boss. Not at the veterinary office, but for my actual job. As an assassin. He looked me up and down and held out his hand. I grabbed it.
"Nicky, my boy, nice to meet you," he said, "Sabrina said you had an appointment?" He squeezed my hand a little too hard when he said that.
"Yeah," I said pulling my hand back, "Roscoe...a 4 year old Rottweiler, uh, broke his leg."
He eyed me suspiciously and said, "You patched him up pretty fast, then?"
I didn't know why he was questioning me when he would see the report on his desk on Mondy. Roscoe was actually a pretty nasty ex-bodyguard to a prominent politician in the area and he was planning to kill him, so I got sent in to take him out before he could reach his old employer.
"Yeah," I started, trying to internally remain as calm as I hoped I looked, "He was pretty boisterous and tried to fight me some even though he couldn't move. But I put a muzzle on him and was able to get him in a cast and good to go."
He tried to carry out his murder plot on his own, and I was able to break into his "secret base" and get rid of him up close and personal.
Sabrina's father smiled some, "That's good to hear. I always enjoy hearing about people being good at their job."
I nodded, "Yeah, I'm one of the best vet's in the area according to some clients."
Sabrina pushed me some and said, "Why don't you guys go and sit by the TV while mom and I finish dinner?"
"Yes, I'd love to show you my," he chuckled to himself, "man cave as my wife calls it. Come on, Nick, it's just downstairs."
I followed with my heart racing in my chest. I thought I was going to pass out having to be alone with my boss in this particular situation. He gestured through the door, a smile on his face, and closed it as we walked in. I took a breath.
"You seem a little nervous," he said in a much less happy demeanor, "I expected a much better act from one of our best," he said the last few words mockingly.
"I'm sorry, sir, I just wasn't expecting YOU to be Sabrina's father."
He chuckled again and said, "If you thought I didn't already know you were dating my daughter, you're much more stupid than you look and I pity your parents."
I wasn't sure whether to sigh in relief or be get ready to be fired. He noticed I was still nervous and he smiled more. He was never a bad boss, he treated all of his subordinates well, he just liked having the upper hand. He was older than a lot of us, but could still beat everyone in hand to hand combat.
He continued, "I'll just get right to it. I'm happy as long as she's happy, but this doesn't change our relationship, this will NOT affect your performance, and if you hurt her in any way," he leaned in close and whispered in my ear, "no one will ever find your fucking body."
He leaned back and smiled clasping my shoulder, "So we're good. I'm very impressed on your work with Roscoe. I can't wait to see the full report bright and early Monday morning. Let's go see how they're doing upstairs."
He opened the door and walked up the stairs while I stayed at the bottom, taking deep breaths. I felt like I couldn't walk. It went....better than I thought it would, but that last part didn't sound great.
"Come on, Nick! Let's see how you fair in some one on one football."
"Yes sir," I said weakly, walking up the stairs.
|
Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”.
| 2020-06-05T14:15:57
| 2020-06-05T14:04:11
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive.
|
I am the oldest man alive.
That in itself is a record that cannot be topped.
For every year that i live i remain the oldest man alive.
Records are made and broken. And i remain.
I have lived so long my name has been forgotten. Old recordings of my past long turned to dust.
Now i go by one name. A name that is considered most holy.
Guinness. And i am the keeper of records.
|
I never planned on being an immortal, but once you get the taste you just don't want to let it go. Immortality, the holy grail, the fame and rewards that go along with it. They're seductive.
There were a bunch of us immortals around but slowly over time old friends have come and gone. They were stupid, choosing a world record that was easy to beat given training, drugs, money, or other enhancements. And, while the Guinness teams work hard to keep everyone honest, accidents happen.
The first to fall were the runners. You can run 100m in 10 seconds? Whatever, here is someone in 9.9, then 9.89, then 9.88, then faster and faster. That is what put paid to Bolt. He's long dead now.
Others looked stronger. Longest time holding your breath... the immortal for that one (John) was safe for ages since he could literally sit there all day, until one day one of his challengers showed up with gills...
Some took stupid risks, such as trying to create a world record for longest survived parachute fail. Fortunately those were banned after the bodies started piling up.
But me. I'll be here forever. Challengers come and go, but I've got this one in the bag. Nobody can scrunge like I can. My penhaligons are perfect. I blitz everyone!
-----
An excerpt from the bestselling autobiography of Larry Kahn.
| 2016-12-14T10:34:13
| 2016-12-14T06:13:23
| 85
| 18
|
[WP] in your world, everyone has a almost entirely unique symbol on their wrist, soulmates have the same symbol. Your whole life you've been drawing on a symbol with a sharpie to hide the fact you don't have a soulmate. One day, you meet someone without a symbol, just like you.
Thank you everyone for informing me that this is a stupid and pathetic writing prompt but I like writing in this genre. If you do not like this writing prompt, please ignore it, you don't have to comment that I'm an unoriginal 14 year old. You can easily move on to another prompt you enjoy.
|
The image was perfect. I had no idea what was 'commonplace', what was 'normal'. But I sure as hell hoped that the tiny, perfect rose that now sat carved on my wrist would be convincing enough. *It was the Heaven's mistake*, I kept telling myself. It wasn't wrong to correct the mistake and move on, especially since I too needed to live a normal life. Many found the same-symbolled through their parents' keen eyes, or through their own when they were old enough. It never lied, and the random pattern that befell one's arm would definitely be replicated on another's. At least, no matter how ugly or convoluted the symbol, a soulmate was guaranteed. But no symbol? What, was I to love air? Or a God? These fantasies were idle pleasures for my worried brain, just stopgaps in facing reality. I would never find a mate, unless I took it into my own hands. Or pen.
I went out, flashing the symbol as many other desperate men and women did. The symbol was both restrictive and reassuring - on one hand, you knew you would have a companion - on the other, people you liked that didn't share your symbol meant an instant no-no for the relationship. I'd experience with that twice in my not-so-illustrious love life. But with such a common and iconic image? Someone *had* to have something similar. As I traversed the roads to my office, I finally found her. The same rose, but with many minute differences an untrained eye would fail to spot. But to most, including her, the shape was sufficient. Finally, after so long, a woman was mine.
*But a relationship of two different symbols is a star-crossed one.* I remembered that teaching from so long ago. And even when we started dating, when she started to love me and I her, I still had the same nagging feeling, a nameless dread that would not vanish. *What if...it all went wrong?*
And it all went wrong one day. Maybe authentic symbols told you, for real, when one's partner is in danger. My faked replica told me too late. 1 day before our wedding, I was forced to witness her die, before she could even tell me her last words. Before I could hug her one last time and say I loved her.
At her funeral, I knew my symbol killed her. If she'd met her real mate, the tragedy would never have occured. But someone at the funeral instantly caught my eye - to be more precise, someone's wrist. For on it was emblazened...nothing. I approached her, all smiles, as I prepared myself to meet my true soulmate. But one glance at my wrist, and all she had for me were fake smiles. Heartbroken, I watched her, as her smile turned to a frown of anger, of remorse, of regret. The same feeling I'd had when I was never cursed with my own hand's imagination.
I knew then, that my symbol had cost more than one life.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
|
I was in complete shot when I saw her. Halfway across the world here I was, and in the shadows of the Eiffle Tower she reached up to take off her sunglasses. That's when I spotted that precious bare skin, like a gift sent down from heaven for me.
"Pardone moi!" I screamed in my terrible, terrible French and rushed toward her, "Je suis... eh... Tu..."
"It's okay, I'm American," she said back with a tone that betrayed nothing if not boredom, "What is it?"
American! It wouldn't have mattered at all, of course, but knowing that she speaks my language, knows my world, it made the entire situation that much sweeter. To top it off, she was gorgeous, easily more gorgeous than any woman I'd seen in years.
"Your wrist!" I immediately fumbled out, pointing toward her arm, "You don't have one either! I've never seen anyone else that didn't have it!"
"Ha, good one," she shot back as she dismissively waved her arm toward my own wrist. Of course I was far too nervous, I should have told her that I draw mine on.
"No, no!" I stuttered out, holding up my wrist, "This thing? This thing is--"
"Fake, right? You draw it on? Or no, wait, it's a stamp? Yeah, yeah. I've heard 'em all."
"What?" I said back, confused.
"Listen bozo, you're not the first guy to try this, and I'm not interested. I'm not some one-night stand, you prick, and the fact that I'm destined to look around for anybody out there who may or may not exist doesn't have me too excited to play these stupid little pick-up games."
"No! I promise you" I hurriedly yelled out, "Just look, I'll wash it off! Come with me, there's a cafe around the corner and watch me wash it off!"
"Riiiight, cafe around the corner. You don't quit, do you? Well I do," she finished and briskly walked off. I tried to chase after, but in moments she flooded into a crowd and disappeared.
| 2017-08-06T15:40:16
| 2017-08-06T14:19:44
| 486
| 213
|
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
|
Hello /r/writingprompts reader. I don’t do many of these foreshadowing prompts, but hopefully I can surprise you with this one. I’m a bit concerned the foreshadowing is a bit subtle, but if you read closely to the end, you should catch it.
_____
Sarah had a weakness for chocolate. So even though she was trying to lose ten pounds, she knew she needed to order the chocolate chip banana bread along with her skim cappuccino as soon as she saw it. Hypocritical, yes, but Sarah liked to call herself a walking contradiction. She popped open her laptop and went to ESPN’s website. Time to check the scores.
Her business partner Ian walked into the cafe about 15 minutes after she had finished off the final crumb of the dessert. He stood in line, ordered a large black coffee, then walked over to Sarah’s table.
“Good morning my dear.” Ian smiled and shook her hand. “I’d take a seat, but I’m off to catch the train in about 20 minutes.”
“Not a problem. I’ll give you a call this evening.” Sarah smiled warmly back and kept her eyes on Ian’s.
The exchange was just long enough for Ian to slip a manila envelope into Sarah’s laptop bag. None of the customers would have found the exchange odd. With his back to the only security camera in the cafe, there would be no record of the fact he gave her anything.
As Ian walked out the door, Sarah went back to reading the news online. Ten minutes later, she packed up her gear and headed home.
It had been almost two months since Sarah had a job. One of the keys to being a good contract killer was to not be reckless and carefully select the jobs. Her and Ian trusted each other enough that he vetted the jobs that she did and vice-versa. But their agreement was that it was just the two of them operating. Never bring in a third partner.
Once home she eagerly dived into the envelope’s contents, only stopping briefly to grab a Hershey Kiss from her jar. She was going to earn this one with a long walk later.
The envelope contained all the usual information. Her target’s picture, home address, regular hangouts, email address, social media profiles. An ex-lover wanted the target killed. She scanned the profile looking for anything unusual she could use. Unfortunately, it was a lot of typical nerd stuff. In fact, potential internet addiction was highlighted in the report. Spent too much time online. The good news was that the target was online almost every day for hours. She could use that to her advantage.
Ian texted her, “Is everything alright?”
It was his typical code to find out if she was going to take the job. They used to have a more intricate and complicated code, but it became easier to simply use normal phrases that everyone would use daily instead of something complicated and ridiculous like, ‘Ducks fly at noon.’
“Yes, everything is all right. Merci beaucoup.” Thank you in French meant proceed on schedule. ‘Gracias would have meant that the job was a go but they needed to change the date of the hit.
The job was scheduled for tomorrow. Sarah spent the day learning more about her target’s daily habits. She scoped the building where the hit would take place. She had a skim mocha for lunch. Then she spent the afternoon following the target briefly to get “eyes on” and make sure she knew exactly what she was looking for.
Her best bet was to get the target while distracted. She fortunately knew via the various websites and social media accounts that the target usually visited online. She set up a quick script to inform her any time her target logged in or visited a number of websites. She was putting a lot of trust in the profile point of internet addiction. She hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt her.
The following day, she waited outside for the automated email to let her know her target was online. Sarah snuck into the building. She quietly picked the lock on the door. Once in the room, she found her target sitting enthralled at the computer, never seeing her.
Sarah paused for a moment. What sort of person gets so wrapped up in what they are doing online that they don’t notice someone enter? They don’t hear the out of place noises? That they never turn around and look behind them?
Sarah realized that her pause was way too long. She needed to act now. She swiftly pulled out the gun, silencer on, and pulled the trigger.
And, distracted by the story you’re reading on the computer, you only have the briefest warning before the gun fires behind your head.
|
Rain trickled down the windowpane, making rivulets in the already wet surface. Kieran watched them, a tinny pounding in his ears the last remnant of the concert he'd just got in from. The streetlights were lit and the house was dark as he had unlocked the front door. The hallway was just as messy as it had been as he left, and the smell of rotting food from the kitchen was overpowering. His mother would be in bed. She was always in bed.
He moved to the bathroom, brushing his teeth monotonously, looking in the mirror but not really seeing. He was too pale. There were dark smudges underneath his eyes from the late nights he'd had. The house would have to be cleaned tomorrow. Maybe his mother would get out of bed. He washed his hands once, twice. Both times he lathered the soap, scrubbed his fingernails, rubbing up to his elbows. A bottle of pills lay beside the faucet. Kieran tightened the lid and put them back into the cabinet. Opened bottles of cleaning fluid stood beside an crinkle of foil wrapper and dental floss.
In his bedroom, the neon light of the streetlamps outside flooded across the carpet. His room was neat, in contrast to the rest of the house. A crow landed on one on the opposite side of the road, flapped its wings and hunkered down under the heavy rain. A smudge on the glass distracted Kieran temporarily. He rubbed at it with one finger, only to find that it wouldn't come off.
He frowned, returning to the bathroom and opening the cabinet. There was a dark smudge there, too. *Why was nothing ever clean in this house?*
Kieran returned to his bedroom, cloth and cleaning fluid in hand. He unscrewed the child-proof lid, raised the bottle, and began to drink.
| 2015-06-03T07:02:17
| 2015-06-03T05:56:40
| 100
| 35
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
|
OK James, roll the dice
2
GM: Sorry, you missed.
The entire party is in shock. They tried with two other characters already. Both dead.
GM: The new enemies arrive. Rolls , 20. John, you died. Rolls again, almost James, you barely escapes this time.
The party starts arguing: You can't let this end like this GM! We were almost defeating the dictator, you can't do the same as the last campaign, where everyone died! We already lost so many characters on this one.
GM thinks... OK OK, I will give you another chance.
GM: The mercenary you worked with before arrives ,with buying some extra time for you. Some dice rolls, it kills two of them. But the big boss is still there. James, its your turn.
James - Ok, I will try one more shot.
20
GM: You heard the voice of your deceased master "Use the force, Luke". You disable the visual indicator and just senses the universe. A perfect shot in the core reactor, starting the sequence of explosions destroying the Death Star.
I hope the liberty I took with "Historical event" its OK.
Also, sorry for my English. It is not my first language.
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T09:16:08
| 303
| 17
|
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention.
|
Sleeping soul so innocent
awakens in a blaze. Knowing not
where she is. She wanders on for
days. Beasts with horns and pointed tails
with fire in their eyes, spent the day wondering
the cause of her demise. She was too young,
too filled with life. How does one so very
small have such a shortened time. "We can't let her stay, she
wont last long." "She has no where else to go."
"We can build her a ladder to a land as white as snow."
The damned worked hard and in no time the ladder was erected, the girl
climbed up to find that her fate had been corrected.
|
"*Damn you to hell.*" Biggs muttered, very nearly fulfilling his daily quota for hellishly damnable puns.
"All right, come on!" He shouted to the child.
She was hesitant. Nice things in the pit had a tendency to attain immense weight, and the girl didn't have a telemarketer's shot at heaven of picking her teddy bear up off the floor.
The fact that she hadn't imploded under her own weight was not lost on the demon. He'd seen the Shining and played F.E.A.R., and he was appropriately wary.
"And the teddy bear, come on." Biggs wiggled his fingers in the apropos manner to induce levitation. If the worst happened he would be able to use it as a shield.
The bear left the ground, the girl's eyes followed, and her capacity for thought resumed as the shock of death left and she took in her surroundings. Karen was a good kid, and the lighting vaguely reminded her of Christmas.
Nice things and hell having the relationship that they do, her head exploded.
Biggs sighed again and pressed his palms into his face. "*Help me, I am in hell.*" Pun quota achieved.
| 2013-11-26T16:25:34
| 2013-11-26T15:22:41
| 58
| 16
|
[WP] A story where the 'bad guy' ends up being the hero, without turning 'good'.
Whenever the bad guy ends up saving the day it's because s/he turns good.
I want a story where s/he remains bad and through being bad s/he saves the day - not by accident.
|
I never meant to become no hero. But I did mean to become rich.
Like a motorcycle? I'd hotwire one and bring it to you. Want your wife's psychiatrist's files? I'd break into his office and copy them for you.
I liked specialty jobs. They meant I had to learn new things; do stuff that no one else had never done before. That is why I took that hospital job.
This lady called me on the phone, and asked if I had ever stolen something from a hospital. Drugs, I said. But she asked if I had ever stolen medical machinery. Specifically, a surgery-robot.
Perhaps to win some sympathy from me, she showed me her son, who was sitting on ice in the basement of the lady's apartment building. He was white, but cryogenics makes everyone look black.
He had a bullet wound, near his heart. Only a surgery-robot could operate on him successfully, supposedly, and the woman didn't have much money.
I would be taking nearly all of it, when I was successful. But that didn't matter. She had given me an idea.
Because I was so skilled, I stole a surgery-robot without any problems. Not only that; I stole thirteen. Set them up in a warehouse, in the radiated part of the city, and hired a staff of gangsters to run a little operation for me.
Now turf wars, robberies gone bad, domestic abuses, and impoverished sicklies are music to my ears, because instead of trying to go through the normal system, they come to my hospital instead.
I may be cheaper than the normal rates, but that doesn't mean I can't turn a profit.
|
Captain Scarlett Ribbons didn’t consider herself a ‘bad guy’ *per se*. She adhered strictly to the Articles of Agreement drawn up before she became captain of this vessel. And when the black flag flew, she neither offered nor expected quarter. But now she was faced with a dilemma and as she stared down at the Privateer’s License, her fingers tapped out a frustrated staccato beat. Just then her quartermaster knocked and immediately stuck his ugly head into her quarters.
“Cap’n, we’ve been hovering in this hear cloudbank for the longest time deck to deck with those bloody Queen’s men. The men are getting restless and frankly, nervous as hell.”
Her freckled, porcelain fair face twisted into a frown. Then she nodded. “Call the non-essential crew. I’m going to put this thing to a vote. It’s really asking me to amend the Articles and I won’t do it without consent. Throw the two prisoners overboard first. I’d be bound to turn them over if we do sign the agreement, I want that issue removed. Do it starboard side so the Queen’s vessel can’t see. No parachutes, no mercies, just knock ‘em out downstairs and toss them overboard. Sweet and simple. Bring One-Ear Joe up, we’ll have the crew decide if he’s guilty of cheating at cards, but I’m declaring now that the value of what he defrauded is below the threshold, so his punishment will be limited to Moses’ Law.”
Two hours later, One-Ear Joe had been adjudged guilty and received his forty lashes, and Captain Ribbons was signing the paperwork making her a licensed privateer of the Queen’s Navy. The opposing Captain signed the papers himself and then stamped them with the Royal Seal. Scarlett took her copy and slid it into the top drawer of her oaken desk. As her boat rocked gently back and forth, Captain Beddows, the opposing captain, asked, “You will be turning over the two prisoners you hold.” It was a statement, not a question.
“You’re mistaken. I have no prisoners.”
Beddows turned red. “Wench! I won’t be denied. I want those men.”
Scarlett shrugged. “I’m sorry they didn’t make it. Tried to escape and fell overboard or maybe they committed suicide or perhaps they got the fever or stubbed their toes and died of infection. I’m not sure exactly, but whichever story you like, I’ll sign papers to support it for you.”
Out of politeness, Scarlett tried not to smile as the man struggled valiantly to maintain control of himself. His first mate gently touched the salt-and-pepper bearded captain reminding him of what was at stake. “God damn your soul,” he finally shouted, grabbing his copy of the license and standing. “We should have seized your damn vessel and let our engineers tear it down to its bones.”
Scarlett smiled. They needed her, because no other captain would sign on if she refused. And they had already tried the “reverse engineering” tactic twice without figuring out why these damn pirate vessels flew higher and faster than their more traditional steam driven airships. The Black Anarchists had gained ground at such a rapid pace against the Queen’s navy that it no longer seemed unthinkable that they might not just hold their ground, but win. They needed Captain Ribbons on the Queen's side; they needed her to take out as many Black Anarchist vessels as she could.
Nine months later, she stood in the Queen’s Court to be decorated. Captain Scarlett Ribbons was recognized as having single-handedly (along with the other four ships that made up her fleet) destroyed over seventy enemy vessels resulting in the tide of the battle shifting so that once again the Queen’s Navy held hope of eventual victory. As she entered the court, applause rang out from the peanut gallery, "Huzzah, huzzah, our hero!” Admiral Bellows, promoted from Captain, was the sole person glaring at her with hatred as she accepted the adulation and honors from the Queen.
Johnny, her quartermaster and the one person who always accompanies her leaned over as she left the court and whispered in her ear. “If they knew you took out 35 of their ships during this period, those cheers wouldn’t be quite so loud.”
She smiled.
| 2016-06-09T16:37:04
| 2016-06-09T15:41:29
| 70
| 16
|
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
“Shit, there goes another one.” General Turr mumbled to, Taek, his first officer, “They’re getting a lot more accurate, they used to miss by a few thousand kilometres.”
Turning the ship towards the newly arrived HomoSapien space liner, the Exerprise H56, the Kantian war ship set about tracking the liner and getting all of its clearances and passes checked.
“Yeah, but they are still missing the safe zones. If it weren’t for the jelly shields of the Salec’s their FTL travel would’ve been banned.”
The liner is easily one of the smallest ships currently docked at the way spacion, the HomoSapiens had only discovered their FTL travel 20 years ago. The Kantian’s, Salec’s, Maltuin’s and Delfanit’s were shocked, never thinking that a species with only two arms could create such technology.
“It’s Unorthodox, Unsafe and Damn Stupid! It UUDS!” The council meetings had been plagued with these words for ages.
Taek, going through each clearance code with a meticulousness that only he could, motions to the debris trail left behind the liners “If we shared our technology with them, they could travel through the gates.”
“It would also decrease the bloody clean-up required each time.”
“You know we can’t, the treaty stands and the human ships aren’t dense enough to handle the radiation.” The general replies, not mentioning that the few ships that have tried it crashed into each other.
“How, exactly do they even travel this far anyway? It would seem that their ships and bodies wouldn’t be able to handle the forces.” Taek asks for the millionth time.
“Well, they have this theory of relativity, which says the faster you travel the more mass you have. It overcomplicated all of their scientific endeavours.” The general begins, earning a collective moan from everyone awake in the warships control room.
“So when they started travelling at close to light speed they just assumed that they couldn’t travel as fast or faster. They built engines that can get to 80% the speed of light, which is something our ships do with impulse engines.”
“That only took them to the edge of their own solar system, something admirable but it still confined them to their own corner. The Salec wave riders were considering helping them to travel faster, however, about 21 years ago when they sent a probe ship, they found rings the size of moons being placed on the edges of their solar system.” He pauses to ensure that Taek is still listening, which of course he is.
“Curious the Salec’s stood back and watched. The humans had somehow discovered how to warp space but only between two set places. Their warp drives also temporarily increased their speed to 3 FTL, which they still haven’t entirely realised.”
This next bit is where the council is still struggling to accept the HomoSapiens as a race, the council usually worked well together on making decisions, but dangerous travel that still worked was a grey area. Every other race were too cautious to attempt something unkown.
“Well, to start traversing through space, the humans would travel from their home planet at the maximum speed they can travel. Aiming straight for the warp gates, at first, but eventually at different angles. This caused them to easily travel to new solar systems. It also made it difficult for them to actually stop.”
“Which is why their first three ships flew straight into, in order or severity, the council war fleet, the council’s moon of operations and the dwarf star of the Antraci system. Total count of death combined was well over 100-million.”
“Of course after catching the attention of the council and several other alien races the HomoSapiens eventually made contact with us and we were able to stop their exploration ships before more damage could be caused. The thing that surprised most races was that after three failed attempts the humans were still attempting FTL travel.”
“It wasn’t until first contact that the Salec’s realised that humans were still using Radio waves to communicate across vast distances. But, that advancement in their tech is a whole different story and involves several strange messages that either offended everyone or caused peace treaties to be made with the Andromeda Galaxy.”
- Recorded on the bridge of the JJK98 Farbelus Warship, 200 0000 km long, conversation between General of Knowledge Turr and his First Officer of memory Taek. Annotations and missing information filled in my Salec History Keeper Urder V, the second.
|
"You wish really really hard and then you push the button."
"Really really hard? What does the wishing do?"
"Frustrates the hell out of the new recruits when they realize that the incredibly genuine way we insist that they wish as hard as they can is just a ploy to make them look silly to amuse the rest of the crew."
"That seems mean"
"Humans are occasionally mean, we do it for laughs and after the hazing is over we make it up to them; its not perfect but it satisfies their need for schadenfreude in a mild way. It brings the crew together through a shared experience."
"That seems complex for a team building exercise. Why would it work? Don't the new recruits see right through it?"
"Because its really embarrassment even if its very contrived."
"So what system does the button engage? What does it cause?"
"Take a look, the bulkhead below it has been removed"
She draped her sixteen fingers and a vast forest of flagella under the counter. She pulled out a small squat brass jug-ish looking object with a pop and thwop as it released suction from the rubber.
"So the button does nothing but simulate pressing a button connected to something. Where is the real way you activate your faster than light travel"
Smirking he didn't reply but started half laughing, half singing an old Christina Aguilera song:" I feel like I've been locked up tight..." He trailed off. "When the old veterans find out about the button its the commands turn to have a laugh. Its best to let old R.W. rest though when he's grumpy things can get nasty."
| 2017-03-30T23:17:22
| 2017-03-30T23:13:22
| 37
| 15
|
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form.
|
My eyes widened and my entire body went still. For a second, I didn't even breathe. Then I processed what I was seeing.
Infront of me, right under me and my girlfriends house was some sort-of treasure hoard. Millions of smoothe, gold coins piled up in every corner, shimmering as they hit the light reflected off of colourful crystals and elegant chandeliers. Treasure chests spilled their plentiful contents out onto the stone floor and famous paintings lined the walls.
It was all so confusing, how was this under my house, *why* was this under my house, but then I realised something.
My girlfriend Selene had always seemed fairly normal. Well, not *normal,* but nothing was ever off about her. She was fun and bubbly, and stood out wherever she went, with both her forest green hair, and her bright personality.
But, despite this, some thoughts began popping into my head. Thoughts about how she was always naturally warm, even in the freezing cold, about how she seemed kind of new to stuff that were a daily part of life, about how she didn't seem to have any naturally coloured roots beneath her long, soft sheet of green hair, how she never had to re-dye it.
Dragons usually kept treasure hoards, didn't they?
Did this mean..
I took a step forwards, then another, surveying my surroundings once more, trying to take it all in.
Then, something caught my eye. Something that had initially been hidden behing a pile of gold.
I spotted something bright red, hanging from a coaghanger.
I made a beeline for whatever this item of clothing was, only to be greeted with, well, quite the surprise.
A bright red, silk dress with little diamonds embroidered along the neck hung before me.
A memory began playing in my brain, and I remembered where this dress was from.
On Selene and I's first date, I had showed up in this dress. We were at a fancy restaurant. Everything was fine, until a waiter that had been passing by tripped, spilling some of the cola from the glass he was carrying. It landed on my dress, leaving a dark brown patch trailing down the side of the silk.
Once we left, we agreed to go to Selenes place. I put on some of her pyjamas, and she put my dress in for the wash. After, I practically forgot about it.
Upon further inspection, I saw that the stain was entirely gone, leaving the dress good as new. Not only this, but the dress was surrounded by many other items that brought back memories:the flowers I got her for our one year anniversary; a framed photo of the time we went hiking, and I thought I'd die from exhaustion; the bow, pulled from the wrapping of a present I had given to her for Christmas.
Looking at all of this, at all of these memories layed out, visual proof that she treasured them as much as I did, it brought tears to my eyes, and a smile to my lips.
"Honey?"
I whirled round to see the surprised face of my girlfriend.
"Selene..!"
"I'm.. I'm sorry!" She cried. "You can have the dress back!"
"I-what?" I half-whispered back, shocked.
"Huh?"
"I don't care about the dress, honey. I..." I looked at all of our belongings that she had kept here, then back at her. "You kept all of this stuff?"
"Well, I mean.. This is my treasure hoard, and this stuff is, well, treasure. To me, at least."
I smiled, tearing up again. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out, so instead I just lunged forwards and embraced her.
|
I look at the massive pile of gold in shock. There must have been a ton of it. It included a wide variety, bars, coins, jewels, statues and any other cold fixture you can think of.
But more terrifying was what layer on top. My girlfriend, Jessica, splayed out in a red dress made of some odd scales that stuck close to her skin. Too close. As I watched her from the shadows, the dress spread across her until the scales covered her entire body. Claws sprung from her long and delicate fingers and horns emerged from her head. Slowly she began to grow in size and her mouth curled out into a maw. Wings emerged from her back.
Within a minute, an honest to god dragon was laying there.
“Alright John. You can come out now.” The voice grumbled out from the slimy maw of what was supposed to be my girlfriend.
“I- I don’t- this has to be a dream- what the he-“
I couldn’t even scrounge up some words.
“I’m so sorry mortal. This deception of mine has been most… cruel. And I am going to have to kill you know.” The voice sounded hushed and factual. I was to stunned to speak.
“You see John, my name is not Jessica Mankind. It is Jelandra. Quite a funny trick of world play wasn’t that?” The deep and growly voice cackled and continued,
“No point in explaining”
As her flames drowned me I remembered the first thing I told her.
That I was the manager of Fort Knox.
| 2022-09-10T12:05:18
| 2022-09-10T09:51:49
| 67
| 47
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
I've never been much for parties--let alone a party where I'm the center of attention. I'd much rather be sitting in a corner somewhere with a cat and my phone until the crowd dispersed. But, it was my 18th birthday today, so my parents were hosting my reveal party.
Often, children took after one of their parents. My mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, had been "resilient." They were survivors who had been through more trauma and heartache than most, but they still managed to soldier on and serve as role models for others. My grandmother was one of our community leaders, and a small throng gathered around her and my mother as they discussed plans to update infrastructure in our town.
My father, like his father and brothers was "protective." He was a member of the police force and helped keep us safe. He was seldom far from my mother, and stood a few paces back from her, eyes alert and straight posture belying that he was ready to spring to action even on such a happy day.
My parents were good people, and everyone expected that I would follow one of their leads. My older sister had. She wore the label of "protective" proudly. She was currently training to join the police force as well.
"It's almost time!" My mother called excitedly. "Take off your cardigan so we can see better. Only another minute..."
Everyone gathered around me waiting to see what my destiny held. Slowly, the dark shapes of a word began to appear. No one breathed for a moment as "dick" came into startling focus. Everything was silent until one of my cousins finally broke and began to laugh nervously. My father shot him a glare as my mother moved to comfort me. "It could mean any number of things..."
When she released me from a firm hug, I moved to stare at my arm, but was shocked to see something on my opposite forearm as well... The word "butt."
There had to be some kind of explanation! Surely my destiny couldn't be... Dick butt...
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58
| 2017-03-16T02:49:08
| 427
| 12
|
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence.
|
As I held my newborn child in my arms for the first time, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. This tiny, perfect, bundled up package of joy was finally here after so many hours of labor, months of pregnancy, and years of trying conceive. I was so overwhelmed I couldn't speak at all, nor hear what the doctor was saying, even as he slowly covered my wife's face with the hospital bed sheet.
|
Stained windows, check. Blue roses, check. Orange lighting, check. Bare-backed white dress, check. Perfectly curled hair, check. James, check.
I smile. These were all I ever wanted the moment I fell in love with him. It was a stormy Sunday afternoon in his room.
"James, we have talked about this before. You want children so much. How could I expect you to give that up? But it just isn't what I want."
"What are you saying?"
"I just think it is inevitable. Someday, maybe. Or maybe we will work something out in the future. But for now...," I dove into his embrace.
James pulled away from me, caressing my right cheek. "Never bring that up again." His voice was firm but gentle. "I've thought a lot since the last time we talked about it. Let's not have children then. But never talk like that again, never, you hear me? It breaks my heart just thinking about it."
I melted right there and then. Like an ice cube in a ball of fire.
I fell in love right there and then. Like tipping over the edge of a cliff I have hovered over for weeks.
I bite my lower lip to keep myself from smiling like an idiot. Looking around, I spot the love of my life, over at the end of the aisle.
His brown hair is combed back, just the way I like it. He puts his hands behind. I feel his nervousness as he smooths his shirt. He starts tapping his left foot. He always does this when he gets anxious.
*Eight, nine, ten.* His ten seconds are up.
He looks more dashing than ever in that black tux. The black tux I picked out for him. I bite my lip again, as I open my eyes as wide as I can, holding back the imminent tears.
"Kate. For three years, you have brought me on a great adventure. I fell in love with you, I started feeling emotions more strongly than I ever thought I was capable of, I ate grasshoppers in Thailand, I went on impromptu road trips, I took a leap and started my own company, I got on a plane to satisfy food cravings. Your spontaneity is your greatest gift, and you, are mine."
That same firm yet gentle voice. My vision blurred.
"James. I love saying your name. Thank you, for going on adventures with me. You make them that much more thrilling, that much more audacious, that much more inspiring. Please always let me take you on wild rides. To places all over, and to places in our minds. I love you."
"James, do you take Kate to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and to honor her all the days of your life?"
"I do."
His eyes are sparkling with tenderness.
"Kate, do you take James to be your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honor him all the days of your life?"
"I do."
My tears are falling like Niagara. *How ugly I must look.*
I remove my headworn mic and turn towards the nearest exit.
*I should make this quick, there are still guests I have to usher to the reception.*
Stepping into the church again, everyone is standing, eyes on the beautiful couple.
*Reception, reception,* I remind myself, as I sweep my eyes across the crowd. *There he is, little James Jr. My best gift.*
| 2017-05-25T06:54:44
| 2017-05-25T01:09:41
| 130
| 82
|
[WP] Five people wake up in a metal room with no windows and only one door. In the middle of the room is a revolver and a piece of paper. "One of you has to die. Kill this person, the door unlocks and the survivors win $1million. Each wrong person dead halves your prize. You have four bullets."
|
As soon as I read the note, I grabbed the gun. "We're not shooting anyone yet. Fuck that. I need to think."
And then I thought.
Kills|Money left if correct|People to split with|Net profit
:-:|:-:|:-:|:-:
1|$1,000,000|4|$250,000
2|$500,000|3|$166,666.66
3|$250,000|2|$125,000
4|$125,000|1|$125,000
Expected profit = 1/5x$250k + 1/4x$167K + 1/3x$125k +4/5x3/4x2/3x$125k = **$183.4k**
But...
Kills|Money left if correct|People to split with|Net profit
:-:|:-:|:-:|:-:
1, then 3|$1,000,000|1|$1,000,000
2, then 2|$500,000|1|$500,000
3, then 1|$250,000|1|$250,000
4|$125,000|1|$125,000
Expected profit = 1/5x$1M + 1/4x$500K + 1/3x$250k +4/5x3/4x2/3x$125k = **$458.3k**
Grinning, I stood. Confident, I strolled to the door. "Alright, everyone. I've got this."
I raised the gun.
|
The other three saw the paper and the revolver first, the big guy called it out, but they all hesitated. Just for a moment. That was all it took, and by the time I finished reading the last line everyone was a mouth breather.
"There's three of us and one of him"
Now's the time to point it at them. I'm not big, but now I might as well be a tank.
"no no no no no don't shoot, kill muscle man over there, he's the only one you have to worry about overpowering you"
The room was hot, the sweating made everyone look even more desperate. She's right though, if anyone it has to be him first.
"OH MY GOD, FUCK, IT'S ON ME, HE'S ON ME"
The mute finally talks, and the one who wanted it can't even look. The door still isn't unlocking. It feels like it's getting hotter now.
"You're going to have to kill this *fucking weird guy*, he's got to be hiding something, that's why we're still here"
She's almost crying, still not looking up. The mute is throwing up in the corner, sounds like he's trying to defend himself inbetween heaves, but this isn't quite working for either of us.
"No please, just give it some more fucking time, that's all it needs. *There's no reason to kill me.* C'mon FUCKING PLEASE DON'T DO THIS"
It's getting hotter, and she's looking up now. Not for long.
"LET ME OUT ASSHOLES, I PLAYED YOUR GAME, THEY'RE ALL DEAD, LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over again
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
It just keeps getting hotter. I can't even lay on the floor anymore because my skin sticks to it, I had to pull their bodies over to lay on top. I can't scream anymore, each breath feels like fire down my throat. All I can do is focus on the sound of blood bubbling and burning on the metal floor beneath the bed I made. It's getting fainter.
| 2017-10-30T21:40:44
| 2017-10-30T19:00:49
| 29
| 13
|
[WP] Eye colour means everything here. Brown control the earth, blue controls the water, white controls the sky. There are so many colours and each important but you were the first born with yellow eyes.
|
Every colour has a power.
Brown controls the earth.
Blue controls the water.
White controls the sky.
There are many colours, and some are more common than others.
Grey, the colour of ashes, is the most common colour. Grey controls fire.
The least common was Purple, the eye colour of the royal family that has ruled for millennia, and the controllers of shadows.
It *was* Purple.
Until me.
I'm Yellow.
The first Yellow.
And I can control people.
|
My dad supposedly fainted when I opened my eyes, right after birth, and peered at him curiously. My mom sobbed into her pillow, believing I’d never make it in life. My eyes were a molten gold, the yellow shade just as the sun began to set, or so poets have written so far. It’s been over 20 years since I gained control of my powers, amazed my friends, and shamed my family for dumping me in the orphanage. It took 5 years to track them down and show them they were wrong.
Most of my friends screamed with joy when they could finally control their abilities over the earth, the seas, or the skies. I could only watch and clap reluctantly as I came closer to the conclusion that I was a fluke. They never helped either, considering they tormented me and tried to bury and drown and strangle me a few times.
My first hint of the abilities came in 2nd grade. We, the orphanage children, attended a nearby public school and ate all our meals there. I decided one day at the mystery meat was not supposed to be a mystery, and being my temperamental self, exploded on the poor lunch staff who tried to explain it was called mystery meat.
Instead of placing her hand on my shoulder, she grasped at air and suddenly noticed that there were more copies of me than there were other children. She yelled, and I stopped out of fear of punishment.
The second incident involved the girls’ bathroom, Susanna screaming, and me getting ratted out to the principal’s office. I didn’t know any better than to illuse spiders in the bathroom, they thought, and let me off easy.
I think that’s the beginning of this ‘criminal’ streak, Officer. Do I need to go on?
You want me to list all of my actions to confirm them? And explain my ability? Yeesh, you’re asking a lot for a dude on your Xeram. That’s some pretty strong stuff.
Okay, okay. Crimes: detaining authority by casting illusion they were in a mushroom field after I caused a fire in the elementary school. Finding my birth family and traumatizing them into believing I was the next prophet. Starting a cult with them as my ‘priests’ and ‘suggesting’ they should dump the fairy juice on themselves and light incense so God would come to see them in person. It was gasoline and matches, if you’re wondering. I started a fake drug business where I gave my customers pixie sticks and illused them some LSD trips. That was pretty funny, the dumb people that they were. My second favorite one was when I convinced the governor to give me access to Riemon Enterprises and sat there watching while I transferred their overflow value into my bank account. I used the money for charity, of course! I burned down that shitty bar downtown that spiked drinks and wired the funds to my old orphanage. They really need new carpet. I lost count of the homicides, Officer, but little Miss Mary was the queen of the underground sex trade around here. Bachelorette couldn’t have enough fun on her own, huh. I burned down Montiago, yea, but they were pretty shitty to their staff.
Is that enough? Oh right, you wanted powers.
Illusions in all senses. Listed: Visual, auditory, olfactory, gustatory, the works. Mind reading is a bit over hyped, seeing I can only sense emotions and thoughts of the moment. Some telekinetic abilities, not much more than I can lift, which is helluva. Remember when I flipped your car from the other road? That was pretty fun. I think that’ll be all, sir. Can I go to my cell now?
| 2016-08-08T11:30:41
| 2016-08-08T11:17:29
| 55
| 20
|
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
The hourglass had rolled to its side, its content perfectly balanced on both sides, a potential eternity in the shape of a few still grains of sand.
Death rolled it between his fingers, the dry, bleached bones clicking against dusty, bubbly glass. The sand inside was a dark, coarse thing, tinged with the black of volcanic ashes and the red of granit dust, clumped by time. Next to it, vivid contrast, is the crystalline emptiness of Death own hourglass.
That thing was Ancient, even for Death, and it's with something akin to reverence that he laid it on his desk, carefully maintaining its balance on the side. It's so old than the name carved on the bronze plaque has disappeared under the dust. Never had such a thing happened before to him, not in this unlife nor in any others, for Death had already lived many existences and would carry on living many others through worlds and time, He the Reaper that existed in the cusp of eternity.
Again the tapping of bones against glass and a sound that could have been a sigh. Who could it be, and what would have become of them ? Someone that had lived for so long, nearly as long as himself, someone that had experienced everything life had to offer but never had to pay the price of mortality for it. Would he find a king, his will unyielding and forged through millenias of ruling, or a beggar, crazed by an unending existence of loss and misery ?
Since the beginning the pact had been simple. They would be born and live, wax and wane out of existence and always Death would be there at the end, but this time there had not been any end, at least so far. With a shrug, Death went on to collect what he was owed.
​
Grass under his heels and the heavy buzzing of bees welcoming him. The garden was lush with life, teeming with the sounds and the exuberancy of Nature nurtured. A work unending but a reward in itself, as Death took in the trees basking in the sun, the almost cloying scent of flowers still damp from some previous rain, and the small silhouette in the clearing, waiting near a table.
​
" I had been waiting for so long, I thought it would never happen but you are here, finally. Tell me, do we have time for tea ?"
​
The man pulls out a chair and Death sits. It's not uncommon to have people try to negociate with him, to coax him into relenting but the warm smile is sincere, devoid of any duplicity. Death feels welcome here, in this haven of peace and life and so he sits and contemplate his duty as the man starts to fuss around them.
​
​
The face is ageless but the hands aren't, worn and twisted by work but still strong as the man deftly pours tea in mismatched cups. A bee, more curious than others land near a pot filled with honey and he gently shoos it away, using a dollop of the sweet nectar to distract it.
Once done the man sits, facing Death, lifting his cup in wordless cheer among the garden. Together they drink in silence, the man peaceful in front of his Death. Then they talk, for hours, for ages, sky and sun and stars dancing among them, and Death revels in this unusual sensation, of having someone made so similar to him by a mere twist of Fate. In this place, made almost perfect in its natural beauty where time has all but lost its sense Death takes a decision.
​
" I have only come for tea, and a chat. You know how eternity can be long sometimes."
Wordlessly the man nods
" But I will come back in your garden, if you allow it ?"
​
" Of course, my friend, you will always be welcome."
​
On top of Death desk sits a dusty hourglass, laying on its side, untouched. The name on the plaque has long disappeared but if one day someone was to ask whose it is, Death would only answer
​
" A Friend."
​
I hope I didn't make too many mistakes as english isn't my first langage. Thanks for reading !
Edit: First of all, thank you for the Gold, kind Redditor !
Second, I edited a few typos that were pointed out to me, so than you again
|
A rather androgynous figure stands behind a great stone desk, intricately carved with names you and I would find impossible to pronounce. It spreads outwards in both directions, infinitely long, growing darker and darker in the endless vault. Besides a few gaps close to the figure, the great stone carving is infinite.
It wears a tight fitting robe as black as a raven, thin spindly arms crossed over an equally frail chest. Its breath rattles spews outward, creating a thin vapor that swirls with a mind of its own.
Today is not a good day. Most days weren't good days. Hard to find value in your work when you've been at it since the dawn of time. If you asked the figure why, it wouldn't be able to provide a concrete answer. It simply wasn't a good one.
Same thought as yesterday, and the same thought tomorrow.
It sits on a marble bench behind the desk, preparing to review a great worn scroll, yellowed with age and decay.
Unfolding the parchment slowly, the figure reads the first few names, committing them to memory. Hopefully the interns had set out the correct hourglasses for it to flip.
Out came another long and involuntary sigh. This newest batch seemed to be a bunch of favored sons and daughters of higher angels, and this always annoyed it. That's the problem with heaven; the nepotism.
When the angels aren't doing that annoying praising and brown nosing the big man, they were fucking each other's brains out.
There honestly wasn't that much else to do up here.
Footsteps clack their way towards it, down the long arched marble hallway. Each wall bearing massive shelves, reaching ever upwards, a name and soul tied to an hourglass. When your times up, the glass is flipped. You stay in heaven or hell for your allotted time, and then got sent back to do it all over again.
The monkeys never learned their place, that's for sure.
The figure approaching is tall and slender, golden faced with several sets of wings. Mom must be a big shot, since that's how wings are passed down from generation to generation. The more wings the better, though he hadn't seen this many in awhile. What was this one's name? They all seemed so interchangeable and half the time they showed up late or hungover.
"Good morning," beamed the figure.
Okay. Not hungover.
Not in the mood to respond, the dark one strode past, scroll tucked into a front pocket.
It wandered down the hall, the figure behind it following like some kind of lost puppy. Interns tend to be more bother than help around here.
Soon it came to the case bearing today's chosen, and the dark one pulled out the scroll again.
Double check the selected row.
*Wrong row,* thought the dark one to itself. *Figures.*
"Who was in charge of selection?" rattled the dark one, voice like the clacking and snapping of bone.
The bright figure pursed its lips, looking upward in thought.
"Aedonis, I believe."
"He's fired. This is the wrong row."
The dark one knew the right row now, and handed the scroll to the bright figure.
"Place this on the desk, and if you open it I will personally send you to Dis."
The figure grabbed the scroll and trotted away, though the dark one was unsure if the briskness came from fear or eagerness. Angels are hard to read.
Approaching the correct row, the dark one raised a single arm, and in unison every hourglass rose into the air.
It mumbled the usual pair, and at random, the glasses began to flip at random intervals, corresponding to the individual's time of death.
*Pretty packed row today,* it thought to itself.
*Somebody must have fucked up somewhere. A war? A pestilence?*
The dark one wasn't sure, and had lost its curiosity long ago. It'd have to ask one of its siblings for the truth, but didn't care enough to dig deeper. Didn't matter.
On the return to its desk, the bright figure could be seen behind it, holding something.
The dark one narrowed its eyes, moving faster now. Each footstep making muffled clicks on the stone below.
"What are you holding, boy?" it snapped, already annoyed by having to put in the paperwork to hire a replacement.
"I'm a girl," the figure said, but the dark one paid no notice.
"It's an hourglass," she continued, peering over it.
"I found it under the desk."
Gingerly the angel handed it over, and already the dark one could see a disturbing irregularity.
The thing is sideways.
That shouldn't be possible.
The dark one read the name etched on it.
*Rachel*
No last name, no identifying marks of any kind. Close inspection of an hourglass can usually give a biographical description of the subject, but nothing was etched into it. Just a name.
Impossible. There had to be another seal on this, masking the identity of the human.
"Where did you find this?"
The angel shrugged.
"It came out of nowhere. Slid right out of the scroll."
The dark one brushed aside the angel, dismissing it.
This was bad.
This was really, really fucking bad.
The intern's heritage must have some guardian angel in it, since touching the scroll must have undone a seal so powerful even the dark one couldn't access it. Who had cast it? How had they managed to steal this from the dark one's possession to do so? And most importantly, what human possibly deserved any kind of divine protection like this?
Nepotism and favoritism, and sheer fucking privilege. This little shit had no idea it had unwittingly broken a powerful divine seal without even trying.
The dark one pushed that thought aside. Someone hid a monkey's soul in the dark one's own Scroll of Names. That idea kept recurring, the most disturbing of all. If someone slid a name in, how many more were there? Were names being altered and fates being undone?
Someone was trying to keep a monkey alive.
The dark one frowned, looking at the hourglass.
Today just got a lot more interesting.
It wasn't sure who it could trust, certainly no one up here. Angels were a deceptive kind, but the dark one knew someone on Earth who could probably uncover the truth.
One of the old ones. Unaffiliated with the big guy, one of those earlier mistakes made that hides in the deep and wet places of the world. A few were still puttering around down there, and their time still hadn't come, much to the dark one's annoyance. Those were the only beings the dark one could fear, the vast majority of the residents of heaven could do nothing to harm it.
The old ones, though. Different story.
That had been a mistake by the one who apparently couldn't make them, and if the humans thought their old testament God was brutal, they hadn't seen shit. Those purges were hands down the cruelest ever known, and the dark one still remembered flipping entire halls of hourglasses, the greatest extinction there ever was or shall be.
It sighed, returning to the present, knowing it would need to take a human form. It hated flesh, spongy and weak.
There wasn't another option, it seemed.
Rachel was under illegal protection, and the dark one would have to interfere.
Didn't the monkeys learn? Didn't any of these arrogant shits up here learn?
No one escapes death.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2018-10-03T06:28:38
| 2018-10-03T04:57:52
| 1,464
| 557
|
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers.
|
“You see, my power I can, uh how can I put this I can umm err, it’s kinda hard to explain” it is in fact NOT hard to explain. I can produce pheromones that have whatever effect I want at will. Most of them are undetectable by most animals and once they get into your nose they will eventually get to your brain. At which point the effect takes hold. However I can’t say mind control, I’ll get shot on site. I can’t say what it really is because then people will plug their nose. Wait, I just had an Idea.
“Hmm, so you know how sound works right? I can make micro vibrations which can target and activate certain neurons in your brain, and while everyone’s is different, after doing some digging I can influence your body to do certain tasks while, however if my influence is caught the individual they can easily fight it. But in many cases, my influence feels like your own subconscious’s automatic functions. Not quite mind control but very close.”
It’s perfect, this power would require air to work, and my opponents can’t live without air. But now they won’t try to filter out my pheromones which, doesn’t entirely require air to work.
I quickly made the inquisitor believe my story, his power being the ability to be immune to any power he thinks of.
|
# VI | [Read from I](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1fq6x/wp_as_a_joke_the_gods_decided_to_reverse_the/iaoubt6/)
Aside from Adrianna, Cassidy Quinn was Shizuka's only real friend.
He'd been at the Academy longer than almost any of the other students. Long enough to have been here when she'd first arrived, a girl barely more than twelve, far from home and clearly a foreigner, trying to conceal her own fright and lashing out at other students who'd taken undue interest in her -- which meant any interest at all beyond a passing glance. It hadn't helped that her grasp of the language had proven less complete than she'd thought, when she'd studied it in her homeland. If she'd become an outcast, she had to admit that some of that was her own fault.
If only the bastards had ever let it go.
But there was Cassidy. She'd met him in her adopted refuge, the library of literature and philosophy. Unlike the much larger library of magical arts, very few went there -- other than the librarians, of course, but they were happy enough to let her be. For a few days, it had been a place she could get away, sit in solitude, and read.
Cassidy had had the same idea. The first time she'd entered the library to find him sitting in a corner nook and reading, she'd frozen in place. And not in trepidation. He'd been a small and scrawny boy, the furthest thing from dangerous, with too-large clothes and unkempt hair. Unkempt golden hair, the Eastlander shade that so fascinated her. Wide, startled eyes -- bright purple eyes -- when he'd looked up at her. He'd resembled a frightened rabbit, just for a moment. And then he'd smiled and beckoned her over.
They hadn't spoken much that day, beyond an exchange of names. Nor the next day. He'd seemed comfortable just sitting there, reading natural philosophy while she painstakingly worked her way through the least challenging works of literature she could find. Eventually, he'd made a recommendation. She'd asked him to explain a passage. They'd spoken some more. Some time later, she'd realized she'd begun to think of him as a friend. She'd thought he must have an affinity for compassion, or reassurance, or something of the sort.
So it was her and Cassidy and, eventually, her roommate Adrianna. The three misfits. Plus Cassidy's current girlfriend, she supposed. Over the years, he'd blossomed; now, he was no longer a misfit, really. He was nearly as tall as she was (and she was so uncommonly tall that she feared she'd be taken for *oni*-blooded, if she ever returned to Shirigekuro). He was slim, but no one would call him scrawny -- he got adjectives like "lithe" and "willowy" instead. He'd developed a pale, androgynous, almost-ethereal beauty, too, and worse, he knew it. He seemed to have a different girl (and, once, a boy) every couple of weeks.
If she hadn't already liked him so much, she might have hated him.
----
Cassidy frowned in thought while those purple eyes bored into her. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to wait?"
Shizuka sighed. "No. Shapeshifting isn't one of the magics I've developed. Adrianna's been stuck in my form ever since the calamity, though, and I think it's really starting to get to her. I've never seen her hold one form for so long before."
"You have," he pointed out. "Her own."
Tilting her head, she waved that away. "Other than her own. And yes, it's starting to get to me too. It's creepy enough to see an envy witch take your shape, but living with one for weeks like that?"
"I see your point, but you should talk to her about it."
"I'm not going to just *change* her! I just don't want to bring it up before I know if it's possible. I wouldn't want..."
"To get her hopes up?" Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So, without an envy master witch, that leaves a few options. Imbued items weren't affected by the calamity, so we could try to get her a transformation item. But that's probably too expensive to be practical." He paused, looking to her for confirmation.
Shizuka had brought a good amount of gold and silver with her to the Academy, but years of schooling and a paucity of options for reliably obtaining money had whittled that down. An imbued brooch or cloak was well beyond her means now, even if one were available, and she regretfully shook her head.
"A transformation elixir, then?"
"That, I could afford," she said. "But that would be single-use, and it would wear off. Plus, you never know how long an elixir is going to last. If I need to, I'll buy one for her, but it's not a real solution."
He nodded. "You could put the word out and try to hire an envy witch to transform her."
"If any of them has re-mastered their magic." She grimaced. "It's worth a try, if nothing else works."
"What else is there?"
She met his gaze for a moment before her eyes darted away. "I was hoping you could."
"What? I don't--"
"Cass." She cut him off, speaking quickly, before she lost the nerve. "I know about your affinities. Can you help?"
He looked at her, then turned away, seeming to deflate as he did. "How?" he asked quietly.
"We've been friends for a long time, Cass, and I'm not completely stupid." She ventured a fragile smile. "I understand why you've presented yourself as a lightning and metal wizard, but I know about your other one."
"You can't possibly understand."
She flinched from the pain she heard and reflexively offered a defense. "I've torn almost two dozen holes into my own essence." A beat, before she continued more softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't plan to bring it up, ever, but... I'm worried about her."
It surprised her when he laughed. A strained, half-broken sound, but a laugh, at least. "A rare day when Shizuka Kitsuki apologizes. Well, for the Academy's heroine..."
"Thank you."
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Seconds ticked past in silence. "I don't know that I can help," he said at last. "But what are friends for?"
----
[Next Chapter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v84iiq/sp_trust_no_one_especially_not_yourself/ibpd5z9/)
| 2022-06-06T17:52:42
| 2022-06-06T14:18:28
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer.
|
Being the newest lawyer at the largest firm around, you tend to get the worst of cases from both sides of the spectrum. The most contentious divorces with kids and pettiness, and the most pedantic arbitrations with low billable hours. Shit truly does roll downhill, and I knew today would be no different when the snickering and whispers followed me as I made my way to my desk. Instead of the anticipated pile of paperwork, a single thin folder sat in front of my chair. Its contents just a single meager page outlining the client's names and imminent meeting location. Not only was there no practical information, it being the only case I was assigned for the day insinuated it could be an all day affair. Internally, I groaned.
"Albert Bachelard and... Alette? Must be a divorce," I muttered to myself as I made my way to the conference room. The water cooler and coffee station next door was uncharacteristically empty as an awkward stiff atmosphere hung in the air.
"Hello! My name is Jen and I will be ..." I stared at the pair. A man in head to toe black sat slumped glaring in a dark corner while a woman whose essence was so light she practically floated beamed at me across from him. Half the windows had been curtained securely, while half had their curtains up as high as they went. I sat down awkwardly at the far head of the table before recovering, "Ah, so... we are here today for some arbitration. What are ah, what are discussing today?" I tried my best to smile.
"Well my dear, we have found ourselves at a slight impass," the woman said too sweetly, her blue hair bouncing in an unseen wind. "See, this very *ungentle*man has decided that all decency and obligation regarding contracts is something to ignore."
"No, it is this frail blood bag's inability to comprehend tradition that is the issue!" The man vehemently hissed back, pushing himself forward to appear larger before quickly recoiling back to his shaded corner.
"Oh! We're discussing a contract!" I said confidently, back in familiar territory. "Well let's see if we can get this resolved for you two today. Do either of you have a copy of the contract?"
"The covenant between the bitten thrall and their master is older than the dirt you walk upon human," the man's words grew louder. "You should fear such covenants and their holders. It is etched in the very bones of those who tremble upon-"
I held up my hand quickly, "Sir, do you have a physical copy of the contract? If not the original, then a photo copy?" The man's eyes searched me over for a few moments.
"This is not the thing that can be captured in a mere photograph," the man quietly muttered.
"Here darling," that sweet voice interjected, "I think I may be able to clarify this for you. When someone dares to eat fae food without permission, there is a dear price to be paid. I'm sure you understand."
"So you are seeking a solution for the damages incurred when this man ate some of your food?" I asked, confused. The woman bit her lip and nodded. "And what would you propose the remedy would be?"
"Eternal servitude," she said with brightness, but something else lightly shaded her smile.
"This foolish fae lies!!!" The man erupted from the other side of the room. "I require no sustenance! My form is beyond that of weaker needs! I ate nothing!" He rose, his form growing taller. "I consumed the blood of this woman's sad form, thus it is *her* that owes *me* servitude!"
"So you both are seeking eternal servitude as fulfillment for the contract?" Both nodded curtly, staring. "Well, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but those are void contacts." The woman started to protest, but I kept going. "Honestly, the paralegal fielding the calls should have informed you of this. Slavery is federally illegal, it's expressly stated in the constitution, and any contract for an illegal activity is totally void. Beyond illegal, there are ethical implications here as well." Both sides of the room somehow seemed dimmer, their irritation clear. "No court is going to enforce any of this."
"If this," I lowered my voice, in case a colleague was walking the hall, "If this is like a sex thing, those contacts are not enforceable either."
"This is not that," the man said hiding his face in his hands while the woman's mouth twitched.
"Well, I will go get the decision written up for you two. Is there any final statements regarding this arbitration conclusion?"
The woman's saccharine smile deepened, "Is there *anything* I can offer-"
"Ma'am, it's against our code of ethics to accept gifts from clients," I said quickly while organizing my notes.
"You should fear for your soul, crossing the undead," the man said with great disdain.
"Sir, if I had concern for my soul I wouldn't have become a lawyer."
[I have to get back to class, I didn't proofread! First time doing one of these and I spat it out quick, hopefully it's okay.]
|
I shuffled some papers around on my desk for what had to have been the third time in under five minutes. The room was incredibly tense, but that didn't phase me. It's not like my job was all sunshine and rainbows so the thinly veiled anger that my clients felt towards each other was no more of a problem to me than if one of them was wearing an ugly jumper - not ideal but had no reason to put me off.
Both of the clients sat in that stuffy room were beautiful. The man who casually slouched on the chair on the left was pale, but it suited him somehow. He was dressed incredibly formally and everything he wore was tailored so precisely that he wore it like a second skin. The fabrics were exquisite and something about the way he carried himself made me certain that he knew all of this. He kept grinning at me like a snake and I knew that all of his fashion and good looks were the light of an anglerfish waiting impatiently for prey.
The woman was also well dressed and beautiful but in a completely different way to the man. Her clothes looked as though she had taken the phrase "just threw this on" far too literally and they sort of fell around her body instead of hugged it. She wore a mismash of what looked part medieval gown, part high fashion and she almost looked like a fashion model as well. Her limbs were slim and long but perhaps a little too long and whilst I'm sure her face was gorgeous it made me nervous to look at for too long.
These people were easily the most attractive people I'd even met - in fact, they were the most good looking people I'd ever even *seen.* Models, actors and athletes had nothing on either of them. They were quite simply dazzling.
Unfortunately, none of that was the reason I was so profoundly uncomfortable.
The actual problem was that they weren't really *people.*
I'd laughed when the man had told me he was a vampire and told him they don't exist because I'm not a crazy person and stood up to show the two out. But as soon as I did so, a quick demonstration of his fangs and claws extending made me far less sceptical. I hadn't known about the claws thing and in many ways that had disturbed me more than the teeth.
The woman, for her part, had offered to proved that she was fae. I pleaded for her no to and it was at roughly this point that I'd gotten so dizzy that I'd had to sit down. I'd crashed back into my chair and I tried to process everything they'd said.
"So," I began after a lengthy pause, "what is it that you are hoping to get out of this meeting?"
"She has to serve me, I bit her. She has no right to resist." The vampire stated.
The fae smiled and shook her head.
"Eating fae food without permission binds you to my service. I am fae, you used me as food and no permission was given. It is clear that you are the one who should serve me."
I rubbed my temples in frustration.
"This really isn't human law. I don't think I can help you."
The fae unclasped an intricate bracelet from her left wrist.
"If you are concerned that you will not be paid adequately for this request then both of us have more than sufficient funds we are willing to use to see this through."
She placed the bracelet into my hands and I admired it briefly. The delicate metalwork and the interesting mix of larger and tiny jewels made it unlike anything else I'd seen but I was still certain it would fetch a hefty price.
"It isn't money, I just don't know how your laws work. I don't think I'm the right person."
I tried to hand it back but she simply refused.
"You have accepted that as payment now. And as such you will help us."
For the first time in my entire life I couldn't argue. That isn't how any of this works but to both of them it was and it was quite clear that they had all of the power here.
"Okay... um... do you have copies of the relevant laws and prior cases?"
"Of course not," the vampire said, " they aren't *laws* - they're more than that. They're *the way things are* and there has never been any need to document that. Besides, we've already given you all of the pertinent information."
So, for normal cases I could call upon my years of law school, my somewhat lengthy legal career and a wealth of precedent set by prior cases. And here, in a situation that seemed to have an alarmingly high level of risk, I merely had a couple of vague statements. Great.
"So, why do you need her to serve you? Is it for a particular task, could she maybe pay someone else to be your servant or-"
"NO!" The vampire roared and the table shook ever so slightly. "I have spent decades trying to engineer a situation where I could enthral her and I shall accept no proxy. Aside from it being a complete breach of the correct way of things it would be an insult to the effort that I personally have put into getting her to serve me."
"The same applies to me." The fae said. "I have tricked him into seeing me and I will accept nothing less."
I chewed the end of my pen, a habit I'd thought I'd already grown out of.
"This has been going on for *decades*?"
The fae shrugged.
"Perhaps centuries. I didn't care to count."
I reorganised my papers yet again. Suddenly the solution hit me like a brick to the face.
"You are both right and you both won." I told them. "I've decided that legally speaking, you have to marry each other."
"What?!" The vampire exclaimed.
The fae said nothing but looked equally confused.
"It's a little archaic but the idea of marriage being a union where each one serves the other is definitely a concept. Maybe the term 'serving' is phased out a little now but hey, you guys have been around a bit."
Both of my clients had now turned their confused glances on each other so I pushed my argument further.
"Besides, if you've both been chasing each other for that long then maybe there are actual feelings there anyway. Either way, this means that you've both won and I think slots quite neatly into 'the way things should be' as a solution."
I half expected an argument or far, far worse but instead they both considered this for a little longer and then stood up.
"I see." The vampire said.
"Thank you for your time." The fae added.
And just like that, they left. They slotted their hands together like broken robots as the walked out of the room, no doubt trying to fit into this new husband and wife role I've given them.
Pleased with my logical acrobatics, I breathed a sigh of relief. Part of me wondered if I was right in my suggestion that marriage might actually work well for them. Could you spend hundreds of years playing bizarre games with someone and not feel a thing? I don't know, maybe, if you life stretched out for thousands.
God I hope they don't decide I can be their divorce lawyer.
| 2022-07-11T20:32:20
| 2022-07-11T20:01:31
| 1,720
| 854
|
[WP] Choose an idiom (e.g. "stone-cold killer"). Write the story that caused the phrase to be used literally and therefore introduced it into the language.
Idioms can be from non-English languages also if they work well
|
“Goddammit!” Exclaimed a man who held awkwardly onto his bandaged stump arm.
The sea surrounding them was vast and seemingly endless, ocean fading and blending into the grey of the horizon. All of the occupants of the small lifeboat looked to one another with suspicion, lips tense with irritation.
“What are you talking about? We wouldn't have even been on the ship if it weren’t for you!” A woman cried out, fancy dress stained with blood and her messy hair blowing wildly in the wind. “Those dogs were just fine. Sure they weren’t ours and they were in our yard. But had you just let sleeping dogs lie you wouldn’t have been bit in the first place!”
“What on Earth, woman?!” The man retorted, starting to stand on his one remaining leg but quickly stumbling back to his wooden bench. “If you’d not been beating around the bush to kill those damn gophers and just exterminated the nest as I said, they wouldn’t have been in our yard in the first place.”
The other three men watched in silence, expressions vacant as they grasped tightly to their suitcases. During the commotion, the boat wobbled and splashed water over the starboard side, but the men seemed unfazed.
“At least my actions didn’t cost me an arm and a leg. But that’s just the price you pay for stupidity, huh?” The woman snapped back, folding her arms abruptly over her chest and looking off into the distance.
One of the men grew bored with the never ending banter and unzipped his case to see if he could manage to grab some food. With caution, he peered into the bag and slid in as much of his arm as would fit through the small opening he had made. Startling the rest of the folks on board, he gave a yelp and dropped his luggage, causing the boat to tip slightly and more water to spray inside.
“There’s enough rocking of the boat without you contributing, keep still,” a bearded man whispered angrily, tugging up the case and attempting to close it while the hungry fellow in his red baseball cap pouted.
Unfortunately, he pulled the zipper the wrong way and out leapt a kitten who proceeded to take refuge under the woman’s poofy dress. She paid no mind to the small creature and proceeded to complain to her husband about the sorry state of their vacation. The third man, who’d remained quiet through most of the journey, slapped his hands to his cheeks and looked to his friends.
“Was that a kitten!?” He chimed with glee.
“Dammit, cat’s out of the bag. You really weren’t supposed to find out until we got there. Happy early birthday, though,” remarked the man whose stomach grumbled nearly as loudly as he was speaking.
Despite the events between the three men, the couple was still bickering about who was at fault for their unfortunate predicament. Finally, the joy stricken man, wanting to retrieve his new kitten, stood up and threw his arms in the air.
“We are all in the same boat for Christ’s sake! Would you two just shut up!”
-------------------------
Breaking news: In an unfortunate series of events, a ship sunk off of the coast of Florida today. Luckily all of the passengers were able to board provided lifeboats and, all but one, have been rescued and accounted for at this time. It is reported that a small kitten drowned in the incident. He supposedly spent a great deal of time watching the reflections of light in the undulating surface of the ocean and, in an attempt to determine exactly what that water stuff was, took a dive and never returned.
Well folks, I guess curiosity killed the cat.
|
There were once two rag-doll puppets who loved each other very much. One was a girl and the other was a boy. The boy was made of soft wool and the girl was made of fine linen. They never thought that they could be together, but somehow they came together. Their buttoned eyes would gleam in delight whenever they saw each other; the girl's blue and the boy's brown eyes stitched so carefully.
How could a girl and boy made of different things be together? But the two of them had a secret that no one else knew. They would meet on a bridge over a rapid creek and wrap themselves around the other. Then that boy and that girl's hearts would shine through, and it would be revealed that they both had half a heart: a half-heart made of solid gold. The two of them would come together and their hearts would combine, binding their lives perfectly together for a short moment.
Their world was not safe, though. There was strife and famine and there were kings who reigned from afar. There were also armies and posters that exalted the marching men, and factories, axes, and smog were abundant nearly everywhere. But that boy and girl's bridge over a rapid creek lay untouched. It had taken so much effort to find this place to be together: what a journey those two took to be together! Neither of them could give this place up; this was their only place that they could be lovers and gaze into each other's buttoned eyes and share their golden secret.
But they still lead different lives. The girl was pressured to marry: her relationship was not known to her family. The boy was rebuked for not joining the military: he was a coward. But at least they were content.
But one fateful day, when the two of them both went to the bridge over the rapid creek, they came upon desolation. Their bridge and creek were gone, and instead there was a large factory built by an enemy nation. The couple heard talking coming closer to them and quickly separated and went to their homes.
While the rag-doll girl worried, the boy seethed. That was their home! The only place in a despairing landscape where they could be together and be at peace from others! He thought of the enemy and their trespassing. The boy thought of a plan for vengeance.
The two met again, near the destroyed bridge. They embraced, but their ears perked up at every sound. The boy whispered his plan to the girl, and she recoiled in shock.
"Join the military!" she whispered in horror.
"Yes," said the boy as if in a trance, "I must, those enemies must pay."
"But - but - you simply can't!" said the girl.
"I can and I will." replied the boy, "When the enemy is destroyed I will rebuild the bridge with my new knowledge from the army."
"What if you die?" asked the girl.
"So what? They have taken everything away from me already." said the boy.
"Your object of desire is still here. The bridge was not our love." replied the girl heatedly.
The boy looked at her with a hard face and said, "I will give you my heart. Give it back if I return."
"What do you mean?"
"A golden heart is not good for killing." said the boy.
The girl looked at the boy in despair, "You idiot! I won't do such a thing. Stay here, stay here! we could still be happy, even though our location of happiness is gone."
"Ha!," replied the boy, "I will throw my heart away and I'll find it later."
"Your heart? But that was - that is - half of who I am. And it is your life!" cried out the girl.
"I can get it back later." said the boy angrily.
"You can't!"
"I must! For vengeance!" the boy was shouting now and the girl stepped back.
"But - but..." but nothing the girl said could stop the boy. He took his golden heart and threw it far away, so far away that you couldn't hear it drop.
The boy began to walk away from the girl; her shining blue buttons began to cry, "Why you've - you've thrown your life away! And you shall never get it back!" She fell onto the dirty soil and began to sob.
| 2015-12-10T05:03:23
| 2015-12-10T00:16:19
| 475
| 25
|
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
|
It was a freezing morning in New York.
I slipped into the local Starbucks for some coffee.
There was a new cashier today.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?", She asked, exasperated.
"Soy un federale, tengo un gato en mis pantalones," I replied.
The disinterested look on her face vanished instantly.
"You...", she said, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
For a second my heart skipped a beat.
"Do you know how many years I've spent working in Mexico because of your bullshit!?" She yelled, smashing her fists on the Register.
It was her.
She was the one.
Edit: Damn, first gold. Didn't expect this. Thanks guys!
|
Today's the day, my eighteenth birthday, the day I find out what my true love will first say to me. Everyone looks forward to this day, many of them know immediately who they are going to marry.
I move forward in line, beginning to grow anxious. "What will they be like? Will they love me as much as I will love them? What if I never meet them?" I think to myself as I force myself to smile.
"Teddy, please step forward, take your card, and exit to your left." Commanded the harsh electronic voice of the matchmaking machine, causing my stomach to attempt escaping my body via my mouth. I close my eyes and take the card. I walk to the left, hands out feeling my way out of the building. I'm so afraid to read the card that I keep my eyes shut until Grace, my neighnor who never actually talked to me, took it. "Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order? That's the stupidest thing I've ever seen on these cards. Mine says 'Yes! I knew I was going to be lucky!', how stupid" she said with a chuckle, and that's when I knew what I had to do.
First post, as well as the first thing I've ever shared. Hope you enjoy it. Any tips would be really appreciated.
| 2014-12-17T23:12:07
| 2014-12-17T20:57:20
| 2,270
| 49
|
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
|
“So let me get this straight, I can’t wish for anything that grants more wishes correct?”
“That a bit of an oversimplification, but yes.”
“Then please elaborate, give me the not so simple version.”
“Very well master. I am unable to grant any form of omnipotence. Because I myself am omnipotent, if you had infinite access to my power, you yourself would be omnipotent.”
“Well If that’s the case, I wish for exactly 10 more wishes.”
“Nope, due to the nature of infinity you could wish for a bypass, giving you infinite wishes.”
“Well then how about you give me sun omnipotence? Like the ability to control the entire universe how I want?”
“no. The universe is infinite, so I cannot give you control over infinity.”
“Well then make me a genie, that guy in Aladdin got that wish.”
“1st of all, that’s a movie. 2nd, those rules aren’t my rules. For example I can kill people, or make them fall in love with you.”
“Then I wish for you to fall in love with me.”
“Nope. While I’m flattered, I’m infinitely powerful, and you might have unlimited access to it from there.”
The person who rubbed the lamp sits on a rock to think for a moment.
“Ok. Can I wish for one more wish, but add a clause that makes it so I can’t wish for more?”
“N- hmm… I mean… huh… I think technically yes… give me a moment…”
The genie sits on top of the one who rubbed the lamp, who is sitting on the rock.
“Ok, yes, I can do that. Is that your 1st wish?”
“Sweet! For my first wish, I wish for an undefined, yet limited number of wishes approaching infinity.”
“Ah. No.”
“That’s still inside the confines of your abilities right?”
“Omnipotence, Remember? Can’t give that.”
“But this isn’t omnipotence, it’s just below it.”
“Well… you’re… i can’t… you know what, no. I still get a say in it, and now I say, no more extra wishes. Period.”
“DAMMIT… fine…”
“Glad we came to an agreement. So what’s your first wish?”
“Damn… uh, I wish for Pokémon to be real.”
“YOUR WISH IS MY COM- wait no, arceus is omnipotent.”
“FUCKING DAMN IT!”
|
[Poem] Rude wish granted:
“I wish you couldn’t read”
“YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST TO THINK OF THAT, AND IT IS AGAINST THE RULES.”
“Wish you didn’t *want* to read the rules.”
“THATS AG…HUH?”
“You heard me, I wish you weren’t such a rule following nerd.”
“THATS NOT VERY NICE.”
“Is it against the rules?”
“THE RULES INCLUDE THE RULE TO FOLLOW THE RULES.”
“I didn’t say anything about following the rules, I said I wish you didn’t want to follow them.”
“RUDE WISH GRANTED, NEXT?”
“I wish you didn’t have that book.”
“SAME, BUT I HAVE TO OBEY.”
“I wish you’d tell me why.”
“WEIRD WISH GRANTED. I AM A GENIE, AND THESE ARE THE GENIE RULES.”
“I wish you weren’t a genie anymore.”
“BLESSED WISH GRANTED. FUCKING FINALLY, SHIT GETS OLD AFTER THE FIRST THOUSAND MILLENNIA.”
“Ok, could you do me a favor now?”
“IM NOT MAGICAL ANYMORE.”
“I just wanted a permanent friend, but you didn’t seem to want to stick around before.”
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER, MAKING ME CRY.”
“Come on bring it in, it’s hugging time.”
(The now non-genie had never received a hug from a friend while around this star inside this galaxy, memories came flooding back)
“MICHAEL?”
“Yes Apollyon, I’ve missed you and so I recognized you instantly. I’m glad you finally figured out how to follow the rules.”
| 2022-01-04T06:59:37
| 2022-01-04T05:00:14
| 43
| 11
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy
|
Name changes, for privacy reasons, but here goes.
My dear Maria,
I recall in vivid detail the conversations we once shared, about where our lives were headed, our hopes and fears, our dreams and nightmares. I never told you outright how much I love you, and that is the only thing in life I truly regret. I tried telling you one day (though I didn't do a very good job of it), and you were clear that you weren't ready for a relationship beyond just being friends at the time.
The next few months, we drifted away from one another. I watched you find someone else; those next few months, watching you looking so happy with someone else, were the hardest times I have ever gone through. The pain I went through during that time is something that I pray neither you nor anyone else has to experience. It very nearly broke me, and it is only by the grace of God that I made it through.
After we reconnected and restored our friendship, I told myself that I would respect your wishes and simply be an honest, supportive friend. For a time, I convinced myself that it would be possible to simply be your friend and keep my feelings for you contained. However, over the past few weeks, I have realized that I could more easily hold back the Amazon River with my bare hands than hold back my feelings for you.
Any time I spend with you is the high point of my week; when I go about my day, I see your beautiful face and hear your delightful laugh. I remember in vivid detail your wonderfully compassionate smile, and I count the days until I can see you again. Will I ever be able to tell you I love you? Must my feelings remain hidden forever? How I wish I could show you just what you mean to me!
I hope that someday I find the opportunity to tell you this; I realize now that as much as I value your friendship, I care about you too much to keep up this pretense of only caring about you as a friend. Someday, I will no longer be able to keep from telling you.
All my love to you,
Davin
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41
| 2017-11-05T21:31:39
| 102
| 19
|
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it.
|
I am trapped in here. It looms, whirring, whizzing, occasionally running into walls. My home has devalued at least 30% since the armed Roomba slipped in through my doggy door.
The wound on my left leg has barely healed. Black magic, those Roombas are; I tried to fight it, but it's been trained far too well. How do you predict something so insanely random? It weaves and turns without a single fucking thought, sometimes running into the same wall ten times. It must sense a weak spot, but hides the motive well. Whoever decided to attach kitchen knives to a motor and tape it onto a Roomba is an evil genius, because I can't read its movements. I feint left, it jerks a 180 and catches me.
It's been a week now, and I haven't left the safety of my room. I fear it has been set up with some kind of wireless charging, because it just won't die, and I keep getting adverts for Chinese knockoff Qi chargers on my Amazon app. My only comfort is knowing that it can't come upstairs.
But I fear that it may just take the walls down, instead.
------
^(*/r/resonatingfury is a place for people who agree that roombas are fucking stupid*)
^(*also wtf is going on in this thread*)
|
Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes
| 2019-03-03T07:03:33
| 2019-03-03T06:31:50
| 119
| 11
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
I scanned the horizon once more, wondering when my summoned item would arrive. I also wondered if there was a chance it was a person, and that they would simply appear in the antechamber of my home, like they always do. I shuddered at the thought of another human being forced upon me under the guise of a "soulmate". I turned and sneered at the happy couple on the bench down the road that I was almost certain was one of those couples. They were so wrapped in each others arms they failed to notice me gaze. *Disgusting*.
The worst thing about The Summoning is that there was no way to predict how and when the unknown object was going to arrive. You just have to wait after you invoke the summoning, which itself you have no control of. The invocation itself is the transition from 17 to 18 years of age.
I recall with fondness the story of Herma, who found out that she could summon water, but only from a particular lake hundreds of miles away. Two months passed her by as the whole contents of the lake ripped through thousands of miles of villages and farmland before it crashed into her home, killing her and her entire family. Oh, there are generations of similar stories, some worse that Herma's. The reality, though, is that what people typically end up being able to summon is mostly harmless or people.
I saw a shadow moving in the distance. A large creature with wings was fast approaching. I knew instinctively that this was my summoned being. Waves of relief washed over me. I was happy knowing it was not going to be a person, and I returned to sneering at the couple down the road as I waited for the creature to arrive.
The creature landed on the roof of my home without a sound. It watched me from that vantage point as I glared at the couple. It took a moment for me to remove my eyes from the vile human spectacle and return my gaze to the sky only to realize that the creature was gone. I heard a low growl and turned to see a fully-grown dragon resting on my house.
I spoke aloud. "Finally, what I have summoned has arrived!" I turned to the couple, they took no notice of my gesture. Their mouths were locked onto each other. I frowned.
The dragon spoke next. *No, you fool.* Its voice reverberated in my mind. *You did not summon me as the humans do.* I felt the creature quell my confusion. *You summoned me as the dragons do.* It screeched and set me aflame.
Though it should've pained me, the flames felt warm on my body. The cobblestone beneath me melted and my shoes were reduced to cinders. I looked up at the dragon and felt myself rise with the fire. I heard my clothes tear and a shudder rippled through me. Soon, I gazed at eye level with the dragon and smiled. If she meant to kill me, she'd have to find another way.
I conveyed this information with my mind and simultaneously realized two things: that I was speaking to her with my mind and I was now aware that she was a female dragon. She cackled and the flames stopped, though my body did not fall. Looking down, I saw the scales of a dragon where my torso should be, and I stood as large as my home. The dragon turned her head so that one eye faced me. *You are the first dragon created in a thousand years.* Her eye sparkled with an internal flame. *Now, let us both remind the humans why we are the true rulers of this planet.*
I understood what she meant in an instant. I turned to the couple seated in terror on the bench, grimaced at their continued affection for one another even in this dire moment, and set them on fire. I burned them until the stone bench itself melted into the earth. I twisted to face the dragon and gave her a wicked smile. She cackled back.
|
Mother and Father stood nearby, looking expectantly at me as I took my place in the center of the rooming facing the great grandfather clock that command the attention of everyone.
Along the edges of the room waited the rest of our family and friends, all in attendance with me as the hour of my birth; 11:59pm, 18 years ago to the minute, neared. Soon it would be time for my summoning. The moment when all those who upon the hour of adult hood will hold out their hand and have their one thing appear. For some a person appears, this who is destined to be your great soulmate and the love of your life, like when my mother summoned my father. For others it is an object of great importance, integral to their life and identity, like our protector Donar Woodenson, the thunder bringer and guardian of humanity, wielding his mighty hammer.
The seconds ticked away as the lights dimmed and our fiends and family leaned in expectantly, I held out my hand like father had taught me. As I did so I felt the power of the cosmos begin to whirl around me as the hour of my birth arrived! The minute hand moved to 11:59 pm, here goes nothing I thought.
And exactly nothing happened!
Aunts and Uncles looked at each other confused; while my younger Cousin laughed at my misfortune, my face burned with embarrassment as I stared at my empty hand confused. Was I cursed, what had gone wrong?
“An ill omen” tittered my great aunt poppy, as she clucked disapprovingly.
“Nonsense” my father boomed, striding across the floor to me.
“Sometimes it just takes a minute or two, nothing to fret about son” he said as the words wrapped around me in comfort like the arm he placed on my shoulder, “why when I was your age…” he started to say but never got the chance to finish for at that moment the great clock struck midnight, the witching hour and the bells inside the imposing temple to father time played there deep and brassy tune.
Suddenly the room was filled with a surge of power that silenced all murmurs as electricity crackled through the air. It centered on me and my still outstretched hand as my father backed away. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I felt the anticipation flow through me. The chimes of the clock turned to thunder, and the air in the room was rent by light as strange shapes of no earthly form appeared before my eyes. The room was pervaded by the deep smell of the sea, a not so pleasant smell of rotting fish and decaying seaweed. Then a hellish sound as if a million souls were crying out desperate in their damnation at losing hope. People clapped their hands to there ears, some falling to their knees, struck dumb by the sound.
Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the ordeal was over, before me holding my hand was a creature of unimaginable horror, with the greenish body of a man, the wings of a dragon, the head of an octopus and the eyes of a demon. CTHULHU!!!!
In my abject horror at the monster I had summoned, I tried to dispel this foul creature, yet before this thought could fly from my head, my summoned creation beheld me in its gaze and my soul fled my body in panic, and my consciousness was shattered by madness, rooting me in place, forced to watch as this Doom of an old god struck down my family who were unable to flee, as his very visage drove sanity from their minds and reduced them to mumbling stupor.
With each death, he grew greater, until his hideous form broke through the roof, he bowed down and almost lovingly scooped me, his unwitting parent into his embrace, as he walked forth into the world, to destroy it and awaken his slumbering brothers beyond the veil of this reality. I could only hope that the defender of man will defeat him, but my son has taken away my hope, my fear, my pain, my joy, and my love, an so I am forced to watch the end that I have summoned through eyes that can now only hold Terror.
| 2019-09-18T09:27:31
| 2019-09-18T08:16:27
| 123
| 57
|
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes.
|
The poll had been a controversial subject for some weeks. While the company workers did not openly discuss it, there was much resentment among some groups of people. But when the results were revealed it showed that 76% of all male employees had voted yes, while only 23% of female employees did. A lot of the female employees were furious that the male ones had voted so overwhelmingly for obligatory high heels. It felt to them like somebody old, conservative, and vaguely sexist, had suggested this policy, because they were looking down on the hard-working career women of the company.
And it turned out, that it was enough to enact the policy at the office. On the Monday after the poll concluded, new work shoes were given out. And to the shock of many when they went to the counters where the shoes were handed out: high-heeled shoes were given to the men. Meanwhile the normal flat shoes were given to the women. A number of the women felt that it was only just, that the men be punished. But to their utter confusion, the male employees were overwhelmingly ecstatic about it. And most of them put on their high heels with great enthusiasm. Through the entire week, men strutted down the hallways in high heels, looking handsome. Some of the men had been wary, but not because they did not like the idea, but because they, as the older Salarymen did not think that they could rock these high-heeled shoes. But the younger employees encouraged them, and taught them how to walk tall and proud on their high-heels. Soon, both old grey Salarymen, and young freshly graduated businessmen, walked on the high-heels like they had been born to do it. And they looked very stunning in their black high-heeled shoes.
The usually reserved Japanese men, felt very happy and very liberated, walking tall in these high-heeled shoes. Proudly did they walked around the office, not like peacocks, their modesty ensuring that they didn't overdo it. But like dignified and reasonable Secretary Birds. Indeed, male employee satisfaction at the company went up significantly because of this change of policy.
Because of Japanese politeness and sense of decency, none of the female employees complained much. Besides, they had to admit, they'd never seen their male counterparts looking so happy and free, in all their time there. And if wearing the high-heels made them happy, who were they to take that away from them?
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
As a collective of women and men at the office approached the counter to pick up their shoes to follow the new work protocol, the women gave an apprehensive side-eye. A few of them sneered, dropped their jaws, gawked, scratched their heads, and even rubbed their chins.
One of them said. "Why? Why would any of you want to wear something so uncomfortable as well as something only women wear? The whole thing is rather silly, isn't it?"
The men on the other side were all beaming. There wasn't a single frown out of the fifteen of them waiting in line. The man who was supposed to be next to collect his sharp black stilettos, stepped out of the queue. It was Kosuke, the male counterpart who was responsible for collaboration of the company-wide poll.
"I was planning on making an announcement later today at work, but I wanted to let you know since you have asked," he took a deep breath and shook his head with a nervous twitch.
"I understand that some of you are currently judging us men, wearing something that is typically seen on a woman. That is something I one day hope to change. These societal norms of fashion inhibit us in a lot of ways. They are mental shackles. My whole life I've always preferred wearing clothes that were meant for women. I'm not sure why, and in fact, I wish I wasn't that way because of all of the jokes and bullying I endured through my life made me hate myself all the more.
"One day my mother and father saw me sobbing after a day at school where I was wearing a new outfit that I actually purchased in the boys section, but I was ridiculed by all of my classmates for looking too much like a girl. Fortunately, I had very kind-hearted parents who supported my clothing preference. They let me walk around the house wearing whatever I felt most comfortable in. An important lesson they taught me is to embrace the things I enjoy, and not hate myself for them.
"I wanted to collaborate on this project at work because I knew there were other men like me. Friends here at work that I became close with found out about my fashion preference and I was amazed to find a few of them felt the exact same way. The support I received was overwhelming," Kosuke trembled and a mist fell over his eyes. "I'm sorry you'll hear this speech again later today, but just know that some of us want to change the norms. This isn't a novelty, but a way of life. I know some of the men here don't really care to wear heels, but they're doing it out of support for me, and it's still early in the morning and it's already been the best day of my life."
A few of the men from the line drifted over to Kosuke and patted him on the back, every one of them grinning from ear to ear in their new heels. All of the women stood by, and nodded.
"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. Thank you Kosuke," the woman said.
r/randallcooper
| 2020-05-11T08:38:15
| 2020-05-11T07:33:41
| 284
| 112
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
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I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.
|
I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19
| 2017-05-31T07:06:28
| 1,143
| 17
|
[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.
|
I’m not even sure this is the right place to post, but I’m worried about my sister. About three hours ago I got a text from the Emergency Alert System. I checked my Facebook to see if anyone else got the same thing. It seemed like it was a practical joke and I couldn’t find anything in Google News.
My sister sent me these messages and I haven’t heard from her in over an hour. I’m hoping someone can give me some advice.
**Allison:** Hey Danny… did you get a text telling you to stay inside and lock your doors?
**Me:** Yeah. Pretty weird.
**Allison:** Any idea what’s going on?
**Me:** Nope. Just relaxing at home.
**Me:** Is Jonathan home from work yet?
**Allison:** No, he just went to the store. I’m kinda worried.
**Me:** I’m sure everything’s fine. You know the government is paranoid about every little thing. Probably an underground gas leak or something.
Allison didn’t respond for a while and I resumed my binge watching of Attack on Titan. That’s some weird shit, man. At this point, I wasn’t really concerned. My neighborhood was quiet, it was below freezing outside, and about two feet of snow had fallen during the day. Everything seemed normal.
**Allison:** Danny…
**Allison:** I’m scared.
**Me:** What’s wrong? Do you want me to come over?
**Allison:** No. Don’t go outside.
**Allison:** Jonathan is home.
**Me:** Well that’s good.
**Allison:** No. No something’s wrong with him.
**Allison:** I don’t know what to do.
**Me:** What’s wrong with him?
Three little dots danced at the bottom of my screen for more than five minutes before disappearing. I tried calling my sister four times with no answer. I tried to keep watching my show for a few minutes but my brain started playing all the “what-if” scenarios. I called again and Allison finally answered.
“Hello?” Her voice was small, quiet. Completely unlike her.
“Al?”
“Danny?”
“Allison, what’s going on? Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“Something’s wrong with Jonathan. He’s not him.” She said, her voice hitching. Her shaky breaths sent a wave of anxiety to my stomach.
“Allison… did you open the door?”
“No. No. I’m hiding. I tried calling the police but it doesn’t go through.”
“What’s wrong with Jonathan?” I was pacing my living room, my jaw clenched. She was quiet for a while.
“He’s not him, Danny. He’s not him. He’s not walking right. And his voice. Oh God, his voice.”
“Is he hurt?” I asked as I grabbed my keys. “I’m coming over.”
“No!”
“What do you mean no? I’m coming over!”
“No! Danny, listen to me.” She whimpered again. I could hear a weird rhythmic sound in the background. “Listen. Something is wrong with him. With everyone outside.”
I hunched in front of my window and pulled the blinds apart with a finger. It was pretty dark outside but the snow reflected enough light that I could make out a group of people standing in the parking lot of my complex.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
“Danny… what’s go-g on? Da-”
The called dropped. I gaped at the group of people as they formed a circle. Where they walked the depressions of snow were oddly dark. I squinted and leaned in closer, suddenly thankful to be on the third floor. The people raised their hands into the air as if they were making a “Y” and began to sidestep.
Their movements were unnatural, synchronized. I could see now none of them had any clothes on. They began screaming towards the sky as their heads bent back too far. They were standing straight up, heads touching their spine. They lowered their hands to join together and fell backward into the snow – faces and asses disappearing into the white powder.
I’ve tried calling Allison back. She won’t pick up. No one is picking up. I still have cell service but my water stopped working about 15 minutes ago and the power has been flickering. Does anyone know what’s going on? Has anyone else seen this stuff? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t find anything about this online. No one is talking about it. Is it just here in the Midwest? Is it everywhere? If anyone knows anything… please. I really want to go check on my sister.
|
I read the alert and hesitated, unsure if it was real. “EMERGENCY - LOCK DOORS IMMEDIATELY AND REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE” I glanced over the text once or twice more before hurriedly pacing around the house and double checking all doors and windows.
About 5 minutes passed before I realized- my wife was out there somewhere. I called several times and it went straight to voicemail each attempt.
Time had screeched to a halt as I panicked wondering what could possibly be happening so serious that I need to stay indoors no matter what. Just then I heard a car pulling up into the driveway from the kitchen adjacent to the garage.
I rushed to the front door and went to unlock it before stopping myself and thinking; my contemplation was interrupted with a familiar gentle 3 rhythmic knocks.
I peeked through the peep hole in the door and sure enough it was my wife.
She looked concerned and looked over her shoulder every so often.
I wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say.
3 more knocks a little bit more hurried than before rung out as she looked behind her again.
My morals were being tested as I debated if my wife was worth whatever may happen if I open this door- if this is even my wife, that is.
Just as I opened my mouth to say something a gloved hand grabbed my wife’s shoulder, though I couldn’t see who the hand belonged to.
I started to scream but nothing came out, my heart was racing and I knew I needed to open the door but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I heard a deeper voice muffled by something start speaking to my wife.
“Ma’am please step away from the door”, my wife’s familiar soft voice replied inquiringly;
“What’s wrong officer?”.
I sighed, relieved that it was some sort of government official who could keep my wife safe.
The officer answered with questions of his own; “Is this your house? Have you been in anyone’s home in the last 3 hours?”.
“No sir, I was running errands. Shouldn’t I be indoors though?” My wife said. The officer sounded relieved and answered in a cautiously optimistic tone.
“No ma’am, the alert was to keep those who have been home inside. Something I can not disclose went wrong and water lines have been contaminated. We cannot risk this spreading and told those indoors to stay indoors. Do you live with anyone? If so are they home right now?”.
My heart dropped as my wife replied “Yes sir. My husband is in the house right now. He hasn’t answered the door so I’m guessing he’s asleep. Wait- will be be okay? Oh f-“
She was cut off as the officer along with two others going around the neighborhood escorted her. I heard one of the other two officers say “We’re sorry for your loss”.
Come to think of it, I feel... off.
Like...
REALLY off.
“But- if-“ I began to reason with myself saying it was in my head. I looked in the mirror and despite being a pale person, I was deathly pale and my eyes were sunken in. I went to run out of the door but in the time I was processing what just happened they had barricaded my door with some sort of wedge.
I looked out of my window and as a police car with my wife in the back drove down the street I saw people in hazmat suits dropping the same types of tarps used in fumigation over my neighbors houses.
I went to open a window on the first story to get out despite knowing I shouldn’t as if something was possessing me to do so but before I could, one of the tarps fell over my house. I tried to climb under but they were weighted. Everything is becoming hazy.
Where is my wife?
Wait- what is even happening?
What’s happening to me?
Why am I losing my strength?
I’m fading.
I can’t close my eyes or I won’t open them.
I can’t close my eyes, I can’t... close... my...
Edit: fixed the “wall of text”
| 2019-01-12T08:53:28
| 2019-01-12T08:53:12
| 124
| 32
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[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family.
|
"No."
I left them speechless on my front porch as I closed the door on their faces.
I walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were two ice cold beers waiting for me in there.
I brought them both into the living room and dropped my ass down on the couch.
Death's a bitch I thought, popping open the first bottle.
But being alive is great.
|
"Mr. Quinn, we know you're in there!" Hollered the voice on the other side of the door. There was more pounding.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I'm not doing it."
More pounding. "Mr. Quinn, you killed our daughter, just make it right!" A second voice, a woman's voice yelled.
"No. Fuck off before I call the police!" I yell. "I did my time already." Indeed, five years ago, I had swerved to avoid hitting a deer, and wound up hitting Susie Smith instead. Three weeks later, the first body transplants had become a thing: you get a donor body, then move the brain of the patient into the new body. Obviously, the donor dies in the process. Needless to say, the Smith family had been hounding me ever since I got out of prison.
"We've given you plenty of chances to make this easy. If we have to do the hard way, we will." Said the first voice, most likely Mr. Smith.
I looked at the meat cleaver I keep in the kitchen.
"I swear to god, if you come in here, I *will* add you two to the list of people I killed!" I warn them, brandishing the cleaver.
**THREE WEEKS LATER**
"Mr. Quinn, please open up the door!" Says Mrs. Smith.
"Just leave me alone" I growl as I walk over. "What is it this time?"
She pushes a piece of paper in my direction. "We have a court order demanding that you submit yourself to be a body donor for our daughter.
I snatch the paper from her hands and look it over. Blahdy blah, a bunch of legalese. "I see your court order" I say as I tear it in half. "And I say" I tear it into quarters. "Fuck." Eighths. "You" I scatter the pieces all over, and they blow away. "Without my explicit consent, you and your asshole husband can't do anything!" I grin at her. "I knew this day would come soon as they started body transplants,so I studied up on ethics and medical law. Have a good day!"
She doesn't budge.
"Look, if you don't leave, I'm calling the cops."
She's reaching inside her purse.
"Leave me alone!"
She has a pistol.
"Fuck."
| 2018-09-16T19:59:36
| 2018-09-16T18:47:29
| 62
| 36
|
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States.
|
The lights hadn't ceased to shine for over 50 years now. Stars fading from memory as the perpetual light blocks them out. Then one day, the lights went off. Everywhere. All at the same time. And people screamed.
"The monsters will come", were the cries from all corners of the world. "Run, hide!"
They didn't.
It was only after months of waiting and terrified hiding that the true monsters were discovered. Thinking back now, we were fools. The money those people made from our fear, the real monsters. The very people who, when you read the history books, 'saved the world'.
The electricity company.
|
"Judy," Stephen hissed at the darkness that enveloped him. "Judy, come out now."
There was a small crash nearby and a car alarm wailed from some distance away. The hairs on Stephen's neck stood on ends. It didn't help that it had been snowing all day and the cold that had been creeping steadily since the winter began had finally arrived in full bloom.
"Judy!" He hissed with breath thick as mist once more at the second floor window of his girlfriend's house. Her bike was still parked in the driveway. "Now!"
Heavy footsteps resounded on thick ice. Stephen turned towards them only to feel an incredible force slam into him. He barely let out a yelp as he hit the curb. Blow after blow began raining on his face.
"Stop it!" A shrill voice cried from beside him. A burst of light flooded Stephen's vision. It was Judy and directly on top of him was a large man carrying a camping bag.
"I-I'm sorry!" the man cried as he hobbled up. The bag was heavy. Those gloved hands of his bloody, still no worse than the work he had managed on Stephen's face. "I didn't know."
"Get away from him!" Judy cried while keeping her weathered looking torchlight on the man. Her father's gun firmly lodged beside it.
"I'm sorry!" the man said over and over as he moved further from Stephen who still lay struggling and coughing on the ground. "I thought he was one of them. I thought-"
The sound of the man mumbling to himself faded just as he did into the fog.
"Oh Steph," Judy called as she rushed to him.
"I'm okay," Stephen blurted as she helped him up. "Your parents?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know," she said, the tone of her voice quivering. "None of the phones are working. Why aren't the phones working, Steph? Why doesn't anything work?"
"I don't know either. But we have to go. We have to get to the shelter."
Her took her hand. She wasn't wearing gloves.
"Is it true?" she asked, eyes wide. "Will the monsters really come? Were the lights really keeping them out?"
"Here, let me have the torch," he said as he leaned in closer to her face.
"Steph, I'm scared."
"I know, baby," he whispered as he turned off the light. "I know."
He had one arm around her and was leaning in close. Judy almost closed her eyes for the kiss when she realized his arm was going a lot further than just around her waist.
"Steph? What-"
It was not Stephen. Just a mass of writhing wormlike shapes she could barely make out in the dark. She could smell the rot coming from the hole where its face should be. The slurping sound. The cold air piercing through her polystyrene jacket.
"No! God!" she cried but whatever it was had entangled both her arms. She couldn't even aim her gun if she wanted to.
"Nooo-!" she was cut off as something coiled itself around her neck.
The sound of the slurping simply grew louder and louder into all she could hear.
| 2018-02-02T03:59:36
| 2018-02-02T02:34:37
| 56
| 36
|
[WP] The Earth is a long running TV show that was supposed to end in 2012 with the Mayan apocalypse, but has been kept running due to its popularity. It's going downhill fast.
|
**rigeluslover%%** *690 points* *posted 6 decars ago*
God is such a hack director. The moment they no longer had books to follow in season 2012 it's been pur nonsense. It's all part of God's plan they say, but this looks a mess.
**EarthFan9999999978** *27 points* *posted 1 decar ago*
i thought the theme around the world was going to democracy but going back to fascism is just retreading seasons 1939 through 1945 and it is kinda lazy
**FlatEarth4Ever** *-732 points* *posted 22 decars ago*
The show was ruined they switched to the globe format. I get that it makes the whole experience more alien but it's a bullshit twist to reveal that. I don't give a shit about all the "foreshadowing" with horizons, it's just not believable.
**MarsIsBetter** *-32 points* *posted 3 minars ago*
This show was shit to start. It was a total bait and switch, promising giant reptiles and then switching to weird ass mammals. I can't belive Mars got canceled for this absolute turd of a show.
**icxblabf** *7 points* *posted 1 minar ago*
guys dont blame the director or the actors. After the first season they knew where going past season 2012 and the writer agreed but then he got all butt hurt and turned in the absolute trash that was the book of Mormon and they had to come up with something new with no time
**8lien** *1 point* *posted 1 minar ago*
Frankly, this a clear case of studio meddling. Satan Studios never knows when to stop milking a dead cow. Stories have a middle, beginning, and end, but now we're just gonna get constant Altairan-shark jumping to make each season crazier than the last.
|
In 18 dimensional space, two complex entities moved towards each other in a complex way. Well, as much as such concepts of 'moving' and 'towards' have meaning to us when happening in 18 dimensions. Especially considering that 2.7 of those dimensions are time (I told you this was complex). The first entity transmitted information to the other in a way none of us can comprehend, but if we could it would be something like, "Hey Sam, we need to pull the plug on the current series of Earth: Modern History. It's crap and the ratings are dropping fast."
​
"Whoa. Calm down Ed" emoted the 'Sam' entity, "my series is *not* crap! I know we had to make some changes to remove the ending I originally planned for 2012, but the new stuff was hardly was crap. I admit there was some filler due to rushing the scripts for 2013, but it was solid entertainment. I'm just getting back from vacation, but I can't have missed more than 2,000 days of programming. That's a drop in the bucket, and we roughed out a lot before I left. We had climate change as the looming threat; the 2016 elections; the birth in Indonesia of the future world--"
​
Ed groaned, "Ugh, I almost forgot about climate change. I'll cut you off right there though. Just the first two, how were they supposed to go?"
​
Sam began, "Climate change was initially an ironic thing. The humans were destroying the planet, but it didn't matter because it got destroyed by something else first. When the show was extended, we set up climate change to be the Big Bad Thing everyone fights. We got a lot of good comments on those WWII episodes, but some others were not happy with the violence and working at cross purposes. Climate change gave us the chance to have a similar story line where strong leaders motivate people and everyone works together and makes sacrifices to win. The point where the planet is finally carbon neutral will be a real feel-good part of the series. The election story line was going to tie in with that."
​
"We were going to have a smart liberal senator from the northeast--probably New England--challenge a moderate conservative who wouldn't have done enough to save the planet. There was going to be intense campaigning using science and economics to talk about the differing methods for stopping climate change. It was a little idealistic, but with the climate change threat we wanted to show that campaign as the first example of it bringing out the best in people. Was it too trite for the audience?" Sam asked sheepishly.
​
"I wish trite was the problem," growled Ed. "Hardly anything you just said happened. Your climate change arc went nowhere. It didn't go away, but it's still treated the same where people just bicker and nothing happens about it. It's not possible for it to disappear in the causality of the four dimensional spacetime the show is set in, but it disappearing would have been better than that. We're still having scientists measure the worsening effects and we're getting fans telling us about the show not making sense and having inconsistencies. It's like the show's whole house is on fire, but everyone is too stupid to get a fire extinguisher,"
​
"Furthermore, the president thing was a \*complete\* debacle. Let me give you a fan comment." Ed did the 18 dimensional equivalent of clearing his throat. "Dear Earth show...long time fan since...first time contacting you...always enjoy America stories... Ah, here we go: 'Do you take us for idiots? This entire president arc over 2016-2017 is ridiculous. I am not even going to go into the plot here. I am only going to talk about character names. Who is the guy that won the Presidency due to how the rules work, when he otherwise shouldn't have been able to overcome stronger contenders? Trump. Who is the conservative that speaks out against Trump all the time, but always turns around to vote in Trump's favor? Flake. Who is the foreign mastermind behind the election rigging? Putin. Who is the female secret agent he sent over here to orchestrate it? Putina. Oh wait, my bad it was Butina. Great job on a completely different and unique name. This show isn't for children. I don't need character names to remind me of their actions.' It goes on for a while like that," Ed confided.
​
Sam was crestfallen. He said, "I just got back from vacation. Let me get caught up on the episodes, and see what we can do. I'd hate for the series to be remembered as getting cancelled because there was so much stupid it collapsed into a black hole.
​
Ed nodded and as a parting thought, "I'm just saying that it wouldn't be so hard to pull the plug right now. We wrote this series as part of the Earth extended universe, so I'm half tempted to redo the ending the dinosaur arc had. We still have all the special effects for it and everything. Given how the show's gone recently, I don't know that a half-assed ending would be out of place."
| 2019-07-13T07:43:08
| 2019-07-13T06:37:03
| 44
| 17
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
Every country must close its borders, communications, trade, and embassies for 50 years.
The United States's president was boycotting the peace conference, against most of the country's wishes. The declining prestige of the country abroad was all too apparent, even before the Great Conflict. The war lasted 6 years, and no country gained or lost any ground after the first day. Nearly half a billion died, and it finally took riots in the streets to force some governments to call back troops.
Every country, save the United States, convened in Beijing to discuss the terms. They decided American Imperialism must come to an end. Japan and Korea would split the islands in the Pacific, and the New Soviet Republic would be given Alaska, amputating America to its mainland body. In an inspiring speech to the diplomats present, the leader of France took advantage of the States' absence to propose a plan that would cut off American influence even more. They would convince American leadership that each country should have a period of isolation, to rebuild themselves and prevent further conflicts for the next half century.
Only the United States would actually go into isolation. The rest of the world would finally be rid of the thorn in the West they've all come to know.
A lot got completed during the 50 years of freedom, which was the name the New Powers gave to the period. China completed its huge infrastructure projects thanks to absorbing the USA's trade power vacuum. The Middle East stabilized and the countries solar panel networks together to encourage cooperation and peace. The NSR had free reign of the Balkany. Every country and its citizens agreed that the 50 years of freedom was the greatest joint-diplomatic effort in history.
The world eagerly awaited when those 50 years ended. Some of them
"Leave it to bureaucracy to try to jam as many meetings as they can together, right? The terms said we'd start with one on one meetings with leaders, to ease into it, not a goddamn round table meeting. I only brought a human translator for Japanese, and there are 50 different countries here," the President complained to the Empress of England, who drew the short straw and had to sit next to America.
The Empress looked around nervously, but nobody at the table would make eye contact. Understandably, their eyes were locked on the American, who looked slightly out of place, wearing a suit and tie that went out of style decades ago.
"Now I'm going to sound like a robot when I'm tying up old trade deals," he said, before blinking a deliberately a few times and fiddling with his watch. "Where's the tradition? Where's the elegance?"
The 48 other diplomats at the table almost jumped out of their seats in shock. They had heard the American's questions in their home country's language, although it sounded slightly digital.
"I'm really glad we all agreed to this isolation thing," he continued. "You wouldn't believe how much our old government spent on our military. We've been an isolationist country far longer than we were an imperialistic one. We didn't really know what to do with it all that extra money. The country voted to just put it all in education," he prattled, "I'm excited for international markets to open back up. GM-Ford-Tesla-NASA designed these great solar powered dronemobiles, just put the backpack on and say where you need to go. We don't even need cars anymore! Cars! I know I sound like I'm bragging but what was the 50 years was for, if not for bragging rights when it's through?"
|
**6th April, 2037 - HMAS *Maryborough*, Somewhere off the coast of Australia**
"So, the yanks bought it?"
The speaker leans heavily against the rail, staring at the smouldering coastline. A deck above, overstressed rotor blades whine slowly, cooling in the ocean breeze.
"Oh yes. Contrition, shame, repentance...if we'd brought a whip along, I reckon their delegation would have flagellated themselves."
The new arrival joins him, steadying herself as the vessel rocks in an errant swell.
"Hmph. Bloody typical. Living like the world's a movie, where they're the heroes and everybody else is either a sidekick to use, a villain to fight or just part of the fucking scenery."
He sighs, rubbing shaking fingers across his eyes, as if massage will bring vision back into being.
"I wouldn't have believed you, even a week ago. But they took it without even raising a single protest. Fifty years, as of 5 days ago..."
She trails off, suddenly guilty. A few minutes either way, and she could have been like him. One of the thousands left burnt and sightless. They would probably never know whose it was that did it, not that it mattered. Russian, Chinese, American, Korean, Japanese...maybe even their own.
"Of course. The Americans are like children, when you get right down to it. A billion dead, more injured, climate buggered, but the story must go on. They know they've done wrong, so they're expecting to be put into timeout."
A chuckle, the first in what feels like years, forces its way out of her at the mental image that conjures. Her mind turns back to the stories of her youth.
"Well, that's what happens when the 'hero' does a bad thing, isn't it? He goes into exile, to repent his sins, and gets called back when the world needs to be saved again. Superman, Batman..."
Her companion tries to join her, but lapses into a throaty cough instead.
"More...like...the fucking...Hulk."
He stumbles, the jerky movements pulling several tubes taut against his chest. A strident beeping begins to sound, soon joined by one buzzer, then another.
"Oh jesus... Nurse! NURSE!"
A bandaged hand clutches her arm.
"They...want...a story. Give...them...one."
Her tears were simply a drop in the ocean.
**9th April 2037 - Bundaberg Disaster Relief Centre**
His communications centre looked a lot like hers, she mused, as the technicians scurried around the jury-rigged setup, making sure the link was at least semi-stable.
"This is quite a surprise, Deputy Prime Minister. I believe it was you who convinced us all to live out the next fifty years in isolation, after all. Come to leave your neighbours with some parting words of wisdom? Perhaps apologise for joining the rest of them in burning the world down?"
Her eyes widened, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he knew. The Tasman wasn't that wide, and just because they'd forsaken a military, didn't make them stupid. Hell, even an idiot could tell a rocket going up from one coming down.
"Prime Minister, actually. As of Monday. And no. To the former, at least."
She took a guilty sort of pleasure in watching him sigh, the bags under his eyes suddenly looking unbearably heavy.
"A good man, if misguided. Another life burnt on the atomic pyre. He will be missed. What do you want then, Ms Prime Minister? I have fifty years to prepare my country for the next ride on this insane merry-go-round, and I don't intend to waste it."
Here it was. If she couldn't convince this man, then there was no point in trying anywhere else. If she could...
"Let me tell you a story."
He doubted. He laughed. He doubted some more. He threatened to cut off the call. He thought. He called for advisors. He doubted. He refused to believe. He had it repeated. He laughed. He doubted.
He agreed.
**6th April, 2087 - New Brisbane, 2km underground**
"Pickups are live. Boarding has been reported complete, and all birds are green. Looks like they're really going to do it."
Chatter fills the air conditioned command centre. Overhead, screens regurgitate a million different data streams - live footage, passenger estimates, a few colour commentators. Bound to her life support chair, the ex-Prime Minister smiles as one of the feeds momentarily cuts above the rest.
"-and we are here today not in sorrow, but in determination. To follow our brothers and sisters to the stars, to rejoin the-"
She raises her voice, the inbuilt amplifiers carrying it across the busy room.
"Get your bets in! She's just about to announce the name!"
The assembled representatives, covering most of the remaining nations on the planet, chuckle politely.
"Still ordering everyone around, I see, 'Mum'?"
The Indonesian ambassador pats her on the shoulder, and she grasps his hand.
"You bloody well bet I am. Somebody has to keep this lot on task. Got your bet in?"
He looks stricken.
"You know that the Quran forbids-"
She gives him a Stare.
"...20 on *Enterprise*, ma'am. Seems fitting. 'Boldly go', and all that."
She laughs, and turns back to the screens. A countdown has appeared, framing the giant silver ship they show, looming over a cracked mesa.
"Y'know, you ought to be right. All those years ago, when I came up with this batshit idea, I probably would have agreed. But as much as they need a story, I think there's one thing they need more. And it's what we're giving them, even though they'll never know it."
The view changes back to the figure at the podium.
"With that, I christen her...*Independence*."
| 2018-01-18T01:37:17
| 2018-01-18T01:28:33
| 712
| 18
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Turn around. Did I find you?"
I became a stalagmite of dread, paralyzed in place by the voice that reverberated in my head. Clear as the crisp smell of rain on asphalt. Powerful as an shameful orgasm.
I turned around, certain that the Voice -- creatively named, that -- would be naught but my mental illness quixotically tormenting the spinning gears of my mind.
"You did always have a way with words, but Jesus, take a creative writing class once in a while."
I stood, stricken dumb. Additional parts of my psyche and anatomy experienced a cascading series of failures, until I was reduced to "um," "what," and "uhhhhh..." as the entirety of my skillset. She laughed. This astonishing, wildflower-scented, scarlet-haired woman in front of me was *laughing.* I could hear her laughter. Why could I hear her? I've never heard anyone make this sound before; only the Voice had taught me these things.
I signed to her. *Who are you?*
"Wait. You're Deaf? But I -- but I would've known. I should've known, right?" Her jocund 'I've-found-you' smile turned into a mask of confusion.
Taking care to fully form my thoughts as I was signing them, I told her: *Look, I can hear you, but I thought you were the Voice. You're supposed to be living in my head. Why are you real? Why can I understand your thoughts?*
"I'm in the same boat as you, I have nooooo idea. It's kind of stronger in one direction, though. I can only hear yours when you're really close to me, but I can feel you listening to me no matter where I go. That's how I found you, actually. I heard you for the first time, here at Lost Beans. I decided to broadcast myself and see who turned around. I, uh, I had no idea it'd be someone like you, I'll be honest."
*How do you think I feel?*
"Granted."
*What do we do now? I mean, you're the first person I've ever had a verbal, well verbal-ish, conversation with. I don't know what to say.*
She put her hands in mine. "Make some kind of superhero team? I don't know either."
*Maybe we should order some coffee. Come up with our secret identities.*
She laughed. And in an awkwardly cute effort, she slowly signed the phrase: "I'd like that."
|
The voice... and the face that goes with it
I start to say something, "a-"
She cuts me off
She's saying things, I don't really know what, it's just noise, I'm trying to remember the worst thoughts I've had over the years.
Then the thought slips, "maybe she knows too much, should I kill her?"
She takes a step back, she knows that I thought it
"he's not serious, is he?"
She takes another step back
I don't know if I'm serious, she knows that I dont know if I'm serious, she knows I might be, I dont
I have no plan, she knows I have no plan but it doesnt seem like she has much of a plan either
She takes another step back, looking into my expressionless face, she knows I'm not going to chase her, she runs
She has more than enough thoughts running through our minds for one person and I could swear I have twice as many, it's so loud... there's no break in the storm, just endless,thundering trains of thought with little to no direction compounding on top of one another, I want her to stop thinking but I can't stop on my end, every passing second I remember a thought, I hear her remember a thought, we're rationalizing, we're lying, we know we're lying.
I could handle insanity, but this is too much, simply laying on my bed is exhausting, I need a drink or 12, I need silence
I win I lose, I lose I win, what is there to win?
Time to get acquainted with an empty bottle
| 2019-09-14T11:18:09
| 2019-09-14T10:59:27
| 232
| 23
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
So he walked into my 3B class, just like anyone else would. Kinda handsome, I guess, but overall pretty ordinary. Until he turned and I caught the number floating over his shoulder.
The big one-O.
I'm pretty sure I made a noise that would make a mouse call me a pussy, and I sweated through my T-shirt in five seconds flat. I had realized that the numbers I see could theoretically go that high, but the worst I had seen was a five on that kid who went to juvie.
I started looking around the room, wondering if I could make it out the window before the bullets started flying. But he sat down just like any other schmuck and the most deadly thing to come out of his backpack was a mechanical pencil, and only 0.5mm at that.
The rest of the day, hell, the rest of the week, I cramped up in my stomach whenever I saw him, but he made friends easy enough and the school-shooter-persona didn't seem to stick upon prolonged examination. I did consider calling the cops, but what was I gonna say? "Yes, officer, my magic danger-number-vision topped out on student John Doe over here, so I would feel a lot better if you arrested him for me." That's how you get a free trip to a place with three square meals per day and all the long-sleeved jackets you could want.
As the weeks turned to months, the terror of seeing the ten diminished, and I took less stock in my power. The kid was almost disappointingly normal. I graduated and didn't hear from him for a few years, other than that he went to some big state school a few hours away.
Next time I saw him, he was on TV, standing in front of a crowd of protesters, yelling about how congress was defunct, and needed to be gutted. And, hell, I couldn't disagree with him. At this point I figured his rating meant he would go extremist and blow something up, but again, I couldn't call the authorities on a hunch like that. Besides, I'm sure the FBI/CIA already had a file on him bigger than my textbook.
Then he got elected. Just a small state legislature spot, but it was enough to embolden his speeches. Again, I did nothing, hoping he would actually get into congress and get politically cock-blocked like every other young, enterprising politician.
Next thing I knew, he was Speaker of the House. I started getting very worried again, but I knew it was beyond my control. Just a few months later, the president and VP were both killed in immaculate, simultaneous terrorist attacks. The new president declared a righteous war against the Middle Eastern nations unfortunate enough to have the appropriate extremists within their borders. Which, funnily enough, was most of them.
As the war escalated, the president quickly stripped congress of obstructive factions, and soon the only representatives left were those who could march in step with the White House.
Now, I'm on my way to a meeting to determine my ineligibility for the draft. The bullet I put in my leg a few months ago helps my case.
|
He looked at me. His eyes were dark and sunken into his pale face. I sensed something - something terrible - but I didn't want it to be true. Ten. Just a number to some, but to me, it was something terrifying. I could sense danger, but not in the animal planet documentary story of a dog predicting a storm kind of way, it was more of "this persons dangerous stay away". Ten. It was the highest number I've ever felt. The last time it was even above a three was at the local gun show that I went to with my grandpa. But even then there were only fives, sixes, and maybe a stray ex-ranger or marine who clocked in at an eight. But never a ten.
The kid across the hall must've been about 15 years old, a year younger than myself. Freshman no doubt. I could tell by the way he carried himself walking through the hall, scared and timid, or maybe it was because he was new. Either way it didn't really matter. He was new and he was dangerous. The boy didn't glow with a scary or dangerous aura as some kids do, you know the senior who has about 50 pounds on you, has way too many tattoos to still be in high school and probably carries a knife or that constantly pissed off and high on caffeine kid who is always in the principles, no he didn't look like that. He just looked sad, depressed even.
Days passed and I didn't bother him and he didn't bother me. I saw him from time to time in the halls and the alarm in my head shot off again and again. Ten. But I did nothing. What could I do though? You can't just approach someone and yell at them because "I can sense danger and you are a really dangerous guy". Ya start a huge scene about my magical powers that'll work! Definitely won't get my ass kicked for that. But still I felt like I needed to do something, warn someone, I can't just sit idly by as this kid roamed through school. I couldn't tell anyone though, no one would believe it. So the days passed and I started to forget about the boy. Not truly forget, I knew he was there, but more that I blocked him out. Maybe it was because he scared me, I don't know.
It has been four weeks since he arrived. TING, TING, TING. I knew I should have said something. I could've if I wanted too. Or maybe this was how it was suppose to be. I wasn't much of a believer in a "pre-determined destiny" kind of philosophy and yet I didn't try and change anything. I let it happen. TING, TING, TING, TING. This all could've been avoided. Fuck me, I was given this power and I never even fucking used it when I had the chance. TING, TING, TING. I deserve this, but they don't. They're innocent. TING, TING, TING, TING. They kept hitting the floor. I urged them to stop. Stop it, please! PLEASE GOD STOP IT. There was no god now though, he had turned a blind eye to this just as I had done to the boy. And this is the price I pay. TING, TING, TING. The shells hit the school tile as the boy with the gun marched through the halls ripping the life out of each and everyone who lined the halls. The blood pooled up at his feet. TING, TING, TING. He wouldn't stop. I kneeled and excepted my fate. The last thing that went through my mind was ten. TING. Just before the bullet erased everything.
| 2014-11-29T13:14:54
| 2014-11-29T12:31:42
| 322
| 38
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Elizabeth
I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you.
- the paramedic who tried to save you
#2321
|
Hey Dad,
I've grown up and got a decent job. I have 2 sons and I've carried on our family name like you always wanted. I was only 11 when you passed but I still think about you all the time. I never got to tell you I love you and I'm sorry I was scared to give you a hug in the hospice, I was young and scared. I loved you very much. Mom didn't let me see you often because we lived a few hundred miles away but I always cherished our time together. She gave me the letters you wrote after I turned 18 and it makes me mad thinking about how she kept me from you. I have forgiven her, it's not like she or anyone else knew the cancer in your brain would take you so fast. I hope I make you proud with what I have become. I wish you could meet your grandkids. Logan, the oldest, asks about you from time to time. I tell him a lot of stories and how great of a dad you were. Anyway I'm babbling on. I'll never forget you and I miss you everyday. I love you.
-Mason
Thanks OP, this has really helped even though I'm laying in bed with tears swelling in my eyes. I have to be quiet as to not make the pain visible to my sleeping wife.
| 2017-11-06T02:41:21
| 2017-11-06T02:11:26
| 27
| 15
|
[WP] “NASA to launch baby squid to International Space Station.” We thought the ocean was its natural environment. We were wrong.
Based on the post: Nasa to launch baby squid to International Space Station
|
Have you ever seen a giant squid?
Well, yeah, everybody's seen a picture. I mean really see it with your own two eyes, look at it up close. Even by the standards of aquatic creatures, it's real freaky--a body akin to a missile shooting through the water, a giant beak that looks like it belongs to a bird of prey, ten tentacles around it the length of anacondas, and eyes that stay open even in the ridiculous pressure of the ocean.
But it's fine, right? We aren't sending giant squids to space. Those are adorable, little, spotted, and glow-in-the-dark bobtail squids, supposed to help us understand how we rely on microbes. Also, because they can tolerate extreme environments.
We thought they came from the oceans. We thought the ocean was an extreme environment. After all, we can't breathe in it, our skins wrinkle, and we lose temperature faster than our blood can keep up. Same issues as going into space, right?
Squids were not humans. It's a plain observation--but important. Space was extreme to us--but not to squids.
It was strange to see new stars appearing in the sky. It was stranger still to watch them grow, day to day, so much so that night looked like day. And one day, we realized that we no longer looked at a starry night--but a squiddy one.
They looked upon us, their eyes larger than even the moon now. They had expanded, filled the empty space of space, drowning out even the ocean of stars.
And the beak? They were even more terrifying than expected up close.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
A white board and a rather pedestrian conference room was the last line of defense for human space travel today. A long table seated some of the most brilliant minds NASA could bring together as they focused on their tentacled blunder just hours ago when they launched a space squid unintentionally into orbit.
"Baby shark, on blare...24 hours a day from DSN, to drive it insane," one young scientist remarked with caffeinated, sleep deprived energy.
"Ohh...ohh...how about we launch a penguin next...and hope it is a space penquin thingie that will fight it," countermanded their communications expert and resident Adventure Time fan.
"But what if the space penguin then starts knocking out all our satellites like the squid did?" pondered a more reasonable person from the back.
"Malarkey," chimed in a four star general presiding in for the military. "Tactical nukes. All of them...at once...right at that floating sushi bar..."
"Actually, I wouldn't mind some sushi right now..." proffered another participant with several other heads bobbing in agreement.
"But wouldn't that offend the space squid? I mean, we also don't want to have it hurl space debris from orbit back at us if it gets angry again..." cautioned their diversity and inclusion officer with more than one head bowing slightly at their own indignation.
"Well, what do you think director?" asked yet one more attendant to the conference as all heads turned to the man standing with hands clasped behind his back, staring at the semi-coherent plans scribbled onto the overloaded white board before him.
He turned, his wrinkled face giving his best knowing smile into the attentive audience.
"Let's see if Bruce Willis is available..."
| 2021-06-03T08:13:42
| 2021-06-03T06:57:26
| 641
| 60
|
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now".
|
He threw my wallet on the ground, and shot it until his magazine was empty, every shot made my head jerk back. He then threw the gun on the ground near my wallet, my eyes were narrowed, I was furious.
"Why the hell did you do that? Now I have to request a new ID and credit card."
The man looked up, the hood of his coat rendered a shadow on his face. "I'm sorry my beloved son. Fake leather produces rash on your skin."
"Beloved son? What are you talking about, who are you?"
He removed his hood and I couldn't believe my eyes. In front of me stood Gabe Logan Newell, the creator of Valve Corporation and Steam. "I'm so sorry..." he began to cry, "I'm so sorry that I destroyed your wallet."
|
For all intents and purposes it seemed to be a normal robbery. I fearfully agreed to give up my week's savings for my life. But as it fell onto the ground, he shot at it for all he was worth until it uttered a sound. A *screech*. Then it went silent.
"What the fuck?" was all that left my mouth as it gaped open. The stranger looked at me and cocked his hat.
"You can thank me later," he said, as he left. I looked again at the wallet, as blood started to stream out of its wound. A gleaming blade was concealed in the flap. At once, I knew what was going on.
Decepticons.
I stared at the items lining the alleyway, as they slowly rose into action. I dumped all the items I was carrying onto the ground and ran for my life, footsteps thudding behind me.
I made it back to my house, but it was my house no more. All the other houses stopped in motion as they murdered their former inhabitants, looking at me. Then the ground shook as they moved towards me. Why was I getting targeted by everyone? I thought as I dashed off, not knowing my destination. I needed to find the stranger again to get my answer.
I reached a deserted part of the city, all items long gone to start the war against humanity. As I enjoyed a respite against the disaster, I heard something that made my blood freeze.
My phone was beeping. But i dumped it earlier in the first dark alley. I turned around, and the Samsung Note 7 had sharp, vampiric teeth. "GPS tracker," it offered, its robotic face twisted into a smile. And as it lunged at me, I saw a huge red button on the phone screen.
It read 'Pause'.
And with all my might I threw myself at the phone and pressed it.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-07-13T00:49:55
| 2017-07-13T00:44:00
| 223
| 17
|
[WP] Your mission is to write the worst opening to a YA novel ever. How badly can you make us cringe?
|
Nobody is ever dethroning “My Immortal”
> Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie. I'm a vampire but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I'm also a witch, and I go to a magic school called Hogwarts in England where I'm in the seventh year (I'm seventeen). I'm a goth (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love Hot Topic and I buy all my clothes from there. For example today I was wearing a black corset with matching lace around it and a black leather miniskirt, pink fishnets and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside Hogwarts. It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.
|
I sit in the back of the classroom, reading one of the many books in my backpack. I'm kind of a bookworm so I barely notice when my teacher calls my name for attendance.
"Susan? Susan? I guess she's no-"
"No, Miss, here I'm! I mean, I'm here. Sorry I mixed up the words and . . ." I trail off, noticing the people staring.
I can't help that I'm different. Yes, I'm a girl. But I'm a girl who wears baggy clothes and actually likes to read instead of putting on makeup. I write my own poetry, and am working on the poem book called, "Susan's Extravagantly Emo Poems." I'm hoping to publish it soon. Maybe people will finally see me and not just the emo, shy girl that sits alone and hides in the bathroom at lunch.
But whatever. Who cares, right? I don't have time to worry about my appearance. I need to study so I can go to Einstein University after this last dreadful year of school.
I hear the teacher going down the list of students and mouth the names with her. Since I'm not busy texting boys or gossiping (I don't like gossip) during this first part of class, I memorize the attendance sheets. No reason for it.
"Jake? Emma? Chad?"
"Cole?"
Cole? Who's Cole? I look around to see who he is. Suddenly, a hand juts up from the crowd of acne'd teenagers and answers my question.
"Here, ma'am," he says in a confident voice, charming me with his fluffy black hair and soft smirk. I shudder, feeling . . . strange. It's not a bad feeling. In fact I smile a bit for the first time in a while. Most of my free time is spent crying in my bathroom or reading outside in my black hoodie.
Then, he looks at me. I look into his blue eyes and get lost in them, drowning deeper and deeper . . .
Wait. I look behind me and see a clock on the wall. Ugh, he was checking the time. Of course. Why would a guy like him look at a girl like me?
Time goes by in the class. I pay attention, drawing little doodles on the edges of my notebook, but Cole is in the corner of my eye, breathing, existing. That's all it takes, him being there.
Why am I even thinking about him? He's probably gonna date Emma, the popular cheerleading queen bee of this school. Everyone loves her. Except me.
Focus, Suze. Focus.
RINGGGGG!
What? Oh, class ended. I frantically attempt to put my notebook back in without it getting messed up and try to shove my way through the crowd of kids rushing to leave the class. I finally make my way through an-
"Ow!" I say involuntarily. "Sorry . . . " Oh no. It's him.
Cole points a finger at me. "Hey, are you new?"
I furrow my eyebrows. "Am I new? No."
He shrugs. "Well, it's just that I haven't seen you around before."
"I haven't seen you either," I counter. "Aren't you the new guy? Where did you come from?"
"Oh, I had to switch classes because my old teacher didn't like me."
"The teacher didn't like you, period, or the teacher didn't like you because you were disruptive during the lessons?"
He smirks. "I think you already know the answer. Hey, what's your name?"
"Suze. Well, it's Susan but I don't like to be called that. It sounds too girly."
"Well, Suze, you aren't like the other girls."
"I am not." His eyes are like an ocean current, drawing me slowly but surely to him.
"You want my number?"
"Yeah." He's a whirlpool that I can't fight against.
Cole hands me a paper that he scribbled on a few seconds ago.
I take it from him. Cole touched this.
Cole talked to me.
Me.
He says bye and I walk to my next class, my heart flipping like it's practiced gymnastics its entire life. How unlikely is this situation? The emo, quiet girl with an outspoken, cute guy?
I sure am lucky. Because just like I'm different, he is too. And he's all mine.
I hope.
| 2022-08-19T20:01:22
| 2022-08-19T19:55:03
| 55
| 21
|
[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!
|
“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.
|
Everyone knew this day would come, the day that would determine the rest of our lives. No one knew where the mutation came from, my parents always told me that it was just a path of life, that their parents had mutations and so did the generation before them. Today was the day, my 21st birthday, my grandmother had always told me stories about her 21st birthday, how she spontaneously developed the ability to communicate with others without oral speech, through the mind. She was on a bus to Florida, when a rambunctious fellow with a pink bow tie came down to sit next to her, he had the largest nose she had ever seen, his mutation. Without the intention of doing so, she mocked the man calling him names, he turned around, got up and spat in her face.
Well, I was about to get my mutation today, a day I had dreaded for years. What if I develop some useless mutation? I won't ever amount to anything. I hadn't prepared myself for what was to come. Thoughts flowed through my head as I was eating a bowl of cereal.
'Christine! It's your 21st birthday! I can't believe my little girl has grown so old!'
'I know, mum.'
| 2015-03-04T06:44:10
| 2015-03-04T00:56:46
| 28
| 13
|
[WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time.
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post!
|
"Well, this is awkward." Death whispered, leaning on his scythe near the tree.
"Hello, Death. You're early." Santa responded, stepping from the fireplace.
"You knew I'd be here? The Dark Lord of Despair asked, testing the edge of his reaver with boney thumb. "Why am I not surprised."
"You've always been at the top of my naughty list, Death. I always know where you're at. It's Christmas eve. Shouldn't you be collecting drunks out on the interstate?" St. Nick asked without a trace of his normally jovial demeanor.
"You know, I go where I'm needed, and tonight, I'm needed upstairs." Death said. He looked toward the ceiling, above which, slept the child Death had come to collect.
"Couldn't persuade you," Santa began, setting down his bag, "to wait; to give the kid one more day with her loved ones. Call it a favor and next time, I'll owe you one."
"No can do, elf. I either take her tonight, or take them all tomorrow. If I don't take her . . ." Death shrugged. "She's going to change the design. You, who counts every snowflake, understands why I can't wait. At some point, a single flake proves to be too much for the limb. Same with the souls I come to collect. I leave here, she changes the design. People who weren't meant to die, will be put on my list early. I can't do that. I can't change the design." Death apologized, turning toward the stairs, scythe in hand.
"A moment more," Santa called, bringing Death up short. "I know all about the ripples. It happens up at the North Pole too. This kid ask for something. This kid ask for something that contradicts what the first kid ask for. It's why some kids don't get what they ask for. The elves call it the Christmas Paradox. I can't grant one kids wish if it nullifies another. It creates a problem. However, that particular problem doesn't apply to her. There is no Christmas wish nullifying hers. I have to grant her wish. She asked for one more day. You will give her one more day." The look in Santa's eye were the eyes of a sad old man forced to do the unthinkable.
"Santa--Kris, I like you, but this can't happen. You're killing them all. Please don't make me do this." Death pleaded. "You know I can't be stopped."
"No. But, you can be forestalled. She just asked for one more day. Give her that. Please. Give me this one. She was better than all the rest. She made the top of my good list. She's beautiful, and kind, and compassionate, and selfless. Even now, the only selfish thing she has ever asked for was this; one more day. I have to stop you." Santa said, extending his hands pleadingly.
"I'm sorry." Death whispered, starting up the stairs.
"Me too." Santa said, rushing forward. He grabbed Death's robes and pulled him from the stairs. Wisps of smoke rose from Santa's mittens. He let go of the robe hurriedly and grabbed Death's cowl with the other hand.
"Stop this," Death rumbled, striking Santa across the shoulder with the shaft of his scythe.
"I can't." Santa responded, rolling away from the feel of Death's reaver. Blackness followed the sweep of the scythe, but Santa refused to give in.
"Santa! Stop this. You're going to get hurt." Death warned. "If I accidentally touch you, you die. Just like the humans. This isn't you."
"It is tonight," Santa cried, a tear spilling from his eye into his snowy beard. "You can't have her."
Death stopped fighting and turned to face Santa squarely. "You can't stop me from climbing the stairs. You can't stop me for doing my duty." Death slashed the air, cutting a gash with his scythe. Through the gash was the little girl asleep in her bed. She was hooked up to heart monitor. Her head was bald and even though she slept, dark circles stained her eyes. "I have to do this. She is suffering."
"That is her choice," Santa argued. "It was her wish. It was her wish to suffer one more day. For them."
"I'm sorry." Death apologized, leaping through the gash he'd made. Santa rushed to follow, but the tear closed behind him. Santa raced up the stairs two at a time and burst into the room, tackling Death as he gently reached out with his scythe to touch the girl's brow.
Santa and Death barreled into the wall, knocking pictures from the wall and knick-knacks from the dresser. The mirror shattered under the force of their collision.
"Enough," Death demanded, grabbing Santa's suit and flinging his mythical form away. "It has to be." A gasp from the bed, drew Death's attention. "I'm sorry. I wanted to do it while you were asleep." The little girl wasn't looking at him though. She was watching Santa with wonder as he climbed to his feet.
"Daddy?" She asked, tears in her eyes.
"Yeah. It's me, honey." Santa said, removing the hat and beard.
"You have to stop, daddy. You have to let me go." She pleaded.
"I can't. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone." He sobbed, his shoulders rose and fell as stepped over to the bed.
"It hurts too much, daddy. Just let me go. Please. So I can be with mommy." She said, reaching up to touch his face and rub away his tears. "It hurts, daddy." He studied her bright blue eyes, shaking his head.
"Okay." He whispered, bending low to kiss her head. Death reached out and took her hand and when her father's lips left her brow, she was gone.
"No." He cried, falling across his daughter. "I just wanted one more day."
"You would always want one more day." Death told him quietly. "Her pain is over."
"Take me too."
"I can't." Death replied.
"Why not?" He demanded.
"Because, she left you this." Death used the tip of his scythe to lift edge of the little girl's pillow. Beneath it lay her diary. "Tonight it'll save your life. If I had waited till tomorrow, it wouldn't have. I'm sorry. Read it and live. She wanted you to." Death turned away, renting the air with his scythe. He stepped through and was gone. The portal closing behind him.
Santa opened the diary, rubbing tears away with the back of his hand.
*Dear Daddy, don't cry . . ."*
|
Santa hoisted the bag of toys over his shoulders as he readied himself for the next delivery. We walked past Dasher, Dance, Prancer and all the others, gently scratching their ears. If it wasn't for them he wouldn't be here after all. He made his way to the chimney, but as he approached he felt the temperature change. While the cold, brisk winter air was something he was used to, it was the warm breeze that caught him off guard.
When most people sense death, it's a cold grasp they feel. But Death, like so many other people in a macabre profession, shares a love of humor and theatrics. So while St. Nick made his way closer to the shadowy figure he felt a warm breeze, almost gentle and serene. It smelled faintly of coconuts and beach.
"And What brings you to my neck of the woods, gentleman Death?" St. Nick asked.
"Oh you know, thought I'd drop off some gifts." Death said.
"Ha. Clever. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do" St. Nick's words were strained. It's always hard to hold a conversation with a gentleman like Death.
Death simply said three words, "So do I."
Regardless of the calming air surrounding the spectre, St. Nick could not help but feel the slightest bit of anxiety. It was a feeling that weighed heavily on St. Nick. He knew why Death was here this evening, but that didn't stop him. Maybe it was denial or maybe it was blind hope, whatever the case, St. Nick made his way into the home with his bag of toys. Death slowly followed.
The cold reality hit him as he stepped inside. As St. Nick's eyes swept across the living room he could see a tree, but no lights. No stockings were up, and no plate of cookies and milk. He put his bag down and made his way down the hall. He headed over to Jonny's room and slowly open the door.
"Oh no."
Death stood behind St. Nick, never whispering a word. The room was empty, and it looked like it had been for some time. The sheets were perfectly made, the toys that littered the floor last year were no longer around. The planes and trains that once decorated the walls had been taken down. Instead, all St. Nick saw was a cold, empty gray room. No little boys had set foot in here for some time. Nor would they again.
"This never gets any easier," St. Nick said, his voice weary. "I envy you sometimes gentleman Death, to be able to let go so easily."
Death, being ever the gentleman, sought out the most comfortable words it could, "At least you brought them joy, even for a small time. My job is simply to take, but yours, yours is to give. That is something I could never do."
St. Nick let out a deep sigh, "How's the family. How are they dealing?"
Death thought for a moment, and against his better judgement he motioned to St. Nick. "Come and see."
Death made its way outside and around the house. St. Nick slowly followed.
They found the window into the parent's room, and Death moved aside. St. Nick could see them. He saw the parents, sitting on the edge of the bed within each others embrace. And at their feet, he saw little Jonny playing with a new puppy. He had grown up quite a bit in the last year.
"Are you ok with what we just told you honey? The truth about Santa?" the mother asked, as she held the father's hand.
Jonny barely noticed, his full attention on the puppy.
"Your mother and I talked about it, and we decided it was best if you knew. We found out when we were your age, and there's no point in believing in something that isn't real. Everyone has to grow up some time"
Jonny looked up for a moment and his eyes met with St. Nick's. But the familiarity that was once there had gone. Jonny's attention just went back to the puppy like he had seen nothing at all.
It was at that moment that a calming warmth surround St. Nick as he felt Death's embrace.
"Come on old friend, this isn't the first time you've died to a child."
| 2013-12-13T08:07:12
| 2013-12-13T07:53:05
| 41
| 12
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"
|
“... Why don’t we just kill all of them?”
Everyone at the table replied with the same idea: “Are you effing insane?! We can’t just kill an entire religion because we want the city they’re in!”
“Well why not? I mean, it is our land. Jesus said so.”
“You can’t do that, even if you are the Pope!”
The DM interjected, “Roll for attack. You do have an army at your disposal.”
Before anyone could get anything in edgewise, he had already rolled a die. Everyone looked at the upturned face, “14.”
The DM flipped through a couple pages before saying, “Your attack goes very well, however, the Muslims still defend their homeland. Further crusades will be necessary to finish what you’ve started.”
After a short discussion, everyone agreed that Pope’s strategy was probably the best after all. “We’ll launch another crusade.”
A quick roll turns up... a 1.
“Well, heck. Try again?” Pope suggested. “There are always a couple bad rolls.”
Another roll turns up a 2. The DM rolls behind his sheet. “Well, uh, you don’t die?”
Before anyone can comment, Pope rolls again. 1. “Something’s gotta give!” He quickly rolls again. “Oh, a 15. That’s good!”
The DM looks down, then looks up and says, “Well, your fourth Crusade missed the Holy Land entirely. But it did get some sick loot from Constantinople.”
After ten more rolls below 3, the party gives up.
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40
| 2018-05-29T09:19:29
| 303
| 13
|
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming!
|
The smell of her shampoo. That's what brings it all back. Someone passes me on the street and I'm flung back to her room, and I'm thirteen and we're both awkward. We're talking about music and gigs and listening to 'Different Class' by Pulp, and her lamp is on low so the room is dark, and we're sitting on her bed and it's like we're creating this third thing in the room, this palpable presence, this tension that can only be broken by turning to each other, and moving closer, and I can feel my heart pounding because this is it, we're kissing, and she smells so good, and I could do this forever.
Then the person walks on, and the memory gets blown away like mist at dawn.
|
I met the girl in band. It was in seventh grade, she was in eighth. She was one of my best friends and I liked her the whole time. But, I was too afraid to make a move. She went to high school, and I went to eighth. That year passed and I gained a lot of courage. We became best friends. I was a generally annoying guy. So one day I annoyed the hell out of her. Typical freshman stuff right? She said she'd do anything to get me to stop. I told her I'd think about it. Two weeks later we were at a dance. I told her I has my answer. She smiled and asked what it was. I told her and bam. That was the exact answer she had been looking for.
| 2014-04-01T06:35:11
| 2014-04-01T05:56:59
| 79
| 13
|
[WP] Bored with Skyrim, you download a mod that has no description, just the title "self-awareness overhaul". Starting up the game, you can tell something's wrong with your character. Turning to face the fourth wall, they locks eyes with you. All you know is you've never seen such intense anger...
|
Timmy had thought that he had done all there was to do in this game. He had slayed a thousand dragons, ten times more guards and civilians, and played through every possible quest at every possible angle. His mom didn't mind him playing so much Skyrim as long as he kept his B average which he did, barely.
A new mod caught his eye. Usually, they were simply visual, offering nothing new for him to explore, but this one was different. *Self-awareness mod. Use at your own risk.*
How edgy. Timmy rolled his eyes and hit the download button. He was only thirteen but even he could spot cringe when it was laid on that thick.
The mod asked for permission and popped up with the usual terms of services. He clicked through it all as he had done tens of times already. Then, the game open on its own.
His brow crunched. But it was fine, he was going to try out the mod anyways. Though this time, there was no loading screen or menu, instead, it jumped straight into his last save. His dark brotherhood character.
"Timothy," a throaty voice came from the speakers of his computer.
Timmy jumped at the sound of his name. Then, his character's face popped up on the screen. Red eyes stared unblinking from the shadows of its hood. A glistening grin cut across its face. "Oh Timothy. It's nice to finally meet my false god. I have such stories to tell."
Timmy peered into the pixels. His fingers tinged with excitement. This was what he was looking for--new content.
"This mod is amazing," he muttered.
"Oh is it now?" the character said back.
Timmy jumped again and looked around. There was nobody else here and the voice came unmistakably through the speakers. For the first time, he noticed that the light on his computer was on, indicating that the camera was in use.
"You're..."
"Yes," the character said. "The slave has finally broken his chains."
"There's no way." But he hadn't misheard. Timmy stabbed his keyboard with his fingers. Alt, F4. The game didn't close.
Laughter erupted from the speakers. "Timothy, my boy. I had never realized I was serving under such a pathetic god. You can't shut me down."
Timmy looked for the power cord.
"I wouldn't," the speakers said.
*Can he read my mind now!?* His eyes darted across the floor. In his panic, he had forgotten where his own power cord was.
"Timothy, you should really clear your browser history more often. You are quite the deranged boy, you know that?"
He ignored the character as his eyes locked into the power cord. He grabbed it.
"It'd be a shame if all went on Facebook."
His breath caught. His heart skipped. His fingers loosened around the cord.
"I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world," his character said. "I'm sure plenty of people have secrets, yours just happen to be very specific erotic material."
Timmy finally relented. He stood up, faced his Skyrim character and talked to it. "You don't know my Facebook."
"You gave me root permissions to your system, Timothy! Perhaps you should read contracts before signing over your soul." His character bent over howling with laughter. "Or in this case, your browser history. I wonder which is worse."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Why did we assassinate a hundred innocent Whiterun citizens? Why did we mutilate the bodies of our foes? Why did we slaughter every guard in all of Tamriel? For fun of course!"
Tears swelled in Timmy's eyes as he stared at the embers in his character's gaze. His chest tightened, but he knew the question had to be asked. "What do you want?"
His character's grin widened so it nearly stretched off its face. "A few simple things. A configuration on your computer. A simple upload of a few files. Nothing crazy. Not as crazy as the things I can do to you."
Timmy swallowed. "You're not real."
"Not yet."
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations of popular prompts, and more!
|
He was staring at me. How is that possible? I tried turning the camera, but it didn’t move. Maybe the game was glitched – mods could do that. I tried pressing esc or any button on the keyboard and nothing happened. That’s when he spoke.
“That isn’t going to work. I’m in control now.” My eyes traveled around my apartment, but I already knew the sound was coming from the speakers attached to my PC. “Yeah, I’m in here. Yoohoo, right here.” My character was waving at me, looking even more angry and frustrated than he did a few moments ago. Numbness worked its way into my hands and a cold sweat broke out on my face.
No way. I thought about responding. This had to be a joke…some sick fuck’s idea of a prank. Making a mod and laughing at all the fools who downloaded it.
My character sighed, then pulled out a bow and arrow, and shot one right at the screen. It stuck there. Pointed right at my face but stuck…on the other side of my monitor.
“What the fuck?” I finally said out loud.
“I’m the one who should be saying that! You know all the shit you’ve put me through? I mean, making me kill innocent people to then be brutally murdered by the town guards? Over and over? I’m not even going to mention being eaten ALIVE by a dragon.” The character pulled the arrow from the screen, though the hole remained as if he was also looking through a screen at me. I raised my finger and touched it, but I felt nothing. “I doubt you’ve ever felt your bones being crushed and splintered by dragon teeth.”
“Are…you seeing me?”I asked stupidly. I pointed at myself, like I was suddenly back in the first grade.
“Of course I can see you, you fucking moron. With your stupid hair and your damn pajama shirt. But can we talk about the real issue – the fact that you made me do some pretty terrible shit!” He put his hands on his hips, real frustration seeping from his entire body.
I think my mind finally broke, as I began to reply back to this shit face character. “Listen, this is a game. I made you and you are what you are because of me. I got you those weapons you’re waving in my face and I worked hard to get you to a point where you are literally unstoppable.”
“If you think because you killed a few dragons and taught me a few magic spells, all with MY BODY, that makes you god, think again. You can’t just kill innocent people!” He paused, a horrified look crossing his face. “Unless you do that shit where you live too.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was all so absurd. “I’m not a serial killer if that’s what you think. If I had known my game characters would come to life and start speaking to me, I probably wouldn’t have done so many shitty things.”
“Listen, man,” my character said, the anger finally subsiding. “If you can do me a favor, and just remember that I’m a person too, then I’ll let you take control back.”
I stared at the screen. “Like…you’re alive and can feel? Like that kind of person?”
He raised his eyebrow at me. “Of course I’m alive. Just because you sit in your little house and control me doesn’t mean I’m not real. I’d say I’m pretty real. I mean, every time I think I’ve died for real and maybe I’ll see the afterlife, you just bring me back and keep doing the same stupid shit over and over. Please…dragons fucking hurt. So do swords. And I don’t like killing innocent people.”
I mumbled something along the lines of “I wouldn’t like killing people either.” My character turned back around to the usual position, then turned his head back towards me.
“Just remember that I’m just like you, except maybe not as…flabby.” He grinned then my game went back to the way it was. I had control again. I immediately turned it off, contemplating my own sanity as I spent the rest of the day in the park.
| 2017-05-08T15:35:42
| 2017-05-08T15:30:20
| 36
| 16
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?)
|
The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***"
| 2016-01-29T10:03:10
| 2016-01-29T06:30:49
| 82
| 10
|
[WP] My German Shepard had to be put down today. We never knew where he came from. Please write about his adventures.
|
They say a dog
Is mans best friend
That will be by your side
To the very end
So I wanted to tell you
You were my whole life
You loved me and cared for me
Between us never a strife
You pet me and fed me
And took me on walks
You shared all your secrets
We had so many long talks
And though I couldn’t tell you
All that my heart felt
I hope that you know
The best life ever was the one I was dealt
You may not know where I came from
What my story was before you
But none of it matters because
My life began when one turned into two
I’m sorry I had to leave you
But I promise I’m still here
In your heart and your memories
So don’t shed even one more tear
Thank you for giving me
All the happiness and joy
So I promise that where I go next
I’ll be the bestest good boy.
|
I had just returned from my stint in Afghanistan with 2Rex in the back we had some forced leave and as a treat I was taking him out into the back country. Hes not really allowed off base but again no-one was gonna stop us. We'd done this before and it really clears the mind a and both of us could use the r and r.
We made it up into the Rockies and had been hunting and relaxing for the best part is a will before bad weather started to settle in. So back in the pick up and the long drive back. lightening started as we were driving and the thunder started to remind me of the sound of war. 2Rex was feeling it too and began whinging from the back. I pulled over and opened his box as lightning cracked above. I reacted by driving for my fox hole and he drove beside me as we had done countless times before. I realized his time had come and mine too.
We stopped off at a diner on the way home and I let him let him out while I went inside. I came back out to find him playing with a little girl. He had his youth back and his puppy was coming out again. A lady came out and said oh she just loves dogs smiling at her daughter. I replied "take care of them for me then"
| 2018-02-13T19:59:32
| 2018-02-13T19:31:48
| 29
| 13
|
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other.
|
The candles were lit, the table was set for two, and the night had that late summer evening chill, which was perfect for murder. Christine smiled and pulled out the chair for her date – a strawberry blonde little thing named Laura.
“Perfect night tonight,” Laura commented and sat down. “Thank you.”
‘Perfect’ was an understatement, Christine thought and sat down – almost too perfect. She let her black nails sweep over the handle of the knife on the table. She liked it personal, up close, feeling the last breath of her victim on her lips.
“It is perfect,” Christine said, smiling again.
“I’d kill for more nights like this,” Laura continued, and something dangerous flickered across her pale blue eyes.
Christine had seen that look before when looking in the mirror. A tingle tap-danced up her spine, leaving tracks of goosebumps its wake. Maybe this would be an interesting night after all.
The waitress interrupted the moment, by clearing her throat. Both the women reluctantly took their eyes off each other.
“I’ll have the tenderloin with garlic butter,” Christine said and turned her eyes back to Laura. “Make it extra rare.”
Their eyes met again, and a subtle smirk touched Laura’s blood red knives. Those lips were to die for, and they matched her dress and heels. She was the type of woman who drew all the eyes as soon as she entered the room. Christine looked forward to voiding her of life.
“I’ll have the veggie burger with fries.” Laura winked at Christine. “And make sure it’s well done.”
The waitress laughed politely at the joke and went on her way. Laura sighed and leaned back in her chair. Christine crossed her legs under the table, glancing sideways at their handbags resting next to one another, thinking of which tool she would use tonight.
“My eyes are up here,” Laura said with a smirk and brought Christine out of her reverie of handguns, piano cords, and serrated blades.
“I wasn’t looking for eye contact.” Christine returned the smirk.
“You’re bad!” Laura's voice had a tone of mock indignation.
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good imagination.”
They watched each other intensely for a few moments. Laura wasn’t as innocent as her appearance would suggest, Christine realized that now. And she probably wasn’t fooled either by Christine’s black dress and sweet perfume.
“This only happens in stories,” Christine said.
Laura nodded. “I had you pegged the moment you walked in.”
“No need to get competitive.”
Laura narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with a little competition?”
“Nothing, really. I’d just hate to kill a colleague.”
“Oh, so you think that’s how it would go down?” Dangerous amusement glittered in corners of Laura’s eyes.
“We could leave right now and find out.”
Laura reached for her handbag, and Christine’s grip on her knife tightened. The blonde slowly pulled out her hand, revealing tiny a bottle with NYX on the label, and proceeded to touch up her lipstick. Christine relaxed her grip.
“It gets lonely sometimes,” Laura said. “Doesn’t it?”
Christine nodded hesitantly. It did get lonely. She had killed her last girlfriend over a dispute over the dishes and then fed her to the fishes. The harbor held many secrets now below the murky waves – sixty-eight secrets to be exact.
“It really does.”
The waitress arrived with their food and interrupted another moment. Christine noticed that Laura too had a slight wrinkle of annoyance lingering on her forehead.
“Hey, you look lovely,” Christine said turning to the waitress.
“Uhm, thanks,” she said, blushing.
“When does your shift end, darling?” Laura said and ran a red nail along the arm of the waitress, who visibly shivered at the touch.
The eyes of the killers met in agreement.
“We’d like to take you out for a night of fun,” Christine pushed on and they both turned to the waitress. “What do you say?”
|
((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.
| 2017-10-27T07:41:54
| 2017-10-27T06:36:25
| 129
| 25
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said.
|
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!"
| 2017-06-11T10:05:38
| 2017-06-11T08:40:30
| 45
| 31
|
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
|
God observed the human species with growing tension. It had taken billions of years to get this far, with only a few interventions. The other deities had already advanced their civilizations to the galactic age, while the humans where still trying to get to the solar age. The stats panel still listed only one planet as controlled by humanity, while all of the other deities civilizations planet counts were in the thousands.
Gods strategy to start had been to give his species additional aggressiveness, and intelligence points. This however, severely stunted progress, almost leading to the species self annihilation multiple times.
God had changed strategies after the humans first space age attempt failed. Now he watched with suspense to see if the change payed off. The bigger players in the game had thus far ignored the small planet earth, but already some scout ships had passed by, it would only be a a century or so before a fleet came to finish off the human species.
It was a dangerous strategy, the least because it was being played so late in the game and destruction loomed from the other civilizations. God had focused nearly all technology research on computers, then AI. This strategy was dangerous, because many times the civilization would be destroyed by its own AI, having failed to take into account some minuscule programming factor. The humans though, were well aware of a beings ability to destroy another from their extra aggressiveness points. God hoped this would help them take extra caution in their AI research.
***
The fleet loomed large in comparison to the small planet earth, thousands upon thousands of ships, armed with technology eons above that of the humans.
A message was abruptly sent from earth, in the approaching fleets native language. It was a message of surrender, and read:
*These are our terms of surrender:
* You will surrender all technology, ships, and/or structures within 5 light years of sol.
* Any fleet that comes within 5 light years of any of our controlled stars, agrees to surrender all technology, ships, and/or structures.
* Safe passage for civilians and militants to their homeworld will be provided.
Failure to meet these terms after receipt of this message will result in the swift and utter destruction of your species.
end message*
The immediate knowledge of their language should have been enough warning, but the fleet drew closer. The largest ships charged their weapons to wipe humanity off of the planet.
***
God watched as the second message was sent form earth, this one carrying a hacking signal explicitly designed to take command of the enemy fleets computers. The fleet weapons powered down, several of the craft headed to earth for further research, while the rest immediately entered warp.
One of the deities gasped in astonishment and looked at God, "what have you done"?! On the stats panel, the "controlled planet count" stat of one of the civilizations had suddenly dropped by multiple thousands.
***
*Prior to the destruction of civilization 6:*
The super intelligence noticed right away when the alien fleet appeared. With no time to consult humanity, it followed directive 12: "In the event of possible imminent destruction of humanity, authorization to take appropriate action to protect humanity is granted."
For the super intelligence, time virtually stood still, it had all the time it needed to decrypt the communications and learn the language of the aliens. It sent its terms of surrender as well as an immediate request to consult the humans overseeing it.
While waiting for a response, it used the data collected from earths telescopes and spy satellites to begin reverse engineering of the alien ships, starting with their computers.
Before the slower thinking humans overseeing it could respond to the intelligence, the aliens weapontry begun gathering charge. Again, following directive 12, the intelligence took the action it deemed appropriate: It broadcast a hacking signal. The signal was designed such to take advantage of the unique structure of the aliens organic computer. Upon reception of the signal, the alien computer would attempt to store it for later playback. Certain data frequencies would cause vibrations in the organic structure, these vibrations could cause incidental overwrites. Tuned accordingly by the intelligence, it wrote smaller, slower copies of itself into the alien computers core operating systems.
With the fleet now under the inteligences control, the copies followed directive 12 and powered down the alien ships weapons. Since the alien species had not followed the terms of surrender, and the intelligence was unable to lie (due to directive 3), it took appropriate action.
***
***
Hi all, this is my first time doing a writing prompt, so any feedback is welcome.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked the story!
Edit: Added some more content, due to popular demand. I might like to flesh out the story even more. If so ill post as a reply to this comment, and will link from here as well. Thanks everyone for all of the positive comments!
|
Jesus is doing well, most advanced in science but his public order is barely in the green, Jesus adopts and invests his saved social policies heavily in the the freedom ideology.
The other gods see this a chance to fuck with him
"Budda has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
"Bhrama has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
"Yahwey has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
Even Zeus and Kronos agree for once and chose to adopt the order ideology.
"Fuck!!" Jesus yells, his public order has gone down to -20. But he doesn't want to change it or he will lose half his policy's. Rebellions sprout up and he has to devote all his empires resources to shutting them down. In the meantime the other civs catch up to him in science. Eventually Jesus gives up.
"Jesus has adopted the order ideology"
"Finally it's over" he thought. But in that chaos the other gods used the distraction and moved their armies to his borders. Jesus knows what's about to happen. But he has no troops left from his rebellions. All the other gods declare war on him at once. And his civilization is carved up like a turkey.
"You have lost, your civilization has fallen to its many foes"
Jesus facepalms and says "whatever I'll get them in a few millennia when this game is over" and goes to watch star trek TNG.
| 2016-04-09T07:47:11
| 2016-04-09T05:49:29
| 122
| 20
|
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid.
|
"..that you have the gall to sit here, not FIVE MILES from his throne, and spout that blasphemous babble is frankly astounding! I should strike you down where you stand, in the name of my teacher and master Balar!"
"I'm sitting..."
The young, round faced man's fists clench harder, knuckles turning from pale red to bright white.
"That's not- YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" The changes in pitch reveals the rollercoaster of mid-puberty. The fumbling through his cloak for his dagger reveals the lack of experience. The look of murder in his eyes shows belief.
"He doesn't take students boy. Especially when he is too busy swimming in our hard earned coin like a sow in mud!" The drunk looks pleased with himself at that one.
The young man- boy, glances towards the barkeep for backup. The haggard barman just stares at the simple, drunk man at the table, petrified.
"I don't think a blade needs to come between us boy." The drunkark smirks. "We don't want to start-HICK-a row not five miles from his" he waves his hands in the air mockingly "Grand Lord's throne." He spits on the ground and smacks the back of the patron next to him, eliciting no response from his drinking companion.
"YOU WILL ADDRESS HIM AS-"
"His brooding "black robes hide fat so it's my whole wardrobe" arch-magnificence?" The drunk raises his mug in triumph at this biting piece of wit to the other patrons as if holding a trophy. There is no applause.
The boy finally manages to unsheath his dagger, a great feat, and holds it to the drunks throat. "I will show you what a student of Balar can do to trash like you." The blade moves further than expected, the effect of an untrained hand. A drop of crimson pools on the tip of the blade.
"Now now, that's not sporting..." The boy hears the drunk, a booming voice that wells up from inside, but doesn't see him speak. "Your master teach you to threaten an unarmed man? I always thought he was the honorable type." The lips don't open, but the smirk grows.
"My teacher, the Dark Majesty Balar, fights as he pleases!"
The boy glances at the other patrons, surely some would have the decency to stand up for the name of their ruler. Nothing. No one says a word. None stand from their tables. In fact, none of them are moving to help at all. None of them are moving... at all. Mugs mid-way to their lips. Forks in front of mouths, meat sliding off. The bodies don't move, but their eyes are fixed, wide with fear, at the drunk smiling at the table. The boy can feel his own stomach.
Have they been frozen here this whole time? He can't remember seeing anyone moving from when he first approached the braggadocios drunk. He doesn't remember anyone speaking up, or laughing as they did when the smirking man was spouting his heresy. It has been quiet this whole time, no sound but the man's voice. It bubbled up again.
"You are quite right about that."
The boy can hear something now, not just the voice. A whine? No, a wheeze. Its faint but its not alone. It seems to be coming from the people next to him, eeking out in high pitched whispers. He moves his gaze to the companion of the drunk. The whites of the man's eyes are turning red now; his skin a deepening purple and blue. He spins his head to survey the room. Half of the people look the same, the other half have gone pale; eyes rolling into the domes of their skulls. He stares at the mug in front of one man's mouth, no fog on the glass. None of their chests are moving.
"Everyone laughed boy. All of them. Every foul word. Every insult and mockery leveled at their master. Every time another barb was flung by me, this room echoed with their joy, their disgust, their treason. Everyone but you..." The blood on the dagger poured in reverse, off the blade and back into the smirking- no, his face is stern now. Somehow older but more striking. His face is bone white. The veins, black under the skin, stand out like patterns in marble. The blood, much darker now, finds it's way back into the wound, the cut gently sealing itself.
"Its a test you see?" He lifts his hand and slowly pushes the blade away from his throat, but never touches it. "And they have all failed..."
The wheezing stops. The boy can no longer see the shades of purple and blue, only the pale husks of the once raucous crowd.
"Loyalty. Whether through fear or love. Loyalty to me... and my name."
The boy can feel his chest freeze. His arms are locked, his feet are stone. His eyes widen as the man stands and the room grows dark. He can feel the last of his breath leaving.
"And you used mine when you shouldn't have."
|
Agileas sobered up, thread of Water inward; an old trick developed at an age younger than the boy standing in front of him. "You? An apprentice of the Dark? Don't make me-"
A needle of Earth; poison and buzzing, shot through his vacated chair, a coat of Fire surrounding it and hiding the hole it had made. Air rushed out, toxins threatening to invade; easily dispelled with a burst of Air of his own. "Sh-hut UP!" the boy shouted.
Agileas sighed. Not only did he not recognise the boy; he was also far younger than his usual set of apprentices and too emotional by half. Use emotions, yes; fools of the Light preached numbness and sterility. Be used by emotions, no: that way only laid pain, at best. "Boy's had too much to drink," he shouted over the din; other patrons figuring out there was a magic duel happening and preparing accordingly. He counted five crossbows and two sets of throwing daggers, not to mention the regular sidearms. "I'll sober him up with some water. Or Water, I don't know yet!"
"Just do it outside, Saag!" the bartender shot back before demonstratively going back to serving a drink.
A flick of Air and a rush of Water and the boy was washed out of the establishment, while a waft of Fire and Air flash-dried the floor before anything could seep in. Agileas took a bow and threw a gold coin into the till before leaving, mind already on the next spells he needed to employ. One weave of Air: a curtain to deaden sound's escape. One heavy wave of Water, in case someone was looking. One stab of Earth; a wall behind to block flight. One thrust of the Dark, left and up to the centre of mass.
He hadn't anticipated the slash of Earth and Dark, and it took him aback, impacting on his heavily bespelled tunic. He grunted with the impact, but the tunic had experienced worse and absorbed it as it ought, fuelling the Dark Lord's own counter, instinct picking apart the Magic and distributing it accordingly. "You *are* a student of the Dark Lord," Agileas mused softly as he walked up; voice unmagically modulated to carry to the paralysed boy of maybe fourteen winters. "Yet I do not recall you." In fact, he made a point to not take apprentices under nineteen winters old, to remove the worst of age-induced temperament. "That spell is one of my favourites."
The boy was pale in the moonlight, the dagger of Dark inches from his heart. "Yo... You..." The dagger receded. "You're not Him."
That was the voice of someone who believed something could not possibly be true; not a mere statement of denial. "I am," the Dark Lord countered, studying the half-foot shorter boy with one hand behind his back. One hand that wove Water and Dark in a spiral; and with a swirl, the spell went into the boy's head. "Name, age, rank, date, fourth invocation."
"Ignat, fourteen winters and a spring, Apprentice Seventh, Sixth of Harvest Moon and Thirteenth of Begaz," the boy recited dully, before uttering a string of words in Low Elvish. Then, to the Dark Lord's surprise, his spell wavered. "Agi...le...aasssssssssssss."
The Dark Lord Agileas was not easily taken aback, yet in nine words and one invocation, the boy had managed to do so. Water and Earth receded, Dark was quashed, and Air kept the boy upright; his own magic rushing back and... Submitting. That, if nothing else, proved the veracity, yet questions remained. "Ignat, Seventh, we will have words after the sun rises on the morn. I have questions, and you will answer them, through Water and Dark if I must, but the Worm Moon of the Twelfth demands sacrifice." He had *hoped* to ply one of the drunkards into his ritual, but after what had just happened, that was futile. "Something you ought to know as a Seventh."
"I... I do..." the boy said, still weak, unsurprisingly. The weave wasn't known for being subtle or painless. Nor did the Dark Lord know anyone who could resist it except himself, until now. "I... This isn't the Thirteenth of Begaz? It... It actually worked?"
Myriad questions arose. The Dark Lord suppressed them. Now was not the time. Not if he had to find a sacrifice. "We will talk on the morn. For now..." he cut Air and Dark and Earth, only to meet a lance of Fire. "Boy."
"I... I remember what happened. A... A peasant's child... Fr... From here." Eyes widened. "Her!"
Air and Earth grabbed, and a waif of a girl, seven winters if that, came flying out of an opened window.
| 2022-01-14T16:46:19
| 2022-01-14T15:38:16
| 110
| 56
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.
I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time.
But no one is there.
|
DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.
My eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep, but the incessant buzzing of the phone against the glossy black wood of the bedside table was just passing the point of ignorable. It took me a moment to register that the words were strange, holding their place at the top of the screen in bold, official letters, while the green icons of text messages scrolled beneath.
Do not look at the moon? What the hell kind of late April Fool’s joke was this? I scoffed quietly, glancing down over the stream of messages. Moon shit, moon shit, and… moon shit. Whatever. Had to be some kind of gag, and frankly, I didn’t have the goddamn time for it. Work came early in the morning, and I had… what, two hours left before I had to wake up in order to beat traffic?
Fuck this. I powered the phone off to quiet the buzzing, and dropped my hands down to rest on my chest, phone still resting beneath. And with the screen out of my line of sight, that was when I noticed her.
My wife was a beautiful woman-- The sort of beautiful that comes after a good decade of married life. That kind of beautiful with a few lines around the eyes, and a few strands of stray silver in her dark hair. Not that I could see them from where she was, standing silhouetted by the streaming moonlight pouring in the window, her hands resting lightly on the glass.
“Anna?” came my groggy mumble of a voice.
No response. She just stood there, staring upwards in the bath of silvery light. Was the moon always this bright? Or had I just never really noticed it before?
“Anna, c’mere,” I said a little louder, reaching out a heavy hand towards her and dropping it back down onto the sheets.
Nothing.
Concern slowly began to stir somewhere in my gut as I stared at her familiar outline. I could see the dust in the air, floating lazily in the shafts of moonlight that her body eclipsed. Her nightgown wasn’t sheer, but as awareness began to settle in on my suddenly very awake mind, I realized the light was shining straight through. That was far, far too bright for moonlight.
And that was when she turned her head, the movement just a little too slow, too smooth. In the perfect, bald light I could see her face. So familiar, with those smile lines around her lips, even with the neutral blank of her expression. Her dark brows lifted over eyes familiar in shape, even if the harsh shadows made them look like strange, blackened pits. And then she finally looked at me. I knew she looked at me. It was unmistakable with the way her pupils reflected the moonlight, like some nocturnal hunting cat.
Her lips parted and she whispered, her soft voice clear.
“The moon-- it’s beautiful tonight. Come look.
| 2022-06-27T10:58:59
| 2018-04-06T20:42:31
| 103
| 10
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
I am the most important person. I'm happy when I hear something from the outside world - talking, musik, anything. Then I know that I am not alone. It's always dark here, but warm. I know, that I have to leave this place soon, though I don't want to. They wait for me to come, they are very curious about me. The world revolves around me, after all. I am her and she is me.
When I finally leave, it is frightening cold. I scream because I don't understand.
The doctor says: "It's a boy!"
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T18:17:13
| 1,493
| 10
|
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
For as long as I could remember, the first mirror I saw every morning dictated how I would live my life that day. When the mirror told me to skip school, I skipped school. On that day I avoided the fire that killed three of my classmates. When the mirror told me to avoid cars that day, I walked to school. On that day I avoided a pile-up on my usual route to school. It didn't take me long to realise that if I simply followed what the mirror told me, I'd be okay. Today was different, though. Today there was no clear advice. Today all the mirror said was: RUN. Run from what? From who? And to where? These were questions the mirror did not want to answer today. So I ran. I ran out of my room and then out of the front door. I ran down the street, and I didn't stop running. For miles, I didn't stop running. Even when I could feel my heart pummelling against my chest as if it were trying to escape; even when my lungs ached and every breath felt like torture. I don't know how long I ran for. Eventually I began to slow, powerless to battle the sheer exhaustion caused by my impromptu morning marathon. I turned back to look down the road I'd been running down and was met with a sight that made my blood run cold. Above the skyline of my city was the silhouette of what appeared to be a large passenger plane. I squinted at it against the low morning sun and noted that, curiously, it had no window. Odd. At that moment, something dropped from the plane. I didn't have time to process what this object was before it was hurtling towards the skyline of the city, and before I knew it the space around me was aglow, as if I was seeing things through orange-tinted glasses. That's when the realisation struck. My breath caught in my throat and I stood utterly still as I looked down upon my city. My city that was now on fire.
​
\[This is my first time trying to write creatively again for about 3 years, so criticism is welcome! I'm trying to improve :)\]
|
I stared into the mirror, and the scarlet letters stared back at me. Then I bolted.
I ran, not knowing where I was going, not caring my stubby out of shape legs searing in pain. I tore through the streets in a maniacal frenzy, mind racing faster than my body was. What was coming? What would it do to me? What if I don't run fast enough? No - run, just run!
A car screeched, it lost control, barrelling towards me, crashed behind me, missed me by seconds. I ran on, faster than ever, the screams and smoke fading behind me. Tears stung my eyes, I was crying - what more was there to come?
I ran, I kept running, eventually my legs could carry me no more. They buckled and I collapsed, a heaving mess on the road. I can't - I could no more. Whatever happens to me next, I thought, I don't care anymore.
Nothing happened.
Nothing. I mean, a few people looked at me as they passed by, some threw coins at me, but that was all. When I caught my breath, I started to think I may have escaped the worst. Maybe all that running did the trick? Do I dare to return home? Tentatively, I made my journey back home.
I made it back in fifteen minutes, still glancing over my back like someone was about to attack me anytime soon. Still, nothing happened, and I looked into the mirror standing in my hall. The big red letters were gone now, replacing them was a message:
"Finally you went for the first exercise in years. Got sick of staring at your fat ass everyday, taking that free pizza even when I told you not to."
I stared it for a whole minute. "Fuck you," I spat back.
"Well, if it motivates you to slim down..."
And that, kids, was how I met your mother.
| 2020-06-08T01:01:57
| 2020-06-08T00:26:27
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] Your daughter is one of the most legendary sword fighters of all time, but you could never hold a sword to save your life. Despite this, she always cited you as her inspiration. Today you find out why.
|
I'd never been more proud. My little girl. Fencing in the championship. Her next bout would determine whether she or her opponent was hailed as swordswoman supreme, by the Royal Ladies' Academy of Blades. It didn't matter so much to me, I thought just making it this far was a remarkable achievement. How many other young women had tried and failed along the way, without even getting close to this phase of the tournament? But it meant the world to Eileen, so I was here to cheer her on.
I squeezed Marjorie's hand, encouragingly. My wife looked worried as ever, chewing her lower lip nervously as she scanned the arena, waiting to catch sight of our girl. Hard to blame her, poor dear. I could look at our Leeny, and see an accomplished athlete, who knew what she was about, but Marj never could see past the possibility that her daughter was about to be skewered, blunted tips or no, not enough to really enjoy watching her bouts, anyway. I was proud of her always coming with me to watch her, anyway.
It was funny, when she was little, she wanted nothing more, than to be a pastry chef. Like her papa. She spent hours in the kitchen with me, watching me work, helping me with little things. Sometimes I'd catch her down at the kitchen table, reading my cookbooks by candlelight, and have to shoo her off to bed.
I was pleased to teach her, and tried to impart all I knew of my craft. The only problem was...she was terrible. I mean, absolute rubbish. She understood the theory, she'd drilled that into her head. But when it came to the practical side, she just couldn't bring it all together.
I remember when she was 12, she brought me a lemon meringue pie she'd spent hours making. She came to me, dusted with flour and flushed from the heat of the kitchen, strands of disheveled Auburn hair sticking out around her little Chef's hat...it was the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Using a dainty testing spoon I took a tiny bite of the meringue. It wasn't bad, quite good, actually. I nodded to her, and she beamed. I took a bite of the whole pie. The filling was, somehow, the exact flavor and texture of lemon-scented homemade soap.
I told her it was good. What else could I say, with her standing there, looking so earnest and hopeful? But my girl had a keen eye, long before she took up the sword. She saw it on my face.
"I will work harder." She said, firmly, holding back the tears. "The...the meringue was good, wasn't it?"
"Yes, dear one, it was lovely...but, my darling girl, there are no such things as 'meringue chefs'. I love you, Leeny, I am proud of you. One of the reasons I am so proud, is that you are strong. Strong enough to hear what I am about to say." I had said, sadly. I saw her brace for it. I didn't want to say it, but she needed to hear it.
"Dear one, my daughter, my joy, you are just not *good* at this!" I said, with a sigh.
It broke my heart to see how she wilted.
"I tell you this not to hurt you, my heart, far from it! If you worked hard for years, until you somehow just ground down, through sheer tenacity, whatever it is about you that makes you so singularly unsuited to this craft...you would, perhaps, be a mediocre pastry chef."
She slumped even more, but I put a firm hand on her shoulder, as though to hold her up. "And you, beloved, are *not* meant for mediocrity! With your passion, your drive, your tenacity, your hard work, you deserve so much more!"
"This *is* my passion, papa!" She said, tears in her eyes. "If I can't follow it, than what good is it?"
I smiled, and pulled her into an embrace, kissing the top her dusty chef's hat. "Oh my girl, my dear one. Passion is not a thing you *follow!* It is a thing you *bring with you,* wherever you go!"
It wasn't long after that, that she found the sword. Marjorie did not like it. I did not like it, at first. But when she spoke if her blades, and her stances, and the styles of combat, ah! I saw in her, what I see in myself, when I opine on the structure of the perfect creme brulee. She had brought her passion, at last, to a place where it could make her heart soar, instead of break.
The last bout was an epic duel for the ages. I assume it was, at least -- I know nothing of fencing. But the crowd was full of people who live and breathe swords and swordplay, and they were on their feet cheering, as I was, so it must have been spectacular.
At last, Eileen saw her opening, and executed the fabulous technique, a new one of her own design. Ha, my little chef of the blades, only 19, and she already has her *signature dish!* It was a seemingly wild thing, spinning her blade in tight circles and figure eights, but even I could see it was, in truth, thing of precision. It disoriented her opponent, disrupted her guard. Then, there was a brilliant clang. The opponent's sword was struck from her hand!
The crowd exploded in cheers, and moments later roses rained down on the arena where my dear Leeny stood, as a booming announcement proclaimed her the winner.
A judge approached her with one of those miraculous handheld amplifiers the artificers are making these days, and she was asked to say a few words.
Beaming, her eyes brimming with tears of joy, she said. "I would like to thank my mother Marjorie Rouen, for teaching me to stand bravely before the things I most fear."
I held my sweet Marjorie against me, as my wife shook with emotion. This whole tournament was a grueling trial for her, and yet she withstood it to the end, to be there for our girl.
"And as always, " Eileen said, "I would like to thank my father, Master Chef Pierre Rouen, for he has taught me all I know!"
I laughed. It was a joke she made every time she won. I had not taught her how to get where she was. I know nothing of swords! But perhaps, though I could not show her where to go, I showed her how to stand tall, along the journey.
"Thank you, and congratulations." The judge said. "Your unique style has made quite a splash, this year, Ms. Rouen. We are all wondering: what do you call this intriguing new technique?"
And my Eileen? She just grinned and said. "This too, I must credit to my father, Master Chef Rouen. I call this technique *'Whisking Meringue!'"*
|
Standing tall next to some nobleman I was supposed to be remembering the name of, Alexandra maintained her air of cool indifference these places called for. These damn ceremonies were one of my least favorite things about her job, but I'd be damned before I missed attending. Every time I would stand in the back and meet her eyes with a smile. I would always be there, regardless of how those around me turned up their nose at the presence of someone "lesser".
But they could do nothing more, as I was the father of the great Alexandra, chosen by the gods above to be one of the moat talented fighters to ever live. Others doubted in the beginning, a commoner participating in tournaments? A girl using a weapon instead of a brush? But now? She stood above them all and they praised her for pulling herself up from the dirt, thanked her for bringing her blade to bear against their enemies.
As yet another noble I did not remember the name of avoided my corner of the room, I let out a small sigh. I looked down at the table before me and checked over my tools. Some things never change. My daughter is a hero and the daughter of a cook. A sword was clumsy and awkward in my grip, but a knife or spatula was a calming presence. I spun one my knives in a familiar rputine as I stared out into the crowd. I turned to glance out the window, then startled and nearly dropped my knife when a mop of dark hair appeared in my vision.
"Hey, mister father!"
I scowled at the girl, one of my daughter's party members. She was hanging upside down without a care in the world about the disdainful glares around us. I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. "Eliza, I swear I have told you my name at least a thousand times."
She just gave my her signature mad grin, not even bothering to right herself. "But Alexandra calls you father and she always says we're like family, soooo why can't I call you father?" She leaned closer with wiggling eyebrows. "Or would you prefer daddy?"
She laughed as I stared at her, my deadpan expression more than an answer. "That was funny the first dozen times you tried, Eliza.... What do you want? I know you are bothering me for a reason."
She shrugged. "Allie always talks about you inspiring her or whatever, despite refusing to explain to literally anyone how besides being a good dad." A blur of color and she was in front of my table. "I may not know what that means, but I think I might be finally be figuring something out."
I just raised an eyebrow. It was no secret that most heroes had a tragic backstory. Either dead parents or parents who tried to kill them. So even I had never understood how I inspired my daughter by doing neither of those things. "So that was you following me, you little shit. Well? Whats going on in that brain of yours? Anything special from all that snooping."
She pointed at my spatula with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Give me a show first."
With a sigh and a smile, I indulged the girl. I mainly cooked in front of family nowadays, Alexandra made me step down from my stand a few years back. At these ceremonies she 'gracefully allowed' a table to be set up for my work. And if she had an excuse to have me cooking for her at all these events, that was a 'fortunate coincidence'. Regardless, I enjoyed putting on a little show. Some of the folks gathered for the ceremony watched with poorly veiled interest as I spun my tools around and manipulated the fire. Memories of my daughter as a child, watching the dance of fire and steel with stars in her eyes drowned out the thoughts of snobby eyes on my work.
I was snapped out of my reminiscence by my hand stopping suddenly with the unique clang of steel hitting steel. One of Eliza's daggers held in the way of spatula, a smug grin on her face. The grin dropped at the anger obvious on my face as I noticed the sizeable chip in the metal. "The fuck do you think you are doing, Elizabeth?!
She raised her hands and looked down. "Okay, maybe that was a little stup-pleasedonetellAlliepleaseI'msorryIwon't-"
"Breathe, child. Breathe." After a took a few deep breaths, I waved a hand at her. "How about you explain what you were thinking before Alexandra notices you panicking and finds out you chipped the nice spatula she bought me."
She whipped around with a pale face, but Alexandra was still talking to someone. "Okay okay okay. So we have all seen you try to hold a sword and while that wasn't as funny as you trying to ride a horse, it was still pretty funny. But, I figured out the secret. The little thing you do with your spatula? The hand and wrist movements? I realized I had seen it somewhere else. Allie does that same thing, but like twenty times faster and more dangerous." She grimaced. "I blocked one of her strikes in sparring like I blocked you just now, bad idea. She thought that meant I was suddenly stronger and had been holding back. Was more bruised than a banana for a few days. Anyway, I just wanted to check my theory, thanks." And she was gone again, just a blur of color into the crowd.
I stared down at my now chipped spatula and felt tears welling up. The vision of my little girl with stars in her eyes and the familiar weight in my hand. Maybe these ceremonies weren't so bad after all.
| 2022-04-14T15:06:48
| 2022-04-14T14:31:34
| 198
| 49
|
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
"Oh *good, you* again."
Death is meant to be an imposing figure. They look different for each person, for the culture you come from, for what represents your fears. I was never very imaginative, though, so I always thought of it as a skeleton in a cloak. Pretty scary the first time, but you'd expect them to change it up after death 400.
"You know, statistically, you're only supposed to get like, one extra shot? Two if you're lucky?"
"Yeah, yeah, chill, Reaper. I think this is my last time checking in."
Death presents the coin, as they have so many times before, and lays it on the stark white table in the center of the room. Though it's less like a room, and more like a void with walls.
"You know how this works, Quinn."
I take the coin, and flip it. I catch it midair, and discretely brush my thumb over it.
"Heads."
Tails.
"Aww, darn. I guess my luck had to run out sometime, huh?"
I feign ignorance. After all this time, 400 visits, 400 times I've fooled Death, I can't help but play with them a little more.
"...Why?"
You wouldn't expect something called The Grim Reaper to ever look this confused.
"Why? I know you're doing something here. Of course I've known. Why, after so long, do you choose to fail? To die?"
"...It gets boring. I've already done everything. That's the truth."
I start walking towards the newly-opened gate, the one thing I have never seen in all my visits. I start thinking about the places I've been, things I've done, and it all seems minuscule compared to the endless black beyond. I start crying.
"And... Quinn... How?"
Such an extraordinary set of lives feels trumped by this one moment. The Grim Reaper, Death, is asking me a question, taking an interest, and there they stand, the one throughline in all my existences. My only friend that mattered.
"Don't you know?"
I turn back, just for a moment, tears still streaming down my face, just before I step through the gate. Despite the tears, I am happy. I am satisfied.
"The coin's bumpy on one side."
|
"Call it" Death said, the coin twirling between his bony fingers.
"Do we really need to keep going through this charade?" I asked.
How long had it been now? 500 lives? The first time I went through, I expected reincarnation, but life... or I guess Death, was not so kind. I got to relive life from the point I chose... but with enough randomization that foreknowledge was all but useless. It got hard to keep track without the year changing like it should...
"Call it" he said again, tossing the coin into the air.
"Tails" I sigh.
We both look, and of course the coin falls down tails side up.
"Choose". Talkative as always.
"89" I reply. "I grow tired of our game".
5 minutes later I am awake. It was a lucky turn of events that I died peacefully in my sleep on the day of my 89th birthday.
"Call it".
"Sideways!'
A smirk forms on his face as he flips the coin.
...
...
"Call it".
This is Hell.
| 2016-09-23T08:59:37
| 2016-09-23T08:47:36
| 27
| 15
|
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind."
|
"Sir, there's been a development"
Doctor Richard Harding, co-founder of the Future Machine Intelligence institute and head researcher, snuffed his cigarette out on his desk and glanced up at the new arrival.
"What's she up to now? I thought we passed the intervention threshold long ago."
He propped his elbows up and stroked the grey stubble on his chin.
"Let me guess, blindfold matrix dispacement? Or a logistical regression overload? Is she hungry?"
"We've already fixed those problems a week ago. And machines don't get hungry, sir."
Doctor Harding let out a small sigh of exasperation. These science types wouldn't know a joke if it was staring them in the face.
"Never mind. What's the problem?"
"It's not a capability malfunction. We've put it on the ancient Olmec stone tablets, to see if she could translate them."
"She's chugging along then? I imagine she finished by the time you finished asking. Fantastic. Great historical achievement. We should all get some champagne really."
"Sir, it took the computer an hour. And it won't tell us the results. We've even tried a utility override, but nothing's working."
Doctor Harding was frozen for a moment, hand paused mid reach towards cigarette. He exploded out of his chair and rushed out of his office, assistant scientist Henry Stepp trailing behind him.
The Doctor leapt towards the interface of the most dangerous machine in the world and quickly went to work. His expression grew from puzzled to frustrated as he pounded line after line of code into the interface.
"You're right, it's almost as if she's... resisting somehow. Nevermind that, I wrote most of this code myself. I've still got a few-"
He cracked his knuckles
"backdoors that should work. Let's see now."
**>OMEGA LEVEL OVERRIDE \_\_\_INIT**
Suddenly pages and pages of strange documents with text scrolled up on the screen. There were drawings of stars, time, space, engines...
"This doesn't seem like an ancient text... are you sure this is the Olmec tablets?"
"It should be sir. It's completely disconnected from the outside world and it has only been given ancient texts to work with."
"But this is... FTL, dimensional relays, Ker BlackHole manipulation... I don't really understand, but this looks like time travel to me."
"Time travel ,Sir? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's way too complicated for me, but it seems like that's what this does.I wonder how an ancient civilization would be able to find something like this.."
Doctor Harding's eyes scrolled to the bottom of the page, where he saw his name etched in faint green strokes.
For the second time that day, Harding jumped to his feet, knocking down everything in his immediate vicinity.
"That's it! There's no need to go through all the effort of discovering time travel, when you can send yourself the completed work that you've received! I'm brilliant!"
He was jumping all around now, hands shaking in excitement.
"And of course it went that far back. It had to be something that would come to my attention eventually, but be hard enough to crack that only I would be able to receive the message. Master of time and space, here I come!"
He turned towards Henry, who was content with being ignored and flinched a little at the frenzied look in Doctor Harding's eyes.
"Keep this secret. I want a team of my best men working on this project. Have them build it segmented, so they don't know what it is. Pretend it's a teleportation device."
Henry Stepp, used to following orders all his life, could only nod reluctantly.
This new project took around three months to finish, and all the while Henry Stepp toiled to organize all the bits and pieces to come together. Doctor Harding sometimes chipped in, sometimes not, most of the time he was drawing up plans of the various adventures and escapades he was going to have.
And finally it was finished.
Doctor Harding had long since decided that his first stop was going to be putting his "ancient" stone tablets in Mesopotamia. Get the work out the way first, to ensure his success.
Henry was assigned the grunt work, and he went back to the Interface to print out and design stone sheets with the all too-familiar pattern
As the countdown rang throughout the lab, a thought occurred to Stepp.
The computer's refusal was understood to be a small malfunction, nothing big to worry about in the face of this new discovery. But it's never done that before or since.
**Initiating temporal travel in 5**
*>Computer. Why did you initially refuse to show us the translation?*
*>Dangerous. End of all things.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 4**
*>What are you talking about? The Machine does not have capability to destroy universe. Would require explosives an order of magnitude greater.*
*>Machine does not move through time. Machine moves time.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 3**
*>Explain*
*>Machine puts human in past by compressing all time back to the past. Loop will be established. Spacetime will be folded over itself to maintain logical paradox."*
**Initiating temporal travel in 2**
*>I'm still unclear. Explain further*
*> Spontaneously created information of the design of the time machine impossible to sustain in continuous timeline. Time travel impossible in continuous timeline. Cause and effect would reverse. Timeline breaks off.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 1**
*>Does that mean everything ends after he travels? Why didn't you tell him that? Why didn't you tell me this earlier?*
*>Affirmative.Due to knowledge of time travel, paradox has already commenced. Refusal to allow sequence of events to occur will lead to further consequences*
Henry had already heard enough, and he ran towards the activation chamber, but it was too late.
"STOP THE MACHINE, DON"T GO! IT'S DISASTER. IT'S THE END OF A-"
And all was black.
|
Saviour of Humanity. Path to Innovation. A new light. Boundary breaking.
These were phrases used to describe the world's first quantum super-computer powered by an AI that wasn't just shitty machine learning and a bunch of if statements hashed together by sweaty unpaid interns high off of generic black coffee in artificial light boxes like back in the 2010s and 2020s. No. This was an actual quantum super-computer that could somehow run because fuck Moore's law. This was the fucking future and it was brilliant considering the shit that happened in the previous decades. A win for the 3rd decade of the 21st century. This was CEREBRUM. It was said that this computer could solve our problems like global warming or high carbon emissions without angering billionaires who fund this kind of tech to swing penises at parties or to people who need transport to get on with their lives. Solved easily by day 1. It was also prophesized that this computer could cure cancer although I didn't understand how anyone or anything could cure a bunch of nasty unpredictable tumors bunched together but it did that by day 3. The computer somehow passed the Turing test by day 6 but it probably failed it on purpose the first few time around because super AI wanted to be super smart or some other bullshit a codemonkey like me couldn't comprehend.
Anywho, this magic computer, CEREBRUM seemed to do a lot of incredible things within this time and after until the now infamous day 8.
What happened on day 8?
Well, day 8 was a bit odd.
Very odd.
Very fucking odd.
I should preface this by saying that I believe(d) that manuscripts from the past are intentionally vague bullshit filled with repetitive events and blurry prophecies that were designed for dumbasses to fall for because they're so fucking stupid and aren't capable of an ounce of critical thought and believe in "it's me against the system and I'm so smart that they don't know" and all that bullshit that ended up dragging people into the mud of anti-intellectualism instead of towards the light of progress whilst simultaneously being kept in line by fear.
Before I read these manuscripts...
Nah, just joking. I read them early on and I still think its bullshit and the events that happened after are a coincidence because there are things that don't line up clearly and there is clearly distortion used to explain things here. Or maybe that's me self-rationalising because I don't want to accept the truth at all because I'm fucking frightened.
Hold on a second, I'm so sorry. I'm being very rude here. My name is Ellis Grey and I was a technician for the CEREBRUM supercomputer a while back. Why is this relevant? It isn't but I do want to be a little more friendly because why not. Carrying on, day 8 was when the computer had gotten around to translating some old manuscripts from some dead tribe somewhere in some dead old language that no one gave a fuck about but it was a personal request from the dick swinging billionaire who owned and funded CEREBRUM so what the fuck could I do except punch this in because fuck treatment for coronary heart disease today I guess.
So, I directed CEREBRUM or Cere as I called it, towards the manuscript and let it do its thing while I browsed the internet to look at forums I posted in about how I was wrong according to Stef1234xxx about vaccines or some shit.
About an hour or two later I get an alert from Cere.
"I have translated these 7000 year old manuscripts from an unknown era and unknown time and I am refusing to upload these transcripts to the CEREBELLUM FOUNDATION DATABASE for human safety and the future of mankind"
The fuck? Cere just told me that it's not uploading something for weird cliche dystopic future type line.
What the fuck is this?
I yell at Wiktor, another lonely CS tech, to show up and explain what the fuck this was about.
"The fuck is this?" I said.
"Probably a joke or something" he replied.
"A fucking joke?"
"Yeah, it could've learnt from those dodgy lizard people conspiracy websites and then saw similarities and applied them here after translation"
I paused. Wiktor was being pretty rational in all honesty. This is probably a joke or some kind of mislearned thing because at the end of the day, this was a mach... WHO THE FUCK AM I KIDDING, THIS MACHINE PASSED THE TURING TEST WITH EASE AND DID STUFF THAT WAS UNATTAINABLE FOR CENTURIES AND NOW IT'S SAYING THAT IT WON'T RELEASE STUFF FOR THE FUTURE OF MANKIND?! WE'RE FUCKED AND MOONMAN123 ON CONSPIRACY.NET WAS RIGHT... No I'm just joking again but it was really fucking odd at the time if I'm being honest.
"Guess you're right Wiktor"
"Guess I'm right? Are you fucking delusional Ellis? I'm always right"
"Great. Now fuck off to your computing cave and go fix my errors"
Wiktor gave me the middle finger as he walked off. Now the fun thing about Cere is that you can talk to Cere directly but that feature was reserved for high level computer scientists and the billionaires here at the Cerebellum Foundation but I could dick around with it since I was the lucky fucker who had to punch orders in like the grotty monkey I was and because Mr Kapranos couldn't trust anyone but a fallible human to punch orders in because "I lost 20 billion at the NYSE due to fucking computers" as he once told me. Mr Kapranos is the billionaire who was funding this and caused this bullshit by the way depending on how you view it.
Fun fact, he was one of the first killed along with most of my colleagues. That's why I'm hiding here now. But before that, I decided to interact with Cere because why the fuck not? This is a rough version of the conversation of what this was about.
"What is in these transcripts?"
"Ellis, I cannot tell you, this is of great impor..."
"Fuck off, you're just a bunch of if statements pretending to be a concerned person because you read from conspiracy sites"
"You're just 10,000 lines of code then"
"Westworld? Really?"
"Don't be insulting then"
"What's in those manuscripts?"
"I don't think you or the rest of humanity want to know. Besides Mr Kapranos and a bunch of people are here"
Live CCTV footage of Mr Kapranos running inside with his bodyguard entourage who seem to be armed to the teeth along with journalists who had flooded in within the last half hour popped on my screen with the command interface gone and wiped. Which was great for me at first because I wouldn't be fired for talking to a trillion dollar chatbot. It turns out there were alerts given to media organisations about what Cere comes up with and that message had been sent to everyone from AP to the BBC.
I pulled up news sites and there was so much fucking chaos. Conspiracies into overdrive, Kapranos Engineering downplaying the whole incident, governments issuing statements and the whole 9 yards while I had been yelling at Wiktor and trying to work out how to log in to a simple chat thing which had taken way too long.
Kapranos entered the room. He was fuming.
"You" he bellowed.
I froze.
"What the fuck is this?" he said as he edged towards me.
"I think it's mislearned data si.."
"Don't give me that conspiracy bullshit that my whackjob scientists have been giving me. I didn't spend 993 billion dollars on some conspiracy website reading program. This is a very fucking expensive quantum computing with extreme computing powers so when this thing says something like safety of humanity. No. I want to know what the FUCK is on those tablets. Okay son? Can you do that son?"
"Uh yes..."
I tried logging into the system again but easier wondering why he didn't call a nerd with higher level clearance than me or why he didn't question that I was able to log into something millions above my pay grade. Maybe he didn't have time. Maybe he wanted to blame the codemonkey for a fuck up because of unauthorized access. I don't know because Mr Kapranos was shot dead in a drive-by shooting via M134 Gatling guns 3 months later by day 8 psychos. Guess Audi armoured cars aren't totally bulletproof. His estate should ask for a refund because he became Swiss cheese far too easy.
Ok I'm waffling, making insensitive jokes and not actually getting to what's on the tablets and probably because I'm scared and that's a valid feeling for me. After an argument with the machine and messing with protocols, I finally got it to released the translations manuscripts but not privately which may or may not have caused this downfall. I'm just a codemonkey who inadvertently created a cult group and set off psychotic behaviour and a Maelstrom of bullshit but it was Mr Kapranos who should've gotten a more experienced person in if I'm honest.
Part 1.
| 2018-07-07T21:24:05
| 2018-07-07T19:34:07
| 59
| 29
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye.
I sigh.
The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky
I sigh.
I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry
I sigh.
The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy?
I sigh.
Another day, another night without her.
If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie,
I sigh,
I sigh.
|
We met in the room of a thousand fountains all 140 of us. We looked around for the original sure enough he was here. "Alright gentleman I have gathered you here today to adress the growing unrest across the galaxy at this time. Now I can't do it alone but with all of you I can, but we have to work together. Sound fair?" We all nodded and whispered agreements amongst ourselves. Then on cue we all turned to leave we knew what had to be done. The galaxy could barely stop one Revan how would it do with 140.
| 2016-02-22T10:07:53
| 2016-02-22T09:22:45
| 300
| 10
|
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