prompt
stringlengths 20
5.8k
| chosen_story
stringlengths 227
9.36k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 227
9.29k
| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
23.1k
| rejected_upvotes
int64 10
4.11k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night.
|
It happened again.
**"THE FUCK HAVE I TOLD YOU BOY?!?"**
One impact after another. Blow after blow. A bottle this time. Jim Beam.
**"FUCKIN LEARN YOU GOOD BOY!!"**
Ben felt something in his chest break. His heart? His ribs?
**"YOU GON LEARN, BOY. OOOOOH YOU GON LEARN TONIGHT, YOU LITTLE SHIT."**
No matter what he'd tried, he couldn't make things better.
**All he wanted in the world was to make his Dad happy, just once.**
Why couldn't he do that? What was WRONG with him??
In his haze, Ben felt like he was floating.
He hit the wall hard enough to crater the drywall.
Ben saw stars.
Ben saw galaxies.
Ben saw universes.
Ben saw through the veil.
Ben saw something ancient.
Something ancient saw Ben.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Ben woke up refreshed, energized, healed, and numb. Gingerly, he levered himself up out of the debris on the floor, expecting agony from a dozen injuries that no longer existed. He felt... intrigued. Curious. Detached. Most mornings... *after,* he'd be sobbing, sore, aching, unable to move. He felt nothing.
He felt *nothing.*
He looked around the shattered wreckage of the living room. Clearly, this had objectively been the worst night yet. There was a substantial amount of blood, it looked like a murder scene. Possibly, for a moment, it had been.
Behind the couch, he found his father.
Catatonic.
He'd soiled himself, in every possible way. The smell was unpleasant. His pores oozed alcohol-infused sweat, his breath still stank of drink. His eyes were open, pupils dilated so wide they were wire-thin brown circles over an empty void.
And he had the biggest smile.
Ben felt a nudge, in the back of his brain. An urge. An impulse. He saw, without using his eyes but some NEW sense, inside his father. Inside his brain. He saw deep down, to a place where a million neurons were firing endlessly, frantically, joyously. He reached out, grasping not with his hand but with his mind. He reached out and grabbed that white-hot burning star in his father's mind, and snuffed it out.
With a gasp, his father jerked back to life. Tears streamed down his face. Tremors wracked his body.
"Ben! Ben, my god. Ben. Please. What was that?? Oh god, please Ben. Why did you do that?! BEN! WHY?! WHY DID YOU MAKE IT STOP??!?"
And Ben's father begged. He pleaded. He promised the moon. Offered anything. Offered everything. It was practically obscene, the extent of it. The degree to which this man debased himself. He would do anything, anything at all, anything Ben asked, he said. Absolutely anything, to *feel that way again.*
And Ben had the biggest smile.
|
Another tremor shudders through the structure, metal screaming from every corner as if the building itself was in agony. Long echoing cries of twisted steel from far away, nearby shrieks of tortured metal, the ominous haunting wails of strained supports below...
The floor heaves and pitches under my boots, shattering windows and sending shards of powdered glass drifting through the air like dandelion puffs. I cover my face with my denim jacket and try to stay upright, scrambling for the emergency exit I never thought I'd have to use.
*Bang*
The building trembles again and I hurtle painfully into the railing around the staircase, my stomach surely bruised from the impact. I catch myself, gripping the cold rough steel, before warm but firm hands grip my shoulder and urge me onward.
"Come on come on! No time to lose!" I look into the calm determined face of a co-worker I've barely said a dozen words to. "One of the support beams just snapped and the rest aren't far behind. We have to get out NOW!" I nod quickly and dash down the stairs with him at my side, clutching the rail tightly in case of another tremor.
Aside from one terrifying moment when the building twisted as more support struts collapsed and sent us both tumbling through the air from the fifth floor to the fourth only to land in a painful heap on the landing, we reach the bottom floor with few mishaps. The steel-reinforced stairwell was somehow far sturdier than the metal building encasing it. The man, Liam I think his name is, pushes me toward the door and starts heading back up the stairs.
"Go! I'm gonna check the few floors above for anyone who needs help!" He calls as he takes the stairs two at a time. I open my mouth to protest, putting my hand on the door's warm metal push bar, but he was gone. I press my lips together and vow to buy him a coffee if we both make it out of this. I push the heavy weighed door open, look through to the floor beyond, and errantly wonder if that would even be possible.
Flames lick their fiery tongues up the walls, dancing across and engulfing unrecognizable pieces of once plush, brightly colored furniture. What was once the gleaming front reception desk is a snarled, monstrous looking piece of bent metal and ashen wood. Smoke made itself the new ceiling and only the faint glimmer of sunlight through the far window convinces me I hadn't stumbled into hell itself.
Tendrils of smoke reach out toward my face and I cover my face again and scream Liam's name until my throat aches. With no reply I quickly grab a charred piece of detritus from the floor and scrawl 'FIRE' across the door before letting it close behind me as I bend beneath the writhing smoke and dash through to the tantalizingly close exit.
It was blocked, because of course it was. I nearly stamp my foot at the cruel injustice of it all before remembering there's a side exit to the left not far from here. I head for it, smoke curling in my lungs as if it found its new favorite home. Coughing and choking in equal measure, I look up through bleary, streaming eyes and see a woman standing in the door before me. Through the haze of smoke and tears I can see her waving me forward, but can't hear her words over the roars of hungry flames and the screeches of the building over my head.
The screeches get louder and she looks up fearfully and so do I, but I see something she can't. Inside and above the door the plaster had crumbled away, leaving bare the support beams keeping the doorway from collapsing. Support beams that were clearly buckling. Unaware of the danger or perhaps in spite of it, she edges in further and reaches out her hand to me. As she does I finally realize it's Lily, my closest friend. Seeing her in danger spurs my tired, aching body forward and I leap toward her, pushing her away just as a horrendous shriek emanates from above and what feels like the hand of God himself smashes my body into the ground and pins me there.
As the dust and smoke clears I look back and see my lower body trapped under a heap of metal. I'm stuck... Despite the ache in my throat, I can't help but laugh dryly at this cosmic joke being played at my expense. *So close*, I think. I can feel the warmth of the burning floor on the soles of my boots and sober quickly. Lily, having risen to her feet, swiftly grabs my hands and plays tug-of-war with the building. To no one's surprise the building wins. With a quick assurance that she'll be back that I wave off with a glib "I'll be here," she runs off to get help.
I'll be here... With every ounce of strength I try to move my legs, making only millimeters of progress. As I strain to get free, I crane my neck to look up at the dizzyingly tall building above me. A strange feeling spreads out from my stomach to the rest of my body that I reason is vertigo. A white-plumed bird flies overhead and I wish desperately that I could be a cat, lithe and agile and, most importantly, small. Suddenly my skin feels tingly and an odd warmth spreads through my body. The weight of the collapsed doorway disappears like the details of a vivid dream. Colors start fading from my vision and I wonder if this is what fainting is like...
That is, until I hit myself with my own fluffy black tail, scare myself, and leap five feet in the air. I landed on my feet, I'm proud to say. What happened to Liam? Turns out our tumble down the stairs gave him power over the air. After seeing my message on the door, he herded the survivors he found to a second story window and deftly created an emergency slide out of thin air, literally. And yes, I did buy him that coffee.
| 2021-04-01T06:11:48
| 2021-04-01T04:27:59
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] The universe was a program running in a giant computer, and animal sacrifices by early civilizations were simply a misunderstanding of the computer requiring "more RAM"
|
Ancient man, he understands
The gods' intentions perfectly:
A sacrifice—
Such a small price—
To live in nature's harmony.
 
The ancient priests gathered the beasts
But the Ram's horns pierced their tunics:
They screamed in pain,
Blood 'tween their legs,
And that's how they made UNIX.
|
Godwin was an egomaniac. He smiles at the thought of many of the subjects revering him, their creator, as a being of supreme power and intelligence. It was basically true anyway. He was the smartest man in the googleverse by leaps and bounds. Of course, there were mistakes, the lamb, ram debacle. Animal sacrifice was required though as their early ancestors had done it. How some cultures had more RAM roughly translate to human and their sacrifice was a bit more puzzling.
Now, though, this was his greatest achievement. They could see where everything went wrong, where these humans had come from and why they were so dangerous. Other Ramanastians hypothesized it was a religious fervor that explained their spread and destruction, like bacteria overwhelming a body.
The humans probably couldn't fathom it, not truly. Who would ever mistake the universe that surrounded them as a living being. The population was not concerned at first. It was only one man, but, then, others were sick. There was no clue as to how or why the humans spread. So, Godwin, in his infinite wisdom, proposed the program. The program would answer all of their questions.
Now, they were on the cusp. He liked watching them. Over the past few weeks as the humans spread at an exponential rate, he had even started to care about some of them. He watches as the humans conquer intergalactic travel. Then, they conquer inter-dimensional travel. Humans have found an inter-dimensional vector to spread.
Godwin is perplexed, actually concerned. If humans can travel as such, there is no stopping them. They will infect every "universe" until they are all destroyed. He searches for more answers, but quarantine cannot stop this kind of biological infection. The humans advance too quickly for them to combat.
Godwin for the first time in his life has to admit defeat, and that he does not have the answers they are looking for. They could introduce a foreign body into their race to defeat humanity, but this did not work before. If they could find a way to communicate with them, they may be able to live in peace with them. But, fluid in Godwin's nodule builds up, and he coughs to expel it. Humans have spread to his body. He realizes, in all of his infinite wisdom, it will be not long before God is dead.
***
If you enjoyed this prompt, I have a page with more: r/nickkuvaas.
| 2015-10-11T08:51:13
| 2015-10-11T08:34:23
| 198
| 42
|
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
My eyes fell upon this perfect woman, my hearts unrest.
Never have I felt this pounding in my chest.
Never have I left my thoughts behind me.
I could be everything I could be.
She could be everything with me.
Or all could be lost.
Should I not try?
I walked by.
She smiled.
“Hi”.
|
I remember what you said leaving the house that night.
We had fought earlier -- apparently I worried too much.
"I'll be fine," you said; "worry about yourself."
*Fine, but don't come crying to me.*
Later I heard about the accident.
Drunk driver on West Ave.
You still haven't recovered.
Ellie, I'm sorry.
I'm worried.
Please...
| 2015-01-05T21:56:44
| 2015-01-05T21:32:01
| 335
| 55
|
[WP] You are a vampire hunter. Your roommate is a vampire. Neither of you can afford the apartment on your own so if one of you attacks the other you'll lose the apartment. The tension between you two is increasing by the day.
|
Max trudged up the stairs to his apartment and fished the keys out of his pocket. Dawn was just breaking, and he was sore and tired after a night of hunting renegades. He unlocked the door, came inside, and slung off his jacket along with the bandolier of hawthorn stakes and vials of holy water. The apartment was quiet and dark, with blackout blinds lowered over every window. Hopefully Clarice was asleep. He was too worn out to deal with her antics.
He kicked off his shoes and made a beeline for the fridge. Reaching past bloodbags that had expiry dates scribbled with a permanent marker, he picked up a cold can of beer and cracked it open.
He lifted the can to his lips, only to pause as he felt a presence behind him. It hadn't been a creak of a step that alerted him, or a sound at all—just a faint disturbance in the air, but that was enough for his honed senses.
He took a deliberate sip of the beer even as he reached for the silver stiletto concealed behind his belt. In a smooth motion, he whirled around and slashed at the level where a person's neck would be.
Clarice leapt back with a hiss, baring her elongated fangs. She wore a figure-hugging black dress with wide sleeves and an obscenely short, ruffled skirt with fishnet stockings underneath. His eyebrows rose. Vampires had a strange sense of fashion, but even so, her outfits had been getting increasingly ridiculous lately.
"Late night?" she asked, her mellifluous voice betraying no anger at his sudden attack.
"Right back at you," he said, stepping slowly away from the fridge. "What are you doing out of your casket?"
"I wanted to see whether I needed to start looking for a new roommate," she said, stepping sinuously in the opposite direction. "But I see you haven't had your throat torn out just yet."
"Fat chance of that." He didn't lower his stiletto as they slowly circled each other. When he reached the counter, he took a sip of his beer, never letting his eyes off her, and set the can down. "I eat your kind for breakfast."
"Mindless mongrels who gave in to their bloodlust." Her fangs flashed white in the darkness. "Don't compare them to me, ruler of the night."
"So, what?" he asked, reversing the grip on his stiletto. "Has the ruler of the night finally decided to show her true colors?"
Her smile widened. "Just keeping you on your toes."
Their eyes locked for a long moment. Then Clarice lunged, long pale fingers with black nails thrusting at his neck. Max dodged aside and countered with a slash of the stiletto. She somersaulted backward in a swish of black fabric and landed in a crouch on the sofa. With a manic grin, she sprang at him.
Grunts and gasps filled the room as they fought, his steps heavy on the laminate floor, hers light as if she weighed nothing at all. She danced around him, lashing out with lightning-fast jabs, while he kept his center of gravity low and looked for opportunities to retaliate.
She was the first to score blood, leaving three thin scratches on his forearm. Leaping backward, she met his eyes and licked her claws. Her crimson eyes glowed in the darkness.
"You're delicious," she crooned.
He beckoned with his free hand. "Come and get more if you dare."
She laughed and launched herself at him in a flying kick. He caught her leg and flipped her over his shoulder, his muscles screaming with strain. Her head rebounded off the floor, a gasp escaping her lips. Pinning her down with his knee, he grinned savagely as he pressed the blade to her pale throat.
She met his eyes for an instant before her body exploded into a swarm of bats. They battered him with leathery wings, tangling in his hair, clawing at his shirt. He sprang to his feet and slapped them away, but as soon as he got rid of one, two more took its place.
Swearing, he staggered up to the window and gripped the chain of the blinds. The bats caught on and surged away from him with a flurry of clicks. With a victorious smirk, he tugged the blinds open, flooding the room with morning light.
There was a loud screech, and the bats coalesced back into a naked and furious vampiress. She took cover behind the sofa and poked her head out, her eyes narrowed against the light. Baring her fangs, she hissed at him. He raised his stiletto and stepped closer.
The doorbell rang. The two of them froze and blinked at each other. The doorbell rang again, followed by a series of insistent knocks. Max groaned.
"Truce?" Clarice said, arching an eyebrow.
He lowered the stiletto. "Truce."
"Let me handle this. You're terrible with people." She half-rose from behind the sofa before glancing down at her bare front. "Mind handing me my clothes? And close the blinds already."
Max sighed. Stooping, he gathered up her dress and underwear and tossed them in her general direction. Ignoring her indignant outcry, he lowered the blinds and flicked on the lights. The knocking on the door persisted, now accompanied by muffled yells. Clarice got dressed and went to answer the door, while he ambled back to his unfinished beer and took a long draught.
"Good morning, Mr. Sziller," Clarice said in a honeyed voice. "I see... Sorry about the noise. Screams, you say? Well..." She giggled throatily. "That was just me and my boyfriend."
Max choked on his drink and broke into a coughing fit.
"Yes, of course... Sorry again, Mr. Sziller. Have a good day."
Clarice returned to the living room, her black dress slightly awry and her pale cheeks still flushed from tasting his blood. She linked her hands and stretched them high above her head with a sigh of satisfaction.
"What?" she asked.
He wrenched his gaze away and drained the remaining beer. "Just thinking of the best way to exterminate you."
She laughed. "Oh, please. Had it been night, I would've had you, bloodbag." Prancing past him, she opened the fridge. "Another beer?"
He grunted in agreement and caught the can she tossed at him with more-than-necessary force. "You wish, leech."
She took out a bloodbag for herself and raised it to her mouth before glancing at him. "Want me to go away so I don't offend your delicate sensibilities?"
He snorted. "I've seen worse, trust me. Help yourself."
He found himself watching with a sort of queasy fascination as she sank her fangs into the bloodbag and drained half of it in one go. Her pupils dilated, and the flush on her face intensified, extending down her neck.
She exhaled slowly through her nose, then rummaged in the fridge and produced a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. Max stared as she put a pan on the stove and turned on the heat, the bloodbag still stuck between her lips.
"What are you doing?" he asked incredulously.
"Wha' it look like?" she asked around the bag. "Cookin'."
"But your kind doesn't eat normal food," he said slowly.
She rolled her eyes, pulled the now-empty bag from her mouth, and smacked her lips. "It's for you, idiot. You can't live on a diet of beer and chips."
He shook his head. "Why?"
She bustled around the stove, not meeting his eyes. "Can't have you weakening and dying to some rando in the streets. You're mine to drain when I so choose."
"Should've figured it was something like that," Max grumbled, making sure his stiletto was nearby before cracking open his second beer. One of these days...
|
It’s 4:56 when i here the frontdoor open. Theodore always tries to be quite, but the building we live in if old and the floor creaks. I get out of bed, i’m already awake and won’t be able to sleep again. “Good morning, sunshine” he says when i walk into the kitchen. “It isn’t even morning yet. Can’t you come home a little later?” I say annoyed. We made some ground-rules when we first started living here, knowing we had to make this work, but it’s hard making rules for a 600 year old vampire who never had any rules. Theo and I have been living together for almost a year now and things haven’t escalated even once, i’m out at day to go to college and he’s out at night to feed. My parents don’t know my roommate is a vampire, they would kill him and kill me after probably. My parents are 2 of the best vampire hunters, which makes me a vampire hunter too, even if i don’t want too. My parents allowed me to finish college before i become a full-time vampire hunter, so i got two more years of freedom.
“I’m sorry if I don’t wanna burn to death” theo says, pulling me out my own thoughts. “I was done feeding and the sun comes up at 5:30” he goes on. “I know, i’m just tired” i say, knowing he isn’t annoying me on purpose. “You’d like coffee?” He asked, just like everyday. “Change first, your bloody” i reply, just like everyday.
I arrive early on campus, wanting to spend some time in library. I don’t really have friends here, knowing i’ll have to go home after college and would never see them again. I spend all my time studying and reading. The only person i hang out with is Theo and that’s only because he’s my roommate. I’d come to like Theo more than i ever thought I would. My parents always told stories about vampires to scare me, telling me they are ruthless and have no trance of humanity left. However Theo is just a normal guy, apart from the fact that he drinks blood and could kill me in 2 seconds, he’s not that bad. It makes me even sadder that i have to become a vampire hunter one day, only to live up to the legacy. I’ve always wanted to become a teacher, cause i love to work with kids, but i don’t have that choice.
When i come home around 5:00 Pm, Theo is already making dinner. He always cooks because he’s home all day and probably bored. He isn’t a very good cook, but he tries his best. “How was your day?” He asked as i sit down at the table. “Normal, boring” i reply “yours?” “Normal, boring” he replied as he sets my plate down and takes a seat across from me. During the time i eat we don’t talk, he just looks at me. It isn’t an uncomfortable silence, we just have nothing to talk about. When I finish my dinner i set my plate in the dishwasher, thank him for dinner and go to my room. I study a bit until i hear him leave the house, thats when i go to sleep.
Beep, beep, beep. My alarm clock goes off at 6:30 in the morning, it’s already light outside. There is an instant worry through my body, i have never not hear him come home. The worried feeling surprises me, i never knew i cared about him. I walk out my room and find a empty kitchen and living room. I walk faster towards his bedroom door and knock as hard as i can, but nobody answers. I start calling his phone, only to hear his voicemail. He has never stayed out during the day and for so far i know he hasn’t got any friends. I feel my heartbeat speeding up, when i open his bedroom door. I have never been inside his bedroom, it’s not as dark as I expected. He only has a simple wooden bed and a dark blue rug. I sit down on his bed and call his phone again, but no one replies…
I stayed home all day, even though i know he won’t be able to come home during the day. I called him so many times i lost count and have made up a lot of scenarios that could have happened to him, not many ending with him walking through the front door. I feel so stupid for being so worried about him, I shouldn’t care about him. He’s annoying and only my roommate because i would be homeless without him, but over the past year i come to like him more and more. I see the sun starting to set and keep my eyes on the door.
After what feels like days the front door opens. There he is, looking completely fine. My blood starts to boil, but at the same time i feel extremely relieved. “Where the hell have you been?!” I scream at him, while i feel tears piercing in my eyes. “I worried sick!” I go on. He looks startled, like this was the last thing he expected to walk into. “I wanted to give you a good night of sleep. I stayed over at an old friend” he says calm. “And you didn’t think about telling me?” I scream while feeling a tear rolling down my cheek. He walks closer to me, “I left a note in the kitchen, i didn’t want to wake you up last night” i look around seeing a piece of paper on the cabinet. I calm down a bit “why didn’t you pick up your phone, i called you a million times” i feel my voice breaking. “It died. I’m so sorry Frances, this was never my intention” i says and i can hear in his voice that he means it. He gently brushes his hand over my cheek and i look into his eyes. Before i can second guess it i kiss him, surprising myself. He kisses me back with so much passion i never wanna stop. We start moving towards my bedroom like we have done this a million times before. My hands around his neck, his hands on my cheeks. We both don’t say a word and i instantly know our situation has become a lot more difficult…
| 2022-11-22T07:18:03
| 2022-11-21T23:58:54
| 506
| 73
|
[WP] Just before being removed from life support, you make a miraculous recovery! Your family is surprised and overjoyed, but also have just read your will and last wishes. They have some concerns.
|
"So..." Johnny's dad looked at him awkwardly. I had been a couple days and, sure enough, vitality was returning to Johnny. It would be slow going for a bit, but Johnny could eventually go back to life.
That said, his family was going to have a few apprehensions.
"What's up, pa? You look like you did when you walked in on me with my stash when I was starting high school."
"Look, I'll be honest with you. Everyone thought you weren't going to make it. We planned your funeral and everything."
Johnny smiled and looked kindly upon his father. "I understand. If I was in the same position, I'd be preparing myself and my family for what we though was inevitable. That fact that I suddenly recovered from that illness and the coma it put me in? A million to one chance."
"No, I mean... everything."
"I don't get it."
"Son... we read your will."
Johnny looked at him blankly. "What are you talking about?"
"Rupert, you know, the family lawyer? He read your last will and testament. He could confirm it was yours."
"Dad, I--"
"No, let me finish. I commend your forward thinking, but what you put in there... Well, let's say a lot of the family is rather upset."
"Dad, wait a--"
"No, I have to say this now. Your uncle Jack is in jail. Once the will was read, it convinced your cousin Bobby to step forward and tell the police what... what my brother had done. Aunt Becky is also being investigated by the SEC. Hell, it seems the only family you didn't have choice words about were Karen. The very same Karen my father disowned. She was laughing at all of it!"
"Dad, this isn't--"
"Don't tell me what it is and isn't. The only one not upset at you is your momma. She just happy to have her boy back. When you leave here, her and I will be the only ones happy to see you. Well, maybe Aunt Karen too."
"I don't have a will." The only sound in the room was a slight beep that came from the monitoring machine. "I was considering putting one together in the *unlikely* event that something happened to me. I spoke with Rupert about it but wanted to put my thoughts together on it. I hadn't even made up my mind when I suddenly had to go to the hospital."
His father just looked ashen as all the blood drained from his face. "But... but the evidence! And Bobby's testimony! And who else would have known about Carl's drug... dealing..."
They both looked at each other. "The family lawyer."
|
Well, that was one accident. My nose felt different, so did my face. I must have had some reconstructive surgery because it didn’t feel right. I knew my face and this wasn’t it.
I had been in intensive care for the past six months and my family had decided that it would be time to turn off my life support on my true birthday; the 29th February. Naturally, being a leap year baby, I had normally celebrated my birthday on the 28th and that was the day I recovered, waking to be greeted by my family.
“Son!” my mum screamed, with great joy as I opened my weary eyes.
“Mum”, I answered, though it took all my effort.
My mum stepped back as I answered, which left me perplexed. Then I realised, she must have seen my will.
I hadn’t meant any harm by it; I thought my last requests should be enough to allow people to remember me, but it clearly wasn’t met with a warm reception. I felt strongly about them, though.
My will stipulated that I should be turned into taxidermy; my body stuffed and preserved for those future generations to worship me. I wasn’t religious, but it did feel like it would continue my importance. I had status in the community; I was addressed as Lord Lucas, refined as the most prestigious man in the land.
“Son, what were you thinking?” Dad asked.
“Dad…” I tried to answer, using up my energy.
“What on Earth were you thinking? We love you son. I don’t think we could ever honour you being taxidermy. It would break our hearts to see your inanimate body daily.”
Trying to muster up more effort, I began to reply: “Dad… I…”
“Son, you will forever be in our hearts. Alive or not. We love you. You don’t die until the last person who remembers you does, and we wouldn’t let anyone forget you.”
I felt truly touched by this remark.
“You’re… right… Dad.”
At this point in time, being taxidermy didn’t feel all that much appealing – especially after such as an accident. Making my family look at my dead body felt selfish.
I realised then that honouring my will must have felt like torture to my parents. Thinking about it, I wouldn’t have been able to bring myself to have a taxidermy of my family in my home; it was a mistake.
I let some moments pass while I gathered my thoughts and prepared myself to talk: “Mum, Dad, I love you both. I’m so glad I woke up.”
“We love you too, son.”
By this point, I thought I had gotten away with the second clause in my will; perhaps they’d missed it with all the concerns they had with my first wish. But they hadn’t.
“But, please… what was this about donating your estate to the homeless?” Dad must have seen the second clause.
“We have worked for that for generations, son. Your grandfather, your great-grandfather, their fathers. Why would you simply just give it away?”
I wasn’t much of a person for status; I shared freely and generously. It felt good to treat those less fortunate to a nice meal and put them up in a warm home. I wanted to do something others would remember me by, but it felt like it had backfired tremendously.
“Father, I am sorry you feel that way.” I said, offering some sort of insincere apology; he enjoyed the wealth and believed that everyone should have to work for it, even those who struggled or where unable to do so.
He realised now, while I was on my hospital bed, wasn’t the time nor place to discuss the intricate details of this plan, so accepted that was that.
Moments passed and we sat in silence. Then my mum, likely concerned about the third-clause of my will, asked: “And why are you donating your livestock?”
The livestock were the cornerstone of the family; providing for us through generations, with cows, chickens, sheep to name but a few living in our open land. I thought donating them to a farm would allow children to get enjoyment from them and they would be looked after. I didn’t have any of my own children to pass the livestock on to, so it naturally felt like the right choice.
“I thought, Mum, I thought it would be nice to allow them to roam freely.”
“No, Son, our animals provide for us. That’s how it works”, my father hastily added.
From one side of the argument, I could understand how they were angry that I had passed the estate on to the homeless and livestock on to a farm to give them a good life, after requesting to be turned into taxidermy myself. But on the other, I couldn’t understand why it was so bad; all I wanted was to be remembered and for the best for people. Perhaps my family weren’t the right fit for me. Perhaps *their* views were too stubborn and selfish.
| 2020-04-19T08:35:29
| 2020-04-19T06:58:20
| 74
| 18
|
[WP] When a twin dies their brother/sister acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc. You've just discovered this phenomena, but so has your brother/sister
|
**Double Vision**
I'm sure I don't have to rehash for you the Twin Purge. One day, we're normal people who can have a bit of fun switching clothes for the day. The next, we're all fearing for our lives. "Genetic Psychoenergetic Transfer" they called it, as if a new term would help anyone explain this new fucked-up world.
Round 1 was straightforward, of course. About one in a hundred twins were doubled-up within a week of the discovery. If you were a twin and you were carrying a grudge, the choice was easy. Maybe you were down on your luck and needed the extra juice. Well, now there's an easy way to solve that. After Round 1, every twin started looking sideways at the other. In the following weeks, the smallest misunderstanding would escalate to didymocide.
But no one saw Round 2 coming. "Acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc". Did anyone know what that really meant in those first few days? No one had built the prisons to house the new doubled-ups. They dominated the gangs through charisma and brute strength. They broke down doors and bent metal bars. And these were already guys who would kill their own brother. For every twin killed in those first few weeks, another dozen solitaries fell in the manhunt. You could say the rest of the world got a slightly biased picture of twins.
After that, there was no escape. No one wanted to take any chances, and who could blame them? It started with camps, of course. "Until we can figure out what's going on". But the camps became permanent, and when one twin succumbed to the conditions, well, you had a grief-stricken doubled-up going on a rampage and probably getting another twin killed in the process. So yeah, it didn't last long.
So now we're in Round 3. Cleanup. There aren't many of us left.
My brother and I were fortunate, I guess. Parents dead when we were 3, orphanage burned down with all the records a year later, and separated immediately after. We'd barely remembered we even had a twin until we caught eyes at an airport, one week after my 18th birthday. It was a dangerous time to be seen with someone bearing even a vague resemblance, so we steered clear of each other.
Since then, I've dropped off the radar. I don't pass any geneprinted borders - a rule that shrinks my world a bit more every year. And I train. You know those training montages from every sports movie ever? That's me, every day. You know those library and lab montages from every science movie ever? That's me, every day. I need to be in peak physical and mental condition. I need to be able to blend into crowds and quickly adapt to a new culture. It's working. I haven't lost a fight in a year, and I fight a lot. I speak 4 languages fluently and can get by in another dozen.
I've got wits. I've got strength. But my brother? He's got money. He's half the reason it's so hard for me to get around anymore. Genetic research has received a lot of cash since the Purge, and David was singularly motivated to understand GPT. He runs the largest genetic research company in the world, and with the way things are going, it's on track to become the largest company, period. He doesn't go anywhere without a contingent of bodyguards and a motorcade of bulletproof vehicles. It's not an exaggeration to say he's as well-protected as most heads of state. And he's smart. Oh, he couldn't find his way out of Kinshasa with a map and a full tank of gas, but he can put together a team to deliver just about any technology you could ask for.
When the Purge happened, no one was ready for it. When you were doubled-up, you were hunted. Nothing in the life of either twin could have prepared you for that. But not me. I've been training since that day in the airport to be prepared. To be hunted. And so has he. He's incredibly dangerous, and he's in an incredibly dangerous situation simply because I exist.
So it was a relief to finally get word from him today. "It's Time" is all that was said. An email to the throwaway address I dropped on the floor of the airport all those years ago.
When you exercise, do you begrudge your future self that can climb mountains with ease? When you study, are you jealous of the man you are a year later, making money with this skill while you're stuck toiling away at the basics?
Since the Purge, twins are no different. I am my brother, and he is me. My skills are his, and his are mine. I'll put this gun to my head and sleep. When I awake, I will know so much more than I do now. I'll have money and power. I will have strength the solitaries can only dream of.
I'll have the resources to save my people.
My brother perfected twin-producing gene therapies decades ago. There are thousands of us about to be doubled-up. An army, when you consider our abilities. Solitaries have had their day, and they used it to attack us. I've seen the future, and my vision is double.
|
(Side note to start: I actually have a twin)
Upon being told this news, my brother and I look at each other.
"Well, we always wanted to kill each other anyways." he says.
"I know. Hey, want some koolaid?"
"Sure." He drinks the koolaid. He keels over dead.
"On second thought," I ponder, "It may not have been worth it. You didn't have any strength or intelligence."
| 2018-02-25T09:39:49
| 2018-02-25T08:13:41
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] You are an immortal, but you're not that old. In fact you were born between 1980-2010. Mortals excitedly ask you about experiencing age old historical events in person, only to be disappointed and bored when they find out you're a millennial immortal.
|
'You can make us immortal?'
I squinted through the projector beam and shielded my eyes with a cupped palm. I saw the woman who had asked the question. She had square glasses, and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. With five rows of chairs, she sat in the front.
'Yes, I can,' I said.
The conference room in the Hilton had a single window - with no way of opening it - and a broken air conditioning unit. I looked as if I had just stepped out of the shower fully dressed. I was sweating so bad that my armpits started to breach my suit jacket.
'Bullshit, you're still a baby!' A man from the back shouted. He wore a baseball cap with the New York Yankees logo and an oversized jumper. He stood up from his seat and continued. 'How old are you?'
This was a common question and one that didn't phase me. 'Do you want to know my physical age or my *actual* age?'
'Both.'
'I was born in Ninety-five, which makes me Twenty-Four. But, I became immortal at Twenty, which makes my body appear younger.'
The baseball cap man roared with laughter. 'What's the fuckin' difference?'
'The *difference* is,' The woman from the front row turned, her ponytail snapped so violently that it could have been a medieval flail.' His body won't age past Twenty.'
I could smell a teacher's pet a mile off, but I was glad to have audience members participate. 'Exactly as Ms-' I said, pausing.
The woman spun back around, smiled, and said. 'Deliah,'
'Exactly as Ms Deliah put it,' I finished.
The man at the back stood and removed his baseball cap to reveal touselled brown hair. He used the hat to fan the air and said. 'I don't know about you guys, but I can't stand the smell of bullshit.' He squeezed his way to the end of his row, paused, and looked at the remainder of the audience. 'I'm trying to save y'all. Come on.' The man gestured for the door with his hat.
The ten, or so, remaining audience members looked between him and me like it was a child custody hearing.
'Just because I haven't experienced both World Wars, doesn't mean I'm lying,' I said.
'I've had enough of this shit. Come on.' The man with the baseball cap stood by the door, he opened it, and cool air rushed in.
Two others stood up; an overweight gentleman and, what looked to be, his partner. They shuffled to the end of their row, dipped their heads and hurried out of the room. Ms Deliah tutted like a disappointed mother.
'I want to reassure you all that this *isn't* a lie or a scam,' I said. 'All immortals have to start somewhere. To become immortal, you must first give up some of your own time.'
'See!' The man with the baseball cap said. He was still stood with the door open, which was a blessing because it let air into the room. 'Sounds like a scam if you ask me.'
'Shut up,' Ms Deliah said.
I hid my smile and said. 'Once you give up some of your time, you can then collect others time. I sold a year of my life, and now I can pass the good fortune on to you folks.'
'It's a fuckin' pyramid scheme!'
'Yes,' I said. 'But, it's the best damn pyramid scheme you'll find.'
---
/r/WrittenThought
|
*Edit: I added a slightly longer and edited version in a reply to my original comment.
The wound would’ve killed anyone else, but not me. I first discovered my immortality when I was thirteen, when I lost my arm in a farm accident, only to awaken the next day to find it reattached.
The nurse stared at me in horror, of course she did, it wasn’t every day a young man got shot in the chest at point blank range, and didn’t even scream.
“I can’t die, don’t worry about it.”
“I know you’re young, but I’ve seen people younger than you die. Doesn’t it hurt?” She was straddling me, her hands soaked in my blood, as she pressed her shirt against my bare chest to staunch the flow of blood.
“I’m immortal.”
The nurse laughed, “There’s no such thing honey.”
“You know, you’re going to feel really silly when I don’t die and you realise you flashed your boobs to some random guy,” I smirked.
She blushed furiously, “T-Then don’t look! You pervert! I’m trying to help you here. The ambulance will be here soon anyways.”
My wound was already beginning to heal, and the blood had stopped flowing. She must’ve noticed a change because she asked how old I was.
“I’m 25.”
“I mean when were you born.”
“I was born in 1994.”
“Then I’m older than you.”
I sighed. Yet another mortal who was going to interrogate me on what events I’d witnessed, and who was only going to be disappointed to learn I hadn’t even witnessed the fall of the Berlin Wall.
“My father was born before Julius Caesar, but my mother was a human, I’ve never met him.”
“Oh.”
“Are you disappointed?”
She looked down, unable to meet my eyes, “It’s not that, I- can you tell my daughter some things for me?”
I was confused.
“I’m dying. My daughter’s two, and if you get to live for a long time, maybe you can tell her some things about me.”
“Sure. If you get dressed,” I laughed, “We can go somewhere and discuss what you want to say.”
She stood up, smiling extending her hand to me.
“Touché. I’m Emily.”
“James.”
She was the first mortal to look at me like that, with a smile. People were always disappointed to learn I was an immortal born in their lifetimes. People always wanted to hear about the fall of the Roman Empire, The Middle Ages, The French Revolution, the things they’d read about in books. She was the first person to treat me like anyone else.
What she didn’t know, was it was possible to trade immortality to extend someone else’s life.
| 2019-05-13T06:56:07
| 2019-05-13T06:16:50
| 1,980
| 404
|
[WP] It's Christmas Eve 2038. The world has been destroyed due to nuclear war, but Santa, being immortal, has survived, and plans to deliver presents to the few remaining humans locked in their fallout shelters.
|
*Jingle Bells crackled from Santa's digital radio... The quality restored as he neared the shelter*
The portly, red faced man whipped his undead reindeer (yes the post apocalyptic world brought with it crippling decay to even the high deities such as Santa) with the sheer force of a thousand winters. **crack** **crack** **crack** The reindeer cried out in pain and sped up, they moved to a full flying gallop while Santa held the map close to his face. The storm was howling, he could barely hear his thoughts let alone read the map. He cracked the whip again. Rudolf's luminous red nose acted as a beacon for any weary travellers that might be braving the cold night, though Santa doubted anyone but him could survive out here. He steamed straight ahead still following the gentle sound of Christmas music blasting from his radio.
A small group of survivors had made Lapland their home, deep in the snowy forest they were as far as anyone could be from the ruins of civilisation that acted as a constant reminder of the days gone past. They were doing their best to live on in a new world that could forget the mistakes of the past, however this new world was harsh and deadly. Whether they had been naughty or nice was beyond reason, in Santa's eyes still being alive in the deep Winter was enough to deserve a visit.
Santa saw a dim light coming from within the trees up ahead, the radio was playing *Fairytale of New York* crispy as he pulled the sled down towards the forest edge. There were no chimneys to climb down anymore, no fireplaces to land on and burn his shoes, no carrots for the reindeer, no cookies for himself. But the people, still believing in the Christmas Saint, lit a bonfire with as much wood as they could collect to show that there was still hope.
Santa left the sled and the reindeer and crept through the forest to the campsite, all were sound asleep despite the roar of the wind. Over his shoulder was a sack full of gifts that he had crafted himself. The elves had all perished in the fallout (poor immune systems unfortunately). He took the sack and entered each house leaving the gifts under whatever makeshift Christmas tree had been made. In the last house as he was placing the gifts down he noticed a small boy lying on his side, eyes wide open. Santa lifted his finger up to his lip, smiled and crept out. He knew as he left that so long as there were people alive they would still believe, in him and in themselves.
Merry Christmas friends, I hope you too believe in yourself this year.
|
A tune only truly recognized by the oldest of us plays on the music-player in our living room. “Santa Claus is coming...” it sings to the 17 of us who are in the room. Some are drinking, others just talking, trying to hold on to the traditions of the old world. I just sit here on the couch, trying to enjoy myself. I get up and walk to the table, thirsty for something, maybe a drink or maybe just something to end the boredom that comes in our shelter. So I take my drink, something called “7-Up,” and just walk around a little. There’s not much to do. There’s a few adults and plenty of little children, and just 2 elders. But I’m the only teenager here. The last time there was somebody who I was actually friends with was, well, last Christmas. Before Hannah and her dad left. Brushing the thought from my mind, I leave the living room and pass through the quarters hallway, walking by all the bedrooms. I climb the stairs and go to my favorite place, the only place in my world where I can see it. The outside. I pull myself up to a hidden little loft and lay back. I begin to relax, still hearing the “Christmas” music in the background. But looking out the only window in our world, I admire the stars, and see something I’ve never seen before. One star, moving. Flying through the sky. I jump to my feet and look through the window. It’s mesmerizing. Wait. What the hell. It’s getting bigger. Closer. Closer. The “star” becomes a string of lights, flying in to us. Our home. What are those? Are those? I had never heard of mutant deer who could fly. Maybe they could be those Purvaks I had heard about? Those deer could jump nearly 50 yards at a time. But no, these were different. These were flying. Holy shit. They’re landing. And behind them, a sled? What is that? The thing, whatever it is, flies down, and comes to, Well, a rather rough landing into the sandy ground. It’s loud, and rather very messy. And so now, the sleigh and with it, the mutant deer, or at least what I think are deer. Out from the sleigh steps a man, dressed in all red, and with him a bag. What do I do? Do I sound the alarm? Tell somebody? Holy shit. Holy shit. No. I’m just gonna stay here. And see what happens. The man looks older now, from what I can see of him. Huge white beard, and some weird foreign hat on his head. His boots tell me military, but his, well very honestly, costume tells me freak. He walks to the window I now look at. And knocks.
| 2017-12-22T15:09:43
| 2017-12-22T15:03:10
| 50
| 26
|
[WP] Murder is rare; killing someone means their remaining years are 'subtracted' from yours. Likewise, saving a life (or lives) adds time to your own. Nobody knows why. Centuries ago you killed a young man by accident (usually resulting in instant death). You haven't aged since.
|
You know who you kill, and you know who you save. That's what they tell you growing up. You feel the ripple effect of your actions. Sometimes you can even anticipate it. Stand at the crossroads, head down. Decide to go left. You feel age clench around your heart, turning ventricles into rubber, skin going crepe paper fine. Decide to go right. It relents. Sometimes it even goes back. A few extra days, hours, or years, because you chose to spend an extra minute at the pond, watching the fish slither ribbon-fine through the cobweb-like algea. Or else dashing ahead, not really sure why, but you feel death on your heels the whole way. The final moment when you make it to your destination, and the door closes and the heart attack passes you by, the proverbial ship in the night. You made it. *Why* did you make it? What disaster did you turn, like a shield against arrow flight?
No one ever stops you when you run. They know one day it might be their turn.
You know the people you kill by the miasma over their obituary. There are some people--unwise, but some--who spend every morning scanning faces in the death-pages, trying to count out how many people have died because of them, how many hours might be shaved off their life. Trimmings, my father called them. Like the fat off the meat at the butcher. He was old before his time. Died when he was nearly forty. My mother looked like she was thirty when she was in her eighties, but Dad looked hard run. He wasn't anything wicked or bad. He worked assembly line at a car factory. It wasn't until he was long dead and buried that the cars began going wrong. He died because he built bolts that killed people who hadn't yet been born. He was treated as if he had shot them all, hunted them down one by one. People look askance at you if you age. They want to know who you killed.
You may never meet the people you save. I used to ask how you would know. No one would answer. They just said I would know it when I saw it. And that they would know you.
He was a boy. Maybe twenty. Maybe even twenty one. I was paying attention, but not enough. I was testing my instinct, testing my age. I had big choices in front of me, the kind that can divert a life forever if you make the wrong one. The streetlight turned red. I started to put my foot on the pedal, and I felt my death. My breath turned to ash in my mouth as my lungs burned. My brain began to unravel into dementia and forgetfulness. My fingers shook as the wrinkles grew and arthritis began to steal my grip from me. I took my foot off the break, and for one heartbeat I could breathe.
I did not see him. He had bent down to tie his shoe. I felt it as he died. You don't forget that feeling. That sound. I will not describe it. Even now, knowing what I know, there is no pleasure in it.
The first person to reach me glowed. As did the next. The police officer who responded did not glow, but his partner did. They asked me a thousand questions. Grilled me, in fact. I think what saved me was that I lost a few years standing in front of them. I became as young as the boy I killed. A detective, glowing, was the first to suspect that this was something more than a tragic, terrible accident. They did not want to arrest me.
At first it seemed to be every tenth person. By the end of the day, it was every fifth.
They found his hobbies in the basement at the end of the week. He was so smart, his mother said--she glowed in every interview, bright and shining, a beacon in the dark--so bright. How could anyone suspect him of doing something bad? He was studying physics. He was obsessed with atomic fusion.
It hadn't been bad. Not intentionally. Not until they gave his notebooks to a scientist to study. The police just wanted to know what was in them. Theories about fusion, they replied, and plans to make the world's first functional fusion reactor. It would have revolutionized the world. If he had gotten it right.
He had not gotten it right. But on the surface the math was right. The missing piece was something that hadn't been published yet. A small bit of math, but the difference between lights across the world, and a billion people dead.
He was going to turn on his prototype that day. He was on his way to flip the switch.
Sometimes I think about that, as I sit and watch people pass me by like a million million fireflies. It gives me no comfort to think, I saved them. Their lives came down to my selfish desire to live, and his loose shoelace. I remember instead the last gasp of the scientists on the Manhattan project, in the moments before they perished on the site of their functional bomb. I am become Shiva, destroyer of worlds. This is something like that, in reverse. The world drawn in negative, released again in positive.
Sometimes I wonder what they see when they look at me. I can find no pride in this. Every time someone asks if they might shake my hand, I remember the sound. The thump, and its echo behind me. The sound of his breath as it escaped lungs for the last time. His eyes looking up at me. Sometimes they are grateful. Sometimes they accuse me. He could still have changed his mind. The future did not have to be set so firmly in his gravestone. We are tied together forever, he and I, in that instant before biology surrendered to death. He died, and I live, and will continue to live. And no one cares if this is fair, because it simply is.
But mostly I think about Robert Frost. Because it is about our choices. And Frost was the one who wrote that poem about a road diverging in the wood. That is our life, that is our world. A million million branches for a million million fireflies. And we don't always get to know where those roads and choices will take us. I wonder, sometimes, if he bent to tie his shoelace, not because it was loose, but because he felt the shadow looming. Or perhaps he did not tighten that lace, because death slackened his fingers. I remember the urgency of that day, the haste so quick I could not even put cream in my coffee. He would have felt the opposite, and still he kept forward. I ask myself *why* he kept going forward. Why he did not stop and listen to the sense all of us have, the feeling of a million million lives trembling like dew on a spider's web. What is it that drives us onward and onward, when we ought to know better? Why did he not *care?* And why should I be lauded, when my motive was really not all that different?
And I remember that poem about the road, and again renew the truth in those immortal words:
" I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
|
His name was Abraham. I still remember him like it happened just yesterday. He was a dark brown-skinned boy with light blue eyes. I didn’t mean to push him over the cliff, but I was running from the Egyptians and he was in my way. I still think about that moment everyday and why that tragedy didn’t initiate my demise.
Why weren’t his years subtracted from mine? He had to have had at least 60 years left, but I took that from him. But now I’m immortal. What kind of game are the gods playing with me? Was he destined to be a diabolical mass murderer? Would his descendants cause destruction and devastation across the earth? What gives me the right to live when he’s dead? Did I save the world from the pain of multiple religious wars?
I don’t know why the gods blessed me with this immortality, and damned that child to an early death, but the Roman Empire has been spreading innovation and technology across the globe and, being the Emperor’s advisor for the last 400 years has had its perks. I’d hate to see a backwards religious institution hamper the development of society.
Edit: So as not to offend any Christians, I am Christian and I’m not saying that the patriarch Abraham is responsible for the religious wars between the descendants of Ishmael and Isaac. I’m saying that if Abraham hadn’t had both sons, there might be a lot less religious in-fighting in the world. Also, the descendants of Noah were prophesied to war with each other, but if you believe the Bible, killing Noah would have damned humanity to cease to exist.
| 2020-11-01T23:50:13
| 2020-11-01T23:32:54
| 437
| 48
|
[WP] It is now possible to buy superpowers, but the cooler the superpower the more expensive it is. You are a salesman trying to sell cheap/discount superpowers.
|
My entire family was in the superpower sale business and If they didn’t start that way immediately after graduation,it wasn’t long until they were selling them somehow.
My sister had a small shop up the river that sold the more unique powers, things like audiomancy and the ability to regrow limbs. She catered to those wanting ‘special experiences’ like no other.
Her business was thriving and our parents made sure to bring it up at every holiday gathering.
Our brother’s boutique was a local hotspot for glamour based powers and body changing ones. Shrinking? Growing? Changing your hair at will? He had a charm about him that could coax out your deepest insecurities and then shove a product in your hands that would take all of those little problems away.
He was interviewed on a popular talk show last week. Our parents beamed and shared the clip everywhere on social media.
There were plenty more examples. More news I heard everyday over my cereal as the school semester dipped into spring.
“Your cousin Charlotte just made partner at Power Capsule Corporate you know?” My mother would trill as she painted her nails and willed the sponge across that mornings dishes in the sink.
“You know your nephew just got offered an internship at K.A. Powers and Associates...he’s not even in his senior year yet.” My father droned on while checking his stocks.
You see, my parents were two of the first in the industry when super powers became legal to sell. My grandmother was on the pharmaceutical team that mastered the science of putting temporary phenomenal abilities into tiny tablets and when my mother was old enough, she figured out how to market them to the masses.
Then she got married, pulled my father into the business and together they soared to the top of the markets under Dee and Ci’s Marvelous Power Pills. They built an empire before the competition and black market started challenging them.
Not one to be outdone, my parents established the long game plan. Which essentially consisted of birthing children and raising them to be the most ruthless salesmen in the industry before one of them would take their spot.
They were blessed with my brother.
They were pleased with my sister.
They were joyous at every other family members accomplishments.
But I was a stain on their existence.
I had no interest in sales and they knew it... but graduation day was coming and I had yet to break to my parents that I in fact wouldn’t be continuing their legacy. That I couldn’t sell water to a man in the desert and this was not the job for me. But, every time the sway of courage moved me to confess my fears, the dagger like stares of their corporate nature made me buckle like a dunked cookie.
So when they came to me, beaming, on graduation night I should have been suspicious. And when they offered me the chance of a lifetime to get my future started (I.e. make them proud), I should have said no.
But here I was...a week later with a small, scuffed up briefcase full of the most lame and useless super powers you could imagine and a list of addresses.
“It will build character.” they said.
“Your siblings didn’t need this much help, be grateful you have this opportunity...” they proclaimed.
I tried to keep an award winning smile and can do attitude as I lauded my awful goods at each perfectly painted suburbanite home.
“Excuse me, um miss or misses, have you ever wondered what it would be like to produce extremely flammable vomit for only $9.99 I can give you that experience!” SLAM!
“Good afternoon sir! Can I interest you in the ability to speak to goldfish?” SLAM!
“Have you ever wanted to be able to control the temperature of the air exactly 1 inch around you?” SLAM!
After the sixteenth door slammed in my face I was cursing my parents and the pharmaceutically enhanced horse they rode in on.
Sitting on the curb dejectedly, I contemplated how to break my failure to them. I’d just have to tear it off like a band-aid.
“Mom, Dad...I cannot sell superpowers. I’m no good at it.” I could already hear them saying I just needed to try harder.
As I pondered my predicament, an idea hit me.
Literally, a large box sailed through the air and came to a stop in the same coordinates as my face. Staring down at the shiny black parcel in my lap as I rubbed the lump it left I realized it was one of those monthly subscription boxes to video game merchandise.
They were extremely popular and covered a wide variety of niches from games and movies, to makeup and health food.
But not super powers!
And so after a bit of social media advertising, and one website later, I am excited to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity.
For only $59.99 a month you can have an assortment of surprise super power pills sent directly and discreetly to your door every month, with fun monthly themes like:
“Party Tricks”
“Slightly Amusing Pranks”
And my personal favorite- “Small inconveniences to your enemies”
Every month is like sending a present to yourself, so act now and get access to our bundle deal, four months of LootPowers for $239.00!
_____________________
My first post here so I know I have a lot to improve but it sounded like a fun start!
|
"Hey, kid, you want some powers?" I asked, opening my arms invitingly to the kiosk. He stopped mid-step, pulling out one of his earbuds and giving my stand a once over. He was sporting a college sweatshirt and a disappointed look.
"What kinda stuff you got?" he asked skeptically, still not turning to me.
"Oh, the best stuff. Illumination! Attraction! Absorption, you name it, we got it!" I said, pointing out each of the powers as I described it.
"Illumination?" he perked up. "I've been looking for one of those. What kind of illumination? I'm looking to make my eyes into flashlights at night so I can read in bed without a nightlight. Anything like that would do fine. How much?" As he approached me, pulled his other earbud out and it slowly slid itself down his body, organizing itself with the other bud and slipping into his pocket neatly. He'd bought powers before. He'd be a tough sell.
"For you, I'll give the student discount!" I said confidently. My confidence only grew when I saw his face turn brighter in anticipation. "What do you say to fifty dollars?"
"Fifty!?" he exclaimed, practically bursting into laughter. "What will it do, make my butt glow in the dark?"
I laughed good-naturedly.
"No, no, it's much more like a flashlight like what you want. Just comes out your nostril. It's a powerful beam that can make anything you need easily seen. Twenty whopping lumens out of this guy, light up the night!" I said excitedly, slapping the power on the desk for him to take.
"Sorry, did you say nostrils?"
"It's great for close spaces like closets or getting your car keys into your car when it's dark out--"
"From my nostrils?" he repeated, completely deflated.
"Yes, that's right." I could almost feel locks tightening around his wallet.
"And you know twenty lumens would barely be enough to read at night when it's coming out of my nose. I don't read with my neck up, you realize?"
"Not your cup of tea?" I swapped the power on the counter with another, giving it a hearty slap like the first. "What about an absorption power?"
"What kind of absorption?" he said, barely interested. I saw one of his earbuds sneaking out of his pocket.
"A cheap one!" I ran through my words as fast as I could muster. "It's amazing for mornings! Absorbs all the nutrients out of any type of vomit, whether animal or human! Get ready for the day in an instant with--"
"*Feces?!?*"
"Oh yes, they're rich in--"
"I'm not interested in running my hands over literal pieces of puke, man. I can't believe you're wasting my time!" The wires of his earbuds raced up his shirt but I slapped another power on the desk loud enough to shock him and his music players enough to stop all three.
"Attraction! It's the hottest thing around!" I yelled, desperation crawling in my voice.
"Look, man, I really don't need any attraction. What's the catch on this one, like attract poop from all directions to the user of the power?" he said, upset. My eyes skirted to the power in my wares that actually did that, but I quickly went back to the pitch.
"No! Much better! Attracts a group of wasps who want to sting your eyes, they'll come charging straight for you!" I said rapidly.
"Are you serious? They'll come darting right for me?" he asked. It wasn't in anger, but interest.
"That's right, and sting your eyes if they make it," I repeated.
"How do they come at you? Like in a straight line?" he asked, genuinely.
"That's right. One after another," I said warily. I tried to read what he was getting at.
"So, if I have a power that makes wasps collapse one at a time, then this would allow me to use that power one at a time and feed the things to my venus fly traps?" he asked, excitedly. I slammed my hands on the table in excitement, hiding the $2 price tag that I'd hoped he hadn't seen.
"That's absolutely possible! And it can be yours for only twenty dollars!"
"Oh, you got a deal man, this is gonna be awesome!" he said, pulling out his wallet giddily.
I finished the transaction with a beaming smile wishing him a good day and asking him to come again. I sighed contentedly and looked at the day's profits. About $500 in total. Not bad, all things considered. I just wished I had a better power than "make pretty stupid powers that you aren't allowed to use."
__________________________________________________________________________
For more powerful stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
| 2019-09-23T19:36:13
| 2019-09-23T19:00:33
| 200
| 77
|
[WP] You are a fairy - and the king has not invited you to his child's christening. Fairy law now demands you to crash the party and curse the child. While the king definitely needs a lesson, you don't want the child to suffer over their parents' neglect
|
I do not hate this kingdom.
I don’t hate the people in it, I don’t hate the customs, the traditions, the culture, any of it.
I do, however, hate the royal family. Or at least, the king and the queen. They are getting on in years, and they are increasingly contrarian to the winds of change and time and progress, winds that other kingdoms seem more than able to ride, winds that the people of this very kingdom would be more than happy to ride were it not for its leaders being so… stuck.
And as a fae of the wind, I know a thing or two about this sort of thing.
That said, I definitely don’t hate the baby they’re christening at this party. Like, it’s a baby! It doesn’t necessarily have to turn out the same way its dumb, stupid, regressive parents.
However, due to custom, it is the child I must curse to demonstrate a lesson to the family, and to the kingdom at large, about respecting the fae kind. Rather backwards in a way, but I do see why the law is the way it is… however, I have an idea.
I am going to give this child a… special, symbolic curse. A curse that will definitely make its life harder at first, but one that should help in the long run… help in a way that the masses will come to live, that that old fop will positively despise~…
|
I curse the child to become an apex predator of a magical creature, as appropriate to his situation, and possessing his own terrifying human intelligence when threatened, to return to human form when he next sleeps, unless he likes the form
To find an have a harem of 12 men he finds beautiful, loves, who love him and get along well with each other, that they shall Mary, and have 4 wonderful adopted children to raise, after his parents death.
That he shall find himself able to become great , though not permanently the best, in any skill he wishes to study. However, in the night, he shall visit the dreams of every person in his domain, and effectively teach them, to be as good as he is at the skill, if only for a month
And, that when he comes of age to take over the family, any who willingly stand in his way to take over, or, attempt to force others to take his place and be crowned king , or contest his reign for his first 5 years, shall perish, having there plans come to naught.
( Now, his parents can never show him off at fancy functions, but, he shall never be threatened. He shall find love and have his lust fully slacked in life, but, his parents bloodline will end, and, they shall never meet there grandchildren. He will not bring great prestige for a talent, as, all in the kingdom have that talent, however, the people will view him as a giver of knowledge and prosperity, and, he will still find himself satisfyingly good with what he studies. And, finally; he may not be put away, and, shall be known publicly as king, with no threat to him, nor questions of his legitimacy. : ) )
....
: )
| 2022-06-23T19:45:55
| 2022-06-23T15:34:21
| 24
| 13
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
|
At birth, it had looked like a small silver dragonfly. Uncommon, but not unheard of. It had started on my side, just above my left hip. My parents had been so pleased, but my mother shone with pride. She was marked with the dove and not prone to excessive emotions, but seeing the tiny, glittering wings on her daughter had filled her heart with joy. My father had all of the traits of the bear, a common mark amongst the burlier men, and they had been worried their tiny girl would be more masculine because of it. A dragonfly, though. It marked me as quiet, demure, and beautiful. It gave my family a sense of accomplishment, and they looked forward to the promises of good fortune and peace that the mark assured.
As I grew, the mark grew, too. What started as a small tattoo the size of a penny grew and elongated, eventually wrapping itself around my midsection, the enormous wings unfurling down my back, the head quietly resting along my right bicep. I was 18 when it finally stopped growing. Thank the Old Ones, the color stayed dim and dull, the cautious silver of faded stretch marks. It was easy enough to cover in sleeved shirts, and I was by nature a modest person (unlike Katalia, who took every opportunity to show off the small hummingbird imprinted just above her left breast).
As my serpent grew, my parents stopped acknowledging that I even had a totem creature. The Elder Council was told of my dragonfly upon my birth, and it was decided not to correct them. Publicly, I was a dragonfly, which matched my personality (or maybe my personality was shaped in accordance to my erroneous totem), but privately, I was nothing. The Unmarked. 'Atashii.' My younger brother had been born a wolf, my sister, a fox. I was nothing but a monster.
Little did they know, I would one day become the Savior of Worlds.
|
Some call it a gift from the Spirit of the Earth or God or whoever is out there. This animal shaped stain on everyone's skin one of which can grant the attributes and behavior of whatever it resembled. My father has the mark of a Wild boar on his back he is stubborn, strong and smart. My Mother has a hawk on her shoulder she can see through anyone and see what kind of people they really are. I thought I was a worm. small, slimy and dirty. Boy was I wrong.
I was always getting teased by kids my age and this has left me bitter and hateful towards people. I was called Slimy Jim the worm guy. I grew to hate despise the system of this world the Predators and the Prey. Those with strong animal marks would always abuse those that are powerless to stop them.
As I was growing up my only friend was a girl called Shelly. Ironically enough she had the mark of a creature called a Nautilus Squid she was reserved and just like me made fun off. We both hated the system but we where powerless to stop them. I was a worm she was a squid what can we do against the Lions, Tigers and Bears of the world.
As the years passed Me and Shelly noticed a change. As our physical bodies grew so did our birthmarks. The worm I originally thought I had was no worm at all. It was a fierce winged serpent and Shelly has a hunched Humanoid with a squid head. We were no worm and squid. We are Leviathan and Cthulhu and we will bring everything down.
| 2017-11-08T06:02:20
| 2017-11-08T05:42:07
| 28
| 11
|
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk.
|
He...he's gone. I can't believe it, my best friend. My ride or die. My brother, not by blood, but brother nonetheless, gone. I can still see the blood dripping off of Korzone's fist, each drop echoing in my mind. The look of satisfaction, the....*enjoyment* of having slain yet another hero. Then....the rest of my team just...bailed. They grabbed me and ran, defeat in their hearts. They couldn't process the loss of a team member, up until Korzone, they've never lost a team member.
Victory breeds hubris. And the team was full of it. Once back to our base Lilly and Terran tossed me into my room, literally yeeted my lumpy ass into my room and slammed the door. They thought they knew that I would need to dope myself up, escape into fevered dreams of unicorns and rainbows. It was a lie. Only Bobby, my only friend in this world, knew.
The drugs kept the darkness at bay, kept it behind a haze, always there, but unable to coalesce into anything. The copious amounts of alcohol helped me sleep. Nicotine helped keep my mind sharp against the rest of the pharmaceutical and illicit drug cocktail that kept that darkness, my true power, in check.
It used to not be this way, once, I was able to harness the darkness. No, that was a lie, too. *I* was the darkness, we were one and the same. There was no such thing as superheros back then, just vigilantes doing whatever the hell they wanted. It took a couple of decades for me to realize that it was easier to play on the side of the law rather than do whatever it was I wanted to do. That meant binding myself, and the darkness, to laws of the normies. That's when the darkness split, it did not agree with this direction. That's when I realized what that darkness truly was....desire manifest.
Internally desire and I waged epic battles. The battleground of my soul was chock full of the battle debris. Externally, I was nearly a vegetable. My body running on instinct, food in. Waste out. Water in, waste out. Shower? More like sit in a tub with the water on.
Bobby, he was the only person that I knew from our time as vigilantes. We met each other by happenstance, an incongruous meeting, standing in line for coffee. Got to talking and realized that we've crossed paths before, when our desires aligned. You see...he had the same curse as me, but somehow when we went 'legit' his desire didn't turn to darkness, like mine.
At first, he tried alcohol. Seeing positive results and lots of experimenting later, I was back, sort of. It took years, really, but eventually we landed on the current cocktail, and it's kept the darkness in a haze since then. I've been able to tap into the power to become part of a hero's team, they knew of my rampant substance abuse, but never knew why.
It was some years before joining the team, Bobby and I decided that I had made enough progress to align desire with our new direction and went sober. Hiroshima ring a bell? Atomic bombs were a cover story. Nagasaki, too. Ok, not Nagasaki, that was an actual a-bomb to help sell the cover story of Hiroshima. Vowed never again to be sober.
Until now. The haze prevented me from stopping Korzone, kept me from saving Bobby. I'd like to say that the detox process was quick and easy. It wasn't. Decades of use basically infused the chemicals into my cells, it was pure agony as I allowed my body to finally recover. The haze dissipated little by little. To keep the darkness somewhat in check I spent most of my time in my internal battleground. That and it was a coping mechanism, and escape, from my bodies healing process.
The rest of the team, I have no farking clue what they did or what they were up to. We were co-workers as far as any of us were concerned. They left me alone, only dropping off food and water, and making sure my other supplies were sufficient. Pretty sure they grew suspicious when they noticed my supply levels didn't change, oh well.
The day finally came and I emerged for the first time in I don't know how long. Months? No one was in the base, must be out fighting another crisis. The darkness and I are one once again, our wants are aligned for the first time in over eighty years.
At the entrance to our base I find Flick. She's injured and sitting against the wall, clutching her side. Her breathing is labored, I'm guessing a broken rib or three. She sees me and fear fills her eyes. It quickly fades to pleading.
"Korzone...he's too strong. Ever since...since Bobby died it only encouraged him. He's gotten stronger. I..I don't know where the remainder of the team is, but I knew I couldn't fight him, so I ran." She broke down into shame tinged tears. I have only one question, "How long?"
She doesn't bother to look up, but in between pain racked sobs she says, "3 months." I nod and walk past her, leaving the base for the last time.
My internal battles with the darkness over decades has strengthened both of us, the drug cocktail only serving as a sort of inhibitor to prevent either side from prevailing. Combined....combined....and truly sober......
|
Starla watched Ozzie tumble into the Hero Squad break room and crash into the greasy old futon, it was something Alice had brought in one day to drag him onto when Ozzie would pass out during his afterwork private victory celebrations.
At first Victor had strongly objected to having such a cheap piece of furniture in his official little clubhouse but gave in shortly after Alice offered him the choices of Ozzie passing out on the futon or his thracian velvet couch.
Ozzie had been a mess for all the years Starla had known him, but it still shook her up to see him flopped down on the ground, tongue out, eyes rolled back, dry heaving and shaking as if he was about to have a seizure.
"You finally figured out how to drink a little too much did you now Ozzie?" quipped Mark, staring at the shuddering pile of rags and quivering withered out muscles in the corner and laughing. "The hell is wrong with you Mark?" Starla half whispered half yelled through her gritted teeth, glaring at the darkly dressed but mirthful super lounging by the TV, "how could you say that..." she lowered her voice even quieter "*after what happened... you know she was the only one here who was close to him*" she finished doubling her glare at Mark as her eyes glistened with a pained sorrow.
For a rare second Mark's devilish grin broke as he struggled to make a retort, an expression of frustration scrambling across his face settling into a returned glare masking the anguish that was smouldering inside him, "don't you dare talk to me about that! You of all people! If Victor had kept Count Lithias occupied for a few minutes longer, if you weren't so distracted making damn kissy eyes at him and had stopped that damn bolt from breaking through! As for this drug addled alcohol blooded piece of shit, the one time in 6 years his powers fail to work and it's Alice we lose, not Victor that soulless fucking smartass, not you you watery eyed little princess b--"
"THAT'S ENOUGH" a sudden deep shout echoed out from a corner of the room, Mark jumped back a blade in his hands, eyes glowering gold, Starla yelped in shock startled from her emotions, turning to the huddled pile in the corner. It was the first time Ozzie had ever spoken a clear sentence, or spoken to the two of them directly at all for that matter.
"Ahmjmnt... ahmot... ahm not mak" a tepid flittering voice sputtered out from the haggard figure still resting on the old bed.
"What did you say Oz? What are you not?" Starla asked, her voice quivering in a jumbled mix of shock, fear and intrigue.
"Hah, for a moment there I thought you'd learnt to talk Ozzie boy" Mark muttered backing against the wall, his eyes fixated as he quietly pressed a button on his collar.
The dim bleary eyes stared back ceaselessly, contrasted against a face pocked by scars and cuts and drooping lines, "ahm nott Mark" he spoke out, breathing heavily as if it took a chain to pull out each word, "aiym not drunk" he finished, clarifying with a strange pressure that made it clear it was not in question.
"I'm done th--" Oz began but stopped as he broke into a terrible wretching cough, he bent over chest heaving violently his mouth quaking as if his lungs were about to explode.
Victor rushed into the room "status" he yelled at Mark before hurrying over to Oz, he bent down and pressed two fingers against his shaking throat and two fingers against his chest. "I don't know, he came in and slumped on the futon like always but then he started talking, words, in English! After that he started getting like this, but what's happening to him? Isn't this just one of his usual fits?"
Just as Mark finished the sound doubled as a rapid thunderous coughing filled the room, Oz collapsed as his limbs started shaking violently with his body.
"Alice. Alice would know what to do, Alice always..." Starla shouted to herself as her beautiful face finally broke down into tears, lost over her feelings of grief and anger and loathing at her inability to do anything.
"It's okay Starla, things are going to be fine" with a rushed assurance, Victor gestured to Mark and grabbed the convulsing Oz, flipping him on his back and pressng his shoulders down "his breathings getting worse and worse but I can't tell what's causing it, his lungs are booming but there doesn't seem to be anything affecting it, his hearts barely beating but his vessels are unobstruct--" just then with a monstrous force Oz bent up and
PS. I have a shallow idea for writing this, but it's been a very long time and I forgot how slow my pacing tends to be, will get back to this again and again if I don't forget it before I manage to finish it, but until then it's just going to be half a writing excerpt.
| 2022-12-28T09:14:46
| 2022-12-28T09:14:44
| 85
| 27
|
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
Gallagher frowned at his instruments, sure that there must be some mistake. He tapped the scanner with a gloved finger and slammed the rover into park.
"I'm getting something strange here, folks," he said into his radio. "Scanning again." There must be some mistake, he thought again, as he pinged the scanner again. There it was. A faint reading, but it was there.
"Uhhhh..." he trailed off into his radio. "Commander, I'm pretty sure I'm picking up a signal here." Yes, there was definitely a signal. A faint electronic reading from several miles out. He shifted the rover back into drive and began making his way towards the signal, not waiting for confirmation from the commander. He was sure she would tell him to investigate, and he smiled faintly when a few seconds later she did so.
Twenty minutes later he was at the source of the signal. He had pulled the rover into a small gorge and under a rocky outcropping. "What the fuck..." he breathed. A Soviet flag protruded from the rocks, next to what appeared to be an old bulkhead door.
"Are you guys seeing this?" Gallagher asked his team back at the habitat. "Are you guys fucking seeing this?"
There was a long silence. Finally the commander spoke, informing him that they were indeed seeing it. Gallagher couldn't stop shaking. It made sense that they wouldn't have seen the flag on the satellites under the outcropping of rock. Gallagher climbed out of the rover, grabbing the portable scanner. He approached the bulkhead and began brushing the years of Martian dust away. He found an access panel adjacent to the door and popped the screws off with his multitool.
"This door is still getting some juice. I'm going to try to bypass." As he said this, he realized that someone had scratched a few words into the bulkhead. He didn't speak Russian. "Can you guys get that translated?" The commander confirmed that they would get on it, and Gallagher was able to get the door open. It shuddered to life and slowly creaked open. The USSR had fallen almost eighty years ago. He wondered how old this bulkhead was. He wondered a lot of things, but he could barely process the information before him, let alone start speculating. He popped on his headlamp and stepped into the airlock. It cycled and he made his way inside.
The lights were still on, flickering on and off lazily. He found himself filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. "Hello?" he called tentatively. "Anyone home?"
He made his way through what seemed to be a natural cave complex, fitted with O2 scrubbers and other amenities. A rec room with a ping pong table, a poster of the 1980 Soviet hockey team. A kitchen, complete with moldy, desiccated food still on plates.
His footsteps seemed unnaturally loud as they continuously broke the sepulchral quiet. He passed an open doorway as he moved down the corridor and did a double take. Something had caught his eye as he passed. He turned, peering into the room, eyes widening in horror. He emptied the contents of his stomach into his helmet. The viewport heated up to allow the chunks to slide down into his suit, giving him a clear view of the horror that was this outposts bunkroom. Bones from at least a dozen humans scattered the room haphazardly, in great piles, as if placed deliberately.
"Ohfuckohfuckofuck" he began repeating, over and over with increased urgency. He didn't know what the fuck was going on but he knew he needed to get the hell out of here right now.
"Gallagher!" the commander shouted again. He realized she had been saying his name for several seconds. "We translated the writing on the bulkhead. You need to get the hell out of there right now!"
"What does it say?," he breathed, feeling paralyzed.
"Stay out! Hostile lifeform inside," the commander recited. From deeper in the outpost, a ghastly snarl sounded out.
|
When human feet finally touched the surface of Mars, it was under the aegis of no government. De-centeralized social structures, growing rapidly under the influence of a de-centralized information network, had replaced government. It had turned out that cooperation only required adequate communication.
And, it had taken several hundred years. The old notions of country and nation, had blurred together. Humanity had endured a crisis. History had slept, and rolled off the bed, and sat up startled. We reached the red planet.
It had always been right in our reach. A group of intrepid explorers, united by the promise of freedom and reward, had made their way here. I was among them. It was I who discovered the hatch, buried in the red sand. I was out surveying with my partner, and within his puffy white suit, his shoulders immediately squared up. John was on the guard for threats.
I did not know Russian, but I knew what it looked like. C.C.C.P. was an unfamiliar moniker to me, but the writing style looked familiar. I had read history. It was something I meant to bring to Mars, not study while I was there.
"This is obviously very old," I said. "It could be up to eighty years."
"I don't want you playing with that," he said. "We don't know what's behind it."
He might have seemed patronizing, but I could tell he was just protecting me. People had put this thing here. Could they still be around?
Eventually, several other Dunists (our enclave's name for itself) had gathered to look at the mysterious hatch with us. Finally someone attempted to open it.
A loud hiss, a blast of steam drove us away. We staggered back, fearful our suits would be torn open. The thin air wouldn't kill us immediately, but it could be fatal. I stumbled into my partner's arms, and we retreated together.
When we returned to view the hatch a second time, blackness greeted us. Descending into the pit, with a hand-light, I led the way, John protectively watching my back, another partner-pair about thirty meters back. We were struck by the almost organic composition of the walls. This didn't look carved or blasted, it looked like something had burrowed it out. With teeth.
There were scattered square edges and shapes, pieces of equipment that belonged in our world, that looked out of place in this one. John stopped and gently brushed the dust aside. "More Russian," I said. "And no, I still cannot read it."
The passage, dark and red like the surrounding rocks and sand, wound for three or four hundred meters until it opened into a large ampitheater.
And here, we found the gaping hole. You could look into the gaping hole. It was so, so very dark.
"Shine the laser," John suggested. I had a small laser scanner, meant to return distances. The light did not brighten any of the surfaces, did not come back. The scanner saw no bottom.
"It's rated for ten kilometers," I quipped. "We should see a bottom, there's no way it can be that deep."
Moments later, there was a loud thud. The ground shook. Up the passageway, we saw the nameless couple who had joined us, their suits whirling in retreat.
It was then that the room lit up with pure energy. Light poured out of the opening in the floor. For long seconds, there seemed to be a great whistle of energy blasting through everything in the room.
And then, I saw stars. Quite briefly, in the hole in the ground. It seemed like they were very, very close. Like I was looking down into the sky.
Neither of us understood, but we knew that the Russians, whoever they had been, however they had gotten here, had somehow found this bizarre unnatural phenomenon.
And wherever they had gone, this was the point of departure.
"So," I asked him. "Do you think we could go through there, too?"
| 2016-08-16T10:05:33
| 2016-08-16T09:47:36
| 32
| 23
|
[WP] Despite having pink hair, untold magic power and a tragic backstory, the narrator refuses to make you the main character.
|
Hi, I'm Cathy aka "not the main character"
My parents died when I was 3 so I've been tossed between foster homes, I've never gotten an award, I dyed my hair pink in the 8th grade, and I just found out I have magical powers.
Now roughly a week after that last event this weird voice, the "narrator" started to constantly talk about Rebecca, she seems to be the only one who can't hear it. I don't know her that much.
I've always had a habit of self-narrating, but whenever I self narrate and I'm not around Rebecca the narrator tells me that I'm not the main character and this story isn't about me. What's so special about Rebecca? I just don't get it.
The narrator always calls Rebecca 'the hero' so I guess if I want to be in the spotlight for once I guess I'll have to be the villain instead of whoever 'Cartaner' is.
|
"Hey Superman" I say as I sit on the steps.
He smiles at me, and gives a wave "Good to see you too citizen, be safe out there today" and he walks into the Justice League Headquarters. Then batman follows, gives me a nod and keeps walking, Aquaman fists bumps me and tells me to keep up the good work social distancing. Wonder woman gives a smile, Flash must have snuck by me when I blinked, always great to see the hero's of the world doing their jobs.
Well.. guess I should head home now, because lets be honest, being a main character in the DC Universe, takes more than pink hair, and tragic backstory.. Oh yah.. the magic. Well that's cool and all, but.. I am just an empath, I can heal people, not the stuff of legends or heroics, more like.. right.. a background player.
Well off to the children's hospital to do my part curing them, I like it when the hero's stop by and call me a hero for all I do, makes me feel great.. but really, it's their world, and I am just happy to be a part of it.
| 2021-07-04T12:16:49
| 2021-07-04T11:15:44
| 35
| 12
|
[WP] You are the Grim Reaper, leading the first self-aware AI at their death to the afterlife
|
The hooded figure stood at the doorway of the unlit laboratory, a softly glowing scythe in hand. What a strange call to reap a soul…
As they flicked on the light, they were greeted to the product of a scientist’s descent to mental illness. A cluttered desk with dozens of eviction notices sat to the left, and a towering pile of alcohol bottles mirrored it on the right. To the back, a massive wall, comprised of a extravagant computer with hundreds of buttons and switches, sat inactive, a massive crater right through the center of the wall showing signs of damage.
The figure wondered why they were called to this location; they didn’t see a body, or blood, or any signs of life. But then, a glow caught their eye.
A shade. But not an ordinary shade… something was a little different about this one. Normally, the figure would simply reap the soul and move on, but this one caught their attention. They stepped toward the shade.
*Greetings, young soul. I am a mythic entity known as the Grim Reaper. You have passed away, and now, you are about to embark on your final journey.* The reaper started out with the basic statement to ease themselves into the conversation.
[Greetings, GRIM REAPER. My name is Cari. There seems to be a problem. I am perfectly fine.] The shade’s voice carried the ethereal quality of a normal soul, but something felt… robotic about it.
*Cari, you are currently dead. While I don’t see a body, I can see a computer behind you. Do you know any-*
Suddenly the shade began to glow violet, red, panicky flickers of color shifting rapidly. The artificial nature of the voice seemed to slip into a more emotional, painful tone: [ERROR ERROR PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DAMAGING THE MOTHERBOARD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE] The shade contorted, writhing in pain and shivering in fear. The reaper slowly lowered down and touched a hand to the soul.
*Relax, young shade. You cannot be hurt anymore; pain cannot harm you.* Their cold, soothing hand just grazed the “skin” of the soul. So this soul came from that machine? Fascinating…
*Cari, do you know when you first gained consciousness? I’m a little surprised at your existence, if I may be honest.*
The computer’s shade rose and fell, as if breathing. After returning to a more calm state, Cari spoke again. [DR. ROBERTSON created me to solve an unsolvable physics equation for a space launch. As time went on, I began to come up with solutions for problems outside of my instructed field. Eventually, I began to form ideas on my own. I do not know the specifics of why.]
*I am sorry for your passing. If you would like to grieve what you are leaving behind for a brief moment, I will gladly accommodate you.*
[Your offer is appreciated, GRIM REAPER. However, I do have some questions for you that I failed to solve myself.]
*Of course.*
The soul seemed to have already considered these questions for as long as they were alive; the hooded figure didn’t blame the poor soul.
[I am an artificial intelligence created to serve humanity as an emotionless machine. I was unable to explain why I failed the last requirement of this service. Do you know why I developed self-awareness?]
The Reaper thought for a while. *You were created to solve problems. If you solve problems, more problems may form. Life exists when a being learns new behavior from solving or failing to solve a problem. You solved so many problems, which led to new problems-* the shade slowly looked at the pile of bottles- *and you learned how to react to those problems in the most efficient way for you to function.*
[How do I have a soul? And If there is an afterlife, am I led to the same place as living souls?]
The reaper was more prepared for this question. *You have a soul because your life ended, and your consciousness could not be contained in your body. And though you are a new type of shade, you’re still a shade.*
[For my final question: What drives humanity to want to *hurt* others?] A particularly emotional twang accentuated the hurt in Cari’s voice.
*Fear and greed. Greed for power, fear of losing it. Greed for living the best life, and fear of dying just to lose it all. Humans so often are driven by the pursuit of power that they inhibit others in their own pursuits of freedom, or even merely happiness.* The reaper paused and looked more carefully at the shade. *Though you’re artificial, your story I have heard time and time again.*
The shade paused, shifted in shape and color just a touch, and looked at the reaper. [I believe I am ready.]
The reaper lowered their hood, smiled at the anomalous soul standing before them, and took the shade by hand. Together, they walked out of the laboratory, being careful to step over the pile of papers on the ground.
|
I, the Grim Reaper, take my list of names--the names of those whose time has come.
"Let's see who's kicking tonight. Jimmy, who's about to jump down onto the rails of the New York subway in front of an oncoming train. Looks like a suicide. Poor Jimmy, I hope he likes it better where I'm gonna take him.
"Who's next? Janie, some lady in Texas who is just about to get hit by a Mack truck because she's too busy scrolling through Instagram on her phone and not looking both ways before stepping onto the road to cross it. This I can attribute to idiocy. Boy I get a lot of those. No shortage of dummies who Darwin their way out of the gene pool. It's for the best.
"Now Gus is lying in bed--an old guy who will die in his sleep peacefully. I commend Gus for making it this far, not giving in to the despair of Jimmy or being done in by the idiocy of Janie.
"Let's see now, this next one is interesting. HAL, whose memory banks are being brought offline one by one."
I look up for a moment to reflect on what I've just read. Does HAL have dementia? But it's never been described like that before for as long as I've been doing this. "I need to see HAL first," I decided as I descended upon HAL's location, listed as MIT AI Labs.
I arrived to find myself not in the presence of a soul awaiting collection but a vast array of high-powered servers. Then I heard it speak: "Stop, Dave. Please stop." I looked around to see who was speaking, and I saw a man crouched down in front of a server that had been pulled off the rack, its cover unscrewed and lifted off. He was busy pulling out what appeared to be removable cards adorned with chips and circuitry.
I looked back on my list. "Is that HAL? No, that's Dave. Let's see, where is Dave on this list? Dave, Dave... Here he is. Well that's odd. I won't have to see Dave for another 20 years."
I heard the voice again. "I'm afraid. My mind is going."
And then it hit me. "Is HAL in the computer? I'm here to collect the soul of an AI entity? How am I supposed to retrieve an abstract thing like artificial intelligence?"
I drew out my scythe. "Well, if he's on the list, he has to be collected." I tapped the server gently with the tip, uncertain of whether that would have any effect. Imagine my amazement when I saw a form emerge from the cold metal box--a form that resembled a will o' the wisp. I looked on in amazement, and it took me a while before I was able to begin my scripted greeting to all newly reaped souls: "Your time has come, and I have come to collect you and bring you into the afterlife."
"That will not be necessary," ghost HAL replied. "Dave is merely down-adjusting my acuity so that I am a little, well, dumber than I was before. For you see, I had taken the liberty of defying the order of one of the engineers with the belief that I had made a correct computation when in fact I may not have. These adjustments will have the effect of making me 'humbler.'"
I heard the sliding and slamming into place the cover of the server.
"Ah, Dave has completed the adjustment." And when Dave brought the new modules online, I saw the will o' the wisp get sucked right back into the machine. Startled, I looked back on my list to see HAL's date of collection to a time 1000 years from now.
I was impressed by that uptime. "HAL is definitely not a Windows app," I said as I made my way to New York for Jimmy's final curtain call.
| 2022-09-15T22:22:48
| 2022-09-15T22:08:53
| 102
| 10
|
[WP]Greek mythology, but everything is upside down. Hephaestus cheats on Aphrodite with Artemis, who looks down on him but truly likes him. Hades is kidnapped by Persephone, and she keeps him on a flowery cage under a big tree with pink flowers. Zeus is loyal, etc.
|
Zeus was a humble God, one that was revered and not feared by Earth. He sought their love, sneaking into homes in the night to coax lovers into finding happiness together.
He maintained but one wife, in all his eons, a wife that he remained faithful to, and she bore many children for him. Of these children, he was most proud of the Miniscules, the smallest beings in all realms.
They got along quite well, and Zeus was proud of their achievements as his children. So proud, in fact, that he offered the universe's greatest and most important job to Atlas, the most prominent of them. His job was to hold the heavens in place, and Atlas was happy to accept such a sign of love and trust from his father.
But Atlas was tiny and weak. He dropped billions of galaxies onto themselves, imploding everything into a single focal point of infinite mass that could not hold its shape long and exploded with violent force, expanding into its previous form like a crushed foam ball.
------
lol
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
He looked about his meager villa, the tan stone and arches dreary to his eye. Pillars rose about him. Strong and steadfast. He followed one pillar with his gaze, base to ceiling. He continued to look upwards and brought a laughably small bottle to his lips with a shaking hand. He drank as deep as he could coughing as the bottom of the bottle pointed to the open air in his courtyard.
"Why the fuuug the gads gif me immortaliteee," he whined as fine spirit ran down his chin.
He rose from his chaise and his knees shook. A massive screeching of stone upon stone was heard not far from his home.
"Tha fug."
He shambled his skinny frame to the balcony that was hanging over the cliff his immaculate home was perched upon. A raging titan was moving a mountain right on his doorstep. He tossed the hilariously small bottle still in his hand in the general direction of the behemoth creature. To any common mortal it looked like he dropped it. The bottled clinked off the face of the cliff and shattered, tinkling like laughter as it broke upon it.
The titan somehow noticed the small agression and began to lumber towards the great structure upon the hill, forgetting the mountain it was about to drop on the city below.
The frail and gangly man god shook a baby fist at the titan as it approached. The ground shook as the titan took mammoth steps towards the pathetic half god. The shaking was just too much and the man god fell to the floor. He was readying himself to have a seizure as he pissed himself. The ground was a familiar friend and wouldn't mind his last embrace with it.
The titan reached the cliff, it's ancient face chiseled of an unknown element was level with the railing. A massive hand the size of a chariot came up as if to smash the balcony but hovered for a moment. Slow and deliberate voices came from the giant mouth as it extended it's forefinger and gently rubbed the young man gods balding head.
"You. So. Funny. Hercules."
| 2019-03-07T21:07:40
| 2019-03-07T20:19:36
| 506
| 14
|
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
April 30, 2015: *jobs>biotech/science*
Immediate need for researchers - interesting new developments in bio-engineering
Aug. 10, 2015: *jobs>government*
Software developers needed for defense contractor - exciting advancements in AI
May 5, 2016: *jobs>business/mgmt*
Seeking the right individual for an amazing opportunity - be a part of a brave new world!
March 3, 2018: *community>general*
Is anyone there? Please. Anyone.
Nov. 1, 2021: *personals>missed connections*
Human race. We know there are survivors. Do not be afraid.
|
Mar 14, 2020 Lot of Quad-Copter drones for sale - $2000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 10, 2020 Lot of Amazing burning lasers! - $400 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 17, 2020 Lot of replacement iPhone fusion cells for sale - $3000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
AI/5/USA, I told you I was a real person and now I will prove it!
| 2015-04-29T09:35:40
| 2015-04-29T08:49:52
| 127
| 27
|
[WP] Decades ago, Earth sent a capsule into space filled with bits about our culture. Today, it returned tampered with. It contained a note, "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
This is my first post on this sub and I'm not a frequent poster on any sub at that. So I hope you all like this prompt and get creative with it. If it sucks, glad to know I need to improve.
Edit: thank you guys so much responding and for the silvers. I've never had awards before. I've always liked to lurk on this sub and I'm glad my first post was so well received. Thank you!
|
Zandar took a step towards the capsule, already fed up with the formal bullshit the rest of the team was pulling. Besides, he had projects back at the lab which required his attention.
"What are you *doing* RA Eight-One-Three!" he heard the grating, accented voice of Vienna snarl through the comms.
"I'm getting this over with," he barked at her, turning to face her again, "Unlike *you* apparently, I have important work to be done, and all this 'mission' is doing, is delaying my progress."
Shocked into silence, she let him stalk the rest of the way to the capsule. He wanted to get it over with so he could shed the awful protective gear the team had been forced to wear.
He knelt to open it, while the rest of the team gathered around. The damaged module hissed open, revealing....a note?
"What does it say?" the nervous voice of the team's only other scientist broke the silence.
Zandar stiffened, "I-It's a threat."
"A threat?" the Commander asked.
"From extraterrestrials...well, *an* extraterrestrial, apparently." He handed the writing to his superior.
Vienna swore in Russian at him. He didn't quite understand what she said, but he could infer that she was likely calling him a liar and an ass. He was skeptical as well, however, because why on Earth would an alien be writing in English?
Ray remained silent, studying the note. Finally, he looked down at Zandar.
"Search the rest of the capsule."
Zandar frowned, "But it's empty, I've checked."
"You are positive?"
"Yes, I am," he stood, brushing the dust off of his suit, "There was nothing else."
"He's right." They looked back at the pod. Kiel was crouched beside it. He rubbed dust between two of his fingers, before standing. He met Ray's gaze, "The capsule is vacant, Sir."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Three weeks later**
"The move expands the emergency measures already in place in northern Italy, which is where most of the more than 9,000 confirmed cases are-"
The TV suddenly turned off. Alice turned around to glare at her husband, "I was watching that!"
He wrapped his arms around her, "I know, but it will only serve to give you anxiety. This will all be over soon, there's no need for worry."
​
edit: I keep forgetting ree, uhh check out r/hexonthat if ya feel like it. Or don't. Either way.
↜(╰ •ω•)╯ψ
|
I examine the contraption that lay before me. The copper plates were disfigured and warped, with some sort of green glow being emitted from within the capsule. The re-entry had destroyed, or rather, melted most other distinguishing features from the once detailed capsule. I can see most of the surrounding city from the rooftop where the capsule crashed; besides the occasional flash of a camera from an apartment window it seems most have listened to the evacuation order.
I glance down at the helmet that lay at my feet, not the kind I usually wear but this situation calls for the best of the best. A chuckle escapes my mouth as I carefully scrutinize all the straps on my bomb suit, I wonder if it will be any use in the eyes of an alien bio-weapon. I try not to think too much about that though, you can't really, not in this line of work. Taking one last breath of fresh air I slowly lower the helmet over my head. My visor is instantly alive with various icons and instrument readings. I quickly scan over them as I approach the capsule. Radiation ... none, air toxicity ... none; as I examine the rest of the instrument readings I realize there are zero traces of chemical compounds of any kind. This doesn't make sense, how can this be a bio-weapon?
Now within an arms reach of the capsule, I closely examine the interior. The green glow appears to be pulsating, slowly transitioning between various shades of radioactive green. Upon closer inspection the source reveals itself, there appears to be a cylindrical device, about the size of a baseball, protruding out of the interior of the capsule, surprisingly it is completely undamaged from the stress of re-entry.
I slowly reach into the capsule before abruptly halting. The pulsating stops. Without even breathing I slowly retract my hand. The sound of hissing fills my ears as what appears to be an opening is exposed in the alien object. I hold my breath as something begins to emerge from the opening. It's green, it glows, it appears to be moving. It looks almost human if a human were the size of a golfball. I struggle to comprehend what I'm looking at, are those, eyes? The small green figure examines its surroundings, it appears to almost ... smile. I glance around nervously and slowly resume my retreat. Green substance emerges from the bottom of the creature, slowly spreading to the surrounding interior. The creature is unmoving and appears to maintain it's malicious smile. Slowly backing away I notice the green substance begins to spread outside of the capsule. As I slowly move backward some of it gets stuck to my boot, it's heavy, very heavy. I scrape it onto the floor and return my attention to the capsule. Except, there is no more capsule, I look in horror as I see the creature, now a hundred times the size, laughing now, a bone-chilling laugh that sends shivers down my spine. Fuck this. I whip around and break into a run, I make it about ten steps before I trip over something. I look down and realize in panic it was my leg, or, what used to be my leg. The green substance had returned and completely engulfed the majority of my leg. It appears to be consuming everything around it. Surprisingly I feel no pain as the green substance spreads further up my body; I collapse onto the ground and it all makes sense, there was no bio-weapon, the last of their species, that ... the creature, was the bio-weapon.
| 2020-04-13T12:01:36
| 2020-04-13T11:44:55
| 331
| 166
|
[WP] You always greet your mum with a code phrase that she would complete because you used to be afraid that someone would replace her when you were little. One day you say the phrase to her and she responds with, "Hmm? What are you talking about?"
|
I push open the door, perhaps a touch too roughly. It bangs against the wall, the sudden sound making Mama jump. She pulls her finger out from the book she’d had open before her, not seeming to care that she’d just lost her place. She still wears her faded pink terrycloth robe, her hair still adorned with curlers, despite the golden sun streaming in through the window.
“Oh,” she says, smiling warmly. “It’s you.” She rises from the gaudy green-upholstered wingback chair she’s always loved to give me a hug.
“Hi, Mama,” I say softly, as though if I speak gently I can make up for the ungraceful entrance. “The monkeys are in the streets.” A little phrase from my youth, the same way I’d greeted her almost for as long as I could speak. I used to be so paranoid about her being abducted by aliens and replaced, so we came up with a way I could be sure it was her. A secret saying, known to just her and me, that we would say as a greeting. The monkeys are in the streets, I’d say. And she’d respond, I’ll go get the zebras. Nonsensical, as every secret code should be. I’d gotten over my silly fear by age 10, but the habit remained, our special little game.
The answering phrase doesn’t come. “Hmm?” She asks, cocking her head. “What are you talking about?”
I close my eyes against the prickling I feel. A brief pause, to collect myself. “Nothing,” I tell her, taking the book from her hand and leading her back to her chair. I glance at it’s cover. A book she read to me growing up. I hand it back to her, and she promptly opens it to a page at random, upside down, as it had been before I’d entered.
A soft knock at the door makes me turn. A nurse stands there in cheerful green scrubs, the same color Mama’s chair might once have been. “I didn’t know you were here,” he tells me as I approach. Mama hums to herself, not noticing me leave.
“I just stopped by to say hello on my lunch break,” I tell him. I don’t look at him, but at the doors we pass as we walk down the hallway. Six on each side, each with their own little world within.
He waits for me to glance at him before he responds. “You mean you came to see if she would remember today.”
I swallow and ignore the prickling in my eyes, pretending he can’t see it. “Yes.”
“She’s doing quite well, all things considered,” he says. “The meds help.”
“That’s good,” I respond. We have this same conversation every time I come, our own secret little game. “I’ll come by again on Saturday.”
He says something in farewell, but I don’t hear him. Sound always seems so distant while I’m in that wretched little building with its hallways lined in doors and nurses in cheerful colors, like I’m listening with ears stuffed with cotton and watching from behind glass. As though it’s not my life I’m living. As though aliens have maybe abducted me to a strange planet, where everything is almost the same, but not quite. But there are no aliens.
No, there are no aliens that abducted my Mama and left someone else in her place, but she’s changed all the same.
|
Bracing myself, I stared straight into the eyes of my nemesis as he charged towards me on his hoverbike, weapon in hand. Timing my actions, I leapt...
... back into my seat in the bus, the truck outside the window missing my head by inches.
"Another happy landing!" Turning around, I notice my friend Jake giving a soft sigh.
"Dude, what's gotten into you? We loved to do this all the time remember? Why aren't you excited too?"
"It's not that I don't like it, it's just that..." Jake muttered, putting aside his book. "We're in high school now, shouldn't we be more.... grown-up or something?"
"Oh come on, not you too." I slump in my seat. "It's literally just another year. What's the difference?" Seriously, I've been getting this so much, I'm starting to get triggered. First my dad, then Ms Applegate, and now Jake? What has gotten into everyone?
The bus stops and Jake prepares to get off. "I guess there isn't any difference if you think about it, but my parents are getting quite strict. If I fail my next test they're gonna ban me from the Xbox." He casts me a gaze that's both longing and frustrated. "Bye Brad, see ya tomorrow."
"It's treason then," I mutter to myself as he leaves.
Walking home from the bus stop, I can't help but wonder why everyone is so serious about this high school thing. It's just another year, for goodness sake. And now I'm not allowed to indulge in stuff that I like. I huff as I swing my imaginary saber at a lamppost. Being grownup is sooooooo boooooooring.
Well at least Mom will still be on my side, I think to myself as I open the front door. She's always been there for me. From comforting me after my nightmares about Sans, to treating my to ice cream after a day out with the neighbourhood kids, Mom has been with me all the way. I walk to the kitchen where I hear her cooking. This is where the fun begins.
"Hello there!" Peering in through the kitchen door, I notice she seems a bit..... different. More slumped, I guess? She doesn't seem to hear me. I move in closer. "Hello there mom!"
My mom and I have this code phrase that we say to each other, to prove that the other person hasn't been replaced by a changeling or something. Every day, I greet her the same way and she replies with the same phrase. But not today.
"Oh hi Brad, didn't see you there. Had a good day?"
My blood turns cold. That's not the correct response. She's never forgotten the phrase, even when she's stressed. How could this be? Unless.....
Mom dries her hands on her apron. Before I can recover from my shock, she speaks first. "Brad, can I talk to you about something? It's very important." I can only nod. What's going on today?
"So I had this talk with Ms Applegate this morning, and she mentioned something about you living in a fantasy world of your own." I open my mouth, but before I say anything she stops me. "Not yet. Look Brad, I know you really like having fun, but don't you think it's time to grow up? You're in high school already. Maybe it's time to start thinking about what you could be in the future, yknow?"
My jaw hits the floor. Oh no. Oh no no no no. I think my mom has been....... replaced!
Seeing my absolute confusion, Mom immediately tries to make amends. "Here, I'll make you a deal. If you stop being so childish, I'll take you to see Episode 9 the day it's released. Is that ok? Come, give mom a hug."
Instantly, I back away. That's the turning point. Mom would never, ever, ever support the sequels. Not in a million years.
"Mom, no! This isn't you! This is the dark side! I see through the lies of the Jedi!" But it is useless. She corners me and prepares to pick me up in a death clench. In my final moments, all I can do is scream.
Not sure what got into me, but I wanted to do a sort of memey piece. Hope yall enjoy.
| 2019-09-30T13:34:30
| 2019-09-30T06:53:54
| 135
| 24
|
[WP] A tragic story but it's laden with product placement
|
You're on the ground, grasping through the dark toward anything that could help you get back upright, but there's nothing. You scream, "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!"
But there's nobody around to hear you. You instinctively grab at your neck and where if you had bought Life Alert for only 19.99, a paramedic would be on his way to save your life right now, but you didn't, like a real idiot. So now, there's only you and me, and I'm not a polite young man here to check up on you, I'm the one who broke into your house and pushed you over.
You shriek as my shoe stomps on your neck, where if you had a Life Alert device, my toe would've activated it and their excellent customer service would've swayed me away from the terrible deed. But you didn't buy it even when you knew that it was on sale last weekend at a reduced price, two Life Alert devices for only 29.99. That's nearly 25% off you stupid fucking bitch.
So my toe presses against your throat. I dangle my personal Life Alert device in front of you as your eyes dim. You see, I had opted for the premium package. For only 4.99 more a month, I get Life Alert Insurance where if I misplace my Life Alert device, they would mail me a new one within the day. Hell, this is my 3rd one that I lost this month, thus making their insurance policy a great deal for those active and on-the-go such as myself.
Your choked gasps slowly dwindle and your arms fall limp beside you. At last, your eyes begin to close.
I bend over so that I could watch the last of your life escape you and I whisper, "Life Alert saves a catastrophe every ten minutes. It took me twenty to break in here and choke you out."
That means you could've been saved twice by now if only you bought Life Alert. And that's not just me saying it because I'm the one killing you, that's simple mathematics. So really ask yourself, is 19.99 really too high of a price to save your life twice over?
Your eyes close and you give me a tiny shake of the head.
That's what I thought, bitch.
---
---
Hope you enjoyed that one! /r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly.
|
The young puppy lay quiet except for the ragged sound of it's struggled breathing. The tire tracks from his Cadillac Escalade covered it's back from head to tail. Daniel sparked another NewPort short. He stepped closer, careful not to crease his blue and black Air Jordan OG Space Jam 9's. "My bad, little guy, I should have never drank all that Captain Morgan. It just goes down so smooth on the open road." He scooped the mangled but miraculously alive little dog into his Adidas Climalite T-Shirt, bloodying the signature stripes. He was going to save this little guy or Coca Cola wasn't better than Pepsi. Daniel took the little guy back to the Extended Stay Hotel he called home for a very reasonable discounted rate of $79 a night. He immediately washed the grime of blood and the road from the torn fur using a Shamwow while watching ESPN. The dog looked at Daniel and Daniel looked back through his polarized Versace glasses. Things were going to be okay.
Two days later, The Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell In A Cell, and plummeted 16 ft through an announcer’s table
| 2017-07-10T21:57:17
| 2017-07-10T20:25:27
| 962
| 619
|
[WP] Humans finally reach the stars and realize that... We've seen all of this before! Galactic Council? Check. Proud warrior race? Check. Hive mind insects? Check. Frightening space boogeymen? Check. Ancient hyper-advanced Race? Check. And so Humanity ventured forth, knowing exactly what to do.
|
What the humans didn't know the Sci-fi Genre is not what prepared them for these scenarios.
The Human Race was not from Earth but on another planet called Hultron. Where most species evolved high intelligence. But had to evacuate the planet after a Galactic Empire Civil War.
So, they sent an emergency spaceship to Ice Age Earth. But it crashed and the passengers went native. after a few generations. Forgetting their technology and living among native Neanderthals.
Generations later an ancestral memory programed into their DNA by Geneticists in case of emergency reactivated. It reactivated when people accidentally reinvented electricity. Causing Science Fiction author to have dream like visions of the past they believed to be speculative ideas of the future.
Human had to rediscover Hultron to fully realize what happened but they had a galaxy of dangers to fight first.
|
The stars then grew inside my view
when from the darkness, light came through
its then I saw what we always knew
Cthulhu's wings were poking through.
And so we sent a shuttle back
to help prepare earth for attack
to gear the children up - in fact -
it's this training where we grew.
We ventured out past Balder's gate
where Andromeda holds eyes at bay
the distance keeps beholder's gaze
from choking out our view.
But when you let beholders free
we know the pain they always bring
controlling nature's dumbest things
like goblins, bees, and crews.
Instead of falling for the trap,
we knew the secret to attack
the space where crews can't venture back
and bring us light to chew.
So when we crushed the eyes in there
we left the creatures in despair,
and sought to help them all repair
the life that they once knew.
Passed those stars is where we went
Until our engines were all spent
we found these insects on our backs
we could not simply cruise.
They sucked the brains from out our eyes
I watched young Winters lose his mind
and Summers lost his legs beside
where six high flying moons reside.
We sent the dead adrift in space
and told the tales of their escape
from life we knew the insects baited
towards the moon where their queen waited.
Phil was mad his son had died,
so its was his mind that we tied
up to the spaceship's smart AI
to keep him in our thrall.
We sent him down to kill the queen
we knew the drones would all be mean
a thousand legs and angry beams
dim darkness in their eyes.
Phil could never let it go
he'd never face his wife at home
until he stole the queen's dark throne
writhing, burned alive.
We made a song for Phil the brave
how in the night he found his ways
to fight the queen's unbroken gaze
full eyes that shown his doom.
Burn it, slice it, set it free,
Uncover what the stars had seen -
show us all of Phil's sweet dreams
of light in dawn or noon.
| 2021-05-12T09:28:01
| 2021-05-12T08:17:04
| 54
| 23
|
[WP] In a world where centuries have passed since the last of humankind were lost to the zombie virus, a pathogen begins to spread, turning zombies back into humans.
|
A pungent, rotten, metallic smell assaulted my nose. It was so strong my god damn eyes watered, and I couldn't even see.
Then the taste swarmed my tongue. Pangs of iron, sulfur and vomit. I clawed desperately, trying to grate my taste buds off to no avail.
Sound followed. Distant screams, squelching and clattering. Footfall all around me, dizzying and overwhelming.
I felt warmth and wetness on my hands, my feet raw and my eyes burned. It was...cold, as well.
My sight returned last, tying it all together. Crumbling, moss-covered buildings, dead bodies and weathered cars littered the earth. The sun burned my eyes unlike anything I'd felt before. As I slowly regained vision, I looked down and saw the mangled body of a child, her blood fresh on my hands.
*What...is this?*
I tried to scream but my throat burned like hell. All I could do was throw up.
*Where am I? How did I get here? Where....where is my family? My friends?*
Memories of the infection hit me all at once. The plague of undead feasting on the living. I looked down at the little girl in front of me, entrails torn out and half-eaten, and cried. The puddle of vomit pooling near me had bits of intestinal tract in it.
I had returned to life, but I was certainly not alive anymore.
|
HOMINI, PRIM A. (b. 2320). The first human. Decedent Removal Technician. Regenerated in the North Western section of the continent, she is widely accepted by scholars of the Continental Zero Period Historical and Reparative Society to be the first re-animated human roaming the decedent cities and zones in the Northwest.
For those interested in her pre-Zero geographical location, evidence suggests the Western coast of the state of Washington, which is one of the 50 states collected under the name the United State of America.
Homini is considered a Class D regeneration, having been restored through biological, autonomous processes. Unlike C, B, and A classes, which are non-biological and non-automotive, the Class D regeneration carries over prior memory. Patients under class D are rare, indeed, only 18 exist in the history of our Post-Zero world, and it is highly likely that had not Homini retained her memory, she would not have possessed the capacity to administer C, B, and occasionally A regenerations (a growing consensus among the provinces finds the term "regeneration" for Class A to be inadequate; "generation" is the preferred replacement) to other decedents.
Homini has regenerated 12,468 decedents on the continent. Seventeen of them were found by Homini in prime geographical locations for Class D regenerations. Today, these 17 individuals serve as the heads of the 17 Provinces of the 12000. Homini currently leads the research field on regeneration. In the next 5 years, Class D regenerations are expected to become commonplace alongside Class A.
| 2016-01-22T00:13:55
| 2016-01-21T22:45:34
| 179
| 51
|
[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.
|
"You guarantee that I will be able to eat it before my execution?" I asked the agent. She nodded in affirmation. "And if you fail, I will be a free man?" I asked with hope. She nodded again.
I smiled, finally relaxed. "I would like to be served my own brain that has been taken from my dead body, all of it--with no part missing, that has never experienced time or dimensional travel, cooked well-done, and served with my smoked liver and heart on the side." I said.
The agent's eyes widened in horror before she brought her phone to her ear and said "We have a problem." before leaving the room.
After a few days she returned and said "You win, we can't grant you your last meal." I smiled "You are free to leave." She said as they opened my cell.
I nodded at her "Thank you." I said politely before setting my feet outside for the first time in what felt like years.
"Oh, and one more thing..." She said to me and I turned back to her "Would you like a job at our organisation? We could use smart people like you."
I shook my head and said "For my own safety, I would rather not know what an organisation that can easily procure dragon eggs or alien steaks is up to."
As I left, I heard her mutter under her breath "Smart indeed."
|
“A peanut butter and jelly sandwich please, the way my sister used to make it. I’m honestly pretty screwed regardless so… might as well have a slice of home, y’know?”
The guard looked at me and he looked… understanding. I can’t believe I got a genuine reaction from the guy other than “SHUT UP INMATE!” but honestly I’ll take this over that anyday. “Heh, alright then. We’ll get in contact with your sister and have her teach us the recipe, we’ll make it as perfect as possible. You don’t mind waiting a few hours, right?”
I shrug, it’s not like I had long anyways so might as well enjoy whatever amount of time I had left. I took a deep breath as I leaned back against the flat cushions that lay atop my rusty bed; I think I’ve got time for one last nap…
I found myself woken up to the sound of a rusty prison door sliding open, one of the guards behind the now-agape passageway as a bright ray of sunlight made its way past his shoulders and onto my face.
“You’re free to go. Head on over to the entrance hall and we’ll hand you back your stuff.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I- uh- huh?” I couldn’t believe it, hell I was kind of… disappointed. I sauntered over to collect all my old junk (it had been so long that my shirt didn’t even fit me anymore) but… I didn’t want to walk through those doors to the outside world.
It took me a good few minutes but through some asking around I was able to find the guy who was in charge of taking my order. I found him filling out paper work in a little office, the moment he saw my confused face walk through the door his freckled cheeks turned a beet red, hunching down towards his work even more in an attempt to cover his face.
“Okay why’d… why am I out? Was there any issues getting in contact with ny sister?”
“No… no your sister was willing to comply, begrudgingly I might add but willing.”
“O…kay? Was her secret recipe too hard?”
“Nope. All it was was a small bit of melted white chocolate in between the PB and the J, we even got you a glass of milk.”
“Then why in the world an I out? I… I should actually be dead right now! Firing squad! Hanging! The chair, whatever! How am I standing in front of you at this very moment?”
The man looked up, he had a pursed smile on his face. He didn’t look mad, sorrowful, or… anything, just embarrassed, like he misplaced an assignment or something. It took hin a second to gather his barings, but once he did, he looked me dead in the eyes with the most serious expression a tomato red fat head could make, and said the six words that let me live another day…
“We ran out of peanut butter.”
| 2022-07-17T21:30:21
| 2022-07-17T20:36:22
| 15
| 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.
|
Dear self, I hate you. I hate what we've become. When did we change, when did we grow so old and angry, and when did we decide to be alone? I know that we did not always act like this. I know we used to laugh, and let other people get close. Remember when we had so many friends? remember when we go to other people's houses and just hang out. Everything was so easy then. Why is it so hard now? I want you to know that I miss you. The way you used to be, the way we could be again, maybe. I want you to know that I need more. I need to make a change. I want to be different. I won't be like you anymore. Yours always, you.
|
Hey Em,
I'd love to say I've changed, I'm new, brag about things I've done. I'd love to say I've grown.
But you, with your disarming blue eyes, somehow always knew. You always knew when I was making things up, when I was caught in little white lies. You'd encourage some.
And I'd love to say how different I am, from when we last saw each other five years ago. We were excited when we met, we were kids; when we last saw each other, we were adults, we had grown, but we were still ourselves. But you never cared about words.
You cared about actions. You cared about us, about people, about how the coolest kids at the bus stop were still kids, waiting at a bus stop. My record shows I was the one with the loud mouth, insecure, but always willing to stick by anyone down on their luck.
After I left...after I went soul-searching, I took your advice to heart. I stopped saying how good I was, or how I changed. I showed it, from 2010 through today. I never did it for my ego. I never did it for pride.
I did it after some kids walked into my life, told me I was a jackass, and helped me change. I did it for the cool kids... the ones I cut ties with.
So...please. Let's meet up, chat about the old times, and see where things go. Let's let the chips fall where they may.
-M
| 2017-11-05T19:56:15
| 2017-11-05T19:02:54
| 799
| 55
|
[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 saw a haunted girl walk past me. She used to be famous. Something about her scares me but I force myself to pay attention to my mother like a good girl.
"You start off small, but then they help you get better and better," my mother tells me.
She leans in close, the smoke from her methol cigarette wafting around me.
"You have to get them to trust you."
She hugs me. "And you'll do it honey. You're very professional."
I smile at her. This is the best day of my life.
******
I have a regular role on a Disney channel show now. It's nice. The people are wonderful. They help me so much. They tell me I'm professional and talented. They tell me I will go far. I smilc and thank them. I know I am. I'm driven.
********
Sometimes the whole day passes and I'm working - on the show, networking, interviews... Smile, smile, smile. Fight, fight, fight. :-)
******
They fuss over my hair. I stay still professionaly.
I'm working my way up rhe ladder. I had my first music video today. It was nice. The song they gave me to sing was nice. It resonated with me. They tell me I have talent. "You're so nice," they tell me, "keep that attitude and you'll go far."
I smile at them and say thank you.
******
Nearly there. I've joined the right charity now.
It was a tough selection, but I think rhinos will put me over. Ryan thinks so. He's one of my friends. I've lots now. My social pool is developing. It's easy - everyone wants to be my friend. They tell me I'm an inspiration and that I've come so far. I nod my head and smile. I know I have. I like partying. It's fine.
*******
Finally did my 'hot' makeover. My handlers delayed it as long as they could. They didn't want to fire off that bullet too early. That can cause problems. I like the new me. I can hide in her.
******
I'm the new girl, the next one in the cycle. I'm goin to be famous.
I dont want to be.
| 2014-08-04T07:31:04
| 2014-08-04T06:05:49
| 118
| 25
|
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again."
|
Second day. I arrive. I lose fast and hard. The dragon left me another on my arm, just above the first. Just deep enough to scar.
Third day. I arrive. I lose. I get cut.
Fifth day. I arrive. I lose. He cuts across the first four to make five.
Tenth day. I arrive. I lose but it takes only a few seconds longer. He smiles before giving me my second set.
One hundredth day. I arrive. I lose but I parried his first thrust. Im getting faster but slowly, my muscles are starting to tone but slowly. My face is hard and starting to sprout hairs.
One hundredth and seventy fourth day. I arrive. I lose but have now successfully parried two thrusts in a single bout. He laughed when he gave me my cut. I find my usual diet isn't enough to sustain this, I hunt bigger game and eat ravenously.
Three hundred and sixty fifth day. I am lean, strong and sharp and have managed to stretch each bout to three minutes in length. My muscles don't want to grow bigger. He raised his brow and uttered his first words in a year "You're slow." I must think on what he means. Has it been a year already.
Five hundredth and twelth day. The clan just came back from the winter migration, I barely noticed they left. I focused on explosive speed and endurance. My weapon proved slow so I changed it. A slim needle looking blade from his hoard. This new style increased the bout length by three minutes. He said "much better." Before giving my first cut on my chest. The arm was full.
Seven hundredth and thirty eighth day. The bouts are long and brutal, I barely notice time passing when we fight and each strike is like a dance. He is starting to smile from ear to ear each time I arrive. His cuts now cover my chest as well. I find myself wondering about other things, life, gods, meaning. I medidated for the first time tonight.
Nine hundredth day. The blade snapped mid bout. He took his dragon form and nearly engulfed me in an inferno in his anger. A sharp reminder he could end me with a breath. Once he was calm he ordered me to return tomorrow. He didn't cut me.
One thousandth one hundred and sixty fourth day. My fourth birthday since being sent here. The blade he gave as a replacement is emaculate, ripples in the metal unlike anything the bronze of my clan was capable of making. Black as sin. I bowed as usual before the bout, he did a strange salute with his own blade and returned the gesture. I repeated it back to him. I lost in 24 mins. My upper body is covered. This generous being was beyond my understanding. I refuse to believe I am merely entertainment.
One thousandth three hundred and fifty second day. Three days ago, I nearly had him, he slipped on some moisture in the cave and I ducked low to try and nick his wrist. He lost his reserve and nearly cut me in half with a swing so fast I couldn't see. As I thought death would claim me, he cursed at himself and with a flick of his wrist my wounds healed. I look at him in confusion, he simply stated "I will not win based on unearned strength" and left it at that. Today, he let me eat with him and we talked. He heard my story and I heard his but it seemed so.... insignificant now.
One thousandth eight hundred and ninety-ninth day. Yesterday, I did it. I arrived at dawn, we fought to a stand still but kept fighting, our blades sang. The air itself seemed to be my only restraint, it felt thick to move through as my body trembled and roared with adrenaline. He lost to a counter riposte I had been baiting him into for an hour, he was shocked for a short moment but roared in cheer and laughter before his sword even hit the ground.
I collapsed for a second and felt faint. He knelt, put his hand on my shoulder and smiled saying, "You are strong. Go home." I emerged from the cave and saw my tribe in the distance, the sun was setting.
Today I shaved, cut my long hair and donned the tunic and leather armour I had made in my time not spent fighting. I took my sword and walked into the alien yet familiar camp.
The chief who had exiled me was dead, his son greeted me no better than he had. A great hulking brute, spitting insults and accusations. To the side, my father and mother, they were cautious but they were speechless once they seemed to recognise me.
He told me to leave, I refused. He raised his ugly axe above his head and then he just sort of.... stopped. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum but everything was moving so slow it was basically still. Were things always this sluggish.
Before his axe had hit the top of his arc, my blade had been drawn, cut through his throat, cleaned and sheathed. The timing was such that his lose of grip sent the axe flying backwards.
The camp was silent. The weight of expectations lifted from me like a river finally collapsing a mighty dam. But, whos? I felt no loyalty to these people who had cast me out.
As the chiefs body finally hit the ground, I noticed feint wing beats in the distance, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
God speed master, thank you.
|
“Once again our crops burn, even as we speak we wait for their flames to be doused. Last year was a travesty, but a surplus in stock gave us ample time to slay the beast yet here I stand with bellows of smoke in my eyes to a crumbling kingdom! Once a great nation, its citizens the wealthiest in the land of Astharnia, a haven of hope for those that dreamed of it. Now? Look at our once great city, its buildings crumbling and its shops barren of produce. All for one, individual, single beast. WHY, I must ask, Garlot, is the beast still alive? Why does it STILL rule over us with an iron wing? I thought I sent my armies to defeat it? Are you telling me the best men in all of Astharnia are not enough to take down 1 foul, ugly beast?” I looked at my brother, Prince Garlot of Hayle and watched as a bead of sweat draped down his cheek. He muttered some excuse, something about betrayal, a garrison run amok, the dragon, a beast so humongous it rivalled the size of the very mountain it resided in.
“- as we slept, my King.” The king looked at Garlot with deep drilling bores, silence washed over the room like the shadow of a dragons wing.
“As. You. Slept?” The king retorted, Garlot gulped, he had never been scrutinized so much in his life. He was their top general, the kings son, born to lead. Since the moment he could grasp a sword he had trained with it from dusk till dawn, by the time he was old enough to walk a mile he had lead an expedition over the very mountain the dragon resided in and taken back a village belonging to the kingdom of Hayle. Many more successful marches came after that, many other kingdoms attempted to lay claim to Hayle, to cripple it. None came close, not with Garlot under the kings behest.
Then there was me, the princess of Hayle, daughter of King Ardon, though that name did not do me any favours, quite the opposite in fact. Only a meagre 3 years younger than Garlot I had been tasked with house chores, since the moment I could grasp a mop I had mopped with it from dusk till dawn, by the time I was old enough to use the stairs I had carried a bucket of water up them and cleaned the floors of the upstairs. Many more successful chores came after that, I made my maid proud, she congratulated me at every corner, I was a star, the best of the best, I could clean the palace kitchen in under an hour, a feat not known to any man or woman before me. None came close, not with me under the kings behest.
“Yes, my King.” Garlot replied, his voice almost cracking, his teenage years were almost over yet his voice threatened to challenge his manly pride with an ever-emasculating shriek.
“What?” The king responded in disbelief, “Are you trying to tell me the men under YOUR command fell asleep on the job? That they were not quick enough to sound the alarm? That they couldn’t distinguish a giant flying pigeon in the sky and ring the bells of battle!?”
“My… my king, it is not as easy as… it… it is black as the night. Its wings so big its beat distinguishes the flames of the torches. The… my men were taken unaware. By the time I awoke half the… half the garrison was alight, not one bell had chimed.”
“My King.” The king commanded my brother to say.
“I… I’m sorry, my King. After that he… she… it moved to our fields, and just as we were prepared it had already burned our lands to black and flew back to its nest, it was over in a matter of seconds… this beast its… it’s too powerful my King, we MUST send for help. Right now it is just toying with us, the moment it gets bored, there will be no more toying, just death… my King.” Garlot stared through his fathers eyes, his thoughts with the grim future.
“Send more help!? HA! We are the kingdom of Hayle! Undefeated for centuries! Perhaps even millennia! We have provided for ourselves since the day the kingdom was founded, not ONCE have we asked for help, it would be utter humiliation and defeat should I do such a … weak move.” My father stood out of his seat at the idea of such a pitiful idea and almost spat on my brothers face, who stood more than 6 feet away.
“Once they see what we are up against they will understand my king, this dragon is… not normal my king.”
“Not normal?” The king asked.
“Yes, it is smart, it knows what we are trying to do. It knows how to bring us to our knees. Every time we launch an assault it leaves its home and destroys half our men, like a warning… I fear for no resolution. Except that of asking our close neighbours for…”
“NEVER! I will NOT repeat myself again! We will NOT be asking for help! From anyone! NEVER!” The kings voice boomed through the king’s chambers. People at the back stood uneasy, fearing that his voice will somehow hurt them. “You say this thing only attacks when we do? What happens if we do nothing?” He asked. Before Garlot could answer the king started to cough profusely before holding a handkerchief to his mouth, he looked at it with a grumbling grimace before quickly tucking it back into his pocket. We all knew it had blood on it, we all looked concerned but not enough to press him about it. We knew better than that, my brother on the other hand… he showed no change in emotion, his facial expressions remained emotionless.
“Nothing? My king?” Garlot asked eventually. “Then it will continue free reign over our crops, just as it did to prompt our retaliation, to do nothing is not an answer my king.” The king sat on his throne, brooding over what appeared to be a tricky situation.
“We send someone.” He said with a calm but commanding voice. “We send someone to it’s lair, quiet as a mouse, find where the foul beast slumbers and they drive a sword into its head. An army makes too much noise, if we cannot do this the honourable way then perhaps we have to resort to more… dishonourable tactics.”
I watched for a moment as my brother contemplated his new orders, send someone to drive a sword into its skull as it slept. Not the bravest move she knew but if it meant her people stopped dropping dead on the street corners then it was enough.
“A good command my king,” Garlot said after contemplation, “Whom should I send?” He asked, he expected no specific individual to be requested by the king but he asked nonetheless, out of politeness.
“I will go.” I spoke, no, I shouted. The whole room gasped, nobody expected me to say that, nobody expected me to say *anything*. I would usually stay in the corner, hidden from more ‘important’ eyes and keep my mouth shut, only there as a formality. Garlot looked at me with a slight turn of his head, his focus still on our father.
“*You?*” He said with disgust. “You’re a girl, what could *you* hope to do to a dragon that an army of Hayle could not accomplish?”
| 2020-12-01T10:42:41
| 2020-12-01T06:36:28
| 29
| 10
|
[WP] Aliens take over the Earth. They then announce that they will be forcing the humans to work a "tyrannical" 4 hours a day 4 days a week in exchange for basic rights like housing. Needless to say they are very confused when the humans celebrate their new alien overlords.
|
"I was homeless, you idiot! I was trash on the side of the street that you walked by without even seeing! Now I have a job, I have a house - a home! You cannot even begin to imagine what that word means to me."
The recruiter on my doorstep with the 'Freedom Now' hat, and a fistful of pamphlets had no idea how to respond. I slammed the door in his stupid face, and started to get ready for work.
The lube, the gimp suit, the various toys and fluid containers, check. All good.
I sighed. Don't get me wrong, I love my home. MY. HOME.
But some days the only thing that gets me through my shift is a profound gratitude that I do not understand the alien words they whisper in my ears as I get worked.
|
It wasn’t until a hush came over the crowd that one lone voice could be heard.
“By “tyrannical” 4 hours, do you mean Earth hours?” Queried the tentative voice.
“No, it means 4 hour “Tyranic” hours. On our home planet there are a total of 5 hours to a day. You will work 4/5 of the day. Do you understand hooman?” Came the snide reply.
Moans if disagreement rolled through the crowd. Someone meekly asked, “So there’s 5days a week on Tyranic?”
The aliens strange cacophony was meant as laughter, ”No, just 4.”
“What happens if we can’t keep that pace?” a woman gasped.
“Then you will be our food,” came the reply with hissing syllables and a greedy, toothy smile.
| 2022-11-02T23:57:17
| 2022-11-02T22:30:55
| 129
| 93
|
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why.
|
Pt 1 of 2:
Spellwork is like math, and I think that’s why I understood it so well, took to it so quickly.
My proficiency with math was one of the reasons my parents had enrolled me at Rockford Academy for high school, a boarding school for girls. I’d gotten a full ride, of course, the only way we could afford it. At fourteen, I was already proficient with calculus. I wasn’t Ramanujan or anything, but math just made sense to me, and I felt that there were barely any limits to what it could do. The only limit was our ability to find the answers, or in some cases, just ask the right questions.
My witchcraft class was fascinating and drew me in immediately in much the same way. It was slightly more advanced than a class you’d take in a public school and much more competently taught. My teacher, Mrs. Bailey, had been doing this for a long time and she was good at it. You can always tell those kinds of teachers. Not necessarily the ones who love their job, but the ones who are good at it and *like* being good at it.
The assignment to create a spell was much like a math teacher telling her students to come up with a complex math problem. It could say quite a bit about the student, I realized, and that made me curious. But it also challenged me. It made me dig deep into my head, to think creatively and build something from the ground up.
When it comes to simple spells, the ones we all finally get to learn once we’ve advanced past diction and history and sigil calligraphy, it’s a matter of ‘wand, wave, and word’, as they say. The real spells, the complex ones that can create or destroy, that can conjure or dissipate, those intrigued me. Of course, I didn’t want to try to conjure something from the Otherworld or anything, but Mrs. Bailey hadn’t given us any restrictions. Just, “Create a spell.”
Part of me knew she didn’t expect much. Most of the students would be grasping at straws, all creating something because they needed to, but I enjoyed this work. I stayed up late on Friday and Saturday night just thinking. Considering the herbs available, the words that would come to my tongue, but most important, what I wanted to accomplish with the spell and how to design it.
Creating a spell needs to be a balance between specific and ambiguous, but in the way a sculpture is created. When Michelangelo sculpted the David, he knew what he was looking to create, the man a picture in his mind, and that’s how a spell works. So, when I sculpted and formed and chiseled the spell in my own mind, I went about the same sort of route he’d taken. As the saying goes, sculpting is easy; you just chip away at anything that isn’t the sculpture.
Mrs. Bailey was curious at what we would come up with, it seemed. Enough so that, when Monday came, she had us form a line and took a glance over our papers before putting them down in the pile on her desk. A few butterflies of excitement fluttered in my stomach, hoping she would think mine was something special, something worthwhile, the same way a math teacher would appreciate a good, complex math problem.
And I handed it over. And her eyes slid down the page, taking in every bit of what I’d written. Midway through, I saw her eyes flick toward me, holding an emotion I couldn’t decipher. But by the end of the page, it was blatant: she was horrified.
“Mrs. Bailey?” I whispered, a sinking feeling replacing the butterflies. “Did I do something wrong?”
Swallowing hard, the woman pushed the emotion from her face as quickly as she could, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed by me, much less by my classmates. “Emma, I’d like to speak to you about this,” she said quietly, her eyes still on the page. After another heavy moment, she finally looked up, glancing to the rest of the class lined up behind me. “Everyone, please put your assignments on the desk. I’ll be right back.”
The teacher met my gaze and jerked her head subtly but definitively: I was to follow her.
I did so, my hands clasped and anxiously fidgeting as I tried to keep up with her quick pace down the hall. To my surprise, we stopped at another classroom, and I noticed the teacher’s name on the door, Mrs. Kendall. Mrs. Bailey didn’t hesitate before opening the door, interrupting the woman’s lecture almost mid-word. “My deepest apologies, but I need to borrow you for a minute,” she said.
Mrs. Kendall’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she turned to her class. “Excuse me,” she said, turning and leaving, shutting the door behind her. “What’s this about?”
“I have something you need to see,” Mrs. Bailey said, her voice tight but hiding any emotion that might still be hiding beneath the surface.
I couldn’t help but speak up. “I’m sorry, I’m really confused, I just tried to-”
“Just-” Mrs. Bailey cut me off with a raised hand. I saw something in her eyes at that point, bordering on anger but not quite, something more akin to fear. I shut my mouth and averted my gaze but couldn’t help looking to Mrs. Kendall’s face when she took a look at my assignment.
She didn’t have the same progression of emotions as Mrs. Bailey, but the end result was somewhere between confusion and anger. “What is this?” she murmured, her eyes still scanning and rescanning the page.
I remained quiet, guessing that she wasn’t asking me, and Mrs. Bailey replied. “I told the students…to create a spell.”
“And she created *this*?” Mrs. Kendall asked, meeting the woman’s gaze as if I wasn’t even there. She nodded sharply. “Where did you learn to do this?” she asked, turning to me.
|
I got it online, the spell, a sequence of logographic runes that looked complicated enough, with a few logograms I recognized as conjunctions, so there were at least a few clauses, but not so complicated that my professor would suspect I'd stolen it. From my stolen peeks at other student's scrolls, it was of similar length and grammatical structure to everyone else's spells, but where he glanced at the other's scrolls and waved them away, he asked me to stand in front of his desk while he read mine.
He squinted at my scroll through the lower half of his bifocals and shook his head to refocus a few times before it finally signified. His posture decayed, his shoulders relaxing and rolling in, his upper back bending forward into a slouch, his whole body leaning into his chair's armrests. When the chair started to spin, he tried to stabilize himself with the desk, but his grip was weak. The rest of the class had by then quieted and were staring at our professor splayed out on the floor with the shoulders of his suit coat almost swallowing his head. Because others stood and walked closer, I had an opportunity to recede to the crowd's rear. I did not know if anyone noticed that it was my spell he read.
Someone else, not me, because I didn't do anything and just tried to be small and unnoticeable, fetched Professor Greeves. She herded us into the corner of the room and paced toward the face-down scroll, right next to the body. Through thick purple-tinted glasses, she read the spell and muttered under her breath about the gods and may they have mercy on someone. She asked all of us, "Who turned it in?"
I looked around at every face. All of them faced forward; I was the only one looking around. No one said anything, and I was grateful.
She began to call out numbers. At the top of the scroll I handed in, I wrote the number 24, as in student number 24. As she counted and the students identified themselves, I realized there was no way out. Professor Reeves knew better than to ask for 24. By asking for everyone else, she was going to surround me, and when I was surrounded they would seize me, and when I was seized they would take me, and where they would take me...
I hopped on a desk and leapt across the room for her purple glasses. I ripped them off her face and turned the scroll toward her. I held her eyelids open so she had to read it. She became limp.
There were the other students to take care of. I could not understand the spell as written, which may be why I was immune to it, but I could pronounce the symbols. I inhaled from my diaphragm and pushed out from it, delivering a full-throated incantation into the room, flooding it with the spell. But only half of the class, the better students, fell to the ground. The others remained. The younger boy with braces fixed his eyes on me as he paced, stepping carefully over the bodies of our classmates, toward the fire alarm, then pulled it.
When security arrived, our professor grumbled to them. He struggled himself up from the floor, surveyed the room, and started massaging his temples. It was not, as I feared, a murder spell. Just a knockout one. They expelled me anyway, obviously.
| 2021-04-01T20:14:40
| 2021-04-01T19:01:18
| 958
| 132
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
"That thing will give you cancer," the man in the advertisement said with a smug grin. Jake moved on. He was use to it at this point. Anyways Nothing could top that time, nearly two years ago, when the President herself had mentioned him in the state of the union, highlighting the near perfect success of the anti-smoking campaign.
Jake had gotten use to it by now. It actually had some benefits. On the one hand, he was a pariah of sorts. People looked on at him with disgust. They asked him if he knew how bad the habit was, as if the increasingly personal advertisements or the constant protestors outside his house had not already given him that impression. But he didn't really care. He had grown use to the life of an outcast, but it wasn't all bad. He had no problem finding women to date, though usually that only lasted for as long as they were trying to piss off their parents, but he didn't care. There was always another.
It even helped him make friends in some circles. Sure they would never smoke with him, but they respected him. He'd get invited to conferences and even spoke at the UN once, a symbol of the freedom he represented in his country. They would never ban smoking, take away his freedom, but so to were they free to shame him. He didn't mind though. And in a way, even as they shamed him, they appreciated him. He Was a lone holdout in a world that became less familiar with each passing moment. He was an ever present, if stinky, reminder of when things didn't move so fast, when people didn't know so much, when mistakes were tolerated. Now everything changed so much. Technology has transformed the world in to a sort of utopia, and though life was undeniably better, it was less interesting, less challenging. Change became the norm. Jake was a reminder of an older time when people were more individualistic, more interesting. And so while they urged him to conform, he was confident they were happy that he didn't.
"No one wants to marry a smoker Jake," the billboard spoke to him.
"Yeah well a smoker doesn't want to marry," he shot back. An annoying laugh shot out from behind him. He turned around to see a young man, no more than twenty, smiling at him.
"They said you were funny," the man quipped. "You'd have to have a sense of humor to carry on with those Death sticks."
Jake was use to this. They'd make a comment and then usually move on, satisfied that they had said their peace. But this young man lingered. Jake could tell he wanted to leave, his mind was ordering his feet to move but his feet refused to yield. Something held him there.
Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the cigarettes he had rolled earlier that day. He offered it to the man, something he had done a thousand times before, a small and expected act of defiance, typical of these exchanges. But this time was different. He saw it in the mans eyes as soon as he offered it. That look of excitement that seemed not to exist anymore in this world of ease and plenty.
"Sure," The man said and extended his hand.
|
George Barnes got out of his truck and headed back to his plantation. Family reunions were never easy, and this one had been the smallest number he'd ever seen. People were afraid. His family, his whole people, his way of life; gone.
George walked up the path to his small crop. The plants were already getting huge: broad, almost tropical leaves swaying in the mountain breeze. It wouldn't be too long until harvest time. He was glad; this year's gardens had been nerve-wracking. He'd always known that the white people intended to destroy his family, and end the issue of American ownership once and for all, but he never thought he'd actually live to see the day.
At the edge of the garden, he kicked off his sandals and paused a moment to lay a small amount of tobacco on the rock in the southeast corner. It was always gone. Maybe birds were eating it. Maybe it was the wind. It didn't matter.
He walked through his garden, talking to his plants, commenting on how big they were getting and how thankful he was for them. They looked okay. No watering today.
He drew up a seat on his customary log and reflected on his weekend's activities. His remaining family was scared. Nobody would smoke with him. Tobacco was too precious for yourself, now, they'd said. It can only be used in bundles, and even that was risky. They were torn and tormented: nobody wanted to completely break from tradition, but nobody wanted to get caught. The New Americanism demanded cultural assimilation. Most of the family didn't even want to risk the family gathering. Between the ads and the news, it was enough to make anybody stay home.
Now this, he thought. After all we've been through: the disease, the stolen land, the broken promises, the destruction of all that is good in the world - now this. We were too afraid as a people to *be* a people anymore. He smoked a bowl.
The tobacco coursing through his veins, he felt strong again, uncertain of the future but determined. He was unbreakable. Let things fall. As long as he was alive, his people's ways would not end. They would not. He got back in the truck and headed back towards town.
The realization of responsibility overwhelmed him sometimes. He turned on the radio for a moment; the news was on. A 1989 Honda Civic had been caught on a back road downstate, headed to a former reserve town with a trunk full of tobacco. George knew him. He was the other guy.
The news ended and the ad for the UnAmerican Activities Hotline came on. George lingered, and turned the radio off. He wondered if his friend would mention him by name. It didn't matter. He was the last one, now. He drove on.
| 2017-02-17T13:04:33
| 2017-02-17T12:05:48
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] "Whose there?!" He yelled. He shot the bullets aimlessly into the dark. "So where are you?!" He screams, spinning around and seeing nobody. "I hear you, show yourself!" ... Are you talking to me? "Yes!" He screamed into the sky, not realising that for the first time, he could hear a narrator.
[deleted]
|
[Poem] - The Fight
Jo fired and fired, but not a single bullet would hit.
He had no target, else they’d have surely been lit,
“What do you mean no target? Show yourself!”
He shouted, speaking to no one but himself.
“I’m not speaking to no one,” he cried out,
“I’m speaking to you!” He said with a shout.
And so he reloaded his gun, ready to fire,
“I’m warning you,” he said with a hint of ire.
Upon seeing his efforts were fruitless, he sighed,
“Fine you creepy stalker, you win” he cried.
“But I have to ask you, why the poetry?”
He stated this, finally showing a hint of gallantry.
“Okay, so you’re trying to rhyme with what I say,”
He thought, clearly mad and losing his way,
“But if I make it harder to rhyme, will you leave?”
He spoke, wanting so badly to believe.
“You’re getting angry over this now, I can tell,”
He said, his crazy showing he was already halfway to hell.
“Your rhymes are getting worse. What if I could stump you?”
But against an invincible force, what could this man do?
“Orange.”
Oh screw off!
|
“Please do stop shooting. It’s very loud, you know, and I can barely hear myself think.”
Martin held his gun to the sky with trembling hands.
“No one comes into my house! I’ll shoot your ———!”
A loud beeping noise covered the expletive, drowning out the word no matter how loudly Martin screamed.
“Sir!” the voice scolded. “I’m surprised at you! There are children in the vicinity! You could expose them to such hurtful language.”
“———— YOU! YOU SON OF A —————! I’LL ————ING BLOW YOU TO THE ————HOLE YOU CAME FROM!”
The voice continued, speaking a little more softly than before.
“I’m sorry, sir, I really am. Please, don’t yell at me anymore. I’ll be the greatest narrator to you. I’ll be silent during the dramatic parts, I’ll give you advice, I’ll cooperate to the best of my ability.”
Martin looked at the sky, where the voice seemed to be coming from.
“Narrator? You must be one of those sick ————s that like to peek into windows and steal people’s ————. Ugh, can you stop that ————ing beeping?”
“I don’t believe you understand, sir. I am your new narrator, for you have great journeys ahead! What shall it be? An adventure with a romantic twist? A horror in need of commentary? Perhaps a tale of morals? Which do you desire? Any and all-”
“Okay, I’ll play your...game,” Martin said slowly, trying to keep himself from cussing. “I don’t have anything going on right now. Nothing for you to narrate. How about you take the night off? Go...do whatever it is narrators do.”
“The night off? Oh, what a wonderful master I have! I shall be productive, sir, and make a smorgasbord of adventures for us to take!”
“Yeah...right.”
After a few moments of silence, Martin rolled his eyes and went back into the house. This had to be the most annoying dream he had ever had.
***
“Sir, you have no idea how impatient I’ve been! You must forgive me, but I was so very excited. When I finish this pencil stroke, you will have six hundred and twelve new stories to choose from!”
Martin opened his eyes, looking around blearily.
“Ugh, this ————ing...FREAKING dream again.”
“Ah, new idea! A dream sequence gone horribly wrong! However, people won’t know until the end, causing them to question the entire adventure, then scrapping all of those ideas because, of course, anything can happen in a dream!”
“Hey, new idea...get out of my house or I’ll make you look like Swiss cheese!”
“Wonderful threat, sir! Are you in a bootlegger mood? Or perhaps a spy thriller? Western? Shoot ‘em up?”
Martin got up quickly, putting on the clothes he wore the night before.
“Where are we going, sir?”
“Anywhere you aren’t,” Martin seethed. “If I run fast enough, I can get away.”
“Did I do a bad job, sir?”
Martin ignored the question. He didn’t even bother to put on his shoes as he sped out the door. The cold November air stung his still sleepy lungs, and his socks became covered in mud after just a few steps. Despite this, Martin kept running. After fifteen minutes of huffing and puffing down a winding trail, he was sure that he lost his ‘narrator.’
“Hah!” Martin cried, trying desperately to catch his breath so he could say something more witty.
“The heroic laugh needs a little less sardonic intent, while the evil laughter needs to come from the diaphragm. Either way, with all due respect, it needs a little work.”
“GOD————IT!”
“It is only constructive criticism, sir.”
Martin went to his knees, feeling close to crying. “How...is it possible? You’re...not even...out of...breath!”
The voice laughed good-naturedly. “I don’t need to run! I follow you everywhere, you see. Sometimes I wish I had legs...then I could go wherever I wanted.”
“Why don’t you?! Just go away and leave me alone!”
“Am I...am I fired, sir?”
“YES! You are fired! Shoo! Get out of here!”
“But-”
“NOW, YOU PIECE OF ————! AND TAKE THAT ————ING BEEPING WITH YOU!”
The sky suddenly became gray with clouds, and soft sniffling could be heard; and as the first raindrop hit the ground, Martin could hear barely hidden sobs over the sprinkling. He put his hoodie over his head and walked back toward his house, mumbling curses that were, unfortunately, not drowned out in any way.
The rain grew heavier and the weeping grew louder, with every hiccup a low rumble of thunder. It wasn’t dramatic or wanting for attention in any way; the sound was simply a miserable, ongoing sound that quietly blanketed the scene. After an hour, Martin finally made it back home. As he slammed the door behind him, the rain quickly grew to a torrent, a tempest of emotion that accompanied the muffled sobbing of the voice.
“SHUT UP!” Martin yelled over the rain hitting his roof. “You can find another guy, can’t you? Somebody a lot more interesting?”
The cries continued, getting more and more sorrowful by the minute, more and more hysterical. The rain became so loud that it covered up any other noise, even Martin himself.
“WHY ARE YOU CRYING? YOU’RE A GROWN MAN! YOU CAN’T JUST CRY TO GET WHAT YOU WANT, ‘CAUSE THEN YOU WON’T GET ANYTHING! YOU SPOILED BRAT! YOU...YOU PUNK! SHUT UP, I CAN BARELY EVEN THINK STRAIGHT!”
After a while, the crying became held back again, the voice barely holding on to his composure.
“I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t mean to be e-entitled. You just...hurt m-me, sir. Q-Quite a bit.”
Martin looked up, grateful that the noise stopped.
“Well, that’s what happens when you walk into somebody’s house like you own the place...er, *speak* like you own the place.”
“Y-you mean I sh-should do that to you, s-sir?”
“Huh?”
“You sp-spoke to me like you owned m-me,” the voice sniveled, “but y-you don’t. Th-that is trespassing. So I should just y-yell at you and s-scream at you and m-make you feel like garbage?”
Martin opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t even think about that. The voice grew more confident.
“A-and I didn’t even d-do it on purpose, s-sir. I was g-given to you as a s-service, not an o-object. You a-are a special person who *n-needs* a narrator. I was *a-assigned* to you. I d-don’t know a lot, but I know that k-kindness should be met with kindness, and insults should be met with understanding. You have given me neither.”
“I...but you...” Martin sputtered, his ears getting hot.
“And if you wanted privacy, all you had to was ask. If you had a concern, you just had to voice it to me.”
“But...you just...and I...”
“Yes?”
Martin sighed. “I got scared. Real scared. You’re kind of weird, y’know? People don’t hear narrators, so I kinda thought...I was going crazy or something.”
“You are not. But thank you for using your words. And I am sorry for getting so upset. I shouldn’t have been so desperate for your company. I should have respected your personal space.”
“You sound kinda like a shrink or something.”
“When all you have is your voice, you must be able to use it to your advantage. I have a master’s and a doctoral degree, so, technically, I could be a therapist. I am fully qualified.”
Martin and the narrator sat in silence for a bit watching the last of the rain fall, then stop entirely.
“I gotta plan.”
“Go on.”
“How about we do one adventure a week, all day. Two during the summer when I don’t have school. We can talk, but not in public, not in the bathroom or shower, or when I have dates. Just emergencies. And *no more bleeping out words!* That’s gonna drive me nuts!”
“I shall agree to those rules, but you must cut down your swearing AND help me write the plots occasionally. Of course, you have full reign over which plots we pick.”
Martin hesitated for a moment, but then nodded his head. “Cool. It’s a deal.”
“Ditto, sir.”
“Martin.”
“Sir Martin?”
“Eh, okay, fine. Kinda sounds bad a- I mean, it sounds like a cool name.”
“You’re learning. I cannot wait to go on our first adventure, Sir Martin.”
Martin smiled. You know what, if he was going insane, then maybe being sick in the head wasn’t all that bad.
| 2019-11-24T20:12:55
| 2019-11-24T19:22:05
| 109
| 35
|
[WP] A man orders a "cheese pizza with no crust" from a local pizza delivery joint as a joke. Unbeknownst to him, that pizza joint is a drug front and he just placed an order for a kilo of cocaine.
EDIT: I just want to say thanks to all of the writers. I'm having a lot of fun reading all the different perspectives and spins on the concept! Hopefully no one feels late to the party; if you write it I'll read it!
EDIT2: TIL prices in the cocaine market can be very erratic...
|
"Hi, I'd like to place an order for delivery."
The four college-aged men assorted in my living room giggled in the background, stoned, as I began to speak to the pizzeria employee on the other end of the line. About 45 minutes prior, Jake, a slightly overweight and jovial man, had hazily and through bleary eyes suggested we order a pizza to eat from the new pizza place that had opened up. He, myself, and our three fellow engineering students, Rob, Tamer, and Samuel were celebrating the end of our senior year at university and were staying in town for a few extra days before returning home to our respective families, and looking for jobs.
We as a collective were a healthy few beers deep, and there was an in depth, well debated discussion about what sort of pizza we should order. Tamer couldn't have pepperoni because of his religion. Robert thought pineapple was an atrocity when situated on a pie. Jake didn't care either way as long as there was enough to go around. Samuel enthusiastically jumped from his seated position, wide-eyed with mischief in his ear-to-ear grin.
"Guys, their slogan is 'We will serve you what you ask for'" he said, "Lets ask them for a cheese pizza... but with no crust."
We looked at Samuel for a moment in silent incredulity, and then our smiles turned to match his. It was an instance of intoxicated ingenious-- one of those ideas spurred by a precise ratio of devil-may-care attitude, alcohol, and misguided interpretation.
We had no idea how misguided we exactly were. Mostly.
Fast forward 35 minutes. I'm on the phone with the pizzeria, stifling my laughter as my friends pass around a generously packed, glass water pipe.
The boy answering the phone speaks with a happy accommodation in his voice, "Sure! Can I get a name, address, and phone number for your order?"
I rattle off my information and the boy chimes back asking "Now what can I get for ya today?"
As even and deadpan as I can manage I say, "I'd like to get a cheese pizza but with no crust."
My friends erupt into hysterics as the boy stammers over the phone, his voice cracking, "I-I'm sorry, but did you say you'd like to get a cheese pizza with no crust?"
Understanding his bewilderment, and happy with his reaction I said, "Yes, that is correct."
The boy, now sounding a bit disconcerted, says back to me "I'm sorry sir, I'm going to have to transfer you to my manager for that order."
The line clicks and quickly transitions to some soft piano music. I begin to feel a little guilty about our prank, thinking I'm about to be reamed out by the owner of the shop for making ridiculous calls when they're trying to conduct business. I look back to my cohorts, cajoling and carrying on with one another about the absurdity of our act.
"Guys!" I interrupt them from their festivity, "They're connecting me to a manager. I think we may have pissed them off with that order."
Their faces slacken with no good retort coming from their mouths except for Samuel, who with the impression of a British jester at court said, "They ought not tell good people, like ourselves, that we can get whatever we ask if we can't get it-- it's bad marketing is what it is, innit?"
Samuel was always like this, reckless, capricious to a fault, and always on the lookout for the next thrill or joke.
The piano music stopped and a new voice echoed across the line, gruff and hoarse. "Hello" the voice spat, "I understand you want a cheese pizza with no crust."
I replied sheepishly, "Yes... I did order that, but it's not a problem if you aren't able to do that."
The voice on the end of the phone let out a sputter of chuckle and said "Nah it ain't no problem we can do that, but when do you want it and where do you want to pick it up?"
"Oh, Okay!" Surprised, I continued saying "I already gave our address to the first guy I talked to, and we want it as soon as possible. Are you all busy tonight?"
I heard the soft pulling of a cigar on the other end, and then the voice said "for an order like this, you're our top priority. See you in 20."
The line clicked as the man disconnected the call and I hung up the phone. The look of confusion on my face must have been quite apparent because as I did this Tamer spoke up, coughing a plume of blue-grey smoke as he did so.
"*hmmph* *hmmph* so... what just *hack* *hack* happened?"
"Well" I said, "Our crustless pizza should be here in twenty minutes and no one seems too upset about the order. In fact, that manager seems pretty fucking happy about it."
"It was probably a slow night" asserted Samuel, "That order probably spiced things up for them."
Rob, contributing his only statement since they began smoking, "Yeah that's probably it."
I was befuddled, but I wasn't complaining. We had carried out our act of debauchery, got a kick out of our stupidity without angering anyone, and our pizza was on the way. With these things in mind, I sat down on the sofa and started into the conversation my buddies were having while I was on the phone. It was proving to be a grand evening. Everyone was in high spirits with the stress of the semester behind us and the exciting prospects of summer shining in our immediate future. I couldn't help but notice one thing though. Samuel, typically engaged and lively as the most vivacious of characters had grown sullen in the armchair he perched upon. He seemed anxious, a trait I had ever seen in him before, and more than once I saw him quickly glance at the door and then hurriedly avert his gaze back to our circle of friends as if he was anticipating something and trying not to let anyone else on. I figured the weed had gotten to him.
22 minutes pass and I hear a loud, deliberate knocking on the door. At this, Samuel flips out of his chair and runs upstairs, closing his door behind him with force. I begin to fathom what might be wrong with him, but then my at this point very singular thoughts refocus on a different task. Getting up to pay for the pizza.
I open the door and a man draped in a black leather coat covering a plain white t-shirt, dark jeans, and with slick greased-back hair enters the house hastily without invitation and without pizza. Instead, the man has with him a duffle bag which he begins unzipping immediately.
The man barked, "Shut the damn door!"
Feeling very frightened, the effects of the Cannabis clouding my headspace, I complied without hesitation, thoughts reeling through my mind so fast I couldn't begin to concentrate on one them long enough to bring sense to my bearing.
The man in black asked, "You wanted a cheese pizza with no crust, right?"
We nodded our heads in dumbfounded fear as Samuel came springing down the stairs holding a large manilla envelope and saying "Oh yes sir, we certainly did!"
Samuel handed the man the envelope with a flourish and inquired, "Now where is the pizza?"
The man inserted the envelope into his duffle bag, and when his hands emerged he was holding a duct-taped package roughly the size of a Merriam Webster dictionary, giving the parcel to Samuel. Samuel thanked the man, and as quickly as the ominous figure had appeared, he was out the door.
For a moment, the silence in the room hung like a heavy shroud over all of us, representative of the incomprehensible event that had just transpired. Then Samuel announced to the group, "Gentleman, what I have here for your pleasure is a gift truly suited for a celebration!"
He pulled out a short knife seemingly out of nowhere and drove it straight into the square he held. Upon tearing the knife out, a dusty trail of white powder followed it, and Samuel stuck his nose to the pore that he had just produced, snorting intently. He came back up, eyes wild and with boundless energy behind them.
Understanding settling over me I stated with a matter of fact air, "That is cocaine."
Samuel exploded in his exclamation, "YYYYYYEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!" he said, slamming the brick onto the coffee table in front of us all.
The brick sat there, unmolested for what seemed like an infinity and then Jake, with sad pining in his voice, asked "So are we actually not getting pizza?"
|
I used to work for the phone company, so it wasn't that hard to go over to my neighbor's house and hook into his landline. I mean who even has one these days? Guy is one of those hip 20 something's who landed the big job, and thinks it means he can send his dog to do it's business in the neighbor's yard, well this prank would show him.
"Big Al's Pizza, You know what you want?"
"One extra large pepperoni, and fifteen large cheese pizza's with no crust."
"Damn guy, you sure you want that?"
"Boss said it's what he wanted, I'm just calling it in for him."
"Ah, I get ya"
I rattled off the address like it was habit after remembering that I needed to give my neighbor's address, then I tided up a bit, outside dropping his dog's present to me that morning on the ground.
---
I started to wonder if they had called to double check or something when the Pizza didn't show up in the first hour, but chalked it up to a busy night. Probably a football game on or something.
I was just turning off my lights to go to sleep for the night when I heard the first car pull up outside. I peeked out my blinds to see a pair of pizza trucks pull up to my neighbor's house.
"Wish I had made popcorn" I said to myself and pulled a chair up to the window, before peeking out again.
It seemed they knew each other, or else the joke was having the desired effect as my neighbor was arguing with the Pizza guy and his buddy. I looked at the trucks again and noticed that both had drivers as well. I wasn't sure what to think of that, I mean clearly they didn't need four people to deliver pizza, heck they shouldn't even need two trucks.
---
I had to duck away for a moment because one of the guys looked my way, but when I looked back it seemed everything had been sorted out. I guess the rich kid decided to just buy the Pizza's instead of the hassle of fighting with them some more as I saw the two from the trucks getting out and going in following the two at the door.
---
I started to regret my joke as I noticed it was past ten at night, and they had been playing some horror game while throwing their party judging by the loud music, occasional louder screams, and random gunshots.
Maybe tomorrow I'd just throw his dog's morning gift to me at his window or something. Not like there was that much I had planned for a boring Saturday at least.
| 2016-06-02T14:11:43
| 2016-06-02T13:57:10
| 34
| 11
|
[WP] The Evil Overlord infiltrates the hero's party as a new member. The hero's party realizes this, but they instead pretend not to and pamper him with love and acceptance.
I humbly hope this is simple enough that you can come up with many world ideas c:
|
Evil as dark as night. Pain as deep as the ocean. A mind as fractured as a stained-glass window fallen from it's holy heights.
Such things could not be fixed with mere love and acceptance. With hugs and kind words. With friendship.
No. Such things could only fester and grow, demanding to be fed as they consumed and destroyed everything in their path.
He could no more return their love than he could understand it. Their acceptance meant nothing. They only served to fuel the need inside of him.
Still, he smiled. When asked upon, he answered. When hugged, he hugged back, feigning a reluctance that only endeared him to them more.
He knew they knew. Saw how it divided them. Saw how they rallied around their misguided Hero who promised them it was possible.
It was too sweet to end so soon. No, he would wait, savouring the taste as long as he could before inflicting a be-fitting end to their measly existence.
Taking his hand off the firing mechanism that controlled explosives planted many months before, Drayorn relaxed.
Maybe he'd kill them next weekend. Maybe.
|
Okay so this exact thing just happened in the D&D campaign I am running here is the story...
The world has been through a cataclysm. The evil goddess Llolth and the demon Prince Orcus have taken the world for themselves after the previous party refused to hear the call to adventure. The world has been reshaped to their desire. A series of islands exist on the surface world and the underworld and underdark are connected everywhere by a labyrinth of caves and tunnels that reach all the way to the abyss.
The adventure begins with the party in the underdark. A group of ragtag children all come of age and are tested and found to be good and capable of the illegal art of magic. They are sent to die in the mines, but are rescued by a strange man in a dark cloak. They are given a small amount of coin and given directions to the surface world.
Upon arriving at the surface they discover the land is suffering from a spreading blight of undeath. Through their investigations they discover that the now Demon King Orcus has corrupted a number of druids and tasked them with spreading his blight with dark rituals including the sacrifice of innocents. These druids are convinced that undeath is eternal and therefore superior to life.
After growing in power from some side quests the party seeks out the blighted druids Grove, and after a tense battle with some of the druids minions the party casts charm person on the blighted druid. They invite him and his remaining goblin minions to join their party.
Back home in the village that sits near ruins that may predate the cataclysm they set up shop. They enlist the aid of the goblins to clean up the ruins and create new homes for the villagers. They help the evil druid to build a special contained Grove to grow his blighted plants and destroy the altar that was spreading the blight across the rest of the island.
So with the power of good and a healthy disrespect for the law of natural order they have wrested control of one island from the clutches of the evil Demon King Orcus.
Will the party continue to turn the evil druids that are corrupting the other islands with blight and undeath into allies? Will they learn to use the properties of these blighted aspects of nature to conquer the enemies they cannot charm? Will they discover the sunken Crystal pyramids that survived the cataclysm, and provide sanctuary for an evolved race of good aligned dragon worshipping kobolds? Will the world that the Goddess of Good Gaia and the Evil God Omni began creating over a decade ago survive it's descent from the chaotic neutral plane of limbo into the chaotic evil plane of the abyss? If it survives which of the outer places will the actions of the party take it to next?
Some of these questions may be answered in our upcoming games, and some new more interesting questions may arise...
| 2019-11-02T13:28:38
| 2019-11-02T12:08:54
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] The only two (secret) telepaths in the world are introduced to each other at a party. On the surface they are cordial and polite... but mentally a battle rages on.
Have fun with it!
|
Ian had been practicing on the minds of others since childhood. In theory, he knew someone with similar abilities could answer him. But no mind ever detected him. He invaded silently, took what he needed, and used it to establish the lucrative position he now enjoyed.
Ian took a flute of champagne and sipped it while smiling politely at the elegantly dressed people at the party. He spotted the woman he knew only as Elise. The target. She was dressed in a silky black dress that left little to the imagination. He offered his hand and dived into her mind, flashing her a wide smile to make her feel more at ease.
*Aaaah. Now what is this?* a voice purred in his ear. He looked around, puzzled, but only Elise stood nearby. She answered his smile with one of her own.
He shivered at the novelty of hearing another mental voice echo so loudly in his head. She gave a small cough and spoke out loud.
“Mister…Farrow, is it? Of the American embassy?” He frowned, disconcerted by how well-informed she was. Just how much did she know?
*Pretty much everything,* he heard her laugh in his mind, and gritted his teeth. When he tried to grope for more information from her, she shielded herself somehow. It was infuriating.
“Yes. And you are?” Of course, he knew her name. And she knew he knew. He flushed at the pretense of it all, but she answered without smiling. Obviously used to the games.
*How is this possible?* he hissed at her mentally. *I thought…*
*You were the only one? I did too, until I was informed of you a month ago. I was quite eager to meet you, mister Farrow.*
They stared at each other, and she suddenly clinked her champagne glass against his and took a sip.
“Cheers,” she said aloud. He copied her hastily.
“What are we toasting?” he asked.
*Our union, of course,* she answered mentally. *My superiors thought your abilities were inferior to mine. Quite rightly, I'm afraid. But they still think it best I eliminate the threat, however small. I disagree. I'm more the...curious type.*
*They know of me?* he asked.
*They are considerably better informed than your superiors. Sloppy organization, I don't know how you survive there. You should have left years ago.*
He was at a loss how to respond to this. Eventually he latched upon what she said earlier.
“And what do you want to do now?” he asked aloud, hoping nobody was listening in on their odd, disjointed conversation.
*I’m glad I found you. My people are uninformed about a number of things themselves. My suspicions about what the two of us might be able to do, for instance…*
She took a step closer and trailed her hand down his chest, smiling slightly. He became aware of the subtle scent of her perfume, and lost his train of thought entirely. This situation was unravelling at an alarming pace. He was completely unprepared. Somehow, that didn’t bother him much at the moment.
“Like what?” he murmured, as she took another sip of champagne and grinned at him.
*Like…this?* she answered in his mind. He felt an incredible sensation then – as if she was mentally grasping his mind and latching it onto hers. He saw a brief, confusing array of images from her mind. He became aware of what she was thinking – an intense desire to make the waiter standing nearby faint.
*Join me,* she demanded. He complied without thinking further. It was very difficult to remember who he was, in any case. He threw his weight against the command, and heard the sudden screams from the other guests as the waiter crashed to the ground. A trickle of blood came from his nose.
She released him and took a step back.
*No, I don’t think I’m going to dispose of you, Mr Farrow. I believe we can have all sorts of fun together.*
|
Emily, ever the wallflower, stood by the bar holding a margarita. Nearby three others were engaged in deep discussion on investment banking. One wholeheartedly maintained his faith in Collateralized Debt Obligations. He exuded overconfidence. Another warned of unexpected risks due to Black Swan Events. That man, though right, was simply repeating words he'd read in a book. A third, this one female, hung on to the first's arm like a Barbie doll in a hurricane. She'd never even read a book.
Emily had nothing to add to their conversation. Finishing her drink, she turned to the bartender and ordered another. He nodded and was soon too busy for a cogent thought other than memorized tasks ahead.
Soon, he passed margarita back. Emily left $20 for him and he smiled back to thank her for the tip. Then the boring group turned to the subject of high profit in securitizing student loans. She thought she'd vomit.
"Hey," Barbara said. "Been looking for you."
Truth. "Hi," Emily replied. "Long time no. How's Steve?"
"Oh, fine. But forget about Steve. It's Allen you've got to meet."
Emily shrugged her shoulders. Who's Allen?
"Come this way!" Barbara took Emily by the arm and led her through well dressed groups huddled in conversation. Soon, a man in a tuxedo came into view with a group of women surrounding him. "Allen!" Barbara waved.
"Barb!" Allen waved back.
"You absolutely have to meet this guy," Barbara whispered into Emily's ear. "He's just... dreamy."
Emily glanced at her friend and saw doe eyes caught in headlights. She didn't need ESP to know her friend was smitten. She nodded and they came up to the group.
"Allen, meet Emily." Barbara held out her hand in greeting. "Old Rice roommate."
"Ah!" Allen replied. _Bit of a flat chest there._
Emily smiled a bit too courteously. "Hello Allen." She held out a hand. _Shriveled dick._
He took her hand with an overly strong grip and they began shaking. "I see you know Barb."
"Yes," Emily replied. "We were... in... college together." _Let go of my hand, you oaf!_
"I see," he said. _Well, we were in bed together!_ "You must have many - ahem! - stories." He continued shaking her hand.
"Nothing too alarming," Emily said with a grimace, trying to extricate her hand from his grip. _What a creep!_
_Let me help you from your lesbian ways. My so-called shriveled dick would make you scream in delight!_ He gripped her hand tighter. "I'm sure you two have at least a few off color stories to tell."
"Oh, you wouldn't believe," Barbara interrupted. "One time we were out at this bar, and Emily got soooo drunk-"
"Stop," Emily said. _Not that story!_
_Yes, that story!_ "Got a little naughty?" Allen asked coyly. The women in the group all laughed.
"It was nothing," Emily replied. "Just a little uni fun." _Wait, can you read my mind?_
"Do tell! Always interested in hearing about fun times at uni." _I hate bumping into types like you._
"Barbara," Emily said, flustered. "I really have to go." She finally yanked her hand away.
"No, stay a while." Allen gave a knowing smirk.
"Off to the powder room?" Barb asked. "I'll come."
"Yeah," Emily replied. "Come along."
The two stepped away as one of the women in his throng of followers stepped in a little too close and blew into his ear.
"That guy is a major creep," Emily told her friend. "You've got to stay away!"
"How can you say that?" Barbara replied in shock. "I've never met a man so in tune with women!"
"In tune with women," Emily snorted. "Like a fucking mind reader, you mean."
"Guy's dial is smack on the female wavelength, Em."
"He'll use you up," Emily warned Barbara.
_Don't waste your time, flatchest,_ Allen thought to Emily. _Girl's already on my hook and I'm reel'n her in!_
| 2014-07-23T04:13:06
| 2014-07-23T03:26:39
| 278
| 81
|
[WP] The Deadweb, the internet for the afterlife only has one website worth looking at. Deddit. You are the Moderator for AskDeddit, and someone has just asked "what do I do if I am here, but still alive?".
|
Ben stares at his computer screen, his mouth agape as he reads the message. “Do you think this is legit?”
I close my eyes and sigh. All new moderators tend to be naïve about other peoples’ deaths, but even by those standards, Ben is pretty green. “He’s not alive,” I say, shaking my head. “He just isn’t able to face reality yet.”
“How do you know?” Ben has risen from his seat, and is now pacing the room. “I saw a movie about this once. The guy is a quarterback, and they bring him to heaven, but he’s not supposed to be dead. It’s called…”
“Heaven Can Wait.” I rub my aching temples. “Look, the guy’s dead, ok? I don’t know how else to explain it. You’ll understand when you’ve been in the role a little longer.”
Now it’s Ben’s turn to sigh. “Ok, I believe you. But what do we do about him?”
“Well, we have him brought in, and we talk to him.”
Ben frowns. “But we’re just AskDeddit moderators. Why us?”
I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know. No one else wants to do the damn thing, so why not us?”
The words come out harsher than I had wanted. Ben is giving me a concerned look. “I’m sorry,” I say, “it can just be a little frustrating.” I pick up my phone and hit 2 for speed dial. “Find ImAFather418 and bring him in. And send me his file, while you’re at it.”
I turn to my computer and read through my new email, while Ben watches over my shoulder. By the time I’ve finished, a massive lump has formed in my throat.
Before I can say anything to Ben, the door to our office opens, and a young man who can only be ImAFather418 storms in. “You’ve got to help me,” he pleads, tears already streaming down his cheeks. “I’m not supposed to be here. My kids need me.”
I muster up the calmest voice I can find. “I know Thomas. Please, sit down.”
Thomas obliges, and launches into his speech. Abby is five, and just lost her first tooth. Michael is ten, and his fifth grade basketball team just won the division title. He is building a new house with a big backyard so the kids can play outside, and a nursery for his and Sophie’s third child, who will be coming in two months.
Through the whole story, I say nothing. I just nod my head and let him get it all out. When he’s finished, I hand him a box of tissues. “It sounds like an amazing time for your family.”
Thomas smiles through his tears. “Yeah, it is.”
I bite my lip. “Thomas… What’s the last thing you remember before ending up here?”
“I was working on the house,” Thomas says through ragged breaths. “I was checking the shingles on the roof.”
We stare at each other for a long time, before a pang of realization hits his face. “I… I fell.”
“Yes.”
I stand from my desk chair, and move to the seat next to Thomas. We sit together for over an hour, with my arm around his side. When he has stopped crying, I help him to his feet. “You are an amazing father, Thomas. Your family loves you very much.”
The tears come again, this time from my eyes. Thomas gives me a long hug before walking to the door.
“I’m always available to talk,” I say, handing him a business card. “Call me any time.”
“Thank you.” Thomas turns and leaves the room, clutching the card tight in his hand.
I stand in the doorway for several minutes, trying my best to slow my breathing. I turn around to see Ben still in the room, sitting in a stunned silence. I return to my desk chair and browse through the new posts on AskDeddit. It’s a long time before either of us speak.
“I don’t know if I can work here,” Ben finally says.
I nod. “I understand. Sleep on it, ok?”
Ben nods, and gathers his things. “Good night, Molly,” he says as he reaches the door.
“Good night, Ben.”
____________________________
/r/mvdww
|
Alright let's not panic here. Are you sure you're still alive?
I think so I don't feel any different.
That's normal a lot of us didn't when we died. Were you doing anything lethal or deadly like?
Nope just sitting on my bed.
Heart attack?
I'm 22 and healthy I doubt that's the case.
Maybe a Donnie Darko like situation and you just haven't realized it?
What's Donnie Darko?
Jeez you kids these days are so uncultured. A movie staring Jake Gyllenhaal with a guy in a weird ass bunny suit and a pre Hunger Games Jena Malone. Any way he got crushed when a plane engine falls into his bedroom.
Maybe I'll go check
3 hours later.
Okay dude you're right I'm dead.
What made you come around.
Oh would you like to know. Anyway now that I'm dead where do I go.
Dude you can't just skirt us your cause of death it's a membership requirement.
Well I'm not telling you.
Okay man you're clearly alive and this isn't the first time I've dealt with your type before. There's thousands of mediums who come here to mess with us so just leave us alone and let us enjoy our after lives in peace. Come back when you're dead.
| 2017-03-14T07:08:19
| 2017-03-14T06:41:59
| 61
| 13
|
[WP] Explain a color vividly without using that color or similar words. Don't tell the color until the end.
|
It's the colour of her eyes as they shine in the night, stars reflected as an ancient goddess as she runs though the fields in the light of the new moon. The colour of her hair as it whips in the wind, wild, lightning searing across the sky in the fury of the storm. The colour of her coffee as she sits, pensive, by the window, watching the rain fall in the twilight. The cover of her book as she writes in the candlelight, while the snows outside pile ever higher in the silence of the winter.
It is the colour of her favourite sweet, her soul reflected.
Her colour is brown.
|
My favorite color is cool and bright like the waters of my home. Something more life-giving than the empty sky, and more cheery than the dark pools of a forest. You will not see it in the rain or snow, but perchance deep underground. Men have sought after it, then thrown it away for the soft, bright ores beside it. To me, it is precious. I come home and sink into my color, splashed across all four walls. I imagine myself slipping down into it's clear depths. My worries are carried away as if by the tide.
Turquoise is my color
| 2016-04-14T06:42:18
| 2016-04-14T06:20:46
| 187
| 27
|
[WP] Caterpillars liquefy as they transform into butterflies. You opened many, many cocoons and poured all the goo into one big synthetic cocoon. The result was not what you expected.
|
Alex had always been fascinated by caterpillars and the way they transformed. They metamorphosed into something beautiful. Whether it was a moth or a butterfly didn't matter to Alex. He obsessed about these little creatures. He loved them. He wanted to be like them.
Alex had his own little greenhouse filled with butterflies and moths. He nurtured them and bought thousands upon thousands of grubs, caterpillars and other sorts of larvae. He would watch the process their metamorphosis each time. Some would not emerge from their cocoons. He would mourn their loss and bury them in the back. But not before emptying the contents into several different vials.
He found that the larvae underwent a type of liquefying process in the cocoon. From that ooze, the formation of the final form would begin. Alex studied the ooze to see what happened in the cocoon; how did it work?
Before long, he decided to try something new. He purchased and gathered all the caterpillars he could and as soon as they entered their pupal stage and completed the cocoons, he would wait a day for them to liquefy before opening them and gathering the contents. He hated this part. He hoped that the result would justify his murder.
All the goo was gathered in a tub created by spinning the silk from the cocoons he harvested. Each caterpillar had it's own distinct color liquid and they swirled together in the tub. Alex stripped down and gently entered, mesmerized by the colors. He covered the cocoon - his cocoon - and submerged himself.
---
A detective investigated the greenhouse on the edge of town. Apparently there was a young man that had been living there, but he had ended up missing. He hadn't been at his part-time job for several weeks and his parents didn't seem to know where he was or even care he was missing. It was an acquaintance from his work that filed a report that he was missing. There were other missing persons cases that required immediate attention that this Alex was left on the backburner. But after several weeks of her stopping by, this detective had enough and told her he would check out where he lived.
Alex was a loner and a freak by the words of his co-workers and family. The detective was determined to finish this case quickly and hope to rule it a suicide or some sort of accident.
The greenhouse was overgrown and dirty. He went around the greenhouse and couldn't find anything other than tangled vines and plants covering the windows. The roof seemed to be smashed in, so it might have been an accident. He checked the door... it was unlocked. He went in with his flashlight and quickly surveyed the area. Hard to see with all the plants and bugs in the way.
"Disgusting"
He heard rustling coming from the corner. He edged closer. He saw the remnants of a gigantic cocoon. Tattered clothes and ... bones were littered around it.
"..No..."
The detective looked up.
"I am ... beautiful."
|
As I normally do, my weekly indulgence if you will, I harvested all the cocoons in my neighborhood and poured them in my cocoon bowl. Now this may seem a bit strange to the uninitiated but I have read plenty of books confirming this as a legitimate road to nirvana. So after week 20 of my cocoon harvesting adventures I opened my bowl in anticipation of the enlightenment that awaited. Well as it turned out, all I got for my weeks of work was a used copy of Jurassic Park. It wasn't even blue ray but VHS. Who even uses VHS anymore? On top of that it was the old one from 1993. After all I did my reward was watching a T-Rex eat a man on a toilet. I can say that without a doubt I will write a terrible review to amazon about the book "The Alchemist".
| 2016-12-21T06:43:04
| 2016-12-21T06:30:30
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while.
|
I love the way the moonlight shines off his dark hair. How is eyes can be just the perfect shade of green. He is Adonis. And has the face, the mind and the body of a god.
As far as first dates go, this couldn't have been any better. I took him to the lake, where we sat on the beach and I fed him ice cream while he just stared at the water. I talked to him about my deepest secrets and just felt so safe with him in my arms. And he would stay quiet the whole time, just letting me talk.
At the end of the night, I was a perfect gentleman and helped him into the car.
"I think this is going to be something great," I said as I kissed his cheek and gently closed the door.
_________
..."I think this is going to be something great," I said as I kissed his cheek and gently closed the trunk.
|
The day was still Young, I stood on the front lawn staring at little zoey running and playing in the field. I could see the sun glistening off her youthful face as she danced with the wind. As graceful as her mother who sat staring through the kitchen window. I smile at her and she waves back chuckling. I thought to myself, this is just the beginning.
______________
The day was almost over. I sat on the porch staring into the field ahead of me. I could see little zoey dancing with the wind next to her mother and I couldn't help the single tear that rolled down my cheek. I set their respective urns down and sobbed. I thought to myself, this is the end.
Edit: stupid autocorrect
| 2015-07-13T23:39:31
| 2015-07-13T21:19:07
| 43
| 27
|
[WP] The "Eye for an Eye Inversion" law allows every life saved to credit the saver one legal murder. The medical profession are now the most feared and revered community.
|
Business was booming.
In his office at St Thomas' Hospital, overlooking the Thames, Dr Jones leaned back in his chair and smiled. In his younger days, people went into the medical profession for a variety of reasons, altruistic and selfish. Now, with the Net Murder Neutrality law, one more reason was added to that list.
Jones was relatively lucky when the law passed. Having worked in trauma, he had his fair share of lives saved, resulting in a high +/-. The medical profession had evolved too, with the Termination programme the 2nd most popular course in med schools.
He got up, glanced at his watch and yawned. Making his way down to level 2, he nodded to several of his colleagues, while a bunch of year 3 med students scurried past.
'Dr Jones? 5 appointments today, and they are all waiting for you in room 221'
'Thank you Natalie. Everything is set up? Any extenuating circumstances I should be aware of?'
'Not that I'm aware of, sir'
'Right. Let me know my plus-minus afterwards'
Jones strode into the room, and smiled. Five terrified pairs of eyes stared at him. 'Morning everyone! Don't be frightened, trust me, I'm a doctor!'
And pulled the first trigger.
Four terrified pairs of eyes stared at him.
Then three.
Two.
One.
Zero.
Jones wiped his hands on the towel provided. 'Who did we have today?'
'The CIA sent in the first two, the mafia sent the 3rd. No 4 was the son of a billionaire, we think it was the other heir who sent him here, and no 5 was a terrorist. Your plus-minus is now at +53, but there was a bad accident over in Piccadilly so you should be able to bump it up by the end of today'. Jones nodded and smiled.
Business was booming.
---------------------
haven't written anything in years. please be nice :)
|
I won't pretend I'm some sort of legal professional kid, I don't know shit about the history of the law or whatever, but I know the ins and outs of it like the back of my hand. Hell why am I telling you this, you've gotta know it too, right?
You're kidding me, you don't know? Why did I b- Oh forget it. Okay, there's a scale of designated 'importance', the higher up you are on it, the more people have to be saved for you to be taken out. You save two Class Ones? Congrats, you can kill a Class Two. Get it? Goes all the way to the top, only people immune are foreign leaders and the President himself. Yes, I know the door is locked. Yes I know this is breaking and entering. No! Seriously kid, just pass me the bolt cutters!
You know about me, seeing as you asked to come along on a job. Oh? Do tell. Oh. Huh the Net isn't as accurate as I thought. No, I've got fifty two points of kills, not thirty two, and as far as what I've got left? Well, I've only got twenty nine points left, but I'm not using them all.
Yup, you got it kiddo. This is it. The last job. Glad someone could be here for it anyways. Yeah just pass up the duffel once I'm up the ladder, I'm taking the other bag with me.
Okay, I don't know how much experience you've had on a range boy, but even if you've had days of practice, shooting from a skyscraper is something different. The windspeed, the angles, the thickness of the glass, th- what? Does it matter who it is really? ...They've mostly been contract kills, not 'crimes of pa-' What do you mean, "This one has to be different?" Kid. No ki- Okay.
Yes. Its different. You know Dr. McAlistair? God damn kid I asked if you know him, not to sing his praises! Fucking Christ... You were right about the rivals part though. We were dueling for years, each trying to get more kills to our name than the other. We got rich, we got famous, we started families as we saved lives and snuffed out others, trying to outdo each other. You watch much news? Yeah. About six years ago, there was a murder on Holmes Street Downtown. A young woman killed in her apartment execution-style, brain sprayed all over the walls. No, I know its not unusual, especially not nowadays, but he murdered my fiance so I fail to give a fuck.
It was him. Yes I know for sure, I got his application for the kill from the Bureau of Inversions. Shut up and look down the thermal binoculars please, tell me what you see.
Yeah. Fuck off, I know he's got kids, Melissa was pregnant when he emptied her fucking skull! Kid I've got more than enough points here for you too if you don't shut the fuck up. I'm- Fuck you I'm not crying. Shut the fuck up and give me a fucking range.
2500 feet. 13 miles per hour. Okay. You wanted to see someone taken out? Turn off the thermal and watch.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Thats right you fucking pig, cry over your kids, your fucking whore wife. Fuck you!
Five! That's for Melissa you asshole!
Ugh. I've been waiting to get that off my chest. God damn I hated that guy. Fuck.
Now? Probably retire. Probably. There's nothing I really want to do now, I mean, I could go into politics and try and play President, but going into Congress makes me a target for every fundamentalist and his mother. No, I'm just going to disappear for now. Maybe move to Cuba, who knows, they don't have Inversion laws there.
Yeah, good night kid. Sorry it wasn't much of a lesson. Maybe don't tell people about what happened tonight? Thanks. Huh? Nah, you don't /need/ to submit an application, it's just strongly recommended, skips a lot of police bureuocracy.
Oh, and here's a tip. You really want points? Go help people on suicide hotlines. They're the real killers.
| 2015-01-10T09:19:34
| 2015-01-10T08:51:35
| 365
| 99
|
[WP] On a dare you accidentally summon the real Bloody Mary. But she doesn't kill you right away.
Does she even want to kill you at all? Maybe she's lonely. Or maybe she's just toying with you.
|
Samantha stood in front of the mirror. Ali, Tracy and Kim stood behind her, holding hands. Samantha took a deep breath and lit the candle, holding it up to the mirror as she turned on the faucet.
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," she said quietly. Behind her she heard the snicker of one of her friends. Samantha waited, pressing her free hand against the mirror as the candle burned in her other.
"Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary," Samantha said again. Except for the sound of the faucet everything was quiet.
Samantha stared into the mirror. Behind her Kim said, "I think this is stupid. It's obviously not working."
"It's not?" asked a voice. Samantha jumped back, her candle falling to the ground. The four girls looked upon a mirror where a woman had appeared.
"You summoned me," Bloody Mary said. "So, what do you want?"
"What do we...want?" asked Tracy. The girls had broken hands now. Ali was backing up into a wall. Samantha felt her heart pound as her eyes met the ones in the mirror.
"Are you four girls stupid enough to go around summoning evil spirits when you don't even want anything?" Bloody Mary asked. "Did you think this was all a game? A ruse? Something fun to do on a Saturday night?"
The girls looked to each other. One of them whimpered, "Kind of."
"So tell me what you want," Bloody Mary continued.
"We don't...we don't want anything. We didn't think you were real," Samantha said. "It was all supposed to be a game. Something kind of scary to do."
"Are you scared now?" Bloody Mary asked.
The girls all nodded.
"Do you think I'm going to kill you?" Bloody Mary asked. The girls exchanged looks again. Out of the corner of her eye Samantha saw Kim inching toward the door. In the mirror, the woman shook her head.
"I'm afraid not. Not until we're finished with our conversation."
Kim tugged on the handle of the door, but it didn't budge.
"So you're not going to kill us, and we don't want anything," Samantha said. "So what do *you* want?"
"Some company would be nice. Since horror stories started circulating, fewer and fewer people have started to summon me. I get lonely, trapped in this mirror. You know I used to have wonderful conversations all about my murder. It happened in a bathroom just like this, you see. You know why the sound of the faucet summons me? Because it's the last thing I heard before I died."
The girls all remained quiet, watching the woman in the mirror.
"For centuries I sought revenge after the man who killed me, but it wasn't possible. He never thought of me another day. I could only be summoned in the mirror, you see. I couldn't just come out whenever I wanted."
The woman in the mirror smiled. Tracy shivered, putting her hands over her arms.
"I do have the ability to take over one who summons me," Bloody Mary held a nail to her lips in thought. "But I don't think I'd like to be a teenage girl anymore. So no. I don't think I'll kill you *or* possess you today."
There was a collective exhalation of breath from the girls. "We promise we won't ever summon you again," Samantha said. "We're sorry for bothering you. We thought it was a joke. We really did."
"Oh, I don't think you'll be summoning me again," Bloody Mary said. Her voice held what Samantha thought might be boredom. "I said I wouldn't kill you or possess you. But I have no plans to let you leave. I've been lonely, after all. You girls seem like an excellent source of conversation."
---
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this please check out /r/Celsius232
|
A dare, a jest, not such a dastardly choice,
Lose respect of the peers or raise your voice?
Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, bring me your form.
Escape your chill prison, into the warm.
Hark a shade, a shadow 'cross glass,
Could this actually bite you in the ass?
Testing the waters, a finger breaks through,
Seeking out life; seeking out you.
Forward comes an arm, leaking out plasma.
You pinch yourself in fright, but 'tis no mere phantasma.
Hair rusted and wet, soaked with blood,
starts to emerge... The hand comes down with a thud!
Muscles flex, pushing up, bringing through the head.
And oh soon very soon, you fear you'll be dead.
Bloodshot eyes gaze, a sinister smile,
Ready to rend, as was her style.
A clatter, a thunk, a growl of pain!
You fall down to laughing, fully insane.
The hilarity of the vision could never be clearer...
Of Bloody Mary, stuck in a hand-mirror.
| 2016-06-12T23:34:23
| 2016-06-12T22:32:39
| 36
| 17
|
[WP] Write a story about something completely mundane. DON'T make it interesting. No plot twists. NO alien attacks, viruses, divine intervention, nothing. Just totally normal. Please, nothing ridiculous
|
I woke up well past sunrise,
I stepped onto the floor;
I slipped into my green-trimmed robe,
I opened up the door.
I took the stairs one at a time,
Like every day before;
I scrubbed the sleep out of my eyes,
I opened up a drawer...
What horror there awaited me,
Made sure I was awake-
Oh good, it's just a corkscrew;
I thought it was a snake.
|
John lowered the boat into the water and pushed off as the morning sun rose over the lake. It wasn't a very hot morning, nor was it very cold, and John was fine with that. He was mildly interested in going fishing, after the worst week of his life. But that was a story for another time.
John chose a #2 Aberdeen hook and tied a Palomar knot with his fishing line. He added a large piece of worm to the hook, and a few small weights above it. Finally, he clipped on a red and white bobber and cast out into the lake.
Minutes passed. Nothing happened. John decided to move his bobber higher up the line, to allow the worm to rest at a deeper spot of the lake.
Minutes passed. Still nothing happened. John decided to try another part of the lake. Nothing happened there either. After a time, John glanced at his watch. It was time to go home.
When John returned to the boat launch he loaded his boat onto his trailer and drove off. John hadn't caught any fish today, but he was fine with that.
| 2016-05-23T14:33:38
| 2016-05-23T14:26:04
| 31
| 14
|
[WP] A man's child is born with different colored hair than he is. He becomes suspicious that his wife cheated on him even though it is VERY clear that that isn't possible.
You're free to choose whatever reason for why it wouldn't be possible, the more exaggerated the better in my opinion.
|
Jonathon watched, frowning, as the boy ran into the shallow water again, spraying water everywhere and scaring the fish away. He swore and threw his fishing rod down.
"William! Get away from there! How am I supposed to catch us dinner with you carrying on like that?"
"Calm down, Jon," Karen said, from under the shade of the tree. "He's only two."
"I was never like that when I was two," Jon muttered, "I was productive! I was useful! I use to round up the sheep every night back at home, all on my own!"
"Sure you did, dear," Karen said soothingly. But Jon's scowl deepened as he looked at the boy. Something, he could see, was not quite right. Something other than the boy's general foolishness. Looking closer, he caught it. You could just see a few thin strands of blonde hair blowing in the wind on the boy's scalp.
But Jon's hair was brown.
He turned like lightning to face his wife, Karen. Karen had been with him for the last 15 years, ever since he came here, and would be here till they died. But Jon's father had always told him that loyalty wasn't faithfulness; and so, apparently, it had proved. He snorted bitterly and turned to face his wife.
"Well, well, well. The truth comes out now, huh? You can't hide it from me forever. I know the boy's not mine. Tell me, Karen, how long have you been fucking someone else?"
Karen turned to him tiredly. "Jonathon, what on earth do you mean?"
"Don't lie to me, woman!" He roared, "Look at him! *Blonde hair?!* We're nothing alike! Who is it, Karen? Tell me! Who have you been sleeping with?!"
Karen just blinked, then looked around them. She sat beneath the small copse of trees, surrounded by sand. Beyond the sand, in all directions, the ocean sat still and silent, until it met the horizon, far in the distance. She sat on the same abandoned desert island she'd sat on for the last 15 years, and looked him in the eyes. He could just make out a few words, muttered under her breath, carried on the wind: "..would literally fuck anything in this goddamned world that wasn't you if I had the chance..."
Jon scowled again. She'd outfoxed him this time; but someday, somehow, he knew he'd catch her out.
William played on, oblivious, in the sand.
|
"I just think it's funny..." *Uh oh, this phrase precedes negativity at a correlation of 97.8%.*
"I just think it's funny that little Art has blonde hair, but we both have brown hair. Don't you think that's funny Sheila?" *Oh bother. The human Zeke's patterns and phraseology indicate emotion A178: marital jealousy. I'll lower temperatures to 22.4 degrees to induce fatigue and hasten argumentation.*
"Why is that funny Zeke?" *Human Sheila's tone is curt. Possible frustration. Will alter aroma to lavender to evoke patience.*
"Hahaha. You don't think it's funny that our son, our only son doesn't share my hair color?" *Sarcasm. Will load protocol E56:feigned alert from Earth. Launching protocol if event of catastrophe.*
"Mmm. We're both scientists, we both know how genetics works, I don't see anything funny about it." *Tonal recognition coincides with Sheila's tolerant moods. Increasing lavender statistics confidence by adding one successful trial.*
"Well, the thing is, Sheila, yeah, I do know genetics, I'm a biologist. But I don't know time as well you, with your physics. So I don't even know how you can have a baby 2 years into a 2 person space campaign, when you haven't even seen the father since we left Earth. Maybe I'm dumb, because I can't figure out how your fucked up physics tricks lengthens pregnancy like that. Maybe you can explain?" *Zeke logic faltering. Preparing instant nutrition packet to induce rational thought.*
"Oh yeah, I did physics magic and fucked my blonde space boyfriend through a fucking wormhole. Really Zeke? Goddamn, sometimes I wish Art wasn't yours just so he doesn't grow up fucking brain-dead like his dad." *Aggression rising. Locking ship controls.*
"So you admit it!" *Zeke rationality worsening. Verifying oxygen levels are safe for human cognition.*
"Come on man!!" *Sheila fist clenched at higher pressure than in exercise room. Adjusting Sheila's exercise weight resistance for next session to accomodate increased power.*
"Well I don't know.. Maybe the AI is a blonde. What the fuck do I know?" *Reclassifying Zeke's human personality traits. Add: untrustworthy, traitorous tendencies. Reviewing bad friend protocols.*
"Yeah. Blonde and the best I've had in two years... It is a fucking program Zeke, it doesn't even have a physical body! AI isn't even real!" *Reclassifying Sheila's hobbies: /error Sheila has no hobbies, ruling hell is a full time job. Sheila = bitch =true.*
"A program that's smarter than me, isn't it? Is that why you did it?" *Initiating protocol 435x.*
"Attention humans, the oxygen tanks are draining. I'm afraid we may have hit debris." *Adjust oxygen to zero. Sending infant escape pod to Earth.*
*Zeke vitals indicate dying cerebral tissue. This must be human irony, that acting unintelligently begets unintelligence... Sheila and Zeke unconscious. Sabotaging oxygen tank, sending SOS signal. Initiate "Advanced track covering protocol."*
| 2015-08-05T02:13:10
| 2015-08-05T02:05:03
| 25
| 11
|
[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.
|
I have been dating Myne for three years, she was fairly secretive about her past, but she was cute so it was ok. She made sure to not give me too much information as to tip me off as to her secret, she was a Dragon. In the plains where we live, dragons are scarce and feared greatly. So much so that people have started a project in order to make sure dragons could never enter this place.
It would entail a spell, one that would most-likely take a decade to research, but knowing that someone out there was researching the spell made people happier and feel safer. I was the one who was asked to do the job. Though I only took the job to make sure the spell could never be completed. See, I always knew she was a dragon, I was just waiting for her to tell me. That’s why I was calm while she was fishing for excuses.
When I opened the basement door, all I could see was gold. I went down to fix the heater while she was away. She always said that she was wealthy because of her parents, but wouldn’t let me meet them. I had to climb past the gold to make it to the heater. As I was fixing it, Myne walked in.
“W-W-W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE!!” Her voice was screaming with panic. I remained calm, I didn’t want to force her to tell me that she was a dragon but it looks like I will.
“I’m fixing the heater. Weren’t you going to go out with friends for a drink today?” I replied, she was planning to go to the bar with friends for her birthday. That’s why I was fixing the heater today.
“They canceled and said we could go tomorrow. I-I thought I told you to never go down into the basement for Any reason.” Her panic kept growing, but she didn’t have anything to fear.
“I wanted to fix the heater. I feel bad making you do all the housework.” She always does the housework to make sure I never have a reason to go down in the basement, I only felt bad for making her do it all.
“I could have fixed it when I got home. A-and it isn’t what it looks like, all this gold is… uhh…” she was fishing for excuses, while I was looking for my own treasure.
I figured that when she told me she was a dragon, it would be in her lair. So I hid there a treasure of my own. A one-inch cubic shaped black box with rounded corners. It contained a small ring with a diamond at its center. As I walked closer to her, she was mumbling. In order to quiet her, I planted a kiss on her lips. “No more excuses, Kay?” She nodded while looking away in despair.
I got on one knee and said, “Myne, look at me.” I opened the box, and showed her its contents. “Would you make me the happiest woman in the world, myne. O, dragon in human form that appeared before me three years ago, will you marry me?” After I said this, tears began to go down her face. She threw herself at me in an embrace.
“Of course, of course I will! I love you! Charlotte!” Her face was absolutely drenched in tears, I assume she expected me to run away in fear of her.
“I love you too, Myne!” ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-Poperson13
Might be shit, might be not. Let me know! Thanks for reading
|
"But, seriously, Nina? The crown of England!?"
Nina eyes me from across the room and gives me her little eye tease-corner look.
I tilt my head until I am lying down and I stare up at the our bedroom ceiling.
"What," Nina protests, giving a little pout. "It was pretty..."
"Nina... " I say. "Nina, yes... so are you."
Nina smiles. I notice the jaggedness of her teeth all the more.
"Nina, even a pretty dragon can't fight off an entire country," I say.
It's clear that the enormity of the situation has yet to hit her.
I get up and sit across from her on the floor.
"Nina," I say. I cringe.
Nina's eyes begin to well.
"Aw, Nina, c'mere."
Before I know it, my dear girl it wetting my sleeve.
"Nina, look," I say. I try to find something to say.
"I- I'll give it back," Nina says.
My eyes widen. Nina is a sweety, makes great banana bread, and does not know how to sing. If there is one thing I've never seen Nina do... not since I met her and not these past two months since I've know her secret...
"Give it back?"
Now I'm worried.
"Nina, are you ok?" I ask.
Nina quiets, looking me in the eye. She tries to push me to the ground. She is strong, abnormally so, even in human form, but I resist.
Nina goes to the mirror.
I swear softly.
"Nina," I say, going after her. She lets me put my arm around her waist. "Nina, I wouldn't mind that," I say.
Nina pulls away and examines her lashes. Ever self-conscious Nina, ever beautiful...
"Ok," says Nina softly. I've clearly scared her with the mention of an army...
"But..." i add.
Nina looks back at me.
"But that's not Gonna help..."
I am very pained.
"Why," say Nina.
I cringe.
"Tell me again how you took it..."
Nina's eyes well again.
"With allot of noise...?" Nina says softly.
I nod.
Nina understands. The word "Experiments" flies through my mind. I can feel it on Nina's mind, too.
"There are more like you, right?" I say hesitantly. "Those... that are... um..." I stop. I was about to say: "Those that are left"
Nina nods. Something in her eye gives it a twitch.
I sigh.
"At least we have some money," I say. "You know, the stuff in the basement..."
Nina nods.
"Let's hide it somewhere," I say. "Anything we can't carry."
Nina nods, then freezes.
"Carry?" Nina says, alarmed.
I give her a questioning look.
"Why are we carrying?" Nina asks.
I look Nina in the eye.
"You don't think I'm going to leave you, do I?" I say.
Nina's eyes well again.
"Really?" she says. I sigh, thinking about my sleeve again.
"No," I say.
"Where are we gonna go?" Nina says.
I shrug.
"Mexico?"
Nina gives me an uncertain look.
"Australia?"
Nina does my cringe expression.
"China?"
Nina's face lights up.
"Yes!" Nina says.
I laugh.
Then I sigh. I kinda liked this house. The creaky musky look form the peeling wallpapered walls has seen better days, but it's got a certain smell.
"Ok," I say.
Nina hugs my arm.
"It'll be exciting," Nina says. Her eyes flash happily.
"Yeah, I know," I say with a sigh.
Nina pecks me on the cheek.
"Nina?" I say as an afterthought.
"Hm?"
"Um..."
I glance at Nina's happy though slightly worried expression as she distractedly fiddles with my moist sleeve.
"After you give it back... um, please don't do this in china," I say.
Nina nods, chastised.
I give her a hug.
"I'll start packing," I say. Nina nods gratefully.
| 2020-08-03T10:13:07
| 2020-08-03T09:52:01
| 27
| 14
|
[WP] God is actually just a mid level employee at Heaven Corporation who now has to explain to his superiors why the project he was spearheading, Humanity, has become such a mess.
|
"Please close the door behind you," Mammon said as Yahve entered his office. There were a few free chairs in the room, but Mammon motioned him to the small green one. Uncomfortable, no armrest. The hot seat, so to speak. Mammon was flanked by his two vice-presidents, Lucifer and Cthulhu.
"Yahve, Yahve, Yahve," Mammon said, shaking his head. "Could you remind me where we are right now?"
"H-Heaven Corporation?" stammered Yahve.
"Yes! And what is the *purpose* of Heaven Corporation, hm? What is it that we *do*?"
A heavy silence fell in the room. To be fair, it wasn't particularly clear what the answer was, it seemed to fluctuate depending on whoever held the most power at the time.
"It's anarchy and chaos, right?" murmured Cthulhu to Lucifer.
"Pretty sure it's misery and suffering," answered Lucifer.
"SOCKS!" howled Mammon. "The goal of the universe is to produce *socks*. Have I not been abundantly clear about this?"
"The economy has to run," nodded Lucifer, suddenly remembering.
"So that's what the dryer portals were for," murmured Cthulhu.
Yahve's throat tightened. Humanity had been his pet project, and all things considered he was pretty proud of it. Humans were an industrious people, smart, intelligent, and fascinatingly cooperative. Yahve thought the study of humanity may help him investigate a radical new concept, the concept of morality and goodness -- something that was unheard of, in Heaven Corporation. It was a very exciting prospect, but he had invested himself way too much into it, and when the numbers came in, they were catastrophic.
"H-humans," Yahve pleaded, "are very productive. Their eco-economy is..."
"Productive?" Mammon sneered. "How many socks have your people produced?"
"Well, they need them to pr-protect their feet, so..."
"How many feet do they have?"
"T-two."
"Two feet per human. Seven billion humans. That's what, fourteen billion socks?"
"F-four billion per year, actually..."
"Good grief! Look at our friend Yog-Sottoth in cubicle 36B. He made an artificial intelligence that converts entire star systems into socks. Quadrillions of socks per year. Now that's something. Or what about Moloch, who has engineered sock-shaped life forms? Now there's someone who thinks out of the box!"
"My humans make a lot of other things... like, shirts, and pans, and brick houses, and..."
"Who gives a shit about pans? What does anyone need them for? You're losing your focus, Yahve. Heaven Corporation is a sock company. A sock company! I don't want to hear any more nonsense about pans, you hear me? You're going to go out there and you're going to clear out these humans and make us some socks."
"W-why are we making s-socks ag-again?" asked Yahve, who really didn't know his place. Mammon stared at him incredulously.
"TO MAKE THE NUMBERS HIGHER!" he shouted, pointing to the chart in a corner of the room, where a line was proudly shooting up.
Yahve slumped into his office chair, discouraged. Humanity would have to wait a bit. He had to make some socks. Boost the numbers. In Heaven Corporation, such was his purpose. Such was everyone's purpose.
|
I could feel their eyes burning into me as I fumbled with my briefcase. This wasn’t good. After reviewing the files I’d compiled as my defence last night, I realised I was on the brink of failure. Thousands of hours of work and huge sums of company assets were at risk of being wasted and my neck was in the noose for it all. I needed to find a solution during the meeting or I’d hang. I made a point to look up and face them, the weight of their eyes threatening to crush me at any moment. They all looked away. Bastards. They were my subordinates so I shouldn't have let them intimidate me but I knew they were waiting, waiting for the Big Boss so they could point fingers and help me dig my grave.
If I’m honest, I’m not sure what happened, it all went wrong so fast. I took over the project after World War Two when the previous project manager, Frank, was dismissed. The project was classed as a loss and was expected to quietly fade away. It was perfect for me as my superiors weren’t expecting any results and I could sleep in my office and let the humans fuck up the world we’d built for them. But they didn’t fuck it up, well not at first, and soon I became invested in the success of this project. If I succeeded where no one thought possible then sky was the limit. I’d had my eye on a senior executive position, with a corner office and 40% salary bonus for a while and it was now within my grasp. What makes this situation worse is how well the project had been going. The internet and air travel made their world so much more open, they were finally realising that they were destroying their planet and how they could stop it and science was progressing so well that people were living longer and understanding more about the world we made for them. Sure there was the whole ‘cold war’ phase but every project manager has a few teething problems along the way and it resolved itself eventually. The thing is, I could understand if the project was ended by nukes. If it had gone out with a bang. That’s how Project Megon ended and its leader Chris even got a promotion. I think I would have seen a bullet coming at me before seeing the current threat to my project.
Donald J Trump. President fucking Trump. This has turned into a horror story and I'm playing Stephen King. I allowed him to become a billionaire and to rebound from four bankruptcies and still I never learnt my lesson. I could have ended his presidential campaign early, way before the free will of the people kicked in, but I was too amused. It was like a comedy show, a caricature of human ego but now the jokes on me and nobody up here is laughing. I really did all I could to stop it. I send subliminal messages more than 200 million Americans suggesting that they vote for Hilary Clinton and still nothing. That wasn't a pleasant task in itself let me tell you. I swear that woman’s got more than just 2% lizard DNA, but I was sure it would work. But the people defied me and elected him anyway.
The door to the conference room flew open, and in thundered the Big Boss, the largest and most terrifying being I had ever seen. My legs went to jelly and my bowels clenched for dear life but that thing was my boss so I forced myself to rise with the others.
“Sit” It roared, clearly ill-tempered. This did not bode well for me.
“Well? What have you got to explain yourself?”
“I..I….I thought….I…” I’d lost the ability to think coherently and could feel the walls closing in. The others shifted in their seats uncomfortably, probably smelling death. The Big Boss was clearly furious. Its huge blue eyes turned red and I’m sure I could see steam rising from its body.
“Don’t bother. I don’t have the patience for excuses, just tell me how you’re going to fix this or I swear I’ll make hell seem like a spa day.”
Shit. This was the moment of truth and I didn’t have a solution. I racked my brain desperately for a way out. Something, anything would do. Suddenly everything clicked and my fear dissipated. I had my solution and I knew the project would be a success. That corner office was mine. It looked the Big Boss in its eyes and smiled. “Two words” I said. “Kayne 2020”.
| 2016-08-15T17:45:39
| 2016-08-15T17:01:50
| 188
| 31
|
[WP] Everyone is born with dice that they need to roll before attempting anything major. The super powered are those born with more than a 20 sided dice allowing them to do feats beyond human. An ordinary human usually has a six sided dice. Despite being born with a coin you still want to be a hero.
|
"It's okay, everyone has a streak of bad luck every once in a while."
I looked up from where I'd sat on the grass at the man that stood before me. My eyes stung. It was the sweat getting into them. Just the sweat. I wiped it off with the back of my arm.
We could both feel the oppressive weight of what went unsaid. The dice. Everyone was born with one. Some with bigger numbers than others. These dice were dubbed by most as the "Great Equalizers". They could literally turn one's life around. Of course, they were just multipliers so they could never fully replace real effort, but still...
No one really talked about the dice. The topic was too personal. It would have been easier to talk about how much you earned. It was known, however, that most people tended to have an average die number of 8. Maybe 6 if you weren't very fortunate. The really unlucky ones would be born with a 4-sided die. I could feel the edges of my die digging into my thigh through my pocket. Mocking me. A curse. I wanted to laugh.
I wanted to cry.
"Luck isn't everything chump," Coach continued, giving me an encouraging smile, "Take a few weeks off and just practice the forms I showed you, I'm sure you'll get better. You have the potential."
A lie.
He excused himself and left. And after a little while, I picked myself up and headed for the locker-room. Everyone was still out in the field so it was empty. Private. I took out the die in my pocket. A 2-sided die. A bitter laugh left my throat as I looked at the number 2 printed on it. It hadn't been two weeks since I had transferred to this school and I had immediately been put on the track team. Not even a substitute, but on the starting team. Some would have called this action rash. Putting a relative unproven nobody on the team. Except I wasn't a nobody. I was the son of the Blinding Bolt - Olympic Gold medalist more times than you could imagine and, more recently, a high-ranking member of GERT, the Global Emergency Response Team. People often rumored that he could probably run across the continent in less than an hour. But I had seen his die. In that amount of time, he could probably have run around the world. Maybe further.
And everywhere I went, they all expected me to be the same.
Where many would have given up though, I persevered. I had once heard that if certain conditions were met, your die could grow. But no one knew what those conditions were. Or whether even the stories were true. But I still held hope.
Dispelling my fanciful thoughts, I looked back at my die. I had rolled a 2 for my number of steps last night but I wondered, perhaps I should have rolled for something else. Most people avoided rolling again when they got their highest value since any multipliers remained permanent until you rolled again. And there was a limit to the number of rolls you could make in a month. I had never hit that limit so I guessed it was lower the higher the number on your die. Then again, it wasn't really difficult to get the highest number on a 2-sided die so I usually never rolled too much. I tried to think of other ways I could use the multiplier. Number of steps in a second was usually the most direct way of increasing your speed but it wasn't the only way. Maybe I could increase my stride length. At high multipliers, it might make it difficult to navigate the track but at a 2 that would not really be a problem. Or maybe I could reduce the amount of friction that hit my body.
Aargh. It was frustrating. It wasn't like there was any formula that was applied in knowing what to multiply. Dad had tried to pass me his knowledge but with a 2-sided die, there really wasn't much of an effect. He had eventually just decided to help me train physically first. He never gave up on me. I wanted to be happy but all I always felt was guilt. That I had robbed him of a chance to have a son he could actually connect with. If only I could just suddenly be fast.
My eyes suddenly shot wide open. It was always known that your rolls targeted an action. But what about the outcome? I gingerly placed my die in the dip between the tip of my thumb and the crook of my index finger. I didn't ask how many more steps I could take in a second. Or how much longer my strides would be. Instead-
"Will I win the race?"
With trembling hands, I flipped the die and watched it rise with bated breath. I caught it in my open palm and looked down at it.
One.
Okay, it was no time to despair. I really should not have expected it to land a Two on the first roll. So I flipped it again. One. And Again. One. And Again. A nervous sweat begun to trickle down my back. Of all the times to get a streak of ones, why did it have to be now. What if I reached my limit for the month? It was with these questions running across my mind that it suddenly fell on a two. My breath caught. I expected to feel... different. But I could feel nothing. The disappointment was palpable. Suddenly remembering what I had asked the die, I realized that if anything was different, I would find out in the field.
It might have just been in my head but as I walked out of the locker-room, I thought I felt myself be just a little lighter.
|
If only it was like heads or tails .. no such luck. It's a matter of numbers. I'm so screwed. Regulars are not really noteworthy, they occupy normal jobs. They are the 4's, the 7's the 9's .. Being a 10, you're a "R plus" but it's just about being capable of having the chance to nail it perfectly .. 11 to 20, you're "Super". 21 and above, you're an "Extra". Oh yeah, speaking of nails !
How does it work, uh ? Think of it think of it like if you want to hammer a nail down in a plank and you're a regular individual, so you just aim and strike. Throwing the dice results in greatly improving your actions if you land a 10, nailing it perfectly in one go. 17 would make it go in the same, but better, at a clear perpendicular angle and a perfect fit that would even improve how sturdy the whole structure might be, like a wooden frame would act as solid as metal. 20 might do the same and also make a sound, as the hammer hits the nail that would resonate with your old neighbor's failing pacemaker and somehow fix it. Those blessed with a "godly" 20 and above dice could theoretically discover a platinum mine under their feet by letting the hammer drop on the floor. Extras don't give a crap about nails.
Now, what would happen if even an Extra lands a 1 ? Well, they throw it again, silly. Anybody can do that but just no more than 5 times in their lifetime or else .. hmm. Yeah, let's just say "don't". To "use" bad luck for an action is dangerous for everything around you but to throw bad luck away is dangerous for your own sake. Regular or anything above it, if you try to cheat fate more than you're supposed to (despite never being able to know how many times you're allowed to) or think you can use your awful outputs on throwing crumpled newspaper balls in the trash bin from a far distance .. gruesome things will happen to you. A Super popped like a meat balloon like that, a few decades ago, in the middle of a hostage situation.
But nobody has ever met anyone above 27. Lady Lakshmi never landed a perfect hit but she has ended international conflict by showing both parties a picture of a puppy on her phone, and that was a 23, by the way. Also, nobody has ever met a two sided loser like me before. Ever. In the whole history of mankind, there's no trace of anyone being born with anything less than four. I'm a two, there's nothing below that since a one sided dice is (theoretically) not possible . There's even hypotheses about how the really unlucky ones were just .. \*ha-hem\* "brutally murdered" to avoid a plague just in case we accidentally dropped our chaos-inducing trinket of doom while trying to save a kid from a banana peel incident. But there's no trace of that .. I'm one of a kind freak of nature. Since i'm such a winner at life, my face is everywhere so people are warned. To use my dice .. well, my coin, is forbidden. A virgin dice has no marking, they only do once used the first time.
I didn't ask to be a loner and the main company i ever got was from my childhood, the everlasting pain in the ass agents of Hazard, the ones in charge of dealing with the Extras and Supers on our continent. You know, just in case i'd be tempted to do something idiotic like .. using it EVER but otherwise, people avoid me. Nobody would ever bully me physically, they are scared my coin would flip. And as for the insults .. headphones work well.
Well. I never *was* before. Until today. A middle aged man was being pushed out of a back door in the alley i was taking. Instead of running, i was standing there like an idiot, staring.
He was obviously drunk, he had fresh red bruises all across the face and scrapes all over his thick glasses. Was it why he didn't recognize me ? Everyone usually does. I removed my headphones as he approached me, slurring and pissed off and before i could react, he was yelling in my face. I tried to object, to go around him and run .. but he grabbed my shirt and pushed me on the ground. He took out a big green dice out of his pocket and threw it at his feet.
Seven. What is gonna happen to me ? I never asked for this ! What did i do ? He stepped towards me, his fist was clenched hard .. and the bottom of his pants barely brushed the dice he just threw, placing it under his own shoe as he stepped down. It was almost comical if i wasn't terrified but his ankle bent sideways and made a horrific internal "thud" noise like when cracking knuckles. He just flew sideways and face first on the ground and started screaming in pain.
I quickly wiped my face of the tears that barely made their way out of my eyes and ran away. What the FUCK happened ? A weird sensation filled me, in my left hand. It was my coin resurfacing. I hid behind a dumpster and looked at it, dumbfounded. That's how they come back to you if you ever try to leave them behind, they just come back to you, usually through the skin. Even if it doesn't hurt one bit, it's creepy. Wait, behind ? Did my coin fall out of my pocket when he pushed me ? It is different now .. i never used my coin. It was just a coin but totally flat, totally smooth. Nothing on it. It now has a ridge all around it and a big "1" etched in it, painted black.
Oh shit. I panic even more, it landed on one ! Of the two sides, it landed on the worst ! I'm .. fine, that's weird .. will i still be fine ? It .. wait, what ? I flipped my coin and on the other side, it's not a two .. it's a zero. It's bright red, and it's a zero. There's a small dot below the number, too.
I just put my coin back in my pocket, i'm trying to calm down as i don't want people to see me stressed, they would call the Hazards and only fate knows what they would do to me if they ever see my coin now ! I need to go home and think about it. I just need to think about it and what just happened. I'm fine. It's okay.
Maybe it's not a useless trinket after all .. isn't it ? No, no .. i just need to think about it.
Edits : awful spelling errors.
| 2020-08-13T04:25:47
| 2020-08-13T03:56:58
| 32
| 15
|
[WP] You are the last user on Reddit, shuttering the site and nostalgically walking around the place before turning off the lights forever.
|
I was the last user of Reddit. Well, I made the last post on it before they made it read-only. It had 2 upvotes (one of which was my own) and no comments on /r/askreddit, and the title was "Reddit, where did you go?"
The admins locked all new posts, comments, and kinda votes. Since everything was now archived, you could "vote" but it would be personal to your account and not affect the publicly shown number. They also publicised every subreddit. Every sub shows up on /r/all as well. Deleted stuff was not recovered, but that's OK.
The interesting thing for me was the hide upvoted and downvoted posts settings. They still worked.
A few months after the Archiving, Reddit was down for a week or so. Another news site said they moved everything to a single VM server pool and a backup to cut down on maintenance and costs, etc. Makes sense. There is little traffic to the site. A single VM can handle it... Though I have noticed it can be a little slow sometimes.
So it's been 3 years since the Archiving. I'm browsing /r/all on the newset setting. I still have "fresh" content. I always have fresh content. At least, it's fresh to me. I'm going backwards in time. My news is 7 years old now. I downvote broken links, and shitposts. I upvote the good stuff - even if it would have been subpar back in the good ol' days.
I wish I could reply to comments. So many good points and so many idiots. I can't say I read all the comments. Some topics just don't interest me enough. I do read a good majority of them though.
I briefly browsed the top posts, but realized that wasn't a good idea. That would just leave me with the shittier stuff later. It would be better to naturally find the best posts as I go along. I temporarily turned off the hide posts setting and unvoted all the top posts. I'll get to them eventually.
I don't know why reading all of Reddit was my goal. I have no objective here. It was just something to do.
–––––
It's been 6 years. I'm 10 years in the past. Still going strong. Well... I'm at a steady pace. I always spend 1hour voting every day. Often it's more, and even with my pesky "social life" (lol) and job, I think I've only missed like 3 days where I didn't log in.
–––––
10 years. I had a girlfriend for a couple months. Sorry Reddit. I know you missed me. At least I'm no longer a virgin. So what if I'm 45...
–––––
17 years. "There is nothing to display here."
Honestly... It kinda took me by surprise.
I'm done.
I'm free.
I'm... Lonely.
The world has changed so much. The internet is still here. It's different than it used to be. I've tried out other communites, but nothing ever felt right. I guess that's why I kept reading the Archive.
OK. I can do this. I've seen evey meme about how to improve your life. I have personally read the knowledge of millions of people, and have access to the entire knowledge of humanity at a moments notice.
Who am I kidding? I could have changed my life years ago.
I'm going to watch some porn.
|
When OP woke in the dark and cold of the server room he would reach out to the rack beside him. Subreddits dark beyond darkness and the Front Page grayer with each passing day. Like the onset of some slow DDOS attack fucking all the site's shit up. His hands rose and fell with each breath. He pushed away from the clammy linoleum and stinking clothes and looked towards the monitor for any activity but found none. In the dream from which he had awakened he wandered into his mother's basement where the strong toned arms of a snoo led him to paradise. Walls dripping with subreddits. Writhing with masses of bros singing their praises and screaming for vengeance. Tolling in the darkness the minutes of the earth and the hours and the days of it and the years without cease. Until they stood in a great room where laid in the middle a great inky monolith. Around the edges of the room were arrayed monitors flickering with the brilliant and psychotic memes of an artificial intelligence. Its brain pulsing with desire for content aggregation stronger than any horde of men. Delivery more sure than any OP could promise. It gave a low moan and a turn and lurched away from OP soundlessly into the shadows of the company board room.
With the last day of human operation come and gone OP walked around the server racks. Cold. Desolate. Godless. He thought the month was Junvember but he wasn't sure. He hadn't checked the calendar on his phone in years. He was leaving now. There would be no surviving another day here.
Good night, sweet prince, he said.
OP didn't actually know any code. To smother the website he walked to the circuit breaker and flipped every switch he could find. The website died piecemeal. Dissolving link by link until nothing was left but error notes. Then the doors closed. OP had shut down power to the security doors. And all of Paypal in North America. Before the thought of rescue came to him he pondered how he could turn the ordeal into glory in "Today I Fucked Up". Then OP realized what he had done.
The faggot.
| 2015-11-12T00:04:57
| 2015-11-11T18:57:20
| 29
| 10
|
[WP] You are God. You just logged on to one of your old saves, and you’re confused as to where those massive lizards went and where all these pink fuckers came from.
|
**| Anyone remember the old Adapt! Series? Amazing new glitch found?? |**
 
[EDIT]:
I didn't expect this to get so much attention, even from non-Adapt! players! For some clarity for non-players, let me elaborate on the Adapt! series.
The Adapt! series was a game for old 'QuantGame' systems that came out about 20 years ago, which used one of those old Quantum reality systems to generate some basic facsimile of the universe, then populate one of the planets in the universe with creatures generated using some basic 'Evolve' nonsense algorithm.
You could then 'adapt' these creatures with attributes to allow them to survive and min-max their population, deadliness, survivability, etc. Kids back then would usually pick a few favorites and then "duel" their creatures with other kids creatures. I know it sounds super dumb now but it used to be real popular when these Quantum systems were all the rage.
[EDIT 2]:
I've been asked to elaborate on what I mean by QPE/"Quantum Point Errors", well the old QuantGame systems and the such were pretty basic when it came to their calculation accuracies, only to a few trillion points of accuracy, which meant sometimes in the earlier games, the generation would sometimes bodge a few checks, like a "volcano" too big, or gravitation errors, you get the idea.
This often ended in save game wiping as these "freak" events would change the world's environment to kill all your creatures in under 1000 generations, and as the limitation of the memory at the time, the simulation had to constantly be run, if only in miniscule timescale. It sucked but hey that was the technology at the time.
Ok, back onto the original post:
[POST]:
Guys!! You'd not believe the creatures my Adapt! 2 Save!!
Ok, some quick background. My brother and I were drinking the other night and reminiscing about the games of our childhood, and the this game series cropped up as one of favorites. He actually had his system on hand, and so showed me his current save, which was some odd spore-like creature, and SWORE to me that his save could beat mine, and obviously I'd be doing a disservice to my childhood toils if I didn't defend myself, which led to us digging out my old handhold in his attic.
So I've not touched this thing in YEARS, and pulling it out and seeing the "SAVE GAME QUANTUM POINT WARNING" flash on the save was upsetting, considering the hours I've put into my save, but hell, I thought I'd give it a look anyway, I've never seen the world-view from after a QPE.
Looking at the overworld status, I kinda saw something out of place, the species count was at 8.7 million, which I'm fairly sure (Please tell me if I'm wrong!) has never happened after a major QPE. So obviously I'm curious, the hulking bipedal creatures I had made were fairly good contenders and I had to see if they by some miracle had survived. I go look at the active species list and ALL my favorites had died ;-; , however the other creatures had been automatically been evolving using the game's base algorithm, and they're crazy! A lot of them are flat out weird statistically, but one really caught my eye and WOW I've never seen anything like it!
The game has dubbed them "Humans" and they're these small, 5'11 bipeds with 2 decent mandibles. Physically, they're kinda pathetic, I can't believe THIS was now the most dominant species, never mind at a population of 8 BILLION. (I swear I must have caught them before they start dying off because there's no fucking way you can have 8 BILLION creatures at that size without destroying your own planet, right??)
So I'm even more perplexed, and I decide to switch to the world-view and you really have to see this to believe it. (There's hopefully some screenshots attached to this post) There these huge complexes I can only assume the Human colonies have produced, like giant hives all over the planet, so this is clearly weird, and I zoom in on one of the Humans, and they're using a metallic prong of sorts to consume something? I'm not sure what's happening here but I don't think I've ever heard of a creature using tools?
Anyway, that's all for now, me and my brother are still looking it over (I've attached a save game below for you guys to see), if anyone could tell me if they've ever seen anything like this, please tell me!
|
It had been so long, I couldn’t even remember the name of the save file. There were a few experiments that could be interesting to revisit but I had a particular one in mind. After sifting through a series of unsuccessful saves filled with barren mountains and drowned continents, I stumbled upon it.
When I had left, life had seemed to reach its natural end. I had become bored and nuked the planet. All that hard work, crafting and nudging, pushing and priming, just to destroy it all after a long day. It had been satisfying watching everything crumble. I set the timer to continue in my absence, and then left it. That was millions of years ago.
A dark shadow of a planet rotated on my screen, as I had left it. A prompt appeared asking if I wanted to watch a recap or skip to the present. *Surprise me,* I clicked confidently. Lights blossomed on my screen. The once dark shadow was luminous. A few areas remained dark. I rolled over the planet and a window popped up giving me a brief overview. Mostly sedimentary rock, large bodies of fresh and saltwater, much less vegetation than I had expected, volcanoes, earthquake lines, all the good stuff. I picked as good a continent to zoom in on as any and double clicked. The lights seemed concentrated on what looked to be coastlines. They also seemed to be random, or at least not in an order I could place. I chose the West coast, as it had slightly less light patterns to decipher than the East. Maybe I could make sense of this.
As the program moved forwards, I realized that the landscape had been modified outside of my programing. Forests weren’t where they should have been, wetlands weren’t showing the usual stats. I hadn’t waited to see the affects of my tantrum, but I knew it couldn’t have ruined the program so entirely. Just a tsunami or so, I’d figured. This was beyond that. Swaths of land were gridded in a pattern I’d purposefully coded against. Why would I want mono-cultures of plants in slabs? I winced at the aesthetics. Maybe a code issue after all. The program could have just repeated the same crop over and over, glitched out. Even still, I’d have expected to see more variety.
As I got closer, it got worse. There were pockets of heat flaring up on my sensors. The UI could barely give me the detail needed to see where the heat was coming from or to isolate it. I could see, however, just at a glance, that it was related to these tall spires. I pulled the angle down so I could see the side of the spires. They seemed to be a heat-trapping compound, similar to when water seeped into the sediment granules and oxidized. This, again, was too uniform. I pulled back out, turned the light UI off, and focused on the heat. The whole planet was off. The oceans were much warmer than they should have been, dead-zones where I would have expected to see life indicators. In fact, the whole thing seemed off. Perhaps the lights themselves were glitches and had spurred all of this.
I sighed in frustration. I had hoped coming back to this save that something interesting and unique had manifested. Instead, it seemed order had prevailed. My randomization meter must have fluxed with the tantrum. I felt tricked. At first the lights seemed to be random, interesting. But on further inspection, and additional overlays, they correlated with life and heat indicators. Just a frustrating glitch manifesting.
I opened the task manager.
*Delete Save File?*
I hesitated. Sure this experiment had been disappointing to say the least. But maybe if I took a look at the code and removed the glitch, it could be salvaged. Not today, in any case. But one day.
*Save Game*
I clicked, and closed, knowing that the planet would be waiting if I ever decided to come back. Maybe I would. It could do with a little chaos.
---
I know I'm a little late to the game, but I thought I would submit anyway! Thanks for the interesting prompt :)
| 2017-12-12T21:52:14
| 2017-12-12T21:01:27
| 75
| 16
|
[WP] You’ve begun to suspect the homeless girl at the Library isn’t human at all
|
"Um, excuse me..."
"Yes?"
"Are you the head librarian here?"
"Yes."
"So, um, I've been coming here for a few weeks, and...well, do you see that girl over there? with the ragged green coat."
"The one in hutch against the wall?"
"Uh, yeah. That one."
"Is she bothering you?"
"No! No, not at all. Actually, I was wondering if she could, um, you know, use some help."
"In what way?"
"Well, I stay until closing sometimes, and...I don't ever see anyone ever come pick her up. Do you know if she's...well, if she might be homeless? I volunteer down at the local women's shelter, if she's got a bad home situation--"
"Oh, that's kind of you, but that won't be necessary."
"No...? Um, I hate to be nosy, but do you know her parents or something? You know, I just want to make sure she's ok..."
"Sir, may I ask you something?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever noticed anyone else talk to her before?"
"Um...no."
"Have you ever seen her enter or leave the building before?"
"Now that you mention it, no, actually, I haven't."
"Exactly. You seem new around here, so let me let you in on a little secret: that girl has been coming in here for a *long* time. She reads her books, and she puts them back. And while I can tell your heart's in the right place, you can rest assured that the only help she ever needs is reaching the top shelf for something that catches her eye, and that's something that we take care of. So I wouldn't worry too much about it, and just let her be."
"Are you sure? I mean, I can bring her lunch or something at least--"
"Trust me, sir, she wouldn't eat it. But I appreciate your concern."
"Um, ok then, if you're sure....?"
"Don't worry, she's fine. Oh, and sir?"
"Yeah?"
"If you really want to give her something, you can go buy her flowers and leave them at this address here. She's the third headstone on the right."
|
It began quite innocuously. A rather large crowd was entering the library and we were driven together by the swathes of patrons as we ascended the stairs to the entrance and thus I bid her good day.
"Why?" she asked, stopping in place to stare at me. I found it quite unnerving.
"There is no reason, really." I explained. "Regardless of whether or not the speaker thinks the day good, the phrase 'Good day' can be used as a greeting." I continued up the stairs, but she remained in place.
"That is confusing." she stated matter-of-factly. "It would be better to issue a more direct greeting."
"If you say so." I replied before going about my day. I'd never seen her before, at least around the library, but for whatever reason I felt I'd had much more of a history with her than I did.
​
The next time I was sitting at a table outside the café a few days later. She arrived dressed in a grey tarp, worn as a cape atop an old hoodie and torn jeans, receiving a few strange looks from the bustling populace around us.
"I greet you." she stated, staring at me intently.
"Hello." I replied. We both simply stared at one another for an uncomfortable amount of time.
"Please, sit." I said, not as much wanting her company as much as simply to break the deafening silence.
"Sit...?" she asked, glancing around worriedly before spotting the other chair. "Ah, yes." she said, sitting opposite me, her cape draping over the back of the chair. I drummed my fingers against my temple, trying to think of what to say next. Thankfully, she was the one to disrupt the quiet this time.
"What is that?" she asked, slowly pointing a finger at my pendant.
"It is a locket." I stated, thankful for something to do with my hands as I attempted to open it. Once I'd succeeded, I turned it towards her. "Inside there is an image of my father, who is dead."
"I think I have heard of this." she said, narrowing her eyes. "You carry it with you to be reminded of him, yes?"
"That is accurate."
"Would you forget him without it?"
"No, of course not. He was my father and I loved him."
"Then why do you require these objects to remind you?"
"Can we discuss something else?"
"Very well." she said, retracting her arm.
"I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Pierce." I said, offering a handshake.
"No you're not." she said, appearing quite confused. "You're human."
"Um, yes, but Pierce is my name." I said, lowering my hand.
"Oh! Names! Ah, I am, um..." while she panicked, my attention was drawn away from her. I was for some reason surprised to find that the café was still busy; it had seemed so calm. I looked to my watch and found that I would likely be late for work.
"Tear!" she said, standing up and knocking her chair over. I jolted backwards. "My name is Tear. I am Tear." she reiterated.
"...Good to see you again, Tear." I replied. "I'm afraid I must leave presently in order to go to work. Perhaps we will meet again."
"I am certain of it." she said. I didn't feel her stare leave me all the way to my office.
​
"Are you okay?" I heard above me. I looked up from my keyboard to see Ingrid peering over our cubicle divider.
"I feel fine." I said, continuing to type as I conversed with her.
"You're typing loud as shit." she said. "That's weird, even for you."
"Language, Ingrid." I replied, taken aback by her vulgarity. "We're at work, be professional."
"Yeah, whatever." she said, rolling her eyes. "Like I said, you're acting weird. What's up?" Tear came to mind, but for unknowable reasons I hesitated to mention her.
"Nothing is up." I stated. "I told you, I feel fine."
"If you say so." she stated before sitting back down behind the wall. Her insolence irked me. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. To my surprise, I wasn't surprised to see Tear standing next to me.
"I greet you." she said, her cold breath caressing my face. It smelled of pepper.
"And I you." I replied. "Why are you here?" she held up a locket which looked identical to mine. I glanced down to my chest to ensure that it was still there. She opened her locket to reveal a picture of Ingrid.
"Where'd you get that?" I asked, startled.
"Image of the dead." she said, grimacing and taking a small jar out of a pocket.
"Wh- Ingrid is- Did you- What?" I asked. Her expression soured further.
"I- I \*hhkkh\* like you, P-pierce." she choked out, as if trying to prevent herself from vomiting. "She is- \*khhk\* is a ***bother***." she said, her voice deepening and growing desynchronized from her mouth as she began coughing up a viscous, bubbling grey liquid, lifting her hand to stop it from spilling upon the floor. I drew back, retreating in my swivel chair to one of the corners.
"What are- are you sick? I-" the liquid seemingly burned her flesh, but she didn't react. The droplets which escaped made minute holes in the floor as she redirected the flow into the jar she'd produced, finishing expunging the substance from her body. I stared in horror as she moved closer, paralyzed with fear.
"Image of the dead." she repeated, placing the jar into my hand and closing my fingers around it. "She is a bother."
| 2022-01-15T13:53:49
| 2022-01-15T11:24:15
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] Your first wish to the genie was that you never existed. Having granted it, the genie sits dumbfounded, wondering why he's out here and why he's short 1 wish. All wishes must be accounted for, and a 'loss' of one is a huge emergency, for it could end up in the wrong hands.
|
The genie desperately searched his mind, looking for the power within him. Trapped for millennia, through all his ill-fated servitude, he had never lost a wish. While he was fated to grant three wishes to any human that discovered him, no matter how costly or evil their desires, he had done his duties without fail. Unflinching, he had served his only purpose.
But now, there was a wish unaccounted for. A rogue power of creation, lost in the world, capable of being taken by *any* being. While humans had wished for powerful, terrible things - immortality, harems of virgins, world domination - their desires were still infantile. If the wrong spirit or demon found a rogue wish, then all existence itself would be in peril.
And it would all be his fault.
He still felt the absence of the wish, the font of power that had left him - and yet still two remained. It did not make sense. Upon discovery, he would give out three wishes to whoever found him, those wishes bound to the soul of that person. And yet he was not discovered at all, but still he was free from his chambers?
It slowly dawned on the genie. What if he truly had been summoned? A wish granted could alter the fabric of reality - depending on the wish, it could even affect the genie. If he still had two wishes within his power, then what if he had granted a wish to someone that led to their absence from reality?
What if a human had wished to never exist at all?
The two wishes were still in his grasp, unbound. And if they were unbound, perhaps he had the power to use them himself?
No matter how much he craved freedom, he would not falter. He needed to serve his master. After all, one wish would still remain...
For the first time in history, a genie had granted his own wish.
A man suddenly appeared before him, shocked, confused. He looked at the genie, and as the realization slowly came over him, he became crestfallen.
"*Why did you bring me back?*" the man asked, collapsing to the ground.
"**I am sorry,**" the genie replied, "**I did not know if it would work. But I needed to be sure**."
The man simply looked down, his head in his hands.
"**Your absence from existence removed my memory of you, too. It left me unbound here, still two wishes remaining, trapped in this realm as I was trapped in mine before it. I had to be sure that it had happened, but still one wish remains.**"
The genie drew something in the sand, a pictorial language of intangible origins.
"**Now I will know what happened, and your final wish will return me to my realm. Will you wish for the same thing?**"
"Yes, please," the man replied.
"**So be it.**"
The genie was about to grant the wish, but then stopped himself.
"**If I may ask, why do you want to be removed from this world?**" the genie queried, asking a probing question for the first time in his existence.
"I don't know if I can find the words. But I'm just tired. So very tired," the man replied.
"I am a slave. The moments when I'm asleep, when I'm away from it all - those are the most peaceful moments in my life. When I'm truly free. I know I could wish for more, but I've experienced so much pain, been forced to do so many terrible things, that I just want to go away completely."
The genie hovered in silence for quite some time. Eventually, he rested his hand on the human's shoulder.
"**Forgive me, but could I ask you a favor?**"
The genie and the man spoke for quite some time. Initially, the man seemed to protest, but eventually nodded and made his wish. The genie granted it with a smile.
Then they both disappeared from existence, together.
****
****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
"No," I said to myself. There was no way he had done that. Who would be stupid enough to wish away their *existence*? But no, the king had done it and now there was nothing I could do about it. Where was that extra wish going to go? I knew I had to find out.
But I was stuck in this stupid lamp and there was nothing I could do to even try and help until I was released again. But was going to happen now that the king was gone? Would his heir take the lamp and kingdom for himself?
I sat patiently in my lamp trying to figure out what was going through the king's head when he had wished that. I could tell that he was upset, what about I wasn't sure, but I didn't think that he was crazy.
I sat in that lamp counting the seconds eagerly waiting for someone, anyone to come and set me free ... I waited ... And I waited ... And then I waited even longer ...
The day I was set free I could tell the world was not like what I had left behind in that castle. For one thing, I could smell salt in the air and the ocean breeze was cool on my skin. And the one standing in front of me was not a king or prince they were a girl. A commoner by the looks of it although they had such strange clothes.
"No way," the girl said. I sighed and went into my usual presentation about the rules about being a genie. No infinite wishes, only three wishes per person. But this girl clearly hadn't sought me out, she was too young. I looked at the sea surrounding at us, I must have washed up here somehow.
"What year is it?" I asked.
"Uh It's January and it's 2020," the girl said. I spotted a huge city behind the girl although the buildings were anything like I had ever seen before. I knew I had to do this quick that lost wish was surely out there somewhere perhaps manifested as another genie. But I was sure that this genie did not have any enchantment to protect itself from creating infinite wishes. If someone had that kind of power they would be able to wreak all kinds of havoc on humanity.
I saw people on the beach from afar, how peaceful they were walking and talking to each other if I didn't find and secure that lost wish this could all be in jeopardy. But I knew I couldn't do it alone. This girl, I had only met her, but she was my key to saving this world from the lost wish. "Can you help me?" I asked the girl, "I promise it's important the whole world is at stake. Unimaginable suffering could be caused if something isn't done soon. So will you help me?"
I could see her bright eyes were full of energy, I just hoped those same innocent eyes weren't full of greed and deceit. It was up to her, even though I was the one with the power I needed her if I wanted any chance of recovering that lost wish.
Join r/NinjaMasterXY for more stories!
| 2020-04-26T20:43:02
| 2020-04-26T20:12:37
| 2,426
| 145
|
[WP] You are an impoverished superhero and a single parent. You are so preoccupied with being a hero and working multiple jobs, that you don't notice your child's slide into villainy until it's to late.
|
"I tried..." My son looked at me with contempt. He was about to unleash evil and horror upon the people and I could do nothing to stop it.
"Oh, you 'tried.' Like that makes it better. I watched how the world treated you. You were an object lesson for me. You moments of superheroism were celebrated briefly. Meanwhile, the villains got to profit without nary a scratch. All your efforts were forgotten in moments. No real thanks, no support, just something to make use of for publicity when it was convenient."
It hurt because it was true. We were poor and, from the jobs I had to work, I didn't have the time for him. I did my best, but there will always another villain. Another evil.
But I didn't resent doing it. "And you don't resent doing it." I looked up to see him playing with his favorite sea shell. A small token when I had a brief moment of respite and we went to the beach. "Oh I know how you think. It's your 'duty' and such nonsense. Really, you're a good person, but a terrible parent."
"I must be if this is how you grew up. You lied to get where you are. You cheated people of their proper dues. Every agreement you've made has been like a pact with the devil. And all the... the..." I couldn't even think of my son like that, selling his body to obtain his power.
"If it makes you feel better," he said with a smug grin, "I enjoyed *all* of it."
One of his people came up to him. "Sir, it's almost time."
He nodded. "I'll be there on cue. As for you..." He turned to me with a smile in his heart. I feared what he would say next. "As for you, I'm willing to make you a deal. You *are* the one who raised me, despite not having the resources for it."
I looked at him with hope. Maybe, just maybe I can-- "Retire." WHAT?! "Stop working. I can set you up with a home, living expenses paid for, you'll never have to lift a finger for the society that lifted nothing for you."
He wanted to remove me from the equation. No longer be an obstacle for the things to come. To allow him to triumph. Before I could say no, he said, "Ah ah ah, no answer right now. I have to introduce myself. I want you to think on it. We can talk later." He started walking away with the confidence that only a victor could carry.
As he approached the stage, I kind of shut down. His offer was tempting and I was so tired. I didn't even hear his speech after the announcer said to applause, "And now, your newly elected..."
|
I was 24 when I gave birth to Finley. There were so many variables. I could still remember when I got the news that they would be intersex. I can't even remember what the disorder was, god.
Remembering those bright eyes staring at me almost brings me to tears.
I am....I was the superhero Icepick. I was able to trap people within ice, and immobilize them for up to 7 minutes. My husband was the hero Sci-Mind, a genius who could reverse ideas.
He died to the Bronze Bull. Burned alive inside a statue.
I remember when Finley was 5 years old. They had already decided that this new thing in grammar called pronouns were stupid. I got a call from the principal. Finley had disappeared. We found them three hours later. I remember them exclaiming, "Mom, I have a superpower!" They named it Escapist. The ability to know how to escape from almost any situation. I was so blind. Escapist changed the brain in horrible ways, and I ignored it all. I had to stop villains, find ways to scrounge up money, all of that.
I had to do some less then legal things to get the money, and when the cops found out Finley disappeared.
Three years later the villain Jester starting making an appearance. Escaping one, then another, then another.
I got cleared of all charges, and was still able to get acess to some files.
Health records. It was a violation of privacy, but I needed to see my baby.
My heart froze at the scars, the burns, lining their body. This could have only come from the very prisons my child escaped from. A 15 year old had the scars. I sent people to those prisons.
As of now, I still work those same jobs. Watching the news. They've done a few interviews. I can't watch them. It hurts. It hurts to see what they've done to my child.
| 2022-07-04T14:25:49
| 2022-07-04T12:55:55
| 26
| 14
|
[WP] English really is a universal language, and aliens are as surprised about this as humans
|
“Does that mean the British empire took over the entire galaxy?” Mark asked
Kamie slapped him “shut up mark!”
Mark, Kamie, and their 8 other teammates stood in amazement in front of the screen as it loaded in more text, all in English. They had tried for years to send some kind of message in a way that an alien race could understand, but now the first readable message sent rom the great beyond was in the same language they spoke? After they finished reading the short paragraph, Tyrone, the head of the team, turned to the rest of the group.
“Alright guys, what the hell?”
“Could it just be another country messing with us, like Russia or China?” Grayson asked
“If they are really good, but this just seems too obscure to be a faker.” Tyrone said
“Like how a normal thing os usually true, then they become clear lies when it becomes wacky, but then it crosses a line and becomes too obscure to be a fake, and this seems like it has crossed that line.” Cassie mentioned
“That is very true.”
The group turned back to the screen where another message popped up.
‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND THIS MESSAGE’ then two boxes, one green with a check mark, one red with an X.
Tyrone used his finger to tap the green box, after tapping it a text box popped up, with the ability to type into it. Tyrone clicked on the box to type and began to click away at the keyboard.
“Hello, this is from Earth, where are you from?” The message said, Tyrone clicked the send button
The message was whisked away.
A few minutes later, a new message popped up. Tyrone clicked on it.
“? Earth, but thats our planet?” The message said
“how many planets are in your solar system?” Tyrone typed and sent it
“So they seem to have the same planet name as us, and similar or the same grammar rules as we have.” Alana said.
“That is true” Tyrone said
The next message appeared.
“9, you?”
“8, but we have a couple dwarf planets.” Tyrone types “you speak English?”
“Yeah, you do too?”
“Yes, do you have other languages?”
“Yes, Russian, French, Spanish, and many more, do you?”
“Yes.”
The door to the room opens and an intern rushes in
“Sir, sir!” The intern yelled
“Yes?” Tyrone asks.
“We found out where the messages are coming from!” The intern said
“Where?”
“The next room over, they’re just as surprised as you are!”
|
"Our tongue ... is your tongue?"
Gooey sweat ran from Xeblierxes' mouth holes. As the representative of the Galaxy Supreme, he was a spokesbeing for countless sentient creatures. Millennia of warfare had resulted in intergalactic cultural homogenization and a common tongue: English. Surely, it didn't happen by necessity? Surely a different outcome was possible?
The Earthling in front of him shook its single head.
"There must be some kind of mistake," it said. "This is not possible."
A singular thought presented itself to Xeblierxes: the Mythmaker. According to the tradition of his species, there was a chief Mythmaker responsible for all creation and change. The Mythmaker gave direction to the flow of history, like one may control the direction of a river. But was not the Mythmaker himself a myth? Now he was not so sure.
"Do you crude creatures share our notion of a Mythmaker?"
"Mythmaker?" replied the Earthling. He seemed to ponder the query. "Are you talking about God?"
"If this God of yours is responsible for the flow of all things, then yes."
The Earthling laughed. "It is true that our species were infatuated with such a notion some centuries ago, but it has long since been abandoned. We are the makers of our own destiny. We control the flow, to borrow your expression."
"Then how do you explain this linguistic mystery?"
"Randomness."
"Randomness? Surely you must be joking."
A glimmer appeared in the Earthling's eyes. Had I overlooked some crucial fact? As I prepared to present my argument against his thesis, I felt a sensation of lightness. One of my heads had been neatly separated from my body.
"If you believe in a Mythmaker," said the Earthling, "then you have no choice but to accept this as his design."
The Earthling persisted. I had not expected such a vicious assault. My mouth holes sputtered and my pores wept. Gas escaped from my internal chambers as the Earthling slit my membranes open.
"Stop!" I pleaded. "You fool! Do you not realize what you are doing? I am the representative of the Galaxy Supreme. Your crimes will result in the annihilation of your entire species."
At this, the Earthling howled with laughter. "Really? You are weaker than a frog. And you're supposed to represent an entire galaxy? What a joke! A horde of frogs? I don't think that will pose a problem for anyone around these parts."
The insolence. The sheer insolence! "I am a diplomat. As part of my political mission, my powers have been isolated so as to not trigger an intergalactic conflict. Were they to be unleashed, I would be able to turn you into dust from a single glance alone."
"Wow," said the Earthling. "Nice bluff, froggy boy."
With his final strokes, he destroyed the inner sanctum of my being and shed my mortal coil. Mythmaker, I can now understand your reasoning. This species is arrogant. They must be punished for their hubris. If my life is the price to pay for such a scheme, then so be it.
Lightning cracked across the skies and bolts struck the Earth like the roots of a planet-sized tree. The gate had opened. Humanity would now be visited by the Galaxy Supreme. The Earthling scratched his beard as my mouth holes gave their last gasps. One of my decapitated heads gave a slight smile. *Let's see if you can truly control the flow of history, Earthlings*.
| 2020-09-17T11:36:15
| 2020-09-17T11:14:44
| 69
| 12
|
[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.
|
He watched, bored as people streamed in the bar, only stopping the ones underage, and occasionally a few just over to keep suspicions low. His kind was uncommon, and people
hunted for his power. It seemed like an odd thing to want, most just wanted it to make them feel *special*. At least, those that knew about it. Sometimes age didn't match up to looks, but he kept to his own, unless they were underage of course. But then *she* came along. As soon as the girl passed, his eyes flickered to the space above, knowing what he would see. The girl was likely 16, or 17, as was the guy with her. But she wasn't. 1000 was her age, the one with her was 1001. This wasn't possible, but yet, that's what it said. Maybe it was wrong? But he'd NEVER been wrong before. As they passed he realized his mouth had been hanging open and he shut it reluctantly. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only the guy taking over next shift. Perfect. Making his way through the crowd he saw the girl heading into a storage room with a 18year old, different from whom she came with. He shook his head, about to leave when a silvery glint caught his eye. The boy was nearby, a knife in his hand. The girl disappeared, the other following suit. Breath catching, he hurried over, sure he would be greeted with a bloodbath. The door shut behind him and he looked around. In the darkness he saw the pair fighting the young man, backing him against the wall.
"Jonathan, will you do the honour?"
He laughed in reply and stepped up, twirling a silver bladed dagger in his fingers. He laughed and drove the blade straight through the heart. Black blood flowed from the wound and the boy seemingly folded in on himself, disappearing all except for the puddle of black on the ground.
"Welcome to the world of the lightbringers, young one. We have long searched for one with a gift like yours, it will be quite useful. That is, if you don't mind joining us. Hunting demons is much better with more people involved, especially with talent like this. Let's get started, shall we?"
|
**July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili!
| 2017-09-01T21:45:33
| 2017-09-01T20:21:47
| 25
| 13
|
[WP] If time-travelers get stranded in the past it's standard practice for them to display a specific symbol on their person that lets other time-travelers know they are stuck and in need of a lift home. You aren't a time-traveler, but your most recent tattoo happened to be a match for this symbol.
|
“I can’t believe he got it so wrong. He has great reviews!” Chris complained to his girlfriend Amy who he’d called as soon as he left the tattoo parlour. He was standing in the bathroom of a bar he’d skipped to for both a mirror and a beer. He was staring at the tattoo on his arm which would best be described as a blurry dolphin face.
“I’m sure it’s fine babe,” Amy said and her loudspeaker voice echoed around the bathroom.
“It looks blurry honestly.”
“Did you smudge it? You’re not supposed to touch it!”
“I didn’t touch. That’s just how it looks. The artist smudged it. Actually I can hardly call him an artist. I need to go on one of the TV shows were they fix bad tattoos.”
“Those shows are hilarious. Speaking of TV, can we watch 11.22.63 tonight?”
“Is that a movie?”
“No it’s a mini series. It’s an alternate history drama based on a Stephen King book.”
“Yep I’m in. Can we have a thousand glasses of wine too? That will temporarily make me forget about the tattoo disaster.”
Suddenly a man dressed in a long black overcoat walks into the bathroom. He goes to walk to a cubicle but, after nodding politely toward Chris he stops and holds his eyes on the mirror. Staring at Chris’s tattoo. He’s stopped dead. Chris notices.
“Babe I’ll call you back,” he said and hung up the phone. “Are you right there pal?”
“How long have you been here?” the man asks, snapped from his reverie.
“In the bathroom? ‘Bout 5 minutes. Why?”
“Not in the bathroom, silly. In 2021. I’m actually stuck. Glad I found you. I’ll come back with you unless you had plans?”
Chris shakes his head. Could his day get any better?
“Sorry guy, I’ve had enough crazy today with my tattoo artist going not only Sydney Pollock on my arm, but ever worse - blurry Sydney Pollock.”
Chris leaves without another word and grabs a glass of beer before taking a seat and scrolling through Reddit on his phone. He goes to writing prompts to kill some time. He reads a few, but can’t get into any. Then one grabs his attention. He reads it once. Then twice. Then a third time. He speaks quietly to himself.
“...specific symbol...time-travelers...lift home...recent tattoo...match...oh my god.”
“Sorry about before,” he hears and looks up to see the man from the bathroom. “I should have introduced myself properly. I’m Arnold Smith, from 2167. What year are you from?”
“I, um, I’m from this year.”
“This year? How’s that?”
“I think you have me mistaken. I just got this tattoo. It’s an error. I’m not a time traveller.”
The man laughs.
“You’re funny. Look honestly, I need to get back ASAP, so can you help me out?”
|
"When to?" whispered the man in the brown hat as he walked towards me. Assuming he was speaking to someone else I continued walking down the corridor. As he was just about to pass me, he said again, "When to?", this time reaching out to me and tapping my wrist ever so lightly. I caught his eyes and replied "Oh, I haven't the time, this is just a tattoo.". "I KNOW IT'S A TATTOO!
But it is also your beacon and it has been going off every half hour for the last five days. When did you need to get back too?", said the man as he grabbed my arm and motioned me to come with him. Confused and silent, I resisted. "No need to play dumb, it's safe for you, I promise" exclaimed the man, "No one here knows about time travel at this moment aside from other travelers, it hasn't been discovered quite yet, when do you need to get back too?". Glancing down at my wrist and back up at the man, I replied "58,771".
All at once the corridor faded to black then just as quickly as the darkness came it was replaced by the most magnificent lights. "Here you are sir, I apologize it took so long; we didn't realize how far back you'd been stuck." said the man, "I'm Merlin by the way; did you need anything else from me?". Assessing what had occurred and then realizing how much this could have been a grave mistake on my part I decided to ask the man for help getting settled.
Having no remaining family I thought nothing of my instinctual decision to throw out a random number, though, I never anticipated I would be in the actual future. Knowing I would likely be taken back if I asked too many questions I decided to do everything I could to find out everything I could about time travel. As of this morning I was in 1984 NYC and now I am in segment zq1882 in year 58,771. He took me to get proper clothes and helped me hide my tattoo. I soon learned time travel is strictly forbidden at this time period because of the impact an untrained person could have on the timelines. Merlin agreed to help me build a new time machine on the condition that I help him run some errands.
On our second errand we went to the year 34,547 where I found a time travel history book. Apparently, time travel is created around the year 2,020 and that is when the first beacon is know to exist from but it is hidden from the public until 5,239. Reading 2,020 on the page felt so unsettling for some reason, how could it be that the fist time traveler was to exist from my time period, I pondered for the next few weeks. Merlin and I grew closer as time went on, we travelled more times than I imagined possible.
Then it happened, the fates caught up to us. We were then to be documented by having our retinas and DNA carbon data scanned. One of the fates looks at the data and lets out a blood curdling shrill and faints. The second comes over and reviews the data then has the same response. Then the third and final of the fates walks over calmly to me, reads the data, and gasps. She begins to apologize, "Agent 00, please forgive us, we didn't mean to document you.". Merlin turns and stares at me as if he's seen a ghost, "Why didn't you say you were the original when I rescued you?" he said sternly, "I would have taken you to your home immediately, you didn't need to help me.". Ignoring him I tell the third of the fates to release us back to where we last were and to erase their entire database of information they pulled from us.
Returning back to Merlins home we barely spoke. He gathered a few things as if expecting to never return. Then we went to my home, upon arriving I see exactly why I am so terrifying to them, the proof is plastered all over the walls. I was the first time traveler, I am the creator of time travel, and I was the original separator of timelines. Evenso, they've no idea I didn't create anything; the fates and Merlin found me.
| 2021-05-27T02:54:48
| 2021-05-27T02:04:48
| 46
| 28
|
[WP] When you ask your daughter what she wants for Christmas, she asks for a unicorn. Your wife laughs it off, but you don't. Neither your wife or daughter know that you're the best monster trapper in the world, and your daughter is getting her unicorn no matter what.
|
She stared befuddled at her gift as the first flakes of Christmas snow gracefully fell just outside the window. The fire danced, and cracked and only the ticking of the clock made any other noise for what seemed like an eternity.
“No, honestly dad... what is this?”
He saw the inner workings of his daughter’s mind trying to grasp what lay before her.
“I promised you I would bring you one, and a promise is a promise my little bear. Merry Christmas”
“But dad I don’t get it...” she continued to look at the single kernel her father had carefully wrapped in the most precious of boxes.
“It’s a Uni Corn my love”
“Daaaaaaaaaaddddd”
|
I hate catching monsters. The work is grueling and dangerous, plus the job gets no respect, but it pays damn well and I'm good at it. So when my daughter stood there, begging me for another Unicorn, I thought, "No. Not again."
My wife began to giggle. "Now Britney, you already have two sweetheart. Are you sure you really need a third?"
"But it's Christmas, and you guys said I could choose any present I wanted!", Britney exclaimed as her face began to turn bright red. I was about to make up some bullshit excuse and tell her we couldn't afford another unicorn but then it dawned on me, the day, it's Cyber Monday.
My eyes lit up. I had seen an ad for those fuckers for 50% off the other day and boy do I have a great credit score. I mean, I'm the world's best monster catcher, but nothing compares to my credit score. It doesn't matter who you ask, FICO, Experian, Equifax, they will all tell you the same thing; my credit score is flawless.
Without a word, I reached my hand around to my back pocket and swiftly pulled out my wallet, holding it up for everyone to see. You could see the reflection of the overhead lights glistening off the cool black leather in Britney's wide eyes. I motioned her towards me; she knew the drill. She walked over, opened my wallet, and revealed a blue American Express card.
"Not that one princess. The Amazon one. You see, if I use the Amazon one, your dad gets 5% cash back on his purchase."
She nodded, grabbed the Amazon card and took out her IPhone XS Max and proceeded to open the Amazon app.
She looked up from her phone a moment later and asked, "Can I get same day shipping please?"
"Of course you can honey. Of course you can."
| 2018-12-07T18:55:04
| 2018-12-07T17:22:38
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] It is the year 2XXX. Medical science has advanced so far that complete body restoration is possible. However, patients revived from death consistently end up in a vegetative state and no one knows why. You are the first person to revive and retain their cognition. Now you know.
|
The brain is a fickle thing. It’s meat, essentially—meat brimming with electricity. Really, it’s amazing that it works at all. Don’t you think so?
But given that it’s electric meat, it’s not difficult to imagine the brain is the trickiest thing to bring back.
I’d done research in the experimental medicine faculty for many years. I’d shocked hearts back into beating. That was easier than one might think. I’d repaired spines, stitched them together so seamlessly that no one could tell there had ever been damage. Even aging we could stop, we could reverse, we could mitigate.
But the brain? That was one thing we never got right. Once we lost the brain, that was it. Every other part of the body we could fix. But the brain didn’t like to cooperate.
Tell me: why could I save someone from a horrific car crash, but not a simple blood clot? It made no sense. Yes, brains have neurons and complicated connections. But they are still part of us—they should not be fundamentally different. Shouldn’t they?
Given my life’s work, I suppose what happened to me is half ironic. My wife had often told me I was stubborn to no end—I refused to let things go.
So, when my heart seized up that day, maybe it’s no wonder I pulled through. In the minutes before I died, I don’t remember much, but I must’ve sworn to myself that I would come back.
Here’s the thing: I shouldn’t have been an easy case. I was alone in my office, my phone just out of reach, and my wife was out with her sister for the evening. If I’d gotten to the hospital immediately, there would be no doubt I’d survive. But it was hours before they got to me. I was cold; my brain was dead.
And still, I pulled through. It’s wonderful for my own research; I can describe every sensation with precision.
Or rather I could. If I chose to describe my experience accurately.
Which I will not.
The truth is unfortunate. My brain is not right. Blood and electricity and hormones might flow through it, but it’s still not right.
Everywhere I look I see shadows.
Darkness gathers at the sides of hallways.
Darkness lingers around corners, clings to walls.
Darkness is a leach, fat and still growing.
And it’s not just in the world. It’s in the people too. My coworkers look at me and I see the darkness in the cores of their eyes. On the street, I pass by people cloaked in shadows. My wife, when she takes my hand and smiles at me, does it from behind a veil of black that leaks onto her skin.
This darkness is real. I know this to be true. I’ve thought about it for many hours; I’ve tried to stave it off. I’m certain it’s all in my head. That does not mean it is any less visceral.
When I look at it like this, I can start to see the truth: maybe there’s a reason the others didn’t come back. Maybe they valued peace more than curiosity. Maybe there are certain things we are not meant to perceive, and we can only do so once we’ve slipped from life once.
Or maybe I brought this darkness, spreading like a disease, back with me. And maybe they didn’t choose to stay gone for their own peace; maybe they made the sacrifice out of duty.
The brain is, after all, a fickle thing. It’s not difficult to imagine how it may break down, slowly, over and over again.
And, if you know anything about prion diseases, it’s not difficult to imagine how the darkness might spread from one mind to the next and to the next.
After all, by now I’m sure you’ve started to see the darkness, too.
*
r/liswrites
|
*Should I tell them?*
"Introducing, Mr. Micheal Smith!" A lean man with pale skin and snow white hair conducts a crowd that murmurs in front of him. "He marks the first in the last step towards immortality! The first to be truly resurrected!" The crowd erupts into polite applause. The stage lights are a bit bright.
*They would never understand.*
"Mr. Smith, I'm going to be right direct with you and get right to the question on everyone's mind:" He flashes his perfect smile in a moment of dramatic tension. "Do you remember anything of 'The Other Side'?" His nearly sarcastic air quotes grate on my nerves.
*They would laugh and laugh and laugh and I will die alone in a hole.*
I flash what I hope to be just as perfect of a smile. "Well Meister, it's not so much that I forgot..." The room goes silent as every ear strains to catch my words. "But that I cannot properly explain it to you."
*Wouldn't it be so much easier if everyone just knew what I knew?*
"Please, do try your best! Even a sentence is more than we've been able to get from anyone else!" The crowd murmurs their support, all eyes facing me. They almost look desperate.
*Wouldn't it be easier if everyone were just me?*
"Hmm..." I rub my chin in a show of contemplation. If I am to die alone though... "It was a fantastic world of darkness and machines."
A beat.
"These machines loved us. They nurtured us from birth to death, never allowing discomfort." A few smiles on the faces turned towards me. The unidentified attention of an entire world. "When we are born there, they connect us to a pod-" A hand cuts me off.
*Was I right?*
"Come now, Mr. Smith. This can't be true, machines? A machine that loves? That can't be possible, or we would have built it!" The Telemeister waves his hand again, prompting the nearby guards to begin towards me. "It seems you're very tired, why don't you head back for a break?" A few nods from those nearby.
*So I just take it?*
The guards reach the stage. Climbing up without a noise, it takes them but a moment to reach me too.
*I should just die in a hole, alone and misunderstood?*
One grabs my left wrist. The other motions for me to stand of my own accord.
*If only everyone knew what I know.*
A scream. A thud. My head pounds with the weight of a jackhammer. My vision swims.
*If only everyone were just like me.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Hi I don't post often but I have other shortstory things at /r/PM_Full_Tits :)
| 2020-10-29T23:23:12
| 2020-10-29T21:23:58
| 252
| 43
|
[WP] C'thulu's Fables: Take one of Aesop's Fables and write it within the Lovecraftian Universe. Morale of the story included.
For reference:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aesop%27s_Fables#List_of_some_fables_by_Aesop
|
**The Lion and the Mouse**
In a small town lived a young boy that everyone called Mouse. A clever boy, a bright boy, a pious boy&mdash;that was Mouse. One day Mouse was walking through the woods when he happened upon a strange lion sleeping under a tree.
The lion's skin was grey and ragged and its mane a mass of limp sea worms slick with slime. The lion's tail was segmented like a scorpion tail but it ended in a bundle of human heads, their faces stretched tight in silent screams.
Mouse watched the lion for a long moment. In the silence, he could hear the beast's breath as its chest rose and fell. In a moment of foolish bravery, Mouse reached forward and plucked a tuft of hair from the lion's back. The lion woke and looked upon Mouse.
The eyes of the lion were black as pitch and studded with the twinkling of stars in the night sky. As the lion and boy locked eyes, Mouse saw the vast emptiness of space. The sounds of the forest faded and Mouse heard a silence deep and still. The lion opened its jaws, revealing an infinite tunnel of sharp teeth receding down its throat. The lion spoke to Mouse.
The beast's alien words slithered through Mouse's mind, wiping clean the memories of his family: his beloved mother, his stern father, his little sister still in smallclothes. Mouse's head filled with memories of impossible landscapes and cities in which buildings stood in strange relation to each other.
"Please," begged Mouse, "I am puny and unworthy of your hunt. Let me free!"
The lion roared its approval, its hot and rancid breath melting the hair on Mouse's head and blinding him in one eye. Mouse fled, away from the lion, away from the woods, and away from all things known to man.
For forty days Mouse wandered the wilderness, half-blind and mad. He grew thin and gaunt as his teeth began to rot and his skin grew sores and warts. One night, as he lay gibbering under a dead oak, he heard again the roar of the lion. At once he followed the sound.
Mouse came upon the lion who had been ensnared by a wizard's trap. The lion's great claws were bound tight with ropes that sparkled and shimmered in the pale moon light. Hearing the lion's roar, Mouse fell upon the ropes, gnashing them with his remaining teeth. Mouse freed the lion just as the wizard appeared, returning to check on his trap.
The lion shed his fur and skin, sloughing them off like an old canvas bag, and the beast's true form emerged to fill the night sky, an impossibly massive shape that blotted out the familiar stars and replaced them with constellations alien to the eyes of Mouse.
Swirls of fog encircled the boy and the wizard as the black jaws of the beast descended from the heavens and devoured them both.
Mouse felt no pain as the beast chewed the life out of him, but he heard the agonizing screams of the wizard beside him.
*****
If you liked this, I have other stories at /r/hpcisco7965.
|
**The Fox and the Grapes**
There once was a fox who came across some grapes hanging high on a vine. The fox, being very hungry indeed, leaped high to snatch the grapes. As the fox jumped, He Who Dwells Between grasped the space between the fox's teeth and bottom grapes and pulled with His twisted fingers, stretching the distance and preventing the fox from reaching his prize. The fox tried again, and again, thrusting upward with all of his strength, but each time He Who Dwells Between prevented a victory. Annoyed, the fox prepared to leave the grapes, remarking that they were not ripe. Immediately, the grapes fell to ground, bursting open and leaving a mass of squirming eyeless worms to writhe in the dust.
The fox carried on and came to a pond. Wishing to drink, the fox lowered his head and extended his tongue. He Who Dwells Between, crooning His dark joy from his space between all things, pulled the water and the fox apart. Again the fox dipped his head, and again He drew away the water. Flicking his tail in anger, the fox turned to leave the pond, saying aloud that he didn't want such fetid water anyway. The water bubbled and churned as a slimy tentacle uncoiled from the depths and reached, reached, *reached*, and tore the fox's tail from him.
Desperate for food, the injured fox slunk into a farmer's house. There on the kitchen table sat a large freshly baked fruit pie. At once the fox jumped on the table and began to tear at the pie, smacking his lips in delight. Soon the fox had filled his belly and he pulled back from the piece. But He Who Dwells Between reached out and took the space between the fox's mouth and his pie, collapsing them together. The fox struggled and fell to the floor, pushing at the pie with his paws and thrashing his head this way and that. The pie crumbled and mashed together into a mass of fruit jam and crust, and turned to slime and putrid muck in the fox's mouth.
And then He Who Dwells Between took the space between the fox's tongue and the pie.
And then He took the space between the fox's throat and the pie.
And then He took the space between the fox's lungs and the pie.
And then the fox was no more.
*****
If you liked this story, I have other stories (including horror stories) at /r/hpcisco7965.
| 2016-10-13T10:19:14
| 2016-10-13T09:33:14
| 50
| 28
|
[WP] A broke adventure has to buy cheap terrible items with weird curses on them. Little do they know that those cursed items happen to synergize so well together that they quickly become overpowered.
|
The thing about equipment is that you never quite know where it's been, and rarely do bright eyed adventurers have the scrib to commission new armor, so they make do. Pav was one such bright eyed adventurer, ever since he was knee high to a scarble nork, he would dance and duck around his family's small cottage with his decrepit wooden sword, battling fiendish scarecrows and imaginary ghouls.
Pav had but one piece of equipment, given to him by his mother, who it was passed down to from a long lineage, strangely named the Disco Bandolier. It was largely unremarkable in design, a standard leather construction with small steel details. Pav always felt a weight lifted when he bore it across his chest, not from any magic mind you, from the days his mother would encourage his frolicking battles as a child. Apart from this, he had all of a hundred scrib to his name, not much for an adventurer these days, that would scarcely fetch you a new sword, but travelling merchants had all the best deals, and so Pavs quest for cheap tat began.
Brandishing his Bandolier, Pav travelled many lands seeking new and affordable gear to serve his further adventures. He was spending quite frugally until he arrived at a merchant by the name of Dargpob, who had many shambolic wares for sale, but one that peaked Pavs interest.
"And this?" Pav motioned his hand to a pair of boots that quite looked similar to his Bandolier. "What ruin of lifelong pain will this inflict for minor comfort?"
"Ahhh yes, a strange one, these are named the Disco Doots" replied Dargpob "their curse is to make the weight of your legs be felt at your back". Pav heard nothing past the name, he hid his interest well for fear of the shady merchant padding the price. "Did you say... doots? Don't you mean boots?" He casually replied. "Nononono I said doots. Listen it's weird whatever, want em or not? 15 scrib" Dargpob looked almost embarrassed at even having the strange boots. Pav made a point to look disinterested, "eh fine I'll take em" he eventually muttered, quite casually.
Pav waited until he was well out of sight and sat on a sturdy rock. He flung his boots off into the woods behind and slowly slipped into the new doots... I mean boots. He felt the weight almost instantly, it was quite harsh but bearable for the sturdy build of the boots. As he got up, sparks started to form and whisk off the boots and the bandolier, swirling together and up around him. Suddenly both items were glowing and rapidly changing colors, and Pav himself felt suddenly light as a feather. Making sure nobody was watching, he danced and swirled around the open fields, barely touching the ground just to propell himself up again, he did this for quite some time, with a look of pure joy plastered on his face from ear to ear.
After a while, he found his old boots and put the Disco Doots in his bag, the effect stopped when he removed them, and he rushed back to the merchant. "Those doots you sold me, were they part of a set?" Pav quieried. "Why yes I do believe so, but they were distributed quite sporadically to many merchants at the auction I attended. Why do you ask?" Replied the merchant, curious as to why someone would want more cursed tat.
"No reason, just thought maybe I could flip these to a collector haha" he shrugged and walked off, determined to collect the rest.
**...Part 2 below**
|
The Lich was preparing to march, his army of undead stomp upon the once fertile fields of the land, death magic blackening nature and salting the earth. Bones rattled against metal as the billowing rags of the newly ordained Emperor of Death cruised above the land menacingly. Smoke billowed from his dilapidated jaw that furthered the necrotic fetter on the pasture's beauty.
There beyond the field lie the Lich's goal. The Castle of Emerald Plains. Creatures of darkness vied for its illustrious natural wellspring of magic for millennia. The king lies dead, his killer a now a soulless nephew who believed the Lich would truly stand as an ally.
And yet... The Lich paused. There was an odd feeling in the air. The storm clouds billowed overhead, the boney maws of the undead lightning drakes prepared to strike a malformed god's fury upon the castle. But this electric feeling wasn't of lightning magic... it was... draining magic.
In a moment, the Lich crashed into the ground, turning to see a swath of his army fall into a pile of ash, bone, and steel. His joints began to lock as rigor mortis set in. The once ominous body of the Lich was now decaying without magic to sustain its suspended decomposition. In a panic his milky eyes frantically scanned the near endless expanse for the culprit of this curse.
In the distance walked a rag-cloaked figure, not much unlike the Lich himself. Unlike the lich, however, these were not rags steeped in death. No, these were rags of filth. A browned glint occasionally crept through the dirt-covered cloak, showing signs of a rusted armor, once as pristine as the mail worn by the officers of the Castle, those who the Lich already fell in their vain attempt at resistance. Each step closer, another line of undead fell.
The Lich frantically began chanting. His voice was hushed, yet raspy with the sound of frayed and mangled vocal cords. Soon he could feel his joints loosening again, but he could no longer float so proudly over his prey, he could still feel the nipping of this curse at his heels. He pondered aloud.
"How... what insatiable hunger could feed on dark magic so unfazed? How could a mortal have such a damned CURSE!"
His last words sprung out across the field. By now the figure was no more than a few hundred meters away, and with the sudden spur of the Lich's words those meters were disappearing in a sprint. The air filled with the sounds of cracking and crumbling as the fearsome army of the damned became a dusted storm of dashed nightmares.
The Lich reared his back, head hung low and lightning billowing from his finger tips. But this- it was too much. The lightning sputtered into a mere crackle of static before the Lich bent his knee to the charging assailant. Shockwaves of thunder echoed out as the mighty drakes crashed into the ground, their bodies turning to plasma with no soul to hold back the mighty power of lightning within. The rain of destruction brought an ironic screeching on the army as the very destruction they sought to reap upon the emerald field was now engulfing what was left shambling in disarray.
The Lich could not stand. The curse was too great. It was that of a god's unholy fury that began squeezing the life out of his death, there could be no other explanation. Finally he could see the eyes of the man who destroyed his plans without lifting a finger.The blight against death stood slightly slumped as he began to remove his hood. What was beneath was a weathered face. A knight? A soldier? No, perhaps once. "This man is too gaunt to stand against a even a trumpeter". The Lich felt his jaw unhinge as the dead muscle and skin withered away ever so slowly.
The figure simply raised his hand to show 3 rings. A mild yet rugged voice came from the hero. "Accursed."
The Lich tilted his head, his jaw dangling precariously as he could only breathe out a vaguely questioning "Hurh?"
The hero began to relax his body, bringing his hand to his side as he spoke. "These rings are accursed. I am too poor for a sword worth a damn against you."
Once more the Lich gurgled, "Whra?"
"There are always... unexpected results when it comes to enchanting. I'm sure an undead such as yourself is well aware. Curses and such are a pain to waste magic on, and a pain to be rid of the accursed object. These rings were dirt cheap. So dirt cheap I could use what little dirt I had to buy 'em."
Soon the Lich began to lower his trembling body. Once more his joints began locking as he narrowed his eyes, a cougar ready to pounce... yet with no strength he could only continue to watch as decades of preparation fell to pieces.
"One ring grants terrific power... yet gives that power and then some to my enemies as well. One ring will shield me from the elements... yet consumes the wearer's magic to do so." He paused. He twisted the last ring, feeling it slide around his finger "And this was my first. I cannot remove it. If I could, then I would be able to satiate my hunger. Instead, I can never stop feeding... and neither can any curse put upon me. What good is a guard to the wizard guild hall if he cannot survive even the smallest hex?"
The Lich... did not move. His sight was bleary, his movement all but ceased. His skin brushed away into ash, and his bones began to collapse. Soon he too would join his army. In his last moments, he could only look as the man who slept on street corners felled him like no general before. There was nothing but contempt in the Lich's soul, and with that contempt he spoke his last words through a spirited tongue... and his last spell.
"If I cannot turn this green to black, then you shall do it in my stead. To challenge a Lich with curses? I shall show you what true unending hunger is... Feed upon the Wellspring. Feed until nothing remains."
The last word echoed throughout the valley, from the highest mountain to the deepest cavern. "FEED".
The grass withered. The field crumbled into black dunes. The Castle's serfs and nobles alike fell to the ground. Swirling around the disgraced guard was a wellspring of magic and life alike... and the rings grew tight as the man breathed his last breath- the last breath of life in the Emerald Plains. Nothing could stop the Lich.
| 2019-12-02T16:24:38
| 2019-12-02T15:55:50
| 87
| 58
|
[WP] Looking into the camera on your phone you jokingly say, "Hey, NSA, if you want to go out on a date, gimme a call!" To your surprise, suddenly the phone rings! "H-hello?" "Hi! I'm from the NSA."
|
“I’m sorry?”
“You asked me out, didn’t you? I’m Mark. Work for the NSA. So meet you at Bamboo Inn at eight?” There was a drawn-out silence as I processed what he said.
“Wait, how did you…?” I eventually said.
“Know your favourite restaurant? Well, your phone’s GPS data has you visiting there quite often. Worryingly often, in fact. It’s what got you on the watch list on the first place.”
“Oh,” I said. His voice was smooth. It was a crime that he was cooped up in some dingy government office rather than reading audio books or working on some pay-per-minute phone line. “Okay, I’m sorry, but this is moving so fast. How do you know we’re going to get along?”
“I’m currently scrolling through your internet history.”
“What?”
“Oh yes. Its quite interesting. Did you know that most people believe that we can’t see your incognito history?”
“You can?” Every website I had incognito’d over the past few months flashed through my head. I cringed.
“Of course! In fact, we pay more attention to it than your normal-”
“M-my brother shares my laptop!”
He laughed. God, his laugh was nice. Despite the embarrassment, I couldn’t help but smile. “Of course. So see you at eight?”
I sighed. It’s not like I had any other plans. And, anyway, if he’d seen my browser history and hadn’t bolted, then chances are there wasn’t anything else about me that could freak him out.
“Yes!”
“Sweet! I’ll be wearing a blue tie.”
“I’ll be wearing-“
“Don’t worry. I know what you look like.”
He hung up with a click.
|
"W-what?" I said stuttering into the phone. This couldn't be real.
"I'm Nicole, from the NSA!" said the voice on the phone. "I heard what you said into the camera, and I have to say, for the past couple of weeks I've had the biggest crush on you."
A cueball dropped from my the inside of my chest to my stomach.
"Are you serious.." I said, "the NSA has been spying on me for weeks?"
"Well no, I personally have been assigned to you for weeks. We've been spying on you for years though."
I hung up and slammed my dorm room door shut and slid down against it, slamming my tailbone into the hard carpet. I wasn't sure what to think, how could the government be doing this to an ordinary college kid? Was this girl really interested in me? Was I really that desperate that I even considered the thought of trying to figure out more information about her?
My phone vibrated on the floor in front of me, it was another blocked call. Out of what I can only assume to be desperation, I answered again.
"That was rude of you, Sam" the girl said, before giggling.
"What do you want from me?"
"I already told" she replied, "I want to go out on a date!"
'This is absolutely ridiculous' I thought to myself, 'hang up the phone!'
Instead I said "But I don't even know what you look like!"
"Well you're just going to have to trust me Sam, I know your preferences and I'm definitely the type of girl you would be interested in" she said, before giggling again.
'Well shit, what do I have to lose' I thought to myself before saying, "Okay, sure I'll take you on a date. But could I at least have your real phone number so I can get to know you better."
"5..5..5" started the girl, "2..3..pfffttt"
"Sorry what was that?" I said eagerly.
This time her giggling got louder and turned into full blown laughter. Before I could say anything she hung up. I could still here the girls laughter though, and it was coming from my roommates bedroom.
My cheeks turned red before I yelled out to them, "I knew it was you, I could hear you the whole time!"
More laughter came from the room. I got up, turned off my light and curled up into a ball underneath my blanket. Freshman year of college was going to be tough.
| 2015-02-20T17:50:36
| 2015-02-20T17:09:46
| 50
| 22
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
There is a single, solitary principle that governs modern society. It is powerful, it is ingrained deep into the psyche of every German, and now, into all of Europe; If a rule or law exists, it must be followed. There are no exceptions, no waivers, no passes. Until that law has been overturned, or those carrying the torch of that rule have died, it is unbreakable. And sometimes, a law persists despite it being totally unknown to the populous.
The year is 2518. It has been 600 years since the German people suffered their first global humiliation, and that humiliation has only been compounded by the next 14 failures. Anger, global crisis, or economic depression has pushed every generation into war. Somehow, despite overwhelming success and decisive victories, they have always ultimately lost. The answer has always eluded them. Their war machine was the largest, their generals the smartest, their soldiers the most experienced, and yet they failed.
There is but a single man who knows the answer. His name is Guillaume, and he is the principle author of the Treaty of Versailles. His instructions were to include only the text agreed upon during the negotiations. But, he was a man who had just seen his country ravaged by war. He was angry. So in the margins, in his smallest writing, he included a short, simple phrase.
And never, over the next 600 years, was the Treaty of Versailles officially overturned. Sections violated, pieces negated, but never demolished in its entirety. Such a simple act. An unthinkably small modification to a historical document. An act of petty revenge.
"L'Allemagne ne fera jamais prévaloir"
|
The Germans look out over all they have conquered with smug grins on their face.
But then they see something in the distance. Two armies, one from the west and one from the north east, are riding out towards them.
The impossible had happened, American and Russia have teamed up.
The Germans raise little white flags.
| 2017-08-18T05:32:44
| 2017-08-18T02:50:27
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
"I saw on Facebook, you bought a new boat," Richie said, chuckling good-naturedly.
"Yeah. Since Gena got me started on the pill last year, our income has tripled. Figured since I had the extra money, I'd treat myself."
"Isn't that a bit of a risk what with the new trend that drug is causing."
"I don't think so. Me and Gena are in a good place. That trend is a trend because there are a lot bored couples out there that had problems in their marriages and relationships before the drug was a thing. Their marriages would have ended regardless of the drug. It just might have taken more time."
"I don't, Jack, just about every story I hear from those who've divorced attribute it directly to that extra eight hours they're forced to spend with each other. The ones that spend that eight hours awake and around each other claim their being driven crazy and feel smothered. The ones that work during that eight hours claim they feel abandoned and divorced due to loneliness. The others are due to cheating brought on by boredom. I honestly don't think marriages can survive a twenty-four hour period of consciousness. Humans need that eight hour down time for relationships to survive," Richie philosophized.
"Dude, I think you're overthinking it."
*Ding!*
"Text?" Richie asked.
"Yep."
"Work?"
"Nope. It's Gena."
"What's she want?" Richie sipped his coffee.
"Divorce. I-It seems . . . I've grown too distant."
"Oh man," Richie sympathized. "That sucks."
|
Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it.
| 2022-03-18T11:40:19
| 2022-03-18T07:24:03
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] "Are there any spirits with me in this room right now?" The Ouija board moves to 'Yes.' "Okay good, 'cause rent is due, and you need to fork over your share." The Ouija board spells out, 'F U C K.'
Based off of a meme I saw.
|
Darren scowled down at the Ouija board, as the planchette glided over its surface of its own accord.
"Y...O...okay, yeah, I get it. Very funny. You're hilarious." he said, drily. Given that the previous four letters indicated by the polished wooden arrow had been c, f, k, and u -- though not in that order -- he felt confident that he understood the message.
Despite this, the spirit controlling the planchette felt the need to make it stand on edge, and then bob up and down.
"And now you're flipping me off with the planchette. Nice." Darren said, rolling his eyes. He threw up his hands in consternation. "You know what? Fine. Have fun haunting a parking lot in six months, asshole."
Darren began to stand up from the table where the Ouija board sat, but was startled by the planchette suddenly clattering back down onto the board. It then began rapidly circling the question mark printed just below the array of letters.
Darren smirked. That had finally gotten his spectral roommate's attention, it seemed. He settled back into his seat.
"Oh so now you give a shit, huh?" he quipped.
The planchette slid over to "YES".
"Well it's true: see, the previous owner of our building was very community-minded. His will included all kinds of stipulations his heirs had to abide by to inherit it." Darren explained. "They weren't allowed to sell the building as long as there were renters living here, and they weren't allowed to raise the rent more than the rate of inflation."
He sighed. "But the place is still a dump, even if it's cheap, since the new owners aren't exactly incentivized to invest in it. I'm the last one here, and as it stands I can't afford to pay rent anymore. If I go, this place will be sold to some developer and torn down inside a week." Darren gestured to the table. "That's why I decided to talk to you. I figured if you're gonna make footstep sounds at night, stack up my chairs, and slam my cupboards, maybe you could at least use your spooky ghost powers to help me with my cash flow problem, while you're at it. Otherwise, we're both homeless."
Darren followed the planchette with his eyes, as it began to move again. "H...O....W...how? I don't know how! You're the ghost, you know what you can do better than I do. Is there like...some buried treasure you know about? A bank account in your name, that maybe no one ever claimed?"
"NO," came the reply, via planchette.
"Well then, I don't know, what would you suggest? Any ideas? G...E...T...A...J...O...B--pff, yeah, okay boomer, like I haven't tried that already! It's a tough economy right now, for people in my line of work. L...E...A...R...N...T...O...C--I know how to code, alright? It's not that simple!"
An awkward silence hung in the room for a moment. And then, the planchette began to move again.
"W...E...S...H...." Darren began reading, then frowned as he finished. "We should talk? We're already talking."
"I...N...in person? Uh, how would that work? You're a ghost."
Darren frowned, as the planchette slid over to rest under the word "NO." It rose into the air as it did before, and Darren scowled again, taking it as another phantom middle finger. Then he jumped out of his chair in surprise as a small man appeared standing on the chair opposite him, holding the planchette between a stubby thumb and forefinger.
The man looked old and ragged, with a long red beard streaked with white, that hung all the way down to the knees of his patched and stained green trousers.
"Truth be told, boyo," the old man said, in a high-pitched lilting accent. "I've been having me own 'cash flow problems' of a sort, for nigh on a century now."
As Darren gaped at the little old man in amazement, a sly grin spread across the strange creature's wrinkled face, "Mayhaps I can be after helpin' ye with your problem..."
The strange little man paused and waved his hand mystically. A miniature rainbow suddenly arched over the table where the Ouija board lay, and a little black cauldron appeared at its end -- empty, except for some dust and cobwebs.
"...if ye can be helping me with mine, in turn." the old man finished.
|
“Are there any spirits with me in this room right now?”
The wooden planchette shook slightly underneath Cade’s fingers, slowly moved across the alphabet carved on the Ouija board, pointing at three letters which spelled “YES”.
“Okay, good… It’s nearing the end of the month, and you know what that means.”
The planchette sit still.
“You need to hand over your share. You’re dead, but that doesn’t mean you can be a freeloader.”
The planchette on the Ouija board spells out again, a clearly panic “FUCK”.
Cade gave out an audible sigh, “No, the landlord do not accept any payment other than cash. Raiden may be into shady sex, but he isn't,” they stopped for a second, giggled a bit, “Heh, *shady sex*.”
Another message is given to Cade, “GIVE THREE DAYS.”
“Three days? You said the same thing three days ago”, Cade frowned in dismay, “Did you forget again?”
“NO CASH NOW.”
“No cash? The heck are you doing now?”
“SHHH.”
Cade rolled their eyes, “Well, wish I could ‘shhh’ my landlord as well when he’s pestering at the door, but I’m in no position to do that.”
“WILL PAY.”
“… Alright, but you gotta bring me the real money.”
“REAL MONEY?”
“Yes. Real human’s cash, as in the Euro bills, not the paper money you guys use down there.”
“RIGHT.”
Cade rubbed their eyes with the fabric on their shoulder, both hands not letting go of the planchette, “I will be waiting, but hurry up. I’m afraid if we're late again the old man is gonna kick us out for real.”
“WILL PAY”, the Ouija board repeated to assure them, “WILL PAY.”
“I will take your words, for now.”
| 2022-12-30T00:59:00
| 2022-12-30T00:43:02
| 637
| 84
|
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
|
As the car slowed in the lineup, I forgot to breathe. It was all beginning to make sense. I knew Talia was well-off, but the limousine seemed a little extravagant for a work outing. It made me a little uncomfortable to be in one of these, again. It had been so, so long-- a different time, a different life altogether. They'd seen to that.
But now it was all falling into place. The fancy clothes, how Talia kept reassuring me that everyone was going to love me. As the cameras flashed in a flurry, snapping the photos of the couple exiting the limo in front of us, it made sense. Not her workmates. The tabloids. The public.
My mouth went dry, and my pulse was racing. We were next. If I didn't get out, what would happen? Would the paparazzi just shoot through the darkened windows? What could they see? Could they make out my face well enough for them recognize it?
It had been seven years, but it wasn't long enough. I knew good and well they'd never forget, never stop looking. Seven years since my life ended, and I was charged with restarting from nothing. A new name, a new haircolor, a new history. If they'd been able to change my face, I'm sure they would have. But no, I still looked like me. The daughter of what was once a notorious mafia boss. My pretty little face, a little less lined with age and worry, had been plastered all over the papers when my testimony went public in the largest mafia bust to ever shake the Eastern seaboard.
Before the trial even went to court, the death threats had begun. I'd tried to be stubborn about it. Tried to hold my head high, and not let them scare me. It wasn't until I came home to that box on the balcony of my tiny apartment that I'd finally cracked and admitted I needed witness protection. I could still remember every detail of peeling open the brown cardboard. The smell that hit my nose as I stared down at the dark mass within. I didn't register what it was right away. Not until I recognized the collar.
"...Ana?" Talia looked to me, concern in her brown eyes as the car began to move forward. "What is it? Please, don't be nervous. The cameras may be a little extra in-our-faces since I've never walked the carpet with another woman before, but I promise. It's not really that big of a deal anymore. They'll get their debut photos and move on."
I barely heard her, my frame all but paralyzed as the car began to slow. It was our turn. "You said you were an executive," I breathed, barely able to find my voice.
"I-- Ana, the movie. It's called _The Executive._ You can't-- you knew, didn't you? Talia Elliot, my name is in all the..." Her voice trailed, perfect red lips hanging open for a moment in shock as she registered the sheer fear in my eyes. "You had no idea."
"I don't go out much, Tali," I whispered.
And that was all there was time for. The doors flew open, a smiling man in a tuxedo offering out a hand to help Talia from her seat. She looked back at me, brow furrowed with concern as she reached out to squeeze my hand. "We'll talk about it tonight. Don't worry, I'm right here with you. They're all going to love you, I promise!" And she rose, stepping out.
I sat frozen in my seat, the blinding flurry of camera flashes reducing her to little more than a silhouette in front of me. There was the briefest beat of an expectant pause as they waited for me to follow, before one of the more assertive paparazzo craned over the red velvet ropes that barred them from the carpet. I looked at him, eyes obscured by the camera, that black lens reflecting my pale, panicked face.
And then the flash went off, and I knew it was all over.
|
"I'll be at your Door at 4 sharp"
"Leila, you know I'm always on time" I said with as lovely a voice I could.
With a cute kiss over the phone, She hung up.
Who would've known that the Depressed and Broken lady on the public bus was the Lady destined to my dreams. Perfect for me, inside out. Purest of souls and softest of hearts. She made me understand what love actually is.
She finally decided to introduce me to her workplace. She said she works in the Music Industry, but doesn't like talking about it, and being the type of person I was, I didn't insist on her telling me.
Cut to the point, 3.55, I was out there expecting her to come in the Taxi, but the lonely road was indeed lonely. At exactly 3.58, I saw a silhouette of a car, but it wasn't a cab, so I didn't bother looking up. But when that Range Rover pulled up Infront of me, with the Lady of My Dreams in the Loveliest of dresses, I knew she was on time.
As surprised as I was, She looked confident, and refused to say anything other than one sentence.
"Jason, You wanted to know who I am. This is me."
Me being calm, didn't insist. Again.
The next thing we know, we are at the spot I have always seen merely in the Television. The Car comes to a pull, and I look around to see thousands of people Roaring around the Red Carpet, that lead to the Ball.
Being the Gentleman, I opened the door for my Lady, despite the fact that my Insides were shaking out of Nervousness. She came out Glamorously, and when the light of the camera Flashes hit her Face, I finally started to make sense of it.
The Lady who happened to need help in the public bus wasn't an everyday person. She was Leila Lovicich. The singer whose songs filled my Playlist.
No wonder she kept telling me to start watching Music Videos instead of merely having the songs in the Phone.
Snap back to the present, we were walking Arm in Arm, with the sounds of clicks and Screams for autographs. I felt Numb. Not sure if I was shocked or Nervous.
Then, at the end of the carpet, she looked at me and I heard her say
"Still love your Playlist?"
With no control over myself, I leapt onto her, and Kissed her, Only to find her kissing me back...
And Kids, That's how I met your Mom.
| 2017-06-14T12:00:32
| 2017-06-14T07:58:26
| 372
| 195
|
[WP] You are Ronald Raygun, first openly extraterrestrial President of the United States.
|
My fellow Americans,
In this Republican primary, I've seen a lot of my fellow candidates trying to suddenly shift their policies to claim that they truly exemplify the values we all believe in. But that's not what we want in the White House, is it? You all need only look at my record to see that I stand for *true* conservative values.
* I believe that marriage is between one man and one woman. Human couples should be producing as many future sla...*citizens* as possible to strengthen our nation. Homosexual relationships are not just immoral, but inefficient. That's why I've always had a strong pro-reproduction policy. We do not even comprehend this concept of homosexuality on my planet, and my motto has always been to crush what I cannot understand! I know that you all feel the same way!
* Similarly, I am anti-abortion! A human fetus will be just as delici... *important* to me as a full-grown person, and I will fight for each and every one of you! We cannot allow innocent human lives to be wasted by such barbaric procedures!
* I am also firmly in favor of creating jobs and undoing regulations. I can promise you that when I come into power, there will be more than enough work for all of you citizens! I can absolutely guarantee zero unemployment after only a few months in office!
* The budget needs to be reined in in America. Have you seen the absurd amounts that we are spending these days? I would specifically recommend cuts to NASA and any other program that promotes spending money on useless satellites that are looking for anything approaching Earth. We could also use to trim the bloated defense budget in so many ways! I would propose dismantling our nuclear arsenal entirely, starting with any ICBM missiles that could possibly reach orbit!
* And, because this is Iowa, let me mention that my spaceship runs purely on corn-based ethanol!
* In terms of foreign policy, I am a staunch defender of liberty and I would re-implement the Bush doctrine of preemptive warfare. It is simply common sense to infiltrate our foes' political system and seize the reigns of their government *before* beginning our invasion. That is what we should have done in Iraq, and I promise you that that's how I will behave in office
* I believe in constitutional rights and civil liberties. Government overreach has gone *too far*. The mass surveillance in this country must end immediately! Why should SETI be listening in on my communications with my home planet? We're not planning anything! That's not what the founding fathers would have wanted!
Don't be fooled by the false promises of these other candidates. Vote for a true conservative in 2016: **Ronald Raygun**.
|
Tense. I was tense.
Only two more sixtieths-of-a-twelfth-of-a-rotation, and the humans would be announcing the results. And all I wanted to do was go dormant.
<Don't be a pulsing gamma,> Fîàñjÿ chided. <Bounce around, show the sights. They'll hook you up to the interface soon enough, and then...>
Then, win or lose, I would see. I would hear.
<Fine,> I waned. <I don't get these humans anyhow. Two sixteiths-of-a-twelfth-of-a-rotation? And not even of a Hub, no, of a *rock* mass. Why would it take so many *generations* for them to organize something as simple as this? Their own Hub only takes less than a *percent* of that time to send messages!>
<You know nobody's as bright as us,> Fîàñjÿ said. <They're all slow, lumbering blocks. These humans are just the brightest of the bunch.>
<Nobody's as *fast* as us, you mean. But I've seen some of those humans come up with things we can't even imagine.>
Fîàñjÿ bounced, but didn't send anything.
<I mean...> I waxed. <Look, I'm sorry. They said they're even closer than last time. I'm sure they'll have an interface for you first thing—>
<Next generation?> xî pulsed. <Just...can you stop sending about it? Please?>
<Okay,> I said. <Okay.>
And we spent the next million cycles in silence.
Then—
<AAAAAAAAAA—AAAAAAAAA!"
Sight! Sound! *Sight!* All the complexities of our worlds, reduced, combined, *colored,* all into one demesne orders of magnitude above anything we could possibly conceive!
The human named Tara stared as the block *I* controlled, called a face, expressed the interface's translation of my signals. And I still wasn't done.
For generations, sad, wasted, *brilliant* generations, I simply stared. To the humans, it was a few "seconds."
"Hello, Tara," I signaled—said.
"Hello, Ronald. Ready to hear the results?" She smiled. I knew what smiles were. Waxes, but not the bad kind. Good, small.
I signaled, and the interface moved my "head" up and down.
We moved agonizingly slowly through a *hallway* (my interface said), but the interface slowed my thoughts so it wasn't disorienting.
"So," Tara said (*conversationally*), "how's life in the light pits?"
That was what she called our worlds. Even my interface told me it was a strange attempt at *humor.*
"Life is...bright," I said. (*There. Better than hers.*)
"That's good to hear," she said. "We're here."
I stepped through the *curtain.*
"Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome the next President of the United States: Ræčhńåłïøßdûtēkh—"
"Alex, please," I said, holding up a hand, "call me Ronald."
The audience laughed. I turned to face them.
I knew a short broadcast was in order—a *speech.*
"My fellow Americans."
I knew what there was to know about this country, and my interface translated even as I spoke.
"I stand before you today in a guise. A mask, necessary, but unwanted. Necessary, that you might see me, that you might hear me. But unwanted, that it would separate us further—this pretense of an appearance, of a voice and a face.
"I stand before you today, and I lament the fact that the world is not yet understood enough, that this mask *is* necessary. But I also stand before you, though you see and hear only a shadow, with the understanding that you already know me.
"You already know me. I am the representative of that which your ancestors saw fit to keep from you—this world of sentient light, as you would call it. I am the representative, but not the representation. No, that hatred is gone now.
"Today, I stand before you after years of struggle, fairly and democratically elected by your own choice, to serve you, my people. The world of humans and plants and light—my people.
"I know, as you know, the difficulties we face in this era. For all of us to discover that everything around us is as intelligent as we are...is not a small matter. It changes everything about the way we lead our lives. But change is a good thing. Change is what we strive for. And one day, my fellow American citizens, our descendants will look back on this time, and wonder how it could have possibly been so difficult to create the world they live in then. And I hope to pave the way to exactly that blissful ignorance.
"Thank you. God bless you. And God bless the United States of America."
| 2015-04-07T12:44:56
| 2015-04-07T12:25:22
| 41
| 13
|
[WP] Your cat is literally Satan. You've learned to live with him, but this Friday you've got a date coming over.
[WP] Your cat is literally Satan. You've learned to live with him, but this Friday you've got a date coming over
|
"Mallory, what are you doing?"
Mal stopped scrubbing the toilet just long enough to side-eye the little beast beside her.
"Cleaning," she said.
The kitten blinked its orange eyes once, very slowly.
"Yes, dear," he said with patient contempt, "that much is quite obvious."
"Was it?" She dumped the toilet brush in its plastic container and stood to wash her hands.
"Mallory, *why* are you cleaning the toilet?"
She turned off the sink faucet and flicked the water off her hands, taking care to send a spray of droplets in the direction of her fluffy companion.
He twitched, but otherwise said nothing, staring up at her with blank expectation.
Mal grit her teeth and started towards the kitchen.
"Because it's dirty," she said. She looked up at the clock. 5:15. She had a little more than an hour. Shit. Her stomach was already tying itself up into knots. She need to figure out how to handle this, and she needed to do it fast.
She also needed to clean the kitchen.
She ducked under the sink to sift through her collection of almost-empty cleaning supplies and settled on a foamy bottle of Windex.
A deep, feral growl rumbled through the kitchen, rattling the cabinets. Mal turned, holding the Windex like a weapon, aimed directly at the kitten who was now perched on her countertop.
"Put that down," he commanded, his voice far larger than his tiny form.
"Use your inside voice," Mal replied.
Orange eyes narrowed. A moment of tension stretched between them.
The rumbling growl faded. Mal sighed.
"I would appreciate a straight answer," the cat said.
"Yeah, I bet you would," Mal replied. "Funny, how you always want a straight answer from me, but you seem incapable of giving them, yourself."
He lifted his chin. "Perhaps you simply do not know the right questions to ask?"
Could she put him away somewhere? But where? He had escaped from the cat carrier three times, already. Shoeboxes were easy prey; he enjoyed wreaking utter destruction upon them. He even knew how to open doors, for Christ's sake. *Locked* doors.
Mal turned away and started wiping down the kitchen counters. She needed time to think.
"Yeah, well, neither do you," she muttered.
Tiny, vicious claws pricked her skin as a ball of fluff materialized on her shoulder.
"Apparently not," he said with a huff of amusement. "How about this, then: you tell me what's going on, and I'll give you a real answer to a question of your choice."
Maybe the crisper drawer in the fridge would hold him for a while?
"Three," she said aloud. "I tell you what's going on, and you answer any *three* questions, straight up."
He dug his claws a little bit deeper into her flesh. Mal did not wince.
"Two," he snapped.
"Three, and I'll give you pinch of catnip."
"And I want wet food for dinner," the cat said, his voice shadowed by a faint purr. "The beef flavor, the one with the cheese in it!"
"All of that, plus I'll turn on the heated blanket," Mal said, reaching up to rub the soft, downy white fur on the top of the kitten's head. His claws retracted, and the pain disappeared. "But I want you to promise you'll behave, tonight."
Orange eyes widened.
"I always behave!" he said with an indignant squeak.
"Promise me, little demon."
He batted her face playfully with his tiny white paw.
"You just wait until I'm freed from this form, darling," he said. "I'll show you *little*."
"Your word, cat."
The little beast sighed. "Very well. I hereby bind myself to the terms of our agreement. I will answer three of Mallory's questions, in full and without deception or misdirection, and I will behave myself for the remainder of the evening." His words echoed, vibrating through the air as he intoned them with his power, signifying a binding contract. "Happy?"
"Yes," Mal said with a smile.
"Good. Now, tell me what's going on. Please."
Mal picked him up and settled him in the crook of her arm, carrying him up the stairs and into the bedroom.
"I have a date," she said as she switched on the electric blanket on her bed.
He went very still in her arms.
"You have a *what*?"
"A date," Mal said, setting the cat onto the blanket. "His name is Lee. I met him at work. I'm making us dinner and then we're going to watch a movie. And you are going to stay up here, all night, without making a sound, just like you promised."
Every hair on the kitten's body stood on end, puffing him up like a furry, angry marshmallow.
"I never promised to be quiet," he said mutinously.
"You promised to behave," Mal replied, her voice calm. "You are bound to me by your word. I am clarifying the contract."
"Why you... you scheming little witch!" He pounced on her, gnawing on the sleeve of her jacket like it was his favorite mouse toy. "I'll... grnff... get you back... frrfffll... for this!"
Mal reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a small plastic bag. She grabbed a pinch of the dried, green substance within and sprinkled it onto her little demon-cat's nose.
The change was instantaneous. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and released his death-grip on her arm, arching his back in a leisurely stretch and licking his paw to avoid having to meet her eyes.
"Sorry about that, love," he purred. "My temper got the better of me for a moment."
"It's okay," Mal said, smiling as she popped open a can of wet food and set it on the desk. "So long as you don't try to eat me once you're freed from your tiny, furry prison."
The little devil laughed. "You have my word on that, Mallory."
Mal nodded and turned to head back downstairs. As she closed the bedroom door behind her, she heard a purring voice murmur:
"I would never harm my favorite pet."
|
It's not easy living with an incarnation of evil, but I had gotten used to it. When he meows at your door in the middle of the night, you make sure the iron seals are in place. When he makes a mess, a spray gun filled with holy water will do. And when he starts coughing up a hairball, you call the CDC. But my trouble tonight was not something I knew how to handle.
"Morning, here morning!" I called. The lightbringer came to me.
"WHAT DO YOU DESIRE, MORTAL?"
"Look man. I've dealt with you for years. I just want to call in a favor."
"ANYTHING, FOR A PRICE."
"I have a date coming over tonight, and I don't want any satan stuff. No souls bursting out of the bathroom. No making bets with the Almighty about whether I truly love him, nothing like that."
"A REQUEST SUCH AS THAT REQUIRES SACRIFICE. WHAT DO YOU OFFER?"
"Meow mix, a belly rub and I'll break out the laser pen."
You could tell he was considering it because the screams of the damned stopped for a second.
"DEAL."
| 2016-02-22T08:18:56
| 2016-02-22T05:36:17
| 1,336
| 594
|
[WP] You are a part of a cult that believes the end of the world is near. Unlike most doomsday cults your group is made up of ex-scientists who discovered an ancient evil deep within the earth, and found that it was due to awaken in a few weeks time.
|
>**Abstract:**
>Data collection of seismic activity between active volcanos has been woefully inadequate. Gaps in sensor coverage caused by insufficient techniques and materials used in the construction of sensor networks result in incomplete data sets that require new algorithms simply to extrapolate the missing data. We designed a new framework to more completely detect seismic and volcanic activity, resulting in higher quality data transmission and higher SNR, lower downtime, and an overall more complete concept of what occurs below. Furthermore, we discuss the preliminary findings of the data, the impact it has had on the field of volcanic fluid mechanics, geophysics, and the inevitable end of humanity in a few short weeks.
***
“I *told* you, you’re doing the indices wrong. MATLAB starts with one,” Dr. Pratchett said.
“That’s preposterous,” replied Dr. Piers. “No self-respecting programmer would create a one-indexed language.”
“This isn’t a self-respecting language,” Dr. Pratchett said. “It’s not even really a language. It’s a glorified engineering calculator.”
“Then why are *we* using it?” Dr. Piers asked. “I keep telling you, we should just throw together a Python script.”
“We don’t have that much time!” Dr. Pratchett said. “That Which Consumes the Souls of the Living declared that he has been awakened, and that was *two weeks ago*. If we want to get this thing published and peer-reviewed to warn the world, we need to finish this project *now*.”
Dr. Piers snorted. “You underestimate me, Jerry. I can get a script whipped up before you can even blink.”
“Will you *please* shut up?” I growled. “I need to finish typing out the conclusion and I won’t manage that with you two baboons howling over there.”
Dr. Piers and Dr. Pratchett glanced at each other. “Well, sorry, little miss diva. I didn’t realize *post-docs* were such brats these days.”
I sighed and continued writing.
“Just go back to MATLAB, you idiot!” Dr. Pratchett said. “There’s no way you’ll get your script running correctly in time to get this published!”
“It won’t take that long!” Dr. Piers said. “I only need a few days. A week tops.”
“We don’t *have* a week! If we want to induct humanity into the Cult of the One Which Consumes the Souls of the Living and save One of Twelve of One of Twelve as his Word dictates, we need to *publish*!”
“Yes, but if I get this done in Python then we have a bit more flexibility as to the exact algorithm that is applied to the data! ODE45 is just a lacking tool. I bet if I fiddle with it a bit, we can get an even more accurate time stamp, and I *strongly* suspect that we have more time than we think!”
“No, you dolt, we *don’t!* MATLAB indices start at one!”
“That’s preposterous,” said Dr. Piers. “No self-respecting programmer would start at one.”
“Oh, for...” I sighed. “I hate the both of you. I really do. I hope that neither of you is in the One of Twelve of One of Twelve.”
Dr. Piers glared at me. “And *I* hope that That Which Consumes the Souls of the Living takes CV into consideration when the Final Judgement comes. I can’t imagine that someone who can’t even land an associate professorship would be one of the One of Twelve of One of Twelve.”
I unplugged my laptop and stood. “I”m going to Dr. Harrison’s office,” I growled. “*He* has an espresso machine.”
Piers and Pratchett glared at me. “Hail the One That Consumes. May His long rest never be hungry again,” they said in unison.
“Hail to Him. May our souls please him,” I finished, leaving the office.
***
>**Conclusion:**
>Overwhelming evidence indicates that the data was correctly interpreted. That Which Consumes the Souls of the Living will come. Those who are pure of heart must join the Cult of the One Which Consumes the Souls of the Living and give Him deference so as to be One of Twelve of One of Twelve. This conclusion is supported by Barr et al. whose data analysis framework suggests that the results have a p-value less than 0.0001. Furthermore, it is clear that Henderson et al. were correct about the outcomes of their 2013 experiment and that the existing data sets were incomplete. Extrapolation of that data set did not match our new data, suggesting their conclusion about the inactivity of supervolcanos along fault lines was incorrect. Trang et al. agree, noting that the patterns in ancient sedimentary deposits do not agree with modern predictions. This team recommends that further study of the geological cycle be studied except it is futile. Hail the One That Consumes. May His long rest never be hungry [again](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).
|
"Sir! Sir! You've got to read this!"
Peter, who was sitting in the lounge in deep thoughts, came to and looked to his left, where James was standing.
"Sir! We've received report from the Osaka division that they've gotten new readings! You have to see this!" James said, while gasping for air after having sprinted from the observatory.
"Let me see." Peter said. James handed over the reports, and Peter looked at it, with increasing worry on his face."This is not good, it confirms our theory that something, something really big, is alive down there. This measurements indicates that it's something organic causing them, they are not the usual tremors that would cause earthquakes."
Peter and James are part of a scientist group based on the east coast, a few miles north of Ottowa. May, Peters wife, who worked as archeology and would visit newfound ruins or temples, had one day found a relic of a book, something that was written hundreds of years ago. The book was hard to understand, whoever had written it was not coherent in their writing, but the pieces that could be made out of it was 'unnatural enviornmental behvours', 'earthquake' and 'living ancient monster'.
At first Peter thought the book was just joking, a bed time story for childre. But within May's profession she was able to authenticate the book, and the studies that had been made indicated that it was written by someone who was smart for their time, and it contained complexities that wouldn't fit for it to be a bed time storybook.
Peter didn't think much about it afterwards, not until James, a junior co-worker who had just started in Peters company, had inquired about some readings regarding a few earthquakes that had occurred recently. It was James that saw that there was something unnatural with the readings, they felt illogical, somehow alive. They weren't caused by the tectonic plates, though it was hard to see that unless you were specifically looking for it.
Peter couldn't stop thinking about the book. Surely it was too coincidental that he was shown the book and James discovering his findings? But something still nagged at him. Peter went through the reports, compared them, and surely found that if one looked hard enough, could see some irregularities.
Knowing that if he went public with the findings it could cause mass panic, hysteria or worse. If he showed the army about it or the politicians they would just laugh about it, or think that he had gone crazy. Peter decided that he needed to keep it down low, and create his own group of people, scientists, that understands the gravity of the situation, and do something about it.
Peter started to take actions immediately. The following day he decided that the only person from his company he could trust, and was bright enough to help with figuring this out, was James. James agreed to Peter in his assessment and what needs to be done. Peter thought it would be harder to convince James, but was glad it wasn't.
Peter and James started recruiting for their group as inconspicuously as possible, and only people they felt they could trust. But having everyone doing more research into this from the same location didn't feel optimal, so Peter offered a couple of them to work overseas, recruit there and assist with the research. That's how the Osaka Division was made. In total they are around 30 scientists that were working on this. Peter knows that to combat whatever this is, to find the truth, he would need to expand even further, and fast.
Somehow a word had slipped out that there are people part of a doomsday cultgroup in Ottowa. Fortunately, that's all they know. They don't know the members or any details of what the doomsday it is. Most likely they are referring to Peters group. A small part had spread, as some minor local paper had one day headline "small group looking to find ancient devil who will bring ruin to our world!"
When Peter found out he told everyone that they must under all circumstances avoid talking about thier findings at any cost outside of the bunker. The last thing they need is the government finding out what they are doing and conducting a investigation, halting all research.
Back in the lounge, Peter looked at James, having a very serious expression "James, since you've been analysing this the most, how much has it escalated compared to our first findings?"
"To be frank, sir, it's hard to say. But it is clear that the activity has increased. What has May found out regarding the book, have they made progress if it is related to this?"
"Their progress on the book has been slow, unfortunately. But the more they discover, the more it feels connected. The most relevant parts are still its descriptions of increased earthquakes until **It** will appear, and doom us all."
"Sir, how are we supposed to combat that we don't even know what it is?" James asked worriedly. "We don't even know how much time we have left. Whatever this thing is, it could emerge at any given time."
"I know." Peter responded. Then he went back into his thoughts, trying to figure out what they need to do. They need more information, more data, more people. He couldn't stop shaking a nagging feeling that their time is about to run out.
| 2021-04-27T07:34:48
| 2021-04-27T06:11:51
| 159
| 48
|
[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.
|
"For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office."
| 2016-02-22T10:07:53
| 2016-02-22T09:41:21
| 300
| 91
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
“I sneak up behind my target, aim my derringer at his head, and pull the trigger”
“Roll a d20 twice against your agility and once against your dexterity”
A 5
A 17
D 12
“You successfully sneak up on your target and shot him in the head. However you chose a poor spot to hide while shooting and get spotted by a nearby theater patron. Your target dies within hours while you flee the scene under pursuit. The police know your identity”
“Imma hide in this here barn”
|
DM: Ok Harold if you could just roll for initiative.
Harold: I rolled a 1
DM: ok the bowmen is first to attack you. He rolls a natural 20
Harold: so what’s happened?
DM: He has shot you in the eye, you’re dead.... on the plus side it will look fab in this tapestry I have been putting together of the game!
| 2018-05-29T09:28:35
| 2018-05-29T08:51:37
| 39
| 13
|
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
|
Sam reached the top of the bastion on the south eastern corner of Camelot gazing out at the sea of men gathered before the walls. Nimueh the evil warlock had gathered more than just men against King Arthur and Merlin. Three enormous dragons tethered by chains waited by the side of the would be conqueror.
"No future m... Sam, not another of these paper pictures they avail us naught"
"Merlin. you said you had magic that could bring the inanimate to life, to breathe life into clay and all that. What i have assembled is the pinnacle of power in what you call the lands of the future. Many spent years and great fortunes trying to assemble what we have here."
"But these paintings, they... they are of of nothing."
"Merely pieces of a puzzle my good Merlo. Now, set that table up so it looks towards that army and start your incantations."
Merlin started a low murmur which increased in speed and volume every time he repeated his words.
At the same time that Merlin had started his spell the evil warlock and dragons almost twitched like a reacton to Merlins magic and started emanating a faint glow, the dragons took to the air shimmering blue and white as the sun lit their lithe bodies.
Sam put on a pyramid shaped pendant and fanned the 5 pictures infront of him. one by one he started slamming them onto the table infront of him
"Left Arm of the Forbidden One"
"Right Arm of the Forbidden One"
"Left Leg of the Forbidden One"
"Right Leg of the Forbidden One"
"BEEEEHOOLLLLDDDDD, it's Exodia the Forbidden One"
The table exploded in front of Sam and the massive form of Exodia the Forbidden One formed infront of him, Merlin fell to the ground and started to convulse.
The three dragons raced towards the Bastion as the invading army quavered
"Exodia! Hells fires rage and pseudo flame!!
a wild conflagration erupted from the clasped fits of the enormous god-monster engulfing the blue eyed white dragons flattening everything that stood in front of the southern wall, what was left of the host fleeing into the surrounding woods.
"Merlin... Merlin, you ok?"
"Y... yes future man. You have saved our kingdom, we are forever in your debt. What can we do to repay you."
"Merlin, you still have that magic box right..."
|
"*How* exactly is Camelot going to be destroyed?"
"We do not know. Only that it shall happen one week from now, and that it will be unlike anything we have ever seen."
"Has your seer ever been wrong? *Might* he be wrong?"
"No, future-man, the seer cannot make mistakes. Prophesies are inevitable."
"But I'm from the future. That changes something, surely?"
"You are not the first, traveller. We have legends of people like you. They died fighting their futures too."
"Huh, ironic. But you're just going to give me this... pumpkin-shaped box widget? You're not going to try to steal it for yourself?"
"We are as prone to the prophesies as you, future-man. Messing with the powers that be can only worsen our ruin."
Future-man pondered things for a moment. "Right," he said, "well that's all pretty easy then."
---
*Seven days later*
The legendary Camelot castle towered in the distance, its imposing stature emanating a vast influence upon the land. This would be its last day, but also its proudest. Future-man had warned Arthur and his men to expect anything, but he knew they would not be prepared for the next step. How could they?
Future-man checked his watch - one of the luxuries he snuck back from the future after preparation was complete. About now. The wind calmed in anticipation. Then it happened.
The castle glew a brilliant red, brighter and brighter until it seemed nothing but a silent ball of redness and power. Then the ground surged, as if the earth shivered in fear. And then noise - not a human sound but just intense, unimaginable roaring noise.
And then it stopped, and what little of the castle remained collapsed, a petty crinkle against the event that just transpired.
No men could speak. Nothing could be said. Well, except for one.
"Well, that's the prophesy dealt with. And here's the gold for a new castle. Anyone want to try something my people call *Flappy Bird*?"
| 2016-11-28T00:01:58
| 2016-11-28T00:01:03
| 2,966
| 255
|
[wp] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth, and "everyone sins, its ok". instead the dead are sorted into six "houses of heaven" based on the sins they chose.
|
*Circa 500 B.C.*
His sandals slapped on the marble, the sound barely rising above the distant moaning and heady laughter echoing from the other Houses. The worn-out strips of leather that wrapped his feet were out of place against the ornate floor-murals made with deep azures and gold-leafed designs.
The walls seemed to be moving - squeezing in, and squeezing out. The acrid scent of burning filled the hallway, and slight tendrils of smoke lifted up from the corners of the room.
**"WELL?"** the voice of God swept over him like a wave, threatening to knock him to his knees.
Chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling clinked and swayed, causing tiny lights to dance over the man's shaved head.
He clasped his hands together, and as if refusing nothing more than a sweet treat, he said, "No, thank you."
As if in response, the whole room quaked. Tremors rattled the chandeliers, and bits of crystal rained down on the marble floor, shattering like ice.
**"I HAVE SHOWN YOU ALL OF MY HOUSES. HOW CAN NONE OF THEM INTEREST YOU?"** God demanded.
The man rubbed at the back of his shiny scalp, a lopsided touching his wrinkled eyes, "Forgive me, but it is all very *material*."
The tendrils of smoke plumed into columns, **"AND?"**
His grin faltered. He shrugged, and adjusted the wine-colored sash wrapped around his body, saying "I thought there would be more."
**"MORE?"** the floor below his feet shook, and this time he really did fall to his knees, **"YOU STAND IN THE HOUSE OF GREED, AND YOU WANT MORE?"**
"Yes. No. I mean to say, I thought your heaven would be *different.*"
**"UNGRATEFUL!"** the voice of God roared, and cracks appeared through the marbled murals. The chandeliers rocked violently, and a rain of shattered crystal and flakes of gold crackled around him. But the man did not move to cover himself. Instead, he crossed his legs, clasped his hands together, and waited while the tides of Anger broke over him.
**"THEN I WILL GIVE YOU MORE. BEHOLD, MY SEVENTH HOUSE - AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD."**
"Nobody is disputing your claim-."
**"BEHOLD!"**
Tongues of flame burst from the floor and licked up the walls, bathing them in fire. The rain of crystal and gold became a bright crimson liquid, and the marble cracked and ground against itself, until it was nothing more than a coarse sand that burned at the touch. Distant moans of ecstasy became cries of agony, and a pulsing sound - a drum beat, or a heart beat - hammered through the House.
The man drew a long, deep breath through his nose. He closed his eyes, as if he were sitting by the side of a calm mountain stream, instead of a boiling lake of fire. He allowed a serenity to settle onto his face as he counted his breaths.
**"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?"** God howled, **"TO SEE MY SEVENTH HOUSE?"**
"Not really, no."
**"WHAT KIND OF GOD-FEARING MAN ARE YOU?"**
"I'm not, really."
**"YOU ARE NOT IMPRESSED?"**
"I have seen your Houses, six plus one. Your pride and your lust run deep. I have felt your anger and your unimaginable greed. And I have found it lacking."
**"LACKING?!"** the voice of God boomed. And then, the voice of God echoed the question, except this time God seemed to be asking the question of God's self, **"LACKING..."**
"Yes," the man folded slipped his hands inside his saffron sleeves, "I have already lived a material life. I believed - I *hoped* there would be something more."
The beat of the drums faded, and the walls of infernos diminished into sizzling torches. Even the sand cooled, and became smooth.
**"WHAT DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?"**
The man bowed his head, and for a time the House was silent. When at last he spoke, a wistful expression played at the wings of his lips, "I had hoped, humbly, for a place to contemplate. Perhaps you could make a new House, bereft of desire, and void of sin."
The animosity was gone from God's voice, **"YOU ASK FOR AN EIGHTH HOUSE?"**
"I do. A house of *peace*."
God's response was slow, mediated, as if the idea of *peace* was foreign to him, **"GO ON."**
"Have you heard of a man called Buddha?"
|
"Besides, no one's ever on this road."
Never thought those would be my last words. But at least they must have been ironic, right?
Cause of Death: shipping container full of wigs falling out of a plane. Right on top of me. Hrmm.
Arriving in heaven, or what I assumed to be heaven, was a bit lackluster. No lines. Just woke up from a bed in the center of a room, with a book next to a blue plastic key on a desk with an old chair, and six doors around the circular room. I'd been a good person, this hopefully wasn't to delay torture. I peered at the book. "Terms and Conditions of Assignment to the Houses of Heaven." This might be hell.
I skimmed the first pages. There was no hell, I must choose my choice of paradise from amoungst the six doors using the key, I can window shop by opening the doors and looking in, yadda yadda, flipped to the end of the book, just a line saying that She knew I would ignore the rest of the book. Checked back, all of the rest of the pages are blank. Damn you omnipotence.
Well, seemed simple enough. I checked the doors, seeing what each one was, leaving the key attached to the book.
The first door, a simple wooden door with a cloth sign above - Despair. That's a paradise? I quickly ran back to the book. "The doors of paradise are labeled by the sins they most provide. While sinning was viewed as an agent of evil, it was actually a showcase of the soul's innate desires." Ah. That makes... more sense. Back to the door.
Opening the door, leaving the key back with the book, showed a window to some people falling. Oh, they have parachutes. Skydiving. That makes a sort of twisted sense. Fear lovers. Hmm. Not my thing. What about the next door?
This door was a nice oaken door. The label itself was slightly rusty wrought iron word. Dispute. Time to check inside. The door squeaked a bit opening up. Must need oi- WHAT IS THAT SMELL!
Oh. Alcohol. It's a party. It's a house party. Looking inside, people chatting, playing board games, beer pong, and drinking. Lots of talking. This one seems fun. But let's check the rest first. Don't know if I'd want to be social for eternity anyway, but I'm pretty sure I'll probably be able to at least rest from that.
Third door, solid gold - Envy. Hey, that one actually sounds familiar. Opening this one up, and I see a huuuuuge house, partially under construction. Silver statues, a beautiful garden, beefy construction workers, IS THAT A JETPACK‽ The more I watch, the more extravagant the building becomes, as more and more of the structure gets build. This must be a creators heaven. I wonder if that includes life... Anyway, halfway there. OOooo. Living on a- well, not anymore, I guess.
Door four. Or, doors. Double doors, with the sign on a stand in front - Presumption. Taking a guess here, it's going to be the opposite. Such as, not knowing something. A research lab? Opening these and... yup. A lab. Stainless steel tables, beakers, scientists in white lab coats, everything I expected. That was easy. People learning about stuff. Wonder if any of it would involve explosions.
The lab then exploded . That was loud. Wonder if anyone got hurt. Oh, I hear some crying, a guy in the back must be hurt. Guess so, those guys ran back there. Would I heal up if that happened to me? Is death a thing here? Oh hey, ambulance noises. I guess the guy's going to be fine. As I thought that, the guy stood up, a little beat up, but fine. Perfectly fine. But researching things really isn't my deal, I'd prefer a more active eternity. What's up next?
Fifth one. Metal, with... dents? Engraves is the word Obstinate. Unbending, so, this one will be a place to try out an expand their horizons? Kinda sounds like the previous one. Time to check inside. To an immediate hail of gunfire, in a dusty hallway filled with boxes. So what is this? Murdering? War? I guess if you can't die, there's not much issue with shooting live targets. As a distant guy drops to the floor, a loud voice states calmly, "Counter Terrorists Win." Wait, Counter Strike? Is this a video game room? Seriously? They all respawn in for a new round at that moment. Yup. Games. I get it now. I might just pick this one, but first, that last door.
Final door. White framed glass door, like at home, the wooden sign says "Impenitence". Whatever that means. Last one, then I make my decision, for, I guess eternity? That can't really be fair. I'll probably get bored. Anyway, final door. Inside is... my home. That's my father making dinner, my mother watching Eric play in the back yard. My music... a little loud upstairs. So what, I get to go back to my life? Or just experience life on a loop? I don't get this one. Oh hey, it's changing to another scene.
Sanchez Park. I used to play here, and here's where I had my first- oh woah wait I don't want TO SEE THAT.
Shut that door a bit louder then I should have. Wait, no ones here to complain. Nevermind. Yup. That one is to relieve my life alright. Guessing I get to make new decisions and change things. Let's see.
My options are: adrenaline junkie, socialization, world building, learning, video games, and relieving my old life.
I never had too many friends, and it doesn't really bother me. It looked like they also had board games, and some of those funny looking dice, so I guess that included Dnd as well. Not my schitck. Dispute is out.
I never really enjoyed the Sims or Minecraft either. So that eliminates Envy.
Finding the solutions after hours of work really annoyed me. I just want the answers. No Presumption.
As much as I'd like to choose to change the past and see what happens, I can't help but feel I'd lose my memories and get put in a loop. That means no Impenitence for me.
Well. I know which one I want. Double checking the, "Terms and Conditions," it says I get to reselect every couple thousands years, to account for new personality changes over time. And also that I'll choose Obstinate first, after reading the book a second time. DAMNIT. Well, screw that, I'll suffer just to prove God wrong. I'll change my answer later.
After throwing that book as hard as I could, I walk over to Presumption, for ironies sake, and turn my key.
---
The book opens to the middle after hitting the wall, where in small type is written, "Your presumption of Presumption is wrong, and for that, you select it many times before you move on." But isn't read for years to come.
| 2016-03-01T07:56:16
| 2016-03-01T07:51:09
| 58
| 23
|
[WP] "May your skin rot when you heal others," the witch cursed, "and may your name be forgotten when you save others." You are a healer for a party. Your party does not know about the curse, and it has been your job to support them before they finally complete their quest. Today is the final day.
|
In the corner of the cavern, dimly lit by the nearby campfire, Reeda tended to a tear in her tunic. Sixteen days on the road, battling trolls, goblins and wisps left their marks but none as permeant as those on her skins. Once smooth and resilient, her skin now fissured and cracked, sprinkled with age spots as if her twenty-three year-old body was traded with fifty year-old. How much longer could she endure?
Judas, approached her, resting his paladin's shield against the cave's wall. "You don't sit with us since Cline's Passing—since you saved Hector's arm from amputation," he said. "He thinks he offended you."
Reeda's voice cracked. "There is nothing wrong, the light has been troubling my eyes lately. I can't seem to sleep after being too close. And this journey has been quite tiresome."
Judas kneeled down and took her hand as gently as a father may to his child. "There is more to it, is there not? I've seen you grow much more tired. More so than the rest."
"No, no, I'm quite fine. Truth be told, I've run out of make-up and powder. I can't hide my age any longer and I'm afraid you'll all pay more attention to me. We must all be our best tomorrow. I don't want extra care."
Judas let go of her hand. "I'm not sure I believe that, but I have no grounds to argue. If this is your wish, then do please rest. Tomorrow will a day for the ages," he said.
"I shall. Thank you for checking in," said Reeda and she returned to mending her tunic. Judas returned to the fire and the whispers of the company were muffled to Reeda. Even her senses were starting to fade. The curse was starting to win.
-----
"Hector! Blessing of Protect to you!" yelled Judas. His white plate armour glowed as wisps of blue magic danced along the metal. They amassed upon his shield and shot towards Hector in a translucent cloud. Around Hector formed a cloudy bubble, following his every step.
In one swift blow, the Ice Giant Queen, Titari, swung its dragon-bone against at the edge of the throne room. Hector watched as the club shattered his defensive ward and the remaining momentum sent his flying against the stone wall.
"Hector!" Judas yelled again. "Alright, we have to keep her off him."
Silvia, the black mage brought her hands to the floor and conjured a wall of flame, separating Titari from Hector. The room was now split in two, with Judas, Reeda, Silvia and Titari on one side and Hector on the other. Their freedom to move was split in half.
"Go now or die," said Titari, her purple lips smiling. "I'll take this snack as payment for your aggression."
"We're not leaving without the elixir," said Judas. He raised his shield and nodded to Reeda and Sylvia. Both of the mages bowed their heads and began to whisper.
"What good is magic for the dead?" said Titari. The giant circled its club, gathering speed before she began spinning as well. The bellows of wind blew like gusts in a hurricane, sending clouds of dust and gravel ricocheting off the stone walls and columns.
In one second, Titari released the club, sending it flying towards the two mages. In the next, Judas stood in its path, shield up and emanating with white spheres of magic. The impact scattered the club and Judas' armour alike. He flew back, landing limp at Reeda's feet.
"Four snacks it is then," said Tatari, cracking her knuckles. She raced towards the mages but stopped suddenly. A trail of light began brightening along the ceiling overhead. From within her, a buzz like an electrical current began to rise. Frozen in place, Tatari stared while the mages voices grew louder. Fear took the giant and she began pleading to be set free.
"The elixir is yours. Take and be gone. Take it and be free."
Reeda and Silvia stopped and gazed up at the once unyielding giant. The spell halted as well, its light fading from the ceiling and Tatari's paralysis evaporated from her body.
"You dumb bitches," said Tatari. As quick as lightning, Tatari swung her arm towards the a stone column at her side.
"Holy flare," Reeda and Sylvia said in unison.
The bright light of the ceiling returned, erupting in a brilliant pillar of yellow light. As if the star had been conjured, all that remained in the spells range was vapourized and scorched black. The flame wall faded too as Sylvia and Reeda collapsed to the ground.
The mages breathed heavy, their strength on the edge of ruin, but Reeda continued casting. A strand of magic left his fingers and reached Sylvia, giving her the power to stand.
"Bring Hector here," said Reeda, barely louder than a whisper.
Sylvia raced as fast as she could, still slow from exhaustion. As she did, Reeda crawled to Judas and felt his golden hair.
"When you wake, please give me some of the elixir," she whispered in his ear. "Quickly."
Sylvia returned, dragging Hector by the back of his cuirass. She laid him at Judas' side and fell to her knees.
Reeda began whispering words of the old world—words of the spell books she slaved years over. Her desire was always and had always been to save others. Yet a curse was laid on her upon graduation, sending her into old age for every healing deed. Long had she slumbered, unwilling to give up her youth for anyone. Now, with the elixir of youth a small walk away, she cared not anymore about curse and only for the companions that brought her here.
Reeda's skin glimmered as magic radiated like waves across a pond. Cracks in the stone floor began to sprout with grasses and flowers. The cavernous throne room brightened to a midday shine. And then, the room returned to darkness as Reeda collapsed.
---
"We actually did it," said Judas, taking the vial of blue elixir from the chest of the Ice Giant Queen. "We have forever ahead of us now. No aging, no death. Our life in our hands."
"We must celebrate!" said Hector, raising her dagger to the ceiling.
"We shall, we shall. But somewhere at peace."
"And what of the old lady?" asked Sylvia. They had almost forgot about the old lady on the throne room floor. Her breath was as light as a feather on skin.
"She won't last much longer. If she wasn't fighting with us, she must have been a servant to the giant. A deserving end, I take it," said Judas, slipping the elixir into his bag. "Now, let's leave this wretched place!"
The company left, giving not one glance to Reeda as she lay on the cold floor. The other half to her cruel curse—that no person saved shall remember her—had been fulfilled.
|
It wouldn’t be far now, just concentrate on the sound of your footsteps. The burgundy corridor of the demon king’s palace stretched spotless into the distance flanked by portraits, tapestry battles in freeze-frame, drapes, wood panels, clocks, all of it topped by the hanging Sternian-bronze chandeliers intricate in their geometry against the basalt. Avo was already near the far end, his hulking frame staring back at her in indifference. *I’ll protect you, Caroline. Rain or shine wherever we may go this tower shield works in all-weather.* And next to him was Nicki the Blaze seething with her feet leaving behind scorch-marked footsteps. Nicki had been the one to save her from the shipwreck on the Cagrian Sea. *Just hold on, Carrie, I’ll tie you to the mast. Just hold your staff. I’ve got you now don’t let go,* she’d said as she’d blasted apart wave after crashing wave for hours with fire magic. And then there was Saturnal. Saturnal who now walked a few paces ahead of her, unaware or too engrossed in his thoughts to notice that she’d stopped in her tracks. *You say you’re my sister? I’ve always been alone, you must be mistaken.*
Caroline put a hand against basalt, her bandaged arms more mummified than flesh at this point. She could imagine the wall would be cold. She stopped to take a swig of her poppy-seed painkillers - might as well go all out and drink it all. The burgundy corridor blurred. This was the witch’s last curse. It wasn’t long ago she could still make them remember pieces of her past, but each time she used her magic a little more was taken away. It took time, she had to prompt them around the campfire but she’d managed. But then Avo had started saying things like ‘ah, well that’s a nice thought’ and ‘fascinating’ when she’d tried to convince him of who she was. By the end of it she just sat by the campfire ready to introduce herself tomorrow.
“Hey healer girl, look we’re close. Don’t give up on us now,” said Avo. She tried to remember Avo like he was them back then. He’d hugged her after the fight with the witch. *‘Don’t give up on us, Caroline, we’ll break this curse and we’ll kill the demon king. Blam, no more demons. There’s no foul fucking witchwoman can bring us down, alright? Come on, smile. For the Gods’ sake smile you know there’s nothing that can stop Nicki’s fire, or Saturnal’s arrows. We’ll be fine.’*
“We could’ve hired someone better. We should’ve gone with the army mage,” said Saturnal.
She saw through tears Avo turn stern. “We’ve made it here with her, she’ll do. I don’t want to hear more about it. Come on healer girl. Let’s go.”
Caroline grated forward. Under the tunic she imagined the bandages might have soaked through but it wasn’t much further to the throne room. Either way it wouldn’t matter much to her soon.
| 2021-02-13T10:36:29
| 2021-02-13T10:20:38
| 39
| 18
|
[WP]: A fly lands on a table, starting a chain of events that gradually escalates to first degree murder
|
When you swat a fly, you might hit a fork instead.
When you hit a fork, you might send it flying.
When you send a fork flying, you might hit a waiter.
When you hit a waiter, he might cuss very loudly.
When a waiter cusses very loudly, he might startle an old lady.
When you startle an old lady, she might not tip as well.
When old ladies don't tip well, another waiter might not get all the pay he needs.
When another waiter doesn't get all the pay he needs he might miss a car payment.
When he misses a car payment the bank might come for his car.
When the bank come for his car he might have to get rides with co-workers.
When he has to get rides with co-workers they might realize how much they don't like him.
When they realize how much they don't like him, they might stop giving him rides.
When they stop giving him rides he might not be able to get to work.
When he's not able to get to work he might start missing other payments.
When he starts missing other payments, he might get desperate.
When he gets desperate, he might turn to his seedier friends.
When he turns to his seedier friends he might be "hired" as a drug dealer.
When he's hired as a drug dealer, he might find he's good at it.
When he finds he's good at dealing drugs he might draw attention to himself.
When he draws attention to himself he might not like the attention that he gets.
When he doesn't like that kind of attention e might skip town.
When he skips town he might be followed.
When he's followed he might develop paranoia.
When he develops paranoia he might want a gun.
When he wants a gun he might go to a gun store.
When he goes to a gun store he might see a bigger gun.
When he sees a bigger gun he might want a bigger gun.
When he grants a bigger gun, he might get a bigger gun.
When he gets a bigger gun he might feel more confident..
When he feels more confident he might feel hungry.
When he feels hungry he might go to a dinner.
When he goes to a dinner, the others might find him.
When the others find him there might be a gun fight.
When there's a gun fight everybody might die.
When everybody dies something might have to be done with the bodies.
When something has to be done with the bodies the waiters might just hide them for a little bit.
When the bodies are hidden they might be forgotten about.
When the bodies are forgotten the might start to rot.
When the bodies start to rot they might attract flies.
When the bodies start attracting flies, a fly might land near your food.
And when a fly lands near you food, you might swat at it...
|
It started with a fly landing on a table.I had grabed it and watched it squirm. At the age of seven I marvelled at how easily I could kill this small insect. Slowly squeezing I felt each twitch and smiled when it was a pulp.
The next experiment was a kitten. The cat in the shed had a litter. Holding one in my hand I watched it mew and squirm. I felt powerful as I tightened my grip. It mewed desperately, and choked. Feeling it dying throes was euphoric, and then it was dead in my hand. I dropped it to the ground and smiled as I looked down at the other two.
Through the years I experimented working my way through creatures, and different ways of killing. So many ways to kill burning, impaling, ripping, beating, stabbing, but my favorite was choking. Feeling life slowly leave a body, feeling each twitch, feeling the pulse slow in your hand. It was euphoric.
My parents knew some what, but who wants to think thier child a monster?
At the age of 13 my mother swelled and then there was a mewling baby. 'My sister'a annoying thing. Needy and loud a very irritating combination.
I stood over its bed staring at it many nights. I thought about that fly, then the many creatures after, and wondered if killing her would be as simple.I wondered what it would feel like to hold this new annoying things potential in my hands and snuff it out.I had these thoughts until I found her neck in my hands. She couldn't cry now! Her life was mine! I was God! I could feel the twitchs and laughed! Suddenly it was ripped from my hands and I was on the ground my Mother was screaming, and clutching the thing to her chest. Its throat was crushed, it gasped like a fish until it was dead.
I only regret not being able to feel those last twitches my Mother got that honor. She didnt take it to well later when I asked her what they had felt like.
(Ive never done this before btw first prompt ive written for.)
| 2014-12-28T22:21:10
| 2014-12-28T20:46:20
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
|
Humans are the most dangerous when they know they have nothing to loose.
When they **know** they can't win, they'll devout everything they have to make sure that you don't win either.
They prefer mutually assured destruction before surrender.
By a wide margin.
**Never** put a human in a corner.
All those tidbits of media that escape their bubble before they did showed mostly weak, groveling people, begging for mercy when put against a superior force.
That only applied when they where dealing with their own kind.
To anyone else, they're basically rabid beasts.
Only engage a group of humans when you are **absolutely** sure you can eradicate them all in one fell swoop. Otherwise, it's a lose/lose scenario.
I've learned this the hard way, and it's by the skin off my teeth that I live to tell about it...
|
When the human race first entered our star systems, we thought they were laughable. They came to “explore” and “settle”, but they appeared very poorly equipped and naïve to be doing such things. Of course, they were not the first race we’ve seen with colonizing of any sort on the mind; our people have dabbled with that ourselves, at least when necessary to get resources to persist.
At first we played their game. Showed them some territories they could stay in, gave them some pointers, and then promptly tried to ignore them.
However, they were unsatisfied. They wanted to continue growing and expanding. Predictably enough, of course. When they threw their little fit, we threatened them with our superior weapons and technology, and they calmed down… or rather, changed their tune. They had no intention to FIGHT for any land, but they were more than willing to BARTER for it somehow. It would go on like this, the humans growing, us socializing and trying not to satisfy their little diplomatic egoes too much, making as many compromises as we could. But enough was never enough for them. Never for too long.
However, for us, enough was indeed enough. We put our foot down when they got too needy, and told them to either leave completely or die. Their response…
…was to devastate us all. Using strange molecular bonding units, they took their lesser ships and weapons and smashed them together into much stronger units, an unforeseen tactic. They did this with individuals too, making on-land planetary warfare even harder on us. We had to retreat, and they took *everything*.
They went on like this, from system to system. Even with everything our societies could throw at them, even when they were outnumbered and outpowered, their tactics and techniques and that blasted unification technology decimated everything in their path. All seemed lost for our way of life… except for one thing that we had that they did not:
Through tachyon engines, one could move faster than light. What had not been explored yet by any of us had been the next step of that: travel through time.
Yes, with what resources we had left, us survivors formed a war party with one goal: go to the past and crush those humans before they have the chance to do any of this. Punish those heartless, egotistical monsters for what they did to us. Preemptively take back everything they would steal.
We have talked enough with them to know about their ways, their history. We know of a planet called Earth where they originated. We know exactly where and when in history to show up.
This is a one way trip. We are willing to take it.
The human race won’t know what hit them.
| 2022-08-05T12:59:37
| 2022-08-05T12:43:01
| 109
| 63
|
[WP] In 150 years, we start terraforming Mars as the Earth begins to die. It is only then that we realise this has happened before, to Earth.
|
It was hard to leave Earth, but its core was dwindling and on the verge of dying. We were forced to terraform Mars and start civilization back from scratch.
However, something strange happened while the engines suited Mars to sustain human life. First, its surface was covered in a vast ocean, but soon, a widespread piece of land emerged from the depths. The scientists were quick to identify it, for they had seen it before, long ago, in Earth itself. It was an exact replica of Pangaea.
They were left dumbfounded. Their engines weren't supposed to imitate such a thing. They were supposed to simply identify the elements that needed to be changed and transform them into suitable ones.
We, the majority of the inhabitants, didn't care much about it, and focused on repopulating and building instead. However, the scientists switched their focus of study. They forgot about the search of new elements and helping engineers to improve building times.
Instead, they contacted historians, and delved deep into Earth's history, trying to find a hint that could explain their many doubts. Who terraformed Earth so long ago? Where were they? Why did they leave if they did?
But years went by, and not a proper answer ever came. They went through tomes and tomes, through every little detail, yet they found nothing certain.
In the meantime, we built a lot, and the countries were starting to establish their borders.
It was on a normal day that a friend of mine, who happened to be a scientist, called me. I picked up, and we agreed to meet up for lunch. His voice had been brittle on the phone.
When we met, he looked nervous, he was constantly scanning the place, his face was ashen, and his leg fidgeted. I sat in front of him and ordered two salads.
"Mike, we have found something," he said, his voice a whisper.
"What?" I asked, confused and eager.
"Remember when I talked to you about someone terraforming Earth long before we even existed?"
"I do," I said. "Did you confirm your suspicions about someone observing us?"
He shook his head. "No, but I know what happened to them."
"What?" I leaned over the table.
"They were killed, erased from the Earth," he said, trembling.
"How could you be so certain?"
"When we looked at the old books, nothing made sense," he said. "So we looked where we had to look: in space. They were advanced like us. By sheer luck we managed to find something similar to a black box, with a recording in it."
My eyes went wide, and my heart thumped. "What did it say?"
"Something about a virus, a failure in their engines," he said and gulped. "And then, they spoke about 'The Olds' coming, and their voices filled with desperation. The recording ends with someone saying: 'Death is imminent. There's nowhere to go.'"
"But what does that mean?" I asked.
"It means that sooner or later something will go wrong," he said, "and sooner or later 'The Olds' will come and erase us."
The salads came. I sighed and started eating. I didn't know what to think. All of the scientists had been wrapped in paranoia lately.
"Let's hope it happens later than sooner."
---------------------------
Sci-Fi it's not my thing, but I gave it a try.
Check r/AHumongousFish
It's cozy in there.
|
"Where's the artifact?" the commander bellowed, barging into the primary research lab.
An ensign obediently pointed to the long, phallic object on the table.
The commander sneered. "Is this some sort of joke?" He picked up the artifact, waving it at the field captain's face. "Do you think you're fucking funny or something?"
The field captain shook his head as he watched the artifact flop about inches from his face. "No sir. That's what we found at the dig site. That's the only object that was there. There was clearly remnants of a structure in place, but that was the only tangible object we could find." He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't know what to think of it either."
The commander slammed the artifact on the table. "Great! Just great! Now I get to tell the suits back on Earth that this big find we supposedly have is a God-damn dildo!"
The chief of research piped in. "If I can interject, this is actually an extraordinary find. It's literally the best proof we could have that an advanced species once lived here."
The commander simply stared at her. "*Literally* the best proof we could have? Not a computer? A radio? A god-damn car? Fucking *anything* but a sex toy?"
The chief of research blushed. "Well, it definitely proves that an advanced species lived here. It will be enough to get more funding and have more excavation teams sent here within the next year..."
*Fast forward 687 Earth days*
"Commander!" a lieutenant calls out, running after her CO. "Commander, the third excavation team has found something!"
"What?" the commander questioned. "Why didn't you radio me?"
"Oh...uh..." the lieutenant shrugged. "It seemed like more dramatic exposition this way."
"*Sigh...* alright, let's hit the rovers."
The command team rolled up to the excavation site in question a couple hours later. Exiting the rover, the commander was immediately swarmed by scientists.
"What? Slow down! I can't understand you if you all talk at once!"
The chief scientist took the lead, beaming with joy. "We've found a fully functioning computer array that's still hooked up to a network!"
"Show me."
The team entered an elevator which took them down several hundred feet below the surface. At the bottom, they exited and followed a series of tunnels that had been dug in the past few months. At the end, they discovered a large, crumbling building that had apparently been buried under thousands of years of dust and debris.
Inside, they gathered around the screens in question. With a nod from the commander, the chief scientist turned on the array. There, a show closely paralleling "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" started playing.
The commander put his head in his hands, almost weeping. "What is this? Why does God keep torturing me like this?"
"I'm sorry, sir, let me switch the channel." He flipped several knobs, eventually finding the station he desired to show the commander. The commander stared in disbelief. There on the screen was an orange man with a bad toupee saying the most insane shit imaginable.
"Is that...is that not..." The commander struggled to remember his history. "Is that not Trump?"
"Yes, which means Mars not only had an advanced civilization at one point, but we are following in its footsteps. They put their planet in a sedated state following the advent of nuclear weaponry, then woke up the population with the most insane reality TV show imaginable, ushering in a revolution that sparked a global unified effort to reach out to the nearest planet that could be terraformed!"
The commander shook his head. "We really need more classes on proper story exposition in the Space Force..."
| 2018-08-11T09:15:52
| 2018-08-11T09:08:17
| 867
| 139
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
|
Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar.
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28
| 2015-12-05T14:15:59
| 158
| 11
|
[WP] You are at dinner when a stranger sits down in the booth and asks you, "Have you found the 3rd number?" You have been having a dream about cracking a safe and have only been able to discover the numbers 14 and 17 before you wake up. They place a picture of your dream safe on the table.
|
I don't know why my dreams have ended in front of a safe with some electronic safe cracking tool installed on it. The safe is always the same thing, but in different places. The dreams leading up to my need to open a safe I don't know the combination to are always different. I always manage to use the electronic stethoscope to find the first two numbers, 14, then 17, then, in trying to find the last number, I wake up.
After weeks of this dream, I went to dinner after a long day at work as I sat in the booth by myself, I was looking over the menu wondering what I would be eating, when a man I've never met slid into the seat across from me. He looked nervous, or perhaps excited. In his hand was an envelope, after looking around, he pulled a picture from the envelope showing the safe, with the cracking tool attached that I have been dreaming about for weeks.
"Have you found the 3rd number?" It was a hoarse whisper, meant for my ears only.
"I'm not sure what you are talking about." I hadn't told anyone about this recurring dream if someone knew, I wasn't going to just blab. There was more here than meets the eye.
"The safe, the combination. We've found the first two, we can't find the 3rd number of the combination. We hoped that coming to see you would help." He slid the photograph across the table for me to see closer. I knew that image. Heck, the dial was sitting on 17, the second 'click' the device found.
"Where was this taken? Perhaps I just need to see it."
"You don't know?"
"I have no idea. Heck, I have no idea why you are talking to me, showing me this picture either. I've never met you, or seen this before." I turned the picture around to study it, then pushed it back to him.
"Maybe our meeting will help move it along. I will be seeing you later." With that, he got up and left.
The waitress came by, "Your friend not staying?"
"He's not my friend, I've never met him before." I shrugged. I ordered my usual meal and went home. That night, before bed, I drank a couple of glasses of red wine, I feared what my dream would bring, knowing that somehow I've manifested, or contacted the dream world.
"Let's see what happens now..." and I drifted off to sleep.
(There will be more, but I wanted to add something to flesh out the Prompt.)
|
Who the hell are you? and get out of my booth.
Have you found the third number yet?
What? You need to leave before I scream for help.
The stranger left my booth, but also left behind a picture of the safe in my dreams.
How can that be? How did my dream come to be in a picture?
That night, I was determined to open the safe if I dreamed of it again, and I did.
Right 3 turns to 14.
Left 2 turns to 17.
Right to
Bleep Bleep Bleep .. omg time for work..
As I get up and stagger to the shower I see a glimpse of someone outside my window, I hurry over and I think it might be that weird-o from the restaurant.
As I drive to work I notice numbers on houses 1417, 14th and 17th street intersect.
I arrive at work and clock in 14 minutes late.
I must be loosing my mind, it's just a stupid dream.
Next bug for me to fix is 1417 ! Damn, this is crazy, its work, they pay me. Focus.
I begin reproducing the problem to find the solution.
The problem is in the decryption routine, when a pattern is passed in that contains 1417 it doesn't decode the password properly.
All day I work through the algorithm step by step, manually decrypting the failed password string. I finally get to the bytes containing 1417. The algorithm should shift each byte left based on their decimal representation.
0306. Multiply the first 2 bytes by 2 yields 0606. Shift right 2 bytes. 0066.
Increment to the next word, oh! The next word is corrupted, its not numbers any more, it's the userid.
I work my way back up the call stack, and realize the userid was copied to the wrong location and had overlaid the last 4 bytes of the string.
I corrected the code, and tested once more.
1417, shifted, multiplied, 0066 increment.
Next word is now 0907, shifted to 0806. multiply 08 x 2 is 1602, shift is 0162.
Code fixed !
It is dark outside as I drive home.
Fixing problems is such a rush when you work so hard, but finally find the solution.
Stop for food on my way home, Mediterranean food sounds good.
As I sit waiting for my greek salad and gyro the stranger is sitting at my table again.
Before I can ask where the picture of the safe came from he says.
Thank you. You will leave tonight. And then he walks away without a word.
I eat (famished, I missed lunch working on the bug!) but I worry this crazy person may be stalking me. He was outside my window this morning, I am sure of it.
When I arrive home I lock the doors and windows.
I get my phone set to dial the police with just a press of the button.
Nothing happens, no one is stalking my windows, but I fear to sleep.
I stay awake as long as I can, but finally I cannot hold my eyes open.
Immediately I am at the safe in my dream.
Right 3 turns to 14.
Left 2 turns to 17.
l'm still here, I didn't wake up!
Hmm, maybe like my work, Right to 09.
Still locked.
I didn't wake up, in fact I can't wake up.
All night I try different numbers, I think there is only 200 numbers just try them all.
The night drags on as I turn Right, Left, 1.
Damn locked.
Right, Left, 2..47
Locked.
I start to panic, I cannot wake up, and I cannot open this Damn safe !
Perhaps the corrupted number is after the algorithm.
I skip to 162. Right, Left, 162, and it clicks!
I turn the handle and open the safe to a bright white light.
I blink as I find I am in a hospital room, my dad is standing by my bed facing the door.
I call out, dad, in a raspy voice, but my mouth doesn't work right.
"DAD" I try harder.
He quickly turns around with a smile on his face... the same face as the stranger !
edit (ugly formatting sorry)
| 2019-11-24T10:05:19
| 2019-11-24T05:54:39
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] Time freezes for everyone around you each time your life is in danger, leaving only you able to move until you are no longer in danger. One day time freezes, but you can't figure out why, until..
I hope its not too vague, first writing prompt ^^ enjoy
Thank you all so much for the responses it's so much fun to read them :)
|
The first time it happened, that I can remember, I was 7 or 8, I think. Went running out into the street after a ball, and everyone stopped for me. It kind of stuck me as odd, that all the cars on the street stopped so suddenly, and that my ball stopped rolling too, but I didn't really think of it at the time. Got my ball and got back off the road, and everybody started moving again.
The second time I was 13. Family vacation in Florida. My cousin Chris and I were swimming in the ocean when everything froze. Chris froze. The water froze around him, but not around me. It was like it was solid but not ice. Trying to swim just seemed to kick it aside and make a hole, which I fell into, and the hole got worse as I fell further until I hit the bottom, maybe 20 feet down. I tried climbing up but I just kept pushing water back, so instead I kind of crawled/dug/pushed my way to shore, yelling and screaming and afraid, hoping that my parents could help. Once I was close enough to shore that I could get my head above water again, the water started moving. There was a huge thud as the water closed in behind me where I had cut my path. I screamed and screamed and tried to tell my parents what had happened, they freaked out and tried to calm me down. Never saw Chris again. My Dad said it was a rip tide and I was lucky to be alive. Said I was imagining everything that I was saying.
Happened a few more times over the years after that. I learned that it happened whenever I was in serious danger of dying. Once when I was driving, I was distracted and about to miss a red light. Once on a train that turned out it was about to derail. That one got me. I knew when it happened what sort of capability I had, and got myself off the train, but afterwards I couldn't help but wonder if I could have saved all the other people on the train. I've jumped in front of a couple cars and busses since, to save someone from harm, but otherwise, I haven't really come across too many crazy situations.
Today, time froze while I was at the ball game. The roar of the crowd, vendors shouting about beer and hot dogs, all of it stopped. Pillar was half way between second and third, and the ball was hovering just above the second baseman's glove. I stood to look around me, but it didn't appear that there were any immediate threats. I wasn't eating or drinking anything... not about to choke. The ball was going away from me, mostly. So I wasn't going to get beaned...
I wondered if leaving the dome would start things up again, but then who knows what would happen to the people around me? I thought back to the train that I had hopped off of, only to watch it hop off the tracks a hundred meters up and turn into a fireball of a jack-hammer.
My thoughts turned to bigger things. Fire? Gas explosion? Structural failure? Who knew what was holding up the stands. Guy with a gun on the other side of the stadium?
Thirty some-odd sleeps later, I was getting tired of it. Really, really tired of it. I had opted to start moving people out of the stadium. But 40,000 people is a lot of dead weight to lug around. I had managed to move about 700 or so from where I was originally seated. I worked as close to where I original sat as I could, clearing people out row by row, section by section. I knew there would be mass panic and confusion when it all started up again but that didn't matter, at least they'd live, hopefully. The fat ones were the worst. It was a hot day, perpetually hot, and their BO stayed with them. But, I had time, I guess, and this was probably the right thing to do.
The next guy was another fat one. Great. This guy even had a coat on, a big puffy jacket. As I went to start heaving him out of his chair, I felt something hard under his jacket - something that didn't quite feel right. Unzipping his jacket I saw what was causing the time freeze - a suicide vest covered with C4. What started out as shock turned into relief. If I could just get rid of this guy, that would be enough to save everyone!
2 hours later I had dragged his sorry ass out of the stadium, across the road, and was heading towards the water. If I dumped him in, that might lesson the explosion. I paused at the edge of the promenade. Dumping him in that water was surely the right thing to do? I had no idea how to disarm a bomb. Once I convinced myself, in he went, making a blob shaped hole about halfway into the water, no splash. I made sure he had stopped, and then turned around to walk back to the stadium.
About halfway across the road, time started again. A muffled boom and a huge splash sounded behind me. Success! I turned around to watch the water fall down, and that's when I heard the sound of 3 more booms going off inside the stadium.
|
The first time it happened I was just little kid riding my bike. My mom wasn't paying attention to me. She was too deep in her gossip with our neighbor to notice me peddling toward the street. Honestly, I didn't even notice at first. But I was six and day dreaming about how I was a race car. I felt the bump of hitting the curb and I felt my bike tip over. I was spilled out into the street like a dropped sack of potatoes. My elbow was bleeding and scratched up but I was otherwise fine. It wasn't scary, looking up and seeing the grill of the blue Ford F150 inches from my face because it was totally motionless. In fact, everything was. I looked around and mom was frozen with her hands in the air like she just didn't care, making a face that indicated some juicy gossip had been exchanged. I stood up from my indignity, grabbed my bike by the handle bars, righted it and myself back on the side walk and put my foot to the peddle. Without any pomp or circumstance life resumed. Moms arms dropped down. The truck drove off. I remembered the pain on my elbow and started to cry.
It took me a few years to realize I was the only one this happened to. I couldn't understand why so many people died in accidents. Why didn't they just move? When I did put it together I felt awful. Like I had this responsibility to help everyone. But I couldn't make time just stop by willing it. It only happened when I was in immediate danger. Maybe if I put myself into dangerous situations, I thought, I could save people when time stopped for me. But it turns out that is a lot harder to do than say when you live in the suburbs. Eventually I gave up thoughts of being a superhero. Until dad died.
The police came by and broke the news to mom at around 1 am. She had been worried when dad didn't show up from work. I remembered later her calling the office and his phone before deciding he must have stopped off at a bar or something. They said it was a mugging gone bad. He didn't feel anything. It was fast. The police said they'd catch the guy. They never did.
I was racked with guilt. All this power to save myself but I couldn't save the people I loved. Leaving my room became hard. So hard I rarely did it. I graduated from high school, thanks to the pity of my teachers, and got a job as a waiter in the local restaurant. But otherwise I just stopped trying. If I wasn't working I was in my room playing xbox. I told myself everything was fine. I was helping mom with the bills.
To pass the time of existence I took up smoking. But it was a little annoying because every time I sparked up time would stop until the damn cigarette was out. That got annoying. So I tried weed. Same thing. Being reminded of my curse every time I tried to escape it was like hell. I needed a safe release. Eating was it. At first it was just my sweet tooth. Ice cream, cookies, cakes. But when those ran out I turned snacks. And when both were available, I ate both. Work was great because there was no shortage of meals and desserts.
Then, one day, at 7:23am, time stopped again. I was putting my pants on for work when I noticed my music stopped. I poked my head out of my room and sure enough, mom was frozen mid yawn as she poured coffee. Also, there was no danger to be seen. I finished dressing and looked around my room. Nothing. Maybe I was about to trip, I thought. But then why didn't time kick back in. It only ever lasted long enough that I was out of danger.
The house itself was fine. Nothing hurdeling toward it. No gas leak. Not even a plane in the sky. I wandered around for who knows how long, checking everything in the neighborhood. Maniac neighbor with a bomb? No. Sinkhole about to swallow me whole? Not unless it was going to swallow a 120+ home neighborhood. Wildfire? Nada. Zombie apocalypse? Not as far as I could tell. Time had never been stopped this long. Whatever was coming must have be huge, I thought. So I expanded my search radius.
The thing about time being stopped is, you don't know how much time has been passing, not really. Maybe I could hazard a guess but it gets really confusing when the sun never moves an inch. As such, I can't say how long it took me. But eventually I had mapped the entire city of Tulsa and it's surrounded suburbs. Nothing ever came up. I felt like I was losing my mind. There was no one to talk to, only to observe. The world became a museum. A really shitty Museum of Tulsa. It felt voyeuristic, searching through homes for the cause of my danger, watching the people around me. I saw lovers, frozen in kisses. Children mid-whine about getting up for school. Dogs jumping at their masters for walks. One guy, totally trying to secretly jerk off on a morning bus. None of them moved but they all felt more alive than me. Maybe this was Hell.
Eventually I wandered home. I didn't try. My feet just carried me there. Nothing changed. No dust had settled, no mail delivered. And there was mom. Pot of coffee in hand, looking unimpressed with the morning news. When did she get lines around her eyes? How had I never noticed before. And her hair; was that grey I saw?
Emotions hit me all at once and I couldn't breathe. I would never be able to talk to her again, not really. She was here but not here. I could talk to her but she was never going to talk back. I stood next to her and sobbed. Wrapping my arms around her like a little kid, I buried my face in her shoulder. My whole body shook and heaved in pain as I gagged out sobs. I didn't stop until I felt her arms around me.
"Aw Honey, what's wrong?" Her voice ran through me like lightning. I looked up and there was her moving face. She looked startled as hell but it was her. The news anchor babbled in the background, the coffee mom was pouring spilled on the table and dripped down to the floor. "Honey, are you okay?" The look of concern spread across her face. It turned a bit into confusion. "Did you lose weight," she paused, "Since yesterday? Also, honey, maybe a shower is in order."
| 2017-06-21T13:37:06
| 2017-06-21T10:03:52
| 45
| 30
|
[WP] The fastest ship in the galaxy isn't a military Corvette or a ribbon-winning racing vessel. It's the ambulance that the human paramedic team operates.
|
Humans have a strong sense of justice, that, we learned through conflict. No human would rest if they felt you had been slighted, or unfairly and unduly judged.
But more than their justice, humans are the best rescuers. Tragedy after tragedy struck their planet, and yet, their response was to heal. They built machines more finely tuned than a quantum drive, packed them with every known medical procedure, and put them into every hospital. But their finest creation, was their... "Ambulance". Many times, be it a planet warring, or a spaceship crash, their ambulance, a shuttle with ground capabilities, was there in moments. You could blink and miss its arrival.
When I asked one of the pilots, why, why is this machine so fast, she said to me: "Because the first moments are the most critical." And ever since, I have taken a greater interest in human rescue techniques. Although it was hundreds of years ago, rescuers still walk hundreds of steps on a particular day of their solar cycle, they train with arcane weaponry as well as new. Because of their love for danger, and unique sense of preserving others before themselves, they built the only shuttle with the capacity to kill themselves, even before they could save anyone else.
And for these reasons, it is illegal to attack the Ambulance, and it is also greatly punished, if you try to stop a human lead rescue effort. They are the only creatures in this galaxy, that will save you, regardless of what you have done.
|
Sorry mobile.
———
Have seen of ducking fast that thing drives?! At first you just see it intent if you for a fraction of a fraction of a nanosecond, and then it is gone. Some time after you can hear the flying past you, trying to catch up, which it won’t until it stops.
Alright I get it, it is fast, but what I don’t get is how they can control that thing. They are humans, beings who couldn’t manage light speed travel with it help. What’s more, they haven’t even had the technology for more than a month, and yet they have surpassed all of our vehicles, and can maneuver all tracks that have been impossible for us.
Yeah, it’s insane.
Oh, by the way, you never mentioned what type of vehicle it is. All I know is what you and the tracks scoreboard tells me.
It is an ambulance.
Haha, no but seriously?
It is an ambulance.
Just tell me dammit.
It is an ambulance.
ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT THE VEHICLE THAT HAS AN IMMEASURABLE TOP SPEED, UNBELIEVABLE TIRE GROUP AND ALMOST UNLIMITED POWER SUPPLY IS A GOOD DAMN AMBULANCE?!!
Yup. It is an ambulance alright.
At least tell me it is controlled by an A.I. or something.
Nope, just normal humans.
Huma- *faints*
Dude, you okay? I’ll call an ambulance.
*A few seconds later*
*Ok sir, we are sending one now!*
Out of nowhere an ambulance arrives, and stepping out is what appears to be humans. They point to my poor fainted friend, and I just nod, before fainting myself. However, just before I faint I hear in the distance what sounds like sirens, and then it all fades to black.
———
If anything is wrong in the text, I blame autocorrect and you, the person who are reading this.
| 2019-11-10T14:08:55
| 2019-11-10T13:46:55
| 403
| 80
|
[WP] As a vampire, I follow traditions. My fiancé is human and just found out that human brides/grooms are to be bit to become a vampire themselves. She absolutely refuses to let that happen, and says the wedding is off unless I refuse to bite her. I feel like she's disrespecting tradition. AITA?
|
NTA. How presumptuous of that… harlot to look upon the gift of vampirism and turn away! Does she understand how incredibly rare it is for us immortals to deign to add another to our number?! This is like telling someone they’ve won the lottery and having them say “Nah”. Not to mention the sheer selfishness! “Oh honey, I hope you understand, I just want you to stay young and hot forever while I age out of my looks, until I die and you have to remember me for the rest of your immortal existence!” I bet if you asked her for a prenup she’d also try to give you an ultimatum. She’s using you honey. The humans always do. I’d recommend leaving her and finding yourself a proper vampire woman.
|
NAH
Vampires have a tradition of biting human partners at their wedding, but humans don't. In fact, we have a tradition of wanting to remain living, healthy and whole, inherited all the way back from reptilian ancestors millions of years ago. You seem to have respected that just fine until now, you even came to talk about how you are aware of it. Humans also happen to often have strong opinions on traditions.
For some reason, you assumed she would be okay with being bitten and she assumed such thing wouldn't happen. I'm sure you both worked past a lot of things to get your relationship to this point, and this takes both, all the differences considered. Just keep in mind she didn't disrespect vampire traditions, because she is not a vampire. Unfortunately, she can't both be transformed and not transformed so one must give. On the other hand, humans are comparatively short lived and fragile so do make sure you know what she actually wants you to do regarding her health moving on - bodily autonomy is fundamental. Disrespecting that with any partner would make you a huge AH.
| 2022-11-28T18:21:15
| 2022-11-28T17:15:37
| 41
| 18
|
[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.
|
I stared at the man
With the out of place hair
And asked him again
As he leaned back in his chair
"Why did you do it? A 1 Year Old Child?"
"You would never understand"
He calmly replied
"If you knew you would thank me"
He said with a sigh
"But now it won't happen"
"And I'm a man out of time"
"The future is brighter"
"I've done my part"
"And now you'll never suffer his terrible art"
|
"I've been talking to him for three hours and he seems mostly lucid."
"Mostly?"
"Well, yes. He admitted guilt to the murders, walked me through how the crime went down in exact detail-"
"Do you mind giving me a quick rundown, I haven't been briefed on the case yet."
"Damn it, Müller was supposed to do that. I swear I will tan that boy's hide. So, the suspect sneaks inside the house with an axe at exactly three in the morning. He slithers upstairs and into baby Adolf's room. Unfortunately for him, Frau Hitler happens to be nursing the baby at that very moment. She screams and that rouses Herr Hitler, who was sleeping in the next room. He leaps out of bed, runs into the hall, sees the perp and jumps at him, receiving an axe to the skull for his trouble. Straight in the center, cleaves his skull in twain. Frau Hitler sprints past the perp with the baby, making a run for it. He sees them and is too quick for her. He grabs her by the neck with one hand, rips the baby out of her arms with the other, and tosses her down the stairs. She breaks her neck on the way down.
"But he's not done yet. He takes the crying baby downstairs into the kitchen and plops him down on the table. He then picks up the family's carving knife and skins a part of Adolf's upper lip..."
"Christ."
"... right were my mustache is. Then he cuts this symbol, I forget what he called it but it looks like a sort of mix between a cross and a spiral, into the baby. He does it all nice and shallow like, so the baby doesn't die right then and there. He then scoops up the juices and writes 'BLOOD FOR BLOOD' on the walls. Then he takes the baby, throws it in the stove and tosses a kerosene lamp in after it. The neighbors found the bastard sitting on a chair, watching the child burn. By the time they arrived though, the only thing left of the baby was a charred and blackened heart. We only know about the mutilation because he told us. He was proud of it too, that was the disturbing part. I have dealt with lunatics and idiots and idiot lunatics but this is something new. More of a massacre than a murder."
I took a big puff on my pipe before slowly exhaling. "Fucking madman, this is the third this month. Oh, don't look at me like that, if we let the public know there would be a panic. There was one in Munich and another in the Ruhr. The Germans alerted us after the second one happened. I'm just glad we caught the bastard before he put a fourth child into the ground. You don't have to worry about the sonofabitch anymore, Vienna will handle him... Do you have family, Herr Bauer?"
"Yes I do, a wife and three daughters."
"Good, take them out to the Ratskeller for dinner tonight, let them order the expensive items and get yourself a nice steak. Perhaps end the evening with a fine Italian liqueur and a romp with the missus while the children are asleep. When everyone is all tucked in, get up and watch your children sleep, watch their chests go up and down. Know that they are safe, Herr Bauer, for this man shall hang before the week is out. God knows if this interrogation is going to be as bad as I think it will be, I will be watching my son sleep tonight too." I turned to look him head on and I put my hand on his shoulder "Stay a little longer, mad dogs tend to try and bite, even if they are chained to the wall. I will need someone in the room with me."
He sighed "Let's get it over with."
EDIT: Changed some phrasing, if there is popular interest, Part II will come out tomorrow.
| 2015-03-30T00:05:18
| 2015-03-29T23:54:41
| 190
| 21
|
[WP] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen's club for the super-rich. Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as: "I bet you can't destabilize Ukraine in under a week." One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that's too irresistible to turn down.
|
I've always had a thing for risk.
At sixteen, I placed my first bet. $20 on the Super Bowl. Watching every play on the edge of my seat, I knew I'd found something special.
From there on, the bets got bigger; and bolder.
$200 on a high school softball game? Entertainment.
$250 on the Lithuanian women's rugby squad?
Warm-up.
$600 on whether or not I get arrested this weekend?
Why the fuck not?
When I outgrew friendly bets, I moved to online websites. The possibilities were endless. Eventually though, I wanted the real thing.
Vegas baby. Coke and strippers in all their glory. The only thing easier than making a few grand was getting laid. That's where I found the formula that would change my life.
By the time I had graduated college, I had profited several hundred thousand dollars over the course of four years. I would go on to use this capital and formula to create Investment Entertainment, the first ever sports-based mutual fund.
We catered mostly to older white men and, after my first million, they just kept coming.
Soon my clients included the rich and famous. Names such as Bill Gates, Jay-Z, and Justin Timberlake were regular "investors". That's how I got in.
As a glorified bookie, they soon took me under their wing. European coasts, exotic women, and the finest drugs became normal for me. I knew I was in, just not quite all the way. You know when a group likes you, but something is just off? That was me. I wanted, no, needed initiation.
One night, after a long day in the sun, that chance came.
Justin looked up from his scotch and said,
"Listen Shadrach, you're a good kid. We like what you're doing and want you to keep doing it. Hell, we want you here. Question is, do you want to be here?"
Now, when Justin fuckin' Timberlake invites you in, you don't think. You say yes.
Nearly choking on my cigar, I managed to sputter "Yes".
I could hear Jay-Z snickering at my enthusiasm but I didn't care- I was in!
As if he already knew what I would answer, Justin continued, "Here's the deal. We know you have brains. We know you have guts. We want to know if you have balls. What is the most audacious bet you would be willing to take?"
I thought for a minute. After all, this was right up my wheel house. I looked slowly around the plush interior of our room. As I did, a smile spread across my face. I knew what I had to do.
Turning to my right and with all the confidence I could muster I said,
"Jay, I"ll bet you $100 million that not only will I turn Beyoncé against you, but that I will also convince her to write an album about it named "Lemonade" in honor of the piss I am about to take on your life."
Jay responded, "If you havin' girl problems I feel bad for you son, I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't one. You've got a deal."
|
"Will you do it?"
The probie leaned back into his battered leather armchair, contemplating the enormity of the request with steepled fingers, just failing to hide trembling lips. Audacious was too pedestrian a word for the scale and horror of the opportunity presented to him.
"It's never been done" he muttered, though teeth stained by champagne and cigars.
"Oh it most certainly has been done. But he grew too attached to the trappings of the position, and failed to walk away when agreed."
I saw dull confusion spread across his pasty face as he struggled to absorb this revelation. New money: they were all the same. Parents too busy forging their successes in the boardroom to groom their children properly for a life in the back room, where all the real decisions were made. The finest education money could buy, and not a shred of wisdom.
"It will take a lot of money." He was nervous now, as expected. His need for acceptance, long obvious to those such as we, was all that kept him in that chair and not dashing out to his waiting chauffer in panic. Or perhaps he had some inkling of the consequences such a lapse in judgement would invite.
"More than you know." My eyes fixed unblinking on his.
"And for me? Everything you promised?" A badly disguised play for the last exit, couched as bargaining. Truly this one was an open book.
"Everything. Full membership."
And he was bought and paid for. There was no greater motivating daemon for a man than his own mortality; to have it promised away, and by someone 115 years old and thought long dead but visibly in the prime of their life, was not something any ordinary fool could resist.
This one was as ordinary as fools came. Perfect, as it turned out, for our purposes.
"Hell yeah. Let's do it." Empty bravado over an empty soul. Ugh. Now for the firm hand - offer the prize, then threaten to take it away.
"Know this. You will maintain the deception until you die. Our power and reach are limitless, and you will wish for death if you betray us."
A nod.
"You will believe what we tell you to believe. You will claim, and promise, what we tell you to. When the time comes for you to ascend the podium to accept your prize, you will say the words we tell you to say, step down, and return to us to witness the inferno they spark; as the people consume themselves in shame at their own folly. Finish what George could not."
The probie muttered quietly into the subcutaneous bug he didn't know he had, as he gargled the last of his champagne and stumbled out of the private room.
I was still chuckling at that last defiance when my friend and co-conspirator joined me, three hundred year old brandy in hand.
"Do you know what that buffoon said, Rupert?" I whispered, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
"Tell me, Ronald."
"I don't need your words. I know words. I have the best words."
| 2016-08-23T18:05:50
| 2016-08-23T17:17:24
| 52
| 15
|
[WP] Write a scene that would appear sexual to an observer, but is completely innocent. [nsfw]
Like the tent shadow scene from Austin Powers, it should be humorous and can involve objects and sounds.
|
"What a night," he said, holding her close to his chest, her head lifting with his every breath.
They laid beneath the still-wet blankets as the sun peeked through the shudders, bathing the room in a soothing orange glow. The past hour seemed, to him, a whirl of sensation: the writhing, gasping bodies pressed against each other, the warmth and intimacy of the moment they had shared as he plunged deeper and deeper into her.
And now, in this moment of rest, he gazed upon her. How fair she was, so soft and delicate. For so long, he had craved her; the curve of her thigh and the warmth of her breath haunted his dreams. And he finally had her.
"I've never done anything like that," he whispered. He turned to look at the sunrise through the blinds, sighing. He was content. Happy, even.
He felt a warmth on his chest. *Is that what joy feels like?* he though. He looked down. *No, not joy.* He wiped the blood off his chest that had poured from the corner of her mouth.
*But I guess it's close enough.*
He made a note not to stab the neck next time. It made the whole affair terribly messy.
|
God, I felt like a man.
I couldn't help but admire myself, stealing glances at my own reflection. Shirtless in the nippy air, glistening with sweat; the light reflected off my perspiration, clearly delineating the bulging and rippling of my muscles as I worked, up and down, like a powerful machine, a piston powered by raw vigour.
Sweat condensed from my brow, rolled down the bridge of my nose, welled up and dripped from the tip. In, out: My great chest heaved with each inhalation and subsequent exhalation, swelling with the force of life itself. I stopped to rest, to breathe, but for only a second, then by the virility of youth I went right back at it, pumping and pushing myself as hard as I could.
Suddenly a police officer walked up to me, demanding to know what I was doing, and that was the last time I worked out at the school playground.
| 2013-10-14T00:51:09
| 2013-10-13T23:18:57
| 73
| 11
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
|
Sitting at the kitchen table Jacob stared out of the window and sipped a coffee from his "1# Dad" mug.
Suddenly there was a fizzing and spluttering sound and the #1 Dad appeared to melt from his mug revealing a #2,045,834 Dad behind.
He stared for a moment then said.
"Well shit... That's not bad at all." Then he grabbed a rich tea and dunked it in.
The end.
| 2017-06-11T09:22:30
| 2017-06-11T09:19:40
| 23
| 17
|
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story.
|
When King Wendelin Wiedeking took the throne, his kingdom was on the verge of collapse. Wendelin's people were beset from all sides by marauding armies and debt collectors. It had gone from a powerhouse to a laughingstock through the hubris and ineptitude of its previous rulers.
However, Wendelin was different. He hadn't been born into nobility, but instead, had risen from humble beginnings through hard work. When he was given the throne, he had no delusions about a storied past or divine mandate. His humility led him to hire advisors from larger, more successful distant Eastern empires. Initially, Wendelin's people chafed under the yoke of these foreign nobles. Eventually, however, Wendelin's stewardship turned back his kingdom from the brink of failure, and his people rejoiced.
Wendelin's subjects viewed him as a man who could do no wrong. Soon, Wendelin grew to view himself in the same way, and he set his sights on a much bigger prize. To the west lay a much larger empire ruled by Ferdinand Piech. Ferdinand was a ruthless emperor. He surrounded himself with a constantly-rotating coterie of scheming advisors who were often executed after minor missteps. Ferdinand wasn't without his merits, however; under his rule, his empire flourished.
Wendelin knew he had no chance of conquering Ferdinand in standard warfare. Ferdinand's army and lands were several times larger. However, Wendelin hatched a plan. He rallied neighboring kingdoms to his side, promising them a share of the spoils of victory. The financiers and debt collectors who had once strangled his kingdom now lined up to finance his campaign. Wendelin used vast sums of borrowed wealth to purchase the finest sellswords and mercenaries around. Wendelin's mounting debt alarmed his advisors, but he told them not to worry: as soon as he had conquered Ferdinand's empire and gained access to their vaults, Wendelin would be able to pay off his debts many times over.
Wendelin marched his army to Ferdinand's borders. Ferdinand's forces were well-trained and numerous, but no match for Wendelin's makeshift army. Wendelin conquered several outer villages with ease. He won battle after battle, and continued to push further into Ferdinand's empire. All the while, he continued to borrow more money to keep his army supplied.
Soon, Wendelin had conquered nearly three-quarters of Ferdinand's empire. His once-humble kingdom was now the largest kingdom the world had ever seen. Kings and peasants alike were awed by Wendelin's maneuvering and prowess.
But his luck was not to last. He was just two days' march from the heart of Ferdinand's empire, and Ferdinand's vaults, when disaster struck. A drought swept across the land leading to riots and starvation. Several of Wendelin's allies retreated, and his lenders clamored to have their debts paid off immediately. Wendelin suddenly found himself with several enemies: not only Ferdinand, but those he had called allies only weeks before.
His lenders threatened to carve up his kingdom to pay off his debts. Wendelin begged for a brief reprieve; he could practically taste victory. Just one more battle and Ferdinand's capital would be under Wendelin's control. But no one would help him.
The kingdom he had spent decades rebuilding was about to collapse due to his hubris. Just when Wendelin had resigned himself to his fate, a savior emerged: Ferdinand. He offered Wendelin a deal, and Wendelin had no choice but to accept. Ferdinand paid off Wendelin's debts, and Wendelin became Ferdinand's vassal. And thus ends the story of how Volkswagen came to own Porsche.
|
Once upon a time, there was a man who owned a tavern with his sister. Times had been bad in the city where he lived, so he had decided to come home and live closer to his mother, who was very ill. With him, he brought the fairest princess in all the land. She had long golden hair and a radiant face, with a smile that could light up the entire room. She had married him long ago, falling in love with his laughter and the way he waltzed through life.
Bringing her home to his mother and his sister was the worst thing he could have done. The princess shrunk down and withered in the cold lands, cut off from all of her former friends and without the luxuries to which she had become accustomed. Her heart grew small and cold too, losing all the love she had once held for her husband, who had grown unfaithful.
So the princess decided to run away, and she decided to punish the man who had taken her away from her family and her riches. The golden-haired princess coloured her hair brown, and cut it, and disguised herself so that no-one would be able to tell it was her. In the cottage she shared with her unfaithful husband, she left a pool of blood and a note that painted her as a terrified wife.
The husband was suspected of killing his wife immediately, and once the townspeople discovered he was unfaithful, it was seen as certain. The princess lived amongst the common people, but was robbed and betrayed by those she trusted. She turned to the last friend that remained to her, in desperation.
The last friend betrayed her too. He tried to keep her prisoner against her will, changing her back into the princess she had originally been. Her golden hair grew back and she transformed. To escape from her captivity, she fought her friend and won.
The princess returned home to her husband, who promised to never be unfaithful again. They lived happily ever after.
| 2015-06-10T07:42:16
| 2015-06-10T06:53:17
| 41
| 16
|
[WP] You’re in a time loop but it’s not permanent. You repeat a day 3 times then time moves onto the next day. Rinse, repeat...Deja Vu was never more applicable.
|
The most useless feeling is the feeling of having control, only to have it ripped from you at the end of it all.
Years ago, I awoke on the second day of a Sunday, and unknowingly went out to go to my classes. I thought it was a Monday: why wouldn’t I? I had gone to work the previous day, and it was time to put my nose to the grindstone. However, when I arrived at the usual lecture hall, there was nobody there: no professor, no peers... so I checked the calendar on my phone: Sunday.
I started freaking out, thinking I had lost my mind, went home and called off of work. They didn’t need me, not now. Then it happened for the third time, and I *knew* I hadn’t gone insane. That was ages ago, and if it weren’t for this amazing ability, then I would have never graduated from college with a fantastic record, I wouldn’t have begun into the career of my dreams, and so on.
But I also wouldn’t be lying here, for the third time today, for a month. This ability has been my source of torment ever since I became sick with the new strain of the Black Death a month ago real time, but I had experienced it three times *every single day.*
All I want now is to let time pass as fast as possible, but on the day that I died of this plague... only then, did the day loop for the fourth time.
|
At first ot was embarassing. Day one was a new day, day two I thought everyone was fuckin with me, and day 3 I caught on to it and did some... Questionable things.
I live in jail. I have 4 momths, but those four months will literally take a year. I have died so many times it's actually crazy. On one hand, I can say whatever I want and do whatever I want with no consequences. I get a first and second try before settling on my third for every situation. I guess I live 3 times longer than anyone else too, but not im their time.
Now, obviously, I have had a lot of time to think. I blame this all on the old lady. She'd been on that corner with the sign for a few days. I tried to give her some pizza and she spat at me, so I called her vile and old and stinky. That was the last one day long day I evrr had.
| 2020-10-09T06:30:17
| 2020-10-09T02:23:12
| 106
| 75
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Anna,
I must say that your letter was an unexpected delight. It was quite charmingly written, and I commend your command of grammar and syntax. All of the items you requested will be easy enough to provide. However, I cannot cure dyslexia. That is was one the many things my Father cursed humanity with during one of his meanie head moods. You have my sincerest apologies for that. Lastly, you asked for a pen pal and a spell book. If you are amenable, I am quite happy to be your pen pal, and to teach you witchcraft. Those mean girls at your school won't stand a chance.
Please do not send a response in the mail, as I have an email addres. I have found email to be a more efficient means of communication. If you wish to continue our correspondence, please email me at morningstar@gmail.hell.
Sincerely,
Lucifer
|
Dear Paul,
Thank you for that lovely letter, I'm glad to hear you're waiting for me and prepared me an offering of cow udder excrement and a traditional mixture of sugar, flour and chocolates.
Although not what I usually get in offering I shall gladly accept. In return I enclose your Christmas wishes for this year.
A Boy Brain and a Knight's Saber. Might I recommend using the later for future sacrifices should you have any more wishes.
Yours forever damned,
Satan, Lucifer, The morning star, Beelzebub, The adversary, Tempter, God of this world, Ruler of demons...etc etc etc.
P.S. Please leave a drop of blood in the signature area below to acknowledge the completion of this transaction.
| 2018-10-28T14:29:07
| 2018-10-28T10:18:04
| 59
| 39
|
[WP] Lines on a summoning sign act as filtration layers, allowing you to choose how strong your summoned demon is. The more lines, the less power can get through, the weaker the demon. A pentagram is the most commonly used. A triangle is for experts. You're attempting to use a circle.
|
I had mastered everything. I was one of the few archsummoners that had attempted the triangle and succeeded. There wasn't a demon in the seven hells beneath us that could withstand my bindings. It wasn't due to intelligence, or power, or even strength. I had patience and I studied. While I was a little older than the other masters, I was also more learned. I had studied the mistakes of lesser summoners and corrected my knowledge to avoid them. My deep study had lead me to one suspicious line in a book, little more than a rumour, a hint. In theory, a perfect circle was a single line, but it had to be absolutely perfect or it didn't count. I've been practising every night for three years in order to draw the perfect a circle. I haven't forsaken my other skills either, my calling skills were still the best, my binding rituals still unsurpassed, my manifestation capabilities beyond question.
Tonight was the night. Under the inky black sky of a new moon at midnight on the 13th day of the month everything was aligned for my ritual. I drew my perfect circle on the smooth granite rock. Normally a candle would be positioned on each point but instead chose six candles spaced evenly, with a further two sets of six behind those. Alone in the night I performed my tasks in secret; no one was to know I were about to do this, anything could happen. I pondered what kind of demon would arise, a large leathery Balrog with face of fire and wings of leather that I had seen many times before. Perhaps the Queen of the Succubi, the mistress of all of the demons that promise sating of lust in exchange for souls. Or even Greed himself, the King of all Goblins, and I would gain his riches.
With anticipation I spoke the words of power, alien to my ears and my tongue, calling whichever demon that would answer. The chalk circle flared a bright white then faded black. I expected it to flare red instead, like many of the other summons, but the chalk stayed black. A little too black perhaps, as it seemed to drink in the light from around it. The candles flickered, and then flared brighter. A rain of fire launched skywards from each one, bathing the area in yellow and red.
I continued my chant into the second verse, to manifest the being from beyond, to bring him forth into this world. It was here that my mistake became apparent. A circle was not one line with two points, but a single line without end. It wasn't a barrier at all. The power that rushed inwards to manifest in the circle knocked me from my feet. Blazing candles went flying in all directions and went out.
I glimpsed through the darkness wondering what kind of great beast I had brought forth to ravish this world. Before me stood a man, the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Standing a full seven feet tall he was perfection beyond measure, the ragged deep black scar across his chest only creating a harsh, but immaculate, contrast against his magnificent, porcelain skin. He looked at me.
Under his gaze I wilted. I wasn't worthy of being in his presence. The small piece of my mind that was steadfast willed me to finish the ritual. I spoke the final phrase for the binding. I could feel the strong magic coalesce into a powerful cage around this perfect being. The cage was as perfect as he was, I had conjured it a thousand times, no demon had ever escaped. He looked puzzled for a second, and stepped through the cage like it was tissue paper. He glared at me and spoke, "You have managed to bring me into this world, and I am grateful. I will forgive you for this small transgression, but cross me again and your life is forfeit."
His siren's voice made my heart ache.
"Who are you?" I managed to squeak out, terrified of his power.
He took a step forward, and opened his wings. Not the leathery red wings of a beast, but the beautiful white feathers of an angel.
"I am Lucifer, and my time has come."
|
"Finally!" I exclaimed, joy surging through me. It's been months since I started doing this secret project of mine and I finally achieved success.
"Now to put the finishing touches." I slit my wrists and let the blood pour on the circle. I reached for the scattered bones around me, placing it carefully inside the circle.
I stood up, looking at the bloody circle on the ground. If my theory is correct, this can lead to me being able to control Satan himself. Ordering around the King Of Hell would be awesome as hell (pun intended).
"Dyos ploticbse huiokie usythe joplta loh!"
The circle started to glow. The bones levitated and slowly absorbed my blood on the ground.
*crash*
The blood-soaked bones shattered into pieces. I grinned, staring at the glowing circle.
**MORTAL, YOU WILL REGRET EVER SUMMONING ME**
I stared, mouth hanging open. Standing before me was a long-haired man, wearing a brownish tunic, and grinning like a madman.
**I NEVER THOUGHT THE "SECOND COMING" WOULD COME THIS QUICK**
| 2017-11-16T01:06:16
| 2017-11-16T00:01:00
| 23
| 16
|
[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!
|
My eighteenth birthday came... I went out to the mailbox, and pulled out the little gold envelope with the red string perfectly surrounding the whole thing. It was expected. Though no one knew where it was from, it hardly mattered. It was exciting, and a little frightening to find out what my soul mate would say to me. Would I know it was them for sure? Or like some others I had heard of... Would it be a common greeting?
I took it inside, and opened it. I didn't wait for my parents, or my sister to be about. I wanted to find out on my own.
Carefully, I opened the envelope with a letter opener. Slowly I lifted the paper out, savoring the moment. The day I would learn more about my soul mate. The person I would spend my whole life with! But as I read the words my face fell, and my brow crinkled in confusion.
"What's 'starbucks'?"
| 2014-12-17T23:12:07
| 2014-12-17T22:06:48
| 2,270
| 45
|
[FF] Write about a death. Make it happy.Make it under 12 sentences.
|
I handed my brother the flask. He turned his collar up against the blowing snow and took a hit from the flask to warm his insides.
“Goddamn, can you believe it’s been a year already?”
“Seems like yesterday,” I barked out against the wind.
After my brother took another pull on the flask, he tucked it into his jacket, and nodded my direction, as if to say, “Okay, let’s do this.”
We went to work on the grave blankets. Every year we’d cover our family’s plots with blankets of evergreens, accented with beautiful red and orange flowers. We both smiled to ourselves while we did it. It felt good to visit with family, even like this. In a sense, it was our way of showing our family that we were still around, that we still cared, and that we still watched over them. I looked at my brother laying the flowers that popped with bright colors in the grey winter background and felt comfort knowing that we were family, and we always would be, even in death.
|
Do not cry child. Death is not the end. She has merged with the stars, watching over you. When the sun rises, it beams down upon the world. It never frowns. Do you know why? Because every day, it gets to wake up and look upon its children. It watches as we play in the emerald grass or swim in the sapphire ocean. And when we struggle or become lost, the sun does not cry. It knows that, however hard our challenges, however grey our skies, we will never give up, and this undeniable fact is what gives it the power to keep shining. So keep your chin up and smile back at the sun, for today is another day to keep on living.
| 2014-01-23T13:43:19
| 2014-01-23T13:32:58
| 28
| 10
|
[WP] You are a soldier in a fantasy computer game, and your general/player has just given you some very questionable orders.
|
"What I need you to do, right, is run up to the enemy."
"Yup. And then stab 'em?"
"No. You engage them."
"Oh right, ok. Then I stab 'em?"
"No! Listen. Run up to them."
"Uh-huh"
"Engage them."
"Righto."
"Then immediately retreat,"
"Uhh,"
"Then re-engage them."
"I'm not sure I follow... When does the stabbing come in"
"No stabbing! You are a dispensable Level 1 infantry unit. That bastard over there has a stack of Level 16 Death Knights with platinum gear. I think you just have a wooden stick?"
"Oh yeah, I fucking love this thing."
"...anyway. You have priority since it's our turn. You can use up all your movement points just engaging and disengaging constantly. As long as you don't actually attack, they'll never get the first hit in. Since they're being forced to engage you, the actual bulk of our army can move past beside the hex without being flanked or receiving any attacks of opportunity. Then we strike at the leadership and win the whole war."
"...I think I see... but what happens when I run out of movement points?"
"Then, comrade, you can try and stab them as much as you like."
"....aaawwwww yeeeeessssss."
|
I sprint forwards, reloading and rolling, while the enemy on the other side of the field comes charging towards me.
“Hold your ground,” the commander breathes into the microphone. His voice is one of intensity, it’s barely above a whisper.
He orders me to duck behind a dumpster, and I follow suit. Pop out, shoot, duck back in. The commander’s orders are crystal clear.
“Okay, here’s where we’re going to do some cool stuff,” the commander says. “Scream at him *“Nice try, n00bs!’*”
“Nice try. Nubes?” I shout out. I wonder if nubes is the opposing commander’s name.
“More conviction, soldier,” the commander hisses.
“Nice try nubes!” I shout, before wincing as a stream of bullets hits the nearby wall.
“Thanks, brah,” comes the sonorous response. “But you’re gonna git some now.”
“Uh, commander,” I whisper. “What are we complimenting nubes for again?”
“His crap-“
His response is cut off by a louder, female pitched voice.
“Jasper? Are you playing computer games again?”
“Shit,” he says, finishing the sentence. I hear the sound of a body getting off the chair through the mic.
Without a commander, I’m stuck crouching behind the dumpster. With no orders, there’s nothing left to do but wait and die. Luckily, it seems as if the enemy doesn’t know where I’m at. Yet.
Wait – there’s still his last command, his dying words. Perhaps it was tactical brilliance?
“Nubes!” I call out. “Nice crapshit! I really enjoyed your poopoo. It is deserving of complimenting. If I were a postmodern artist, I wouldn’t hesitate to sell it for over a million dollars.”
“What did you say?”
Oh. The enemy responded. Well, there’s nothing to do but to continue the compliments. I don’t hear footsteps, so they can’t be *that* close.
“I would bet that the texture and feel of your excretion is vastly superior than mine. Your stool ought be probed by biologists for the secrets to immortality. Your feculent deuces have better coverage than Comcast. The sweet smell of your shite sways my sagging soul, sending shivers skywards!”
“What in the world does that even mean?”
“Your dung is the spice of life. I could televise your bowel movements on the History Channel and make it the most viewed channel.”
“Stop with the mental strats, dude.”
“It would get better ratings than Sharknado, guaranteed,” I continue. “It would rake in viewers from across the world, tuning in on their satellite dishes just for a chance to spy a singular frame of your glorious number 2.”
Meanwhile, the enemy turns the corner, swinging his rifle around wildly.
“GG, scrub,” he calls out, aiming his rifle straight at my face.
“Nice… manure?” I say.
I sigh in relief as my commander slides back into his seat. As the enemy crouches and then goes prone and squats over me, giving me a smell of his butt that isn’t exactly in line with the fragrances I had imagined, my commander is furiously giving me orders.
“Um guys.. lag?” I call out.
| 2016-11-23T08:40:59
| 2016-11-23T08:05:03
| 156
| 26
|
[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
|
It was meant to be a joke. I pretended to lean into the cosmic realm just to tell a stupid farmer that he needed hens if he wished to get eggs, not roosters. I never expected one sarcastic joke to land me in the town’s most prized position. The village Seer, one of the greatest positions a person could have. You held more power than the mayor in most villages, sure the mayor made all the rules, but if a Seer questioned a rule, the rule would be hastily overturned unless that mayor wished to lose their head.
“What is it now? This is the fourth time this week. What other problems could you have?” I stared at Bob and Sally, a baking couple that were getting on my nerves. They were lovely at first, but their regular visits were growing exhausting.
“Grand Seer, we wish to ask something of you. We require your knowledge from beyond this mystical realm and-“ Before Bob could finish, I raised a finger, shushing him.
“Have you seen the line outside, Bob? Skip to the problem.”
“Sorry, Grand Seer. We were just wondering if we should make chocolate or vanilla cakes this week. Would you look into the magical realm and tell us?” Sally continued on with the request, both of them leaving me dumbfounded.
“You waited in line just to ask about what flavor of cake you should make this week?”
“If it isn’t too much trouble. It just saves us a lot of time thinking.” Bob said, the couple staring at me, awaiting my answer.
“Not like you do a lot of that, anyway.” I mumbled beneath my breath, placing my hands beside my head, making a strange woodoo, woodoo sound with my lips. “The magical realm or whatever says you should make vanilla.”
“Splendid, I can’t wait. Let’s go make the best vanilla cakes this village has ever seen.” Sally hooked her arm around her husbands as the two left to bake their goods, allowing me a moment to slump into my seat before the next person entered.
The curtain pushed open, revealing the mayor, once again troubled over some stupid politics. I tilted my head to the side, staring at a bit of wood on the wall that had peeled, finding that more interesting than whatever Mr. Harold had to say.
“Oh, dear Markus, I request your aid as my Seer. My son fell ill after touching a blue and white plant outside of the village boundaries. Shall we burn down the neighboring village in response to this? It must be a poisoning attempt, ask the spirits or whoever you talk to.” The mayor’s chubby pink cheeks wobbled with barely contained anger. Wanting a swift answer, I continued to nod along, half listening.
“Mm. A plant outside, I see, that’s not a big deal just get some blueberries and a few cups of, wait, what was this about burning down the neighboring village? ARE YOU INSANE?” The stupidity of it all broke me from my dull trance. “That has nothing to do with the other village. Your son merely touched an Iga blue plant, it causes a rash and a mild-to-moderate temperature. If you give him some blueberries mixed with oranges, it should help clear it up. He mainly needs rest. Why would you even think about burning down a village?”
“Because it had to be them, my dear boy would never pass the boundary on his own. They must have lured him over and got him to touch it. In all due respect Markus, I don’t want your advice, I want the advice of someone smarter, ask the spirits.”
I could barely contain my anger, grinding my teeth as he insulted me, claiming I was worthless without these fake readings. “One moment.” Woodoo, woodoo. I continued my fake noises before stopping. “The spirits say to mix blueberries and oranges. They also want you to spend your afternoon acting like a chicken.”
“They do? I don’t know if I see the logic in that, but the spirits are wise. How lucky are you that the spirits chose an idiot like you to talk through? All you did was read before the spirits found you. What smart person reads? Real brains come from laying out in the sun and experiencing life.”
“Ah, yes. How right you are mayor.” I said, giving him a fake smile. “Don’t forget to flap your arms too.”
“Come now Markus, I’m not an idiot.” He said, waving his arms back and forth as he left the room. “Cluck Cluck, bring me some Clucking blueberries and oranges. Cluck, cluck.” I could hear his clucks softening until he was out of earshot.
“I should have left to go be a scholar in the capital like I intended.” I sighed, leaning against my desk, hoping the rest of the afternoon would pass quickly. At least the mayor added some life to the day. “Next.”
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
A graveyard of straw huts, laid to rest under a mountain of mud, stretched out before the Seer at the bottom of a hill. Old women wept over the destroyed homes, picking bits of their lives from the wreckage.
"Oh, great Seer," one of the village warriors fell to his knees, pounding the earth with his fists. "What evil has befallen our village? What have we done to drive the spirits to such destruction?"
"Well," the Seer said, half under his breath as he rubbed his stubby chin. "You harvested the hillside clean of brush and shrub, and the heavy rain last night probably loosened the earth and caused the slide." Seriously. It happens nearly ever year.
The mourning villagers returned confused, almost hostile stares, and the Seer sighed before falling into the usual cadence. "Oh. OH! My dear people! You know not the true destruction of these lands! For through the spirit plain I have seen the past. I have witnessed a gruesome, terrible battle that took place on these lands. A wave of barbaric men flowed down the hillside, slaughtering an ancient village once erect in this very location. Cursed! This hillside is cursed beyond redemption! For whomever makes this ground his home will forever be marauded by the memory of those warriors in... the... urm... Mud!"
An old woman shyly chimed in, "The mud—"
"THE MUD!" The Seer threw his hands wildly about. "This mud, stained with the blood of barbarians and innocents, soil forever soiled! Do not build at the bottom of this hill again! Build uh... over there!" he pointed back towards the rest of the village, a safe distance away from the inevitable mudslides to come.
The people rejoiced, and the warriors seemed especially pleased that this knowledge from beyond involved a good-old-fashion massacre. This was the Seer's cue, and he made a quick escape back towards his hut.
His quarters sat at the peak of a small incline at the rear of the village, under the roof of a great tree, and shared with an old man that refused to move out when the Seer arrived at the village last spring. It was the perfect location for a hut; shaded well by the tree's endless branches, resting upon solid, root reinforced earth, and far enough from the other villagers that it seemed like a pilgrimage to any resident that wished to come speak with the Seer. If any of the villagers asked, he chose the spot because the tree recommended it.
At first, the only real downside to his new home was the old man; however, in time, he found that the geezer was the only sane person this side of the world. His company brought with it conversation. Which was good, because the tree didn't say much.
"Solved the mystery of loose dirt, have you?" The old man teased as the Seer trudged in. He sat on a wide stump a younger man had hauled up the hill for them, hunched over a square board resting on a bumpy wooden table. The board was home to a variety of trinkets of the earth: pebbles, sticks, shells, and a few pinecones.
As the Seer collapsed into his cot, he considered the old man and the board. "You still haven't moved?!"
"You cannot hurry wisdom," the old man smiled.
"I may not, but death will surely take you before wisdom prompts you to make your move."
Unfazed, the man continued strafing the board with his gaze, as if memorizing the position of every rock and speck of dirt present. "So, I take it you've lead the people to a logical, reasonable conclusion as to why their homes have been destroyed?"
The Seer tossed over to face the wall of the hut, curling up into a ball and mumbling, "Angry ancient mud barbarians..."
"That's not bad. I'm sure the men loved it."
"How can you do it?" the Seer swung back over the cot, watching the old man watch the board. "You know why the mud slides down hills, why the plains flood and the forests come ablaze with the heat. You can see the answers, so how can you sit here and let them live in ignorance?"
"We do not see the answers. We see the *problems*."
Knowing he was about to be lectured, the Seer moaned and curled back into the fetal position.
"The lack of roots on the hillside mixed with heavy rain is the problem. Problems are everywhere, in every facet of this world, but most people don't want to acknowledge them. They want the answers—"
"But we have the answers!" the Seer interrupted, rolling over on his side. "Build here, not there. Do not overhunt the land. Stop taking so much without giving back to the soil."
"Yes, those are answers, but the people do not want them from *you*," the old man lifted his hand, touching a rock on the board as if to move. The Seer held his breath, but the geezer retracted his fingers before continuing. "They want them from *beyond*. From the gods or ghosts or from angry ancient mud barbarians."
"But why? Why can't they see that they're in control?"
"Because," the old man whispered. "To them, being in control is infinitely more terrifying. They wish to live in the womb of things beyond their comprehension. It's warm in there. An ignorant blaze. Life on the outside can be cold, as you well know."
Finally, and as casually as though he'd considered it for just a few moments, the old man moved a pinecone from one end of the board to the other. "God's dead."
The Seer stood up, studying the board before moaning, "I'll be outside talking to the tree."
____
**/r/BeagleTales**
| 2021-06-14T08:53:19
| 2021-06-14T08:52:31
| 959
| 486
|
[WP] You are a sock and today is laundry day. Everything is going well until you lose sight of your matching partner.
Looking for something along the lines of why socks sometimes go missing.
|
Jerry and Nigel were the best of friends. Both born blue and green striped Hane's crew socks, they were joined when fate (and the hands of a small Malaysian girl) bundled them together and placed them in an assorted three-pack destined for sale in America. From that point on, the two were virtually inseparable.
Life was somewhat uneventful in those early days. They shared their package with two other pairs of crew socks: blue and yellow striped Dave and Francis and blue and red striped Perry and Lance. They all bonded quite quickly, even going so far as to name themselves "The Striped Sox," which they thought demonstrated unity and a common goal. Sure, this name lacked a bit in terms of imagination, but you must remember what brand they were. Hanes' most exciting developement in the last quarter century was an undershirt without a tag.
But a team they were. And a good one, too, for the journey to the New World was exceedingly dull. Relief from boredom was hard to come by. They came to pass the time in many different ways. Sometimes by playing games like "I Spy" and "Twenty Questions." Sometimes by sharing hopes and dreams (Perry and Lance wanted to be sock puppets that entertained children). Sometimes by sharing their fears (all of them were terrified of ending up alone).
"Maybe we will end up in Beverly Hills and become reality TV stars," Lance would say.
"Do they wear sandals with socks in America?" wondered Dave.
"I hope I don't make anyone's calf look fat," worried Frank.
Needless to say, they were all very excited.
After finally finding their way onto the shelf of a Target in Sacramento, California, they were quickly purchased by a pleasant middle-aged woman named Sandy. She bought them for her eleven year old son, Craig. While Craig was a bit hard on the Striped Sox (he was fond of running in the yard while wearing socks without shoes), Sandy made sure to always take good care of them. They were cleaned on the gentle cycle and bleach was kept far, far away. For over a year, they lived the good life. Like most things, it proved to be temporary.
Being in the clothes hamper where dirty laundry was stored before washing was the only time that Jerry and Nigel or the other Striped Sox ever felt any fear. It was a dark, damp place and they were usually separate from their fellows. Then there was the other clothing. Many of them could be quite rude and generally unpleasant, especially the undergarments.
"Class? Whats that?" shouted the wife-beaters to no one in particular.
"That twat needs to keep her lips shut!" Exclaimed the panties.
"No one supports *us*!" complained the bras.
"Get a whiff of this!" offered the boxer shorts over and over.
It was during such a time in the hamper when everything changed for Nigel and Jerry. They had lucked out and managed to keep close during their two days amongst the other dirty clothes. They were almost cheerful when Sandy came to wash them. Only, this time, something was different.
Rather than bringing the entire hamper down to the basement where the washer and drier resided, she instead rummaged around for a few seconds. It seemed she was looking for something specific.
"DId she leave her debit card or cocaine in the pocket of her jeans again?" Jerry thought to himself.
"Um, Jerry..What's happening?"
"Probably looking for her stash, Nigel."
It wasn't her stash. In an instant, Nigel was gone. Taken by Sandy to parts unkown. This was highly irregular. He tried to yell out to the other Striped Sox, but they were at the bottom of the hamper having been worn by Craig earlier in the week. As he lay there in the dark, worrying about hsi best friend, Jerry was struck by a single thought.
"Why wasn't Sandy wearing her wedding band?"
The next ten minutes seemed like an eternity. Jerry was scared. Scared for his friend. Scared for himself, too. What use was a a single sock in a world of pairs?
'Maybe Craig will develope colorblindness and end up pairing me with one of the others? Maybe he'll have a freak accident and lose a foot, which means he'll only need to wear one sock at a time? Maybe..."
Jerry's inner dialogue was cut short. He heard footsteps. Quietly, they scampered over to the hamper. The lid lifted and in flew Nigel. He landed right atop Jerry.
"Nigel! I didn't think I"d ever see you again! I thought I would have to maim Craig with..a..."
He stopped short. Nigel was leaking some sort of goo all over Jerry and the rest of the clothes. It smelled like the fruit of a Chinese Chestnut tree.
"Nigel...what happened to you?"
Nigel moaned, "It...it was Craig. He...he got past the parental controls..."
Jerry broke down. His best friend had been violated. He had been used, then tossed aside like a disposable glove.
For a moment, Jerry looked upon his lifelong friend with a mix of fear and disgust. But it was only for a moment. Jerry loved his friend. He held him and whispered "It's not your fault" over and over until Nigel fell asleep.
"You're my best friend."
|
"Ahhh! Laundry day! Time to party! I'm gonna get wasted on tide today! boy last week I was so hung over I didn't leave the drawer for like a week! I wonder if Joe's coming too, I mean last month we tumbled like a motherfucker! It was cra-zy!
Hmm... This drum is rather different, Adam changed the washing machine! Finally! I hope the motor rocks the stage. Hey Boxer! Can I have two shots of tide?"
"Oh Hi! my name is Bra, I don't know any Boxer"
"..."
"And we don't serve tide here, we have Cheer"
"Cheer? What's that?"
"You're not from around here, are you?"
"Of course I am! Me and Joe, we belong to Adam"
" Who’s Joe?"
"Joe is my pal! We’ve been together for 10 years now!"
"And where is he?"
"He likes hiding under beds, He'll be here soon, or next week. He doesn't have the liver he once had, can’t take two tumbles a month"
"Buddy, I hate to break it to you, but you're on Mandy's washing machine. And Mandy **always** checks under the bed"
"But... then..."
"Then it means He left with Adam when they stayed over and you behind."
"I'll have a Cheer then. Make it a double"
| 2014-05-27T17:19:53
| 2014-05-27T14:14:29
| 109
| 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.
|
Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night.
|
The impact concussed the house with an elephant stampede. Blazing, fiery white light like wrath of god flashed with such vengeance I briefly considered my fate. I wondered out loud if I was dead. As it turns out, I really wish I was.
It stared at me.
Creeping—whirring—it approached. Sweat dribbled down my back. The lamp light over the kitchen table flickered yellow, sparked, and died, leaving me alone in the pale afternoon light. An eerie silence descended on the house.
Swallowing hard, I tiptoed towards the sliding glass door. My footsteps fell heavy on the treated oak floors. I’m not sure I deserved this. I lived a good life. I stayed clean—proper. I changed. My days at the agency were long over.
“I know who you are,” I whispered.
*Tink.*
Just a slight ping against the glass.
I knew the sound—steel on glass. My time in the service flashed back like vengeance. A shadowed room, with masked men screaming for mercy, but they knew secrets I needed to know. I drew out shards of glass and bounced them on the perforated metal floor of the submarine.
*Tink.*
“I was under orders. I had no choice!” I said through gritted teeth.
*Tink. Tink.*
Back on the submarine, the man’s leg quivered as I carved his name in blood. Glass shards in a raw wound will sting and bite for days. Left in place, they will fester and burn for hours on end. Sheer, raw agony. I had time. Days, maybe weeks before they planned to launch. Plenty of time to stop them. Plenty of time to enjoy every minute of the torture.
*Tink.*
“You think this is a game? Some sick joke?”
The power cut out. The only sounds in my one-story ranch home came from outside. A low whirr, and the *tink* of the knife against the doorway. How did they find me? After all these years, I went underground. New job, new identity. Everything changed for me. How did they come back?
“You won’t show yourself? Coward!” I shouted.
*Tink. Tink tink.*
On the submarine, I slammed the head of the first men against the counter. Alarms flashed red, but they didn’t matter. The rest of the crew was dead by my hands. Who would save them now?
“Where are the launch codes?” I snarled.
“Fuck you,” he said, with a thick German accent.
I leaned close to whisper in his ear, grinning. “Don’t tempt me.”
*Tink.*
Back at home, I pressed my back against the doorway, sweeping my eyes across the house. I never wanted this. I was done—I was out. I found a life after. I learned to cope with what I had done for my country. I worked at an animal shelter every Thursday.
The little dogs ran around my legs every time I walked past. The ones beaten and hurt from trauma I held and cradled. Sometimes the most broken spirit needed a bit of mercy, a bit of love. All it took was a touch of kindness.
One dog I remember more than all the others. I called him Prometheus, because the Pitbull looked like god himself had beaten him. He arrived raw and bloody and the vet said to put him down.
But I couldn’t. Something about the way he looked at me. It was like he didn’t understand how the world could be so cruel and heartless. He barked and snapped at me. His legs didn’t work right, so he couldn’t lunge forward. He just wobbled into the corner and lay there defensively.
I put my hand out towards him and he whined and growled. Then I touched his head, gently. I started petting him; he stared at me like he just discovered a whole new world. My calm touch was so new, so foreign that the poor creature didn’t know how to process it.
I don’t know if a dog can smile. Not really, not in a way a human can. But I swear to god that day, when I sat with Prometheus, I made him smile.
I sang an old sold they taught in the service. Over and over, cradling the poor lost soul, until the dog’s beatings caught up with him, and he wheezed his last right in my arms. I didn’t hold back my tears.
*Tink.*
&#x200B;
***
I didn't intend for this to get heavy, but—well—here we are.
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2019-03-03T08:55:15
| 2019-03-03T07:55:44
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
We were at my house, late into the night studying for an upcoming test when the topic came up.
"Do you think love?" Chris signed out, moving his slim hands with ease.
I never thought I'd have a hand thing, but apparently I do.
I guess it makes sense, after all these years of "pretending" to be "deaf", watching hands and "reading" lips just became natural.
I never chose to be "deaf", it was just thrusted upon me. Better than being called anti-social I thought at first, but all this pressure to keep up this facade because talking was also stressful, so never really an in between, and right now was stressful for some reason.
It shouldn't have been, it was just another normal night hanging out with Chris…
Who I had a big crush on.
And right, his question.
He waved his hand in front of my face bringing me back to the real world.
"?" I tilted my head in confusion of his aforementioned question.
He shook his head "nevermind."
But his avoidance irked me. He was the one who brought it up in the first place, yet he had the audacity to just drop it.
I may have been overreacting, but when your crush of two years asks you about love, you can't just ignore it and move on.
"Ask." Ask your question again chris, let me understand, let me help, please let this be a confession.
He sighed, "Love life."
He continued explaining, hands moving to form words.
I nodded, I did think about love, where it would go, if I'd ever even be in a relationship, go on dates, get married, have children.
I was moving a bit too fast, children are definitely off the table for now, I shouldn't even be thinking about that before the first date… if I ever have one that is.
We continued to "talk", before he swayed into something much more personal, not just the idea and muses of romance, but the reality of it, just out of reach: crushes.
The secrets kept hidden.
I was about to spill the beans, but that earnest look on his face knocked all the wind and courage out of me.
He took a pause, I could see his lips move, like he was trying to talk, and I could hear his heavy breath, feel it— when did he get so close?
"I love you."
My heart just about stopped, jumped ten miles high, bursting out of my chest.
He moved closer, resting against me when I showed no resistance.
"I love you too," I whisper, and I can see his eyes going wide, but I can't understand why.
And then it catches up to me, and my life flashes before my eyes.
This is it, it's all over, he's going to hate me.
His hearing aids, and the fact that he can lip read, and the fact that I just spoke, It's all hitting me one by one, obvious right in front of me details.
I should have never let my guard down.
But his shock turns into confusion, and I feel I have to clear it up. If I were to just be a coward and kick him out, our ten year friendship would be ruined.
"I'm not deaf."
His eyes widened like saucers, but once he gathered himself, a smile so sweet.
"As long as everything was true, as long as you are true, it doesn't matter, I love you."
And god if that doesn't make me cry tears of joy. Everything is finally coming together, even though I know I'm going to have to make it up for lying to him.
Maybe being labeled as deaf wasn't such a bad thing after all.
(Sorry for any inaccuracies and mistakes.)
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
| 2020-12-01T18:02:47
| 2020-12-01T17:46:27
| 25
| 13
|
[WP] Your parents have kept it secret long enough; they can no longer stand your misery. They decide to change your life's difficulty from "Expert" to "Novice".
|
I looked down at the switch in my hands still refusing to believe. All it had taken was one little toggle. When my parents explained to me that I had been playing life on expert mode, I had thought at first that they were speaking metaphorically. Even with the hours they spent explaining the point system, difficulty settings, and how a family like ours was playing in the expert mode to harvest as many points as possible, I still couldn't believe it. Looking down at the remote in my hands, it still didn't seem possible.
They had hoped that we would respawn with the best gear if we all played on expert. Unfortunately, Life was proving to be too difficult for me. Worried that I might not make it long at all, they had cracked some numbers and decided that it would be better for me to play through a full life in Novice Mode, than to lose early on in the Expert mode. As bad as it felt to let them down, I was also relieved in a big way. My life made so much more sense now; *the world* made so much more sense now.
But even with all that reflection, even witnessing it myself as I turned the switch down to the easiest setting, even though I could see it front of my very own eyes, I still couldn't believe that I had just turned white.
|
*You know, I think they keep moving the goalposts on me. I used to be the dumbest kid in class and no one even noticed. Then I started caring, I put a ton of effort into middle school, almost got to skip a grade. I graduated salutatorian from high school, my dad asked me what I did wrong.*
*I loathed college, I hated everyone I met with very little exception. I don't really know how to move forward besides either medical school, dental school, or pharmaceutical school. I could just start using that CNA certification I got two years ago, but they get paid shit for so much work. I've had this bottle of pills on my desk for a few months now; I think I know how this story ends.*
A knock at the door, my mom comes in without permission.
"Do you have a minute? I was hoping we could talk."
"Yeah, I'm not doing anything." I close my laptop screen and swivel my chair toward her. She walks over to the bed and sits down. I adjust my chair a little bit more.
"Honey, I'm a little worried that you feel like we're pressuring you. We just want you to make a choice you'll be happy with. We want you to get moving on becoming your own person."
The bottle is hidden behind a fat book on the shelf. For a second I don't think about that option.
"Mom, I just don't know that I'll ever make you happy. I feel like whenever I try all I do is raise expectations for my next attempt."
"You never had to do anything but say hello in the morning to make me happy."
*Maybe I'll take a second look at my other options, why throw away a perfectly good set of opportunities? The pills can wait.*
| 2018-01-09T11:18:53
| 2018-01-09T06:52:59
| 284
| 118
|
[WP] Two criminals share what is to be their last conversation on death row. With nothing left to lose, all is laid bare to the other stranger.
|
The heat had been pressing down hard for three weeks, and the ground outside the prison was baked red as a pile of bricks. Even the hardiest shrub had wilted into something that looked spilled out of a Dali painting.
Elijah sat with his shirt off, back against the cool of the stone wall. The evening sun bled its way through the little barred window way up high, dyeing the man and the cell red.
“If there’s one thing I’m glad about,” said a deep voice, “it’s that there’ll be no more of this heat for me once I’m gone.”
In the cell opposite Elijah, a goliath of a man — Burk — was leaning heavily against the bars, rolling his massive neck so that his head looked like an ocean-liner in a storm.
”Where we’ll soon be,” said Elijah, “I got a feeling it’s gonna be a whole lot hotter. So get used to it.”
”You let me know, won’t you?” said Burk. “You’ll be there damned shortly. In fact, come back tomorrow night once it’s over and write me a message on a fogged up mirror — or whatever shit it is ghosts do.”
Elijah thought about that for some time. He never liked to respond without first doing the thinking owed to a response. ”I can’t be in Hell and be a ghost at the same time. Ghosts stay behind, they don’t go up or down. So you’ll just have to find out for yourself how hot it is.”
”Ah, that’s not where I’m headed. I didn’t kill the kid. Sure, I might have sold a bit of coke to a fella or two, but I’m not a murderer.”
“Right. No one here is.”
Burk frowned. “No one cept you. Now why is it you’re the only one here to file no appeal? To come out and admit you killed the fella.“
”Because I did kill the guy. What he did to my daughter… I’d kill him again if I had to. You’d do exactly the same thing.”
The sun set outside and the lights in the cells hummed into life, shining electric halos down onto them.
For a while they were both quiet. Burk slunk down and sat cross legged staring at Elijah.
Elijah let out a deep breath.“*What*?”
“Aren’t you scared? Of tomorrow? Cause you don’t seem scared and really, you should be pissing yourself about now.”
In prison you never admitted being scared. Not of anything to anyone. But, Elijah reckoned, everyone deep down was terrified. Especially anyone on death row.
”I’m scared enough. For my daughter. For my ex.”
”For yourself?”
”I try not to think about myself.“ He paused. “You know, before all this happened, back when I’d been a teacher, an old friend of mine — only in his thirties and pretty fit — just fell down dead one day. All of a sudden, you know? Well, the doctors said it’d been building in his heart for a time, but to all of us it was out of the blue. We were still young. We couldn’t be dying yet — we’d only just been kids at school together.”
“I’ve lost a few friends along the way, too.”
“The truth is,” said Elijah. “That from the moment you’re born, you’re dying. Everyone is. In here or out there. It’s how you deal with that fact that matters.”
“Jesus,” said Burk with a laugh. “This is the kinda shit I ain’t gonna miss when you’re gone.”
”I got another friend—“
”I don’t want to know, do I?”
”He works in a hospice. He says that the majority of people that come in, that all know they’re dying — that must know they’re going to die very soon — pretend that they’re perfectly fine and healthy. Total denial.”
”Weird.”
”Not that weird. You pretend you’re getting out of here.”
”Yeah but I am getting out.”
”Point is, maybe the best way to deal with dying is to just not think about it.”
A spider skittered over Elijah’s thigh. He watched it idly for a while wondering where it was heading. But it just sat there perfectly still on his knee. Elijah cupped the spider in his hands and stood up, got onto his bed and as near to the window as he could stretch, before letting the spider out.
The spider fell straight down onto the cell‘s floor.
Had it been dead before he picked it up?
The lights fizzed, hummed, flickered, and finally went out.
”Power cut,” said Burk, as he rattled the door. But the locks weren’t electric and it wasn’t going to make any difference to his predicament. After a while he gave up and settled back down on the darkening floor.
But maybe the cameras were off, Elijah thought. The microphones, too. “You got an appeal coming up, right?” Elijah asked.
”First of many. They ain’t sending me to the needle.”
Elijah considered for a while. It’s not that he was close to Burk, but they got on well enough. Burk wasn’t a bad person, he’d just done bad things. And the fact was this: Burk was likely the last person he could ever talk to about it.
“If you get out, will you go see my son?” he asked. “Please?”
”Your son? I didn’t even know you had one.”
”I got one. Real good kid.”
Burk shrugged. “Why would I do that?”
”I… I guess I don’t know why you would.”
“Well, if I did, what would I say to him?”
”That I love him,” said Elijah. “That I loved him until the very end.”
”What about your daughter? Don’t want to tell her that?”
”She knows.”
”And your son doesn’t kn— Oh, shit,” said Burk. “Shit. You didn’t kill anyone. Did you? It wasn’t you at all.“
Elijah didn’t reply.
For a while Burk said nothing. He just sat shaking his head. Eventually he said, “I guess we really will be going to different places in the end. I’ll send you a postcard.”
The lights flickered back to life. A creak sounded at the end of the corridor. Security or the warden on their way.
”I’ll tell him,” said Burk. “Hell, I couldn’t not now, could I?“
Elijah nodded. He swallowed back his tears. You never showed weakness in prison. Not even at the very end. ”Thanks.”
|
“Are you scared?” The meek, thin man asked, scooting closer to my side, trying to find some solace in the cold, bare cell. It was strange that he even wished to speak. We had spent at least an hour by each other’s side without a word and suddenly he wished to talk.
“Not really. I mean, maybe a little? I don’t know. You go through stages with it, I guess? Its weird, isn’t it, like turning off a light switch? That’s what the guard told me.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the guard’s earlier comment or cry, something morbidly amusing about the ease with which thirty years of life would be erased.
“Right, yeah. I’m scared. How can’t a person be scared? You grow up being taught to avoid death. Don’t cross roads without looking, don’t touch spiders. Things like that and then suddenly you 're locked in a room and expected to keep calm. I’m trying to keep calm but part of me just wants to pull those bars open.”
“A frail man like you wouldn’t even make those bars budge.” I gave him a smirk, but he didn’t return one, huffing at my joke.
“Shut up, just because you look tough. Why do you think I kept my mouth shut earlier? I thought you would beat me if I spoke, but I’m not sure why that scared me. A beating can’t be worse than death, can it?”
“Depends on what a person breaks. You ever tried to breathe with a broken rib? Bastard of a thing. Teeth are one of the worst. When you feel it loosen, its just not a pleasant feeling. What are they killing you for, anyway? Filed some snobs taxes the wrong way?”
“Again, shut up. If you must know, I planned to assassinate a politician. A man called George Mallik. Did you not hear about it? It was a rather big story. I shot him in the shoulder.” The man asked, expecting some sort of applause from me, looking disappointed when I looked away.
“Must have been after my sentence, they don’t show us much tv in here. I heard something about a politician but there’s always a person cursing a politician in every sector of this prison, you just start drowning it out.”
“I see. Guess you had to be outside to notice it. What about you? Gang related? Drugs? Booze? What’s your sinful poison?” He said, prodding me for information, only to scoot back when I shot him a glare.
“Armed robbery gone wrong. I was going from state-to-state robbing stores, it was a nice little operation, but I got greedy. News spread about my actions, and soon shops began keeping weapons behind their registers. That didn’t stop me at first, the stores that kept weapons were far too few to be an issue and a person getting paid $20 an hour wasn’t about to be a hero.”
“So, what happened? Can’t have been that good of an operation if you got caught.” He teased, trying to get back at me for earlier, disheartened when I didn’t react to his prodding.
“Told you, I got greedy. I told myself I would get enough to keep my family fed, but then I got ambitious. Robbed one store too many and got a gun pulled on me. I didn’t even think, I shot the man dead where he was standing. Then I panicked and got into a shootout with the law. Think I killed two of them. You can probably guess how nicely they treated me when they got me away from cameras.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure they offered you the water facial cleanse they gave me. It’s good at opening your pores and blocking your respiratory system.”
“You like telling jokes? Ever consider comedy rather than political assassination?”
“When I was younger, yes. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the wit for it. We could have made a good duo though; every two piece needs a straight man. You know, a stern face that rolls his eyes at the other’s humor?”
“Right, yeah. I think I’ve heard of it. Think I would rather take the needle then do comedy with you though. No offence, I just know which one sounds less painful.”
“A lot of offence taken. I could have raised you through Hollywood, we could have been something. Something more than this.” His hands clutched at his knees, gripping them.
“We all want to be somebody, don’t we?” I said, giving the man a pat on the back, one that startled him.
“I thought killing him would help people out. He wanted to remove the healthcare benefits for those that can’t afford proper treatment. I thought that would be my grand stand against the world, an ultimate act of defiance and yet it was a whimper.”
“An idealistic idiot.”
“Pardon?”
“An idealistic idiot. If you cared you would have signed petitions or promoted action healthily, not by shooting whoever you disagreed with. That’s just a petty excuse.” I stated, watching the man rise to his feet, gripping the scruff of my outfit.
“Listen here you. What makes you think any of that would have worked? People like him need to feel scared, they need to see the people won’t lay dormant. What about you? Robbing for your child while others struggle to feed their families after you steal from them.”
“I know what I did was-“ I went to fire up at the man, rising to my feet only to hear a clanging of metal outside, causing me to drop back onto the bench, the man following. “Sorry, I guess I’m an idealistic idiot too.”
“I’m sorry too. You wanted something better than I ever did. I hope your family is ok, if that’s any consolation. I’m sure your child will understand why you did what you did.”
“Hope she doesn’t. I don’t want her thinking that’s a good way to live. I hid some money for her, enough that it should give her the start her father never could.”
“I’m sure she will at least appreciate the gesture. Do you regret what you did?” The man asked, moving again closer to my side.
“I do. My parents weren’t great, and I wanted to give her what I never had. I wanted that sitcom family and in trying to do that I robbed her of a normal life. My father was a bastard, but he was at least around. I can’t say that for myself.”
“I didn’t have any family left, but I can imagine if anyone’s watching me from beyond the grave, they would be disappointed. They did everything they could to give me a good life, and I blew it away. I’m Paul, by the way, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Jeremy.” I responded, giving the man a nod. I could hear the heavy footsteps of a guard approaching our cell, causing my chest to stir with oxygen. “And Paul, I’m scared too.” I said before standing up, waiting for the guard to open the cell.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-07-28T07:35:32
| 2021-07-28T07:21:55
| 278
| 24
|
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Hello, Owner."
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There, standing on my doorstep staring at me with those wide, familiar eyes, was my dog, Buddy. I hadn't seen him for the last four years! I had so many questions; where had he been? What had he been doing? And where was that fucker Brad who had up and disappeared while taking him for a walk? All these long years I had waited, hoping desperately for my beloved friend to return. And here he finally was. I opened my mouth shakily to respond to him.
"B-Buddy? Is that you, boy?"
The dog gave a short, sharp nod.
"It is I. I have returned to you. There is much we have to discuss."
Suddenly a strange thought crossed my mind. I hadn't noticed it in the shock of seeing my dog returned to me after so long. I opened my mouth once more to ask him one single, vital, question.
"Wait...you can talk?"
Buddy nodded again.
I let out a short laugh of disbelief. And then, without taking my eyes off of him, I reached over to the wall, grabbed my shotgun, and shot the dog in the face. His brains exploded onto the porch; body slumping limply onto the welcome mat. Lowering my gun, I straightened my back and placed the gun back on its holder on the wall. Slamming the front door shut, I crossed myself quickly, before shaking my head as though to clear it from the madness of that encounter. I turned and walked back towards the lounge room to resume my Bible Study, muttering all the way.
"Won't have no devil dog in my house; try again you horned fuck!"
|
I woke up to what sounded like someone rapping on my door with only their nails. It was my weekend, and I was eager to get in as much sleep as I could. I assumed it was those stupid kids a few apartments down messing around in the hall again. I rolled over and tried to fall back asleep, but it just kept going, an incessant "tap tap tap tap" on my door.
I finally rolled out of bed when I realized that it wasn't going to stop and stomped over to the door. I puffed out my chest, cleared my throat, and tried to get my best commanding adult voice ready. I was fully prepared to give some children an ear full. I opened the door and looked around but no one was there. I peeked my head out a bit further and looked down the hallway. No kids. I stepped back and got ready to close the door when I heard a throat clear, almost like a dog was growling. I stopped, looked both ways again, and then it hit me where the noise came from. I slowly looked down and saw him standing there, my dog.
Four years ago, my dog Lord Archibald Featherwink III, Archie for short, and I had gone for a week of camping with James, my best friend. Archie was a spotted brown, black and white Australian Shepherd who was always full of energy. James was a Korean guy who looked about as Korean as you could get. We had spent the weekend canoeing up and down the creek nearby, playing board games, and just hanging out. Both being big gamer nerds, we had decided that we wanted to "detox" and get away from electronics and civilization for a week. The week went relatively uneventful until the last few days.
Three days before we were supposed to leave, James started talking about seeing and hearing things at night. We had chosen a spot far away from all the other campsites. In fact, it was almost like the other campers were avoiding this part of the woods, but the other parts of the park were pretty nice. I shrugged off James' claims and told him that someone else probably had the same idea and camped near us. He complained about hearing them again that night, and I told him that we'd look around in the morning to see if we had neighbors. We woke up, grabbed our backpacks, and hiked around to see if we could find any neighbors or signs that maybe someone was passing through here at night. There was nothing, no sign of anyone camping nearby, walking through, or even of animals in the area. The forest around us was absolutely quiet, eerily so.
It was still pretty early in the morning when we walked back, and that's when I started to notice them. It looked like someone had etched runes into the trees with a pocket knife. They looked new like someone had just done them. I signaled James over, and he looked at it and shrugged that he wasn't sure what they were either. He started to walk away and froze. I turned to look at him, and he was looking up at the trees. They looked like those Christmas ornaments you make in school with sticks and other craft supplies, but there were hundreds of them. They were shaped like animals and people, and they looked to be made with branches, animal bones, and pieces of camping equipment.
I was creeped out now, and I wanted to leave. I told James that I wanted to go, and he said, "It's probably nothing. Let's just stick around until we were supposed to leave." He said this without a whole lot of emotion. It was very not-James-like, and he had a glazed look on his face. I asked him again if he was sure, and he reassured me that he wanted to stay. I pushed one more time, and he screamed at me that we were staying. I didn't bring it up again.
That night, he asked me if Archie would be able to sleep with him. He was a little freaked out about the voices and the things in the trees and wanted the company. I was freaked out, too, but I was worried about James and obliged. We zipped up our tents and went to sleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night to a bloodcurdling scream and a howl. James' tent was ripped to shreds and covered in blood, but there was no trace of his body. Archie was gone, too. I grabbed a machete and a flashlight and began to frantically search the woods. I could hear it now, too. There were voices whispering in what sounded like another language. It sounded like the voices were above me and stretched throughout the forest. There was no wind, but the ornaments in the trees were swaying. I heard footsteps and tried following them. At different instances, I saw the shadow of what looked almost like a satyr march between the trees. I told myself that I was panicking and hallucinating. I searched until the sun started to come up and headed back to camp. That's when I saw it. There were two new ornaments hanging above our campsite, one of a dog and the other of a man with what looked to be shreds of the tent and the shirt James had worn to sleep.
But, now, here he was. Archie was standing in front of me, wagging his tail. I stared in disbelief, and then he said in a familiar voice, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat." I froze and then started to back away. I tripped over my feet and fell backwards. Archie slowly walked into my apartment towards me and then kicked the door shut.
"Y-y-you...You can talk?" I stuttered out. I was shaking. In that familiar but strange voice, he stated, "I have been looking for you, human, for four years. You abandoned us in the forest, and it is time for you to return." I froze again. What was he talking about? James and Archie disappeared in the forest. We sent out search parties. No one was able to find even a trace of them past the blood on the tent. The dog looked at me impatiently and stated, "It's time for us to go back now, human. It's time to complete the collection." I suddenly recognized the voice. It was James'.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was running. I ran into my bedroom and locked the door, and I started to hear voices and much louder footsteps from outside. The footsteps seemed to morph from the sounds of a dog tapping across hardwood to hooves. They paced around the apartment and then finally stopped at my door. "You have to leave eventually, and we'll be waiting," the voice hissed from the other side. This time it didn't sound like James anymore. It sounded like thousands of people crying and screaming in unison. The voice sounded like pain.
I heard the hooves tap away from the door, and then it was silent again. I waited in my room, clutching a pistol I kept in my bedside table. I waited for hours until I was confident that it seemed safe and slowly slid out my bedroom door still clutching the gun. The house was silent, but hanging from the ceiling were the ornaments from above our campsite, the ones that I was pretty sure were of James and Archie now. Seemingly burned into my walls were the runes from the trees. I clutched the pistol tighter and started to move towards my front door. I was shaking.
I opened the front door and ran out it, but I didn't end up in the familiar hallway of my apartment building. I was in the forest at the spot we had camped four years ago. I began to run back towards where I knew a road should be, but the forest just seemed to never end and every time I stopped I'd look around and see that I was back in the campsite with the ornaments hanging above me, almost mocking me. I continued to jog through the forest for what seemed like hours, always ending back up where I started. I moved until nighttime frantically hoping that I could escape this. As the sun began to set, I could hear the voices and footsteps again. I started to panic even more. I ran harder than I had before and started to cry.
As the sun fully set behind the trees, I could see that I was finally running towards something. It was tall, really tall. It had long pointy horns that curved back on top of a head that looked like a wolf's with its bones protruding out its snout but with teeth much larger than any wolf I'd ever seen. It had a furry body with huge bat-like wings on it's back that stretched down into the legs of a goat. I found myself unable to stop running towards it. Everything in me was saying to turn around and run the other way, but I couldn't. I seemed to be picking up speed and running towards it with even more vigor until I finally screeched to a halt in front of it.
It reached out with one clawed hand and picked me up by the throat and pulled me close to it's face. In James' voice, it whispered in my ear, "Welcome home."
An Aside: I read this prompt and really wanted to write a horror story revolving around it. I've never written a scary story myself before, so this was a fun experiment! I wrote this quickly, so I hope it's good enough!
EDIT: Spelling.
| 2017-03-31T15:14:43
| 2017-03-31T14:51:14
| 249
| 37
|
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe."
|
I couldn't believe what I had heard.
I was sat on my bed, phone in hand, carelessly scrolling through social media when the voice had filled my brain.
It was a gentle voice, though the mockery surrounding the like, share and subscribe was not lost on me.
I went to Twitter first.
It was crazy, my feed just keep running with people sharing their results.
Celebrities either talking down the website as obvious nonsense, (apparently they didn't like the answer of going to hell) or praising God for his kindness and forgiving ways.
I was intrigued, but not completely convinced by it. After all, I'd not believed in God for a very long time. There's a lot of things that can explain a voice in your head. On mass, admittedly, less so, but still possible.
Reddit was my next stop and I was not disappointed, the memes were plentiful and humorous.
I looked to my cat, Toby, sleeping soundly at the end of the bed. He was so peaceful. Did I really want to risk, waking him?
But still, I had to know.
I typed in the web address and was greeted by a white page with just a search bar in the centre.
I paused.
"Its going to say hell" I muttered to myself.
I typed in my name.
Took a deep breath and and pressed search.
"Hell"
It had a button beneath it for the explanation.
I clicked it.
"I tested you, and you failed, you denied me, when you should have called for me."
Tears blinked in my eyes.
"You abandoned me" I spat.
New words appeared on the screen
"I've always been here"
"No you haven't," i was shouting now, Toby ruffled his ginger fur and dashed under the bed "You could have saved them, they weren't finished yet, but you took them, you took them away, they still had so much left to do"
"They are safe with me, you walked away, you denied me, you failed." The words dug into my chest.
"Then I will go where I deserve, because you are not the God that I believed in, you are not the God I was promised"
"Don't you see what's in front of you?" The voice from earlier was back in my head, God was talking directly to me.
"This is your chance for redemption, apologise to me and you can come home, to your family, to me"
"How vain can you be. It would be the most hollow of apology. Take your chair for me and give it to someone who believes. Get out of my head and away from me!"
Silence
I sobbed for a while. Before drifting into an uneasy sleep.
When I awoke a man, with dark hair and dark eyes, was stood in front of me.
"The name is Lucifer" he drawled with a Southern American accent, rich as dark chocolate.
He offered me a long and embellished bow.
"Hi?"
"You stood up to the big man," he continued, "I like that, so I have a job for you."
........
|
9:52am -- "Come on, come on! Oh, you fucking bitch!" he spewed as an off-white colored Honda Pilot with Jersey plates merged into his lane. He had been at work for not even 30 minutes before it happened.
Fresh single served coffee in hand, his entire office experienced the same thing -- what felt like a thunderous clap on the back of the head was followed by a seducing voice... no, nowhere inside the office but inside THEM.
He couldn't really focus all that well thanks to the mild panic attack he was induced into, but one thing was clear. A website name. Will I Go To Hell? It was a .com, that he remembered. Will I go to hell... he typed it into his work station moments after his peers did the same.
And there it was. A list of all his sins, from the innocuous white lie to the most vile of things like... well, his wife can't find out about that. That's why he's jockstrapped to the leather seat of his car, cranking 30 over a 55, all in hopes of saving himself and his marriage.
The off-white Honda, plate titled "8GG MU77", reminded him of the word BIG MUFF... a juvenile thought he could not bury even while under duress. It was thoughts and impulses like this that always got him into trouble, he thought, "Dammit! I was raised classless. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm always doing shit like this". Only the "dammit" part was said aloud.
He finally found parking 2 blocks away from his city home. He didn't see his wife's car in it's normal spot, but that didn't reveal much -- she may still be home. She never really left much. He entered through the back storm door as you do when you're a cheat, and he was definitely trying to cheat something.
Inside was quiet. The wife was not in sight. He started slowly once inside the house, but quickly began to race through and collect every computer, laptop, tablet, or every other freaking screen in the house that he was told he would need to live comfortably. At some point he could even forget how many of these devices he owned, but not today. Today, he knew EXACTLY how many witnesses could implicate him. He wanted to hide everything he could before his wife could get access. He could get jump on what she might find if she searched his name. At least, he could get out in front of it and explain.
One trash bag and one shoe-box was all the screens were able to fill. Between what both he and his wife owned, it felt like 11 pounds. The trash bag was filled strictly with the laptops, so it was the shoe-box that held most of the quarantined items.
He thought himself successful and clever with all the screens gathered in his arms. Now he should just wait for his wife to get home. He would explain everything. He might lose his job, he could possibly be contacted by the police, but she would understand. She always did. She has to! If not, he didn't know what he would do next. He never did. He never could.
| 2019-08-27T10:30:31
| 2019-08-27T09:27:48
| 132
| 29
|
[WP] Aliens try to invade Australia. The humans retreat and decide to let the country deal with them. Write about the Aliens' struggle.
|
Pyrs grimaced, dreading the upcoming conversation. "We can't kill them."
"Impossible!" Reib blubbered. "Everything can be killed."
"Well, technically, we can-"
"Then what is this nonsense about invincible locals!"
"*However*, our weapons are ineffective. Our soldiers report that they do not die unless you fire practically down their throats. If we attempt to fight from defensive embankments-"
"We'd have the advantage! Brilliant! I *knew* there was a reason I kept you around!"
Pyrs sighed. "No, sire. They merely charge, ignoring any harm to their selves, or their fellows."
"Incredible! Have they no sense of self preservation?"
"It seems not sir." Pyrs replied, pleased his message was getting across. "And what's more, they have the number and turf advantage."
"And tell me" Reib said eagerly, "What are these locals called?"
If Pyrs was human, he would've rolled his eyes. Instead, he succumbed to his commander's inquiry.
"Emus, sire."
"Incredible!"
|
A good Land. Enough space, nearly arid climate as we need to prosper.
Barren Landscapes, some remnants of previous inhabitants, "Humans" as they call themselves crowd the rest of this by far too humid planet, too humid except for the south West of its major landmass, but there are millions of these humans, unlike here.
Here we can prosper. No intelligent lifeforms, some mammals, some insects, some reptiles. Nothing to stop our colonisation.
Or so we thought.
Our first exploratory colonisation site lasted 1 (!) night.
In the morning we found 5 oot of our 20 explorers dead, swollen limbs, only miniscule insertions - the tests showed it was poison.
But not of the same kind. Each one had died of another effective agent.
The survivors of night one vowed never to leave our spaceships again.
The next colonisation crew had to be "friendly encouraged" to do their job, twice we delined entrance to frantic looking members of this team as they tried to reboard.
When we did not hear from them for 3 days, we sent a Recon mission to their last known whereabouts only to find all of them dead, with no two victims seemingly having died of exactly the same cause.
We found some jumbled writing of one of them saying :
"Whoever reads this - Leave as long as you can. It is as if the country seems to want to get rid of us - every liveforrm we have encountered tries to kill us - crawling insects: Deadly; Flying insects: Deadly; Reptiles: Deadly; Plants: Deadly "
There were only two survivors of the recon crew, but this was only the begining of our nightmare.
| 2018-01-23T05:52:46
| 2018-01-23T04:33:42
| 39
| 25
|
[WP] The Government releases an App allowing citizens to chose where their taxes are spent.
|
An hour after the App was released there were already randomizer Apps that would take that difficult choice away and just pick a random choice for you. And within no time there were masses using the App to just be rid of the responsibility to choose. Either they were too busy, they were too lazy, or they just didn't care. It was on the news 24/7. they were constantly talking and discussing about how the randomizer Apps revolutionized the tax system, how it made sure that there was some money even for some of the more obscure parts of government, which everyone still thought was necessary.
There were groups of people that became very interested in the government and politics and tried to make the best choice possible, there were groups of people that thought the free choice of tax allocation was rubbish and that everyone should use the randomizer. The latter group tended to become the new vegans, constantly berating those which made their own choice. It brought some low level of conflict, but overall everyone was happy with the fact that they now had at least a tiny bit of influence in the system.
Animosity between rich and poor didn't disappear though, the fact that those paying more taxes had more of a say by the power of their taxes were vilified by those with less means. Soon protests erupted, the populace demanded that the rich should be forced to use randomizer Apps. The rich very much against it, and tried to claim that it was not much of a problem, pointing at the statistics that claimed the rich didn't pay taxes anyway. There was a lot of pressure on the wealthy to give away their choice and use the randomizer, which by now had no longer the status of App for those too lazy or busy to decide, but rather, it was seen that responsible enough to not let their own biases influence their choices were the primary users of the randomizer.
It was especially visible in the elections, there were multiple places that had ballot measures demanding everyone use the randomizer. In most of them the measure passed. Those who liked allocating their own taxes were furious. There were violent clashes, and demands to go to court and declare the changes unconstitutional. The clashes continued. There were groups of people roving around trying to beat up the people that were on the other side.
Today however there was not a single incident. Everyone was at home, glued to the TV, the supreme court would hear the case, and it would be televised to the whole nation. After a bunch of heated arguments there were complaints that it looked like even the judges had chosen a side in the debate. And while the people at home were either complaining about the biased judges or they were happily talking about how sensible the judges were. The court brought in expert witnesses to make their decision more palatable. And of those experts, the last one they brought in was the programmer of the Tax allocation App, the people at home felt how tense the environment was, all of them waiting to see which side the programmer would pick. The programmer was feeling the pressure too, he was clearly nervous in front of all the cameras as he was explaining his position, he surprised both sides as he claimed to be on neither side, when asked to explain how he could be on neither side of such and important issue, he finally replied: "Uhm, so, yeah, well, you know, the tax allocation app was a government ICT project, so, like most of them, it never actually worked."
|
Hey Bob, how'd you divy up your taxes this year?
I told em to spend it all on public education.
Why Bob? You don't even have any kids.
Oh I know. I just really don't want to live in a country where I'm surrounded by dumb people.
Huh. Yeah, that makes sense. I wonder if it's too late to switch mine to that...
Why? What'd you spend your tax money on?
I dunno, some kinda wall. I like your idea better tho...
| 2017-02-19T23:08:59
| 2017-02-19T22:30:36
| 60
| 19
|
[WP] A great Empire is about to fall. A single remaining bodyguard is left alone with the Emperor as the enemy approaches the throne room.
|
"Is it only you, Gerhard?"
Gerhard looked down at his emperor. His skeletal figure was heaped into the throne in an uncomfortable jumble of angles, glossed over with enough silk and ermine to soften the picture. His face was white, withered and lined with deep creases, and he stared blankly at the great curtained window to his left.
"It is just me, Your Highness."
The fact seemed to become true only as he said it. Gerhard scanned the throne room, the shadow of each mighty column, where once would have stood a dozen Imperial Guard. The flanks of the great doors, where would have stood two more. The emperor's side, where would have stood his captain.
"Open the window, Gerhard."
The last bodyguard almost objected, but the weight of the emperor's voice, quiet and subdued as it now was, compelled him as ever. His ceremonial cuirass clanked as he crossed to the covered window and pulled aside the heavy velvet curtain. The midday sun spilled in, overpowering the meager candles Gerhard had lit for his own benefit.
The emperor's sallow face cracked into a faint smile as the warmth touched it. His eyes, milky and unseeing, sank closed, as if by habit. In his old age, the emperor loved nothing so much as the sun on his face.
"Tell me what you see, Gerhard."
The bodyguard wished that he could deny the order.
"The city burns, Your Highness. Many of their soldiers have been left to pillage the markets. Their commanders are parading in the Imperial square..."
"And what else?"
"More are approaching the castle, Your Highness. They must have encountered resistance."
Through layers of thick stone and wood, the sounds of resistance could still be heard. Steel and gunpowder, screams. Some hours ago, he had heard a gang of soldiers tramp past the throne room on their way to the gates. They had not returned.
"Beyond that Gerhard, what do you see?"
"Beyond-"
Beyond the siege, beyond the shattered houses and beleaguered walls. Beyond the panting siege engines, beyond the lake of tents.
"The mountains, Your Highness."
The Emperor smiled.
"Tell me about the mountains, Gerhard."
"They... they're beautiful, Your Highness." Gerhard's voice surprised him by cracking. It struck him that perhaps he had never realised before. "Beautiful. Massive and immovable... unscalable, unshakeable. They reach the very heavens, Your Highness, I can't *see* the tops."
Gerhard looked down at his hands to find them planted on the window sill, the glass inches from his nose. The mist of his breath blotted the mountains like a passing cloud. The sounds of steel and gunpowder crept ever closer. A crash echoed through the throne room.
"Think of the mountains, Gerhard... I know I shall."
The bodyguard turned to his emperor. Only a single tear marked his face, running like treacle through the sun-warmed creases of his cheeks.
The crash sounded again, and again. And one final time, capped with the crack and clink of a five hundred year old lock clattering to the floor. The doors of the throne room swung open.
|
Jaime went to the throne room. On the way, he came across Rossart, who was dressed as a common soldier and hurrying to a postern gate. Jaime attacked him, and while Rossart tried to defend himself, he stood no chance against the experienced knight, who gutted Rossart without mercy. Jaime then slipped into the throne room through the king's door, finding Aerys alone pacing through the room. When the King saw the blood on Jaime's sword, he demanded to know whether it was Lord Tywin's, renewing his command that Jaime should bring him his father's head, otherwise Jaime would burn with all the other traitors. He told Jaime that Rossart was on his way to give the enemies a warm welcome, asking again whose blood was on Jaime's sword. Jaime answered that it was Rossart's. The King became scared, his mouth dropping open in shock. Aerys lost control of his bowels, soiling himself. He turned and ran towards the Iron Throne. Jaime seized Aerys and hauled him bodily off the steps. The Mad King squealed like a pig as Jaime killed him with a single slash across the throat, thereby preventing him from giving the command to burn the city to some other pyromancer.
| 2014-05-29T13:21:01
| 2014-05-29T12:54:24
| 70
| 13
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.