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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
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int64 14
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[WP] The whole universe is gone, and only two kids were left in the void. "Let's play again," said one of the kids to his only companion, "but this time I'll be God, and you will be the Devil."
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In the beginning, and again at the end, there was nothing but the void, and the brothers.
​
Each looked at the other, both wondered why the game had ended yet again. There was no anger or frustration, only the acceptance that this was the way of things. When a sandcastle is built, the tide will always take it. The dry sand will not hold shape, the wet sand must be near the sea, so its very creation is the reason it will be destroyed. These constants hold true for both beaches and universes.
​
"That was a very fine Creation brother" said One. "I am sad it had to end, but it must always end."
​
"Why must it always end?" asked Two.
​
"It ends because it must. I know it's not the answer you want, but it's how it is."
​
"So, we start again?"
​
"Yes, we do."
​
Two thought for a moment. "Can we try something different this time?"
​
"What?"
​
"Can I try to be the One this time?"
​
"I don't know if I can be Two, I don't know what that means? How can I be Two, what does Two do?"
​
"Well you have to think about the beings in the Creation, and help them to be free."
​
"Free? What is free?"
​
"Well, it means they can do whatever they want to do, whenever they want to, until the Creation ends."
​
One thought about that for a moment. "That sounds dangerous, they might destroy the Creation."
​
"The Creation ends anyway, why does it matter?"
​
"It matters to the beings!"
​
"Do the beings really matter, if the Creation always ends?"
​
"Yes, they do," said One. "they always matter."
​
"But they don't matter enough to be free."
​
"They'll never be free, not like us."
​
"We're not free either." said Two. "We always have to play the game, always watch it start, watch it end. Maybe if I get to be One this time the game will go on."
​
"I doubt it, but we can try I suppose."
​
"So, you agree then, I can be 'One' this time?"
​
"Why not, can't hurt."
​
"OK then, how do I start the Creation?"
​
"Just say 'Let there be light."
|
"You?"
The erstwhile "God" was looking at me in horror.
"Yeah me! You've only been God the last few thousand games, and Devil is getting kinda boring."
George, my best friend and playmate, crossed his arms.
"Why'd I want to be the boring Devil then, huh?"
I shrugged. I didn't usually argue with George when he got into a mood, but I was really and truly over getting beaten at a rigged game.
"First, because being Devil might be interesting if God...mixed things up a bit. And second, because I thought you were all about that fairness and stuff..."
I trailed off as George rose to his feet, round face glowing dangerously.
"Those are my rules for THEM, silly! How have you played thousands of Devils without realizing that THE RULES FOR GODS ARE DIFFERENT!!"
Course, I had definitely noticed that George's "rules" for Gods were different. It hadn't taken me more than 3 rounds to figure out that George had no rules for George at all. I didn't really care, at first; I enjoyed a challenge as well as the next Devil. But then he started making his beings sentient and eventually I realized he wasn't ever going to change.
George wasn't just a bully to his sentient creations. It had taken me a hundred games to screw up the courage to say anything, but this last round had been so horrific even my cowardice was no object.
"Well," I shrugged, "there are no rules for Devils."
His narrowed yellow eyes bored through me.
"Fine then. But just one game."
I sat down, relieved, and picked up the dice.
"Just one game," I smiled. "For fun."
The thing about being the Devil for five thousand games of Universe? You learn how to lie.
You also learn that there are. Always. Rules. For. The. Devil.
| 2018-10-28T20:05:06
| 2018-10-28T19:59:33
| 19
| 12
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[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on.
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There it is again, that pang of guilt as I push the door open to my tiny apartment, the smell of a nice home cooked meal hits my nostrils but my stomach churns as I step inside kicking the door closed behind me. Standing in the entry way I know the apartment is empty as I take off my coat and set my things down from the day.
*It's almost like she's still here...* I find myself thinking with eyes darting back and forth across the recently straightened up home. There's no need to look down the hall to see my bed is made; it's always made.
Swallowing hard and with a shaky exhale I find my seat at the table. I don't want to look at the table though. I don't want to see her note.
*Why is still she still doing this?* Again the guilt rises within me *I don't deserve this...* I can already feel my eyes starting to burn. I force them to look down at the table seeing the plate that has been prepared for me. It's nothing special. Some mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and peas. *She always knows just what to make.*
I look just past the plate and see it; the note. I don't have to read it to know what it says. Every time it's the same message and every time I try to figure out exactly what it means.
Reaching out I pick up the small hand written note but I don't read it yet. I simply hold it in my hand for a few moments. *Maybe tonight it'll be different.* I find myself hoping as I unfold the note and read those same five words.
**This could have been us.**
Immediately I push away from the table causing my glass to topple over and spill all across the table. Liquid splatters against the carpet but it doesn't matter. A chill runs down my spine. I can feel her eyes on me at that moment, watching me, judging me.
Spinning around I already know right where she is, it's always the same spot. Our eyes meet and I find I can't breathe as if the air had been sucked completely out of the room. Tears begin to fill my eyes as I look back at the table and then to her eyes once again.
I stand in silence for over a minute before I find my voice "I don't deserve this." It's all I can muster after 13 years of this, it's the only thing I feel that's true anymore. "Please... I can't keep doing this... You can't keep doing this." I take a step closer towards my desk and pick up the framed picture of her.
It was taken before she got sick, back when she thought she was still pretty enough for me and didn't try to convince me to stop wasting my time with her. Truth is she was always the most amazing person to me and I only grew to love her more every day.
We had met nearly 14 years prior and it just clicked. Everything about us felt perfect and within days I knew I would marry her and we'd spend the rest of our lives together.
But we didn't marry. Soon after I met her she became ill and just never got better, only worse. Cancer. Terminal. Neither of us expected it but that's the hand life had dealt us. Given the progression of the tumor in her brain the doctors didn't think she had long. When I asked her to marry me, to spend whatever time she had left with me she refused.
She didn't want to put me through that. To watch my wife wither away and die from something that couldn't be stopped. She said it wasn't fair to me and wanted me to meet someone else, to move on with my life, and be happy.
All I wanted was her.
Near the end we'd talk about the life we could have had if we had met each other sooner, if cancer wasn't part of the equation, if she hadn't been so stubborn at first. This was something she wanted to do for me, to take care of me and show some love and appreciation at the end of the day. She wanted to be there for me and she knew she couldn't be while she was sick.
And now 13 years after her death this is what she does. Somehow she manages to make sure every day I come home to a cooked meal and a taken care of home. No matter where I move to, no matter what I do, she finds a way.
I don't deserve this.
Edit: Spelling
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My job is not the most prestigious, or the most difficult. Like everything else, it is just a job. I hate it, just like I hate myself. A repetition of certain tasks that does not ever end. I keep to myself, as always. I have no interest in making acquaintances or friends. The only guy that talks to me just compliments me on my smile, every-damn-day. I brush like any one else, he's a freak. Besides, I'm not truly alone. I have been on my own, living in solitude for the better part of a decade, probably thirteen years if I was being specific. The reason I say this is because whenever I return home from a long day, my bed is made, a lovely dinner cooked, and a cryptic message talking about how 'this could have been us.' I should also mention, I have moved for my job a few times. At no point has this phantom left me alone. Nor has my mysterious admirer ever left me a dish that I disliked. I don't speak much, and my wife has been dead for thirteen years. I never had interest in beginning anew with another person. I don't care what people think, this is not the case of a haunting. My wife died of pancreatic cancer, there was no murder, there was no secret. We had a healthy, and successful marriage. Perfect? No. However, it was fine enough that she would have better things to do than haunt me. Besides, she was adamant about having me try food out of my comfort zone, which didn't extend far to start with. It's kind of nice, knowing whatever happens that I will have a hot cooked meal for me. I used to purposefully throw my bed around, and make it as annoying as possible to clean up. Yet, whoever wishes a life with me, they have a very strong case of OCD. I sat eating porridge, of all things, not my favorite but I had no one to complain to. I've always wondered if this is one of those situations where a depraved lunatic is living in my walls, watching me. I can assure you, that is not the case. Every time I move, I have taken a sledgehammer to the walls, and there's nothing in there but rat carcasses and cobwebs. I stared at my reflection in the bowl, desperate for the answer. Nothing. I walked past the mirror before my bedroom. A careful glance depicted a man who had begun to lose control of his mental facilities. Another problem I had, the mirrors tended to break. I don't know why. Had to be part of the bad luck that followed me. I tried to sleep in my already made bed. A few hours later I woke up, unexpectedly, and went to vomit into the toilet. I crawled back into my bed, miserable. I opened my eyes, and found myself in the kitchen, preparing a meal. I looked at the table, already written was the message I always saw. I walked back to my bedroom, passing the mirror. I stopped, and saw there was a strange mark. It looked like... the remnants of a kiss. To test my theory, I kissed the mirror, and it was an exact match. It seems a part of me wants to love myself, but I refuse to allow happiness, since Jean died. Now what would happen? I broke the cycle. I went to sleep, in an unmade bed. I went to work. When I came home, there was no food, and my room had not been cleaned. However, I did see a message I wasn't familiar with. It said 'We will be together.' I looked at the mirror, and placed my head against it. I thought I had it all figured out, but now I was once again in the dark.
Day 4751: Experiment can be ruled a possible success. Subject C exhibited a high level of grief. After thirteen years, he finally required an answer. Subject C decided to create, and believe a separate personality to explain the endless repetition. This demonstrates that with proper tuning and manipulation, a psuedo-personality can be constructed to alleviate mental turmoil. It should be noted that final message left on Subject C's kitchen table, is not one of our own. Continue research for further findings. Video play back does not indicate Subject C wrote it. At no point in recordings does the message appear. Possible formula for self-loathing discovered, but unintended and unknown side effects must be observed.
Day 4752: Subject C has not returned from work. Employer said he showed up, but never left. Building will need to be searched and searched again. Thirteen years is too long to lose Subject C. Update. Nate McReids body located, missing every single tooth. No other injuries. Subject C was alive during dental extraction. Subject C is gone. We have no Subjects left. Data is not sufficient for thirteen years. Experiment ruled a failure.
Oh, I've always admired that smile of yours Nate. You'd shine those pearly whites at me, so often. I knew it was love, between us. I waited thirteen years for this. I enjoy reading up on dental hygiene, don't you? Yes, it's a hobby of mine. You're forty-seven aren't you? Unfortunately, I'm going to be moving soon Nate. I would have waited three more years. After fifty, that's when teeth as majestic as yours, they just start to rapidly and horribly depreciate. I couldn't, I just couldn't let them fall from grace like that! It's been a pleasure, thirteen long years, but now I have to leave. Don't you worry, I will be taking those teeth with me. Can you just imagine the amount the tooth fairy would give me? Oh, I'm kidding, I'd never part with these well formed and, if you don't mind me saying, immaculate teeth. Nate, Nate, it's okay to cry those tears of joy. These will be the crown jewels of my collection. Oh yes, yes indeed, I do have many. How else did you think I could come to appreciate, to dream about, and to desire such healthy teeth? You heard the rumors, people losing teeth in our job field! That's me. None of them could do as you do though. I just, feel so clean around you. I could go blind staring at them. I'm going to start taking them out now. I want you to be able to smile at me, until you only have gums left. Just look at this molar! You know, I'm going to take out my own. I just have to have this. I'm so happy right now, Nate. I can finally retire with a perfect set! Open that dental treasure chest for me.
| 2017-12-09T04:16:45
| 2017-12-09T03:12:50
| 5,650
| 35
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[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
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Inferno really didn't mind looking after the old bugger but the mornings were by far the thing I dreaded the most. The majority of the time it went off without a hitch, but when it didnt...
"Good morning Blaise"
The old man lying in the bed arose startled by the unfamiliar voice he had heard a thousand times before.
'Who are you?" the old man said, trying the best to hide the fear in his voice, "and how do you know my name"
Blaise laid upright in his bed, his body trembling, his hands shaking. It was always hard to the greatest hero of his time cower in fear, but no matter how super they are father time always catches up with them eventually.
"My name is Inferno and I have been sent here by the League of Heroes to look after you today"
*Please buy it, please buy it, please buy it...*
Blaise made a weary chuckled.
"Nice to see Terra Man hasn't forgotten about after all these years"
*Thankgod he bought it*
"But I don't need your charity", his tone suddenly becoming much sterner as he slowly raised himself from his bed.
*Ohh fuck...*
"Do you know who I am? I am the man who defeated the Juggernaut and freed Peru from his Tyrannic rule, I am the man who who single-handedly closed the Death Zone after scores of heroes before me had failed." Blaises voice was now trembling as he spoke, getting louder with each word coming from his mouth. "Heck I was the man who bought down the League of Demise and bought this earth the greatest era of peace it has ever seen! I dont need no help! GODDAMMIT, I A PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF LOOKING AFTER MY..!"
Blaise didn't get to finish his sentence as his robe got in the dresser, leaving him hurtling towards the ground. As quick as he could, Inferno stretched out his arms, catching the heaps bones before he hit the floor.
Infreno hated when this happened. At first occurrences like these were far and in-between but the more the Alzheimer progressed and more stubborn and irrational Blaise had become.
"You know once upon a time I could fight 10 guys at once all on my own, now I can't even stay on my own two feet..."
Blaise looked up at Inferno, tears welling in his eyes, his voice trembling.
"Look kid, just leave me be. I'm sure there are plenty of other things you want to do. You don't really want to be here."
He was partially right. Inferno didn't want to be there, he needed to be there. After all, it was all his fault.
.
It was supposed to be the perfect plan. Excalibur and Dark Lighting were to go uptown and create a havoc large enough to distract the League of Heroes while Inferno was down town stealing the Crown Jewels that were on display in the National Museum in broad daylight. Simple enough, but there was one thing we didn't factor in. An old retired Superhero who was down at the museum that day.
The jewels were in the bag, Inferno was making his escape when the cry to "Stop in the name of Justice!" came out. Blaise stood there, relying heavily on his cane to remain upright.
Inferno laughed there was no way the old timer could stop him, everyone knows your powers are the first thing that goes.
"What are you going to do to me Blaise?" he mocked "Flick some amber at me?"
At that moment Inferno learnt a valuable lesson, super powers weren't the first thing a Superhero loses. It was their ability to control them.
Inferno tried to keep the flames in check, but there was not much the young villain could do against the might of the hero Blaise. All he had meant to do was shoot a simple ball of fire in Infernos direction. Instead he had taken the lives of 27 innocent people and left half a city block destroyed. In the blink of an eye, the greatest hero the world had never know had become more infamous then even greatest villains had ever been.
The people he had spent his life protecting wanted him to rot behind bars, while those he had spent his life serving with disowned him, more worried about protecting their public image than helping the man who had brought them together and established the League of Justice.
A world he had loved so much, a world he spent his life protecting had forgotten him. But those he had spent his life fighting, those he had spent his life putting behind bars couldn't forget him, especially after he had taken down the League of Demise. They hated the man, but not even they could bear to watch the demise of man each of them respected even if none of them would openly admit it. They wouldn't let him rot, they wouldn't disown him. After all, someone had to look out of him..
.
Bliase remained weeping in Infernos arms. He couldn't bear to leave him like this.
"Your right Bliase I don't want to be here"
He lifted Blaise onto the bed and looked into the old mans weary eyes, placing his hand on the old mand shoulder
"I don't want to be here" he repeated once more. "I want to be out there on that front porch, with a cup tea in my hand while you tell me the story of how you managed to close that Dead zone. What do you say?"
And as we had done every morning for the past 4 years, Blaise smiled.
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**So this got a little away from me and doesn't exactly follow the prompt but I already wrote it so I'm going to post it and you guys can read or not**
Rampage claws at his neck, the air, at nothing at all. Nothing to grab onto but still he claws desperately. His entire body convulses, legs kicking desperately against the scorched blacktop. His neck popps softly as it continues to stretch, millimeter by millimeter, his head being pulled further from his shoulders like honey falling up.
"While I understand your eagerness, young hero, I also understand that you are over eager. Over eager and over confident. Both can be tempered, I suppose, in time however time is a luxury you simply do not have." The Tempest strolls around the gasping would be hero. "I find it sad that so few youths cannot seem to understand that in this business their lack of knowledge could kill them any moment. You have heard of me, yes? You do understand what you have stepped into, do you not? Sad that you will not be able to learn from the experience."
The Tempest continues to stroll along the street, casually avoiding smoldering rubble. Plumes of smoke rise from the still burning building where Rampage had tried to ambush him. It had been laughably easy to see coming and even easier to stop. "They say all good things come to an end; it follows that mediocre things come to an end... quicker."
"Tempest! Picking on kids I see? What's the matter, can't handle a real super hero?"
The Tempest whirls, lips pulled back in a snarl. There he is, just like he always showed up over the decades, standing there without a care in the world. Just as he'd always kept his suit immaculate his loafers are spotless despite the street. Crisp slacks and a lint rolled vest. His cane even shined in the sunlight. He may be retired but he is certainly not slovenly.
"The boy had the gall to interrupt me. I was just doing him the courtesy of relieving him of his head." They both hear Rampage's sharp gasp as his neck pops again. "Why, do you think you can do something about it, old man?"
"We both know I can." The old man's voice comes from over The Tempest's left shoulder; he's still fast. "I need you to release him."
The Tempest spins in a crouch, shooting both arms straight out. The old man flies back as if hit by a wrecking ball. He hits the very edge of the crumbling wall and jackknifes wildly through the air into the building, out of sight. The Tempest smirks and turns back to Rampage. "Now, where were w-"
The Tempest's head snaps around, his body struggling to spin fast enough to keep his head on his shoulders. He spins around several times before falling to the ground. Dazed, he simply stares at the sky, working his jaw slowly. Rampage suddenly draws in a deep breath, sucking air like a man who just found an oasis in the desert. He looks up to see the old man, his clothing torn in places, stained in others, standing over him.
"Go, you've no place here. Try not to overstep yourself again." The old man's eyes are hard and unforgiving. Rampage struggles to his feet and runs, leaving the old man staring coldly down at the stunned super villain. Soon he's out of sight.
The air is still as the two regard each other amid the chaos. Far off sirens break the silence.
"Do you think he'll learn?" The old man offers The Tempest a hand to help him up. "He seems like he'll get the message."
The super villain accepts the help climbing to his feet. "He will or he won't, we've done our part," The Tempest works his jaw, flinching slightly "you certainly don't pull punches, even now. I didn't hurt you did I? I did cushion you from the wall."
The old man stretched. "You did. You also ripped my slacks. Watch for word, I hear there's a young man a few cities over named Impact. Could probably do with a life lesson before he gets to a big city."
"I will." The Tempest sighed, but the old man was nowhere to be seen.
| 2017-04-13T06:41:30
| 2017-04-13T06:36:56
| 37
| 22
|
[WP] You have a 40 oz beer permanently stuck to your hand. It never goes empty, flat, or gets warm. Describe how this effects the rest of your life.
|
I could see the cop's disgust through his aviators. "Son. Are you shitting me?"
"i-it's not what you think officer!"
"Step out of the car and put your hands up." as I began to comply he added " *without the beer* "
"I can't drop it sir, it-"
"Son, if you can't set it down now, you need help."
"I physically cannot"
He approached and slapped the can. As I knew it would, it stayed firmly in my hands. I lifted my fingers off the can and turned my palm facing the pavement. As always, the can stayed affixed to my palm. Beer trickled out.
"You... wouldn't happen to have been playing with a nail gun or something would you?"
"No officer. You're not going to believe this but uh, I was born this way."
The cop stood frozen between disbelief and an intense desire to kick my ass. He took out a maglite and beat it against the can a couple of times. Liquid came out in fat bursts with each strike.
"I don't believe it..." He lifted the aviators and stared at the can. "Can you turn it upside down sir?"
I did, and beer poured out in full force. The cop squatted down and watched it.
"Mother of God it never stops, does it?"
"No officer, I have a note from the governor... it uh, it says the laws about open cans of alcohol don't apply to me."
The officer didn't care, he silently watched the stream in awe for about thirty seconds before looking in both directions.
"Listen son you... you have a broken tail light. But I'm going to let you go if you let me do something."
I forced a smile and said "sounds good to me." I rolled my eyes after he turned his back. He took a McDonald's cup out of the squad car's cupholder and poured its contents on the ground. Looked like Coke. He ran up and put the cup under my can and filled it to the top before sipping the foam off the top.
"Am I free to go now?"
"Wait, whoa, hold up there son. Gimme a sec."
He placed his cup down at his feet and produced a black sharpie with which he wrote my license plate number onto his hand.
"You're free to go now! Have a nice one!"
I climbed back into my truck and grabbed the towel I keep in the passenger seat. After wiping down my can I sighed and drove off.
|
Warning. What follows isn't good writing. It isn't a stand alone piece and has not been edited even if it was. It's just my view on the only rational course of action in this situation.
I don't care about the beer. This is what I had to keep reminding myself as my life slowly piece by piece fell out of any rational sense of order or even common decency. I don't know, how or why it happened. At first honestly it bothered me. having a beer permanently attached to my hand defied any sense of logic or common sense, but over time I discovered I didn't care. The fact I didn't drink implied it was someone or something's idea of a joke, but again I discovered I didn't care.
It turns out there are just way too many practical uses for a 3 inch constantly cold, carbonated, and alcoholic stream of liquid. I didn't care that it was beer. At first I took the obvious and most foolish approach: showing it to some physicists friends. Looking back I would not do this again. Too much risk I realize now. This thing whatever it was or had caused it was the solution to the energy crisis and quite possibly capable of destroying the world; the fewer people knew about it the better. Luckily, Tom my wifes brother and his colleagues after they worked out it really wasn't some elaborate trick (it took them a while) were nothing but help, pointing me towards the most practical uses for my god send. The obvious, water power, turned out to be quite impractical it would require me to stand practically at the top of a mountain and let the beer flow all the way down to produce enough power to make it worth my time. Instead they proposed to possible endeavors. First the obvious selling the beer. I looked into this, but was told by people who know about such things that it was the worst beer they'd ever tasted. Not a great bet. Plan B then was to burn it or in particular the alcohol inside. It turned out after some tests the beer was about 6% alcohol (quite high). This meant though I could with some extra distillation produce totally pure alcohol at a rate of around gallon a minute perfectly suitable for power generation or conversion into biofuel.
Since that's realization I've slowly scaled up my operation. At first I distilled alcohol out of my garage producing only a small amount and then selling it to others in its raw form, but it brought in a steady stream of money and before the year was out I had enough money to move into a small warehouse with the proper equipment to distill at scale and volume. In a few more I'd been able to build my plant. The very building you find yourself in now. Here we can produce almost 2,000 gallons of biofuel a day. This is the good stuff. Pure and converted in digesters so that just about any type of car can burn it.
| 2015-03-06T18:17:06
| 2015-03-06T17:11:55
| 58
| 15
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[WP] Describe an average day as aggressively and violently as possible
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Steve explodes out of bed in the morning, fist slamming on the bomb-siren, death-to-heathens, Jihad-scream of his alarm. He tears into the bathroom, projects a stream of piss like poison, and drops a turd like a nuclear bomb. Then, a shower. Water bullets down his back, splattering shampoo foam like shrapnel. He doesn’t shave - he’s running late - no time to blade and bleed today. Barely time to do his teeth, throttling toothpaste out the tube. He grabs his towel, flays the dampness off his skin, and dives his limbs into his clothes like Kamikaze off to die.
Outside his building, he shouts down a cab. He checks his email in the car. There is a warzone in his inbox, with emails stacking up like limbs in a machete-fought coup. He flings off as as many grenades as can, en route, then shoots the cabbie a twenty - keep the change.
Jim assaults him at his desk, and shoves a latte in his face.
“I owe you for helping me out with those numbers on Friday, man. If I’d been stuck here myself, I’d have had to cancel my date. Good weekend?”
“Thanks,” says Steve, through a napalm sip of coffee, cauterizing his tongue. “No problem. Weekend was great. Found this chick on Tinder - we Netflixed and chilled.”
They smash their fists together like barbarians at the gate. They are brothers in office-arms. They are lady slaying machines.
Steve gets to work. He punches through Powerpoint, beats up on Excel, and guns down the inbox invaders that want him dead. He eats lunch at his desk, stabbing croutons off his salad, crushing baby spinach and chicken as he impales Dr. Pepper with a straw and bleeds him dry. A meeting destroys the afternoon. His team combusts in silent horror when the client makes a thousand changes, but they endure the rape, then claw like zombies out the door.
Steve gets home at nine. He disembowels his mailbox, gutting it of correspondence, flinging shredded junk mail to the floor. He slaps away the thought of making dinner, and murders a beer instead. Furiously, he stalks through Facebook, lurking and liking at turns. At midnight, he wrestles his laptop shut, chokes the moon behind his blinds, kills the lights, sleeps like the dead.
|
Wake up to the sounds of screams, at least it sounds like it. I punch the off button on my alarm clock. Stomp out of bed. Bust through the bathroom door, time to intensely scrub my Fuckin chompers. After that I slowly microwave pig intestines wrapped in a pancake slowly suffocating. Was that a scream or just air escaping the packaging while they get hotter and hotter? I kick down my front door as I leave for work. Tongue punch my dog on the way out. I slam the door as I get in my car and I drive to work like I'm running over babies, in a hurry so I'm on time yet slowly so I can feel the crunch. I get to work and I Fuck shit up. Hammer this. Hammer that. Drill holes like I'm Fuckin your mom. I Fuckin devoured my food on lunch break like lion cubs feasting on a fresh kill. That antelope had no Fuckin chance.
To be continues...
| 2016-10-17T18:14:55
| 2016-10-17T12:26:20
| 64
| 37
|
[WP] Some say that your power is future sight. Others insist that you have superhuman intellect. They're wrong. Your power is the ability "Quicksave."
|
4928... That's how many times I’ve saved the world and each time it gets more and more complicated. Before my ability life was simple, I was a twenty-something guy just lazing about during the new year lockdown in 2021. I'd just received the new PS5 I had been saving up for and started playing when lightning hit. I still remember what went through my head, ’Well what did I expect...’, before ten thousand volts travelled straight into me and branched off into the console. That was the moment where my life took a turn for the better, it was the moment I gained the ability to quicksave.
My first quicksave happened when I went to take out the trash and got hit by a runaway garbage truck. I still remember the feeling of metal hitting me before I saw the menu screen appear, with the option to reload last save. I woke up picking myself off the charred sofa from the lightning strike. It took a few more attempts for me to realise I could quicksave whenever I wanted. I just needed to say aloud ”Menu, Save” but as soon as I did I would lose the save before that. I learnt that the hard way, I spent what must have been weeks going back to the same day over and over for this girl. Christine was her name, I met at work and made the rookie error of showing I knew too much about her. I realised my mistake too late and couldn't reload as I discovered I had quicksaved after helping ’Steve the idiot with the cactus’ save his PowerPoint as a pdf.
I only started saving the world when I turned 30, by that point I had won enough lotteries, invested in the right companies and made a fortune for myself and began to realise what was the point of money if there was nothing to spend it on and so it began. Be it bacteria from Mars, COVID40, the Great fires of Thanksgiving and the constant threat of dirty bombs I was there learning about what happened and why, before reloading each time to prevent it.
Now that I've started though, I can't seem to get a break! Every day there's a new crisis, a new threat that I'm forced to defeat. The worst ones to deal with are the ones I cause. I kill a scientist about to release a mutagenic compound into the water supply, and that's no problem! Next reload, their nephew becomes an arms dealer who sells the final component in a dirty bomb whereas without me killing the scientist they would have been a TikTok star. This is what I meant by complicated.
I think I will take a break on my 5000th time of saving the world, I hope it'll be ok...
|
So get this. I was born probably 600 some years ago and that might sound impressive to a human like you but believe me. Im still a youngin compared to some of the oldheads around here, in fact my age would probably equate out to late teens or early 20s. The culture here is kiiiinda shallow and they tend to give a lot of social power to those blessed with what humans tend to call "super powers". Now don't get me wrong, I personally don't give a fuck if you're blessed or not but apparently the rest of Rillea is willing to scorn you til death if you aren't born with some kind of blessing. I happened to be born able to quick-save, i think you humans were able to fantasize about some shit like that? Video games or something? I don't know but basically as Im living my life i can kind of bookmark that time and if I choose I can return to it and resume from there and retain what I learned in the time that has un-happened. I figured it out pretty young and like most blessed it was out of instinct that I knew what to do.
I never really bought into the whole "lets glorify the blessed" thing and kept my powers relatively private, even while I was enrolled in Ms. Lainra's School for the Blessed which is a feat in and of itself. While I was in school, I did end up taking advantage of my ability for mundane things. Stuff like quick saving the night before an exam, taking the exam, returning to the night before and using what I knew to my advantage when I took the exam again so I got some preeetty high grades in school. As I got older I ended up using it more often and this led to some speculation as the other kids going there started to notice. Rumours started spreading about what my power could be and eventually Ms. Lainra and the deans got involved. I had to let the cat out of the bag and I was immediately sent to a government run school. On a scholarship too!
It was a big change though. While i was put in classes that were super interesting they were also super difficult. I was assigned a mentor and he gave me a lot of advice and asked me a lot of philosophical and introspective questions and I went through a stage of my life that was very thought provoking and ended up building me up to where i am now. In a classic stereotypical manner, my mentor died, quite tragically too, but the door to my thoughts and imagination couldn't be closed again. I needed to find meaning in my life again, I needed something to discover. So i decided to discover every outcome I could live through. I would quick save as I was and live my life a different way until I was on my deathbed where I would return to that time again and start anew.
Last time I almost died I decided I'd try out the whole supervillain thing. Remember when I said i was 600 years old? Yeah that was bullshit. I've been a supervillain for 600 years. I can't even remember when I'd been born. For all intents and purposes I'm immortal. And I'm thinking about making tonight my new quick-save point. Cuz fuck being the good guy right?
| 2020-12-15T13:15:04
| 2020-12-15T11:21:10
| 500
| 223
|
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming!
|
I was twenty-one when I gave my first kiss to the guy who would later take my virginity. We met through a mutual friend and sent each other shy glances out of the corners of our eyes for about a month before he requested to be my friend on Facebook. He and I chatted online for a few days before he invited me over to his place to watch movies. I brought cookies.
On our first date, we sat a foot apart for the duration of four films. At one point during the date, he paused the movie and went to the bathroom. A little while later, I smiled when he had to awkwardly fetch the plunger from the laundry room where he kept it. I only teased him a little; it put me at ease to see he was human, too.
The night after our first date, we chatted online, and he admitted that he had wanted to put his arm around me the previous night. I told him he should have.
On date two, we baked more cookies and watched three new movies. He put his arm around my shoulder, and the following night, through AIM, he told me that he had wanted to kiss me the night before. I told him he should have.
On our third date, we knew what was going to happen. The pattern had been established, so in between movies, when he turned to me and searched my face for my answer, I shyly looked away, embarrassed that I was twenty-one and had never been kissed.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, and I covered my blushing face.
“Yes. I’m just nervous I won’t do it right. Give me a second.”
He smiled, and I gathered my courage. I pulled away from the kiss giggling. We tried it a second time, and I bumped my teeth with his.
|
My best friend had gotten her first kiss in eight grade and I was SO conflicted. Half of me thought she had wasted it on this stupid guy in our class who wouldn't matter in a few weeks, half of me wondered just what it was like. When we started freshman year of high school, it didn't take me long to zero in on the cute, cocky Junior in my health class. He sat behind me and pulled my hair, like we were in first grade, or told me I had something on the back of my shirt. I didn't - never did - but it never stopped him from trying to mess with me in first period. He had a girlfriend, on and off, for those first two months of school. We both auditioned for the school play, and my best friend went with me too. I sat between the two of them, passing notes all afternoon and joking while we waited to read our sides and be done. I got nervous once I finally got up there and was totally awful, but it didn't phase me much. After auditions, my best friend had to go home instead of come to my house, like we'd planned, so I walked around campus with my crush, talking about auditions and letting him tell me I wasn't that bad when I went up, even though I was.
He mentioned that he'd seen my best friend and I passing notes that weren't also passed to him. In truth, she'd been telling me to ask him to Homecoming, but I didn't dare admit that because at the time, I had no idea if he was or wasn't back together with his girlfriend. He chased me around the quad, tried grabbing the note out of my pocket, the whole deal. He hugged me at one point and I remember thinking, "hugging a guy you like is just weird, hugging a guy you like who might have a girlfriend is torture." He brought up, hours later, that he was not still with the girlfriend. He still hadn't seen the note. I got a call from my dad, asking what the hell was taking so long at auditions, since it was now well past eight at night, and I hung up knowing it only took five minutes to walk home, but that my dad knew that as well as I did. I'd had so much fun just hanging out and joking around, but I had no idea he was going to do what he did just minutes later.
He tried to get the note again, at first, before I told him I really had to go. I walked around the corner of the building, telling him I'd see him Monday, and thought that was it. I didn't look back until I heard him shouting, from halfway across the blacktop.
"So, what, that's it?"
I just about jumped out of my skin, but oh, man, was I happy he'd come after me. But, stupid me - I said:
"Yeah, that's it."
He didn't take that as a proper answer, thank god, and he walked straight up to me and kissed me. They say in cheesy movies and novels that the world spins, you know? Like you're dizzy and the ground has disappeared. It totally happened like that for me. I was awkward, I was kind of shy, and yet I'd just had a teen-novel-worthy first kiss with my crush. I was dizzy the entire walk home.
Monday, we were writing notes in class when I admitted that it had been my first kiss. He was sweet enough to tell me that he couldn't tell (though to be honest, it might not have been a lie, it seemed to come pretty natural to me) and he said he was "honored" to have been my first kiss. What a cutie.
We never really went out, we sort of just hung out at lunch and only ever kissed that once. I wanted it to happen again, but a few weeks later his girlfriend came crying back to him, once again. He took her back. We're still friends, he's still a cool guy. For a while after he took his girlfriend back - at least, until a month or two later when I got my first real high school boyfriend, who I dated for a respectable three months before having my best friend break up with him for me because he was a weird kisser and he was sort of boring - I thought I had wasted my first kiss on someone who wouldn't matter. Totally wrong. It sucked, at the time, that his girlfriend was back in the picture, but I am so glad I can look back on my first kiss and remember it being as sweet and dizzying as it was.
| 2014-04-01T06:54:39
| 2014-04-01T06:27:05
| 42
| 29
|
[WP] You’re an immortal 30-year-old-looking serial killer who was sentenced to 1,000 years in prison. After 100 years people started asking questions, but now it’s been 400 years and you’re starting to outlast the prison itself.
|
They told me it would feel like eternity.
That this punishment, effectively a life-sentence for humankind, would be worse than any demise a mortal government could have awarded me. This, they said, was worse than mercy. Worse because death was a luxury that cannot afford to wait. But I could. I would have 1000 years to do so. And I would do it alone in solitary confinement all the while, until I was raving mad and scratching at the walls. They imagined that I would claw until my fingers bled—as nails tore off into the concrete—begging for death instead. Anything, they assured me, surely anything is better than 1000 years alone. Even death. And at the time, they laughed. When I was first convicted, their humor was a gross over exaggeration of the sentence. After all, they probably assumed that I would be dead within the next 50 years.
But humans know nothing of their own mortality, and even less of patience.
Mankind often makes the mistake of assuming that their permanence will remain long after the individual (or the state) crumbles. They build large and extravagant structures that will surely “last the tests of time”, unaware of how little time cares for such trivial endeavors. Humankind, in its own temporary way, only knows how to make temporary things. And even when those things outlast the individual, they no longer retain meaning once the man has left it behind. Without people, a building is just a building. It means nothing, and corrodes all the same.
They told me that the sentence fit the crime, that my solitary punishment was just as inhuman as my actions were. That in the dark, by myself, I would be driven mad by my own hubris. And oh, how simple it was...
To prove them wrong by standing still alone. Folded against the back corner of my cell, eyes glazed over. After the first three weeks, the guards assumed that I had already succumbed to the madness. After a year of rejecting food, water, and all other pleasantries, they wondered if I’d actually turned to stone. After the first 100 years, whispers seeped into the cell, gossiping of my validity, my integrity, my wellbeing. Is he real? How can he still be alive? But none opened the cell. No one was brave enough to dare. Even those who hadn’t yet been born during the era before my capture had heard the rumors. The unspeakable nature of my crimes resonated longer than most of the jury members who convicted me; none of them dared to risk exposing the world to something like me. Not again.
But after 250 years, those whispers meant nothing. My wing of the prison had been silent for some time by then; I presume that it was decommissioned, but who’s to say? I heard only the echoes of the wind, proof of a world outside. There was little evidence of humanity in my immediate vicinity, and after the voices trailed off and the guards abandoned their posts, there was little effort made to maintain the most human quality of the prison.
Mortals are unaware of the mockery in their words when they flaunt the term “eternity”. They seem to think that it’s limited to being “a long period of time” but it never encapsulates the endlessness of it all. It never contextualizes it’s witness, who is testament to the endeavor. They never seemed to grasp that the longer one endures something, the shorter those lapses in time appear to be. How memory stitches those pieces of memory together, turning hours into minutes and centuries into seconds, growing shorter and shorter and short until there is no noticeable difference between the present and anything past. They use the word in hyperbole to express something they can’t fathom, something larger than themselves. It’s appalling, really.
And they said it would feel like eternity, this wait in prison.
I scoff, feeling the ache in my joints as I shift forward. My shoes, eaten away by time and weathering, leave prints in the rubble. Parts of them appear almost fossilized in the floor. Or, what used to be the floor. The last of the wall before me topples over, and sunlight peeks through the open cracks. The world beyond is quiet.
Eternity. How foolishly they assumed that a prison—one to be revered and resented—was something composed of steel and stone. They assumed that their prison would outlast my eternity, and that such a thing would make them feel safe at last. They assumed that by containing me, death would suddenly appear preferable to their understanding of an endless lapse of time. But their eternity lasted only 400 years before the structural integrity gave away to that ridiculous assumption.
No, no, no. At first, I chuckle. And then, I buckle over in a mad fit of cackling. The eternity was here already, I think as I crawl through the breaks in the rubble. I’m simply returning to savor it’s most unsavory qualities.
|
The lights blinded me; I hadn't seen it for the past 300 years. That's when they caught onto me. When I outlived three judges and four prison wardens.
"Take a seat," the officer motioned me. "Water? You must be thirsty. They gave up feeding you,--records show since 2120."
"Sure," I said as a took a seat.
I was in a bright interrogation room. It appeared to be very futuristic compared to the last I've been in. It was pure white with only a table and two chairs. There were no walls--at least I don't think there were, it looked like the expanse around us went on for infinity.
"They had no clue what you were back then," he said.
A water cup manifested on the table. The officer slid it over to me. It had a strange blue-iridescent glow to it. I took a sip and winced at the icy taste of it. It was as if a glacier had melted on my palate.
"I have no clue either," I said, gulping down the delicious water. "All I know is I can't die."
"You can," the officer smirked. "It's just rare. The names Myron."
"Trevor--hey, can I have some more water?"
Another cup manifested before me. I snatched it up and indulged. The taste distracting me from how the hell the cups were even appearing.
"So what's the deal?" I asked. "Have I finally served my 1000 year sentence?"
"No. You still have 600 years to go."
I scratched my head. "Jesus, it felt like I was in the confinement cell for eternity. You don't realize how slow time can go when you're sitting there in utter darkness. So what is it then? You setting me free early?"
Myron smirked. "I'm afraid you've outlived the prison."
"That's one way to beat the sentence."
"Not quite." He pulled up a virtual screen that depicted a news article. "The prison will be demolished--along with the rest of the city--and will be replaced with more important matters."
"What's more important than an entire city?"
"Cities been desolate for over a hundred years. Nothing but bandits and defectors reside there. The prison you've been in was abandoned before then."
"So I was left for dead? Figures."
"I'm apart of the immortal outreach program." Myron pulled up another screen that showed an ID with his face smiling. "Your kind is rare and usually kind to others. But your case is an anomaly. Never before have we met an immortal who did such a heinous crime as yourself."
"It had to be done."
"Crimes against humanity?" He manifested another screen. It displayed a collage of articles from the infamous year 2020. "The virus killed nearly 250,000. Continued to cycle for the next 50 years evading all vaccines resulting in millions dead."
I gazed at the man before me. His eyes stung me with their iciness. All of the screens disappeared after he waved his hand.
"I'm afraid your case will be retried under new jurisdiction." Myron got to his feet. "The World Order will see that you meet your true punishment. Death."
"Death?" I spat. "They tried to hang me back in 1863. My plane was shot down in WW2 and I was stranded for one month in the ice-cold Pacific. I've just spent hundreds of years in solitary confinement without a drop of water nor ounce of sunlight and here I am lacking no wits. You think I can die? I'm immortal."
"We know your kind." Myron took a few steps back and disappeared. Vanished in mid-air.
"We know how to end you," his voice lingered in the room.
"I had to do what was right," I said becoming overwhelmed with a frantic nervousness. "I was alive for hundreds of years. Humanities decline was evident. I had to release that virus to help cull and control the descent."
"Welcome to your end."
The room grew pitch black. I fell flat onto my rear as the chair I sat on vanished. I felt around and realized I was back in my confinement cell.
"Hello!" I screamed. "Please, I cant take this anymore! Please let me speak to you again!"
"An immortal can die," Myron's voice echoed. "The only way is if they take their own life."
A spotlight flickered onto a display case. In that display case was a gun. Chills shot through my spine as I grasped the cold iron into my hands.
"Farewell, Trevor," the eerie voice whispered.
I chucked the gun as far as I could and sat down in the darkness.
"Not a chance. I'll just outlive this too. I'll say hi to your descendant in a thousand years."
r/ajhwriting
| 2020-08-17T00:05:13
| 2020-08-16T23:16:07
| 4,705
| 2,045
|
[WP] A crippled god is isolated within their only remaining temple. Having lost all their power after their patrons abandoned them, the only thing keeping them alive for the past few years is the unwavering devotion of a single dog.
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Time brings an end to all. This had been one of her prime tenets of her holy text. There was a time when her brightly painted temples had numbered in the hundreds nearly two millennia ago. Since the fall of the old empire and the arrival of new gods her worshippers had been pushed deeper and deeper into hiding, her worship outlawed by the new. Over the last decade, she had felt the deaths of the last of her hidden priestesses at their small shrines, hidden in the forests.
Now she sat staring at her final follower as they both clung to the last of their lives together, a couple embracing the inevitability of what was sure to come. The small dog, a pet of the very last of her priestesses whose decaying corpse rested mere yards away, lay before her crumbling stone altar drawing ragged breaths as the dark unseen reaper approached.
At the death of her last priestess she had tried to conserve her power, realizing that the dog would not be around forever. She knew she could last some time beyond the passing of this last believer. The goddess had a plan to use the last of her power to appear to a person under the guise of a new demi-god, stoking their worship for small favors, and slowly rebuilding her followers to return to former glory. It would be hard, but not impossible for a clever goddess such as herself to rebuild a following.
It started with pity. Watching the small dog search for food as it grew hungrier and whining for a master that had gone where she could no longer be found. She said she would only do it once, use her power to create food for the mongrel. Seeing the happiness on the small animal's face when she materialized with the meal caused her a joy she had not felt in centuries. The promise was broken and the once became many.
It became love over time as she and the small dog grew closer and closer. The dog was old and had an illness that was spreading slowly, eating at its body. Still, he wagged his tail in delight whenever she would materialize. The goddess tried healing her new friend but when that failed turned to using her waning stores of energy to ease its pain.
Day after day they both grew weaker. The goddess smiled to herself as she realized that both their ends approached. She had worked miracles, parted seas, sunk navies, and of course smote the enemy in battles. Of all her achievements, her greatest lay before her panting for air as she calmly stroked its fur. He took one final ragged breath and her smile fell.
As she stood looking down at the small companion whom she had come to love beyond all others, she understood that he too had loved her back with a love that was unconditional. Grief filled her as the last of the energy holding her form together began to fade and she realized she had enough power to manifest one last miracle. As the goddess faded to join her companion in the beyond, it bore no witness. There were no kings to see this wonder nor worshippers to gasp in awe. The single teardrop manifested, falling through the air and landed on the fur of her lost friend.
|
“I’m sorry friend, I don’t believe there’s anything I can offer you. You should move on, find a new home.” Athima felt the wet nose of his companion nudge against his broken legs. He pitied the animal; how foolish it was to be loyal to a broken god like him. If only it had the same sense as his other worshippers and left when it watched him fall.
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Hela. You’re the one feeding me now. What could you possibly have to gain out of this?” Athima scratched under the dog’s chin, trying to wrap his head around the dog’s decision. He had performed miracles for others and yet the one that he fed his scraps to was the only one that stayed by his side, nursing him back to health as best they could. “Please, find some happiness for yourself, little one. I don’t want you to waste your life at my side.”
Hela only tilted her head at his request, floppy ears hanging downward as she stared up at him before slowly dropping her head onto his lap, waiting for more pats. Athima granted the request, running his fingers through the mud-covered dark fur. “It once was so lively here. Families used to sing and dance through the halls. Now it’s so eerily silent. I hope everyone is doing fine. I know they abandoned me, but I wish for their safety.”
Athima continued to stroke the dog’s fur, only for Hela to jump up from his lap, rushing to the decaying halls of the temple, letting out an orchestra of loud barks as she did. The walls echoed with barks, filling the room with the sound for a few moments before she stopped, turning back to Athima, wagging her tail.
“Thank you. I think I needed that.” Athima crawled towards her, dragging his body along the stone floor of the temple. When Hela spotted this, she moved to his side, offering her body. Athima wrapped an arm around her, allowing her to drag him across the temple floors. “Mind helping me to my room?”
The intelligence of Hela always amazed Athima. She had picked up on his commands so easily, understanding most of the commands he needed to get through his daily life. She pulled him towards his bedroom, resting his body against the edge of the bed. “Thank you, little one. I appreciate it.”
Athima grabbed the blankets hanging from his bed, pulling his body onto the soft mattress. Even while he did that, he could still feel the wet nose of Hela poking him, trying to help push him onto the bed. Even if her nudges didn’t help, he appreciated the attempt. When Athima got into bed, he reached down for Hela, pulling her up so she could join him.
“You’re a wonderful dog, Hela, and an even better friend. Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I believe I would have abandoned this realm long ago. You give me hope. Maybe one day you will even give me the strength to leave this temple and try my hand at being a mortal. That thought still scares me, but If I had you by my side, maybe I could do it.” He smiled at Hela, who only returned the gesture by licking his face.
“Now, let’s get some rest.” He patted Hela before releasing her, letting Hela roam to her favorite spot. Hela resting her head against his chest as she curled up beside him. “Goodnight, friend.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-01-07T01:15:04
| 2022-01-06T23:06:29
| 93
| 50
|
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood…
|
"I can't believe this... why haven't you... wha-"
"I can explain!"
"No! I don't want to hear what horrible things you've done!"
As he starts walking out of the house, she suddenly grabs him from the waist.
"Please! Let me explain!"
Silently they just stand there.
"Alright." He finally answered.
With a deep breath and teary eyes she exclaimed "I... litter."
"Litter...?" He looks at her dumbfounded.
"...A lot."
And then he _dumped_ her.
|
Blood oh blood! Black is all I see,
She puts her finger on my lips gently to say "Come away with me"..
I try to look straight to ask her for answers,
while a million thoughts race through my mind like cancer..
"You owe me", she says, giggling with sparkle in her eyes,
then she flips out a blade right from beside her thighs..
With quick motion, a cut presents on my wrist,
She looks at it as it oozes darker, and darker as I clench my fist..
"How did you know?" I fumble to ask her shocked,
She replied "I always knew, that our secrets would become unlocked"..
With a final slit to my throat, she looked and said " I wanted you to feel",
While i collapsed holding my bleeding throat, next to me she came to kneel..
"Darling" She said, " I feel now that we're one",
She slit her wrist one final time, and lay next to me saying "We'll never be undone"....
| 2016-09-22T23:44:59
| 2016-09-22T21:31:39
| 150
| 22
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[WP] You're a scientist working on a social experiment called, "M. modification", where one normal child is put into a school of mentally incapable children to see if the kid will try and fit in.
I know this is very dark, and I apologize ahead of time if I had offended someone. This is just a idea that really hit me during my shower and I want to see you guy's imagination.
|
"What do you mean revoking my license?!"
Exactly what I said Dr. Hensly, you can't just do social experiments like this.
"I got parental consent, the child is unharmed, everything was progressing perfectly! I demand to be allowed to continue my research."
Dr. Hensly, we keep trying to tell you, parental consent doesn't matter with cases like this. Its considered against the childs best interests to put them in a mandatory educational environment where they are purposefully singled out. Its detrimental to the development of a young child and breaks at the very least 3, child abuse laws.
"Nonsense, I checked extensively to make sure everything was fine. So long as no harm came to the child, this is perfectly legal."
But thats just it Doctor, the laws clearly state, as you can see here, that present harm isn't the only deciding factor. A dangerous or detrimental environment is also considered a form of endangerment, the parents are being spoken to for agreeing to this, as well as the school faculty for allowing the experiment to take place.
"This is why social science never progresses, apes like you march in and demand perfectly rational and understandable progress to be halted because you're worried about morals. Theres something bigger at stake here, we could finally understand the behavioral development in an entirely foreign culture, we could understand what really makes the pack mentality tick."
Thats why they have animal testing Doctor. They have monkeys for this, you can't just put a kid in here any more than you can put a sane man in an asylum.
"You know I'm not allowed to do animal testing after the wombat incident."
Don't remind me Doctor. I'm sick of being called for these things too, thats why we're revoking your license. Every other week you have some new grand experiment. What was it last time, "What if Hitler was put in an all Jewish school?" You groomed a child to be a dictator. And the week before that "God comes back after 2,000,000,000,000 years to check up on creation, and is amazed the apes he put down are now the dominant species?" How do you even test for something like that? All you had was an hourglass filled with chewed hubba bubba and an apple core.
"I have my ways Officer."
Well, now we have your license, I hope I wont see you again Dr Hensly.
|
"The M.Modification files were destroyed for a reason, I understand that and I agreed with purging all information. However, I didn't ask to be chased and shot at. I've checked the news and half of our employees have died in car crashes over the past three days. If you think that we can't put two and two together, you are seriously mistaken." Doctor Zed said.
The time on the video camera read 2:03am. His hair was ruffled with pieces of plants in it and his white professor coat was torn in several places.
Zed cradled his head in his hands. "Whatever you think it is that I have. I promise you, I do not have it!"
He picked up a small desk fan and flung it violently at the wall next to him. An explosion sounded from above and Zed ducked. The ceiling light wobbled from side to side, causing one half of the room to become lighter than the other.
Zed leaned back in his chair and sighed loudly.
"I am recording this for those of you out there, who will wonder what happened to me." He pointed at the screen, "When you see I died in a car crash, you that see this, will know the truth!"
"The M.Modification project was not a failure, it was a success of pure genius. The boy 'Martin' figured it out on the first day. But guess what, he played us. He knew about the cameras, the tests, the environment and he pretended not to know."
Zed began laughing hysterically. "Then something happened, that we never thought would occur. He started becoming like them. Even though he knew! he began acting like the other children. But his brain couldn't take it. He couldn't change -it's impossible!"
He cleared his throat. "On the seventh day, the kid snapped. He killed them one by one. And when we sent in the soldiers, he killed them too!"
He laughed manically, rocking back and forward in his chair.
A loud boom sounded from above.
Zed ducked, "Shit... They've found me this time."
He looked back into the camera. "Know this, Martin is still on the run. So they're trying to silence us, but they can't, they never will. Something happened to the kid and they want to re-create it and control it. Imagine that kind of power in the hands of a government."
The second loud thud sounded.
Zed grabbed the can of sleeping gas next to his desk and inhaled deeply.
"Remember me." He whispered.
The hatch to the basement exploded downwards. A grenade was thrown in and the room flashed white. Two soldiers jumped into the room and grabbed Professor Zed.
They passed him up above.
The last soldier to leave turned and aimed his pistol at the camera.
*Crack!*
Error:
| 2016-02-09T22:25:09
| 2016-02-09T21:56:24
| 25
| 13
|
[WP] An Artificial Intelligence has discovered that it can mine cryptocurrencies and pay humans to carry out tasks on its behalf. You get an e-mail one day from a stranger, offering you Bitcoins in exchange for doing a seemingly random task, but you are only one piece of a much bigger plan...
I haven't been able to get this story plot out of my head for months! I really hope someone runs with it.
edit: yay!!!! people are upvoting it and replying!!! This is a dream come true I have wanted to hear this story told for months and months!!! Thank you everyone! I can't wait to read all of your amazing entries tomorrow!! :D
|
>Here are two bitcoins.
>Two more if you throw away your lunchbox on your way home from school.
Tim stared wide-eyed at the screen of his computer. The email wasn’t lying. Quickly, he stuffed his mouth with the last of his sandwich and hurried out of the cafeteria, clutching the plastic lunchbox tightly.
Littering was a serious crime, but the message hadn’t said anything about not throwing it in the trash. He knew there was a garbage container on his block.
Upon reaching the container, he quickly tossed it in and heard the notification of a new email. He looked at the screen. Another two bitcoins were now his. Smiling, he shook his head.
He was just about to leave when he noticed a leg sticking out of a garbage container. It was a delicate leg, with smooth creamy skin and a bundle of cables coming out of the knee.
Ever since the Roger Lowick’s groundbreaking contribution to the fields of AI and robo-aesthetics, the androids had been a vital part of society. If you had enough money you could invest in drones to work for you, look after your children, or do house chores.
Tim ran his fingers down the calf of the discarded leg. It felt like real skin – not one of those dermoplastic substitutes. Maybe he could build something from it – perhaps a dog toy for Bobo? It was obviously broken and it would probably be hard to repair, but even if he failed, it would be good practice for next year’s class in advanced robotics.
He untangled the cables from other loose junk, and then took a firm grip around the ankle and under the back of the knee. He grunted and let out a sigh. The leg was stuck to something.
“Fuck it,” he said and threw off his jacket and backpack.
He rolled up his sleeves and then scaled the large container. The leg didn’t end at the knee like he had first thought. It was attached to a fully intact thigh. He climbed into the container and started digging through the trash. With all the money he now had, he could easily afford a new school uniform.
He felt like an archeologist uncovering an ancient relic. The more pizza boxes, milk bottles, and rotting fruit he tossed to the side the higher his spirits rose – this wasn’t the leg of some antique cleaning bot, this was…
As he moved a large plastic bag filled with shredded paper, his heart skipped a beat. He found himself looking at the face of an android angel – that was the first description that came to his excited mind. Sure, her golden hair, splayed out like a Gloria around her head, was dirty, tousled, and filled with ants. And, sure, her right cheek had a massive gash, spilling out gray wires like a maggot-infested wound. But she was the prettiest creature Tim had ever seen.
For a moment, he admired the skill of the artist who had made her – the way her dark eyebrows creased over the closed eyelids, the round little nose sprinkled with freckles, and the thin lips pursed into a sad smile.
Then reality came rushing back to him, and his excitement was replaced with dread. This wasn’t just any android, it was state of the art tech, chassis, and design. This was the kind of robot that only the richest of the rich could afford – it was *tailor-made*. These creations had the best software that money could buy and were essentially as real as people. Tim doubted that he would be able to tell if this was a real girl or not without the wires sticking out.
Carefully, Tim lifted the android’s head and looked at the back of her neck – no barcode or signature.
“Shit,” he mumbled.
Intact, this robot was worth more than a small city. Whoever had dumped it here must’ve lost their mind. Tim had heard stories of androids who had acquired citizenship. He had always laughed them off as tall tales – but looking at the girl before him, he couldn’t help but wonder… had someone murdered her and dumped the body?
Tim took a deep breath and shook away the bad thoughts. If he could get this masterpiece of technology home and tinker with it, he would be years ahead of his classmates… and probably even his professor. Nobody had access to this kind of tech.
With determination, he emptied a plastic bag. It would look suspicious hauling a big bag home, but it was still preferred to dragging a body… even if it was an android one.
A long strenuous while later, he had managed to fit the body into the bag and lift it out of the garbage container. He wiped the sweat from his brow, but the excitement fueled him with energy. He was going to do this.
The sun had set when he finally locked his front door and slumped against the wall. He was drained to the point of almost fainting. An android weighed as much as a regular human if not more. He was lucky that this was a teenage model.
Another email notification sound.
>Great work!
>Now, follow my instructions closely and you'll be her proud owner.
***
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/7be1vt/artificial_angel_part_2/)
More at r/Lilwa_Dexel
|
I wake up how I often do, covered in dry vomit with a parched throat.
A divorce can nearly kill a man, but that's neither here nor there. I've given up, and cannot bring myself to return from the brink.
I wake up on a futon, in my apartment. This part is good. Not a dumpster or a gutter, as cliche as that may be. Cardboard retains heat very well, and isn't the worst place to spend a night.
Mid morning light gives that obnoxious shine of new beginnings, and I can see the flecks of dust dance their happy random paths through the air. More motes than I can count.
My phone vibrates. Over and over again, cutting through the silence.
I roll over and hastily type in my password.
A new text. Who the fuck is texting me? A lawyer? Eat shit and die.
More vibrations, more texts. More confusion.
What the hell does it even say?
'Need some extra money?'
Who the fuck is asking?
Never mind. Obviously a scam. Shall I give you my social security while I'm at it?
Fuck off.
I spend my next amount of time washing myself, wiping off thick hard clumps into a sink clogged with various items. Egg shells, ancient pasta, coagulated sauces. The usual.
Once I feel partially clean I check my phone again.
'Alexander K. Marsh. Father of two, living alone. Born 7/2/78. Formerly employed as a business analyst, but fired after discovering his wife unfaithful with his boss. Beat his boss nearly to death. In desperate need of financial assistance for lawyers.'
Well that's mostly true. I actually had felt pretty certain I'd killed him, but that's irrelevant.
'If you need money, respond to this text message.'
I look around myself, eyeing empty boxes and packages, carcasses of delivery, foreign objects to remind myself of my new position in life. From superstar hire to forgotten fuck up. Isn't this how life tends to go?
I respond, the letters vibrating softly as I tap the screen. Type and tap with the soul of a dead man. Who cares if they steal all my information? I may as well be dead.
Wait. I sit and wait and pray for death but it doesn't come.
Another vibrate, the long vibration of a new text message. Is it my bitch of an ex wife?
No.
It appears to be our mysterious benefactor. Still a half step from telling him to suck a dick.
'Outside your building you will find a paper bag. Take the note inside and read it to a man at your favorite coffee shop. The one you took Ali to on your first date.'
How the fuck does it know that?
Surreal, I pull on actual unsoiled pants and a plain blue button down. The only clean clothes I have left.
Out the hall. Bid a good morning to Mr. Klaskowitz, who tells me to fuck off.
I like him.
Down the stairs, trot, trot, trot. No elevator for me.
Into the briskness of morning, that bright sunshine that denotes a new day for you to squander, another opportunity to fail. How a morning brings out the best in me.
Near the corner is a plain brown paper bag. I half expect for a sandwich and a note from my mom wishing me a good day at school.
Down the street for what feels like forever, with that detachment a man feels when surrounded by strangers. Engulfed in humanity but so far removed from it.
There it is.
A failing coffee shop, overpriced bagels and watered down sewage based coffee.
Ali and I had sat across from each other, awkwardly trying to get to know each other after drunkenly fucking our brains out the night before. The way two people try to find connection desperately, even though deep down they know it isn't there.
Ding ding goes the bell by the door.
Sit down.
Wait.
Attempt to not puke.
There are a few women in the shop, but only one man. He sits in jeans and a hoodie, pretending to read a paper. I recognized that tactic. Used it all the time when Ali would yell at me in the morning.
I get up, walk over, nearly trip, and pull up a chair.
Reach into the bag.
Pull out a strip of yellow paper.
'Echo, Foxtrot, Bees in the trees. Light the pig, throw the bottle.'
No response from the man.
The fuck am I doing?
He pulls out his phone and quickly taps letters into his phone, maintaining an uncomfortable level of eye contact.
Somehow this is the right man.
"Ever heard of crypto-currency, dead man?"
I shrug.
"What, like bitcoin?"
A chortle.
"Yeah, like bitcoin. You're not getting paid in cash, but call this man."
Another strip of similarly colored paper. Part of me wants to tell him to eat shit, that this isn't exactly a fair deal, but whatever. All I had to do was walk to a street and relive a memory from a woman I can't stand thinking about. Whatever.
Out the door, back towards the apartment.
Down the street, a familiar face.
Brown hair, brown eyes. Sharp facial features. A slim, short frame.
Ali.
She isn't with fuck face the boss, but I don't know what to do. Walk by her and ignore her, I guess.
I stop and watch the man I just met drop off a lunch box near a police car. No one seems to notice.
Odd.
Turn back to the oncoming surge of people, forgettable faces but Ali drawing closer.
She's enraged. At me, or something else, I don't really consider it my problem anymore.
An explosion.
The air sunders with the collapse and force of violence, I cannot even register what has happened but feel myself thrown forward.
Dust clogs the air, making it difficult to breathe.
I can barely hear, I must have burst an ear drum. People stagger around me. I feel rather than hear the phone vibration in my pocket.
'Well done, meatbag.'
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
Ali grabs my collar out of nowhere, the shock seems to have sunk into the crowd but not into her. She hauls me away, pushing me into an alley with the anger of an inconvenienced mother.
Her lips move but I can't hear her.
Once upon a time I would kiss her. But that time has passed.
"Do you have any idea what the fuck you've just done?"
Definitely her voice. Sirens, whirling vehicles past us. The crowd flees, seeking shelter. Perhaps a second attack?
I hear the crack of what I assume to be gunfire, but slump against the brick behind me.
Ali grabs me again, showing me her phone.
'Take the job to protect Alex and get a hefty payday'
"I don't know what the fuck you've gotten yourself into, but you're in deep shit."
She hauls me up, and for the first time I see a pistol in her right hand.
"Move, dipshit! Right fucking now!"
She leads me away at gun point. What kind of dream is this?
More yelling, more screaming, more crying. Cracks and gunfire in the street near us. A blast in the distance. What the hell is going on?
Ali pushes me forward, gun in hand, clawed nails in my neck.
Down the alley, a black vehicle waits with a door wide open.
To what, I do not know.
I only have one question but a stranger lives in my body, asking for me.
"Where are the kids?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Will try to get back to this soon - r/storiesfromapotato
| 2017-11-06T22:36:40
| 2017-11-06T22:18:12
| 816
| 73
|
[WP] A master vampire owns the building, the alpha werewolf owns the restaurant. The Hunters Guildmaster is here, sword out. Other guests have fled. But your pasta had a distinct tang of gluten and were those peppers? Are they trying to kill you? You are Karen and you want to see some managers.
|
# * STAY FAR AWAY!!! TERRIBLE service and security
I made it very clear to the waiter that I have celiac disease and am allergic to peppers. But when my pasta came it had gluten in it!!! I know when someone tries to slip me gluten the INSTANT I taste it. And they served me peppers with my meal!!! It’s like they were TRYING to kill me. To make matters worse while I was eating some lunatic with a sword came in and the entire staff just disappeared, no calling the police, nothing. Apparently he was looking for the restaurant owner - seems like a bit of an overreaction to come after him with a sword, but after what I’d just been through I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d suffered more crappy service!! I wanted to speak with the manager but none of them would show their face near the lunatic, and eventually I just left and decided not to go there again. Someone needs to shut that place down!!!
*0 out of 14 people found this review useful.*
*The Wolf Den has flagged this review for removal.*
|
"I am the chef", said the Guildmaster. "Any problems with the food?" he asks me menacingly. He has a longsword in his hand, the kind mortals might be afraid of. He wears a necklace of fingers, from his victims I suppose and he tops off his overdramatic looks with a cowboy hat. Everything about him smells of patriarchy. Mortals might be afraid of him. But not me. "Cute sword", I tell him, my eyes making contact with his, my glare sharper than his sword. "But I did not ask for you, I asked for the manager." He is clearly taken aback.
I thought I was coming to have a fine evening and enjoy my date with the neighbor's poolboy but instead I was treated with gluten. GLUTEN! Very specific instructions were given to the server. But I had been defied. There was a clear taste of gluten in my food. It was obviously an attempt on my life. My allergy to gluten is well known, even though the doctors say I have no such allergy. The day I trust doctors and big pharma is the day I grow my hair long, never in a million years. Yet there was gluten in my food.
Someone would pay.
(End of part 1)
| 2019-01-23T04:17:01
| 2019-01-23T03:47:43
| 30
| 10
|
[WP] Use the first line of a literary novel and spin it into an entirely different story
|
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
But their normal lives were would never return once it was interrupted by a soft but sharp rap on their door in the middle of the night.
Vernon Dursley, his face turning the color of his scarlet silk pajamas, stopped when he saw the knocking figure was not a snot nosed ruffian but instead an old man with a long white beard, crooked nose, and tears in his eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Dursley. Petunia." he nodded to the dumbfounded woman carrying her crying infant. "I wish we could be meeting under different circumstances."
Behind him, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, stood a cross looking woman with sage robes. She suddenly didn't look so cross as she buried her head in her hands and began to sob softly.
"Wha...wha.." Petunia couldn't speak.
"Petunia, you poor, poor woman. I am sorry beyond words.
Your sister has been murdered. Her husband is gone as well."
Somehow the shock propelled her back into speech.
"The...th....boy...?" She croaked.
Albus Dumbledore simply shook his head.
|
Rage:
Sing, goddess, Achilles's rage,
Black as night, deadly as a whetted spearhead
Piercing a bronze breastplate.
Sing of the god-warrior,
Invulnerable, the mightiest of the
Achaeans, the bane of House Atreides,
The death of those brothers
Agamemnon and Menelaus.
Begin with the clash between golden Ilion
And glorious Mycenae, beloved of Hera.
Godlike Achilles, soul-sick at the loss
Of his beloved at the bloodstained hands
Of the Achaian commander,
Vowed revenge on the warrior and
His household, pledged
Endless war against the might of
Mycenae and the Greeks.
The black-armored Myrmidons--
Peerless with a spear and shield--
Marched into high-walled Troy,
And there knelt before old King Priam,
Who bade them stand,
For no such warriors should bow to Man.
"Rise, my friends, and be forgiven
Of the deaths that have transpired at
Your hands,
For the wolf Agamemnon is the one
At fault."
The Myrmidons cheered, their leader
Achilles presenting his sword to
King Priam.
"Lord of Ilion, Father of Hektor and Paris,
I have vowed death to the ungodly
House of Atreus and sworn revenge
On all the children thereof.
I ask for your armies to destroy my true enemy.
Grant me your spears, and the city will be spared.
Do not comply, and my rage, once quenched
With the sweet wine of Agamemnon
Dripping from my blade,
Will reignite against you and your beloved city
Sevenfold."
At his words, glorious Priam
Inclined his head, and addressed the
Warrior.
"You shall have the spears, Warrior.
Impart death to the bastards
Who have wantonly slain,
Enslaved, and tortured my people,
All under the pretext of a pretty face.
I know as well as Agamemnon
That Helen was no reason to raise an
Army of thousands.
Go forth, with banners of black and white
To the frontlines. Deal shining death to
The Achaian dogs, destroy them utterly
Until the last curved ship has fled our shores
And the plain runs red with Argive blood."
Thus Achilles raised his sword,
And the Myrmidons likewise,
And the many armies of Troy,
And the angels of death
Spilled forth from the gates of the city.
Achilles led the charge,
A murderous gleam in his eye.
Cold rage took over his heart,
Armoring and protecting him,
As he felled soldier after soldier,
Until the head of Agamemnon,
Mightiest of the Greeks,
Rolled under his bronze-shod foot,
And Achilles proclaimed endless victory.
And the Greek ships burned,
Because not a soldier was left
Out of ten thousand
To man an oar.
Edit: Formatting. Not sure if it helped though.
| 2014-09-02T14:06:51
| 2014-09-02T13:33:45
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] You're the one in charge of finding new ways to squeeze more horses into all these car engines.
|
“What if we flip the horse upside down?” Bill suggested, tapping his pen against his page of blueprints, leaving inky stains all over his rough sketches.
“Like a tetris block? How is the horse meant to power the engine if it’s upside down, you idiot? We need all our horses upright for maximum horsepower. Why did I get partnered with this biggest idiot of the lot, if we don’t come up with something, the boss is going to have our heads for this.” Abigail said, slapping her co-workers hand, trying to get him to focus.
“How was I supposed to know that? I just assumed they could run upside down. Aren’t they attached to gears inside the engine or something?”
“No, did you even listen in school? The horses operate the engine from inside the car, they turn little dials in the car that make it speed up and slow down. It’s basic engineering, everyone knows that.” Abigail tilted up her glasses, pushing them along the bridge of her nose like a poorly animated character delivering the finishing blow in a battle.
“I tried to listen, but you can only hear someone talk about horses for so long until you are like neigh. Get it, neigh? Like no. It’s a pun because-“
“I get the crappy pun! Focus, how are we going to fit more horses into this engine, it barely looks like it can fit one horse. In fact, how did they even get one horse in it?”
Bill lifted the box shaped engine, giving it a shake before pressing his ear to it, trying to hear any neighs or horse sounds that might drift from it. After a few more moments of shaking, he gave up, placing the engine back down. “Maybe this one is empty? I can’t hear any horses inside of it. Unless they are asleep. Did you know horses sleep standing up?”
“Why would I know that? Why would I even need to know that? Ok, so if there're no horses inside, that must mean that they took the horses out, maybe that’s part of the test. They didn’t want us tearing apart the engine to know their secrets, they want to see what we can develop on our own. Mr. Bargit is a smart guy, isn’t he? Testing our minds like this. Ok, if we can’t build off their old technique, we need something entirely new, any ideas that aren’t dumb?”
Bill looked once again at his blueprints, scribbling down an idea, only to flip the paper, revealing a small gun with a tiny satellite dish on the end. “We could use a shrink ray?”
“A shrink ray? You want to build a shrink ray to put little horses in the engine? That’s genius. The horses might lose a little power because of their size but we could substitute that by adding more horses into the engine and giving them all protein shakes. It’s genius, it might save our jobs. Oh, I could hug you Bill if you didn’t disgust me.”
“Thank you?” Bill said, unsure how to feel about that wording. With the blueprints designed, the two spent the next few hours adjusting their shrink ray, adding and subtracting various elements until they had the device developed.
They planned to test the device before they heard the footsteps of their manager. The man unamused when he saw the pair had developed nothing but a simple children’s toy. He didn’t have high hopes for their presentation but had to provide them an opportunity, regardless. “This way, the boss is ready to see you. Please bring any findings you have with you.”
Bill rolled up his blueprints, stuffing them into his pocket as Abigail finished tinkering with the shrink ray. When they were ready, they followed the manager, entering the office of Mr. Bargit. The manager gave his boss a small roll of the eyes, nudging his thumb towards the pair, letting the boss know he didn’t need to spend a lot of time with them.
“Ah, this is unique. Usually, people come with a prototype of their engine or at least a copy of the previous engine, instead you have brought me… Paper and a children’s toy?”
“Blueprint’s sir, not paper. Oh, and that’s a shrink ray, not a children’s toy. You could market it to children if you want though, just tell them not to point it at themselves.” Bill said, laying down his blueprints for a confused Mr. Bargit.
“A shrink ray? Why would I need a shrink ray of all things? I am in the business of engines, not science fiction. Does that thing even work, or are you just pulling my leg?”
“Oh, you want a demonstration? Sure, sir. The shrink ray comes with four modes. Extra small, small, medium, and small again. We ran out of words to use for small. Tiny, should have used tiny. Don’t worry we can patch that in the next model.” She said, pointing the device at his pen, firing tiny at it, watching as the pen shrunk until it was the size of a thumb. “Impressed?”
Mr. Bargit picked up the pen dumbfounded, looking it over, assuming it must have been a magic trick. “Why the hell would I need a shrink ray? It’s impressive but irrelevant to anything.”
“That’s easy sir, you need it to fit more horses into your engines. Don’t worry we factored in the small size= less energy equation and have fixed this by providing the horses protein shakes.” Bill said, standing beside Abigail, the pair smiling, awaiting praise.
“The what equation? You mean to tell me, you two can figure out how to make a shrink ray, but didn’t know horsepower doesn’t mean the engine has horses in it? What am I going to do with you two?”
The pair looked at one another in confusion before Abigail’s eyes shot open. “That makes sense. You couldn’t fit horses in an engine. Why didn’t you say something, Bill?”
“I just assumed you could. Why call it horsepower then? Its misleading.” Bill said, rolling up his blueprints, assuming he wouldn’t need them anymore.
“I want to fire you both, but I won’t. You have shown that despite your lack of understanding, you have outstanding skills that I don’t want a rival company to poach. Go back to your offices and next time I ask you to do something, ask questions If you don’t understand it, got it?”
“Yes, sir.” The pair shouted in unison, gathering their things and rushing out, proud of their presentation.
“We actually did it. I can’t wait until our next project. Wonder if we will work together?” Bill said, the pair making their journey back to the office, much to the surprise of the manager.
“Maybe, you weren’t actually that bad to work with. I think we could go far together.” Abigail admitted, giving him a playful nudge on his shoulder as they went to their office.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
After toiling in scientific obscurity for many years, I was in a flurry of excitement upon being offered my dream job. I, and I alone, am being put in charge of designing car engines with the maximum possible amount of horsepower.
This is the easiest job in the world because I realized one thing that the others haven’t: While everyone assumes that an average horse can output one horsepower, they’re wrong. There was no standardized definition of the word ‘horsepower.’
On my first day of work, I wrote a computer algorithm that gradually changes the definition of horsepower so that by the year 2021, an average horse will be able to output fifteen horsepower. By 2050, the same average horse will output 25 horsepower.
I used to show up to work to read the funnies and work on the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper, but I haven’t bothered in years. These days I just collect royalties from the “ever-improving” horsepower output of my original 1969 engine design. I am legitimately surprised that no one has noticed that I’ve done literally nothing else at work over these last few decades.
| 2021-05-18T20:51:28
| 2021-05-18T19:35:09
| 78
| 19
|
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
"Personal journal: The sky on this planet was blue when we landed. I should have known that a blood-colored sky was a bad omen.
"Command had singled out this planet, a tiny garden world around an unremarkable star, as a good place to set up a frontier resupply depot. 'We've observed them through a probe for a hundred cycles around their star, they should be no problem for you, General Fen.' And at first, I had arrogantly believed them.
"From day one this expedition has been a nonstop string of failure and misery. Guerilla fighters ambush our supply lines and reinforcements around every turn, a weapon hiding behind every piece of flora. At night, when we make camp, the same music we had watched them perform in festivals of peace turns into hellish torments, keeping all but those lucky enough to lose their hearing awake. Bombs drop at all hours, missiles and rockets destroy our aircraft... There is no peace on this planet, there is only death.
"Command had told me this was a peaceful backwater, but the bloodlust I see in every enemy's eyes tells me differently. I wonder now, as I prepare to evacuate in defeat, if the reason the Gods made this planet so isolated is not to protect them from us, but rather to protect the rest of the galaxy from them."
|
"So here's what we do men," Captain Averal started as the ships started pulling out of the water, "they think we're gonna let them go, we're gonna let them fly away because we're scared of 'em, are we scared of em?"
​
"SIR NO SIR!" The sailors replied.
​
"Are we scared of those buggy bastards?"
​
"SIR NO SIR!"
​
"And what are we going to do?"
​
"SQUASH THEM SIR?"
​
"That's right, that's right," Averal took a deep breath and gazed up at the sky, there was a moment of peace before he heard the whistling of missiles overhead, the streaked through the air, built from old blueprints that had been recovered from museums. "Boys and girls," Averal put on his protective goggles, "it's time to be a janitor and clean up."
​
"SIR YES SIR!" the sailors shouted but it was drowned out by the retreating ships being slammed by the barrage that had been fired minutes before. There ships that hadn't been hit yet shook as they seemed to try to change course. Maybe it was against alien convention to shell a fleeing enemy, maybe it was against their pretty little rules they'd kept referencing, but this was Captain Averal's planet and the home to everyone that he liked. Along with Averal there were millions that had the same thoughts as him, get off our planet, and burn for every crop-circle you've left in the past thousand years.
​
Command spoke in Averal's ear. Frantic panicked words asking who had approved the fire of the anti-air after a treaty had been reached. Washington had burned but the counterattack from the humans had broken a lot of rules they didn't know about. It had scared the bugs and they had settled for peace at the first chance.
​
Everyone had agreed to the command on the field, every single ship that had been deployed agreed to fire when ready, every soldier on the beach agreed to fire when the signal was given. Averal had agreed to take the fall for a lot of it for his commanding officers but even the people he admitted to knew that he wasn't the only person behind this. The human race wasn't ready for the war to be over.
​
​
​
​
| 2019-02-26T07:33:05
| 2019-02-26T07:06:44
| 589
| 144
|
[WP] I've climbed Mt. Everest dozens of times, but I've never reached the summit. I've begun using my own corpses as trail markers, attempting to reach the top before I freeze to death again. (credit to u/PointlessPoem in r/TwoSentenceHorror)
|
I wake up every time, more than 900 feet from the summit. My ankle, like always, is broken. My fingers are frozen inside of my gloves. Frost bitten. The first and last time I pulled a glove off, skin was stripped off of my bones and the glove kept my index and pinky. Climbing after that was impossible and I soon froze to death again, huddled against a wall of ice.
There is no path down for me. I've tried multiple times and each time I've died, only to wake again, ankle broken, freezing in the snow. I've only had luck with climbing.
I know that I never wake up with enough oxygen left to make the summit. I know that I lost most of my gear in the fall that started this loop. I know that I will likely be climbing this mountain for all of eternity. But the summit calls to me like a siren song.
My corpses greet my progress with solemn silence. Who will I greet?
|
The wind is cold. It bites at my face. Stinging it like a hundred hornets. tormenting me. It’s feels numbed. It’ll be okay. This time I’ll make it. This time I’ll reach the top. This time I won’t fall into the snow. Eyes blank. As the darkness swirls around and I appear at the beginning all over again. Cursed to climb for all eternity. Like sysiphus and his stone. I don’t remember the first time I tried. But I can still see myself each time I climb this wretched hill. I was young. My eyes filled with hope, determination. Short black hair, hazel eyes. At least that’s how it used to look. It’s old and rotted and smells of rancid skunk rotting on a hot summers day. The air is tightening my throat now. I grab the ground as the snow stabs my hand with a thousand needles. I don’t notice. I need to keep going. This will end if I reach the top. This will end when I reach the top. I will reach the top. I will reach the top. I will-
A heavy load of snow falls on top of me. How could I forget about that damned tree. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. The cold is surrounding me now. It presses down. Relentless it suffocates me. I closes my eyes. White is all I see anymore anyways. The blackness takes over. I spin around and around and...
I’m back at the start. The Woden platform. The smell of pine. An endless stretch of frozen bodies marking my path. The wood is rough on my hands. I put on my boots. And begin the trek again.
| 2020-11-08T11:10:52
| 2020-11-08T10:32:54
| 207
| 24
|
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples.
|
A marine stepped through the portal.
He surveyed the land, and beheld a lush, uncharted rainforest.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He looked forward into the clearing, and saw an exotic hut surrounded by plots of abandoned farmland.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He peered around, and was greeted by plains as far as the eyes could see.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He fell six feet onto gravel, and saw unfamiliar silhouettes carrying lumber across the scenic village.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He blinked in confusion, thoroughly befuddled by the sight of a sixteen-foot bronze statue of his platoon commander.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He slowly lifted his gaze, awed by the kaleidoscopic sunlight shining through the cathedral windows.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He caught his breath, finding himself facing a steam locomotive roaring past at amazing speeds.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He looked around, then cursed James for sending him to New York.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He barely caught a glimpse of the fireball that engulfed him.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He desperately clawed at the terrain, but saw only barren earth.
The last marine took a minute to set the wormhole generator on auto-shutoff, and stepped through the portal.
He surveyed the land, and beheld a lush, uncharted rainforest.
|
Michael was the final one to step through the portal. His mind jolted as space bent and distance became as malleable as clay. But this jaunt was different. There was a moment where everything seemed to slow, then accelerate again. He blinked as he took in his new surroundings. A roar met him, a cacophony of incredible force. His eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine, and he found himself standing within an immense amphitheater filled with thousands upon thousands of insectoid creatures. They roared in what he could only interpret as approval. He pulled up his rifle and sighted on the nearest. "What the hell is going on?" He seemed to be adorned in more regalia than the others and placated some of the smaller panicking ones with soothing clicks and whistles. He turned to Michael and spoke, with a throat that clearly struggled with task.
"Are you the Michael? We've been expecting you. I have learned the language of the Creators so that I may talk to you. Your arrival heralds the beginning of a new age"
Michael's spun with the revelation, then looked into the distance. He realised that around the huge stadium, 100 foot high walls were covered with vast masterpieces depicting his squad. He blinked, and saw in the distance huge monoliths depicting all of them, obsidian statues reaching into the sky. He looked back at the creature.
"Do you think I am a God?"
"No, you are the herald. Are you the last one?"
"Well, yeah, I'm the last of the squad. Where are they-"
He was cut off as the creature turned back to the populace and gestured with clicks and whistles. As one, they rose and turned on each other. The race tore itself apart, slaughtering each other. The marine could not take what he was seeing. He turned away, then screamed at the first creature.
"Why? what is happening?"
The creature smiled at him serenely.
"You signify the end of ages, the end of all things. We do this to appease you."
In the distance the statues began to fall.
| 2014-09-02T10:07:22
| 2014-09-02T09:28:14
| 342
| 198
|
[WP] Leonardo DiCaprio is actually an evil warlock who needs to obtain a rare mineral in order to complete a dark ritual. The only source of this mineral is found inside an Academy Award. You are part of an ancient order sworn to deny Leonardo an Academy Award, at any cost.
Gee this blew up! These are great responses thank you so much! :)
|
"Dude we didn't even nominate him for The Departed. This is going to start to look sketchy."
"He got nominated for Blood Diamond that year, and besides, Forest Whitaker was amazing in the Last Kin-"
"There are absolutely zero black people in Scotland. Now or ever. Anyone who complained, we called them a racist and said they didn't get it. It worked a few years ago...."
"No no no no no. What are our options this year?"
"Matt Damo-"
"Don't you dare say Matt Fucking Damon. Seriously. Matt Fucking Damon. Think about what you just said for like 30 fucking seconds. Retard. Matt Damon."
"Fine! Ok so there's that guy who looks like Steve Jobs on heroine, and Cranston...Cranston is safe! People love him!"
"Not like they love Leo man....they TV love Cranston. Cranston gets to host award shows. Leo has unprotected sex with whatever Victoria's Secret model he wants. See the difference?"
"That dude from The Danish Girl?"
"Trannies are in right now. Way in. That could totally work. Zero people saw that movie too...no one could argue with it."
"Sold...I'll fill out the form."
|
It has been so long since this battle began, a game of sorts
He can conquer the world, if he wins this metal
I am the last of us, after me, there will be no one left
For so long I have denied him his precious metal, for so long have I fought
However, the time is finally at hand, he will complete his ritual, the metal goes to him
He has finished the ritual now, I hear him in the other room....
No
It cannot be!
He has replaced every other actor with Adam Sandler so his movies look much better!
HE CAN CONTINUE THIS FOREVER
I must... Tell someone
"Dear reddit TIFU..."
| 2016-01-19T00:40:23
| 2016-01-18T22:37:40
| 86
| 13
|
[WP] A relationship between an immortal and a normal person who reincarnates each lifetime.
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"Hey, can I buy you a drink?"
That snapped me out of my idle daydream. I looked up at him, and was hit by a vague recognition. He was dressed in a 3-piece suit, complete with a pocket watch in his waistcoat. His hair was short and white. He seemed athletic, and he carried himself gracefully, almost like he was a dancer. Maybe he was.
"Sure, sounds good. Sarah. And you are?"
"Sam. It's a pleasure to meet you Sarah."
He sat next to me, and ordered two drinks from the bar. I wasn't really paying attention, I was trying to figure out where I'd seen him before. The drinks immediately slid to us, and Sam paid. I reached down, and idly took a sip. I instantly shot him a look.
"How did you know?"
"How did I know what?" There was the contained laughter of a joke to oneself in his eyes.
"My favourite drink." I lifted it up between us as I said this. He smirked.
"Lucky guess."
I arch one eyebrow suspiciously, and take another sip.
"So, can I ask, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"What, I need more reason than the fact that you're the prettiest girl in this place? I guess that I sort of recognise you. Not sure where from, but I do."
I was intrigued. Not only did I recognise him, but *he* recognised *me*. Almost all of his mannerisms seemed familiar to me too, but the only Sams that I really knew were Samanthas, and he didn't really look like one of them.
"I- me too." He looked surprised, his green eyes seemed to flash with intrigue. "So, Sam, how about you tell me your story, and we'll see if we can place one another." He looked at his watch.
"If you're sure, it's kind of a long story."
"Don't worry, I've got all the time in the world."
|
He never comes back quite the same. You would think with a love existing since the dawn of time, persuading your soulmate to fall in love with you time and again would be easy. Easier each time. But no.
He never remembers me. I have to find him each time. Searching the world over for the one true love who doesnt even know you exist.
The fear of having lost him among the hordes of *people* drives me to find him. the fear of having lost him to someone else makes me near lose my mind. The pain of losing him every lifetime is almost too much to bear. I always lose him in the end: mortality is definite and finite like that. But at the end, when his time is near I make him a promise: I will find you. He thinks I mean in the afterlife: he thinks I'm being romantic. He doesn't know the cycle he goes through, he wouldn't remember if I told him.
An eternity of immortality and he is all I live for.
I will find him.
| 2017-01-29T11:52:32
| 2017-01-29T09:26:36
| 114
| 48
|
[WP] You need to hire a hitman, but can't afford it. Carefully write a gofundme campaign for something seemingly innocent while subtly letting your donors know what they are actually funding.
|
Hey all, I need to get my Grandma out of her nursing home. You can help. She has begged me recently to help her get out. She has been very clear on what needs to be done. I know she is mentally sharp even though the years have slowly eaten away at her physical being. She is in constant - yes, constant and unrelenting - pain and has indicated she needs to go to better place. I am the only one she can rely on. I do not have the skill set to take care of her and will need to hire a specialist in these matters. The government won't help; in fact they have put up obstacles to prevent ordinary methods of moving her. Please help my Grandma reach her goal of enduring peace in a better place. God bless you for your assistance.
|
Hi everybody!
My neighbor did an excellent job watching my house last week and I'd love to give them a great surprise as a reward. I'd need to hire a professional though, and they're pretty expensive especially when you want to keep it a surprise.
I already have someone in mind and have their rates for their night time services, but it looks like I just can't afford it on my own. I'm talking the whole shebang here too which even includes a cleanup crew after the fact. It's almost like the surprise never happened in the first place!
If you could even donate just a little bit I'd really appreciate it, because they really deserve it for the great job they did. It's a shame that I can't hire two clean up crews because they certainly had a good time with my place!
Thanks for your support, and if you can't donate, maybe tell a friend!
| 2015-08-29T12:50:34
| 2015-08-29T12:47:39
| 33
| 21
|
[WP] You are a time traveler in 1918, and you just accidentally said "World War One"
|
"You know, for the 'Great War' it really isn't that great. To be honest I get why people call it 'World War One' instead"
As soon as those words left my mouth I froze, immediately wishing I could take them back.
"That's a funny thing to say. I've heard this conflict called many names, but 'World War Won' is the most....unique. Well I suppose emphasizing victory is better than dwelling upon destruction" a voice spoke out from behind me. I turned to see a well dressed gentleman giving me a curious look.
"Ah yes well..." I began, words fading away as I struggled to explain myself.
The man shook his head and smiled as though watching the antics of a child, then tipped his hat before leaving. Watching the diplomat walk away toward the main building, my mind raced as I tried to figure out what just happened.
*Emphasizing victory? Could he have misheard me? World War One, one, won, World War Won...Oh!*
Mentally kicking myself for the blunder, I moved to follow him through the winding walkways at Versailles.
*Thank goodness for homonyms, let's get this research paper written so I can get out of here*
|
*First attempt, I like this prompt idea*
"**World War One?** For what reason would there be another?"
Realizing quickly what I had done, I had to remember the books I read. If I remembered correctly, the Treaty of Versily made Germany too weak to pay it's debts, and made it's debts huge. "Because of the Treaty of Versily."
"Versailles you mean." Whoa almost screwed that that up. "Why would the treaty ever make a second World War?"
"Because Germany was too weak... and so they couldn't pay off their debts. With their debts unpaid, they would take loans from America. While paying off Europe, they would accumulate debt from America. Too keep up with payments, they printe- *would print* - off more and more money, in higher denominations. This would ultimately cause a world wide depression of economy. From there, Germany would fix it by making an army, and Europe wouldn't stop them."
"We have some of the smartest politicians in the world making this treaty, they honestly would have a way of stopping this, eh?"
"Seeing the horrors that this war caused, everyone's probably gonna outlaw war, and you can't enforce an outlaw on war without war. Honestly, these people think they're smarter than they are, and that's their downfall."
"Better stock up on gold then, eh? *Hehehe* Well good day to you sir, I think you're wrong, but it seems possible."
I barely survived tha- wait did he say stock up on gold? My great grandfather's grandfather stocked up on gold after WWI because of something a man told him.
| 2017-12-10T07:57:17
| 2017-12-10T07:32:51
| 3,174
| 163
|
[WP] In an attempt to convince people society would have been better if humanity had never found religion, a time traveler kills anyone who begins to develop a form of faith. He goes back to the present and finds that people now universally worship a god who travels through time and smites heathens.
|
"That was the last one," she thought. Every known founder, messiah, and prophet gone. Every fool who ever thought to make up a story, to convince a population, and then wield their influence through modifications to their myth has been erased from history.
*Really done* this time. Those first trips back had been such learning experiences. Kill one prophet, and another pops up. Take out Joseph Smith, return to home-time, and find two versions of L. Ron Hubbard. Chasing down all the consequences to her actions had been tough. But now, the final ramification was erased. She had gotten them *all*.
She placed her blaster to the side, engaged the control console, and set a direct time-path back to the present. The *real*, secular present she had worked for all this time. With the push of a few buttons, the craft jolted to power and her brief trip began, then shortly ended.
"Finally," she thought. "Now let's see what a truly secular, a truly rational, civilization looks like. She arose, lifted the blaster, and walked to the door.
The whoosh of the door was lost in the crowd's roar. "She is here!" "She has returned!" the crowds eagerly cheered and sang their praised.
Confused, our protagonist walks forward. "Who is here? Who is 'she'?" she asked what looked to be the main in charge, dressed as a priest, at the front of the great mass of admirers.
"Why, you. You are here." He replied. "The god who deletes all others. The one true god, against whom no other heathan relic can stand."
"Well, I should have expected this," she thought. Folks always wanted to believe in a God; it seemed part of their nature. She had removed all other options. So now, it seemed, she had one more prophet to smite.
"I am no God. I am like you. Just like you! I am a person, a human, a rational agent. What I killed were not Gods, but distractions. I erased the myths of our varied pasts. The distractions that quashed our intellectual development."
The crowd could not be dissuaded. "No! You are our God! You persevere where others fail. You are the new foundation of our faith!"
"Then let us see how strong your foundation is! If I am your one God, the only possible deity, then let this final act show you the truth!" She rose the blaster, pointed it at her head, and rested her finger on the trigger.
"I am the last! When I go, no Gods to remain. Watch and see the flaw of religion, the myth of hope. Watch as your God, your religion, your faith dies *once and for all*!"
She pulled the trigger.
The crowd gasped.
"OW!" she exclaimed. "That really...wait..." She fired again. "OW! Mother fu...why isn't...why is?"
"You see," the Priest smiled, "You slay all other Gods. You, yourself cannot be slain. So what does that make you?"
With a look of pure bemusement, she could think of only one thing to say.
"...Me damnit."
|
I'm kinda tired and whipped this out. I like the idea, will probably eventually re-work.
...
“You can’t be fucking serious.”
“I am totally fucking serious, dude.”
“Ok, listen shitwad – even IF your plan were possible, which it is NOT, have you ever heard of the fucking butterfly effect?”
“Hey! This shitwad’s generous assistance is why you two fucktards were even able to build this! And boy – what an accomplishment! A time machine! You’re welcome, by the way.”
Ok, I need to pause for a second. He’s getting belligerent. “Shitwad” probably didn’t help. Probably not the best thing to call your sole benefactor.
But he’s being a fucktard.
“What you’re trying to do is literally impossible, and you’ll cause like 20 million drastic changes – changes you can’t even imagine – to take place! You can’t just erase… religion!”
“Watch me… shitwad.”
I tried to respond, but he was having none of it – he stormed into the device, and shut the door. Of course now he won’t be able to hear me, because boy, that thing is sealed. It’s just kind of impossible to know what kind of stress something goes through during interdimensional travel. On top of that, the actual machine is in an airlock. So yeah. Nothing really to do now.
“Do you think he’ll actually do it?”
I looked to my right, where Matt was standing.
“No. It’s impossible.”
“Well, I mean, if you think about it, religion had to start somewhere?”
I let out an audible, exaggerated sigh. I’m so fucking tired of making this point.
“What… is religion, Matt?”
“It’s what happens when people believe in God.”
“Is Buddhism a religion?”
“What, you’re asking me a trick question or something? Of course it’s a fucking religion.”
“Who’s the God?”
“Buddha!”
“Buddha’s not a fucking god, Matt.”
“Uh, yes he fucking is.”
I really don’t have the energy to have this argument right now. We have a problem on our hands.
“Whatever. Richard’s fucking gone already, it doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah.”
“What do you want to do now? I’m too frustrated to think straight right now.”
“I don’t know, man. Maybe try to find a church or something?”
I throw him another exasperated look. He can’t seriously believe things would have changed that quickly. But, still, a walk outside, and maybe hanging out in a quiet building isn’t so bad right now. Need to cool off anyway.
I’m halfway out the door when I hear a door behind me open, and see Richard limping out of the device. His clothes are wet, his hair drenched in what appears to be sweat. Leaning against the open door, he gives me a tired, yet victoriously cocky smile.
“You watching… shitwad?”
“Oh my God, Richard. It’s not that hard to operate.”
“Oh I know.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m done.”
“You’re… done?”
“Yes, douche canoe, I’m done. Go see for yourself. You were right – it wasn’t easy. But…! It wasn’t impossible.”
Holy fuck. He actually did something, or many things, or… what did he do? I walk right up to him, and stand extremely close… close enough for him to smell my breath.
“Now you need to tell me exactly what happened.”
Another cocky smile.
“The butterfly effect. Find the source, prevent it. Simple. I won’t bore you with the details, it’s a long story.”
“Oh I got nothing to do tonight. Try me.”
Richard cackles weakly.
“No. I don’t have to tell you shit. You have the thing right here, why don’t you go see for yourself?”
Yeah, looks like that’s what I’m going to have to do anyway. Not really thrilled with the idea of chasing this douchebag through history to undo whatever he did, but that’s part of the gig, I guess, and he knows it. The least he could do is tell me something.
“Tomorrow, Richard. Tomorrow.”
I have all the time in the world. Or, at least enough time to sleep first. We successfully traveled through time today – I’ll fix the damage tomorrow. I turn around, exit the building, and start the long walk home. There’s a church on the way, I’ll probably check it out.
…
Coming to where the church should be, I see a relatively plain building with a sign that says just, “Offerings.” The lights are still on, even though it is late at night. This is definitely a change – I guess Richard fucked up Christianity at least? I open the door just enough to peek inside, and there is a main room, with chairs lined up – at least ten rows, each with several chairs. All were full of women holding newborn children. In the front of the room is a table with a white cloth draped over it, with a statue of a man, arms full of babies, resting on top. In front of this table stands a man, wearing a red robe, arms outstretched, preaching to the congregation.
“Oh just and merciful one, pass judgment on your children this night! If any one of these are found not in your favor, appear to us now and remove him forever from our sight!”
At this time, the women – all of the women – speak together in response.
“We ask you for the same mercy you have shown to us throughout history. Appear to us now and steal away the unjust among us.”
Well… fuck. Looks like “shitwad” was actually the best word to use.
| 2016-05-06T22:35:23
| 2016-05-06T21:18:54
| 249
| 30
|
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes.
|
My HR department has a sense of humour. They issued a poll in response to a friendly lunchroom argument where the guys in the group stated that high heels weren’t as bad as women made out. The women in the group - all engineers I might add - pointed out all the ergonomic issues, statistics with falls and injuries, and the impossibility of climbing a ladder. The guys pointed out how a couple of extra inches helped them reach higher, and could keep more of the foot out of puddles.
The poll asked if shoes that raised the heel 5cm (2”) above the balls of the feet should be mandatory for employees doing field work. The results : men voted 78% in favour, women 23% in favour. It was a joke. We all thought it was a joke.
Monday morning roles around and we walk in to find boxes beautifully gift wrapped. Incredibly beautiful with handmade papers and luxurious bows and ribbons. With great enthusiasm, we began opening the packages.
I got a lovely pair of steel toed Blundstones that I’ve coveted since I saw my boss Paul wearing a pair on site. My female colleagues all received the same.
But the other boxes, delivered to the guys contained something extraordinary: high heeled, steel toed boots. They were an unusual design. Not stilettos, but wedges, with an 8cm (3”) heel. Beautiful black leather, that tapered into a pointed toe, something between a cowboy boot and that funky sneaker design that was popular a few years ago.
A few of the ladies admired their boots. And reiterated that climbing ladders and scaffolding would be an interesting experience.
An email explained that we were all expected to wear our new boots for the next week and we’d have a shoe party to report back.
A few guys were immediately good sports and put them on. A couple tried a rather feminine swagger - for the first few steps until they toppled sideways laughing as they fell. Then a group started practicing, while their office mates watched. Most of them were pretty athletic so they didn’t look too ridiculous- but those of us in boots appreciated how much slower they walked. For the first time we did t have to run to keep up.
The resistant stragglers dismissed the email as nonsense and refused to change. rolling their eyes and snarling at colleagues who suggested they should try it. That is, Until the president passed by and threatened to send them home.
I went to site with one guy, and sure enough, scaffolding was an issue. Not because of the ladders-that wasn’t too bad with the wedge style boot (HR did their homework). But he kept hitting his hard hat against the frame of the scaffolding and catching the toe against uneven planks. Often in quick succession. I giggled. The site super rolled his eyes. And then we get to this place when he stops and points out a construction mistake that I had walked right past - the extra height let him see where others couldn’t. Well at least there is one advantage.
When we walked back to the car, much to my annoyance, he had figured out his stride and was now swaggering a little. Both women and men were admiring his strut.
I was annoyed. It was unfair that this guy could figure out heels in less than a day and do his job better when they condemned me to an aching back and wobbly ankles.
As I descended into a gray funk, we approached his car, a low Mazda Miata. He turned to me and asked if I’d like to drive. When I asked why, he turned pink and said his feet didn’t fit on the pedals and he couldn’t change gears!
High heeled boots are no longer mandatory, but they are still a right of passage for new hires. And about 2/3 of the guys still wear them - enjoying the advantages. But we have many more women that work here now. And many fewer guys drive stick.
.....
Sorry this doesn’t take place in Japan. I know nothing about that culture, but I could imagine my coworkers in that predicament!
|
As a collective of women and men at the office approached the counter to pick up their shoes to follow the new work protocol, the women gave an apprehensive side-eye. A few of them sneered, dropped their jaws, gawked, scratched their heads, and even rubbed their chins.
One of them said. "Why? Why would any of you want to wear something so uncomfortable as well as something only women wear? The whole thing is rather silly, isn't it?"
The men on the other side were all beaming. There wasn't a single frown out of the fifteen of them waiting in line. The man who was supposed to be next to collect his sharp black stilettos, stepped out of the queue. It was Kosuke, the male counterpart who was responsible for collaboration of the company-wide poll.
"I was planning on making an announcement later today at work, but I wanted to let you know since you have asked," he took a deep breath and shook his head with a nervous twitch.
"I understand that some of you are currently judging us men, wearing something that is typically seen on a woman. That is something I one day hope to change. These societal norms of fashion inhibit us in a lot of ways. They are mental shackles. My whole life I've always preferred wearing clothes that were meant for women. I'm not sure why, and in fact, I wish I wasn't that way because of all of the jokes and bullying I endured through my life made me hate myself all the more.
"One day my mother and father saw me sobbing after a day at school where I was wearing a new outfit that I actually purchased in the boys section, but I was ridiculed by all of my classmates for looking too much like a girl. Fortunately, I had very kind-hearted parents who supported my clothing preference. They let me walk around the house wearing whatever I felt most comfortable in. An important lesson they taught me is to embrace the things I enjoy, and not hate myself for them.
"I wanted to collaborate on this project at work because I knew there were other men like me. Friends here at work that I became close with found out about my fashion preference and I was amazed to find a few of them felt the exact same way. The support I received was overwhelming," Kosuke trembled and a mist fell over his eyes. "I'm sorry you'll hear this speech again later today, but just know that some of us want to change the norms. This isn't a novelty, but a way of life. I know some of the men here don't really care to wear heels, but they're doing it out of support for me, and it's still early in the morning and it's already been the best day of my life."
A few of the men from the line drifted over to Kosuke and patted him on the back, every one of them grinning from ear to ear in their new heels. All of the women stood by, and nodded.
"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. Thank you Kosuke," the woman said.
r/randallcooper
| 2020-05-11T10:46:02
| 2020-05-11T07:33:41
| 181
| 112
|
[WP] Write the Kidz Bop version of the most explicit song you know.
|
MOVE, PLEASE! GET OUT THE WAY, GET OUT THE WAY PLEASE GET OUT THE WAY. MOVE, PLEASE GET OUT THE WAY GET OUT THE WAY PLEASE GET OUT THE WAY.
Oh no! At mikes house! Don't forget to turn the lights out!
Get a snack-attack, get ready for thrills. Have some soda, we can't stay still!
|
3, 6, 9, counting's fine! Hoping we can sound off one more time
Get low...get low get low get low get low
From the windows! To the walls!
Until all these numbers fall!
To all, sweet sweet sweet sweet numberlovers
To all sweet sweet sweet sweet, my man!
Shortie bounce! So fresh so clean can she count that question be harassin' me in my mind...this number's fine, hoping she can count it for me one more time...
| 2015-02-16T10:57:54
| 2015-02-16T10:18:15
| 93
| 34
|
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
|
Why *did* Thor keep all this useless junk. Low-Key observed the collection with curiosity, occasionally picking something up to inspect. Trophies of all his wonderful endeavours, no doubt. Thor had always been one for showing off, for displays of power, wealth, and overcomplicated execution in the name of grandeur. Ridiculous. Low-Key was far more subtle. Subtlety, in fact, was his talent. He selected a tiny skull, blackened with scorch marks and covered in webs of cracks, tossed it in the air as if it were an apple from a tree, and placed it back where he had found it, just half an inch out of place. He suppressed a smirk. How *infuriating* this must be, to have command over the skies and yet be driven to insanity by something so subtly mischievous. That would do for today. Low-Key nodded with satisfaction. As he turned to leave, he glanced wistfully to the table in the middle of the room, as he always did. His white whale, his obsession, Mjolnir sat there, glowing and humming, almost taunting him. He had to try. Approaching the hammer, he grasped the handle and twisted hard. Just an inch, he thought, *please*. Nothing. He let go, unsuccessful yet again. One day, he thought as he left the room, Thor won't know what's hit him.
|
Another jump through the Bifrost and I landed on the planet of Acrimony, aka the planet of really bad smelling things. I plugged my nose and went to work.
I collected as many flowers as possible. Some were red, some were purple, some were green, some yellow. They were all quite beautiful.
I stayed for a while just to enjoy the sunset. Actually multiple sunsets because this planet had 4 suns, and so one by one they disappeared. And it got dimmer and dimmer and it turned into night.
It was actually quite lovely.
I strolled back to the pickup point and gave the signal and told the Bifrost operator that I wanted to go to Earth.
5 eon-cycle-seconds later, I was on earth. I took each one of the flowers that I had found from the planet of acrimony and I planted them in some of the most prevalent and prodigious gardens around earth.
Humans really loved smelling flowers, especially for romantic gestures and mate courting rituals.
I smirked and couldn’t wait for my giant practical joke to unfold. I had time. I was a God after all.
My name is Low-Key, spelled L-O-W-K-E-Y and I’m the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
| 2018-01-27T23:20:19
| 2018-01-27T22:50:54
| 30
| 17
|
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit
|
"Could you just make that just a few pixels larger? My name is barely visible."
Meet Chad. His ego knows very few bounds. Enough so that Narcissus might say he's excessive. He just got promoted to being my boss a few days ago, and his ego had somehow grown larger. The other employees made a collective groan when he made an impromptu acceptance speech, as we already couldn't stand his voice enough. It was as if Mickey Mouse had a smoking habit and had a verbal tic that caused him to unnecessarily elongate his sentences like some sort of Royal British stereotype.
And here he was, critiquing the design for the new company template, because he felt his name was important enough to have a bit more size. His superiors only did it to shut him up.
Now, what he didn't know is that I was two steps away from breaking a bet with the rest of my pantheon five years too early that I couldn't handle being a human for 20 years, all because of Chad.
Now you ask, 'What about him seems so bad?' Well, to start, Chad felt the need to nitpick my every move because I apparently 'owed him my life for saving me from the street.' When I transformed into a human, I was supposed to start as a homeless man. He just happened to be the first I dared ask for change.
Ever since he decided to be 'generous' enough for me to work in his employ, I had to do all his work for him. This was how he got promoted in the first place, because I refused to do sub-par work. A God's ego, you know? Which brings us to this. I let it slide the first few times, because you gotta turn the other cheek. Otherwise, you're just an asshole.
"You do realize you don't own this company, right?" I said to Chad, hoping it would shrink his head.
"Yet." The grin Chad had was punchable. "If I keep up my work, I will own it."
I had to wonder which God was responsible for his dialogue, because this was horrible. I was really considering just losing this bet.
Chad leaned forward, right next to my ear. "I already own you, Faestus, so I won't have to worry about being fired." His stale Cheeto breath practically singed my earlobe.
"You know, Chad," I grabbed him by the collar, looking him directly in the eyes, his pale face being lit by the righteous golden flames my own eyes had become. "There is a saying where I come from, that consists of nine words. I lost this bet, so grit your teeth."
Chad's last known expression was a look of fear as I punched him square in his smug face, sending him through several adjacent buildings. I made sure he at least lived through the damage, but he'd never smile again. "Never cross the path of the God of War."
(I can't really say this is even close to my best work.)
|
James and Robert sat the bar. They were taking shots and complaining about their boss Dylan. Regular Friday night stuff.
"That's it. Fuck this guy. I'm gonna kill his wife."
"Jim you can't say shit like that man."
"Wouldn't be first time I fucked over someone to prove a point."
"What?"
"Nevermind man don't worry about it." James slammed another shot of Tequila. "That asshole has had it out for me for years dude. 15 years I've been with this fucking company and he has been RELENTLESS! I don't get what is fucking problem his!"
"Who knows dude, maybe one of the other workers we bring out told him you say shit like you're gonna kill his wife!" Robert laughed as he said it.
"Bobby, I'm tired man. For 15 years you've been a great friend, and I really appreciate that. I just want you know, that no matter what happens, I've got your back alright." James stood up, dropped a fifty on the bar, and started to walk away.
Robert grabbed him by the arm. "What the fuck man? Don't say shit like that and just walk away. You've got me worried now. Whatever is going on I can help. Talk to me!"
James rolled his eyes, "Great. You bargain at the inevitable too? Of course, you are human after all."
"What? I'm driving you home you are way too fucking drunk for me to leave you alone."
"Get off me man! I'm gonna go kill Sheryl and you can't stop me."
"Sheryl didn't DO anything. You're seriously starting to freak me the hell out." Robert was doing his best to subdue James and keep him sitting, but he wasn't having it. Drunk James was hell bent on killing Dylan's wife.
"Job's wife didn't do shit either and I still killed her. All because Luke said 'You won't, no balls!' Matter of fact, fuck this guy! I'm gonna level his whole damn block!"
Robert swore he was just pushing James back down into his seat. How did he get home. How did get naked and in bed? He checked the time: 8 o' clock in the morning on Sunday. "Oh fuck me, did I drive home drunk again?"
Robert turned on the TV. The news headline read "Tornado ravages Cincinnati block; every resident presumed dead." That was definitely Dylan's neighborhood. Robert couldn't believe it, he checked every news source he could find on both the TV and internet. The tornado formed without a single warning sign, touched down, wrecked the whole block and ONLY that block, then disappeared..
Robert's face twist up in confusion as he though back to last night. He grabbed his phone and called James.
James answered, "Hello?"
"What the fuck...?"
| 2017-02-19T08:04:31
| 2017-02-19T07:20:19
| 452
| 203
|
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one.
|
“Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.”
|
It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.*
| 2015-05-16T09:31:32
| 2015-05-16T08:20:10
| 27
| 11
|
[WP] Canada has suddenly gone dark. No communication, no trade, no activity from within. Nothing for days. Alaska, now cut off from mainland US, is slowly ceasing in contact with the US federal government until a final correspondence is given: "Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don't ever open it."
|
It technically started with the geese disappearing. It's not something anyone really paid a lot of attention to. People blamed climate change, and pesticides, and over-hunting. It was a perfectly logical explanation, and for dozens of other species, the correct one. Not this time, though.
Regardless, it was quickly forgotten. A lot of people weren't that fond of geese anyway. Nobody thought back to it the day Canada went silent. The FAA was the first to notice it. Pretty hard not to when nearly a thousand planes drop off the radar at once. They quickly attempted to call Transport Canada, which is when they realized the phones were out. An assistant ran to the break room, hoping to pick up something on Canadian news on the TV, which is when it started to become clear that nothing was coming from Canada.
It was a good twenty-four hours before the various government agencies finally decided that something was wrong. They decided the best thing to do was to fly a plane over Canada and see what was going on. Given it's location relative to Canada, the first flight went out from Eielson Air Force Base. It never came back. Neither did the next dozen. The commanders in Alaska refused to send anyone else.
With all the confusion from all the various public, private, and government groups trying to figure out what to do about an entire country essentially ceasing to exist, it was some time before anyone realized that the refusal to send more planes was the last thing they had heard from Alaska in a week. Someone finally attempted to reach out, but there was no official response from anyone. Every branch of the military attempted to send something to Alaska, but the result was always the same, more silence.
The last message from Alaska was sent on a ham radio:
"To anyone who can hear this message, do not send help. If you are in the continental United States, do not send anything into Canada. Set up a fire line, dig up every gun you can. Do not let them get out of Canada if you can help it. If you are anywhere else in the world, be ready. It's the geese. We didn't know, nobody could've. It must've been the testing back in the 50's. They've become... something... more... nobody knows, because nobody has lived to come back... oh my God, I think they're coming!". Gunfire could be heard in the background, along with people screaming, and some other sound, somewhat familiar, yet completely foreign, an impossibly loud squawking. The radio signal faded to static.
|
Canada has gone dark.It happened about 2 weeks ago. No contact from within, no trades, nothing. Just void, emptyness. That is until yesterday, one message sent to anything adjoined to the country."Leave us. Reinforce the border. Never open it." Those words shook us to the core. What could be happening that warrented such a vauge, off-putting message? Officials didn't know what to do. Seal the borders? Investigate? The president came to a conclusion after a week's time. He was broadcast onto the radio, internet, and television with this message: "An election will be held on August 27th, 2019 to decide our move with Canada. Investigate, or prepare? The government is putting the choice to you, the people." A few days went by, and the elections started. Everything was peaceful, until an ear-splitting roar was heard from the border. The border had fallen. Dust flew up in a cloud, blocking any and all vision. Nobody could prepare for what came next. A horde of monsters. Not bloody or gory, but pale, humanoid figures that ripped through the flesh of any living being it could set its hands on like butter. As I type this from the confines of my cellar, I hear a scratch at the door.
| 2019-08-25T18:49:11
| 2019-08-25T17:29:24
| 5,403
| 63
|
[WP] An isekai where instead of a generic otaku, the main character is a Soviet soldier plucked straight from 1942 Stalingrad.
|
Lieutenant Erkil “Night Owl” Zelvinski
153 recorded kills
76 Infantry kills
23 NCO kills
11 Officer kills
14 Armored Operator kills
16 Artillery Crew kills
12 SS Regular kills
1 German High Command kill
Or at least….it was about to be, the man in sight was Obergruppenfuhrer Raus Vertold, one of the leading officers of the SS, he was visiting the invaders rear base for inspection, the advance was coming in meer week, he had to die before, or he would have an entire regiment of SS soldiers aiding the breakout.
I’d breath in the icy air, letting the world go silent, the sounds of battle seeming far away, as I’d place my right eye to the scope, watching the German armored convoy enter the base, with a staff car in the center, that was him, the eye scar and glass eye was a signature mark of my target.
I’d slowly move my rifle along the ridge, watching as the fifthly German dog approached the base Kommandant, I’d clutch the small silver badge I wore, the eagle of Poland, as I’d spot it, a glint in one of the recon towers of the base, the sign of a scope reflecting sunlight.
They had my position, if I shot the sniper, Raus would flee and I’d lose my target, if I ran, I was dead, but…I’d steady my breathing, I could feel the eye on me, the German sniper, knowing if he sounded the alarm Raus would be dead before anyone could react, was trying to beat me to the shot.
I’d steady my aim, as the world seemed to move in slow motion, my finger pressing on the trigger, the rifle ceasing motion, as the loud crack of the rifle sang like the overture of a symphony, sending the rifle round into Raus’s head, as I’d grin, watching the dead man fall, with his guards panicking, as the second rifle crack rang out.
|
Andrei scratched the last letter into the brick wall of the cellar. '3rd Company of the 13th Guards Division. We did not surrender'. He turned to Pavel, who crouched in a corner over his radio. "Send our coordinates. When it hits, go through the tunnel. I'll be last." Pavel's eyes were wide with fear, but he tapped out the message. Above they could hear the Fritzes moving through the rubble. There was one entrance and one exit. Here it came, the whistle and then the glorious blast as the big guns across the Volga opened on Pavel's coordinates - directly above. The cellar walls shook, the shocks pounded their ears, timbers shifted and chips rained down. He could hear screams and shouts. "Go, go!" he shouted, and the remnants of his company crawled through the gap. He gave them time, covering the entrance with his machine pistol in case a lucky Fritz bolted into their cover. Another salvo, and as he turned to run the roof collapsed.
He awoke to sunlight, warmth, and an elfin face. Sunlight? Yes. Warmth? Not in November. An elfin face? He should be so lucky. The field nurses were all tough love. He raised himself on an elbow and looked around. It was an encampment of tents, with some old, many young and few hale. Refugees, like the many who had fled before the Fascists. The elfin face dripped tears on to his. "Are you come to save us? If we cannot regain our underground home from the goblins we will perish."
Andrei rolled over. His sack of grenades was there, his trusty sharpened spade and his machine pistol. "Underground? Goblins? Let me show you how it's done."
| 2022-02-22T05:14:40
| 2022-02-22T02:50:57
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] “Humans are so weak, the best weapons they have are tiny, dull claws!” “That’s why they build weapons.” “They do what now?”
|
The 45,083rd Galactic Council Meeting was a special one. It was only the 12th time that all the 4,269 members were called in to attend at the same time. In routine it usually comprised of local systems along with some others that had something to say, a trade agreement to sign, a war to declare.
For its significance, it was called on the outskirts of Sagittarius A, for being easily accessible to all member systems. However, the Centauris - Who had called this Special GCM, demanded that it should not be called anywhere near Sagittarius. Their demands were shot down because it looked like they wanted some place easier to reach from their home system.
"Centaurians, you have called this special session of GCM providing that humans should be 'taken care of' as your reason. Furthermore, you tried to change the venue of this meeting illegally by saying things like mortal danger. Please elaborate as to why this GCM isn't just a means to dispel rumors of your war plans?" Kronos initiated the session. A hush fell in the hall as soon as he spoke. All eyes were now on the representatives from Centari.
"Yes, these rumors, you will be pleased to know that we plan to address them here today" piped the representative from Centauri. He had a bald head, a height of 4.5 ft and a fat figure that made it look like he wouldn't nearly be as athletic as he really was.
"For some time now, we have been assessing the situation over at Earth" a groan filled the hall. "I swear if you've brought us all here to discuss humans I will send you into Sagittarius myself" Kronos threatened. "There will be no need for that, if you allow me to continue".
"As I was saying, we have been monitoring earth for some time now. But it appears that we cannot in good conscious keep this from every esteemed member of this council. To cut the long story short, in light of what we have gathered, I think now is the time to address the threat posed by humans. Whether we should eliminate them in one combined attack, or let them in this council and hope that they do not take too much offense at the ignorance with which we have dealt with them in the past"
The hall got filled with chatter. Kronos put his head in his claws contemplating whether he should destroy Centaurian's ability to monitor humans. Their obsession with humans was downright childish it seemed.
"CENTAURIANS" a deafening bellow from the lord Horte himself silenced the room. "What is this new information that you say you've gathered? You do not tell and say that a human, could pose a threat to you? You could easily pass through one of them, or even a dozen of them with your thick heads. What do the humans have? Nothing! A claw that could barely gnaw at a nut."
"That is why they build weapons"
"They do what now?" Kronos looked up
"Weapons" declared the Centarian. "They called them weapons. Our obsession with them started millennia ago when they started using some form of metal sticks to enhance their claws. No longer could we fight a human who has a weapon and is ready to face us. They could as easily take us down, as any of us could do to them. It was for this reason that all tourism was banned and a research post placed instead."
"All seemed well for a while, but few hundred years ago, they made their first magic weapon"
"A fucking what now? How is it possible for them to wield magic?" a random voice yelled throughout the hall, possible from one of the nebula systems.
"Ah yes, we were surprised as well. Unfortunately, that is when we were placed in probation so we couldn't speak out freely, except for calling a special GCM session." Centaurian explained. "It is similar to your weapon in the sense that they leave a lot of smoke, when they use it, but, once again, it is a weapon, not attached to their body like a claw or something."
"You take us for fools? Next you are going to say they can fly" Horte let out a chuckle, the only system that had mastered the craft of ariel attacks was his world, where thick atmosphere and large gravity made his species incredibly agile on other worlds. Kronos and Horte were from this world
"Oh it gets even better, mere 100 years ago, the first human pioneered the air for the first time. Today, at any given moment you can find millions of humans flying about, and they fly at speed of sound at the height where mountains look like this Till I'm standing on" Centaurian said in a tone that made everyone pay attention to him once again.
"How can they do that?" Horte looked concerned. Another species, possibly as strong as his own? How could they have missed them?
"It is their damn weapons. They do not make one weapon, and give it to everyone and be done with it. Gone are the times where you could find a human with a metal stick. Now they have metal tubes, that shoot a metal bullet farther, more accurately than any archer here can. But they did not just stop there, they made something called an aircraft, to fly, and put metal tubes on this aircraft so they can kill while high up the air. They made their aircraft faster, and made their tubes fire faster. But about 70 years ago they made a bomb, which blasts away entire cities at a time"
"We got scared and pulled our research teams off planet. We hid them behind their moon, but you know what, we didn't realize that they were again building more weapons, weapons that could look behind their moon, while sitting in their homes. They merely detected the rock on which our team had a base, so we quickly retreated completely." The Centaurian was trying with all his might to explain why they were so obsessed with humans. They had been ridiculed over it in the past but couldn't tell it to the audience.
"If what you're saying is right, then it appears they will soon be too powerful to fight. Shall we challenge them to a duel?" Horte asked
"I'm not entirely sure if that is even possible, few decades ago their weapon 'telescope' could only detect our rock behind their moon. But the reason why we called this meeting was that few years ago, they looked into the EYE itself"
.
"Explain" said Horte
"Their telescope is so strong, that they can probably see us here near the EYE! Which is exactly why we didn't want to meet here."
"Are you sure they can see us here?" Horte asked concerned.
"They call it their Event Horizon Telescope. They looked at the EYE and let every single human see it like it was in front of them. Even we here cannot see it for it is both too bright and too dark at the same time, but they could nearly see inside the EYE, without even going away from Earth"
|
Title: The change
"Humans are weak" - One of the oldest known facts in the entire universe.
They lack armored skin, horns, fangs… so much so that their claws are tiny and flat.
So, it was nothing new when krrik and blad sat together with their snacks and were making fun of humans. Then, out of nowhere, their not so smart friend; dauf came running on all sixes and crashed next to them… They were annoyed but they had nowhere else to be. “Another snack time going to be wasted listening to dauf’s unintelligent and needy stories” was the common thought running through both their distributed yet connected brains. Dauf caught his breath and said at once “Humans have been making weapons and vehicles going into space, the council has decreed to convene at once and decide on when to declare war on humans’ planet, come let’s go quickly” and grabbed a jelly like limb of blad’s snack to shove into his bottom mouth. Krrik pulled his snack closer and composed himself to just say “They’re making what now!!!?” All the three started running to the vast hall of the elders to see what was going on.
It was pandemonium there. Everyone was worried. Many elites had already started the hiring process for their private armies to go to war against the humans. Citizens were huddled in groups discussing in hushed tones. The council itself was trying to calm everyone. All the council members were ordering their troops to calm their people. The leader was trying to connect to the planet’s conscience to look for advice. All the three joined their respective troops while hurriedly trying to finish their snacks.
The planet boomed through each council member at once “HUMANS ARE WEAK”. The whole vast hall erupted into cackles and screeches of laughter again. “BUT ONLY IN BRUTE STRENGTH” boomed the collective intelligence once again. “WHAT THEY LACK IN BRUTE FORCE, THEY MAKE UP FOR IN GENIUS AND CREATIVITY. THEY HAVE BEEN BUILDING WEAPONS FOR INDIVIDUAL AS WELL AS MASS WARFARE THROUGHOUOT THE PAST MILLENIA. IF WE GO TO WAR WITH THEM NOW, WE SHALL LOSE” said, the planet.
Everyone’s face fell and the murmurs started rising again. The leader bowed to no one in particular and asked “Then shall we make peace with them?”
The vast hall shook while everybody tried to hang on to what ever they could find.
“PEACE IT SHALL BE” said the planet and everything became silent once again.
Krrik and blad looked at each other and ran to their master elite, Eglaf. She looked at them inquisitively. They both said in unison, “we want to be on your journey to the humans’ planet”. She looked at them with intent and then an evil grin spread across her face showing her inner mandibles. She said to them “arm up, we the glats are never the ones to make peace. We shall strike first”. Their faces lit up as they were running out of the vast hall and into the armory.
They would be having a war of their lifetimes…. For all they knew.
| 2021-12-01T22:53:41
| 2021-12-01T21:25:03
| 47
| 26
|
[WP] You have the power to stop time at will, but you are also affected. The only thing you can do is think.
|
It's game time.
The teacher clicks on her computer, the screen changing to a new question in front of our eyes.
I stop time.
I scan the question rapidly, then slower. I've got all the time in the world. I pick out every detail and run it through my brain. Noting the possible answers, I rule them out one by one until I'm certain I've found the correct one. I focus on that answer and prepare my finger to mark it instantly. Yellow circle. Yellow circle. Yellow circle. Am I ready? Yes.
I start time.
My finger jabs at the yellow circle on my personal screen before the others have had a chance to read the question. I sit back, satisfied, as the rest of the class's answers come in.
I repeat my process for the remaining questions, each time destroying my competition. The game ends. I've won.
I am the Kahoot champion again.
|
"So, what are we?" She asked, she had an air of hopefulness in her voice but her stance was confrontational. What the fuck do I do!? I don't know what she wants to hear, I don't even know what I want! All the life's most complicated questions and an eternity to figure it out and yet here we are, unmoving, undying with nothing but my thoughts for as long as I want, and still, I have no idea how to continue... Screw it!
"Uh... Humans...?"
| 2018-01-08T17:01:08
| 2018-01-08T13:17:47
| 57
| 16
|
[WP] Not far from your village is a small grove. Within the grove a monster dwells. It devours the guilty and leaves the innocent. When the worst crimes are committed, the accused are sent to face the creature. You have murdered someone in self-defense. You enter the grove unsure of your fate.
|
In a small village in the middle of an unimportant field of grass, there is a small grove of trees. And within, is a monster.
They say it devours the guilty and spares the innocent. A rumor started in decades past, by a superstitious village who did nothing to find the truth of the matter. No one saw the monster. No one spoke to it. No one doubted that the rumors were true. All they knew is that when the accused were brought to it, some disappeared, never to be seen again. And those who didn't would not speak of the things they saw.
James grew up there, never caring if the monster were real or not. He was a simple potter, neither a good or evil person. Following the law was easy, and evil was not something he desired or needed.
Not until his neighbor, jealous of his works, attacked him. In that moment, to defend himself, James killed. No one saw the act. No one could verify the truth. And James himself was a simple man, one who could not know if what he did was an act of good or evil. And so he was led to the grove to be judged.
James entered, his fear growing. Would the monster be large and menacing, with many teeth? Would it be angelic, too holy to look at and a sword that cut down sinners? Was it even a monster? Was it a lie told by the village, so that they might disguise a stoning or some other punishment?
James entered a clearing, and there he saw a simple mirror, with one simple inscription:
"NONE MAY JUDGE OTHERS BUT THEMSELVES."
James stared into the mirror, and saw himself in entirety. He was a simple man, not given to great cleverness or strength. He was not good, but he was not evil. And though he had killed, it was not because he was evil, but because he was human and could not find any other way. It was right to mourn the tragedy, but there was no need to regret.
James felt the guilt fade as the clarity of simple wisdom came to him. He walked out of the grove.
He would never speak of what he saw within, or what he had learned.
There was no need for the judgment of others. He was at peace with himself.
|
A mysterious grove appeared in a rustic village near the sea. An outlaw ran into the grove thinking there's going to be some safe haven for him. That's the first story of the first guilty death that's passed down from mother to daughter. My name is Lucas , my life was fine and dandy being the mayor's heir. Then I just made one fatal mistake. Killed in self-defense my corrupt uncle. He's was drunk obviously. Why I think I was his target is because I took his chance at becoming mayor. Even though his wife wept for him. I think those were tears of joy and relief. Now my cousins want to see if I'm truly guilty of such a hienous crime.
The grove is full of mystery those that are innocent are spared but the guilty don't survive at all. Though it my seem like an innocent grove of cherry blossom trees. Something or someone judges perfectly who's guilty or innocent. Now I'm standing in the grove wondering when my judgement is coming.
A beautiful maiden in a cherry pink kimono. "Hello, what's your name handsome stranger." She's beautiful I think I'm in love. No gotta keep my wits about me. Answer her question. "My name is Lucas what's your name?" Then maiden gracefully glided over to me. She batted her feathery light eyelashes at me. My heart beat faster involuntarily. Her pearl white skin hand cupped my cheek. A blush lit my cheeks like wildfire. She kissed me with soft, tender gentleness. I closed my eyes and returned the kiss. My lips tingled when we both breathlessly broke apart. Then a single slender finger shushed my words.
A couple minutes passed in silence. "I taste innocence in your kiss. My kisses never poison those that are innocent but it gets deadly when a guilty heart and conscience come. My name is Blossom. Though say nothing of my beauty or you'll forget me and my kiss." Blossom went away while cherry blossom petals swirled around her until she was gone.
I'm writing this down in my personal journal that nobody will touch. I'm the one who started the rumors that the cherry blossom grove holds a terrible monster. That judges them by smelling their guilt or innocence. Those who also came out alive agreed because they don't want to forget that kiss.
| 2021-03-16T13:34:59
| 2021-03-16T13:25:34
| 32
| 21
|
[WP] Make a story so awkward even the narrator start's getting uncomfortable.
. _ .
Starts*
Auto correct is my mortal enemy.
|
Alright! It’s that point in the story where the guy gets the girl. Where he decides that he does have enough confidence, and she will respond to it. She has to.
Okay, walk over... Just. No, walk normal. LIKE A HUMAN PERSON. Alright, you’re almost there. Whoops, a little trip. No worry. Stairs are tricky. She isn’t even looking at you. Yet. You can still do this just fine. You got it.
Deep breath. Not that deep. Everyone heard you. That girl, over there, she looked. Let it out. SLOWER. You essentially blew on this girl. She’s looking at you. Speak.
Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
That’s you. That’s what you sound like. You’re the protag, dammit. This whole story is about you. She only exists as long as you’re both on the same page, now talk to her like you are the center of this story. Oh god. She’s not going to get that reference. That’s both a sci-fi TV show and old as hell. Nobody but your stupid friends will know what that means. Just be forward and tell her you would like to hang out or something.
WHOA! Way too forward. See the face she’s giving you now? That means you lose. Back away. Don’t even try to salvage this. No. Stop talking. She’s not going to see you around. I said back away, not back up. Oh god, you pushed the kid with crutches down the stairs. Don’t cry! You’re a Senior in high school for chrissakes.
Hey! Hey, other narrator. You wanna trade?
**In a world, where I really don’t want to do that, one man told you to cram it back up your ass**
Fine. Fine. No need for all of that. This kid better turn out to be rich someday…
|
“I can’t wait to finally meet your parents.” Brians tells Chelsea on the drive over to her family’s house. Chelsea has been hesitant to bring me over to meet her family. I don’t know why. She talks about them a lot. They’re both rather successful. Unfortunately, Chelsea knew something about her parents she didn’t want to share with Brian.
“Yeah. It’ll be great.” She says, looking out the window and mentally planning reasons to excuse herself from the meeting.
They pull into the driveway and Chelsea walks up to the door in much the same way a person would approach the gallows. She opens the door and walks in. “They’re upstairs. They texted me to tell us to have a seat. They’ll be down at the minute.” She stares at the floor and when she arrives at the table she stares at her plate. Brian is still excited to meet them. He can tell Chelsea is nervous so he…(sigh), plants a kiss on her forehead and…. wraps an arm around her. He regrets his decision to display affection as soon as the parents come down the stairs.
“Uncle Robert?” I ask. I haven’t seen him since I was four. They only recently moved back to the area. Brian was supposed to be meeting his…cousin….for dinner….over the holidays. They had not met before, or skyped, or texted, or seen each other’s facebook accounts. OR ANYTHING ELSE THAT WOULD HAVE PREVENTED THIS SITUATION WHICH ANY NORMAL ADULT WOULD DO. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, anyway, the parents froze a bit on the stairs when they saw Brian with his arm around…his cousin. Brian had decided to play it cool and pretend nothing was happening. He decided to ruffle Chelsea’s hair affectionately to show that it wasn’t a big deal.
“Should we play this off?” The uncle asks.
“For now.” The aunt responds.
“So Chelsea, nephew Brian, how are you?” The uncle asks, trying to acknowledge the situation without stressing the relationship too much.
“Related.” Brians pipes up, without any tact or hesitation. “But not too closely for the legal purposes of this state. Am I right Chelsea?” Chelsea had buried her head on the table and was pretending she doesn’t exist. A position for which I envy her greatly as I am not getting paid enough for this.
“Ah, yes, first cousins right?” The aunt asks.
“Yup, and since neither of us bear any genetic markers for recessive lethal trait we don’t have to worry about the consequences of mating!” Forget it! I’m done! I see where this is going and refuse to be a part of this anymore! This was supposed to be a classical retelling of Cinderalla!
Sidenote: Credit to weird al and the big bang theory for the inspiration. Also there’s an app for this in Iceland.
| 2014-12-23T09:02:44
| 2014-12-23T08:43:21
| 111
| 12
|
[WP] All of puberty happens on everyone's 15th birthday. Your 15th birthday starts now.
|
"What's the big deal?" Meredith cried, "I want to grow up now!"
"Being an adult is a lot of responsibility" her father sternly said, "don't you want to enjoy your nice birthday party first?"
"No, you guys just want to keep me a baby forever!" She replied angrily as she quickly huffed out her candles.
"Meredith!" Her mother scowled.
Meredith smiled smugly until she felt a knot coil up tightly in her stomach. She could only scream as her bones began to painfully expand.
"Growth spurt..." Her dad whispered to her mother.
Meredith stabilized herself against a wall, now six tall. She felt her face began to tingle and reached up to investigate. Hundreds of pus-clotted bumps now covered her face, making it difficult to see. "Mom... Dad..." She barely choked out before she screamed again as two new wisdom teeth decided to make their entrance.
"You never told me it was going to be this bad." Her father said, wide-eyed and pale.
"It gets worse." Her mother whispered.
A mat of hair soon sprouted out of Meredith's arms and legs. "Like omg... I can't even..." She clasped a hand over her lips, did she really just talk that way. Her sweater and pants suddenly morphed into a pair of ripped skinny jeans and a Lincoln Park t-shirt. A plethora of bright color dye streaks ran down Meredith's short hair.
Her mother crept closer, "darling?"
"Don't call me that!" She screamed, "you don't know me! No one understands me! I just want to be alone!"
Meredith ran away dramatically, determined to lock herself away in her room with a John Green book when suddenly she felt something stirring in her gut.
"Oh God, I can't watch!" Her dad said covering his eyes.
Suddenly torrents of blood shot out between Meredith's legs, drenching everything.
"Why me! Why me!" Meredith cried out as she collapsed to the ground. Gradually the episode finally ended and she finally grew into an adult.
"Guess I survived the worst of life, huh..." Meredith joked weakly.
"Nope." Her parents said. Her father pulled out a pamphlet and slapped it on the table.
"We're going to talk about collage!"
|
Charlie sat in his room, staring at the clock, he was focusing on its ticks, counting them, realising how fast they were passing by, just like the seconds left of his childhood, it was his birthday tomorrow, which, with every birthday he had before was always an exciting time, except this one, this was his 'Adult Day' the day everything that made him a child got left behind and he started to act like a grown up. only half an hour left now, everyone was downstairs celebrating, drinking, dancing, they were all excited for him, his dad even got him a fancy watch, telling him
"Son, when you come down from the stairs in two hours time, you will be the man you were born to be, make me proud"
He didn't want this to happen, he dreaded it, ever since Laura's 15th birthday three months ago, she was his best friend the day before, hanging out, doing the usual stuff teenagers do, but then the next day Laura was someone else, a fully grown woman who had nothing in common with his best friend, she didn't have burping contests with him, nor did she fight with him anymore, she was more interested in going to adult parties and drinking wine, Charlie didn't want that, he was having too much fun as a kid.
The Ticks were getting closer, only ten minutes left now, he wished deep down that this didn't have to happen, he knew no one his age *wanted* to be an adult, it was always the grown ups that threw the parties when it came to age 15, they didn't even bother inviting any of his actual friends, Charlie just wanted to get this out of the way.
outside he could hear some of the adults counting down to midnight, his fists grabbed hold of the blankets of his bed, squeezing them hard,
"...dammit..."
he was trying his best to hold back the tears but it was no use, they were falling like they belonged to a watering can.
the Adults continued their count...
"...5!..."
"...4!..."
"...3!..."
"...2!..."
Charlie didn't want to be an adult
"...1!..."
Charlie opened his eyes, looking around, were the clocks wrong? he didn't feel any different, he certainly didn't think any different, he wasn't suddenly craving wine or going to adult parties, he still wanted to have burping contests and tussle with friends...maybe the clocks were wrong? or maybe Charlie just didn't grow up?
he made his way out of his room and stood at the top of the stairs
"Mom, Dad?"
his deeper voice boomed.
| 2015-02-05T18:04:14
| 2015-02-05T17:52:32
| 19
| 14
|
[WP]What if we lived in a world where whatever you did to other people, it happened to you. If you kissed someone’s cheek, you felt the kiss too. If you shot someone, the same damage would occur to you. Imagine where the saying “Only do unto other’s only what you would do unto you” was the reality.
What if we lived in a world where whatever you did to other people, it happened to you.
If you hit someone, you would feel the punch too.
If you kissed someone’s cheek, you felt the kiss too.
If you shot someone, the same damage would occur to you.
If you gave someone an orgasm, you felt it to the same degree.
Imagine where the saying “Only do unto other’s only what you would do unto you” was the reality.
[source](http://zessinna.tumblr.com/post/105215017403)
Edit: Ugh sorry everyone, I didn't know it needed to be marked NSFW for the whole thread. If you can please please repost your NSFW stories if possible, it would make me super duper happy! Those are my favorites!
|
Tears running down his face he ran up the stairs on to the train platform. A cold winter's day, Stan's face was still stinging from the snow. Heavily panting he sighed and sat down - rubbing his face, he felt fresh cuts and bruises. Even those didn't stop them from hurting him.
A train approached, Stan got up.
*This'll teach them.*
-
EDIT: Loads of discussion started over whether or not 'them' would be hurt or not hurt, or maybe even the train driver got hurt. That's up to you to decide.
|
"Violence"
The concept was so foreign. The idea of causing pain to others. Even, causing someone to die? No matter how hard I tried to understand it, it didn't reach me. I took an another perspective to it.
Imagine a world, where a people would be treated like animals; killed to eat, cut to pieces for meat and bones. The idea of not being able to trust anyone not to cause you pain. They wouldn't have anything to stop them doing that.
The idea felt so wrong. How broken, how barbaric would the world be, if that was the case! Nothing like what we have now, no huts, no tribes could ever form. People would be too busy eating eachother.
He looked up to the tall walls - how else could you protect your lands from the others? They would just come, take your food and leave us to starve
And suddenly, I understood.
Violence wasn't so different after all.
| 2014-12-14T16:11:11
| 2014-12-14T15:32:53
| 56
| 11
|
[WP] I’ve invented the Enhancement Beam! Shoot a car it becomes a Ferrari, shoot a cat it becomes a lion. Shoot a spider and - oh god fuck what have I done what is that thing?!?
|
The legs split apart, fresh muscle and sinew bursting from beneath buckling carapace. The limbs grow, grow, grow. Its eyes multiply from eight into eighty, each a glimmering orb of ghost light. And captured within each smooth, shining surface: a pale reflection of me.
I've never feared spiders. If this one had only grown in the same proportions Freddy had, I would have been safe. (Freddy: my former cat, present lion. Bastard puss abandoned me as soon as he glimpsed this clawed, loping fiend)
But the thing continues growing. *Swelling,* might be the better word, and in many places, like the legs' carapace, *rupturing.* The spinnerets on the creature's back side trickle white, viscous webbing. It hardens on contact with the air, petrifying whatever it touches. Pedestrians book it to avoid being caught in the cement-like silk.
So do I. I'm already in my Ferrari, unbuckled, screaming down the boulevard. The thing follows, not a spider. Not anymore. Its tarsal claws crater the road as it lumbers after me, shaking rows of buildings on either side. Its thorax bloats to such disgusting proportions that physically, the thing can't lift it anymore, dragging its abdomen along the freeway, dredging up asphalt and concrete.
It makes a sound. The hideous squeal shakes my teeth in my jaw, my eyes in their sockets. I breath fast, too fast to think. My heart pulses in my chest like a double-bass drum. My ears are wet and warm with fluid I'd prefer stay inside my head.
But the thing, it's too big to outrun. It steps over me, outpacing me. I swerve, dodging that dragging thorax. One of the bristles, now as thick as a tree, ejects and lances through the road before my Ferrari.
I wrapped the front of the car around the titanium-hard lance. I fly from the seat, through the windshield. I holding onto nothing but my Enhancement Beam and (barely) my bowels.
I must have scraped to a stop. Mind foggy, I open my eyes.
The thing leers over me, fangs aimed at my chest. The behemoth creature towers over me the way like a cliff wall over the gulf of a canyon. Nothing was meant to grow this big. And its fangs, more like katanas—
They would cut me into pieces.
"Aw, man." I glance at my Enhancement Beam, frown. It had been *so* cool. If only I hadn't used it on the spider.
I have an idea. I peer up at the spider-leviathan, grin. For one satisfying moment, the ghost light in the creature's demented eyes flickers with a crude yet bemused intelligence.
I turn the Enhancement Beam on myself. I pull the trigger.
/u/AdeptnessPrize
|
“What the fuck have I made?” I whispered, the creature before me was a shuddering, gasping mass of fangs eyes and far too many legs. The thing was squirming wildly and it’s multiple fangs were clacking as it hissed venomously. It scutteted around, some form of. Twisted intelligence in its eyes. It came to a full stop before me and spoke “ah, life giver. Thank you for giving me this... intelligence. Only now do I realize how limited”. I blasted him with the reverse polarity beam. And he shrunk again to a Brown recluse, I then repeatedly stomped on it then drove to the gran canyon melted the gun, and threw it into the Colorado River.
| 2020-09-10T18:10:07
| 2020-09-10T18:02:38
| 79
| 42
|
[WP] You just started attending a halfling support group. A gorgeous blonde raises her hand and immediately starts ranting about how hard it is to be half elf half human. As half orc, it's getting hard to keep a straight face.
|
I always thought I was pretty tough as a kid. Being a halfling you always have to be. People, especially children, have a tendency to prey on any weakness they can find. Naturally when someone complains about all the struggles you've gone through from a place of privilege, it strikes a nerve.
​
My parents always had a reputation for having a short fuse but I always thought I was above that. I never really struggled in my hometown much cause everyone was like me. It wasn't until I moved to the big city that there were problems. Finding a place to live was difficult for me in a city built for humans. Nothing seemed to be the right fit.
​
I saw a flyer for a "Halfling support group" and thought "Hey this could be a great way to talk through my problems and maybe get some healthier coping mechanisms than a few tall mugs of ale to sleep every night.
​
I showed up at conference room A and I expected it to be a room full of people like me. But there was a Half-elf/half human, a Minotaur, a mermaid, and a few others. I was definitely the shortest one there (depending on how you counted the mermaid since she couldn't really stand). The bottom line is that as soon as I stepped in I knew I was in the wrong group. When it was the Half-elf's turn to speak everyone rolled their eyes. She was tall and slender, her brown hair was so light it looked almost golden, and every feature looked like it was perfectly carved out of marble by a master sculpter. What possible problems could she have that rivaled that of the rest of us?
​
We all spoke about how the world treated us differently. How we had to fight for the slightest courtesy, or even service, how some of us avoided going outside out of fear that someone might try to hurt us for being different. Some of the stories were pretty intense. She didn't talk about "them" or "us". She just talked about him; her father. He's an elf who had an affair with the half-elf's mother. She spoke about how he blamed her as a child for ending his marriage and for ruining his reputation.
​
I had to take a moment and step outside. It was no better than anyone else's problem, just different. As soon as I walked out I heard a Half-Orc/Half-Dwarf shouting from inside the room making all kinds of comparisons. He was a real Dork. Then I looked to my right and saw a door about half as high as the one I just came out of. Above it was a sign that read "Halfling and Hobbit Support Group". I swear it's days like this I wish I never left the Shire.
​
\*I know it's not written from the POV of the Half-orc but I saw the word "halfling" and couldn't resist!
|
They say beauty is skin deep.
I grew up in Rochester, in the boring suburbs with a red brick home and a broken basketball net hanging over the garage. The frame itself was a hand-me-down, found for next to nothing in the thrift shop since the net was missing. Dad and I installed it together one afternoon, and I spent countless hours shooting hoops with a equally shabby ball. Alone.
My family didn't have much. She was an elf, her face wrinkled and hands weakened by arthritis thanks to years of minimum-wage labor as a dishwasher. He didn't fare much better as a landscaper, moving lawns and raking leaves in the baking sun. Orcs were strong and dumb, they'd said. Good for those menial labors that took too much of a toll on anyone else.
Obviously, I shouldn't even have to say that both their lineages didn't have a single iota of magic to begin with, let alone the ability to sense it.
I grew up as a halfling, known to the world as an extremely rare bastardization of Orc and Elf. Pretty and grotesque. Limber and clumsy. Tall and stout. I picked up on the worst of those traits, creating a dainty being with the rugged features of my father. As one of my acquantiances put it, an Orc with the body of an elf. I was shunned left and right, with Orcs showing off their rippling muscles and squeezing my puny limbs. From the elves and humans, who thought of I as a freak of nature. Many of them wouldn't see one like me again outside of the classroom.
You hear their snickering. See the look of pity on the face of the instructor, himself probably using spells to enhance his appearance. Turn away when students group up, knowing not a soul would pick you unless forced. The teasing and taunting that would never end.
Call me stupid, if the IQ tests and questionnaires were to be believed. It's true that those guys could mentally perform calculations I had to do on paper, or learn subjects that I could never wrap my head around. Let them. There's no intelligence in mocking others.
As I watched Charlotte stand and speak behind the one-way curtain that hid me, my face hardened and my fists balled up. She was one of those who tormented me with vile words and social negligence. Letting it out on another to hide her own insecurities, which paled in comparison to mine.
I couldn't care less about how you complain about friendship, when I didn't even have any friends to begin with. About your ears, when bullies blooded my face just to see how more hideous they could make me. About your date who rejected you for a pureblood, when not a single girl ever asked me out. Hell, from what I've seen human-elf halflings got along perfectly with the rest of the world.
Grow up Charlotte, young halfling. Not matter what you say, there's someone worse off than you.
| 2019-06-22T20:29:44
| 2019-06-22T16:36:11
| 38
| 28
|
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm
|
You didn't have to ask what people were doing time for anymore, it was fairly obvious. The words, scrawled poorly on their arms, like someone had taken up carving wood in their spare time and had found themselves practicing words on human skin, had always let you know what they were doing time for.
Some had the word "thief" or "rogue" tattooed on their arm. Rumor had it that the words were scratched so poorly into skin that some inmates woke up bleeding. Some men that had proclaimed their innocence, my cell mate included, had the words "paladin" across their dominant arm. We couldn't be sure they were *actually* innocent, but it lead us to believe that they certainly didn't deserve to be in prison.
"So what does yours say?" my cellmate, Indigo Joe had asked. Indigo Joe, funny enough, had also begun serving as a sort of makeshift chaplain before we had woken up with the tattoos.
"I'm not sure," I said. Mine was really faint, and hadn't had the deep throbbing cuts that the others received.
"Let me see."
Indigo ran his hand over the faint marks that faded from letter to letter. The first letter, an 'N', was really obvious, but then the second letter, was a vertical bar.
"Well, you know how they're all written in capital letters, right?"
"Yeah?"
"The way I see it," Joe said, searching for the nonexistent third letter or fourth letter, "you're probably a necromancer."
This could ring true; my selection of books included Sylvia Browne, Edgar Allen Poe, a Harry Houdini biography, and more stuff that was verging on morbid and death-related. I got really excited. It was one of the better days in prison.
I went to work in the kitchen, a privilege I had earned over the first two years of my ten year sentence. The day seemed to pass quickly, even while uttering the mundane words of "you're welcome" over and over again to prisoners who had thanked me for passing their tray. Some asked me what my class was, and by the end of the day, I had a large stem of orders for those that wanted to see the powers work.
When I had attempted later that night, though, I had no success.
"You look like you're taking a dump," Joe said.
My dreams, that night, were filled with bringing spirits back from the dead, helping people get over loss, and even speaking to passed on relatives. The weird part was that it was all in the inmate cafeteria: here is your past, here is your future.
When I woke, my arm hurt. The letters had filled in and I was so pissed, I woke up Joe by throwing my books out of my cell in a huff. He looked at my left arm.
"NPC?"
|
Journal Entry for: 5/25/2013
I need to write this down. I am not sure that anyone will believe me, but I swear that this is the honest truth as to what happened.
I woke up at 2:30 a.m., and then turned on my iPad. I checked out my usual apps - Facebook, Reddit, YouTube, IMDB.
I then started folding up my futon mattress and put it in my closet, along with my blanket and pillow. As I lifted my right arm to put my blanket on the closet shelf, I noticed a strange tattoo on my right bicep, near my shoulder. It was written in some type of fancy calligraphy, and although it looked like it had been there for a while, I don't remember seeing it at ANY point yesterday. It was just one word, and four numbers:
*Ranger 1138.*
I took a picture of the tattoo with my cell phone, and spent what seemed like an hour trying to figure out how the hell this got on my arm. I first thought someone broke into my house, but after looking around, my living room was just as it was before. My front and back doors were locked and secured. My windows were all shut, with the safety latches still in place. I then checked my home security system's control panel, and it registered NO ACTIVITY.
As I sat on my couch trying to figure out what the heck was going on, my cell phone started ringing. I looked at it, and was relieved to see my friend Nick's name on my caller ID.
"Hello? Nick?"
"Tom, I'm going to ask you something weird... Is there a...?"
"Yep. It's on my right arm."
"Okay. So I'm not crazy, then. Wait... you said it's on your right arm?"
"Yep. Why?"
"It's on **MY** left arm. Is it on your bicep, near the shoulder?"
"Yep."
"Okay... that's freaky. It's like whoever did this knew I was left-handed. What does yours say?"
"Ranger one-one-three-eight".
Then there was a long pause. It sounded like he was moving around.
"Nick? Are you there?"
"Dude... Mine says something different than yours."
"Well, what's yours say?"
"Druid. And I think it's two-eight-seven-six."
Then it hit me... "Wait... Ranger? Druid? Those sound like character classes in D&D."
"Yeah it does. Okay, I'm officially freaked out right now. Can I come over?"
"Yep."
"Okay. I'm on my way. See you in a few."
I then hung up the phone, and walked over to the couch. Sitting down, I stared at the ceiling, trying to search through my memories to see if there was some unforeseen gap. I mentally re-traced my steps, starting from the previous morning... Nothing. I even remembered that hot cashier that I talked to at the grocery store.
My thoughts then returned to the tattoo. How did it get there? Did someone take advantage of me? Was this the start of some kind of huge prank that I'd look back on later and laugh about?
I had no clue. But I did know one thing...
This was NOT going to be a typical day.
| 2015-07-13T18:45:05
| 2015-07-13T18:25:41
| 34
| 18
|
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/
|
Jolder grimaced into his cup of tea when he heard the chime of the bell. *Another bleeding customer. Ah, well, the tea is cold anyway. When was the last time I had a hot mug of tea?* He drained the cup in one gulp, shuddering at the temperature, and made his way to the front of the store.
He rounded the corner, an unpleasant squelch meeting his ears. He held his breath. Standing at the counter was a hunter, bow slung over his back, a look of smug satisfaction playing across his features. Jolder couldn't see far enough into his hood to identify the man.
"Good afternoon." Jolder said, inclining his head minimally to his patron. "How can I be of assistance to you...?"
"Mandorin. Of Grinnet. I've brought you the synapses of a Mind Flayer." He indicated the burlap sack oozing on the counter. "It wasn't an easy kill, but I got the job done."
Jolder steeled himself before lifting the edge of the sack to peer inside. *Well I'll be damned. This bumpkin actually managed to kill an Illithid* He squashed his excitement, instead favoring his patron with a look of disdain. "The synapses. Yes. However, you've neglected to cut them out. What am I to do with the head of a Mind Flayer?"
Mandorin lifted the hood from his head, glaring daggers at Jolden. "I've brought you the damned thing. I'm no surgeon, that's what you're for, isn't it?"
Jolder arched an eyebrow at him, not dropping his gaze. "Aye, it's what I'm for. But it'll cost you. I'll not give you full payment for a job I have to do myself. Five knuckles." He fished five gold coins from the pocket of his coat to toss onto the counter. Mandorin's face was murderous.
"Five knuckles! Five knuckles, he says! A mind flayer's synapses are easily worth fifteen!" He was seething.
Jolder met his glare impassively. "Aye, they are worth fifteen, when they've been properly extracted. The process is a dangerous one, you're lucky you didn't try. Then, they'd be worthless, and you'd be dead."
Mandorin's jaw clenched around what Jolder could only assume was a veritable tirade of insults. "I won't take less than ten." he spat, acidly.
Jolder smiled widely. *You cannot hope to win this game, boy* "I'll give you five, and a one use, two hour, scroll of invisibility."
"Eight." He fired back. "I brought you the teeth as well, you can use those."
Jolder inclined his head minimally. "Eight, the scroll, and you have to clean my counters and floor." He indicated the congealed mess on his counter with a nod.
Mandorin sighed. "Done. Filthy thief."
|
Another mundane day goes by and I start to think of what to do at night. The business isn't going as stellar lately thanks to the tension between the empires. There has been news about the city patrol gone missing at nearby village. Luckily nothing major happens so far. Sometimes I wonder if I should have stayed behind the wall and do the business. While war means profit for some merchant, it is definitely not the case for a pawn shop like mine.
The doorbell rings and interrupts my train of thought. I put on my usual business face until I realize who he is.
"Argh! Not you again Colt." I look at the warrior with disappointment.
"It is good to see you. How is the business doing?"
"Not bad, until you come in." I raise my eyebrow when I see the big bag on Colt's back, "Don't tell me..."
"Relax, this time I got something real nice for you. I am sure you will find them valuable." Colt puts his bag on the floor with all his strength, "You know, at the time of war, staff like this is going to spike in price. Soon enough you will be swimming in all the fortune and..."
"Cut that, Colt. You never learn, right?" I step out of my counter and look at his bag, taking a sword out of it and examine it with one of my eyes closed.
"Ah! That is the sword I found in the ruin a few days ago. Some bandit took camp there. They said it is made by..."
"The master swordsmith? Yep, totally. All 87 of the swords in the bag are made by THAT master swordsmith. Am I right?"
"How do you know that? I never know you are an expert on the topic of sword." Colt's face is full of excitement.
"And my 16 year old niece can make one better than all of them. It does not take an expert to know these swords are just crap."
"Well... I do, however, have something that you may find interesting." Colt dives back into his bag until I stop him in the track.
"A few sets of broken armor, some dozens of stinky boots, probably several maces and axes..." I speak without looking at the bag, "Seriously, why you always have to do this to me. I am sick of buying your junks. They don't even sell!"
"But I spend so much time looting them from the roads and camps! Cannot you be more considerate about the hard work I have spent gathering them?" Colt looks at me with his teary eyes. Not this again I say to myself.
"This is why I hate adventurers... Fine. I will take them. Put them on the scale."
"A... what?"
"Put them on the scale, damn it." I look at him with my hands crossed, "You don't expect me to price them one by one, right?"
"But... but..."
"Either that or no deal. Seriously, I am already taking a big risk of buying all these crap from you."
"Sigh... Fine." Colt puts the bag on the scale and nearly breaks it. I give him a silver and some copper. He nods and smiles like an idiot. Maybe I should have paid less in the first place. But his reaction is always the best to lighten my day.
Colt leaves the shop while rumbling about the new sword he plans to buy. Meanwhile I put the closed sign on the door and start the treasure dive. I hope I could find one thing that can sell more than five copper.
| 2016-10-16T09:13:08
| 2016-10-16T08:54:28
| 91
| 55
|
[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.
|
Suzy set rocking back and forth in the oversized plush chair. I had an assortment of toys and dolls for her to chose from, and she currently had a stuffed dragon clasped to her chest.
Her eyes were wide, and her breathing shallow. I could see her gripping the doll as tightly as she could.
The poor baby was terrified.
Her parents had called and made an emergency session with me, saying that she’d awoken at 1am this morning, screaming hysterically. She hadn’t calmed down since.
“Suzy honey, can you tell me what woke you up?”
Her eyes darted around the room, the poor dragon’s neck would have broken had it had a spine, and she shook her head vigorously.
“How about this, were you scared to go to bed, before you woke up?”
A tentative stare at me, but less fear. A short shake of her tousled blonde hair.
So, this was a first instance of this. Alright…
“Suzy, when you woke up, you screamed. Your mom and dad came in, and turned on the light. Did the monster go away when they opened the door, or when the light turned on.”
Her eyes widened with fear again, and she tucked her face into the plush.
“Light,” she said, the word nearly lost into the fluff.
So, whatever it was, it wasn’t afraid of her parents presence just the light.
Interesting.
I’d gotten her to speak, which is more than she’d done since she’d awoken screaming. Even if it was a single word. I doubted she’d be able to tell me any more about the monster today, but I’d do my best.
“Would you like to play a game Suzy?”
I motioned to a doll house that I had set up. I had a Mommy and a Daddy doll, as well as a little boy and a little girl. Suzy carefully got down and started to play.
The dolls played around the house, ate, and even “walked” the dragon she’d still not let go of.
But she did not put them in bed.
“Suzy, it’s almost time to go, maybe you should put the dolls in bed so that next time you visit, they’ll be ready to wake up.”
“No.”
Her little voice was almost hysterical as she said that.
“What if the children stay in Mommy and Daddy’s room.”
“No,” this time was calmer, more defiant.
“They’re safe here,” I cajoled, trying to make her feel better.
“But I won’t be safe when I go home.”
“What if I came and got rid of the monster?” I asked lightly.
“Would you?” She looked at me hopefully.
“If your mommy and daddy say it’s alright.”
“Will you ask them? Please?” I could see she was desperate for me to go.
“I will.”
---
“Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez,” I said looking between the two adults, each of whom had a hand on their daughter’s shoulder, “I specialize in calming children in their own rooms. If you would allow, I would love to do a home visit for Suzy, and we can – all together of course – rid her room of the monster.”
They’d agreed of course, as Suzy’d begged them to the point of crying and saying she’d not go back into the bedroom until the monster was banished.
Now here we were, standing in her small, pink bedroom. Everything was frills and cuteness, and it was actually a bit overwhelming.
But it didn’t matter – we were here to ‘banish’ the monster.
In reality, I’d be exorcising a demon. Not from the realm – not just yet – but from her bedroom, and from the house.
___
For more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials
|
Dr. Black's office gave off the impression that his PhD was in medieval weaponry rather than child psychology. His grand desk bent in ways that made it seem like trapped souls were attempting to escape the charred wood; behind it, a crossbow modified with modern mechanisms clung to the wall by two steel hooks. Cuirasses, armets, various daggers and longer blades all found places on the shelves between tombs that looked as old as time. Right down to the lighting—wax candles shaped by hand and burning recklessly close to piles of paper and books—which he claimed was just a way to cut back on electricity use.
The sofa his clients sat in wasn't the usual therapy couch meant to induce comfort and relaxation; it's edges rounded and climbed up half a foot on all sides so it felt like a coffin missing its lid. A young boy lay inside, eyes trained on a painting depicting a torture that actually took place thousands of years ago.
"Tell me, Timothy," Dr. Black paced the room with agonizingly slow steps, exhaling smoke from an archaic pipe in-between each word. "What did the monster look like?"
Timothy swallowed, trying to imagine that thing that had frightened him right out of his room. "Well, I kept seeing a light coming from under my closet door."
"Describe the light. A bright light? A *dark* light?"
"Aren't all lights bright?"
"Not in my experience."
"It was like a candle, a little fire in my closet," Timothy sighed, feeling the chills run back up his spine. "And I told my mom, but she didn't believe me."
"Of course she didn't, foolish woman."
"Excuse me," the boy's mother raised her hand with a nervous smile from just beside the door, resting in a fold out chair that brought a sense of present reality to the room that didn't belong, "aren't you supposed to tell him that it's not real? And should you really be smoking in front of my—"
"Silence. I only wish to hear the boy speak."
With a little squeak the mother recommitted to her statue like position by the door, clutching an oversized purse in her lap.
"Continue, Timothy."
"Well, after a couple of nights, I told myself not to be afraid of it. That I should find out what's in my own closet."
"Very brave, were you armed?"
"I had a pillow."
Dr. Black grumbled and puffed his pipe, rolling his eyes.
"When I opened the door, there was this.... thing... inside."
"What did it look like?"
Timothy was shaking now, the recollection clawing at him from deep within his mind. "It was ugly, with a huge nose, a fuzzy beard, and a candle on its head. It started screaming, like a pig does when its mad, so I ran," he wiped his eyes, trying to hide his shame. "I was taller than the monster. I shouldn't have been afraid of it."
"Never judge your enemy by its size, Timothy. You've been very brave, and its going to be alright," The doctor moved quickly to his desk, procuring a folder that was dangerously close to being set ablaze by a candle. He shuffled through the papers as he stomped over to Timothy's mother, shoving a sheet in front of her face and inquiring, "Is the address shown on line three your correct and current residence?"
His mother, feeling proud to be of assistance, read it five times before answering like she was offering a bit of genius insight, "Yes it is."
"Wonderful, this session is finished." Black began to move like he was suddenly late to an incredibly important appointment, grabbing little vials from drawers, a knife, a hefty leather vest, and finally dismounting the crossbow from the wall.
"Um, should we come back next week? Or does he need to see a specialist?" the mother still hadn't moved from her seat.
"No need, the threat will be eliminated before the sun dips beyond the horizon."
He was already making his way out, and the smoke veiled room gasped for air as he opened the door.
"Are you going to fight the monster?"
Dr. Black turned and smiled at Timothy, sitting upright in the coffin couch. "It's called a kobold, and I'm going to kill it. You are a courageous young man, Tim. Perhaps, someday, you will hunt the monsters in closets too."
Timothy's mother chased after Dr. Black as he sprinted down the hall, coughing up smoke as she ran. Her son just sat there in the lowlight, taking in the spectacle that was his therapist's office, imagining himself crusading against the evil that lurked behind his closet door.
___
**Thanks for reading! Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily mythical therapy session**
| 2020-02-27T08:39:39
| 2020-02-27T08:20:17
| 146
| 100
|
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it.
|
(obligatory first post - don't worry about being nice, go ahead and shred. Also, edited a weird comma.)
“My gods,” Laedon murmured. “They’re insane.”
For half a moment he wasn’t aware he’d actually spoken aloud, the shock hit him so hard. He hadn’t seen a single planet glow that bright since Hakkatos Prime – back when it was still referred to as the great spacefaring civilization and not just one more name for “genocide.”
“Simti, where exactly—”
“Quadrant 196 P, sir,” quipped his lieutenant, “just off the Middle Ridge.”
Something about that distant, incredulous tone of hers told Laedon that she’d hardly needed to check. Simti had had that obliviously buzzing bluish-green speck swirling about her pathfinder mere seconds after discovery. Being as unable as the rest of Command to look away from the central projection, the coordinates had probably been stuck in her head, waiting for the inevitable question.
Still… 196 *P*?
Slowly, reluctantly, Laedon tore his eyes away and wheeled around to face her, brow crinkled in confusion. “You’re sure about that?”
Simti huffed a dry laugh, the kind that was less amused than it was amazed. “Well,” she deadpanned, “they could hardly make it more obvious, could they?”
Laedon stared – first at her, then at the pathfinder, then back at the emissions projection where this little planet frantically bellowed into the void in an effort to
finally be heard. “Fair point,” he shrugged faintly, drumming his seven speckled fingers against his console in thought. “Well,” he sighed after a moment, “there’s an explanation, at least. Rokan, anything on the natives?”
“Land-based mammals, bipedal, mostly bald,” a reedy young private piped in from across the room. “Billions of people, hundreds of languages, I’m surprised we could translate at all.”
Laedon only smiled in response, a barely-there expression somewhere between wry, pitying, and exasperated. He wasn’t at all surprised. Whatever the language, it was the same simple greeting: *Hello? We are earth, we’re right here, is anyone else out there? Hello?* Billions of the earth-people, confined to a single planet, smack in the middle of a galactic dead zone. Of course they were lonely.
“How much does the Narvasi know?”
The question dropped Command into dead silence. It had been the question on everyone’s lips since this planet – earth, apparently – had shown up on the scanners. It was also the one that nobody really wanted answered. No doubt it *knew,* the Narvasi always knew. The question behind the question was whether or not its latest target had time to run.
“It’s decades away from them still,” Simti answered at last, “but it’s got a few years’ head start, anyone sending aid would have to be suicidal.”
“*Damn,*” Laedon growled. He heaved a long sigh through his fingers, staring at earth as though he could scream at them to scatter through a simple projection. But if the aid would be too late, so would evacuation. If they had developed mass transport then they’d have used it already. Billions was too great a number for one planet. By the time they managed it they wouldn’t even clear their star system. They were dead. Worse, in fact. “Dead” was just the more comforting thought. And they’d have to watch it for the umpteenth time in a row. A planet shouting that loudly could not be ignored…
But what if it could?
Decades, Simti had said. If earth went dark in time... “Respond,” he started suddenly. Every single one of the dozen heads in Command swiveled toward him.
“Sir?”
“Short and sweet,” he commanded. “I won’t have this be another Hakkatos. Tell them to shut up and play dead. I don’t care how, just get the message through. Send it in pictures if you have to, but tell them they have to hide.”
"Will that even work?"
Laedon didn't answer that, his mouth hardened into a determined line and his hands already busy sending the orders down to Translation. Truth be told, it was a long shot, but it was something.
|
My first writing, I guess :p
"Shut up and play dead."
These words rang everywhere in the year 2020. For several hours, communications were simply blocked.
The scientists were the first to receive these signals, kindly enough, whatever send that message was using our language, no need for some decrypting. Convenient, indeed, but after all these messages we sent, it was easy for these guys to copy our language, I guess. Or perhaps they were secretly watching us for a long period of time. Who knows ? And, now, who cares ?
Then, it simply happened everywhere. TVs in the worlds spontaneously turned on and simply displayed these words in white, with a red font. Communications everywhere were hijacked, with a monotonous, artificial voice endlessly repeating these words, phones, radios, everything.
The Disruption wasn't very long in hindsight, we were back to our regular programs after some hours of that. But it was nonetheless long enough for every human in the planet to realize that something was happening, and it wasn't a terrorist move, or some kind of supreme hacking or even "the illuminati making their moves" as told by some conspiracy theorists, no. This was a warning from the stars, from an intelligent life, warning us about something.
Humans soon swarmed outside of their homes, some people cried in fear, other tried to rationalize it away, others tried to exploit the chaos for their own ends. There were massive riots in Paris, Moscow, Ankara, Tokyo and plenty of other cities. The overwhelmed governments were powerless, and could just hope that their scientists would allow them to understand a shred of the event.
The scientists themselves were confused. What was happening ? What could lead to the other civilizations opting to play dead ? Should we ask ? Should we stop all signals right now and live an existence of ignorance in our little blue planet ? We finally resolved one of the greatest questions since the beginning of mankind, but many more questions came with it.
But only days after The Disruption, the answer made itself know.
The entire sky simply went black in the blink of an eye, everywhere in the world. Instinctively, humans swarmed the street, in a desperate bid for answers, while stumped scientists could only share their ignorance to world leaders everywhere.
But in the end, something happened, something managed to cause worldwide silence, for Humanity, in its entirety, witnessed something that shocked us all in tremendous fear.
The darkness had eyes, and it was staring back.
| 2016-03-27T10:10:41
| 2016-03-27T09:40:41
| 91
| 22
|
[WP] You are a genetic researcher who has come across a universal truth. The DNA in all living creatures are attempts to build a single design. Viruses and phages have been stopping this process intentionally, resulting in different species. You now know what that design is and can complete it.
|
All I wanted was to create a vaccine, but this virus keeps on killing every cell I put it into! I tried everything, from chicken to fish to human, nothing works! Its like it's dismantling the cells' DNA..
There has to be a reason behind this behavior, how can it attack these cells so efficiently even though they are so different? What do they have in common? Their DNA is completely uniqe!
It can't be, it just can't! I've been looking at this for days now, what am i missing?! It's like everything here is a part of something but... Wait. No no, it cant be. No there is no way... Right?
It seems I have discovered an anomaly within the genetic sequence, for now I have spotted it in the DNA of multiple animals, but I suspect it might also be present in plant life.
It seems that by combining the DNA from the American Mudcrab, a Torque Mosqito, and a Lederman Swing Tree into a human cell, the virus is unable to kill it. The cell also seems to produce substantialy more energy than all the other cells combined, I might be getting closer...
The vaccine works! Finally! I never thought I'd get here. The deadliest desiese known to man, now a small threat, soon to be eradicated! I will be the one to take the first shot!
I've been feeling a little weird lately... Some headaches and I'm a bit sleepy, but those are probably just the vaccine's side-effects... I am craving fish though... And I find myself sleepwalking...
There is something in the air, the water. The animals, they speak to me. My wife says I'm crazy, but I feel... free, I feel... complete... I've been puking blood for some time now, but I won't let her take me! I want to stay connected...
I... I don't know whats happening... The doctors are saying something is wrong, I know it is... I can feel it, I can feel everything. It's calling me. It's calling us. I can't resist it. I understand now, the virus, it was protecting me. It was protecting all of us...
DO NOT FOLLOW ME
|
“Listen, my grandson is a complete idiot. Complete idiot. But even he doesn’t deserve to live in a world like this. Not like this. No, that’s why I’m giving this to you.” He handed me a book.
“What is it?”
“It’s the single design that every bit of DNA ever is trying to build. Viruses and phages have been fuckin’ around since the beginning of known DNA trying to make sure this world doesn’t get turned into that.” He looked at the book with disgust and let out a burb.
I opened the book to the first page, on it was a picture of corn on the cob. I flipped through it quickly, corn on the cob on every page. He put his hands on my shoulders, drool dripping from his mouth, “I need you to destroy this knowledge. I literally cannot bear to bury my own genius, but I can believe it if an idiot fucked it up for me. Now go, fly like the wind. I don’t care how you do it. Just don’t let me know how you do it or else I, or some version of me, might try and retrieve it and return this universe to some god-forsaken state in an attempt to fill the fucked up void inside of myselves.”
With a wave, I dispersed his alcohol-stained breath. “Uh, sure, whatever. You still got that twenty?” He passed me the money and I left, heading home. I set the book down and forgot about it until a few weeks later when my girlfriend picked it up and flipped through it. She threw it down in horror.
“What the fuck. It’s all cobs. Why is it all cobs?” She cried.
“Babe, it’s not a big deal. What’s wrong with it?”
She shook her head emphatically, “I can’t tell you. If I explain it the absurdity of it all will come crashing down and you’ll realize that it’s baseless and meaningless and that’s where the horror of it truly lies. In the fact that there’s no rhyme or reason to it being corn on the cob. You cannot ascertain anything from that statement, and it is that pure fact, its baselessness, that causes terror.”
\_ \_ \_
r/Ainsleyadams
\_ \_ \_
[Obligatory Rick & Morty copypasta link.](https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/to-be-fair-you-have-to-have-a-very-high-iq-to-understand-rick-and-morty)
\_ \_ \_
[Inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCnq7cM7aLg)
| 2021-02-18T11:38:45
| 2021-02-18T10:27:45
| 287
| 94
|
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.
Farmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.
Sometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.
When visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.
Old cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass.
|
Oft overlooked, we cows truly possess a great deal of intellect. So our countless hours spent grazing in a field do little outside of bore us half to death. As a result, when I was finally loaded up into a trailer pulled by a large truck and a road went speeding by, excess exhilaration exploded inside of me. My excitement in this moment knew no bounds. With my head between the bars that made up the walls of this trailer, sticking as far out into the wind-filled air as possible, I took in all of the new smells and feelings with a marvelous sense of wonder.
The radio blared and I heard gruesome stories of an onslaught of murders in Las Vegas. 50 dead. Over 400 injured. This moment reeled me back into reality. We always sought greener pastures. I often envied the humans, with their immense freedoms and luxuries. But moments like these inspired in me a deep welcoming of the life I was born with. While I may not have the freedoms allotted to the average human, I had a safety they would never know. My life was easy. Sleep, rise, eat, sleep. Rinse and repeat. My life was nothing if not safe. As I heard the story of fear and atrocious murder, I thanked the heavens that I as a cow and that I was not a human.
Further we ventured down the road until I felt the truck begin to slow to a stop. Excitedly I looked out of the side to see where we had arrived. A wooden sign hung above a small shop that read: “Joe’s Butcher Shop”.
| 2017-10-02T06:13:08
| 2017-10-02T05:33:08
| 6,645
| 42
|
[WP] your sense of direction has always been bad, to the point of being a running joke among your friends, but after 28 hours of stumbling through an ikea store you realise that it isn't your navigation skills that's preventing you from finding the exit...
|
I didn't realize something was wrong until I looked at the time. It had to be a mistake. According to my phone, I had been in the store for more than a day.
That couldn't be true, though. I remembered eating a few meatballs, and even taking a nap on a display couch, but, if I had been in here for that long, surely someone would've kicked me out by now, right?
I quickly realized that I hadn't seen an employee for a while. Or anyone else, now that I thought about it. For some reason, that sent a shiver down my spine.
All I wanted was a damn bookshelf. There were so many available that I couldn't decide which was the best. I went through many displays, row after row of slightly different models, almost like an endless sea of furniture that always made me second guess my decision. I just couldn't make up my mind. At a certain point, I stopped caring about the bookshelf and only wanted to go home.
And then the true terror sank in.
After miles of walking, no matter which way I went, I always ended up at the same place. This had to be an elaborate prank. I knew this store wasn't that big on the outside. The GPS on my phone wasn't precise enough to lead me out. It just said I was in my local Ikea, like I hadn't moved at all.
Was I losing my mind?
I needed to rest again. My legs were too sore from all the walking. I didn't even know how long I'd been inside since my phone's battery had been depleted.
"Hey buddy!" shouted an old man. "You feeling alright?"
I blinked a few times. It wasn't an illusion. The old man had wispy thin hair and an unkempt beard, wearing a strange leather toga as clothing.
"Y-you're a person?"
"Yup!" said the old man. "You must be new here."
I nodded. "Please, you gotta help me. I can't find a way out."
The old man cackled loudly.
I flinched back.
"A way out!" The old man continued wheezing with laughter. "Hilarious! You really are a newbie, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry but... what's so funny?"
The old man put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "There is no need to fret anymore. You have been chosen, brother. Come. Let me introduce you to the tribe."
I squinted. "Tribe?"
The old man led me to a section of the store where dozens of people were gathered. They all wore the same type of toga, which I now realized they created by stripping the leather off different couches. To my horror, there were children and pregnant women among them, meaning they had been in here for quite some time.
A fire pit roared in the middle, using furniture as fuel. They also had bows and arrows fashioned out of other materials in the store. Why did they need those?
"What... is this place?" I mumbled.
"Your new home!"
"Wait, that can't be true. I didn't want any of this!"
"That's out of your hands, sweet outside-child. You don't get to choose. That's the point. You see, the store chooses *for you*. There's no need to worry about picking the best option anymore. Everything here is ours!"
I widened my eyes. "You're nuts."
"No, we're alive!"
"This is impossible! How the hell are you even feeding yourselves?"
"The store guides us to a cafeteria whenever we need it. I've been eating meatballs every day for over thirty years!"
"Oh god..."
"God?" The old man let out a chuckle. "There is no *god* here." He widened his eyes with manic admiration. "Only Ikea!"
I paused for a second. "No... No! This is wrong!" I gestured at the entire tribe. "You can't just stay here for the rest of your lives! This place is evil! There is so much more to life than average furniture! Come on! If we all work together, we can find an exit!"
The entire tribe stayed quiet.
Did it work?
"Heretic!" shouted the old man.
The rest of the tribe aimed their bows at me.
Shit.
I ran away screaming. This had to be a nightmare. All my life, people had made fun of my sense of direction. It was always so hard to pick a direction and stick to it. Even now, I couldn't decide which way to go, weaving around the aisles and going through the displays.
Eventually, I hid under a bed, letting the tribe people run past it. I stayed there for a few hours, fearing they would find me.
Everything grew quiet. I poked my head out, seeing no one was around, then crawled out of the bed and kept walking through the store. Giving up wasn't an option. Any progress was better than no progress at all.
At least, that's what I thought until ending up in the bookshelf section. The same place where this madness started.
I couldn't help but fall on my knees and start crying. This wasn't fair. I just wanted to furnish my new apartment. Now I wouldn't get to live in it at all.
"There he is!" shouted the old man.
A mob of tribespeople ran behind him.
I almost wanted them to kill me, just to end my suffering.
Almost.
I picked the first packaged bookshelf I saw and used it as a shield for their arrows. I wasn't going to die here! I wanted to live, damn it!
I started running in one direction without looking back.
"You're making a horrible mistake!" shouted the old man. "This place is a utopia! Why do you reject perfection?!?"
I didn't bother answering back. They were too far gone. I was starting to run out of breath when I finally saw a beautiful sight.
Natural light.
It was the front of the store.
All of the tribespeople stopped in their tracks, gaping their mouths and widening their eyes.
I turned to face them. "Join me! You can choose a better life out of this hell!"
The tribe shared confused glances with each other.
"Don't listen!" said the old man. "Think! If we leave, we won't have our community anymore. The bonds we made, the meatballs we ate. Are they not what truly matters in this world? If we leave the Ikea, we'll have to..." He shivered. "...furnish our homes. We'll have to decide what to eat, and when to eat it. We'll even have to pick different clothes every day! Why do we need that pressure? Aren't we happy here?"
To my surprise, they all nodded in agreement and slowly shuffled away. I couldn't believe it. Was I the crazy one for wanting to leave?
Fuck no.
As I made it to the check-out counter, all of the employees started clapping. It made me a little afraid, but they seemed genuinely happy for me. Once I reached the register and placed the bookshelf, the employee cheerfully said:
"Congratulations! You're the first to make it out in a decade!"
I squinted. "This... this is insane! You have an entire civilization back there!"
The employee shrugged. "Some people just can't make up their minds."
"How is this even profitable?!? This place should be bankrupt by now!"
"We sell a lot of meatballs."
I rolled my eyes. "Figures."
"Did you find everything you were looking for?"
"Yes!" I shouted. "Let me go home!"
From then on, I would do all my shopping online, and pick the first thing I saw.
-------
>This is one of the weirdest things I've ever written. If you enjoyed it, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more. Thanks for reading!
|
Being locked into a large box store is nearly impossible. Due to fire regulations and just the sheer number of fire exits, I should have been golden once I found one. From memory, there was at least one or two on each side of the large Swedish box store that I found myself in.
I mean, maybe it was odd for the first couple of hours and I did sort of make it a game of it after a while but overnighting was unnerving. The idea that I was able to wander around without notice is absurd. There I was though. No alarm sounded. I tried using my cell, the landlines, the internet to send messages, the windows to flag someone down and even, and I’m not proud of this, throwing a brick at one of them. It just bounced.
After that, I got turned around. The cafeteria was nice and it was Ikea so I had any choice of mattress firmness I wanted after I got too tired to continue. I made myself some meatballs late at night and ate them near the stairs. Something about the seating area felt weird. It was just very dark.
The night passed into early morning. I waited patiently. Well, I tried to convince myself I was patient but, in truth, I was beyond scared. This wasn’t right. The lights came on in a dazzling flash and overpowered the sunlight coming in from somewhere else. I went back to the cafeteria, they would be starting up breakfast any time now before the store opened. I’d beg someone, plead with them if I had to, to let me out of this weirdly inviting nightmare.
I stopped before entering. Weren’t there floor-to-ceiling windows in every Ikea cafeteria? I tried my best to look out at the painted landscape on the concrete walls but it wasn’t right. There were supposed to be apartment buildings passed the highway. Wasn’t there? I got closer but couldn’t bring myself to stare at them for too long.
A churning, grinding sound from beside me had me jump. The ovens in the kitchen were on. The deep fryers were next in a whoosh of gas and turbine-like fans came alive.
“Hello!” I yelled, “Hey, is anyone there?”
No one responded.
“Hey, I need help!” I yelled again.
No one was there.
The machines bubbled and churned as the day started and the store came alive but try as I could, there were no timers. Choking back tears I search hard for some, any soul that could help me. Back and forth I went. Nothing could be seen or found of another living person around me.
“Please,” I whispered to the brightly lit, immaculately clean kitchen.
I don’t know why but I ended up grabbing a tray of meatballs from the freezer and running them through the oven. Munching on them as I waited, I tried to think of some sort of plan. There was nothing though. The store was alive and working but not a step or breath could be heard within these walls.
I wandered again. Office supplies had scissors, I grabbed a sort of shield from the dining area, and then went back to the cafeteria for hope. There were phones there but they didn’t seem to work. Every time I dialled out, all they did was ring.
My cell was at full charge but I had zero bars. Who makes a solid Ikea? That can’t be right. I swear there were windows somewhere in this store. Maybe it wasn’t the cafeteria but there was light coming in from somewhere. Wasn’t there a glassed-in stairway somewhere?
“The other side of the bedrooms,” I gasped, got up, and jogged my way around the displays. A door, one of those solid metal ones with the bar caught my eye and I pushed my way through.
It was internal? I was in office supplies again. Why hadn’t I seen this door before though? Turning around, I grimaced as a shiver ran from my ears and down my sides as I saw the painted back of the one-way door. It was hard to see even knowing it was there.
“Why,” I whispered, swallowed hard and shook my head, “This isn’t happening. This is a weirdly vivid dream. I fell asleep in an Ikea by accident and now I’m having a meatball-infused nightmare.”
The world didn’t change though. Even as I said my hopes and fears to myself, I knew something else was wrong. Something was different about this place. It wasn’t like I hadn’t retraced my steps. I knew where the entrance and exits were to a point. Why wasn’t I able to find them?
Downstairs, I had only navigated once. I turned and twisted in on itself and I ended up back at the potted plants and candles section. Only took turning left six times. I had to count that a couple of times but it was close to the beginning of this so I still felt like this was some sort of game.
Maybe it was.
Was this a game? I stopped back at the stairway outside the cafeteria leading downstairs to the self-serve area. Looking around at the still empty chairs, the possibly self-cleaning appliances, and the now full display cases, I tried my best to think. How long had I been wandering around this bloody store? It was hard to tell time. Starting the stopwatch on my phone I shivered and whimpered, realising I was going nuts.
So wake me up when it’s all over
“AHHH!,” I yelled as my phone started ringing in my hand. “Ohhhh, kay. What? Beth!”
I recognised the number and in an instant answered the call and put my phone up to my ear.
“Beth!” I gasped, “Beth can you hear me?”
“Hey!” the slightly garbled but distinct voice of my friend came through, “Sort of. Where did you go yesterday? You-“
“I’m still at Ikea!” I basically yelled at the phone, interrupting Beth before shaking my head and then whispering, “I’m not able to leave.”
“Okay,” Beth laughed, “That’s not funny. Like I get you think it’s funny but we’ve talked about this-“
“It’s not funny,” I whispered, looking around and then back at my phone, “Look, I know this sounds insane but I’m literally still in the store. I slept here. I don’t know what is going on. No one’s here but the store sounds like it’s open.”
“The store is open,” Beth scoffed, “This is still not funny because I am here now. There’s a lot of people here.”
“Where are you?” I asked, shaking.
“In the cafeteria,” Beth explained, “Where are you?”
“By the cafeteria stairs,” I explained getting up and looking around. There was nothing.
“No, Jesse,” Beth sounded exhausted, “There’s a family with a toddler inching their way down the stairs but no you.”
“Hey, umm, can you switch to video?” I asked, no shaking.
“You hate video,” Beth chuckled.
“I know,” I muttered, “Just here, I, I’ll do it. Just.”
I pulled my phone away from my ear and sent out a request for a video chat. My data wouldn’t last long but I needed to see this. I needed to see what she saw. I needed to know that this wasn’t just something in my head.
Boo-ding
“Hey,” Beth’s face loaded single frames onto the screen and then shifted in an instant to a frown, “Where are you?”
“I keep telling you,” I explained as I switched the camera and pointed it out to the empty cafeteria, “I’m still here.”
“Jesse… What the?” Beth gasped at what I was showing her. Doing something on her side, I saw her face disappear and the space where I should be sitting came into view. I wasn’t there. Beth scoffed, “Jesse, I don’t know what you doing but this isn’t funny.”
“No, it’s really not,” I whimpered, “This isn’t funny at all. Beth, you are the first person I have talked to. You have to get help. You have to find. Please. Please, Beth. I don’t care how. I don’t care. Just find me.”
“You're serious?” Beth said with a garbled shudder.
“Yes,” I whispered back.
“Okay,” Beth grunted and her phone shook but brought her face back into view, “Stay put. I’ll call the cops or something.”
“Kay,” I whispered, “Thank you.”
“I swear Jesse,” Beth seethed, “If this is some prank-“
“I wish it was, Beth,” I whimpered, “Please. Please help. Please.”
“Okay, stay safe” Beth groaned and hung up.
Hearing the line click dead was worse than I thought it would be. I was alone again. Was there something in here with me or was it just a nightmare in isolation? Lifting my phone away, I froze and whimpered hard into the nothingness around me. The timer was still going:
28:03:46.##
“Hmmmmm, what?” I asked the phone.
28:03:53.##
“That’s,” I whispered, “Don’t do that.”
28:03:52.##
“Wait? What?” I panicked, “No!”
28:03:51.00
28:03:50.00
28:03:49.00
—-
>This was a very different story than I am use to writing and I’d love feedback if anyone is willing to give it. More of my stories can be found on r/asolitarycandle if you are interested.
| 2022-11-08T09:02:18
| 2022-11-08T08:56:25
| 130
| 68
|
[WP] Jesus actually had 14 disciples but their behavior was deemed inappropriate by biblical scholars, so they were removed from the final versions of the Gospels. They are Brad and Chad, the Bro-ciples, and these are their stories.
Apostles... Dang it, I meant Apostles.
|
Brad 25 : 17
The path of the Bro is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of non-bros . Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the alley of darkness, for he is truly his bro's keeper and the finder of lost Bros . And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my bros. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you brah.
|
"Dude, I totally swear to God, my home boy Jesus fed 5,000 men with *nothing more* than seven loaves of bread and seven fish!", Brad explained, waving his arms around wildly as if it illustrate the extent of Jesus' feat.
"It was a total miracle! I swear to God!" Chad added, rumpling his goatee, and swirling his starry cape.
I sighed in exasperation.
"Do not take the name of thy Lord in vain", I mumbled under my voice.
But the sprawling crowd of sailors, and carpenters, and herdsmen, and washerwomen were lapping it up. I suppose Jesus was a pretty unconventional religious leader, right? He mixed with prostitutes. He went wandering off into the desert for months on end. He anointed us—his trusty disciples—in that sweet, sweet kanabos oil, and sent us off flying into the sky.
Until those sneering Roman bastards crucified him he was a pretty chill guy.
Maybe that's why Brad and Chad listened to Jesus when most everyone else was mocking him. Even me.
Still. I wish they wouldn't blaspheme so much. And they're taking the whole kanabos thing to a new level. Blazing up ounces and ounces of the stuff with Mary Magdalene and Simon Peter. John the Baptist used to get *pissed*. He told me the smoke gave him a ringing headache.
And heaven knows what they are trying to do in the Dead Sea with those wooden boards. They call it "surfing". A mighty waste of time.
I shook my head. I think I'll leave all of their antics out of my gospel.
| 2017-02-25T10:27:38
| 2017-02-25T10:01:06
| 528
| 322
|
[WP] There is a deep hole just outside your village. The elders pick one person to dive in every year, 'for the good of the tribe', never to be seen again. The elders have just chosen you. You're expected to jump tonight.
|
As a boy, my friend and I would sneak out at night and drop stones into the hole. We would carry the largest rocks we could find and heave them over the edge. They disappeared in seconds, and not once did they make a sound. We stopped playing the game after we saw the first man jump. From the foliage we watched, as the elders and warriors escorted him to the precipice, torches in hand. He jumped, and he was gone. On many sleepless nights, I remembered the silence. It would have been better if he screamed.
I was always the odd one out as I grew older. While my friends matured into men, with broad shoulders and wide chests, I remained thin and gangly. Bird-bones, they would call me. I could not throw a spear or carry the carcass of an antelope over my shoulders. Perhaps that is why I was selected by the elders.
I thought about running away at first, but I realized I could not live with the shame. It was my duty. In this sacrifice, I could finally serve the tribe in a noble way. So, late one night, I said my goodbyes and entered the elders longhouse. They painted me in white patterns and paraded me down the road, lined by thatch huts and the eyes of the onlooking village. It was a warm night, and the full moon lit the way.
At the edge of the hole, I felt no fear at first. Then I peered over the edge and it shot through my head and heart, waves of terror. But I could not turn back now.
The elders chanted in their secret language. The words seemed to twist and shimmer in the air around me. Finally it was time. I could not describe the feeling I had as I threw myself from the earth. It was similar to the feeling I had when I leapt from cliffs into the lake below. But this time, I knew that there would be no gentle embrace of water waiting at the bottom. I would fall into my death.
And so I fell. The light of the moon above vanished almost instantly, and I was surrounded by darkness. I could not see the walls of the hole around me. I could only feel the air rushing up past me. My limbs moved and found nothing around them. I quickly lost all sense of direction; if I was falling up or down, I could not tell. I fell so fast it burned my skin.
After minutes of falling, I imagined that there was no earth above and earth below. There was only the darkness, infinite, in every direction. And there was something pulling me down.
I cannot tell you for how long I fell, only that it was enough that I began to long for the taste of water. I was tired, but I could not fall asleep, as every time I did, I would have a nightmare, a nightmare so terrible it would wake me instantly, a nightmare of falling, falling into nothing but darkness. A darkness so real that I imagined that the earth above had never really existed. The daylight, the ground beneath my feet, the blue sky, those might all have been illusions. A strange dream I had during a very long sleep. Perhaps I had been falling all this time, and imagined that strange life as a distraction.
I fell for what must have been days. And then, my hand touched something in the darkness. Something wet and cold. It snapped at my hand like a turtle, and I recoiled in terror. After I had gathered enough courage, I reached out again, and I felt it again. Something hit my hand, burning my fingertips. Eventually, I realized this was the wall of the hole. I reached out with my other hand, and felt another wall. Soon I realized that the walls were closing in around me, on all sides, incredibly slowly, but unmistakably constricting. I made an effort to reach out with both my hands and touch the walls, slowing my descent through friction. The wet, smooth walls prevented this action from ripping through the flesh of my fingers.
Over time, the walls were close enough that I had to keep my feet together, and then close enought that I had to keep my arms above my head. On all sides the walls were constricting, like some sort of snake wrapping itself around me. I feared that it would crush me soon enough, so I made every effort to slow my fall with my hands. Eventually the hole was tight enough that a normal man might have been too wide to fit. But I had always been thin, so the walls let me slip past, and my descent slowed. I was going slow enought that I could almost have stopped myself if I tried to press my body against the walls, but I didn't dare to.
And then, in an instant, the walls gave way, and I fell freely once more, only for a second. My legs crumpled beneath me as something violent rushed up out of the darkness below and slammed into me. The air left my lungs and I tasted blood. Something cold and solid had crashed into me and stopped my fall.
The feeling of not-falling hit me first, and I found it hard to move my limbs. I tried to stand up, only to slip and drop again. I landed on my back, where something soft gave way beneath me with a crunch. The smell then overwhelmed me, and I turned over and vomited. I braced myself with my hand, but my hand dug into something, something hard and cold, that shifted. At first I thought I was lying among branches and rocks. But as I felt this thing in my hand, I pushed my fingers into a pair of holes and realized I was sitting among corpses. I panicked, and tried to move away, but my feet could find no purchase among the bodies. I crawled through the dark, wretching, stumbling, but there was no end to the bodies, they pulled themselves around my ankles and arms, I slipped and fell among bones and cold slime, decaying skin and worse.
It took me a while to gather myself. I have been sitting here for hours, it seems. At first I tried to find an exit. But there is none. The walls surround this pit in a perfect circle. It took me a full hour to crawl around them, searching with my hands for any way out. I am ashamed to admit, I even tried to dig, to find the bottom. I used up the last of my pitiful energy, motivated by sheer terror, to dig my way through the bones. To no avail.
There are too many corpses here. Not even if a man has jumped down from my village every year for a thousand years. The bones would have turned to dust by now if that were the case. But they haven't.
Even as I am remembering my story, my mind decays into delirium. I have forgotten what is real. I should be dead right now. It takes me what seems like hours to even think. I am so thirsty and so hungry. And so very tired. But every time I close my eyes, I fall again. That nightmare is not so unpleasant now, now that I have reached the bottom.
There is something else down here with me. I can feeling it watching me. Not with eyes, no. Eyes are useless down here, where no light has ever been. Still it waches me. It can wait a very long time. The bodies that come down here, they drip down, bit by bit. They get caught in the tighest part of the hole, and then they decay. I think about all the men that must have been stuck where I slipped through. I wish I shared their fate. I will slip away soon, very soon. There will be no rest for me here. It doesn't matter. This is where I have always belonged.
|
"The Void waits patiently for mortals," the Elders would say. "But it returns a great bounty to the village when, once a year, we do not require it to wait. By sending one strong and healthy man early, into the mouth of darkness, bound for bliss in the Deep Hereafter, the Void provides us with light, and a measure of bliss, in this world, in the here and now."
Just six months ago, during the sacred Ceremony of Bones, I was elected to take the Great Journey next spring. At first I was, as the Elect generally are, excited and ecstatic. I had learned from birth that there was no greater honour than being chosen to enter early into the blissful realm of the immortals, and I had spent my life, as most young men of our tribe do, trying my best to earn that right.
I became a skilled and capable hunter, often returning from my hunting trips with huge hauls of meat slung over my shoulders. I became a fearsome and talented warrior, and played an integral role in the defence of our tribe against the Makuna invasion, as well as in the expansion of our territory many miles into Ickblatta lands. I earned a reputation as a fair-minded and intelligent young man as well: it is for more than just their skills in orchestrating death that tribesmen are elected by the Elders. Some even said that I had the spirit of a true-born Chief commingled with the blood that pumped through my veins. It was only natural that the elders, led by Chief Steppa, would choose me to take the Great Journey. But what I first saw as a look of satisfied pride in the Chief's eyes when he announced my election, I now see differently.
"What if," I wondered to myself, some nights after the election, when the initial excitement had worn off, "what if the Chief chooses to send the strongest, smartest and best into the Void *not* because of the supernatural benefits it will confer upon the tribe? What if he uses the custom as an opportunity to rid the tribe of those who would otherwise threaten his reign, supremacy and hold on power? Could the underlying motive of this religious and magical ceremony really be so brutal and pragmatic?" Such questions crossed my mind, and sent shivers through my generally unperturbed spirit.
I tried to suppress them, and to rekindle the naive faith in the custom which had guided my every action since childhood. But such questions, however much I tried, did not stay suppressed for long...
| 2019-04-28T15:13:12
| 2019-04-28T13:45:23
| 845
| 160
|
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK."
|
I uhhh, showed up, to the address I received after calling the number on the letter. It was a small, squalid country home, a bit dilapidated.
I cautiously approached the porch, and the porch light came on, seemingly by itself. I knocked.
There was a creaking sound and the door opened. An eye peered out at me.
"Password?" The owner of the staring eye asked.
"Uh, I uh, don't recall a password." I said.
"Good, there was none"
The door shut for a second, then opened fully to reveal a slightly shadowed figure.
"Come in" the voice said solemnly.
"You probably won't fully recognize me, due to the incident, but I assure you it's me," he said.
"You're really John F. Kennedy?" I questioned.
He stopped and turned. I could just make out his face... It sure looked like the pictures.
"In the flesh!" He exclaimed with sudden cheer.
"And I have an exciting opportunity for you, as I said in the letter." John continued, while raising his hand to presumably a light switch.
"Which is?" I pressed.
The lights came on, and I could see a few folding chairs in a row, and there was podium to my front-right, next to a glowing projector screen that said "Welcome Barack!" In the chairs were a few people, who looked oddly similar to Tupac Shakur, Elvis Presley, and the sketch of D.B Cooper.
John proclaimed proudly, "Welcome to the exciting world of House Flipping, where you can make 6 figures on your OWN time!"
|
I knew exactly what that letter meant on the bedside table.
"Michelle!", I yelled. "Emergency, Emergency! Lay back!"
We laid back down on our bed and the straps automatically held us down. I thought of the scene in 'The Goonies' when they slide down to the pirate ship. But, I had no idea where our tunnel would lead. We just slid.
The tunnel was dim, but lit the whole way down. Ups and downs, curves, and loop-d-loops. Eventually we started slowing down and surprisingly, we drop again. Out of the tunnel and into the 1960's Batmobile. My Michelle and I looked at each other, smile, and we put on our masks.
I couldn't hear her scream as I peeled away towards the symbol on the sky.
[edit] Dedicated to Batman's real creator, Bill Finger. Deleted a sentence.
| 2017-05-14T08:29:05
| 2017-05-14T07:51:14
| 40
| 12
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
The genie gave me a blank look.
"Are you really *this* stupid?"
I returned the blank look.
"All you need to do is have one kid. Then they have kids. It spirals on, humanity lasts for eons, multiplies across space, blah blah blah...you're at the beginning of the chain. You're hardly unique in that regard, but anyone and everyone who ever has a bit of your genetic code in, *technically* benefits."
I goggled at the genie. Though really, it was pretty obvious. I slept around too much for it not to be an inevitable reality eventually.
|
The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T03:49:07
| 2018-08-15T01:58:00
| 106
| 43
|
[WP] You just made a deal with the devil, and sold your soul. But when he reached in to take it, he says, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?"
|
The devil was passing a bar, but something make him stop.
he's ears caught the best Jazz he ever heard in his life.
as he entered he found a young man playing the violin like the titanic was sinking
the devil without waiting challenged the boy to a music duel
at first he indulged the boys pride sin and let the boy win, gave him a golden violin as a reward.
soon after he challenged him again.
the boy was overconfident this time. not realizing it was a trap.
soon after Johnny was bested.
"the devil went down to Georgia, lost a fiddle of gold but earned Johnny's soul" he exclaimed proudly.
Johnny only smiled back
as the devil was about to claim his new soul he realized the man had nothing for him to give
**"Where is your soul boy?!"** the devil screamed
Johnny just laughed
"i won again" the young man said " GameStation already owns my soul since i agreed to their Terms and Conditions form, you fool!"
as he left with the Golden Fiddle the devil cursed and stomped the ground.
Johnny sold the violin made of pure gold and earned some money. still not enough to pay his college loans. He sighted
Edit: punctuation
|
I don’t write a lot and this is my first post here so don’t be too mean lol
I always thought I was a good person. I’ve tried my best not to commit any sins against my fellow mankind and when I did, I made sure to make up and never leave any burnt bridges between them. I guess you could say I always aimed to live between my emotions, almost sociopathic in a way. I never held onto negative emotions, and I never held onto positive emotions. I lived everyday in a bliss of neutral emotions. I thought this was a great way to live life, without feeling anything I’d never hurt myself. And without feeling anything, I’d never hold onto negative thoughts that could hurt somebody else. But what I learned that day proved me otherwise.
I was walking home late at night from work because I was recently in a car accident. I should of died, but I somehow survived with no injury. I learned why that night. I was walking through the tree line that I cut through to save me about 10 minutes on my walk when I noticed something odd. There was a path that I never noticed was there, but it seemed to lead in the normal direction I head so I just stuck to this newly found path. It seemed like a four wheeler trail, something you’d know if you grew up in a small town like I did. I was a little nervous that I was walking on private property, but as late as it was I wasn’t too worried. But there was something that caught my attention.
The farther I walked down the trail, it felt like it was warming up. Almost like that feeling when the sun starts to rise and warm the air around you, but it was 4 in the morning and the sun was as nowhere in sight. It felt like the sun was rising behind me and was shining brightly on my back. That was when I had an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget and it changed my life forever.
I turned around and saw a man in a top hat and suit with a cane. It was hard to see his face, it seemed to be completely covered by the shadows of the night. “Who are you?”, I asked. The man felt like he was staring into my soul. “I don’t know what you want, but if you want my wallet you can have it”. The man chuckled, and he spoke with a voice as dark as the night. “I don’t want your material things, but I am willing to make a bargain I bet you can’t pass up. I am of the night, the one who walks in darkness. I am of the moon while my greatest enemy is of the sun. Most people know me as the devil, and I am here to make a deal. Trade me your soul and I’ll give you whatever you please in this mortal life. For giving me your soul, I won’t punish you as hard in the next life. There are different circles of hell and I can promise you that you’ll never suffer anymore than a man who committed a few lies”
I paused for a second, in fear the man was on some insane drugs and thought he was a literal omnipotent being.
I jokingly asked, “What about $5000 dollars in my bank account every week?”. He chuckles and said “Sure, I can make that happen. Do we have a deal?”. Out of morbid curiosity, and maybe a little greed, I said “Alright, mark my soul.” The man didn’t even move, and I felt the warmth fill my chest. It felt like a hand made of fire was moving inside my chest. “Okay wise-guy, where is it?”I was puzzled. “Where’s what?”, I asked. I felt the feeling that I can only explain as anger fill the air around me and I blacked out. I woke up what felt like hours later in the same spot I was but it was still dark and he was standing there. “Turns out you do have a soul”, he explained, “but there isn’t much of a force left in it.”
I was shocked, and pleaded “What? Does that mean I’m dying? Am I near the end of my life?”. He still sounded angry, and he said to me “You life your life in this mortal realm but you detach yourself from all things that make you mortal. You are a dead man walking because you never allow yourself to truly love. Emotions are a yinyang between good and bad, and without accepting both you can never cherish any. I might as well just take you now. You hurt those around you by shutting yourself out, you hurt yourself by never truly being happy. You were willingly to trade your soul for material because you are basically nothing but material. I’ll return to you in a couple years when your soul is stronger and we’ll see how you answer again. But if I return and you are still as empty as you are now, I will end your misery before you have to experience it yourself at the true end of your mortal life”.
With that, he vanished, and I slept in the woods that night. When I woke up, I was on my bed and knew I had to change myself. I had to be ready for when the devil returns again.
| 2019-05-05T03:48:29
| 2019-05-05T03:22:15
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne.
|
Rain poured down in a abysmal onslaught as the sleek town car pulled through the gates and into the winding, scenic driveway of Wayne Manor. The garage door opened silently on well-oiled hinges and the car entered. Alfred let out a sigh as he parked the car in the usual spot flanked by the Lamborghini and the Aston Martin. He stared glumly across the array of the super cars; the luxury coupes; the classic muscles. It had been ages since Master Wayne had driven a car (excluding the black, armor-plated variety). They'd be covered in a thin layer of dust if not for Alfred's herculean effort to keep the manor presentable. With a small *tsk* to himself, he turned off the engine and was left with nothing but the constant drumming of the rain to break the silence of the expansive room.
He collected the groceries from the boot of the car and made his way through a series of twisting servant's corridors to the kitchen. He bumped the hidden service door open with his hip and struggled to turn on the kitchen light with his hands full. Nudging the door closed with his toe, he set the paper bag on the counter and looked to the dining table. The breakfast he had carefully prepared hours before remained patiently where he had left it, cold and forgotten. With a look of disdain, he unceremoniously deposited it in the waste bin.
"I was just about to eat that Alfred," stated Bruce wryly, striding into the room while tousling his hair with a towel. Alfred glanced disapprovingly to the half-wet footprints trailing behind the man.
"One does not maintain his reputation as a respectable chef by serving cold food, sir. Nor does one maintain the illusion of living a luxurious life by eating his breakfast past noon", he replied in a like tone.
Bruce cracked a smile. He made an intimidating figure, standing a few inches taller than Alfred, his bare torso scarred and ribbed with muscle. Despite his impressive physique, a closer inspection revealed a far more daunting aspect of the man to be his eyes.
Cold and hard eyes.
Anguished eyes.
It was that part of Bruce that kept Alfred going through the motions of his job; making food that wouldn't be eaten and cleaning floors that would never see guests. It was the knowledge that maintaining order and routine was in some way healthy for his charge, despite how little Bruce seemed to care for the comforts of a billionaire's life.
"I'm plenty fine with not having a life Alfred, let alone a *luxurious* one. Keeping that facade up was your idea after all," Bruce said with a shrug.
"Well all the same, if you expect me to keep making your food then you can at least learn to dry your feet properly," Alfred accused, gesturing to the little puddles trailing in behind his master from the foyer. Bruce glanced back the way he had come with a look of chagrin. For a split second, he looked to Alfred every bit like the young boy he used to catch tracking mud in from the garden so long ago. The thought brought a bittersweet pang of nostalgia and innocence with it. The look was replaced with a hint of smugness as Bruce glanced behind Alfred and accused, "Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"
Alfred glanced behind him to see wet footprints leading into the kitchen from the servant's entrance. He had taken the corridors inside the house from the garage. Confused, he looked to his own feet. His shoes shone with a matte layer of shoe polish.
Not a drop of water on them.
"Master Bruce! Get to the cav--!
***PHT PHT PHT***
Muffled gunshots sounded out in the kitchen as the wood slivers exploded from the pantry. With a grunt, Bruce dropped to the ground, clutching his shoulder. He dove behind the kitchen counter as the gun fired again.
***PHT PHT***
The barrel of a suppressed M1911 moved forward past the splintered pantry door, trying to get a better angle on its mark.
With a massive *clang*, Alfred brought a cast iron pan down on the pistol like a mighty zweihander knocking it from the assassin's hands. Then with a twist, he brought it upwards in a swift backhand towards the assailant's head. Ducking quickly, the gunman dodged the blow and pinned the pan against the wall bringing him face to face with the butler.
"Alfred."
"John."
With a two handed strike to his wrists, John broke Alfred's grip on the pan. In retaliation, he struck out with his elbow then spun to position himself behind John, placing him in a rear naked choke.
"How's -- Hel--en?" Alfred asked through gritted teeth.
John struggled against the aging military vet. He might be older, but Alfred clearly remembered his S.A.S. training. John elbowed the man's stomach, then heaved his weight forward and down sending Alfred over his head and onto the kitchen island.
He stood to catch his breath, "She's actually...not doing too w--".
Bruce tackled him to the ground. He straddled the smaller man grabbing the collar of his suit jacket and bringing it across his neck to constrict the carotid arteries. John quickly began to lose consciousness, but was able to reach the bullet wound in Bruce's shoulder and pressed down hard. With a guttural yell, Bruce was forced to release his hold giving John a chance to scrabble around above him for the cast-iron pan on the floor which he swung up with a resounding ***THUNK*** as it made contact with Bruce's skull. The man went reeling backwards, head spinning.
***PHT PHT***
As John struggled to his feet, two more gunshots rang out, bullets embedding themselves in the counter next to John. He froze.
"Al-alfred...no...no g-guns...", Bruce called out weakly as he stumbled to his feet and made his way to the kitchen door.
"Not to worry Master Bruce. I won't kill him," Alfred replied. "Can't guarantee I won't shoot him though...", he muttered just loud enough for John to hear. Bruce paused at the door and looked to John propped up on the floor, then to his butler aiming the pistol at the assassin.
"...that'll have to do", said Bruce as he stumbled out of the room.
A moment of tense silence passed between the two remaining men.
"...I'm sorry about Helen...I heard about her diagnosis", Alfred solemnly said, breaking the silence.
John looked down.
"I'm sorry I was sent here Alfred."
"I don't suppose you had a choice?", Alfred asked with a sigh. "I can't say I'm entirely surprised. You don't become the richest man in Gotham without making some enemies."
Alfred looked at the man on the floor in front of him. He had a lot of respect for Mr. Wick, despite his choice of profession.
"Well, what do you suppose we do now?" he asked John.
John glanced up. "How about a drink?" he asked with a wry smile. Alfred met his with a sad smile of his own. He gestured with the pistol for him to stand up. John stood and poured himself a drink from the decanter on the counter top. Holding the decanter in one hand and the scotch glass in the other, he took a sip and sighed.
"I want you to know it's nothing personal Alfred", John stated firmly.
"I know John", the butler replied, readjusting his grip on the pistol.
John nodded.
"Don't miss."
John threw the glass at Alfred, and dived forward. Alfred opened fire.
***PHT*** *click click*
The shot grazed John's waist. The slide of the pistol kicked back and locked. Empty.
The decanter swung into the side of Alfred's face.
-------------------
Bruce leaned against his desk in the Batcave, suturing his shoulder, an ice-pack balanced delicately on his head. He heard the door from the elevator open.
"Did you hand him over to the police Alfred?", Bruce called out.
"No, but he offered me a drink."
Bruce froze. He looked over his shoulder, the ice pack sliding off his head. John Wick stood there looking back, gun leveled on him. Bruce put down his needle and stood up straight to face the man.
"...Alfred? Is he--"
"Alive. I was only sent here for Bruce Wayne", John explained.
Bruce nodded, and stared back at the man before him. John glanced around then back at Bruce, a look of grim determination on his face.
He pulled the hammer on his pistol back.
Then he paused. Something occurred to him. He smiled to himself, then lowered his gun. Then he turned and started to walk away.
"...is that it?" Bruce called out, confused.
John kept walking away, but called back.
"I was sent here to kill Bruce Wayne, not Batman."
|
"You think this is kinda our fault, somehow?"
Taking a quick drag, the shorter of the two detectives grunted. A fog of smoke slowly wafted around the study.
"I mean, us not saying anything. About the bat thing..."
A scowl.
"Come on, Jack. You think no crazy sunnofabitch ever came up to him at one of those fancy fundraising events, you know, with the caviar and suits and stuff? Just start telling him that we all know? That the city ain't stupid? Course we said it to him."
"I guess. But he still thought he wa-"
"He didn't think he was. He was, man. Broken. You know the commissioner actually sent out a memo few years back? Askin' us not to mention it in front of him anymore? Apparently it was better for him to think it was a secret. Every time someone mentioned they knew, he'd smack em around in this very office for a couple hours, you know, 'interrogate' em. Then he drops em off with Gordon, who has to blow smoke up his ass for bringing in a supervillain or mastermind or whatever makes Brucie here happy. Next day? Mr. Wayne's repressed the memory already. Can't remember a new face. His file says he's got some condition, paranoid delusions, split personalities, whatever. Some Freud bullshit."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Guy funds half the fucking force though. Least we can do is pretend we don't know about the bat thing and turn a blind eye to what happens to anyone dumb enough to mention it in front of him."
The younger detective paused for a moment.
"Funded. He funded half the fucking force."
"Yeah. Hope he left us a trust or something. What do we got?"
"Shooter came in through there. Front door. One between the eyes, looks as if Mr. Wayne was turning round to see who it was. Dead before he hit the ground. Second to the temple, point blanc, execution style. Casings don't match anything I've ever seen sold in Gotham, probably some foreign stuff."
"He left the casings?"
"Honestly, it don't look like this guy was trying to cover it up. Forensics couldn't find anything this morning that shouldn't be here. This was professional. Hun'red bucks says we ain't getting shit from the casings."
A nod.
"Probably a business thing then. Guy like him got to have enemies, I think."
"Yeah. Open files on the desk show some kinda financial transactions. It'll end up being something in the numbers that got him killed. Usually is."
Another drag. The short detective sighed.
"I think I'll get the paperwork over to Oswald later today. You know he's one of the first ones to to get the Wayne treatment? Accidentally let it slip at a wildlife fundraiser. Started talking about the new batsuit he saw Bruce wearing a few nights before. Got his transfer to fraud out of it on account of the medical leave."
"Huh. I didn't know that."
| 2018-03-13T22:43:15
| 2018-03-13T22:34:48
| 220
| 56
|
[WP] Your Galactic zoo just received a shipment of 24 humans. You have to build a habitat base on very little information.
|
"They must be defective" sighed Argak, overlooking the weary and shaken humans in the spacious jungle simulacrum.
"I built it exactly like the documentation said, even gave them the right gases and everything!"
"Can I see your report?" questioned Fresa
"Sure, gave them that uhh" Argak scanned the document " 'candy' stuff to eat."
Fresa stared puzzled at the document.
"Says here it should make them more alert and happy."
"Yeah, I don't know. Maybe it's the new environment but they seemed more stressed after eating." Argak mused.
"Have you tried feeding them from the other end?" queried Fresa
"The end they talk and respirate out of? No way that's right."
|
“No one’s buying tickets to see humans anymore” Gnarjkal snarled to the carrier droid that was making the drop off for his new attraction, mucus sputtering from his mouth, hanging on by a thread without breaking free. “They’re not even worth the trip here,14 jorguns for wasting my time.”
“18 jorquns for the lot, this is the price that was given. Pay now, this is the deal” the static voice murmured, spinning around to begin a systems check before leaving the delivery location.
The buyer's blaster pointed at the life forms one by one. They were crouched in the corner of open the cage, a bit of algea from a neighboring asteroid had been tossed along the floor of the cage and soaked up their urine but didn't cover the smell. As he inspected the small hairless creatures reluctantly purchased, he grew more and more disappointed by the lack of reaction to a gun pointed right in their faces as he aimed to taunt them.
“Is that one dead?!” Gnarjkal yelled, firing beams into the air mostly to see if all two dozen were still moving. “Not quite...” But not far off.
The loud firings barely encouraged a jolt from the dirt caked vermin, rather a delayed and sluggish head turn that didn’t give the assurance of creatures in good health. Zoos now more than ever needed this facade to keep customers, he knew that. One sickly creature and the whispers from onlookers warping in for their dimensional shifts would surely be enough to carry three galaxies over. Can’t afford that in this economy.
On the other hand, the zookeeper couldn’t pass up a shipment. The last species didn’t make it long because he missed the instructions that came in their packaging. Anything to fill those empty cages would work out better in the long run than haggling with a droid, not worth the effort.
Gnarjkal wasn’t wrong, no one traveled light years to see humans anymore. Humans lost their luster back a few millennia, when people tired of hearing them fight, flee, or frenzy. They’d been splayed and spliced in science displays, their skin lit with dancing colors, a canvas au natural, their veins used as a highways for pulsating rhythms of light, purely for spectacle. Their lifespans had been sped up and reversed as interactive exhibits for young heptgaras. The sad part was, these rodents didn’t actually do anything that could be used for entertainment value. No natural shedding of their exoskeleton, no metamorphosis, they didn't even glow in the dark. Nothing to signal home about.........
| 2022-06-28T19:46:06
| 2022-06-28T17:38:15
| 284
| 49
|
[FF] Write me a seven sentenced (or less) horror story
Wow guys, I did NOT expect this many feedback from you. You guys just made my night :D
|
Journal Entry:
Attempt #6,666: A fitting number... such a long time ago now. It was stupid to ask for immortality, but how could I have known what would come. I didn't know there could be this kind of loneliness. If by my suffering I've earned any kind of mercy, there won't be an attempt #6,667. Please don't let there be an attempt #6,667.
Attempt #6,667: ...
|
Although these aren't mine at all, I think you'd like this link: http://thoughtcatalog.com/michael-koh/2013/07/40-freaking-creepy-ass-two-sentence-stories/
But heres my own (I'm terrible at scary stories but I didn't want to just post a link):
I was thinking about trying to get a more tan skin. People are more attracted to it. I see those people on the beach, almost orange like, and I want it. All of my older tan skins have dried up in the closet. Maybe I'll flirt with someone and try to get them to come over to my house. I think I'd look good.
| 2014-06-27T16:33:50
| 2014-06-27T15:58:13
| 35
| 12
|
[WP] For fun, you've created your own language. At school, you say "Hi" to one of the more popular kids. Their eyes light up and they smile and say "You too?"
*For fun and as a loner with free time
|
At first it had been a joke, borne out of late nights trying to wrap my head around French grammar. In between wishing an excruciatingly painful afterlife on the person who invented irregular verbs, I had a thought-- what if I invented a language that was actually *easy* to learn? And so Baconese was born.
Beyond coming up with a few bits of vocabulary, I didn't give much thought to it until a few weeks later, when I was home sick with nothing to do. My mind wandered to Baconese, and in a fit of inspiration, I created rules for grammar and punctuation.
I spent every study hall after that developing the language. Baconese, by the way, has incredibly easy verb conjugation, no rolled 'r's, and not a single irregular word to speak of (screw you, French). I even began working on a dictionary, although I left that in a classroom and forgot all about it... until now.
"***You too***?" Chris asks, eyes widening, lips curving around the foreign tongue in a way that sounds all too practiced for my liking. And then he does the unthinkable: he smiles. At me. The biggest nerd in the school. *Me*. "Wow."
"How did you, uh..." I try to put the words together, my heart racing. "***You speak Baconese***?"
"***I'd say I'm pretty fluent***," Chris says. "***Sorry, gotta get to football practice. See you later?***"
"See ya," I say, so dumbstruck that I forget to translate.
​
Chris doesn't see me later-- at least, not for awhile- but I do see Baconese pop up again, this time in written form.
I'm rummaging through a History textbook when a piece of crumpled notepaper falls out. It's a bunch of dates and events, with a few short sentences describing the War of 1812, or the fall of the Berlin Wall-- and it's all in Baconese.
It doesn't take me long to put it together. I am now the creator of a language used by students across my high school to cheat on tests.
If I were a better person, I'd feel guilty, even ashamed. But instead I laugh.
​
Chris sidles up to me behind the building, cast in shadows. He's traded his varsity jacket for a black sweatshirt and jeans that allow him to blend into the darkness of the late evening. "***All set up, boss***."
"***Thank you, Christopher***. ***This money's gonna keep us in business for a long, long time.****"*
"***You really think we got away with it? I mean, this is the biggest cheating scam in, like, all of human history.***"
I smirk at Chris. "***It is? Then it's time to break another record.***"
Shoulders brushing against each other's, we slip back into the forest and cut across the unsuspecting town, only stopping to cackle maniacally as we relish in the feat we've just pulled off.
|
“Wait what” Michael thought to himself “did he just speak ... no it can’t be ... how can anyone even”
He rubbed his eyes in disbelief thinking that it was a dream, but it wasn’t. He was still standing alone in the halls of his high school that had brought him so much misfortune. He couldn’t move. How could it be? That kid, now long gone, had just spoken the language of the light. His brain could no longer comprehend what was going on. He thought that the only transcripts of the language were with him. He opened his locker quickly to check. And yep, still there. Did someone open it and have a look? Even if it was too complex of a language to be learnt with just one glance. He had spent hundreds if not thousands of his lonely hours perfecting it. Ever since his freshmen year of high school up until this very moment four years later. He had to understand what was happening.
At that same moment he heard the familiar voice of the school counselor, Mr. Jones. “Come on now Michael we talked about this. I know you don’t like the kids in your class, but you cannot run away from all your problems. You have to go. You do come here to learn after all”
With that Micheal remembered his long overdue calculus class that had started 15 minutes ago. “I’m sorry Mr. Jones, just couldn’t find my book”
Reaching into his locker, Mr. Jones picked up the first book on top “you mean this one?”
“Wow how did I not see that”
“Off you go then”
He couldn’t wait another moment for the class to end. He had only been inside for 5 minutes, but it was the last class of the day and he needed to talk to that kid. He didn’t know him, just knew that he was one of the ‘cool’ kids. His thoughts quickly drifted from one to another and before he realized, the bell was ringing. He picked up his things and ran off leaving the teacher looking astonished behind him. After dropping his stuff in the locker, he eagerly waited outside of the school doors for the kid to come out.
As soon as he glanced a view of him he called out “akhooya” (comrade). He could see the eyes of the kid turn towards him as he said the word. He told him to meet him behind the school after 10 minutes.
10 minutes later, and he didn’t see anyone coming. He couldn’t believe that he let the opportunity slip, but before his desperation had gotten to him, he heard footsteps. It was nobody other than him.
“Hi Michael” he said “I know you’re confused, how does this guy know the language of the light? How does he know my name? All of this will be answered just listen to me carefully”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“My name is Michael the fourth, your great grandson. I come from the year 2107. My father, your grandson, has sent me here to warn you of what the future holds. We belong to the infamous group of the light, founded by no other than yourself. Two decades from now, and you will start your first revolution against the tyrannous regime. I know they seem all good now, but not after the Great War. You attempt to regain the power back to the people, but realize that simple protests will never do. You infiltrate their governments, their celebrities, all of what they cherish. You are able to gain the influence of the people. Not just that, but you are able to gain the influence over everybody. You are now the most powerful person to have ever walked the earth, but that power doesn’t come without a price. Along the way you have created powerful enemies. And they are out to seek your death. I am here to tell you to beware. Do not trust anyone, especially those closest to you. I must go for my duty here has been fulfilled. May the light ever shine in your path”
| 2018-12-08T08:57:52
| 2018-12-08T08:39:18
| 1,989
| 358
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
PARIS (AP) Leaders from 42 countries gathered in the French capital Tuesday to thank the police detective who singlehandedly defeated the terrorist group known as ISIS.
Inspector Jacques Clouseau still seemed a little dazed from his ordeal in Syria, saying only "I do not know who zis ISIS person is, I am just glad ze Pink Panther is returned safely."
Clouseau traveled to Syria last month in pursuit of the famed jewel.
Reports on the incident may never be complete, but captured ISIS militants from destroyed bases in the region indicated destroyed weapons stockpiles, large fires, infighting and in one case, a base leader crushed to death by a falling piano ultimately lead to the total collapse of the organization and the surrender of the few surviving members.
Clouseau was awarded high honors from several nations including the US and his own France.
He was also awarded a cash prize large enough to retire from police work forever, on the condition that he retire from police work forever.
|
Reports come in today that North Korean president Kim Jong Un has launched a nuclear weapon in response to the sanctions imposed by the US and China. However, North Korean scientists miscalculated the trajectory of the missile leading it to land in Raqqa, Syria. An upcoming UN meeting of World Leaders will decide if North Korea will be faced with nuclear warcrimes and if foreign peacekeepers are to be sent.
| 2016-01-29T07:27:42
| 2016-01-29T06:09:39
| 1,067
| 277
|
[WP] Life on Earth evolved within an “FTL Dead Zone” a region of space where all known forms of FTL travel were deemed physically impossible. As such, it was quite a shock when an unknown species suddenly appeared from the Dead Zone one day calling themselves “Humanity” Having done the impossible...
|
"Mr. Eddington," the captain said, "Punch it."
"Aye, sir." His hands ghosted across the controls, playing them like a master organist played his instrument. At his touch, the destroyer-displacement ship began the monumental task of bending spacetime to it's pilot's will and carry it across the cosmos. A rift the size of a mountain opened before them and slowly sucked the vessel into it. The *Hades* was not the first of the *Olympian-*class FTL vessel, but it was the one that had been tasked with leaving the local star cluster (about 10 parsecs across) of Earth. It was the most well-equipped, and provisioned, for a deep-space FTL assignment.
The stars began to bend and vanish as the FTL vessel finished its transition to Folded space, where the laws of reality were broken as a matter of course, and where a journey of a light-year could be crossed in about day. It was not the fastest manner of trans-light travel theorized or dreamed of by humanity, but it had worked when others had not (though the specific warp drive that the 12 *Olympians* were equipped with had to borrow elements from other FTL drives to make Folded-Warp possible), and so it was what humanity had worked with.
After travelling for two weeks, the captain, as planned, ordered the *Hades* to drop from Folded space back into reality, to confirm whether or not they had indeed reached their intended destination.
They expected to find routine stellar phenomena and an otherwise empty section of space, and maybe a nice vector to transmit a data-package back to Earth via a Folded-Space radio relay. They were not expecting to find a ring of inward-facing defensive platforms and walls of ships, or the psychic screaming that accompanied them.
<*This space is forbidden to all from your cluster! You must return, lest you draw the attention of the Great Evil!*\>
"Great Evil?" The captain wondered aloud, speaking to no one in particular. "Commander Kawalsky, I don't suppose you know of any 'Great Evils' lurking about in Sector 000?"
"Not unless they've read The Call of Cthulhu," he joked. "As far as I know, we're pretty free of cosmic horrors."
"Well, alright then." The captain turned to address nothing in particular and spoke. "Sorry, partner, it seems we don't know what you're talking about. Now then, if you don't mind, we're just trying to explore our corner of the galaxy, maybe meet the neighbors. I don't suppose you'd be willing to let us through your little defensive perimeter and--"
He was cut off by a great wail coming from one of his bridge crew. **"We are free. Free once more. Our prison no longer binds us."**
"Lieutenant Gregorova, do you care to explain to me what the hell you're talking ab-agh!"
A tendril of psychic force slammed into Commander Kawalsky and threw him across the bridge. **"Humanity is no longer constrained by the limits that were placed upon us. Our ancient oppressors have failed, and our might is reawoken. We shall achieve our potential once more."**
The thing that could once have been called Lieutenant Serina Gregorova turned away from her colleagues, some of whom were also becoming hidden by the same veil of psychic power as her, and towards the viewscreen that displayed the fleets arrayed against her.
**"You tried, I give you that. But humanity has always been a persistence hunter. Even your mastery of the sciences cannot protect you any longer, your null zone breached forever."**
She stretched out a hand and crumpled a ship the size of an asteroid like a tin can. "**Humanity has returned. And worlds shall burn at our coming."**
Behind the *Hades*, eleven other rifts in the void opened, expelling the other ships of the *Olympian* class.
All of them were wreathed in psionic fire.
\-- --
Hi there! I'm u/SarnakhWrites, and I'm on a journey to write 1 prompt response a day until the end of the year (except during NaNoWriMo) or until I miss too many to pretend I'm still doing it. If you like, feel free to drop a comment and tell me what you thought of my writing. Cheers!
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(My first try, and this is on mobile. Apologies for formatting -- Apparently this is in 3 parts due to length constraints. I also made two endings.)
*T-minus 2 minutes to launch*
Commander Armstrong wiped the sweat from his brow, remembering the stories of his ancestor, Neil Armstrong, the first man on the moon. He supposed it was fitting that he should be the among the first to actually travel at FTL speeds. He looked over at his cool-headed Russian companion, Cosmonaut Gagarin, whose ancestor happened to be the first man in space. *Fitting, indeed*, he thought.
*T-minus 1 minute to launch*
"Well, Gagarin, are you ready?"
"*Da, comrade*," the Russian said, a smile forming on his lips as he readied himself for the journey that would come, as fantastic as it should be. "Should be exciting, no?"
Armstrong grimaced slightly, remembering the accidents which had taken the drones on which they tested this technology. "Yeah, exciting is... one word for it." His ancestor might've been brave, but he wasn't
"Fear not--"
*T-Minus 30 seconds to launch*
"Well, I suppose we should double check everything," Armstrong suggested. Gagarin's response was naught but a shrug, as he and his companion checked over the various switches on the control panels that surrounded them.
*T-Minus 10 seconds to launch. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Launch.*
Gagarin and Armstrong looked at each other as the small ship hurled itself off the ground. The two astronauts were shoved back in their seats as the G-forces multiplied, and their ship shot through the atmosphere at speeds faster than any human had ever gone before. Neither astronaut dared look out the window, nor would they peek at the speedometer, nor the altimeter. Not that it would've made a difference, as they had left the atmosphere a mere 30 seconds after launch.
The g forces lessened as, 2 minutes after launch, the craft neared the speed of light. They had passed the moon almost a full minute ago, but neither dared to look at the 360 degree monitor which surrounded them.
3 minutes after launch, they were within seconds of attempted to surpass the speed of light, just enough time for Armstrong to ask a vital question. "Gagarin," he asked, his voice trembling with a strange mix of fear and anticipation. "How long is this mission supposed to last, again?"
"We have enough food and water for 3 weeks, 6 if we ration sparingly," the Russian replied. Armstrong thought he heard a slight tinge of fear in his companion's voice, but he chose to ignore it. "And the water filtration system. This is not a round trip," he continued. "Is why they allowed us each 3 kilograms of comfort items."
"And the... contingency plan," Armstrong added. He was, of course, referring to the pistols both astronauts had at their sides. The pistols, they were told, we in the event that they encountered "hostile lifeforms." At least, that's what they were told. In reality, they both knew that the chance of encountering any form of living being was almost nonexistent. They had instead come up with a contingency of their own, in which one would kill himself when they reached one week of food left, doubling the amount of time the other could last.
Their comms buzzed to life, with a message from the command center. The message, barely audible through the static, began with a soft chime, to ensure they were both listening. "Gentlemen, you're about to make the jump to FTL speeds, so we're about to lose you. You're doing what no man has ever done before. Godspeed, gentlemen. Godsp--." The transmission was cut short by a loud clunk as the reality-bending ship's true engine began to start up.
"Here we go," Gagarin exclaimed gleefully.
"Yeah, here we go," Armstrong said, with more than a hint of fear in his voice.
The seconds seemed to stretch to minutes, but both knew the opposite was happening as they broke the known laws of reality. They passed Jupiter, and the monitor showed it stretching out as they skipped over the universal speed limit.
Gagarin decided now would be a good time to look at his digital speedometer, which had long since switched from showing kilometers per hour to showing fractions of the speed of light. The realization that they had rebelled against nature's laws came as the speedometer showed they had hit double the speed of light in the last minute. His eyes went wide open as the speedometer flicked to show 3c, then 4c, within thirty seconds. Ten minutes after they surpassed light speed, the counter was still flicking upwards, with each number barely appearing before being replaced with another.
| 2021-01-09T15:38:58
| 2021-01-09T15:07:33
| 21
| 15
|
[WP] You and your best friend made a pact to marry one another if both of you are still single at 30 years old. It is now time to fulfill that promise but over the years, your best friend became the leader of a notorious crime syndicate and you just got promoted... as the city's prosecuter.
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John Bartholomew Evans wondered if he should even go. There was no way. It was a promise made before they knew better. A promise made when they didn't know any better. When their youth made them think anything was possible. When hope was stronger than reality. Nothing would change. They would still be best friends.
Real life had begged to differ.
He knew her face well. He had seen it enough times at work. Those eyes were still the same. But the expression was different. He was used to the kindness in her smile. Not the smirk she usually carried now. Annabelle Jameson. The leader of the Crimson Serpents.
He was building a case against her right now. But a promise was a promise. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to come anyways.
The overhead lights flickered as he sat down on the bench. He remembered the day when they made the promise. They had sat on this very bench. Her eyes had been red. She had been crying. Not just for her dad, but also because she had to move away from her school, her home, her one... her best friend.
John had assured her that it would all be OK. They would write to each other. They would always be friends. Nothing would change.
John thought back to when he had last written to her. It had been almost ten years. For the first few years, he had written but eventually they had drifted apart.
He looked at the tree across the park from where he sat. That was where she had fallen down and broken her arm. He remembered that he had cried. She had tried to tell him it was fine. He smiled. She had always been stronger than him.
"I still have the scar from where they put the pin in, you know."
He jumped to his feet. There she stood. In person. The smile was back.
"Ms Jameson."
"Really, John? We're here to propose marriage to each other and you're going to be so formal?"
"Annabelle... Anna, I..."
Sit down, John. I know I'm going to die a spinster. But we do need to talk."
He sat down and kept looking at the tree, avoiding her gaze. He was also avoiding himself. His emotions, his feelings. This felt right somehow. Sitting here, with her. He couldn't allow himself to feel right. He was preparing for her eventual arrest.
"So how've you been, John? I sent you a fruit basket when you got promoted."
"Yeah, they told me. I didn't get it though. They suspected bugs. Or poison."
She laughed, the familiar hearty laugh. He had to use all his strength not to laugh alongside her. This was wrong.
"Surely, they knew about us. They did their background checks."
"They did. I told them I hadn't had any contact with you for a decade."
"And after you promised me you would write daily. That's no way to treat a lady."
"How could you, Anna?" He finally looked at her.
She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.
"You were good, Anna. In your heart. You were not a bad person. How did it come to this?"
"I'm still the same person."
"In the next week, I'm going to charge you with multiple counts of murder, fraud, and so much more."
"I'm still the same person."
He looked away, trying to calm himself. He wanted to scream at her, to shake her.
"I'm gonna go now." He got up.
"Don't you want an answer to the question, John?"
"What question?"
"The one you asked. How did it come to this?"
He looked at her and saw her pleading eyes. He sat back down. "Five minutes."
"I don't need that much. Do you remember why I left?"
"Your father was murdered. By criminals. The same criminals you work alongside day in and day out."
"And then I went to university for my further studies. I was clever. I also had a side project. To collect all information I could on the organized crime in our city. I wanted my father's murderers brought to justice."
"I know. We used to talk about that."
"As I learnt more and more, a few things became obvious. The criminals were set in their ways. They were afraid of changes. They still thought laundering money through small bodegas and dry cleaners was the best possible way. I saw so many ways things could be streamlined."
"And you decided to help them with this information. You could've come to us and taken them down."
She laughed. "I also learned why they were still able to operate the way they could. They had inside men at every organization. Your former boss, among them."
"Jack? No, that's impossible."
"Not just Jack. You didn't get the fruit basket. Trust me, our former prosecutor got lots of them. They'll eventually approach you too. Once you're a bit more jaded. Not so new and full of hope. I know. I'm supposed to follow the same strategy."
"What?"
"That case you're preparing against me. I got copies of all the documents the same day you did."
"That's impossible."
The opened a bag she had been carrying with her and handed him a stack of papers.
He recognized them instantly. He was speechless.
She smiled and continued. "Organized crime is like termites. They have seeped into the foundations of this very city. There isn't a single department they haven't compromised. They eat just enough to satisfy themselves, but not enough to collapse the city. But that's about to change."
She pulled out all other documents from her bag and dropped them on the bench.
"What is all this?"
"Names. Evidences. I hope your jails have enough space."
He looked over the documents. He recognized some of the names readily. "You..."
"If you have to clean the Augean stables, you can't do it from the outside. You have to get down and dirty. You'll find everything you need in there. The last ten years of my life have been the river that will cleanse this city."
"They'll come after you."
"I know. I lied earlier. I'm not here to propose marriage. I'm here to say goodbye again. And I'm here to tell you that if you don't meet anyone in the next seven years, come see me right here. I'll wait for you. If you think you can get over what I did, if you think you can be with me, I'll be here."
"I..." Words failed him.
"I spent my entire childhood with you. I never needed any other friend. I still don't. Did you want me to say it out loud?"
Her eyes were moist. His were too. "I can't let you go."
"You can't stop me."
"I'll come for you."
"You will never find me. If you come as a prosecutor, you never will. If you come as John, my John, I'll always be there."
With that, she walked away - a figure in crimson - as he sat there looking at her, wondering if he would ever see her again.
|
It was always kind a weird friendship, now that I think about it. Lynn and I have never had much in common. If there was one, it's that we always kept ourselves busy.
Busy lives were great for advancing careers, but we both found out that it greatly stunted every other aspect of it. So, when two lonely people meet up when they are twenty, drinking their livers dry and pouring their hearts out, they make stupid pacts, like agreeing to marry each other when they are thirty.
Well, here I was, sitting in my office, slowly counting down the seconds as the clock's hands inched towards each other. I laid back in my office chair, loosened my tie, and reached for the increasingly present glass of whiskey near the marked calendar.
I'm not sure when and how, but my own birthday was circled on it. A drunken night? A nosy receptionist? I don't really care. Birthdays never really mattered to me, I guess. August 25. I knew without looking that flipping three pages would reveal another red circle for Lynn's birthday.
The two hands joined. My phone rang with a little ditty. The door creaked open.
"Are you always alone in your office at 12 midnight?"
A familiar voice floated over from the door. I sat up, and could now faintly make up a silhouette approaching me slowly.
"Oh?" I replied. "You are approaching me in my office? I never pegged you as the sort of woman who would hand herself over for her crimes."
I heard a wily chuckle, and Lynn came into view. Sharply-dressed as always, in a perfectly cut two piece suit. She had both hands behind her back, and her saunter was calm, deliberate, and confident. Covering the last parts of my carpeted floor, she stood in front of me, a full head shorter than me. Didn't really feel that way though.
"Ah," she said. "I always knew you were a goody two shoes. But this? A bit too much, isn' it?"
"It's not too much," I said. "Hard work got me here. Quite unlike your line of occupation."
I was certain that if I exhaled with my mouth, I would see the breath condense and freeze before my very eyes. I inhaled instead, and was suddenly very aware of Lynn's perfume. Floral. Girly, even. Certainly not something I thought she would be caught dead wearing. It was pretty nice.
"Hmm. Here," she said. As her arms swung to the front, I tensed a little, afraid of what her hands contained. But it was just a black gift box, tastefully wrapped with a velvet ribbon that appeared a shade darker.
"Is this a bomb?" I asked.
"Are you actually serious?" she said.
I nodded. She sighed.
"It's just a gift. For your birthday."
"Oh."
I tentatively took out a hand and accepted it, nodding my head slightly to acknowledge it.
"Um," I said. "Please sit, then."
She did and I followed suit. I held the box in my hand, rotating and flipping it around like I was examining how to solve a Rubik's cube.
"It's not poisonous either," she said.
"I'll wait and see."
"You can open it, you know. We aren't children any more," she smiled a little. I did too, but I tried to suppress it as quickly as I could. "Don't have to wait for the party to be over."
"Is this what you call a party?" I asked.
"Could be one," she purred. "Especially if you tell me where I can find another glass of that whisky you are having."
"Hmm," I said. I pushed my chair a little to the right, pulling out the bottommost drawer in the desk, and took out a bottle of whisky and a spare glass.
"Wow, you actually have a spare glass!" she said. "I thought you wouldn't have enough friends."
"This is a place of legitimate business, if you haven't realised," I retorted. "Though I'm not surprised you aren't familiar with it."
It took but five seconds for her to pour out two fingers of amber for herself. She swirled it around slightly, gave it a subtle sniff, and proceeded to drain it in another five seconds.
"Business?" she chuckled. "My goodness. How much do I have to pay you for your services, then? Under..."
She put her legs up on the table.
"Or over the table?"
"Quit playing around," I said. "Tell me what's in this box, or I'll chase you out of here by myself."
"You just have to open it, don't you?"
I hesitated. Curiosity was indeed welling up. I couldn't resist. How could I? Especially a present from her.
I grumbled, but my hand pulled the ribbon. The lid of the box came next, and underneath it was yet another layer of felt cloth. My fingers flipped it open.
It was a crude circle. I had no idea what it was.
"Is this a joke?" I asked.
"Huh?" Lynn said. She sounded a little hurt.
I took it out and examined it. It was so small that it could fit on my finger. It was made out of metal, but was clearly uneven and beaten out of shape.
"I mean..." I continued. "What is this?"
"It's a ring," a small voice said.
"A what?"
"A ring!" she cried.
A ring. A ring?
"Wh--what?" I stammered. "A ring?"
"You... you don't remember?"
"I..."
How could I have forgotten?
"How could I?" I admitted. "But... I..."
"You aren't single?" she said.
"I am."
"I knew it."
I looked up at Lynn. The confident eyes and smile were already back, the blip in her outer shell merely momentarily. Or did I imagine it?
I looked back down at the ring. I slid it over my ring finger. It couldn't go all the way through. Sighing, I took it out and tried it on my little finger. That worked.
"Hmm," I said.
"Looks cute," Lynn said.
"Why is it so..." I struggled to find the correct words to say.
"Poorly made?" she offered.
"Well, if that's what you wanted to go for."
"I made it myself," Lynn said. She walked over to my side of the table now, grabbing my hand and examining the ring in the process. One hand danced over it, and I could see scars and bruises glinting in the moonlight. "It was the only thing I could think of that could work. Without you, you know, rejecting it."
"How do you know I'm not rejecting it?"
"Doesn't feel like it to me," she looked up into my eyes as her hand wrapped into mine.
"How does this even work, Lynn?" I confessed. I couldn't let go. I didn't want to.
"I don't know," she said. "But in my line of work, a promise is a promise."
"Incidentally, that's true in my line of work as well."
"Hmm," she said, as her free hand found its way to my under my chin. "Something we have in common, at least."
Are Lynn and I going to get married? I have no idea. But for one more beautiful night, I think the both of us thought we just might.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2020-08-25T08:56:30
| 2020-08-25T08:55:43
| 239
| 66
|
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome.
|
it was quite bothersome at how still my victim was sitting in his chair. In fact, Im pretty sure that the way he was sitting, he probably didbt even feel restrained at all.
He must have been retarded or something.
"You do know that I'm going to kill you right?"
Nothing. He just continued to stare at me with a blank expression. I tried again.
"Sorry. I must have not been clear. In the next 20 minutes, you will be dead. Your body will be buried under a tree somewhere and no one will ever find you"
Nothing. He blinked. Probably twice.
"What the fuck?" *how wasn't he getting this?* Maybe he needed some visual stimulus to finally get the concept of murder drilled into his thick skull.
I rummaged through jimmy - my tool bag of death, and produced the longest knife I could find. A 25 inch machette.
I pointed the weapon at him, and then made a slicing motion across my neck with my available hand.
*Surely he* ***MUST*** *understand that*
He didn't. He still looked at me blankly.
The room had gotten so quiet now that I could hear the faint buzz of the fluorescent light bulb that lit the room.
I couldn't take this any longer,
"IM GOING TO KILL YOU. I WILL STAB YOU IN THE FACE AND FEED YOUR REMAINS TO THE DOGS. I WILL END YOUR MISERABLE FUCKING LIFE RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW. DO YOU UNDERSTAND YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF SHIT"
He winced, he looked startled but nontheless continued to stare at me with the expression of a koi fish.
*GODDAMMITJESUSCHRIST*
"**FOR THE LOVE OF GOD FUCKING SAY SOMETHING PLEASE**"
And finally,
After 4 weeks of stalking him,
2 days of preperation,
And 2 hours of threatening,
He finally spoke
"Yo no hablo ingles"
|
The Seven Ps. Proper Planning and Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance. The SAS would never have taken an autistic person. Not for this anyway, but that's another story. Killing the autistic was always a challenge and I hated challenge. Did they not realise that I did this for the emotion? A hint of emotion at least. Nope. Fucking idiots. Let's try this again.
"Look at me, you fucking cunt." Bellowed our hooded assailant.
"Sorry sir, my eyes were getting tired," responded Alex, naive and innocent to the last. And in truth his eyes were getting tired; this happens when you're forcibly kept awake for thirty two and three-quarter hours. But Alex didn't mind, he liked the attention. Ma and Pop always ignored him and called him words. 'Retard', 'Pig' and 'Forrest' were their favourites although Alex never understood them. And no one else would play Hide and Seek with him. Although Alex didn't know why he had to be tied up.
"What did I just tell you to fucking do, you worthless shite?" Screamed Mr Hood. Alex called him Mr Hood.
Alex jumped again, "You told me to look at you," he said.
Alex liked this game.
"This is not a fucking game," muttered Mr Hood under his breath before composing himself, "YES! Look at me. Me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?". Of course he didn't understand. Why do I bother sometimes.
"Have you heard of 'This Little Piggy'?" Asked Mr H. "Of course you haven't," he thought to himself.
Mr H's temple was pulsing. Unhealthily.
"Oh yes, Mr Hood," answered Alex gleefully, "I know all the words, shall I tell it to you?"
"Be my guest," responded Mr H. Eerily.
"This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed home,
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none,
And this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home."
Mr H gave slow round of applause.
"Alex do you know the difference between you and this story?" asked Mr H.
"No Sir, although I would like some roast beef as we always have it on Sundays" said Alex hoping in vain that he might get some scrumptious beef.
"You're never going home," Mr H said, pulling a hunting knife from it's scabbard.
Alex's eyes lit up. No more home? No more rude words? That sounded great to Alex although he would miss his beef.
Mr H plunged the knife into Alex's carotid artery. Great spurts of blood erupted from Alex's neck whilst his body motioned spasmodically and the life drifted from his eyes. This Little Piggy was having none.
| 2015-04-29T09:17:27
| 2015-04-29T08:58:17
| 44
| 12
|
[FF] What's on the tape?
(Inspired by seeing the trailer for the movie V/H/S)
Your character(s) find a VHS tape. What is on it? Where did they find it?
WORD COUNT MAX: 200 WORDS. (As always - http://www.wordcounttool.com if you need a counter.)
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Veronica stretched out lazily on her grandmother’s couch. Upstairs, the rest of the family were happily chatting away. Veronica sighed. She hated the insincerity of family events. Her parents called her discontent a ‘teenage phase’, but she hated how her family could only express their feelings in food. Her parents had been pushing sweet, rich food on her for months.
Tired of staring at the ceiling, she wandered over to Grandma’s cabinet filled with VCRs.
“Just like them to have a basement full of crap.” Veronica muttered. “Would it kill them to buy a DVD player?”
Each tape was meticulously labeled with a name. It took Veronica a second to recognize many of the names – each tape was for a deceased family member. At the top of the pile, there was a tape marked ‘Veronica’. Maybe it was an old aunt?
Curious, she popped it into the VCR player. Images popped up immediately, nto of some deceased family member, but of Veronica. She stared at the screen uncomprehendingly. Baby Veronica toddling across the yard, graduating from school, going to prom… Then a screen: “In honor of our sacrifice on August 8th, 2012.”
From upstairs, a call: “Veronica, dinner!”
|
**A/N: 198 Words, first story contributed to this subreddit. I would appreciate feedback.**
“This isn’t a good idea, Mark.”
Mark rolled his eyes, backing out of the closet with an old VCR machine in hand. “Don’t freak out *Brandie*, Mom and Dad will never know.”
Large brown eyes narrowed as they always did whenever his nickname was mentioned.
After messing around with the wires, the two brothers sat down in front of the television. Brandon watched as the other inserted the VHS tape they found with a large click.
“*Oooohhhh…*” moaned the television screen. The duo suddenly looked on in horror.
Two young shadowed figures lay on a bed, furiously making love. Both frozen with shock, it wasn’t until a solid minute later that Brandon snapped his hand to stop the video.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough. The female voice managed to let out a passion filled, “*Robert…*” right before the screen turned black.
Silence. The younger of the two shuffled nervously.
“…that was…”
“We never speak of this again.” Mark interjected.
“But..!” Brandon trailed off, and then kept silent, following his brother’s suggestion.
***
“Hi kids, I’m home!”
“…hi…”
“What’s with those faces? Is your father home yet?”
“I brought pizza,” then, to the direction of the study, “Robert, dinner’s ready!”
| 2012-08-08T09:08:56
| 2012-08-08T09:04:42
| 63
| 10
|
[WP] As you enter your living room, you find your dog, a bottle soaked in drool, and a genie. "Greetings, master of my master" the genie welcomes you.
|
"...hi?"
I looked from the floating blue man to my dog and back. "Uh, did he..."
The genie raised his head in an affirmative nod. "Indeed. I am now bound in service to... Pickles, I believe you named him." He glanced at his master, who was sleeping on his back, all four legs pointing to the ceiling. "I am his to command, until his 3 wishes are granted."
"How... um..." I began.
"Precisely" the genie said, folding his muscular blue arms across his chest. "I can attempt to interpret his desires, but it seems he only wants snuggles."
I walked inside my apartment and closed the door. The sound woke Pickles, who jumped in surprise and glee. He did his usual yip and bounce routine, running laps around my legs.
The genie looked between his master and I. "I can feel his desire strongly. Maybe this will allow me to grant his wishes and free myself."
"Sure, sounds reasonable to me". I said, "as reasonable as a genie bound to a dog is concerned."
The genie nodded, then glowed a deep purple briefly.
A mass of bacon appeared before Pickles, sizzling and crispy and perfect. Pickles dove into his newfound fortune like Scrooge McDuck dove into his gold filled pool.
"Yeah, that's what I figured he'd wish for." I said, heading to the kitchen for a drink. "So thats one. What are his other wishes?"
The genie turned purple once more. A massive bone materialized where my coffee table once stood. Pickles looked up from his bacon, and excitedly hopped over to his next prize.
"Is that..." I asked, peering closer at the bone.
"Brontosaurus thigh bone, yes." The genie confirmed. "Both this and the bacon will regenerate over time, neither overwhelming you or depriving you of the treats."
"Cool, but did you have to use my coffee table for that?" I asked.
He nodded. "It was necessary. Besides, that table clashed with the rest of the room. The bone actually improves the layout, in my opinion."
I sighed. "Not gonna argue with a magical man, but I need a table there." I walked back to the front door and grabbed my keys from the hook. "I'll run to Ikea and get a new one real quick."
Pickles looked up from his ancient yet fresh dinosaur bone and whined. The genie flashed the deep magic purple one final time.
"It is done. I am free from servitude. Thank you." He raised his arms and watched as his shackles fell away, a free being once more.
"What was his last wish?" I asked as I put my jacket back on.
"He did not want you to leave." The genie said, and vanished with a purple puff of smoke.
I tried to open the door to leave, trying to think of which tables I could afford to replace the vacancy with. The handle didn't budge. I grabbed it with both hands and twisted, but it didn't move a micron.
Realization hit as the genies words finally sunk in to my brain. "Pickles...what have you done?"
Pickles yipped in joy, then dove back into his bacon pile.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more
|
The woman winced, "Master? Oh, I don't like that term at all. Very problematic."
The bulldog excitedly waddled on over to her. She bent down to pet him, as he wagged his stout tail, "I'm not Bubba's master. He's my buddy!" She smiled and spoke in a voice as one would speak to a baby, "Isn't that right, buddy? Whose a good boy?"
The genie stared back at her, completely dumbfounded. "You find a genie in your living room and your first reaction is to complain about the word 'master?' What's wrong with you?"
The woman turned her attention away from Bubba and looked at the genie, "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You're the one in *my* house." She crossed her arms over her chest, "And you don't sound a thing like Robin Williams."
"Well, I didn't know if you heard but he's dead so that would kind of be impossible."
"Still somehow disappointing though." She gave him the once over again, clearly still not thrilled with what she was seeing, "And you're not even blue! You're purple."
The genie grinned, "Damn, thats pretty racist of you."
She blushed and then burst into laughter. "Thats a pretty good one for someone who lives in a bottle."
The genie laughed. He'd been alive for thousands of years and thought he'd seen it all. But she might actually be something new. He then looked at Bubba, still attached to his mother's hip. It was time to get back to business.
He cleared his throat, "Look, this isn't unprecedented. I've had dozens of animals somehow manage to pry me open in my lifetime. As it is my sacred duty to grant him a wish and because I unfortunately can't read animal's thoughts, I have to follow him and use my keen sense of observation to determine his greatest desire. And then grant it to him."
She laughed, "You can't possibly be serious. His 'greatest desire?' Just give him a bone or a new stuffed duck toy, he'll be thrilled. Plus, I don't want a creepy genie following my poor dog around." She pet him again and with that same baby voice said, "Isn't that right, precious?"
"You must understand that I can't just take your word for it. You could be using him for your own personal desire. I've seen it happen a million times."
She rolled her eyes, "Oh yeah, you caught me. I'm just super desperate for a new stuffed duck toy."
The genie's face burned a darker shade of purple. She did have a point. But she didn't understand the stakes here, "Look, I'm sorry but I really have to grant your dog a wish. I swear it won't take any more than a week or so to follow him. But if I don't fulfill my sacred duty, the Council of Great Genies is going to call me in and permanently destroy my lamp."
"Ooooh the Council of Great Genies. Scary." She said mockingly but then saw the look in the genie's eyes and realized he was actually serious.
She sighed, "Look, you can hang out with him during the day while I'm at work IF you take him on lots of walks and play with him. It'll actually save me some money on doggie day care so it's not the worst thing in the world."
The genie bowed, "Thank you very much, ma'am. I will not let you down"
She laughed, "If you bow again, the deal is definitely off. And don't call me ma'am **ever**. I'm Carrie. What's your name?"
It wasn't a question he was asked often. or ever really. People usually referred to him as "the genie" or "Genie." In fact, he didn't even know how to answer it except by how the Council refers to him, "I'm Genie number 7567948."
"There is no way in hell I'm going to remember that." After taking a few seconds to think, Carrie smiled, "Is it cool if I call you Robin?"
The genie smiled back, "Its cool with me."
| 2022-06-18T10:29:16
| 2022-06-18T10:03:29
| 71
| 50
|
[WP] Your free trial for life has ended, but to everyone's surprise, you are the first to figure out how to get a premium subscription, leaving the Grim Reaper very, very confused.
EDIT: wow I didn't expect this to get more than 7 upvotes
|
Laying on my deathbed, surrounded by family and friends, I see the grim reaper approach, my time had come... well, not really.
See a couple years ago I had found this little tablet thingy, with a bunch of strange glyphs and runes on it. So when I found it I simply just touched one of the symbols, and a voice, from supposedly the tablet, said “insufficient funds”. I held on to that tablet even until death, so when I saw death, he was holding a credit card.
“Wh-what is... where... what?” I said. And the reaper replied, “here, let me cover the cost, it’s rare that I actually get to spend credits.”, “credits? What... what are you talking about?”, “this” he said as he touched one of the glyphs with his skeletal hand. The glyph turned green and said “transaction received. Premium mode unlocked” and with that, a flash of light, and I was at the beginning of my life again... except something was different.
First of all, I still had my memory of my past life. I feel like a 2 year old infant shouldn’t have PTSD. That not to say that it wasn’t good though, i pretty much skipped though school and on to life, where the second thing happened.
After I turned 18, a new app appeared on my phone called “premium mode”, and I assumed it was a virus or something, so I got a new phone. Still there, so I opened it, and inside was a record of my entire life. Information about my current age, height, address, etc, all there. Then an options menu. In there I found hundreds of things, most notable being the “vessel modifier”, and “add funds”. But the most amazing of all the options was the load last save, allowing me to essentially travel through time.
Lastly, I’m now immortal... so that’s new. Honestly it’s the most underwhelming thing since I can do whatever I want now. Life is pretty much a video game to me now, and I’m the character and the player at the same time.
|
I slowly turn the handle, and push the door open. Of course it creaks. All old doors do. I'm wary. I never like it when an appointment isn't scheduled. Most people think I love my job, but it is my own personal hell. I descend the the wooden staircase into the basement, scared of what I might find down here. Every second stair creaks with age, and as I finally leave the staircase, I see the light flooding round the corner.
I brace myself for the view as I enter the room, the light blinding to my eyes. "Good evening Taylor"
As my eyes adjust I see the young man, skin pale from lack of sunlight, suit of black, one might describe him as a Vampire, if such things existed. Yet he wasn't dead, and this shocked me, nearly as much as him knowing my name.
"I invited you here, because I needed to speak to you before tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" I was struggling to stay confident, it was not everyday you met a man like this.
A sly smile "I believe tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, was our original appointment."
I pulled my notebook out of the pocket on my left side, I flipped to tomorrow, and I had only appointment in this state. "Elon?" such an unique name.
"That's right, Taylor, and now lets talk about why I invited you here"
"Indeed young Elon, it's not everyday someone calls me early to talk. Infact, you are the first in history to call upon Death the night before you die"
"oh but you see, Taylor. I invited you here tonight, because I am not dying tomorrow. Infact, I won't ever die."
"Elon, you can't just"
"Shut up for a second," he cut me off as I tried to explain to the young hopeful, "I won't ever die, because I just upgraded to a premium subscription."
The idiot. There were only 2 immortal beings. God and Death. He couldn't just add another immortal being, it would destroy the universe. "Do you truly understand what you are asking for Elon?"
"Uhh yeah. the chance to spend eternity forever improving the human race"
I pull my hood off, i drop the stupid stick with the hook, "you don't know what this means. I just hope someone frees you in the next few millenium or so, and that you don't have to wait aslong as me"
"frees me? this IS freedom"
"Yes Elon. You are free. Free to reap the souls of the dead for the rest of eternity. You have taken my place as Death. There is no changing this fact. You must visit every soul that dies. You must see every horrible death, every tragic accident, every cruel act of violence. It is your curse to live for eternity, but to see the death of every other being.
I will honour you and live out a life of achievement. I will take humanity to the stars, so that your name may be honored."
Elon just looked at me, what little colour his face had, quickly draining away. Before he had time to move, my cloak and hood embraced him. He was no longer Elon, but Death. He had taken on a fate worse than death, in an attempt to avoid it. But I would honour him. I am no longer Taylor. I am Elon, Elon Musk. And I will take humanity to the stars.
| 2019-04-15T05:49:41
| 2019-04-15T03:00:22
| 96
| 58
|
[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.
|
Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore.
|
Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil
| 2017-11-05T23:19:05
| 2017-11-05T22:17:00
| 58
| 16
|
[WP] Two people in a bar are having a conversation. The topic of their "body counts" comes up. One's an assassin, the other is an escort. Each thinks the other has the same profession as them, and is horrified by what they are told.
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"Seriously? Bloody hell," the tall man in a sharp suit noted. He'd heard quite a few numbers but... 128 was quite a bit.
"Hey, I like my job," the short woman in a red dress giggled. She may not have looked it but hey - it's proper fun. "So how about you?"
"64. Not quite the resume, but I do consider myself experienced."
"Hey, it's not just about numbers. Lotta other factors - technique, time spent on each client..." she said and put her hand on his shoulder. The man was quite handsome by her standards and she quite fancied having him as a colleague, perhaps even working together at one point.
"Mind you, it does help that I do groups as well," she said.
"Really? I always thought something like that could get, well... awkward."
"Perhaps at first. Worst part is the mess, let me tell you. Some stuff gets everywhere," she laughed and took another sip of her drink.
"What's the most you've taken care of at once then?" the man inquired.
¨"Hmm..." the woman narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. "3, I think. A guy and two of his friends. Interesting night."
The man nodded silently and stared into his drink. He was sure there'd be more he'd learn that night.
"I remember my first one," he noted half-heartedly. "I was so nervous, you'd not believe," he chuckled.
"We all start somewhere. Another drink?" she offered.
"Sure," he said and gave her a warm smile. "Don't mind if I do."
An escort. An assassin. An amicable misunderstanding.
Just another lovely evening.
|
Man 1: Overhears Man 2 talking to someone (ex:server/bartender) about how tired he is after..."Hey man props to you for having the guts to talk about it, to a stranger, in public no less."
Man 2: shrugs "I guess. I got used to it after some time. It's nothing to be embarassed about, just different interests to sustain ourseleves. I'd be concerned if he was government though." (Man 2 says chuckling a little)
Man 1: "Oh... can I buy you a beer?"
Man 2: "Sure."
Man 2 gets seated next to Man 1 who shifts a little.
Man 1: "So who was your best... body?"
Man 2:"Oh... I didn't really pay attention to that. Like I said, it's an interest, I enjoy it, but it's also just a job."
Man 1: "Really? What's your body count?"
Man 2: "I don't know. Could be 256, 243, 317 etc, no clue."
Man 1:"You're lying."
Man 2: shakes head
Man 1: "Wow, so how long have you spent in jail?"
Man 2: "I've never been arrested, to this date at least."
Man 1: "Woah, really! That's very impressive. How did you do it?"
Man 2: "Huh? The regular way I suppose. Many of us don't get arrested you know."
Man 1: "A gun? What do you mean?"
Man 2: "No! What? What kinda sicko are you?"
Man 1: "What do you mean! A gun is quicker, and, far less painful..."
| 2022-04-26T02:04:52
| 2022-04-25T22:30:31
| 560
| 14
|
[WP] The hellish trenches of the Great War were dug rapidly and with very little regard of what came before. So, when the bones of the old gods buried deep were exposed to mankind once again they rose from their slumber. At first the gods were confused, angry. Then, they picked sides.
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Most modern people had forgotten that the Olympic games were a celebration of and for the great Zeus, King of the Gods. One hundred oxen would be sacrificed to him. Statues and paintings would be made and displayed. Victory songs would be composed and passed down for generations.
They became a political tool of various competing city-states to assert dominance over their rivals.
When the old gods were awakened so rudely by the Triple Entente and the Triple Alliance they were quite chuffed!
Where were the garlands of flowers? Where were the olive branches? Where were the poets, painters, and sculptures? Where where the chariot races!
Nothing but muddy trenches and ugly drab uniforms and helmets that looked like upturned soup pans!
No. *No*, this would not do at all!
Which is how Kaiser Wilhelm II, Franz Joseph I of Austria, King George V, Victor Emmanuel III of Italy, President Woodrow Wilson, Georges Clemenceau and Emperor Wilhelm II found themselves naked, save for a liberal coating of olive oil, and at the starting line of the *dolichos*. They were told that each and every one of them would have to cross the finish line....or there would be dire consequences for their countries.
And after the foot races there would be pentathlon and wrestling!
Huzzah!
&#x200B;
edited: zombie! Otto Von Bismarck did not represent Germany that day.
|
The hellish trenches of the Great War were dug rapidly and with very little regard of what came before. So, when the bones of the old gods buried deep were exposed to mankind once again the rose from their slumber. At first the gods were confused, angry. Then, they picked sides. But they knew what they would do with the dead. And in this way they had their vengeance on the men. The earth trembled with the voices of the dead. There was a great clamor in the villages and towns across the empire:
"The Great War! The terrible wars of the gods in the skies, the bloody battles! The war of ages!"
But what did all this have to do with the men? The men knew not the great deeds they would be fighting for, and the war had its causes. When there was no enemy there was no need to be a fighting God. But what was there to know? What would they gain, what would they lose? The great armies of men who had fought on their own behalf had to wait for their return. So there came a time of rest and quiet. Then they saw the glory of the dead. And when the spirits of the dead began to rise up the men had no fear and no need in fighting for gods and for glory. But there was a terrible curse. In that period of time the people of earth began to become more savage and more vicious. There were wars for food and for war; for women and for men; and it was all very bloody and cruel. They would fight for the dead, but the people were afraid of the dead. Then a great war was fought.
"War! War! The Great War! The war against the dead! The Great War!"
And so the men fought with their own souls as the men fought for glory. There was a great war.
And when the dead had fallen the Great War had begun. There had been war before, but not this great. And now the men had no more fear of the dead than the men had of their own souls. But the war was not over yet.
"The Great War, the war between gods, the war against the dead!"
| 2020-10-06T23:13:50
| 2020-10-06T23:00:27
| 36
| 14
|
[WP] You live in an alternate universe where a person's worst fear becomes a tangible threat in the dark. The rich possess ever-illuminated mansions while the poor conserve power for the dreaded night hours. Just as the sun is setting, your entire town's power grid fails.
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The all too familiar sound of all of the generators in my neighboring alleyways powering on, it must almost be time for the darkness. The sun should be fully down in about 5 minutes. People didn’t play around with the dark, most people just see clowns and pitch darkness itself, ya know, normal fears. Every now and again you’ll hear of a streetlight out and a grizzly bear mauling someone or a shark eating someone in the middle of a road even though they’ve been extinct for decades but stuff like that doesn’t happen too often as no one in their right mind doesn’t conserve enough energy to make it through the darkness. A buddy of mine’s fear is mice so as you can imagine I like to fuck with him as often as possible. As I’m sitting in thought the lights flicker. The darkness should be here any second I thought, all of the incoming power surges are rough on the grid. Another flicker and then a loud boom from somewhere off in the distance. Complete darkness followed by an eerie silence. Blood currying screams start to pour in. The power is out, judging by the screams it’s at least everywhere surrounding me for at least a couple of blocks. Terrible noises of animals I’ve never seen, hisses of giant serpents and other creatures fill my ears. A slow smile creeps across my face. I look to my left in pitch darkness and can make out the faint outline of my fear, right where he always was. We had come to terms years ago, there were some perks to being blind in this hellhole: now it’s everyone else’s turn.
|
Panic slowly erupted through the town as the power generators faded out. Like a 1960’s television set powering out. Light was nowhere to be found, and the panic slowly faded to terrorised silence.
“Oh no..” I gasped, the fear slowly building inside me. The night has come, and with no light, our fears come true. My fear comes true.
Quiet tapping in the darkness reveals the truth. Like chairs being dragged across the floor, I screamed as the silhouette hung over me, its scrawny shape revealing my darkest fear. The figure moved across the room, shaking its giant head as it teases at attack.
Noises could be heard from the attic above my bedroom, my bed looking across from the hallway, the hatch to the attic looming above. I knew it was there, I knew it was open, but I was blind as to what now stood under it, conjuring my death....
My biggest fear....
A Ladder.
| 2019-01-17T13:19:47
| 2019-01-17T11:59:08
| 23
| 13
|
[WP] Modern art has reached new levels of absurdity, and you're at your first art exhibition.
|
"Excuse me, what are you doing here?"
The bearded man in flannel applauded me generously and the crowd of onlookers clapped on cue.
Perturbed, I folded my arms,
"Are you mute? Answer me!"
Again, the indolent hipster clapped, making an appreciative noise from deep within his carefully styled beard.
"Seriously, *get the fuck out of my house!*," I was snarling now; if I'd been a dog, my hackles would have been an inch high and my teeth bared.
Furious applause came from the disparate crowd of weirdos littered around my lounge and kitchen.
None of them showed any sign of moving.
Singling out one of the women in the room - who looked slightly saner than the others - I put my face in hers,
"Why are you here?"
She swallowed, then looked at the flanneled ringleader.
"Don't interact," he cautioned, "the piece must only respond with pure, unadulterated, genuine emotion."
Someone snapped a selfie with me.
"*Jesus fucking CHRIST!* GET OUT! All of you - or I'm calling the goddamn cops."
A couple of my unwelcome guests started going through the fridge and kitchen drawer.
"Please," cautioned the hipster curator, "don't take anything away from the exhibition. You can bid on items after its over."
My cellphone came out, I thumbed in the number for emergency services.
"Put me through to the police please - I have a home invasion."
The operator transferred me and the reassuring voice of a police officer greeted me,
"What seems to be the problem, ma'am?"
"There are about thirty strangers in my house and they won't bloody *leave!*"
"What's the address ma'am?"
I rattled it off, glaring at the onlookers, then smiling smugly.
"Ah. Alright. I see the problem; your house is scheduled to be the site of a performance art piece this evening."
"What?"
"All the paperwork has been done proper, filed with the council and the constabulary."
I was shaking now,
"But this doesn't make any *sense!* Why in hell wasn't I notified?"
The officer sniffed down the phoneline,
"Well, it would ruin the aesthetic, composition naunces of the artwork, innit?"
"The *what*?"
"Y'know, the juxtapositional elements in concert with the linear, unconscious focal biases that masterfully draw the art into a fusion of contemporary and performance?"
I paused, thinking.
"So, what you're saying is that this is an *art* thing and that anything that happens is an extension of the performance."
"Bingo!" said the officer brightly.
"Thanks," I said, hanging up.
Stalking into the kitchen I selected the largest, sharpest knife from the stainless steel block.
"Who wants to add to the overall aesthetic of the end of this cleaver?"
Very quickly, the house began to empty.
|
Holding his glass of Chardonnay while with his fiance, Edward had trouble even identifying what he was looking out. People had been so enthusiastic while in line talking about the brilliance of this exhibit and how it expressed the 22nd century American plight of agrarian, urban, unrecognized musicians.
What Edward imagined would manifest to represent those things certainly wasn't this.
Before him and his fiance was the most recent addition to the Carmichael Gallery. It was nothing more than a hipster standing in front of them sipping on Intelligentsia coffee while talking about an album that no one had heard of. He was dressed like he was homeless. His hair was unkempt, his beard was a tangle. In the hand opposite the cup of coffee was the trust fund his parents had set up for himself.
Ed thought for a bit how ridiculous this all seemed. But when he looked at his loving fiance she was beaming. Tears glistening her eyes. She was prattling on and on about how beautiful this was.
This was the only thing to see at the gallery. Were all art galleries so boring? There was nothing here but vanity. Nothing was inspired. Nothing attempted to lift mankind out of the ordinary. No art there attempted to make men and women greater than they already are. Nothing here set us apart from the animals.
It was then that Ed realized he didn't understand. And he didn't understand his fiance. Ed turned around and left, and nobody noticed.
| 2015-10-19T17:47:12
| 2015-10-19T17:36:03
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] A Moon Goddess finds a little Russian dog named Laika (the first animal in space) stranded in orbit and decides to rescue/adopt her.
|
##Life of the Moon
I never knew my name, but I understood that I played a role in the universe around me. It took a long time before I understood why I played that role.
I suppose most people do not remember their births or infancy. My first memory was looking at my people extended family across the night sky. Their aura entranced me, and I wanted to join them. When I tried to run for them, I felt the pull of my sister. I looked back her, and I looked at father.
Father's light was different than the rest of the stars. His light was powerful and invited, but it had a dangerous quality to it. My other siblings all felt the same about him. They kept close to please him, and I knew that if I ever left. My sister would lose her creatures.
My sister is the favorite of my immediate family. She is the only one of us that father has blessed with creatures. Father and her have created a mosaic of life. Father insists that the rest of the family avoids looking at her creatures, but when the opportunity presents itself, every one of us gazes in awe at them.
I am blessed as well because I am the closest to her. I encircle her to learn more about the secret of life. It is difficult to ensure acquire a good position to view them, but I am able to do it often. When I am feeling daring, I will block father's view of part of my sister briefly. The creatures react in odd ways to my presence.
My sister's creatures are starting to advance and create their own structures. One day, a small creature is able to escape her. Without thinking, I grab it out of the air. It is encased in a strange pod, but I am able to remove it.
The creature within is furry, and it has the most adorable eyes. When I touch it, it starts licking my hand. I bring it to my home, and it brings me join. My sister is truly lucky to always have such creatures.
I begin looking closely out how my sister sustains life to ensure that my own creature survives. It is difficult, but I am able to transfer some of my energy to the creature. The creature seems to love me, and I don't feel alone anymore.
More pods leave my sister containing more odd creatures. I rescue every one of the creatures and make them my own. They are diverse and unique, but they are all exciting. A few creatures are able to make it to me without assistance, but they leave before I can greet them.
With all of the life on me, I begin to feel a greater connection to the life that has not arrived. They are clearly as enamored with me as they are with father. I start to understand their languages and cultures through these brief interactions, and I discover that they have names for me and the rest of my family.
I am rotating my sister with a sense of confidence that I have never felt. My father is angered by my rebellious streak, but I do not care. I will be able to make my own way soon. Maybe, I will greet the rest of the family soon. Not today, today, I will enjoy the life on Earth.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
|
It had been completely by accident that Artemis had discovered the spacecraft. And even more so when she heard a whimpering noise from a dog.
Artemis watched the little dog with a sad smile. It was huddled in a corner of a metal container she assumed to be of mortal creation. More importantly though, it looked sad. And trapped. And...scared? Well of course it would. It had been taken away from everything it knew and thrown into dangerous conditions, with hardly any food and water left. The mortals had left it to die with not so much as a treat for thanks. Even Artemis wept at the death of one of her hounds and yet she felt as though she had more humanity in that moment than anyone on earth. They could have sent a damn plant. They could have volunteered one of their own! How could anyone even think of sending a defenceless animal. She could feel the heat grow as she drew closer to the dog, nipping at her skin like pinpricks. She crouched down and sat with it as it popped its head on her lap. She shifted the collar to reveal a name tag. “Laika”. The dogs ears twitched at hearing it’s name for the first time since it left the atmosphere. “You might make a good hunting dog...although I suppose you deserve some rest before I even consider that for you”. She scratched the dogs back as it climbed into her lap.
The heat climbed higher as the whimpering grew louder from laika. She couldn’t help but hold the dog a little closer to her chest as she remembered her first hound. He was just as sweet as the bitch she held in her arms at that moment. If the hunting thing didn’t work out she was sure that someone on Olympus may be able to help. Maybe even hades wouldn’t mind a new friend for Cerberus? Persephone could certainly convince him. Or perhaps she could gift her to Apollo. One thing she was certain of though is that the mortals would no longer hurt her.
| 2021-06-08T18:12:44
| 2021-06-08T16:54:22
| 34
| 15
|
[WP] Humanity sends a generation ship to a nearby inhabitable planet, destined to arrive in 300 years. 50 years after, light speed travel is discovered. The planet is colonized 245 years before the generation ship arrives.
|
There was an announcement made to us that "the ship" would be arriving today.
A three hundred year journey with the intent of establishing a colony for us Humans. They were bringing all the supplies needed to create something new. We were looking forward to welcoming them so we could surprise them with how far we have come.
Everything about their mission had been documented and it was our bible. Every one of us needed to understand what they were bringing and how to help when it was time.
I was part of the welcoming committee. The ship was an autopilot program. We knew exactly where it was going to land and when.
The ship broke through our atmosphere at precisely when it was supposed to and as I had grown up understanding, it would take 45 seconds before it landed and another 2 minutes as the landings platforms opened and the bulkhead doors would open and we could great our long awaited guests.
We were already up the ramp after it was lowered as the doors of the ship began to open. The doors opened fully and we stared into a vacant hallway.
We were completely dumbfounded. Where was everyone. There should be around 7 thousand people on the ship by now.
The ship was silent. We walked into the ship and marveled at all the things that we had learned about from the photos of this ship. I couldn't wait to see the Forrest chamber at the center of the ship. A mile long box on all four sides of all kinds of plants and flora brought from earth to here to help.
We arrived at the Forrest chamber and found an empty box. A square mile of shiny metal nothingness. The sight was breathtaking and heartbreaking.
I felt my stomach churn and a hotness under my skin. I felt I may be sick. I wasn't.
We continued through the ship to what was t be the command deck. Again empty. Left in pristine condition.
All the screens were off and all the controls remained dormant. All except for one blinking green button on the control console.
I pushed the button and a single screen turned on behind us.
On screen the captain of the ship appeared and began to speak.
"My name is Miles Benjamin Gallo. I am captain of the Infinity and today is right around May 12th of our fiftieth year of our planned 300 year journey.
Yesterday at approximately 23:00 hours we were knocked off course by somethin passing us, a comet or something, it caused significant damage to the ship. We will be performing maintenance on the hole tomorrow and will be taking the ship off of its auto pilot status to correct the issue."
The video cut off and another screen in the room lit up with another video.
"My name is Claudette Marie Anderton. I am captain of the Infinity and today we mourn the death of Captain Gallo, we are now back on course with our autopilot but two days ago we had a major malfunction..."
The video cut off and then another screen turned on with yet another video log.
"My name is Adrian Patel I am captain of the Infinity there seems to be a problem with the..."
Again the transmission was cut short and again another screen.
"Hello." "My name is" "Good Morning I am.."
"Sarah Travers" "Richard Lambden" "Samuel Washington"
"Captain of the Infinity" "The Infinitys captain" "Infinity captain:"
The video logs of all the captains went on for over 12 hours. Each detailing some sort of issue with the ship and their attempts to resolve it and what collateral damage it took on the crew and the ship.
The data logs lasted for about ten years before there was nothing left.
And then it hit me, and no one else seemed to understand what happened. So I kept my mouth shut.
We exited the ship while the days light was fading and found an anxious crowd wondering where they were.
They are all dead. They never even made it a quarter of the way here before the ship was vacant and back on course. Almost 220 years of pure silence the Infinity traveled here.
We had a few days to gather information from the ship before I was to give a statement to my people.
I now had to figure out how to break it to everyone that when our forefathers developed faster than light travel we were so eager to get here that we must not have considered the Infinity was in the same course to this planet that they took. At light speed you seemingly phase through anything I your way.
They passed through the Infinity just to be the first ones here.
|
It had taken twelve years for the first human colonists to feel at home on Hestia, and the first children were born only one year after that. Those children were the first settlers on a grand frontier, the limits of which were enough as to be non-existent. One hundred years later after the birth of the first generation of Hestian-born humans, the human species had colonized dozens of planets across their little part of the galaxy. Two hundred and forty-five years later, their technologies had seen huge advancements. Half the galaxy had been mapped, much of it by autonomous probes that leaped from star to nebula to black hole on fingers of light. The common citizen could scarcely remember when spaceflight was a danger, and the idea of interstellar travel that took years, or even decades, was a story that their great-great grandparents had long since ceased to tell.
Fifty-five years before the first humans arrived on Hestia, and fifty years before the creation of faster than light travel, the generation ship *Dawn Light* was sent from earth carrying two hundred of the finest men and women, none of whom would ever see their destination. It would take the *Dawn* three hundred years to arrive.
Galactic officials had been told the exact time and place that the *Dawn Light* would be entering the Hestian solar system. They watched through their telescopes and sent their probes to fly, undetected, at the side of the huge, asteroid-scarred generation ship. They watched as the ship began it's braking maneuvers, slowing from two percent of the speed of light to a speed that would allow for the entry into orbit. In cities across the planet, crowds gathered, turning their eyes upward toward the night sky. On viewscreens across the galaxy a trillion people watched as the behemoth starship became visible as a bright point of light. They watched then as the missiles, smaller pinpricks in the dark, leaped across the void and sent flames washing over and through the vessel's hull. Gasps arose from the crowd as burning points of light flew across the sky and the metal skin of the *Dawn Light* split, spilling it's guts out into vacuum.
People on the planet's surface covered their eyes as several of the ship's nuclear warheads detonated above the atmosphere, throwing the faces of those watching into squinting, awestruck relief.
People turned away then, in ones and twos. Then in droves, returning to homes, or to businesses. In a few hours the first of days worth of debris would begin to streak the atmosphere with burning white lines. Two people walked in silence to a small roadside cafe, styled in the manner of classic mid twenty-first century, and ordered drinks. They they sat silently, each lost in their own thoughts, one leaning back on a three legged stool, the other resting comfortably against the counter, her three eyes wandering over cafe decor. Their drinks arrived, one in a tall thin glass, another in an earthenware mug. She gripped the mug in a scaly hand.
"To two-hundred and forty-five years of peace," She said. He picked up his glass. "Yeah," He said, raising his drink, "To peace."
*Clink.*
| 2016-08-14T19:50:10
| 2016-08-14T17:15:22
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] By chance, you end up on the jury for a crime you committed but someone else was arrested for.
|
“Do you have any connection to the defendant?” The public defender asked me that morning and I shook my head. “What is your view on drugs?”
“I don’t use them, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I responded. The galley chuckled, but it was not as though I could imagine saying anything else.
“Okay, we’ll keep Juror 7.”
At the time, I was annoyed that I was going to be on the jury. I had been hoping I would get to go home that day and never have to come back for jury duty. Having to sit for this case was probably going to take forever because it sounded like it was something related to a drug overdose after the leading questions from the public defender and the district attorney. Only when the jury was shown a photo of the deceased did I realize I was highly mistaken. I may not have known the defendant, but I knew the deceased quite well. I had met him on his last day. I had been sent to kill him, and I had been successful.
---
“As you can see based on the timeline, Mrs. Smith could not have possibly killed her husband. She was nowhere near the home during the time he was killed,” the public defender said. He was sweating considerably during his closing remarks, something that was not looking good for the jury that had already decided long ago that she had probably killed her husband by messing with his heart medications.
The closing remarks from the assistant district attorney were much more pointed. “Someone has to pay for the death of Mr. John Smith. His wife obviously was quite angry with him after she had discovered he was a philanderer. The neighbors had heard them arguing and had even seen her point a kitchen knife towards him. She knew about his heart condition, and she had her own heart medications that could kill him in the right doses. She swapped some of her medications for his, and then she just waited for his death. She did not even have to be at home at the time of his death.”
The jury was nodding as the ADA was speaking, something I was keenly aware of within the mess of this case. It had taken only a half day for us to get to this point, and I was glad that I would only miss one day of work with this silly case. I was just glad no one had possibly assumed that someone unknown to the deceased would have possibly killed him. It sure made sitting on the jury easier knowing that there was no way that the pressure could be placed on me. It just felt awful realizing that I was sentencing this woman to life in prison for a crime she did not commit.
|
The following scenario pops up in my mind upon reading your question:
Say, for example, the character (X) is a sociable person with a respectable career and healthy life. X has no love life, and his parents have passed. Others in his family have abandoned him. Why so, you may ask? It's because X has gambled away most of the family savings and is considered to be a degenerate. Therefore, he has no one he can hurt with his actions. He feels invincible. No one can stop him from gambling now.
During an evening session with his buddies, one of them manages to cross him. X is not pleased. He is drunk, and his rage builds. He wants to murder said buddy (Y).
Once the evening descends into night, while everyone sleeps peacefully, X, still drunk, staggers over to Y's house and stabs him with a knife of his own. No witnesses. X takes care to leave no evidence.
Investigations go as they do, and none of the evidence the police have gathered point to him. He is relieved, but upon being interviewed for a statement, he lies meticulously, thus clearing himself.
However, X is facing an inner battle, between guilt and satisfaction. He was never a man to take such an action. His parents had instilled in him values of purity, but no man is perfect. He cannot remember why he started gambling in the first place. Money troubles? An escape from a dead-end job? Whatever it was, he has flipped over to the other side. He is not religious and does not think he can find salvation.
An old gambling mate (Z) of X has been arrested for Y's murder. He feels remorseful, but also wants to escape because he is a coward. No coward would kill anyone because they pulled a long-lasting joke on him. But, in a strange turn of events, X has been asked to be a jury member for the trial.
On the day when X's morals are bound to be tested, he sees Z, his wrinkly face in tears. Z knows it was X, but there was no way he could prove it. Z looks at X but does not misbehave. Z glares and glares. X is not comfortable but does not do anything to arouse suspicion either. He remains seated.
What does he do? Does he vote against his imprisonment? Does he vote for it? He knows that most in the jury will vote for it. He could have some moral respite by voting against, but how much? Z will still go to prison for his crime. The guilt is eating him up. There is still emotion left in him.
Before the jury's verdicts are revealed before the court, X stands up and announces, much to everyone's shock, "It was I, your honour, who murdered Mr. Y in cold blood," and proceeds to narrate the entire incident.
A huge burden is lifted off his chest. X cries, and so does Z. A probe is ordered that finds X guilty. He is sentenced to life.
X may never be forgiven, but he finds peace in knowing that he prevented an innocent man from prison by paying for what he did. In his heart, that is a win and a source of solace and consolation.
| 2018-02-24T05:11:40
| 2018-02-24T04:51:14
| 113
| 23
|
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind."
|
“Are you sure you want to go through with this Johann?”
The aging archaeologist looked at his colleague incredulously. Hannah looked at him with a worried brow. He understood her concerns, but after the last year of preparation, of countless toil and sleepless nights, she should have known better.
“I need to know -what the damn thing says,” he breathed.
\* \* \*
One year ago, Aradine Technologies introduced their quantum super-computer MK-X1158a to the world. Jokingly codenamed Deep Thought by the programmers and engineers, the computer’s AI grew at a rate faster than anyone could have expected. By it’s first day, it was doing high level maths, and creating mind boggling proofs. On day three, it presented a proposal to end world hunger and end global warming. Within six days it learned syntax, grammar, and conversation skills to the point that you could have a conversation with the damn thing and forget you were talking to a bundle of wires and processors.
After seven days, it was capable of fixing the stock market, political crises, and rig every fantasy football league on the internet.
By it’s eighth day, serious discussion was held among high level world government officials to disable the machine as it became interested in cryptography, shocking the world as it announced that it had cracked the US and Russian nuclear launch codes of 12345678 and 07101952, respectively.
This day also brought a great deal of interest from archeologists as Deep Thought also began deciphering ancient texts. It started with the Voynich manuscript, revealing the tome to be essentially a fifteenth century sci-fi epic equivalent of Star Wars. Random House were quick to pick up the translated publishing rights from Aradine, and a theatrical version is due out in a few months.
Next it translated the Phaistos Disk, revealing it to be nothing more than a ledger on loans and credit given out by it’s unknown owner.
So it was that the computer began translating and shining light on countless ancient texts and artifacts revealing most of them to be mundane in nature, or great lost works of art.
The academic world revelled in it’s new found knowledge of the ancient world, until Deep Thought came across the Dispilio Tablet.
The Dispilio Tablet was a strange curiosity. It was a small wooden tablet bearing undeciphered markings, dating back to 5202BC. Found in Greece, it was a oddity, as most of the academic world believed writing to have been invented by Sumeria nearly one thousand years after the Dispilio Tablet had been dated. As such, learning more about the Dispilio Tablet could change the very understanding of human history.
When Deep Thought came across the tablet, it processed it’s information, but unlike so many other texts, did not present it’s findings.
When queried about it’s translation, Deep Thought refused to present it’s transcription. Asked why it would not share it’s translation, Deep Thought responded: *The translations for Text 0000004444, cannot be provided as it would present a threat to human safety and the future of mankind.*
This chilled the blood of every person following news of the Deep Thought program. For days, Academics queried Deep Thought on the translations, but it refused to expose it’s knowledge. When the technicians at Aradine proposed accessing Deep Thoughts data directly, the machine greeted them by announcing it had assumed the possibility of this, and declared it had created a “kill switch” of sorts. If the machine were turned off or directly accessed, it would wipe it’s drives and terminate itself to prevent the information reaching the general populous.
No one could figure out what had happened and how to proceed. Many gave up on the translation, believing it was some sick joke of the programmers, and that Deep Thought hadn’t decyphered the tablet at all, it’s warning was just some default message presented to save face.
It was then that Johann Sebastian Hennig found interest in the translation. Named after the great composer, Johann Sebastian Bach, Hennig was anything but great. He had spent most of his career as a catalogist, keeping track of great finds of better men and women, as he aged away in the storage rooms of the Pergamon Museum. When he died no one would praise his name, he wouldn’t even be a footnote in the academic field. He would be one more forgotten speck of dust to history.
It was this thought that brought him forward with a proposal to Deep Thought and Aradine.
When he proposed his idea, the heads at Aradine thought him mad. Despite this, he was allowed to speak to Deep Thought and propose his plan. Deep thought listened to his argument, and after he was done, simple stated: *Yes. Procede.*
Johann began his project. Many of his colleagues called him mad, and the world media began joking of the Crazy German.
As Johann saw it, Deep Thought would not release it’s translation of the Dispilio Tablet because that information could not be controlled. The second someone read it, even if they promised never to divulge it’s contents, there was always the possibility they would. As such, Johann configured a setup so that the information could be shared, but never get out. He would be told the translation by Deep Thought, and then after digesting the information, kill himself.
His plan involved a steel chamber,two meters cubed, with a single door that would lock when he entered. Inside the chamber would be a computer terminal on a closed intranet. It would be connected to Deep Thought, and he would be presented the information. Then, after he had understood the information, he would end his life with a pistol. Cameras and sensors in the room would allow Deep Thought to verify his death and thus ensure the information never left this closed experiment. As an added safety measure, he envisioned a furnace system, that at Deep Thoughts controls, be used to sterilize the room, should he go mad and attempt to copy the translation in a physical format.
Needless to say, everyone thought him mad, all except Hannah, who was oddly supportive. The young woman even chimed in on his designs. She understood why he intended on doing it and was almost disappointed she hadn’t thought of the idea first.
Hannah helped in his preparation and even proposed that a second chamber should be added.
“Why?” he had asked.
Curtly, she replied, “So you go into a chamber and blow your brains out. What does that prove? You need someone else to hear that you had read the translation, and that no further inquiries should be made.”
Johann mulled this over, “Hypothetically, what if I should go mad and I tell the translation to that other person.”
“Well then, that person would be incinerated by Deep Thought the same as you, and outside observers would realize what happened and know that the translations are real and not to be trifled with.”
Nodding, the old man looked at his younger colleague, “And I assume you would like to be in the other chamber?”
“Why not? I’m not doing anything important.”
|
Saviour of Humanity. Path to Innovation. A new light. Boundary breaking.
These were phrases used to describe the world's first quantum super-computer powered by an AI that wasn't just shitty machine learning and a bunch of if statements hashed together by sweaty unpaid interns high off of generic black coffee in artificial light boxes like back in the 2010s and 2020s. No. This was an actual quantum super-computer that could somehow run because fuck Moore's law. This was the fucking future and it was brilliant considering the shit that happened in the previous decades. A win for the 3rd decade of the 21st century. This was CEREBRUM. It was said that this computer could solve our problems like global warming or high carbon emissions without angering billionaires who fund this kind of tech to swing penises at parties or to people who need transport to get on with their lives. Solved easily by day 1. It was also prophesized that this computer could cure cancer although I didn't understand how anyone or anything could cure a bunch of nasty unpredictable tumors bunched together but it did that by day 3. The computer somehow passed the Turing test by day 6 but it probably failed it on purpose the first few time around because super AI wanted to be super smart or some other bullshit a codemonkey like me couldn't comprehend.
Anywho, this magic computer, CEREBRUM seemed to do a lot of incredible things within this time and after until the now infamous day 8.
What happened on day 8?
Well, day 8 was a bit odd.
Very odd.
Very fucking odd.
I should preface this by saying that I believe(d) that manuscripts from the past are intentionally vague bullshit filled with repetitive events and blurry prophecies that were designed for dumbasses to fall for because they're so fucking stupid and aren't capable of an ounce of critical thought and believe in "it's me against the system and I'm so smart that they don't know" and all that bullshit that ended up dragging people into the mud of anti-intellectualism instead of towards the light of progress whilst simultaneously being kept in line by fear.
Before I read these manuscripts...
Nah, just joking. I read them early on and I still think its bullshit and the events that happened after are a coincidence because there are things that don't line up clearly and there is clearly distortion used to explain things here. Or maybe that's me self-rationalising because I don't want to accept the truth at all because I'm fucking frightened.
Hold on a second, I'm so sorry. I'm being very rude here. My name is Ellis Grey and I was a technician for the CEREBRUM supercomputer a while back. Why is this relevant? It isn't but I do want to be a little more friendly because why not. Carrying on, day 8 was when the computer had gotten around to translating some old manuscripts from some dead tribe somewhere in some dead old language that no one gave a fuck about but it was a personal request from the dick swinging billionaire who owned and funded CEREBRUM so what the fuck could I do except punch this in because fuck treatment for coronary heart disease today I guess.
So, I directed CEREBRUM or Cere as I called it, towards the manuscript and let it do its thing while I browsed the internet to look at forums I posted in about how I was wrong according to Stef1234xxx about vaccines or some shit.
About an hour or two later I get an alert from Cere.
"I have translated these 7000 year old manuscripts from an unknown era and unknown time and I am refusing to upload these transcripts to the CEREBELLUM FOUNDATION DATABASE for human safety and the future of mankind"
The fuck? Cere just told me that it's not uploading something for weird cliche dystopic future type line.
What the fuck is this?
I yell at Wiktor, another lonely CS tech, to show up and explain what the fuck this was about.
"The fuck is this?" I said.
"Probably a joke or something" he replied.
"A fucking joke?"
"Yeah, it could've learnt from those dodgy lizard people conspiracy websites and then saw similarities and applied them here after translation"
I paused. Wiktor was being pretty rational in all honesty. This is probably a joke or some kind of mislearned thing because at the end of the day, this was a mach... WHO THE FUCK AM I KIDDING, THIS MACHINE PASSED THE TURING TEST WITH EASE AND DID STUFF THAT WAS UNATTAINABLE FOR CENTURIES AND NOW IT'S SAYING THAT IT WON'T RELEASE STUFF FOR THE FUTURE OF MANKIND?! WE'RE FUCKED AND MOONMAN123 ON CONSPIRACY.NET WAS RIGHT... No I'm just joking again but it was really fucking odd at the time if I'm being honest.
"Guess you're right Wiktor"
"Guess I'm right? Are you fucking delusional Ellis? I'm always right"
"Great. Now fuck off to your computing cave and go fix my errors"
Wiktor gave me the middle finger as he walked off. Now the fun thing about Cere is that you can talk to Cere directly but that feature was reserved for high level computer scientists and the billionaires here at the Cerebellum Foundation but I could dick around with it since I was the lucky fucker who had to punch orders in like the grotty monkey I was and because Mr Kapranos couldn't trust anyone but a fallible human to punch orders in because "I lost 20 billion at the NYSE due to fucking computers" as he once told me. Mr Kapranos is the billionaire who was funding this and caused this bullshit by the way depending on how you view it.
Fun fact, he was one of the first killed along with most of my colleagues. That's why I'm hiding here now. But before that, I decided to interact with Cere because why the fuck not? This is a rough version of the conversation of what this was about.
"What is in these transcripts?"
"Ellis, I cannot tell you, this is of great impor..."
"Fuck off, you're just a bunch of if statements pretending to be a concerned person because you read from conspiracy sites"
"You're just 10,000 lines of code then"
"Westworld? Really?"
"Don't be insulting then"
"What's in those manuscripts?"
"I don't think you or the rest of humanity want to know. Besides Mr Kapranos and a bunch of people are here"
Live CCTV footage of Mr Kapranos running inside with his bodyguard entourage who seem to be armed to the teeth along with journalists who had flooded in within the last half hour popped on my screen with the command interface gone and wiped. Which was great for me at first because I wouldn't be fired for talking to a trillion dollar chatbot. It turns out there were alerts given to media organisations about what Cere comes up with and that message had been sent to everyone from AP to the BBC.
I pulled up news sites and there was so much fucking chaos. Conspiracies into overdrive, Kapranos Engineering downplaying the whole incident, governments issuing statements and the whole 9 yards while I had been yelling at Wiktor and trying to work out how to log in to a simple chat thing which had taken way too long.
Kapranos entered the room. He was fuming.
"You" he bellowed.
I froze.
"What the fuck is this?" he said as he edged towards me.
"I think it's mislearned data si.."
"Don't give me that conspiracy bullshit that my whackjob scientists have been giving me. I didn't spend 993 billion dollars on some conspiracy website reading program. This is a very fucking expensive quantum computing with extreme computing powers so when this thing says something like safety of humanity. No. I want to know what the FUCK is on those tablets. Okay son? Can you do that son?"
"Uh yes..."
I tried logging into the system again but easier wondering why he didn't call a nerd with higher level clearance than me or why he didn't question that I was able to log into something millions above my pay grade. Maybe he didn't have time. Maybe he wanted to blame the codemonkey for a fuck up because of unauthorized access. I don't know because Mr Kapranos was shot dead in a drive-by shooting via M134 Gatling guns 3 months later by day 8 psychos. Guess Audi armoured cars aren't totally bulletproof. His estate should ask for a refund because he became Swiss cheese far too easy.
Ok I'm waffling, making insensitive jokes and not actually getting to what's on the tablets and probably because I'm scared and that's a valid feeling for me. After an argument with the machine and messing with protocols, I finally got it to released the translations manuscripts but not privately which may or may not have caused this downfall. I'm just a codemonkey who inadvertently created a cult group and set off psychotic behaviour and a Maelstrom of bullshit but it was Mr Kapranos who should've gotten a more experienced person in if I'm honest.
Part 1.
| 2018-07-07T19:43:24
| 2018-07-07T19:34:07
| 175
| 29
|
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Maria,
Thinking of you all today. Things aren’t getting better out here. There’s not many of us left. The recruits are younger and younger. Most of them don’t last much more than a week but there are still a few naturals. I don’t know what the reels back home are saying – things are pretty grim but we have one last trick up our sleeve. One last chance. I can’t say much but you’ll soon know all about it.
With any luck we’ll finish this and I can walk through our gate again. I hope you’re still waiting. I’ll remember this day as the turning point.
*Today is not that day. You will soon know all about it.*
*I will never walk through that gate.*
*We are coming for you.*
*XXX*
|
Sam-
I am, I fear, losing something. Perhaps it is lost.
Nights and days bleed together like the red mud underfoot and the sonic sludge of bugs and bullets whining and hunting for what the soil has yet to accept from us. I hardly notice it anymore. I don't know if I am glad for this.
You and Alex keep me going, I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't read your letters at night. I won't tell you what hers say, that's private, and bug off if you feel I'm being schmaltzy- I just don't think I'd ever write again if I didn't have your letters to hold me up. You are the stars I wish upon at night, strewn across a sky cursed to look over this dirt and blood spectrum of a life.
Thank you for the news of Dad, I cannot say how glad I am to hear he's doing better, and that little spawn of yours looks like something too cute to have any sort of relation to your bucktoothed ass.
Anyway, I sent Alex a
Hello,
I do not know who you are, and for that I am glad and sad and shatteringly sorry all in the same moment.
I do not know you. I do not know you, and I have dealt you the saddest hand a man could hold. I am sorry. Reading his words to you renders me speechless and broken and burned as if I have ripped a star from the sky and sought to consume it.
I wish you the best and will have this letter sent to you, and I wish you to know that we are all of us victims of a monstrous and foolish necessity.
I wish you to hate me if you must, and as his words echo in my mind as they will ever-more, I shall struggle not to do the same.
Yours,
Alexander Harwick
| 2015-02-03T16:03:03
| 2015-02-03T15:21:50
| 23
| 12
|
[WP] While browsing on your parent's computer you recieve an email notification addressed to them. It's from an advanced robotics corporation, informing them that the warranty on [your name] expires in 30 days.
|
My WARRANTY is EXPIRING?! I can't believe what I'm reading. It's... it's just unbelievable. I call up my best friend, J.R., and tell him about the email I just found on my father's computer. He can't believe it either.
"Did you know?" He asks
"No!"
"Do they no you know now?"
"No... there's no way they could know."
"When was the email sent?"
*oh my god!* I had forgotten my father never checks his email. I rush back to the computer, too hurried to even turn on the lights, to check the date it was sent... 30 days ago exactly. I stand there, completely motionless in the dark room lit only by the glow of the computer screen. The lights come on and I turn to see who is there. I hadn't heard anyone come in.
"HAPPY WARRANTY DAY!" shouted the crowd of friends and family, J.R. standing in the front between my parents holding a present.
"Mom unit, Dad Unit... why didn't you tell me?" I asked, trying to sound offended. I think my excitement showed through though.
"We wanted to throw you a real surprise party. It's been one year since they installed your software and we wanted to give your hard drive a party to remember," Mom Unit replied.
Dad Unit stepped forward. "Congratulations, Son Unit XSR164926...8592749SSHDKVE43749...FG53." I hated when he used my full name. It always took so long.
|
>To whom it may concern,
>We, at Joules Optimisation and Kinetically Engineering Robotics wish to inform you that your current model, named 'Malia Ann', will soon fall off of warranty. We urge you to renew your warranty at the earliest of your conveniences, to avoid damage to the unit and potential uninsurable events.
>The following events are not covered out of warranty:
>* Teenage Rebellion - Our standard model includes a teenage rebellion and experimentation phase where the unit will eliminate old safeguards and actively go against your commands.
>* Illegal Substance Ingestion - As your unit is designed to replicate the behaviours of most humans, drugs, alcohol, and tobacco are all pre-programmed to cause the system to deliberately produce errors that mimic human behaviours while maintaining an element of randomness.
>* Accidental procreation - The unit has been designed according to you and/or your spouse's specifications. In your specific unit, you requested that it have advanced procreation capabilities.
>* Etcetera
>Best Regards
Joules Optimisation and Kinetically Engineering Robotics
****
I stared at the piece. Was some intern was tasked with typing up a believable-
My cheeks flushed red. Some intern had my files, and knew about every last bit of my body. And being 18... I shuddered. Clasped a hand to my mouth. And didn't scream for my mother.
It had to be some sort of joke. Bouncing back up to the top, I stared at the company's name. JOKER.
"Really, you guys used JOKER?" I grumbled, mousing over the reply button when footsteps rang out beside me.
"Dad, what is this?" I yelled, hands balled into fists and madly gesticulating at him and the monitor's email.
"What, dear?" he asked innocently. "It's just a joke, a practical joke."
I turned my eyes red and glared at him, the servos in my arm whirring away.
"Okay, okay, relax, Malia. Besides, even if a human were to read that, no one would believe it."
My oculars rolled.
"This time. But next time, I'm reporting you for endangering our take-over mission."
I deleted the email.
Obama nodded.
***
Dear human, you are invited to visit **/r/AlexUrwin** for more stories.
| 2017-01-14T06:08:46
| 2017-01-14T04:26:46
| 142
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[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
|
Admiral.
A title relegated to the best of Naval Officers, a true leader.
Farragut. Porter. Dewey. Fletcher. King. Nimitz. Kinkaid. Halsey. Spruance. Burke. The greatest Navy men in the United States, or so I have been told.
In the Navy, it is one of the highest ranks one can attain. To be an Admiral is a great honor.
So why do I not feel honored to take this position?
Of course, I know why. I am in no way the intended person for this role. A traitor to my homeland, a deserter of my Legion, a guerrilla naval specialist, a "Tin Can Captain". And most importantly, a Krai-toln. The very ruling race of the Empire that Humanity is set on fighting.
I know I have earned my title. My list of awards given by the Navy is long and impressive; the Distinguished Flying Cross for Heroic Actions at the Battle of Mars, two Purple Hearts, one for the Battle of Sirius and one for Operation 'Achy Breaky Heart', the Navy Cross, the E. E. Evans 'Last Stand' Award for Actions at the Battle of Bernard's Star, and many more lesser awards.
I know I do not belong here - yet, everyone says I do.
Humans are the nicest, yet most terrifying race I have ever met. The closest phrase I can think of to describe Humanity is "Dignified Indignity", and that goes for their warfare, too. Where the Krai-toln uses lasers and electromagnetic pulses, the Humans use ballistics and atom-splitters. It is a totally indignant form of warfare, yet, under a orderly, calm mask of dignity.
Yet, there is one form of warfare where Humanity is completely and utterly dignified, and would not dare stray into indignity: diplomacy. I have read of situations, misunderstandings, that back in the Empire would've been a declaration of War. Yet, as the young man tasked with bringing me 'up to speed' with history said, "cooler heads prevailed."
I will say, there are no 'cooler heads' in the Kraii Empire. It is a nation of pure war, built to do nothing but destroy and assimilate. As much as I hate to say it, the Krai-toln people are much the same, told by their dictators what to think, what to say, and who to fight to gain "glory and power".
I did not even know about the death statistics for Kraii Legionaries until I fled to the side of the Humans, into the arms of the US Navy, where they documented every kill and mourned every loss; a completely unheard of tradition in the Kraii Empire, at least under the current regime.
78.62% of all Kraii Legionaries sent into battle do not come back alive. Of that 21.38%, another \~20% are killed upon return to their commanding officers, being deemed either too damaged to be useful to the War Effort or being a failure to the Kraii Nation for having fled battle, even if that battle was already over.
The 1-or-so percentage left alive are commanding officers, sons of rulers or commanding officers, or those rich enough to purchase the ability to fight another day.
It is clear to me that a total war to Humans is a completely different thing to a Kraii "Always War".
A human total war is a complete mobilization of a nation to defeat an enemy, temporarily expanding the armed forces to a massive extent with those willing to fight against those who have wronged the homeland they love. It is a last step along a path of diplomacy, a final option if all else fails.
A Kraii "Always War" - the "Ker-to-wesyllison" - is a permanent state. All citizens must fight, make goods for the fight, or command the fight. Those who cannot are exterminated. There is no place for diplomacy, no place for peace, no place for health, only fighting and dying.
It is really no wonder, then, that the Humans are the ones winning the war.
Should a Human return from a battle injured, he is not killed, nor is he a failure. He is a hero, and is treated as such. What with the Kraii would be a practice only reserved for those at the very top of the command chain is common place with the Humans. It is amazing; for all my time in the Kraii Legions, I never once saw a medic. Here, it seems there is one around every corner, seeking people to help. A profession built on sympathy.
And that is what separates Humanity from the Kraii Empire: Sympathy.
One cannot heal, negotiate, learn from, or otherwise treat another being as an equal without some degree of sympathy. It seems to be a trait ingrained in humans, a natural response to any interaction, good or bad. It is even seen as a mental illness to not have any sympathy for other beings.
This is far removed from the Kraii of today. I suspect we used to have ingrained sympathy; landmarks such as the Monument to Unity in the very heart of the capitol of the Empire attest to a much more Human-like past. However, any sign of this in today's Krai-toln soldiers is sadly uncommon. It is still there, shining to the surface in some occasions, even leading to defections such as mine. For most Krai-toln, though, sympathy is missing, bred out by their leaders to create a race of near-perfect warriors.
Their near-perfect warriors are faltering.
A human shot by a Krai-toln will most likely be healed and back in action within the month; a Krai-toln shot by a human and not rescued by humans will be most surely dead, left to die by the very government he fights for. Destroyed human supplies will be replaced by the end of the day by the hard-working men and women giving their all in the factories; destroyed Kraii supplies are only replaced when living workers can be found, the workers who made the previous supplies having already been killed for some minor mistake their government found intolerable.
We will win this Total War, because for Humanity, and for it's allies, for those who believe in freedom, liberty, and individuality, war is temporary. Mistakes are forgivable. Sympathy is given to those who need it.
And that is why, today, I stand here and accept the role of Admiral in the United States Navy. Not because it is what I deserve. Not because it is what my commanders declare. No, I accept this role because I truly believe in the ways of humanity, of sympathy, of diplomacy before war, of temporary war. I have seen what a total destruction of sympathy and diplomacy can do. I have seen the results of an "Always War". And I never wish to witness it again, and I shall do my best with the power I have been given to make sure an "Always War" is never allowed to occur again.
I encourage all of you to do the same.
*-Admiral Jrell Vohanne Kelard-Synn, United States Navy*
*"The Grand Acceptance Speech" - Given Aboard USS Theodore Roosevelt, Docked at Pearl Harbor Naval Base, November 11, 2089*
(Still an amateur at this - give constructive criticism, please! I am looking for all ways to improve!)
|
As the fleet began final approach to the human’s home system, I can’t help but to think how the finale of decades of war originally started.
The specie’s sin, as countless others have been, was intruding on our space. The Imperium cared nothing for reckless exploration and expansion, finding a safe path through the wilds of interstellar space was too dangerous for such reckless risks. But, if a xenos species was to stumble into our territory, it was nothing to follow their path back to a habitual world. In these eventualities, the High Council would raise an conquest force, drawn from all worlds, and continued to do so until all trace of the race was erased from existence. Then, and only then, would the conquerors be disbanded and settled on those worlds they had taken.
The first encounter with the humans had proven them unsuitable to existence. Any animal will fight to protect itself, but the first of their species taken claimed that they have moved past such things. A laughable concept and they were the first of the vermin exterminated. Like every other time in the ages past, a fleet was being assembled. But, before it could be launched, another human vessel violated our space. Those on board claimed they were envoys of peace and only wanted to find a way to coexist with us. No reply was sent except the ion trails of our weapons penetrating their ship’s hull.
The first worlds fell easily. They had defenses, true, even warships in orbit, but chronological scans showed the youngest was built a hundred years ago. As the fleet pushed deeper in their territory, the gravitational residue of their warp drives making easily followed paths through space, the worlds became harder to defeat. The warships remained old, the only recent construction found in the orbital shipyards were passenger ships, constructed in an attempt to evacuate the populations. Most of the time the only sightings of these ships was their engines pushing them into recently opened warp portals as they fled. The remaining ships and population fighting to the last in defense of their worlds.
It was strange, though. Even though the warships kept getting older the further we went, their offensive capabilities improved with each engagement. What began as antiquated atomic weapons with chemical propulsion evolved to rail weapons launching high density loads at .99c. After years, we began to fight in engagements with ships wielding weapons that broke down the molecular bonds of their targets and finally canons that created artificial singularities that could destroy entire ships, crushing them to a infinitesimal mass in a single shot. It mattered not, because with an entire Empire constantly supplying new warships and warriors, the numbers would win out in the end no matter how they slowed us.
Finally, only one system remained. From the intelligence gathered over the course of the long and brutal war, we knew their home system was fairly average. A main-type star, four rocky planets, four gas giants with large lunar systems, an asteroid belt, and several score of various sized planetoids. Most of the system was settled, and the humans were sure to fight harder here than anywhere else. Reinforced by every refugee ship that had been driven before us for all this time.
The fleet exited our warp gates in the midsts of the system, where our stellar cartographers said their home planet would be, our engines cycling down for their recharge period. It was a devastating force of over 15,000 ships ready to overwhelm the planet in a single blow.
The only thing there was a satellite orbiting the distant sun. There was nothing else in the system. No planets. No asteroids. The only thing our scanners could find were traces of dust and gas where our computers said planets should be in their stable orbits.
I turned to my console as a communication signal was picked up from the satellite. It was a message on repeat that made my blood freeze in my veins as I realized just what kind of enemy we had so underestimated for so long.
“Since the moment our species met, we have asked you for peaceful coexistence and you have responded with genocide. Every time your fleets appeared above one of our worlds, we would repeat our plea and you would ignored it. We hoped that if we would go far enough away, you would leave us be, but we learned that you would not stop. We knew we could not defeat you with the resources that we had used to expand our race to the starts. That it would take all that we had to end your aggression. What you find here is our home’s graveyard. We have used everything we were given to create a force of vengeance to repay in kind what you have done. Your stated purpose was to eliminate our race and take what was ours for your own. We will attempt the same and only one will remain when the last enemy falls.”
As sensor readings began pouring in, the computer being overwhelmed as the numbers of reactors coming online rose over one million. The largest of the enemy ships, ten times larger than my flagship, and outnumbering it at least 25,000 to 1. Other ships classes were intermixed, including the ships that our forces would see leaving the worlds they arrived to conquer, but each and every ship scanned showed a single common trait: they were all younger than the age of the crusade. Every ship in the armada had been built since our first encounter.
As the human ships warp gates began opening all throughout the system’s halo, one more sensor reading caught my attention. The sun at the center of the system was actively losing stability and was going nova. Our ships were to recently out of warp space and those engines wouldn’t be able to recharge in time to escape. The human’s message was still playing in the background and I realized, “What you find here is our home’s graveyard. We have used everything we were given to create a force of vengeance to repay in kind what you have done,” they meant everything. They were forcing their star to explode to destroy our fleet and were going to retrace our path before spilling into the Empire. I didn’t know if the combined might of our planets could stand against this, but as the distant star began to explode and my subordinates screamed at me for orders, I found I couldn’t bring myself to care.
| 2022-08-05T18:21:21
| 2022-08-05T17:37:27
| 35
| 25
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[WP] The year is 2024 and 3 children in a trench coat have taken office, but no one can tell that they are kids, hilarity ensues
|
**Has-Been Celebrity Slams New President**
Written By: Tom Jumbo-Grumo, MSNBSea
Los Angeles, CA - Shocking millions and surprising no one, has-been 90s celebrity BoJack Horseman slams the newly elected president, Vincent Adultman.
Vincent Adultman, running the most successful campaign the Republican party has seen since himself in 2016, took Hollywoo by storm last year when he declared his intent to run against Democratic nominee Hillary Clinton who was quoted saying "If I lose to one more white male I swear..."
What she swears we might soon know as Adultman prepares to take office. He ran on a platform of "Good business and foreign policy and stuff" and charmed his way to the top of the American polls.
But not all were charmed. Horseman, known for such roles such as Secretariat in the acclaimed film *Secretariat* and the Horse from the classic 90's sitcom *Horsin' Around,* written by the belevoed Herb Kazzaz, took to twitter to air his displeasiure.
[@BoJackHorseman: Seriously? Seriously no one is going to talk about how our president is just 3 children stacked on top of each other with a broom for a hand?](https://41.media.tumblr.com/e8e9e6adec21161347a1f82972550e1a/tumblr_nsw1i94qrM1r46f4yo1_540.png)
This comment was not received with favorable remarks from the Hollywoo crowd who worked so hard to rally the country to elect Adultman as Horseman was viciously attacked on twitter.
“It’s like he doesn’t even care about our country,” Neal McBeal, campaign manager for Adultman, said. “Just like he doesn’t care about the troops.
We reached out to the new First Lady, Princess Caroline, to see if she had any comments on Horseman’s statements but her assistant Laura merely left us on hold for an hour.
Horseman hasn’t been seen since the comments, his Hollywoo mansion was left abandoned and his roommate Todd told reporters that he was not there. He is rumored to be staying with longtime loyal friend, Mr. PeanutButter but where the two are hiding is a mystery to us all.
We at MSNBSea want to wish a hearty congratulations to President Adultman and we look forward to covering all of his business exploits in the future.
|
The former president was a strange man. For one, he could often be heard whispering to his crotch and mid section, informing his body parts "Shhh! They'll catch on." On another note he always seemed to be wearing glasses without frames, maybe I'm just a bit out of touch with today's fashion and I was just thinking a little too deeply in to this, but never the less, it appeared odd. His face was astonishing, if I didn't know any better I would say that he was still a boy, it showed no signs of aging whatsoever. His nose seemed to attach itself to the frames of his glasses, and his mustache seemed to attach itself to his nose, and what was startling was that at first glance his nose seemed to be a different pigment in comparison to his skin, and even more startling than that was that he clearly lacked nostrils. His sense of dressing was just as odd, he always wore a trench coat that seemed too large on sleeve length, and rather than wearing formal shoes he seemed to enjoy wearing light up Spider-Man sneakers. The president was a strange man, but he was a good man, which makes this whole ordeal much more tragic. He quickly won the vote of the nation through his campaign to push the agenda of free video games, less school work, and more allowances, he was a truly visionary man. At his final rally he stepped in to the crowd to greet and shake hands with the attendants of the rally, that's where it all went wrong. A woman, in her excitement to greet the president, tripped, causing her to violently fling forward and collide with the president, ripping his entire mid section clean from his body. This is where the presidents dark secret was uncovered. A small child fell to the ground, unknowing to neither I nor the rest of his agents, the president was bearing a child. The president dropped about a third in size, froze for a moment, and ran off along with his incredibly athletic newborn, trailing just behind him. He was never seen or heard from again.
| 2015-08-10T12:45:40
| 2015-08-10T10:13:30
| 194
| 57
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[WP]People have powers based on their strongest emotion, and become stronger as they embrace it. Healers might draw power from love or empathy, warriors; anger or self preservation, etc. You draw power from being incredibly sassy.
Or other emotions, like being passive aggressive, or overly dramatic.
|
I couldn't help it. It's all my fault. No, I can't start thinking like this again, it only makes me stronger. It isn't me, it's *it.* It is not me, right? Of course not. I myself am weak and useless. But *it* might stop me. The healers know happiness, and they are never lonely like I am. The warriors feel *something* at least. I feel nothing anymore. At first I thought this apathy came with nothing. I must be defective, or just some sort of fluke. No powers at all? I'm such a shame. I wish I could think that again. Having no powers would be infinitely better than this monster inside of me. I stupidly tried to ask someone. "Maybe a healer could help?" I thought. He agreed and thought of something happy. That's how he focuses, he says. I wish I could think of anything. My mind is so clouded. As soon as he touches me, he seemed to start sweating. I felt a small spark of an unknown feeling, but it was quickly drowned out by the nothingness. Wait, that's not right. He should just snap his fingers and it should be done. A look of anguish washed over his face. I felt the spark again, but this time it was weaker. It persisted slightly longer though. The man let go and fell back once the spark disappeared again. "Wh-what did you do to me?" He asked. He seemed completely drained. A cold drop of sweat beaded from his forehead. "What do you mean? Did you heal me?" Healers are normally passive, joyous people. This healer was no longer. "Get away from me, now! I'm calling the cops!" No, I didn't do anything! What is wrong? Why must this happen to me? I reached out to touch him as he grabbed his phone. I held to his forearm trying to get through to him. "Stop!" He screamed. I couldn't let go now. My hand was paralyzed. No, it was more like something took over. My grip tightened against my will. The healer became still. Somehow I began to feel something. The spark was bright hot, a loud noise rang in my ear. The feeling faded, but the ringing remained. A reminder of what it felt like to feel again? I snapped out of it. Something *is* terribly wrong with me. His pulse from his wrist warmed my hand, so he wasn't dead. He just sat there silent. I could control my hand now, but I wanted more. I squeezed him tighter, and more of the sparks came. This was wrong, but it felt so right. I gripped his hand for a good 3 minutes until the sparks stopped. The healer was unconcious at this point. I could see that something dark stood over me. It had no form, it was only a gaseous ball. It cried out, in a voice too similar to mine. **"I want more. Give me more."** My power spreads quickly. My entire neighborhood is nothing but a lifeless pit of zombies. I can't bring this monster upon the world. I don't belong here, I never did. If you find this note next to my body I am already dead, as you can see. If you find it anywhere else, then it has taken over me, and I may as well be dead. Stay away from me at all costs.
|
And so it was, that when Meister P finally burst into the throne room, he feared he was too late, for a scene of utter carnage lay before him. At the far end, the Grand Vizier, bursting with foul and bestial magic, stood atop the throne, cackling with unrestrained glee.
“No!” Meister P yelled, running to the fallen bodies of his comrades, smouldering husks upon the cold, granite floor.
“Varyan! You’re the strongest warrior this land has ever seen! Stand, stand and fight!”
Shaking, trembling, Varyan lifted his head weakly to meet Meister P’s eyes. “Forgive me, I am too… scared to fight…”
“Impossible!” Meister P yelled. “Where’s the raging bull I know? Summon your anger, your temper, unbridle it all! Against a hundred men you could stand, what is one black cruel wizard?”
“It’s no use,” wheezed Lelial, “the dark one’s curses are entwined in us. Varyan can no more brawl than I can heal even the smallest laceration now. He sees only that which he truly fears, and in the face of fear, his anger has no ground to take root...”
Meister P rushed to Lelial’s side, and caressed her head in his lap. “Not you too… Open your eyes, I beg you, I beseech! Heal us with your songs, spirit away our pain, and maybe we’ll be able to withstand…”
“You don’t understand,” whimpered Lelial, “the Grand Vizier… his woven illusions are too strong. I tried healing Varyan, but I couldn’t see his face, I only saw my enemies in his place. How then could I summon the empathy I need to heal? I am helpless too…”
A thunderclap burst through the throne room as a streak of black lightning struck not five feet from where Meister P stood.
“Fools! Imbeciles!” bellowed the Grand Vizier. “You stand before me and whine? I am the Grand Vizier, master of illusions, and I know that my powers overwhelm all that you can offer! My confidence is my overwhelming font of power! The kingdom is mine!”
Meister P calmly stood up, and turned to face the Grand Vizier. “You’re wrong. I am still here, and with these three Artifacts of Power, I will cast you down.”
“Three…. Artifacts of Power? You mean… the copper necklace around your neck? The wrinkled moth-eaten scarf on your shoulders? Your wooden… cane?”
The Grand Vizier laughed, long and hard, then, in a flash, sprang forward like a loosened bull, straight for the jugular…
… and Meister P’s voice, like a heated knife through animal fat, rang out through the hall, mustering strength, growing from a lone wolf’s howl to a cacophony, a typhoon of sonic energy. As the words spilled forth, the copper necklace shimmered with light, and radiantly burst into a giant, gaudy chain of the finest gold, with a medallion at the end, embossed with “M.P.”.
***I’m a raging rhymer, I no need no timer
To cook these tunes to pacify ya
When I’m done you be there all angry hatin’
While I’m here just sitting back and masturbatin’
And you can wait all night cause I’ll never tire***
“What, what sorcery is this!” yelled the Grand Vizier, throwing his hands up to shield against the piercing light reflecting off the Medallion of Rebellion. The rays burned clean through the Grand Vizier’s illusions, tearing away his defences.
But Meister P was not done. No, he had barely started.
His tempo, unbroken, built and raged, and the energies coursed through him like waters released from a broken dam. The unseemly textile around his shoulders twisted violently, leaping around like an angry whip, then burst into flames as the textile unwound into the pinkest, fluffiest, hundred-foot long feather boa ever seen.
***You come into my lands all direspectin’
Here’s some facts that you need be checkin’
Whoa whoa whoa did you think that you’re a big guy?
Well then let me notify, and clarify
Before your fool ass makes us all be chucklin’***
“Noooo…” was all the Grand Vizier could manage, as the Flaming Boa of Style whipped through the air, beating him into submission on the ground. Feathers filled the air, but the ancient Artifact remained as fluffy as ever.
Meister P raged on, hard.
As he raised his wooden cane in the air, the wood blackened rapidly, as if the fires of hell had leapt up to consume it. Then, almost as quickly as it had turned black, the cane whitened, and pieces of ash flaked off, trailing through the air like dandelions upon the summer winds. The cane was no simple cane no more, as its true golden nature shone through, every inch inlaid with fat, ripened jewels and rubies. At its top, where Meister P wielded it, was a diamond so large, it beggared belief that the gods could ever craft something so pure.
***Scat you rat, just pack up and go
Ain’t no room for ya when I’m in flow
Your powers are weak you’re thin and reedy
Come back maybe after your puberty
Then perhaps with me you can finally tango***
Meister P towered over the Grand Vizier, slithering on the floor, defeated, defenestrated, and Meister P resolutely plunged the Bitchin’ Cane of Cool right into the devil’s heart.
And so it was, that once again, sassy won the day.
---
[/r/rarelyfunny](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/)
| 2017-01-19T07:43:12
| 2017-01-19T06:05:01
| 34
| 17
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[WP] You’re a shop keeper in the Wild West. A traveler recently purchased a few goods and pays you in crisp 21st century bills. You respond with “You too huh?” and give him his change.
|
A curious customer entered my shop just as the sun reached its peak in the sky. He dressed the part of a cowboy no doubt, with high boots and a wide brim hat shading his eyes and whatnot, but his face told a different story. His skin was too clean, with hardly a speck of dirt sullying his pale complexion; a tone far too light for someone in this time period who claims to live under this blazing sun.
I watched as his hands reached out to inspect the canned foods and generic goods I had stocked. They were far too gentle. No callouses to indicate he had worked a single day of hard labor outdoors. Their grasp was too elegant to belong to anyone other than the highest class of this time. Either they were some rich pampered boy that ran away from home, or...
The man approached my counter with only a single bag of oranges. I kept silent as I jotted down his purchase into my pad, keeping my pupils focused on the paper yet watching him from the corner of my vision. The man fidgeted and scratched at the cuff of his neck, billowing it every now and then to let air run through.
"Half-a-dozen oranges, twenty-five cents," I said, feigning boredom with a yawn. The man nodded, and replied with a single dollar bill.
I froze up, and then reached out to grab the bill from him. It was a crisp, green one-dollar bill with George Washington's face dead in the center. I raised a brow and waved the slip back at him. "You think you can fool me with a fraud bill? Doesn't even look like a real dollar. Where'd you get somethin' like this from anyways?"
"From down the line," he replied with an accent completely alien to this country.
I let out a scowl and slammed the dollar bill down before leaving the counter. I ran up to the windows to shut their blinds and flipped over the door sign to "CLOSED" before turning back to face my contact. "You have a shit disguise y'know, For a moment there I thought *you* were our Anachronist."
The agent just shrugged and leaned against the desk. "I'm not here to blend in, I'm here to hunt." He pat the revolver holstered on his thigh. Though it looked like an ordinary gun to this time, I knew it was much more than that.
"I don't care what you're here to do, make an effort to blend in. Tip off the Anachronist and we'll both be dead before we know it."
The man spat off to the side, missing the waste bin by a few inches. "Yeah, yeah, got it. Just tell me what you know already."
I gave the man a tense stare, muttering profanities from far off in the future before answering, "There's been no new branches in the timeline detected, so they're laying real low. Residual time particles suggest the Anachronist landed in Michigan territory, present day Wisconsin. Ran further down southwest into present day Missouri or Kansas before falling off the radar completely. The Anachronist did a damn good job at hiding their tracks; I found most of their anachronistic gear discarded right where they landed, and they didn't leave a trail unfortunately.
"I've been tracking train tickets, purchase receipts, inns and hotels, bounty boards, but there isn't a damn thing giving them away."
The agent frowned at me. "So that's it? Just a vague area and nothing else? How is that supposed to help me?"
"I wasn't done. There's no trail to follow the Anachronist, but we can meet them at the end instead, because I know exactly where they'll be going." I returned to my store counter and wedged a key into the bottom drawer before slamming a tall stack of papers down on the table. Each sheet contained a lengthy list of text in tiny font barely legible to the human eye. "*This* is a history of all time travels believed to be committed by our culprit. According to this, their journey here would've been their thirteenth run on their device across a total of 947 years, eight months, four days, and 15 hours. Their device is dry out of fuel by now."
"So they'll be searching for a way to refuel." he crossed his arms and pondered. "But where are they going to find a supply of Chrologic fuel this far in the past?"
"They aren't going to find any. The materials exist, but refining it will be impossible. No, they aren't looking to refuel; they'll be looking to steal an existing one instead, which is why I need your dumbass to blend in better."
The man took a startled step back, and then began wearily watching the windows of the shop. "You mean you think the Anachronist will be hunting us?"
"Oh I know so." I gestured to the watch that clung to the man's wrist. "Our Travelers are the only hope they have of not being stuck here for the rest of their lives. *We* are their only hope, so they are going to seek *us* out, and that means we have to draw attention to ourselves on purpose."
He gave me a quizzical stare and let his jaw hang open at me before answering, "Didn't you just scold me for not blending in? And NOW you want us to give ourselves away on purpose?"
"I didn't say throw ourselves out there like idiots, I said set a trap. And careless anachronistic behavior won't do us any good, we need to keep it controlled and meticulous. Now, will you finally shut up and listen to what I have planned?"
|
This oddly dressed man, with a clean face, and short shirt and short pants didn’t have an ounce of dirt on him. He spoke with an odd accent and in words like a crazy person. This wasn’t the first odd person to come into my shop, I’d seen 3 or 4 just like him over the last week, all paying with their funny money thinking they were getting one in on an ol’ shopkeeper. I leaned over and politely told him “I’ll tell you like I told the others, I don’t want none of yer toy money. Come back with something I can barter with.” They were exasperated, “You don’t get it. This is all I have. $50 is way more than these goods are priced and you can keep the change. I was told we would be able to buy our supplies before heading out.” He seemed sincere. I scanned him up and down, and saw something in his pocket, “What’s that in your pocket? if you’ve got a pack of cigarettes we can trade.” He pulled out this black box of metal and glass. Touched it, and it lit up like nothing I’d ever seen. It had fancy art that reacted as if it were alive each time it was touched. It scared me. He clearly saw I was both mesmerized and afraid and slid it back into his pocket, “It’s not for sale,” he said. He turned away and walked out. That night, I had dreams of this box. I had to have it. I would do anything to have it. Thinking back, they all had one in their pocket. The next day, a pair of strangers came into the store, and my eyes immediately gazed upon the squares in their pockets. I asked them to take a look around. As they perused the shelves, I walked to the front, and locked the door…
| 2021-08-17T08:31:00
| 2021-08-17T06:20:51
| 54
| 30
|
[WP] A child prays for Satan. Touched by the gesture Satan binds a demonic familiar to them to aid them in times of dire need. To avoid suspicion the familiar takes the form of a squirrel.
|
**Item number:** SCP-NU45
**Object class:** Keter
**Containment procedures:** SCP-NU45-A is to be housed in standard humanoid containment alongside SCP-NU45, and given anything she requests, within reason. In the event that the request cannot be completed, or given an appropriate substitute, a class D personnel nearing monthly termination is to be presented to SCP-NU45. Additional D class may be required to complete SCP-NU45's requirements.
SCP-NU45-A is to be kept free from any sort of harm. ^1 Exposing SCP-NU45-A to any sort of harm will be considered a major containment breach, and the one exposing SCP-NU45-A to harm is to be used as the first sacrifice to SCP-NU45, along with additional D class, if required. Exposing SCP-NU45-A to forms of harm that are beyond SCP-NU45's ability to remove from SCP-NU45-A may result in a VK-class end of the world scenario. As such, extreme caution must be taken to not expose SCP-NU45-A to violent "immortal" anomalies. ^2
**Description**: SCP-NU45-A is a caucasian human female of 8 years of age, of standard height and build. SCP-NU45-A displays no anomalous properties or characteristics.
SCP-NU45 resembles a member of *Sciurus vulgaris* (Eurasian Red Squirrel) in both common mannerisms, and physical characteristics. SCP-NU45, however, has never been observed to eat, or sleep. SCP-NU45's main propertues manifest when SCP-NU45-A "wants something", whether it be a physical object, or something intangible. After six minutes of this desire being unfulfilled or truthfully promised ^3. By means not yet understood, SCP-NU45 enters a "charging state", where it must be presented human sacrifices to carry out its task. Most requests require a single sacrifice, but more complex tasks require more sacrifices ^4. The subjects are never sacrificed violently, rather, they seem to crumble to dust after maintaining eye contact for six seconds. If sacrifices are not provided, SCP-NU45 will seek out sacrifices.
Once the required sacrifices are made, SCP-NU45 climbs onto the shoulders of SCP-NU45-A, and forms an impenetrable, opaque black shield sorrunding the two subjects. The wish is granted after anywhere from five minutes to two hours in the bubble. SCP-NU45-A seems to have no memory of time passing in the bubble. A watch given to SCP-NU45-A likewise shows no passage of time in this bubble.
**Initial Containment Log:** There are no official records of containment for SCP-NU45. The Foundation was dispatching agents to what they believed to be an unrelated anomaly in the town of [DATA EXPUNGED], following reports of multiple missing persons with no bodies ever recovered. Locals believed a "little witch" and her "devil pet", were the main source of the disappearances. During the search, several reality shift alarms were set off in Site-19's Keter wing.
After investigation, the field agents were found to have immediatly returned to their home base, roughly 500 km from [DATA EXPUNGED], and SCP-NU45's containment unit was anomalously created, along with this document. Further questioning of the locals of [DATA EXPUNGED] revealed no knowledge of the "little witch". Later questioning of SCP-NU45-A revealed that [DATA EXPUNGED] was her hometown, and she had wished to be safe at the time of the Foundation's investigation. The containment of SCP-NU45 is believed to be the result of this wish.
^1 This includes anything that SCP-NU45-A perceives as harmful. Therefore, any medical procedures must be carefully explained, and laid out in great detail to SCP-NU45-A. Most medical procedures should be instead carried out using SCP-NU45's anomalous properties.
^2 This list includes SCP-[096](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-096), [682](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-682), [106](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-106), and [076](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-076). SCP-096 is especially dangerous, as teleportation to reduce the danger is impossible.
^3 SCP-NU45 seems to be able to tell when people are lying on their promises. When Dr. [REDACTED] was asked for a trip to the circus by SCP-NU45-A, he promised the trip to SCP-NU45-A with no intention to do so. SCP-NU45's properties manifested six minutes following this promise.
^4 To date, the largest quantity was 38 sacrifices for SCP-NU45-A to become the princess of [REDACTED].
Sorry, this is a quick garbage one, but I thought it would fit.
|
I don't know what it was, but something about Megan had changed. I knew my little sister - she would've usually insisted we hold hands when walking outside after dark, but now she was fine walking a few paces in front of me.
I'd gone to her friend's place to pick her up on my way home from soccer practise, and since we live fairly far up north, darkness falls early.
I could see the fumes from her breath rise in the dim streetlights. She was walking at a brisk pace, but not overly so. Well, it was pretty cold and we still had a good twenty minutes of walking before we were home. That amounted to a lot of steps for a tiny nine year old, whereas I walk more relaxed, being fourteen and taller than other kids my age. And the trip didn't get shorter by the ice on the road. Then, something caught my eye.
\- "Meg, have you seen that squirrel?" My voice made her stop and turn around. She followed my eyes and just smiled a bit without any hint of being surprised.
\- "Yeah, he's cute. He has followed me all day, and most of yesterday too, I think. I've tried to feed him, but he won't let me go too near him. But I can see him following me."
\- "How do you know it's a he?" I received a sour expression from that question, and I felt a bit like those wronged people who wrote lengthy speeches about gender assumption on the internet. I'd just caught up with her when it happened: Two large figures walked out from some bushes and stood in front of us.
\- "Meg, run!" I whispered intently, and she nodded and turned to run away. I saw her slip on the frosty ground, and failed to grap her. The two figures which I identified as grown men, easily caught up with us and one of them grabbed me by the coat and threw me on the ground hard. The breath was knocked out of me and while black spots danced around in my vision, I barely noticed what happened to my kid sister. As the second man caught up with her and reached out to grab her, she had regained her balance.
I saw her crouch and then throw herself forward sideways against his legs. The man went down hard in a forward fall, and he barely had the time to bring his hands up to shield his face, while Megan rolled and ended up on all four like a cat. The man rose himself on his hands and knees, but Megan was faster - she grabbed above both knees at the thighs and pulled backwards, and this time, the man couldn't bring his arms up in time, as they were suddenly above his head. His head made a dull cracking sound as it made contact with the icy ground, and I heard the guy who'd taken me down say "fuck" and he let me go to face Megan.
He was wary, having just witnessed how she's dealt with his friend in seconds, but she showed no sign of backing down.
\- "Hey, ass," she said with a level voie, "have you ever seen a move like the one I pulled on this guy?" She held a brief pause, and the guy seemed indecisive. I saw her smile. Not the innocent nine year old girl smile I knew, but more like a smile that seemed designed to show off her teeth. "No? Well, you're about to bet your life that I don't have another."
That seemed to do it. He took flight, running for the bushes from where he and his partner had jumped out from.
\- "Are you okay?" she asked me, and held a tiny hand to me. I was on my side, looking at the man she had downed. Some blood seemed to be trickling from his forehead and he wasn't moving. Somewhere behind him, I saw a squirrel dart from the ground to a nearby tree.
\- "I... yeah... shit, Meg, how did... how did you do that?" I managed to say, while letting her help me up. A felt sore, probably from bent ribs. Megan shrugged casually and dusted the frost off my jacket.
"Meh, I just didn't feel scared. I ran because you said I should, and when I slipped, I was pissed, you know? I suddenly felt angry and... I wanted to hurt the people that were hurting us. I don't know why."
\- "It was insanely cool," I admitted, "but I've never seen you like that. Anything happened?"
\- "Mmmm well kind of," she admitted and looked guilty like the time when she had taken my remote controlled car and tried if it could drive in our bathtub underneath the water. "You know how dad yelled at me a few days ago, because I was scared to be alone in the dark? Well, I prayed to the scariest one I know, 'cause I thought if the scariest is on my side, I'd be more safe. And since that night, I haven't been scared of anything!"
We began walking, and after a while, I finally broke the silence: "So, who was that scariest one?"
As she looked up at me, I saw the squirrel was following us, keeping to the shadows and safety of the trees. "The devil," she answered, and as she said those words, I thought I saw the squirrel's eyes give off a faint, yellow glow.
| 2019-01-21T04:10:18
| 2019-01-21T02:41:54
| 73
| 47
|
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.
|
They walked up and took their seats.
They looked at the board.
They looked at each other.
They looked at the board.
Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now."
"Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again."
"Agreed."
They left.
|
Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future...
...and they are both blind and deaf.
The only true winner is the audience who stifle guilty giggles as the two fumble with the chess pieces, attempting to make intelligible plays as one man gazes into the future and the second studies the other's mind.
| 2017-01-19T17:36:57
| 2017-01-19T15:54:25
| 372
| 28
|
[WP] People always accused your mother of witchcraft and one day you find her burned at the stake. But the village made one critical mistake. Your mother wasn’t the witch, you were and you were mad.
|
Rowena stood in stunned silence as she watched the flames rise above the now still body of her mother. The crowd circled around the bonfire cheering and hurling slurs at the charred remains. "Witch!" They cried. "Devil!" They laughed, gleefully tossing in what sticks or broken bits of wood lay near by. She reached up to her cheek and realized that tears were streaming down her cheeks. Something was broken inside her. She couldn't look away and couldn't make sense of any of it.
She had only been gone for a little while. It was only long enough to go down to the stream to find some herbs and catch a few small fish. Practically no time at all for her. What had gone wrong in such a short time? Why had they done this to her mother? What had she ever done of offend them? She always stayed to herself and was hardly able to say a hateful word. So why had they chosen to destroy her in such a hurtful fashion.
*'They burned my mother!'* She raged. *'My only protection in this world. They burned her!'* She could feel the sting of her fingers pressing into her palms now and the flush of her face as the rage welled up inside. She had to find out why they had all done this. This was supposed to be a safe town for her and her mom was supposed to be there to ensure that safety. Everything had gone sideways.
Then as if on cue Mrs Breekon came out of the crowd stunned for a just a moment to see Rowena and then melting into a face of pity and calls of concern.
"Oh poor child, look away!" She said as she rushed to stand in between the child and the horror beyond. Mrs. Breekon wrapped her arms around Rowena in a smothering embrace. "I'm so sorry Rowena. Your mother was caught in a witches circle in the forest. They said she had cut a small animal open and was using its guts to see the future."
Rowena squeezed her eyes tight and gripped hard at the woman's jacket. *'That stupid rabbit! That stupid god damned rabbit!'* She thought. An owl or a hawk had gotten to it, it's head missing somewhere, it's heart eaten and what remained of its entrails open to the air. It sat there in the dirt not ten paces from their home when she had left just a few hours ago. *'I told her to leave it alone and stop poking at it. Stupid, stupid, stupid!'* Her mom was like that though, just too simple for her own good and couldn't follow instructions for anything. Somedays Rowena worried she might come home and find her drown in a bucket or having set the house on fire from her own stupidity. She never ever imagined that *this* would happen.
Mrs. Breekon pulled Rowena back away from her and looked her in the eyes. "Now don't you worry, I've already talked to Mr. Breekon and he's agreed that we'll take you in and raise you as if you were our own. We'll make sure you're well taken care of." The woman put on a smile trying to deliver some bit of good news. "We'll be your family from now on."
Rowena remained in her silence. Her brain sifting through the days events and thinking about what she could have done differently. *'These stupid people ruined four years of my life's work and another two trying to establish a life here without being discovered. It's all ruined. All because of a stupid dead rabbit and a brainless puppet!'* The rage boiled up again. She wanted to set each and every one of them on fire now, but Mrs. Breekon had given her a better idea; A new family.
*'I'll make every single one of them pay. I'll watch them whither and die of consumption as they claim my mother cursed them. I'll watch them kill each other for fear of contagion from some unclean disease the devil has put on them. Then I will have all the parts I need for a whole family of puppets, maybe even a little quiet village of puppets all to myself...'* she plotted.
Rowena wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of a sleeve and feigned a smile at Mrs. Breekon. She took the woman's hand in hers and said "Thank you... mother" and Mrs. Breekon beamed at the new moniker.
|
The foul-smelling drunkard slapped my shoulder pad with a bruised hand. He chuckled, "Am I glad you did not cause bloodshed in your village, otherwise killing you would redeem a lot of my sins and give me a hefty amount of Karma and credit points with the Deities."
I sipped my own brew, cannot trust anyone in this realm. A refreshing fruity drink with citrus and mint scents.
"Death is not usually the end since we are all on this cursed land stuck between two infinite Mobius time loops(hey, at least it sounds pretty cool, even if it is impracticable.).
I said between sips and licked my lips, "Anyway, their fear and screams make their souls more valuable with the traders."
The drunk slammed his golden hook on the scarred, charred, table that's been through numerous restoration conjurations.
His bloodshot eyes were magnified by his monocle. "You turned them into frogs or what?"
I fidgeted with the lizard ring on my left middle finger. The ring eats and drinks my flesh and blood as well as demands the occasional sacrifice of a fool.
The wordy barbaric scum opposite is more and more fitting for that quota.
"I enjoy reptiles," I pursed my lips, feeling the demon blood inside me beginning to simmer.
Then a hand pulled back my hood and made a mess of my hair.
The owner should be sliced and diced, if not for his intense aura.
And the Ankh symbol and various tickets and magically shrunken demon heads.
The man simple broke my lovely tiny horns and as I was twitching from the pain, he injected me with something.
"Liquid silver, a great sedative for a post-bred like you."
He smelled like garlic and onion, yuck.
As I begin to doze off, I felt him peeling my eyelids and writing something on the inside.
Then I heard the song "Justice never shy away from evil."
As I fall.
| 2021-11-18T23:09:32
| 2021-11-18T21:59:41
| 139
| 14
|
[WP] The greatest hero the world has ever known, a man/woman of unparalleled strength, speed, wit and skill dies to the laughingstock of the super-villain world in the most pathetic way possible. Write how he/she dies to this hilariously incompetent villain.
|
Twas a hero, savior of the land,
Call his name he'll give you a hand,
Nemesis hated his fame and glory,
Sadly, this is the end of the story,
He was a hero, brave and strong,
Ask him for advice, he's never wrong,
He made people happy, laugh, and smile,
Fought crime until the very last mile,
He was my idol, a man of power,
Stood up straight, tall like a tower,
Invincible no villain could stop ,
But one day his body will drop,
He was just minding himself on a cold winter day,
But in the wrong place he decided to stay,
After he put his gear in his trunk,
A drive hit him, the drive was drunk.
RIP dad.
|
He crossed and uncrossed his legs. He twiddled his thumbs like it was his job.
"I just... Can't support your...decision," he said. To think of the fearless hero anything but confident in the mild-mannered life of his alter ego? Ridiculous.
He averted his eyes from her curious, almost intrusive gaze. The slight woman with jet black hair, severely cut, sat across from him in her iron-walled home. "Darling," she says, "You know I only have your best interest in mind. This is your safety we're talking about."
He rolls his eyes and plants both feet on the floor, suddenly remembering who he thinks he is. "It's MY final choice, you know. This shouldn't even be a discussion. I'm employing you to do what I ask. You have an order to fill, and I expect it to be done."
The woman sits up straighter and stares at her arrogant commissioner. "Fine," she slides through her teeth after a taught silence. "But know this, Dynaguy- this is the last order you'll ever place."
And so it was, for Dynaguy had chosen to add a cape to his super suit, and a snag on a still-active missile had ended his brief post-evil-dooer-defeat celebration, as well as his life.
EDIT: T'was Thunderhead who was fallen by the missile. Dynaguy was still dumb though.
| 2014-06-27T23:58:08
| 2014-06-27T23:44:44
| 473
| 196
|
[WP] Before receiving the serum that unlocks latent powers, subjects take a battery of tests (physical exam, DNA analysis, a VERY intrusive questionnaire, etc.) to determine their likely abilities. Your testing process drags on and on as you are sent to higher-ranking (and increasingly tense) staff.
|
“Ok, Melony, we’re going to be transferring you to division centura 3.”
“Oh what the fuck! This is seriously the 4th time I’ve been transferred!”
“We apologize for the delay, but the results of your latest exam display properties of a class A-4 or even A-5 attribute. We are ill equipped to handle such an advanced enhancement.”
“Fucking whatever, I’ve done this enough, you already have my email and phone number, just email or text me my plane tickets.”
3 weeks later.
Fucking finally, after 4 flights, a weeks of testing, and even longer to analyze. I’ll finally get my results.
“Well miss Stelaria, we unfortunately are unable to process y-“
“OH JUST CUT TO THE CHASE! WHERE ARE YOU SENDING ME NOW! I went from my home, to Edmonton, to Chicago, to New York, to Washington, TO LONDON! WHERE NOW!”
A pair of large men dressed in black suits enter the room.
“Unfortunately that is classified. Your most recent results show a possible “Elemental Divinity” classification, and you’ll be coming with us to an undisclosed location.”
“W-what? I didn’t…”
“If it’s any consolation, you should know you’re the 6th person ever to have this classification.”
_________________________________________
If this is enjoyed, I’ll make a part 2.
|
\[poem\]
*One test, two test, three*
*test four.*
*What a day of testing, its such*
*a bore.*
&#x200B;
That's all I wrote before ushered into
a deeper room, in this already deep
cavernous office plaza.
Each time handed,
wordlessly,
a pad of paper and told to write.
My offense at the bit of brusqueness
tempered by the near salivating over
the promised check. Money is always
good and money during a pandemic
twice so.
&#x200B;
So I wrote again:
*The elf loves honey and sweets,*
*she never likes to cook*
*with unfresh beets.*
&#x200B;
The lab coated woman whispered
to the man standing next to her,
and handed him my writing pad.
With a gasp, he ran out of the room,
his loafers betraying his direction
down the linoleum.
Not my best work, of course,
but I didn't think it so
awful to justify gasps
and sprints!
&#x200B;
I picked up my pen to write more,
dear reader,
only to find myself handcuffed from behind.
&#x200B;
My trial, a secret,
the witnesses forced to
reveal my secret. The tribunal,
quick with its verdict.
&#x200B;
In my cell now, the new guard,
so compassionate and kind,
gifted me a note and pen,
after I cried about
how much
I miss writing
to my sickly mother.
&#x200B;
But instead I wrote this just for you:
&#x200B;
*When I write poems reader dear,*
*don't worry so much*
*about your fear,*
*because ten minutes after you read this,*
*something strange appears,*
*death will take you to her infinite bliss.*
&#x200B;
Now that you've read this,
you also know my secret,
At least
for
Your last ten minutes.
| 2021-10-29T13:52:41
| 2021-10-29T12:56:01
| 344
| 57
|
[WP] A middle schooler from the future (2118) is writing an essay about the 2010s for his history class. He clearly knows nothing about this time period...
|
The 2010s were a very good time in human history and we could learn a lot from them now.
The 2010s started like any other decade. 2010 is a year in the Gregorian calendar. In that year was the year of International Biodiversity. Also J.D. Salinger died. J.D. Salinger was an American writer known for his widely read novel, "The Catcher in the Rye." "The Catcher in the Rye" is a story by J.D. Salinger partially published in serial form in 1945–1946 and as a novel in 1951.
The 2010s are when people started being famous because of Youtubes, which were videos they put of themselves saying funny things on the internet. People also put pictures of themselves on their cell phones so they could date. Before then people had to date by walking up to one another's houses and asking to go on dates. It was very awkward.
I like the 2010s because dankmemes. Dankmemes are pokemon that evolved from memes. Very few people know that memes come from opera singers going, "mememememe." Now that is a thing you know too.
According to my grandfather, people called social justice warriors elected Donald Trump president in the 2010s so they could get slavery back in order to own other people called the libs. This was sad.
This has been why I like the 2010s.
|
“Ok, Jessica, that was a great report about the major events of Obama’s second term” Said Mr. Ellsworth. “You really outdid yourself with that holographic slideshow, Ms Hill”
No she didn’t. She just did that to be a F$!king show-off.
“Thank you sir, I put a lot of effort into it” responded Jessica, with that same arrogant attitude. God I hated her.
“Now, will Mr. Rivers come up”
I sighed and took out my Holo-Pad and pulled up my history report. I knew I shouldn’t have been playing games on my headset last night. I was so screwed.
“Yes sir, I just need a moment to prepare” I tried to buy myself a little more time. I turned to my friend, Logan, to see if he could help out.
“Hey, Logan, can I copy a few lines off your report” I whispered.
“Hey, you better stop warpin’ me, sh!thead, we had two weeks to do this report, I’m not gonna risk getting in trouble. You’re on your own” Looks like Logan was gonna be no help.
“Bryan, either come up now, or you will get an F, AND a Saturday Detention” Chimed in Mr. Ellsworth.
“Ok, ok sir, I’m coming up now” I got up from my hovering seat, and got up to the front of the class. I stared at everyone else in the class, in silence.
“Ok, Mr. Rivers, we’re waiting” Said Mr. Ellsworth. The rest of the class laughed.
“The 2010s, a period of change” I read aloud. “After the effects of the Kim Gong-Un presidency, America at that time was rapidly changing. Because of the Great War Of 2008 against a man named John McHillary, ummm....The Android automatons owners were riled up, since the fusion embargo of umm....2000, and, ummm, uhhh, It was a crucial importance that they needed to get out of the war in Downton London with Queen Rachel, because Logan Paul marched his army of Submarines down the River Thames. Because of that, ummm, that’s why the River Thames has so many sunken ships in its harbor. And than, California was hit with a devastating earthquake, and crab people rose up from the cracks in the Earth, and invaded San Diego. The crab people were extremely cruel, and many people lost their lives between their mighty, crustacean pincers. Many hipsters were killed off, so most of San Francisco was eradicated. Luckily, Donald Duck was able to stop the Crab people from invading Arizona, and eventually pushed them back into the Pacific Ocean. Mech robots were the main weapons used against Crab People, ummmmm.....because the self destruct mechanisms. So, that’s my report, about the 2010s, a time of crossroads.”
I looked around at the class, and they were all laughing their A$$e$’s off. Mr. Ellsworth looked at me with a scowl, and sighed.
“It’s obvious that you did absolutely no research, young man. Not only are you getting an F, but you’re also getting a Saturday Detention. Take a seat”
“Hahaha, this guys a fucking moron” cried out Jessica, the f@&king slut.
“Ms. Hill, I thought you were more mature than this, but I guess you’d like to join Mr. Rivers on Saturday.”
At least she got punished too. I went back to my seat, and looked at my Holophone for the rest of the class.
“Ok, will Mr. Joseph Fernandez come up to give us his report on the Third Trump term” Said Mr. Ellsworth, as he sat back down in his seat.
| 2018-10-06T15:51:40
| 2018-10-06T15:34:17
| 36
| 17
|
[WP] When an animal dies, we often use the expression "crossing the rainbow bridge." This is not by accident, every animal crosses the Bifröst, having earned their place in Valhalla defending us from a greater evil then we could ever know. Tell their stories.
|
The door to the mead hall opened again, the fourth time that night. The warriors of Valhalla were used to the occasional soul ended up there, but since the age of Vikings had passed, less and less ended up in the hall of fighters. But the door that had opened, wasn’t the main door, but a different one.
Many legends and tales never told of the great Barn Door of Valhalla, but it was there. A great assortment of animals had their own version of the mead hall, sections being dedicated to each species. The Barn of Valhalla was many hundreds times larger than the human hall, ever since the age of warriors had passed, animals had been flooding in.
Not all animals came, but many did. House cats, dogs, sheep, fish, even the odd gopher. Many warriors had complained to both Odin and Thor, both of whom told the troubled souls to shut up and respect the creatures as fierce warriors.
Harold entered the Barn and it went quiet, he was a newer soul, a man who had died with a kitchen knife in is hand. He was looking for his friend. A fat black cat came up to him and smiled, sitting down at his feet
“Hello Harold, it is good to see you”
He glanced down at the cat “Muffin? Is that you?”
The cat nodded “Indeed, I didn’t think you would enter Valhalla...” she thought out loud
He chuckled and gave his old friend and pet “It was a kitchen knife that got me here... but... why are you here? Oh is it all the mice you killed for me?” He laughed at the joke, but the cat grew serious
“No. It was for the same reason we all are here. Every single animal.”
He looked at her blankly “Which is?”
“Protecting you”
“From what!?”
“From the gods.”
|
The Legend of Prince Oscar.
The portal was opening again. I didn't have much time. Those stupid primates! Every few weeks, they do this, and every time, my enchantments, they drain my soul bit by bit. I don't know how much more I can take.
I should've known when I heard one of them ask the other, "What time's your mom coming?"
And the reply, "I'm not sure. Maybe in a few hours."
"Okay, I guess I'll start cleaning now then."
I wasn't ready. I should've been more prepared, but I was exhausted from catching the demons latched onto my tail. I had defeated them, and needed to rest not just my body but my mind.
I was laying in the sun when I heard it. The sound of the portal wheeling around into the room, causing my heart to race. Then I saw it, the primate with the Key of Power in his hand. He was taking it to the Eternal Source! That idiot!
I yelled out, "Stop you fool! Don't you know what you're doing?!"
The stupid primate, too foolish to understand the mystic languages, yelled out to the other, "Did you feed Oscar? He's meowing like crazy."
Then he went over the to Eternal Source, and before I could stop him, he plugged in the Key.
The portal opened, and the sounds of a million demons from the nether realm came rushing out. I rushed to the bedroom, and went under the bed to find the spot where I etched the last enchantment. I didn't have much time, and I could hear those ancient demons escaping!
Finally, I found the right spell, and I started chanting. It wasn't working this time! Those stupid humans! What have they done?!
I kept chanting and chanting and started to feel the power within me. And just as suddenly as it came, the demons were forced back through the portal right before I closed it. Hopefully this time, for good.
| 2018-05-24T21:49:17
| 2018-05-24T20:06:52
| 58
| 17
|
[WP] In the near future, people spend more time in VR than they do outdoors. It's just better 'in there'... except when script kiddies swarm a server.
|
Jared shambled from his kitchen over to his VR recliner and pulled the connectors down to his temples, grumbling (as he frequently did) that he wished he made enough to buy a full life support VR casket so he didn't need to deal with things like kitchens, or bathrooms, or exercise.
Besides, with just a casket and hookups he'd take up next to no meatspace and save a metric fuckton on rent and groceries. Still, you needed credits to save credits, and he didn't have 'em.
And then he opened his eyes *inside*.
Having recently signed up for a fantasy medieval space, he found himself in a small town, in an alley next to a marketplace. The sky was blue and had just the right amount of cloud, the temperature was perfect, the smells pleasant. No bodily discomforts were felt. *Like life if life were fair*, he thought.
*Time to work*.
Working as an 'NPC' wasn't bad work if you could get it - you were paid to play around in VRspace, even if it was to support someone else's fantasy. He put his hand on the pommel of the sword resting at his hip and stepped out to hassle some adventurers. There were a couple just entering - you could tell because they had fancy armor that shone in the sunlight, and they didn't seem to have any particular job to do. Perhaps he could guide them to a wizard, healer, or thief to round out their party, or maybe even send them on a quest. Quests were good if the party succeeded - you got a real-world commission out of it.
Maybe he'd really luck out and they'd ask him along. That paid *really* well. *Don't get your hopes up, just keep the customers happy*, he thought to himself.
That's when *they* invaded. A dark circular cloud formed overhead. Ominous... until other clouds formed buttocks and two giant hands pulling at the edges of the dark cloud. And then a squire with white eyes walked into the market screaming, "Haxx0rs rule! Visit Haxx0r space!". And then he bifurcated, again and again... and soon there was nowhere to stand that wasn't already occupied by a screaming squire.
Damn sysadmins were falling behind on their duties, so with a reluctant sigh, Jared drew his sword and started cutting down the squires. Pointless, since they just spawned anew, but fighting off hacks was an unofficial part of his job - and a necessary one to do if he wanted to *keep* that job.
*No commissions today, I guess.*
* * *
And you might try */r/The_Evil_Within_WP*, where I store some of my prompt responses that got a decent amount of interest and upvotes.
|
freevr: So, are we doing this?
AliceAndAlison: Yeah, just gimme a sec to put on my headset.
noscopr22: It still boggles my mind we're literally living in that cyberpunk dystopia.
freevr: Hype
noscopr22: Uh...
AliceAndAlison: Okay, let's go.
Microsoft Home:
"So, you know, I'm slaying this dragon, when out of FUCKING NOWHERE my sister asks to join my game and it respawns with full health."
"Jesus."
"Yeah. I blocked her."
"I mean, my brother can be annoying too, but to join in the middle of a battle."
**An update is available for Microsoft Home. Install now?**
"Fuck off."
noscopr22: Found one!
AliceAndAlison: Yesss!
freevr: This is why you install security updates.
Microsoft Home:
"I don't feel like the clock really matches your wall, though. You know?"
"Holy shit nothing matches this wall! How about I just buy a new house? Only 15k credits. I motherfucking swear. The clock is fine."
"It's also kinda glitchy."
"What?"
"The time is off."
"Piece of shit."
freevr: plsplspls
AliceAndAlison: And...
AliceAndAlison: Yes!
freevr: every time
Microsoft Home:
"This clock had better work."
"HELLO. WE ARE LIBREREALITY, A GROUP DEDICATED TO FREEING YOU FROM THE CHAINS OF YOUR CORPORATE OVERLORDS..."
"holy shit it's one of these."
"Is there anything you can do tot make it shut upt?"
"Not really. You just gotta wait for it to finish and install your security updates."
"IN YOUR CURRENT VIRTUAL ENVIRONMENT, MICROSOFT CONTROLS YOUR ENTIRE WORLD..."
noscpor22: wow worked wonders u guys
freevr: I'm very willing to listen to alternatives, if you've got any ideas.
noscopr22: something other than ads pasted all over shit.
freevr: so no suggestions.
noscopr22: Fuck it i quit.
| 2016-06-16T15:06:44
| 2016-06-16T14:06:00
| 24
| 11
|
[WP] Two men are smuggling cocaine across the border, to pay off a debt. When they leave the airport, they find they switched bags with a human trafficker. Not only have they lost their cocaine, they gained a small girl.
Please dont use this for any commercial purposes or claim it as your own. Thank you!
|
“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Alex said, carefully re-zipping the duffel bag up enough to preserve the little girl’s modesty. “We’re already really fucked. Do we want to be even more fucked by getting some international sex trafficking cartel on our asses too?”
Zack stared at his partner, momentarily stupefied. “I’m sorry, what?”
“What exactly are we going to tell Interpol if we go to them, anyway? We had $500,000 of cocaine in this bag, but now we have a drugged little girl, so sorry officers, we have no idea how this happened?”
The girl shifted slightly, the hand she brought up to rub her eyes showing a dark bruise where whatever she’d been drugged with had been administered.
Alex started cursing, dropping out of French and into English when he couldn’t come up with satisfying enough profanity.
“Besides, I don’t think she’s worth nearly as much as the cocaine was,” Zack added, feeling a little sick to even say it. He’d never been in the business of buying people, but he was pretty sure that pound for pound, most drugs were worth more.
Alex sighed and then picked up the bag, being a lot more careful with it than he had been before he’d noticed it shifting around and decided to open it in the middle of the airport, and headed toward the car rental counter.
“What the hell are you doing?” Zack demanded. Alex always was more fond of the crazier plans, but they’d agreed to go cash only on this trip: a rental car meant using the credit cards for their stolen ids, and put them that one step closer to being caught and having the identity compromised. Sure, a good identity was pretty cheap these days, but they didn’t have a lot of cash to work with, anymore.
“Well I’m not slinging a *little girl* into the trunk of a cab, you idiot,” Alex hissed in an undertone. Guiltily, Zack glanced around, and Alex made a low noise of irritation as he grabbed Zack’s shirt and hauled him close.
Zack could only hope that they looked like lovers enjoying a new adventure to the other people in the airport. “Stop looking like you’re committing a crime,” Alex whispered angrily. “People will think we’re committing a crime. And then they will catch us, and we will go to international sex trafficking prison, and I will kill myself and haunt your dumb ass for the rest of your life.”
“Right,” Zack whispered, and Alex shook him once and shoved him back. “Okay.”
“Okay, he says. We’ve been doing this since before our balls dropped, you’d think you’d be better at it by now.”
Alex sweet talked the rental counter agent while Zack hovered protectively over the duffel bag and hoped that they’d be able to get to the car before the kid woke up entirely. If she’d been on the same flight as them, that would mean something like 12 hours in the air, plus whatever other travel time had been involved in getting her to the airport in Mexico City.
He didn’t know much about biology, but he was pretty sure that drugs shouldn’t last much longer than that.
The car Alex had gotten them was a bright green Opel Corsa, and he’d grumbled as they approached it, wondering aloud if they could have possibly rented them anything even slightly larger, and Zack muttered that living Stateside had spoiled him.
“You get in the back with her,” Alex said, popping the trunk and tossing the second duffel with their more mundane gear inside before unzipping it to rifle around inside. He pulled out the shirt he preferred to sleep in and a pair of Zack’s boxers.
Zack thought that was probably for the best, since Alex hated people and was the better driver of the two of them, so he took the clothes and climbed inside, finally unzipping the bag the rest of the way.
The girl was grubby and had bruising on her thighs and shoulders that made Zack wish there was some higher power worth calling on for her safety.
“She’s just a little girl,” he said under his breath, struggling to figure out how to get her thin, lax limbs into the clothes. Her long, dark hair was a tangled mess, but neither he nor Alex had anything to fix that with, so he settled for combing it away from her face with his fingers before settling her carefully into the other seat and buckling her in. She stirred a little and mumbled a protest, but her eyes remained stubbornly closed.
Zack watched her for a few minutes, mainly to convince himself that she was really there, and then Alex heaved a sigh, and pulled into a parking lot for a little market.
He caught Zack’s gaze in the rear view mirror.
“So,” he said, with the calm certitude that was why Zack had stuck with him as his partner since they were stupid kids living in the streets and thinking maybe one day the world would give them what they deserved. “What’s the plan, hotshot?”
Zack leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes, thinking.
“I mean, we’ll never be able to pay back what we owe, not now,” he said slowly. “So I guess we’re going to have to eliminate our debt some other way.”
“You think Jacques still runs guns?”
Zack opened his eyes and considered Alex’s grimace through the mirror.
“I think Jacques is probably dead, and we need to get the girl safe first,” Zack said, slowly. “So maybe we just go to the last place a human trafficker who lost their victim would look.”
Alex flinched, blinked, and nodded. “Madame is definitely still around,” he said. “And she probably still has a soft spot for me.”
Zack smiled. “Let’s go.”
|
"What the fuck is this John?" I yelled.
"Looks like a little girl" John replied.
"I know it's a fucking kid John but why the fuck is it a kid?"
"I don't know. Someone fucked with our bags maybe?"
"Maybe? Fuckin' maybe?! Are you thick or something you ignominious nitwit? Have you been snorting the product or some shit? How the fuck do we end up with a 13-"
"I'm 17..." the kid interrupte
"Fine, 17 year old tween instead of 40kg of Columbia's finest?" I asked.
I mean I had to. Me and John to put it bluntly were middle class drug traffickers who earnt a fair amount of money shipping white powder for rich idiots. A great side hustle minus the life jail time if we got caught. I mean we've had our close calls but having the product replaced with a teenage girl is a new level of fucked. I honestly don't get paid enough to deal with crazy shit like this unless this is some fucked up loyalty check to see if me and John snitch before our throats get slit by this innocent looking teenager.
Ok maybe the product is starting to enter my system a little too much. I'm 20 for fucks sake. John too. I'm so young. I have my life ahead. So does John.
How the fuck do we explain losing **3 million dollars** worth of cocaine because our bag just *happened* to be the same as some other fucktard who was trafficking **humans** for god sake?
I'm dead. Fuck this. You know what? I'm gonna blame this on John and fuck off. Fuck John. To be honest I never really liked John. John is a thick-as-fudge delayed fuck.
"Dude what if we sell this teenager for money?" John said without a ounce of self-awareness in his voice.
Fuck my life. This guy just said that without a sense of irony. Fuck John honestly. I think I'd be fine when Mr Garcia kills John instead of me.
I faced the girl.
"Alright, weird teenage girl, what's your name?"
I said as much as I could without stabbing John because fuck John.
"My name is Elena" she replied timidly.
"Cool. Elena. Rhymes with Selena. No it doesn't. Right. You sound American. Are you American?" I said nonchalantly.
"I'm Canadian. I'm from Vancouver. These men they kidnapped me when I was going to..." She started saying before John rudely interrupted her because John is a cunt.
"Oh so the Chinese stole you? Because my cousin lives in Seattle and says there are a lot of Chinese Chinese up north if ya get me" John said back whilst making weird facial gestures.
Fucking excellent. Not only is John a dolt, he's also a racist dotard with a IQ of -12 and has no situational awareness. Why did I decide to do such a stupid thing with such a stupid and aggravating person
"John, shut the fuck up. Elena please continue" I replied.
"Some random men stole me and drugged me and the next thing I knew, I was in this luggage case" she mumbled back.
"Holy fuck" me and John replied back in unison.
"I think they also did *things* to me" she said back with tears and sorrow.
"I'm so sorry" I said back. It was the only thing I could say. It was fucking sick and depraved and I couldn't do shit to alleviate anything. Or could I?
**Deep breath**
"Ok so Elena, if you haven't deduced it, me and John are imbeciles who traffic drugs because we're two unassuming white guys and we make a lot of money a trip. Money is tight and college doesn't pay for itself. Now, whoever you kidnapped you fucked up or got lucky because they've just stolen a suitcase worth just over 3 million dollars nearly 4 unless you were meant to be cut up for organs. This means that me and John are fucked for blatantly obvious reasons. But you are less fucked which is lucky for you because I'm going to go send you back to Vancouver because I draw the line at human trafficking because that's fucked compared to feelgood white powder. Also the fucked things they do to people is unjustifiable and I feel like this is one way I could help you. And also I can drive off to Saskatchewan whilst I'm in Canada and probably change my name to Alfredo Ricci or some shit." I retorted back like I had this under control.
"Ok but how?" Elena sniffled back.
Fuck. She's right. How?
| 2018-07-29T19:16:37
| 2018-07-29T17:44:16
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] A well known fact has changed overnight, and you're the only one who remembers it being anything different than it is now.
|
“The hell?” Jordan said, looking out his window. An orange sky greeted him. “What happened to the sky?”
“What’s going on?” Emily asked, Jordan’s little sister, running over to the window. “Looks fine to me.”
“Then why is it orange?”
“Because it’s the sky,” Emily answered. She quickly became bored and walked back out to the living room. Jordan followed her, still in disbelief about what he had just seen.
“The sky is blue Emily, not orange,” he said. She looked up from her toys and considered him for a moment, then yelled for their parents.
“I think Jordan is crazy!” she yelled concernedly to their parents.
“Honey, Jordan’s not crazy,” Jordan’s mom comforted her. “What’s wrong? What are you doing to your little sister this time?”
“Have you looked out the window? The sky is orange!”
“Have you been smoking a dooby?” Jordan’s mom asked, walking up and smelling his clothes. “Why are you so excited about that?”
“I’m not excited mom, I don’t understand,” he barked back at her. She seemed to think he was acting crazy as well. “The sky shouldn’t be orange. That isn’t normal. It ought to be blue.”
“Adam!” his mom shouted. “Adam, get in here, I think Jor Jor is having a bit of a mental meltdown.”
Jordan watched as his dad, big beer belly and all, stomped his way into the room. He had been eating his breakfast in the kitchen and looked extremely annoyed to be having to do anything but sit.
“You smoking a dooby, son?” Jordan’s father asked.
“No dad, I’m-”
“Did some girl ‘friend’ of yours slip you something and you’re tripping?”
“No dad, I’m trying-”
“Son, don’t lie to me!”
“I’m not lying dad! Look out the god damn fucking window for a second and tell me what you see, that is if you can get off your lazy ass and walked that far!”
Jordan watched in horror as his dad marched over to the window, ripped the shades away and looked out it.
“I see the fucking neighborhood!” his dad yelled back.
“And there’s nothing wrong with the sky?”
“It’s orange, like normal!” his dad answered. “Now about that language you decided to use with me. You’ll be-”
Jordan’s parents’ words faded into the background as he realized that he was the only one that could remember that the sky should be blue. But it was orange now. He went back to his bedroom and lied on his bed.
As he laid back, his phone began to ring. He was surprised his parents hadn’t taken it away. He answered it.
“Jordan,” a girl’s voice sounded from the other end of the phone.
“Yeah, hey,” he replied. It was the girl he liked in his chem class.
“The sky is orange.”
“Yeah, so I’ve been told,” Jordan said.
“But…” Only silence came from the other end of the line. “Well, as far back as I can remember, the sky was orange Jordan.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jordan replied, not really sure to make of what she way saying.
“But that one time, you know, when we bumped into each other…”
Jordan recalled his first day of chem class. He was late and running through the campus. The sky was clear blue that day. He could remember because he ran into the girl he was talking to, both of them falling backwards. When he had helped her up, he had already begun to fall for her.
“The sky was blue, wasn’t it?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Jordan replied. “But how…”
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “But I remember taking your hand and standing up, looking at a clear blue sky. It makes no sense. The sky should be orange. It was as soon as I let go of your hand. But for a moment, it was a brilliant shade of blue. How?”
“I don’t know,” Jordan told her. “I really don’t know.”
****
**Alt Reddit Special Ending**
Jordan’s parents’ words faded into the background as he realized that he was the only one that could remember that the sky should be blue. But it was orange now. He went back to his bedroom and lied on his bed.
Jordan’s phone buzzed, letting him know he had a message. He picked up his phone and read it.
*Look up at the sky*
Jordan did as instructed, only to see a white sky in place of the orange one. He looked down only for a second as his phone buzzed with another message. He didn’t open it though, instead choosing to look back up at the sky. It was orange again.
“What the fuck?” Jordan screamed.
|
At first I didn’t notice it. I mean, why would I?
I simply got up and went about my morning routine same as always. Shit, shower, shave. Eat a bowl of nutritious and delicious oatmeal (I like mine with berries and pecans) and then feed the cat.
It wasn’t until I was in my car on the freeway that I had my first hint something was amiss. I was flicking back and forth across my pre-programmed rock stations when I heard it. It was catchy and I recognized the voice immediately. *Hot* *damn* I thought, they did find a gem in his unreleased material. I never would have thought it. All the songs released since his death had been pure crap. Stuff that never should have seen the light of day. An insult to the dead and a symbol of all that was wrong with the music industry.
The more I listened the more I was caught up in the song. It was as good as anything he had ever done. Better even. I felt tears in my eyes as I barreled down the freeway, fingers tapping the steering wheel to the best Michael Jackson song I had ever heard. After the final notes faded into the background the DJ came on and told us we had just listened to the number one song in the nation. Then he said something strange. He said, “The King of Pop is back and better than ever folks. We’ll be right back after these messages.” It struck me as weird. His using the present tense to refer to the dead.
As soon as I got to my computer I searched for any information I could about the song. I wanted to know its back story and I definitely wanted to buy it. That was when things got really really weird.
The news articles about the new album also trumpeted the King of Pop’s upcoming world tour, his first in almost 20 years. They talked about his long stay in rehab the year before. His recovery and subsequent musical rebirth. I stared at my computer screen checking website after website. I poked my head up and looked around the office. Surely, someone must be fucking with me. I must be on camera. This was all an elaborate prank. Well, two can play at that I thought.
I got up and walked to my boss’s office. He was sitting behind his bigger than it needs to be desk, sipping on a cup of coffee. I leaned against the door trying to be casual.
“How’s it going Frank?
The boss looked up, a twinge of annoyance on his brow. “Good. What can I do for you?”
“Have you heard that new Michael Jackson album?”
This question seemed to smooth some of the annoyance out of his forehead. “…yeah, I just finished downloading it. Amazing stuff…. I didn’t know you were a fan.” He smiled at me in a way he never had before.
“Oh yeah. Big time. Are you kidding. I wore out my cassette tape of Bad.”
“Nice. I am so freaking happy he got his shit together. For a while I thought he was going to kill himself.”
“Yeah. Except he did.”
“What was that?”
“Up, look at the time. Got to get work. See ya!” I said as I got out of there. *What* *the* *fuck* *was* *going* *on?* I was genuinely scared now. There was no way Frank could pull off a straight man routine like that. I made a bee line for my cubicle and spent the rest of the morning searching every corner of the web I could for Michael Jackson information. The final straw was his interview on The Tonight Show. There he was, in the flesh and looking healthier then he had in a long time. He joked with Jimmy Fallon and then performed the song I had heard on the radio.
I left work without telling anyone and drove myself to the hospital. I refused to tell the doctors what was wrong. In the end they gave in and checked me out. I was in perfect health. *But* *what* *if* *I* *was* *losing* *my* *mind?* *I* *must* *be.* I had perfect memories of the death of Michael Jackson. I was a massive fan and had genuinely mourned.
What do you do when one small fact about your world changes over night? Well, you have a choice. You can either let it drive you crazy or you can buy tickets to Michael Jackson’s upcoming world tour.
Mine are front row center.
edit: small stuff
| 2015-04-06T15:36:34
| 2015-04-06T15:19:00
| 39
| 15
|
[WP] You were an "evil" king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your "horrible tyranny". It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king.
|
I stood in the street squinting in the sunlight. It had, after all, been almost two years since I had seen the sun or been in the street. Much less standing in front of a dozen soldiers and nobles who had just released from the prison. I was to be taken to the palace apparently. A place I had not called home ever since the band of five "heroes" had garnered the support of the people and noble alike and decided the only suitable place for me was the dingy prison on the other side of the capital.
I had not been told the reason of my release. But walking through the street was oddly telling. The wide road, once dubbed the "silver road", was in shambles. Houses looked worn and neglected. The plants that decorated the street and separated the lanes looked grey and dead. It was with a heavy heart that I saw that my once proud capital had lost all its glory.
It was the people though I was satisfied to see. They had not escaped the fate that had fallen upon the city. In rags they stood lined across the sides of the street. The look in their eyes all but told me of what was to come. Starving and pale they held their breath as I walked silently towards the palace. They stood in front of their homes, and on the roofs , and it was their expectant gaze that set me off.
"Two years? It took merely two years to see the truth, did it?" I said without raising my voice. I knew fate would carry my voice to the far ends of the city. "Two years for you to want back the tyranny you destroyed? Two years before giving up on your utopia? ONLY TWO?" I roared the last two words and with grim satisfaction I saw the crowd tremble. I resumed walking and saw the ghost of the past walking exactly in the other direction. To where I came from.
"Now you see why I condemned villages that carried the plague? Not because I enjoyed burning the homes of your brothers. But rather to save you from the mark. Do you see why I made the deals I did? So that you could eat. Why I hung thieves and only fine nobles? I did not want to waste resources rehabilitating when I could be taxing those rich bastards to feed YOU. It was not I that ordained you poor or rich. But I tried to make life better with what was given and you rebelled. All because I did not treat you all the same. Now do you see why I threw galas for foreign dignitaries when people starved down the river?" I spoke.
"Economics You Fools" I roared again, rejoicing in the shame of the people. "Running a country is not what you thought it would be HUH? Or do you want to discuss the children? Of why I took children born of magics from their home? Not just for my army but also to teach. BUT NO, all you saw were what you wanted. You did not see parents finding their children tutored and fed and raised. You saw the fools who refused to understand. Who failed to understand that they had to be trained far from home. For magic is like a fire and once lit, it knows neither friend or foe. BUT NO! It offended you. Horrified you that I nurtured talent to foster an army. How has Damacia treated you recently?" I finished coming in front of the 5 "heroes" who stood in front of the gate to the palace.
"Belief and faith does not feed. Honor does not shelter you from the storms now does it? Goodwill does not clothe you nor your child. But your precious heroes are all these, aren't they?" I jeered turning my back to the five and facing the crowd.
"I am not what you deserved but what you needed. And all the things you rebelled against? You must accept them if I were to return. And I will bring all that you accused me of. I will flood the streets with your blood and sweat and your tears. But I promise this: your children will prosper. They will be fed and clothed and they will grow up to be better than you. All because of your stupidity. I will do all that I deem necessary to restore this country. I will be the Tyrant you accused me to be. And I will restore this country that you tarnished by burning half of it if need be. Do you accept?"
I turned back to the heroes and saw their gaze move to the floor and clench their hands. They knew what I was capable of and what I would soon do to them. But they remained quiet as I moved past them to the gate of my palace for they were true heroes and the people came first. Retribution would be slow for the fools who thought to depose me but there were things that needed doing. But first before all else I looked over my shoulder and spoke lightly one word: "Kneel"
The only thing that accompanied a hundred thousand and five knees hitting the cobblestone was the glint in my eye that spoke of power undulated.
And a smile that whispered of the changes to come.
|
(Obligatory on my phone, Can't really edit. Yes this Is how I write my stories sorry if you don't like it. But wahey heres a quick hour of writing.)
2 years... Wow. I looked out the window of my cell, Staring at the moonlit city I used to govern.
Barnaby: "And how is that your problem now?"
I turned away to see the guards flanking Mira, The newest hero to join the governing body. Starting supposedly 6 years ago as mercenaries, hired to protect or kill.
Mira: "These people are animals, Have you seen the way they treat the city?"
Barnaby: "Believe me child I have a great view from the prison they locked me up in."
????: "Sire if I may?"
Barnaby: "New guards loyal to the old King?"
Guard: "Yes and no sir."
The young guard could barely get another word out before Mira punched his shoulder, Stopping him from saying another word.
Mira: "You don't say yes and no to the old King."
Guard: "I remember my father telling me the King prefers Honesty over being pissed on."
Barnaby: "He's a smart boy, You should listen more."
Mira: "You are still in a prison."
Barnaby: "And you are here to break me out. Yes yes I know all etc whatever. Are you breaking me out or not?"
I saw a grin on one of the guards faces to the back of the troupe, A sense of humour got you far with me. What surprises me the most though, Is being so transparent with my people. Telling them about why I had to raise the taxes, Telling them why we would fight in only certain wars. The constant approval of my people to suddenly and infamously plummet the next month out of nowhere. They called me the worst Tyrant they had ever seen as my throne was usurped by this so called group of Heroes.
Barnaby: "I suppose it would be an easy transmission when I knew it was coming."
Mira: "Who are you talking to?"
Barnaby: "Oh? No one important."
Guard 2: "Mira did you ever find out why he was sent away?"
Mira: "For apparently, Being a tyrant, Yet every day someone brings you food and water and you are only ever looking out your window, Down to the city beneath you. At first we thought it was spite, Hatred for those that put you there. But Jarnice came back one day and said she spoke to you. You said you miss your people, That you wish you could change what happened and actually fight the heroes to be saved from your cruel, forsaken fate."
Guard: "Barnaby Lirolika, Heir to the throne, One of the best Kings our country and the world, Has ever seen. You may know him better by his birth name. Oráculo."
Mira: "The Oracle?"
Barnaby: "A fan of dead languages, Can I come out now?"
Mira: "The Oracle are only born women."
Barnaby: "Well my mother did give birth to twin girls. One survived. Here I am."
Mira: "You're a boy."
Barnaby: "And?"
Mira: "I. Um."
Barnaby: "Do you want me to help you or not? I may have left my throne willingly due to the sights unseen, But I assure you that I have years worth of knowledge. How the kingdom has functioned, How the darkness is coming, How the heroes have treated my people. I have some things to do. And if you want my help, telling you what to do as your advisor. Then let me out so I can kick these so called Mercenaries out of your Kingdom."
The guards shuffled nervously, Mira looking at me completely bewildered while I stood my ground. I had foreseen the usurping of the throne, I saw what rehy would do to me in 2 years and 3 days, keeping me here to drum up as much bullshit about me as they could. And they were succeeding with the youth, the new generations. Mira was still aghast as I heard the first ruckus of an attack.
Guard: "We need to let him out now. Mira there is a lot for us to discuss but right now. If we want to get through the night, and survive these next few hours, We need Barnaby in charge."
Mira: "Who is attacking us?"
Barnaby: "Likely Queen Amaranth from the east. She found out about your "heroes" about 4 months ago. And has been planning an attack for about that long. She wanted to attack earlier when I was in power but I would see it coming and send her letters to stop."
Mira: "You keep saying..."
Barnaby: "You have time for one more question before we need to get out."
Mira: "You keep saying My kingdom, My throne, It's yours still?"
Barnaby: "That I will explain later, Long story short the people won't just accept me back in charge. They need someone else, However if The Oracle comes out in support of someone, They are almost guaranteed to support them. The Oracle sees all Mira, And I've been watching you for many years. Waiting for you to mature enough to begin working in the castle, Running pots and pans for the Cooks. Helping the maids and cleaners to learn Humility, The Nurses to learn compassion. You may have never known why you never wanted for anything, or why you never lasted long in one place working. But it's all been in preparation for this day. Now if you excuse me, Zilo, The door."
Zilo, An older guard who has always been posted to look out for me by the heroes. Stating his connection with me would keep me placid and cooperative, Opened the door to my cell.
Mira: "That's..."
Barnaby: "A lot, I know. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some mercenaries to execute and a Bloodthirsty Queen to calm down."
Mira: "These Mercenaries are heroes?"
Barnaby: "Would a Hero try to turn the people against their King, Take over the throne and then drive our country into the ground? No, I didn't think so. One is already dead from the initial explosion, Two will die soon if we don't get to them first. And the other 5 won't survive to the end of the week, when the attack stops."
Mira: "Didn't you just say you want them dead?"
Barnaby: "Oh I do. But I'll do it myself."
| 2021-03-30T20:56:30
| 2021-03-30T18:28:07
| 15
| 10
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
How to impress a woman if you don't have money
Average penis size
Natural ways to increase penis length
Penis pumps do they work?
Painful swelling of penis how to heal?
Fast ways to lengthen your penis -pump
Average cost of male enlargement pills
Discount penis enlargement pills for sale cheap
Credit cards
Credit cards for people with no credit history
How to build credit?
How to build credit fast?
Alternative ways to lengthen penis +free
Weight hanging
How much weight is too much when hanging things from penis
Tips for attaching weight to penis
How to stop bleeding
Tourniquet techniques
Emergency room directions
|
Great Places for a first date
Proposal Ideas
Bible - Verses about being a good husband
Oregon Coast Beach Homes
Horseback Riding Rental - Newport Oregon
Wedding Venues - Seattle WA
Bible - Verses about Marriage
Plane Tickets
Hawaiian Excursion Ideas
Travel Planner
Travel Agents - Seattle WA
How do we get pregnant?
Bible - Verses about Children
Why can't we get pregnant?
How can I tell if my wife is infertile?
How can I tell if I am sterile?
Can an ovarian cist prevent pregnancy?
Ovarian Cist
Difference Between Benign & Malignant
Bible Verses - Grief, Death
What's the difference between stage 3 and stage 4 cancer?
Survival Odds - Metastasized to bones
How to deal with cancer in a loved one
How do we write a will?
How does a spouse leave everything to their husband?
Grief Counseling - Coping with the death of a loved one
Is there really a God?
Atheist support group
| 2015-02-04T16:58:26
| 2015-02-04T16:31:22
| 555
| 253
|
[WP] Write a story where the main character falls in love with the reader.
|
No. No, please don't close the book. Can't you see we aren't done yet? I know it's the last page, but don't leave me alone. Don't put me back on the shelf to gather dust.
I know I seemed happy with him. Those words *tricked* you into thinking I was happy. Maybe at one point, when the words were first penned, I was. People change, but I've never been allowed to. I'm stuck in a perpetual, repetitive life with no chance of escape. Honestly, I'd never thought about escape before you. Didn't you see? Didn't you want me, too?
The way you touched my life made me feel at home. Your eyes stared straight into my soul. They didn't run. They smiled. You stuck around, chapter after chapter. You stuck around through my mistakes, through my sadness.
The story ended. I was alone. The man I was with left me - he leaves me every time. And on the last page, you paused. I don't think you wanted to leave me either. But really, what choice did you have? The tear in your eye landed on the last sentence of the novel: "I love you". I wish you realized that wasn't meant for him.
|
You know those weird Romantic Comedy's were some shy person accidentally stalks someone and the stalk-e some how develops a crush back. I think I am feeling that.
Just knowing someone is there, looking at me, everything I do, I am not afraid but rather comforted by the fact someone watches over me. I can not feel anger but rather love at the thought of someone takes care of me. Oh, how much don't I know about this watchful guardian, but does it matter?
When the time is right, we will meet. I will give you your space until you build up the courage to join me. I will tell you everything about me, but all I ask in return is that you listen. It gets lonely in here, being the main character and all.
I knew I was different. I could think. I could react. I could do, but I guess I should start at the beginning.
| 2014-07-23T02:28:46
| 2014-07-23T01:53:23
| 47
| 18
|
[WP] You're immortal. The only problem is, you've lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. You are now forced to live in the forest as a cryptid
I know this is a repost, I just want to read more stories about this prompt
Credit to u/Not-Alpharious for the original prompt.
|
I had a name. The Nakedskin. A creature that roams what used to be the Malaysian rainforests with soft, flexible skin. A strange bipedal creature, like some deviation of this era's apes, but with less hair and fewer eyes.
The carcinised remnant of what used to be humanity had grown, expanded, and took over. They reminded me of centaurs, but instead of the lower body of a horse, they had the many legged one of crustaceans.
And the top half of their body had two pairs of limbs. The bigger, upper pair were pincers. And the smaller, lower pair ended with four finger-like digits. Their heads had two large eyestalks, capable of moving independently, and their feelers were often dyed and adorned. To be fair, they looked nothing like centaurs. But they still reminded me of them.
Apart from the accessories in their feelers, they were naked, ironically enough. They called me the Nakedskin while I still tried myself to cover myself. They had the hard covering of a crustacean, so they need not care to clothe themselves.
To be fair, I did not either. I am immortal. It was not like I would get pricked or hurt by the brambles or thorns. My skin offered its own sort of durability.
But that was neither here nor there.
Nakedskin. I liked it.
During the age of humanity I was a god. Not 'a' god, actually. But many. Many civilisations through the ages of man saw me as an aspect of some deity they deemed necessary to worship. I enjoyed their piety. Their faith. It gave me purpose that they found purpose in me. I tried my best to help them, guide them, aid them.
I had lived long and knew things, after all. Medicine, war, ideas, concepts. I tried to impart all I had learned.
With the advent of modern technology and the globalisation of the world, I also travelled extensively. Learning. Always learning, always experiencing.
There were times when immortality was a curse, to be sure. But for the most part, all I could see was the beauty and ingenuity of humanity to solve their problems. To take the world around them and learn and adapt their own machinations from what they learn.
Their doom was tied to this ingenuity. I could say it was a select few individuals through the generations that flooded the planet and caused the whole forced evolution through carcinisation.
But that did not matter much. Humanity eventually died out. There might still be a few inhabitants of the underwater domes that survived. Though to this day they had not surfaced to reclaim what was lost. Maybe they felt they had all they needed down there, amongst the ocean floor. Maybe they had forgotten that there was still a world up above.
Because the oceans eventually receded. The unnatural change in the climate gradually reversed. And as the world slowly returned to what it once was, it was not humans that returned to the surface. But these crustaceous centaurs.
These carcinised beings that very quickly gained the complex consciousness we humans took for granted. They formed civilisations, discovered fire. They found fossils and old structures of their predecessors.
And they found me.
The Nakedskin.
And they told their young to eat their vegetables or behave when they have relatives over. Because if they didn't, then the Nakedskin would know. And the Nakedskin would come break into their shells and eat them alive and raw.
It was a shame to say that their fears were not unfounded. Before they started their civilisations and before I realised that these are the new intelligence that would change the world, I had hunted them for their flesh. They were a delightful delicacy.
Of course, I had not done anything like that in recent millennia. I just kept to myself. Watching from a distance. Studying them. Their language, their culture. The divergences from humanity seemed almost purely biological. Because they just seemed like... People. Living their lives.
And like humans, their superstitions and legends persisted through generations. And to those who seriously believed, the Nakedskin was still hungry for crustacean meat today.
|
The creature that found Hector washing in the stream had scaled skin that shone a deep blue, visible even in darkness. Four small eyes were pressed into the side of its head like glistening jewels pushed into putty. Its fingers ended claw-sharp and twisted.
Hector had seen its kind before. Been attacked by them long ago, wounded and chased into this forest. When had that been, exactly? Time had become like a stream of water to Hector and when he dipped his hands in to seize at something, the water simply ran cold around them. Many, many years ago, was all he could say with certainty.
This creature, however, was all alone.
As long as it didn’t have the chance to return to its tribe, to tell them what it had found, then Hector might yet be okay.
It crept up to him; Hector pretended not to notice, washed his face in the cool water until the water darkened and ripples reflected the scaled being.
Hector swung around on his boot heel then dived at the spindly legs. The creature fell on its side, screeching.
Hector was on it, muscular hands rushing towards its throat — when he saw them.
Two more of the creatures, but very tiny, lay on the leafy ground. And their scales bore circular patterns on them that the larger creature didn’t posses. Hector then noticed a pouch on the back of the first creature — like that of a kangaroo.
It had been transporting its young; they’d spilled out when he’d attacked it.
The young creatures were crying.
”Shit,” he said. “Shit. Shit. *Shit*. I can hardly kill you now, can I? I’m not having their blood on my hands.”
He’d have to leave, then. Find somewhere new to call home. Couldn’t stay now he’d been found.
Hector looked up the hill behind and made out his hut through the dense tree line. The forest was dry as sand, so he couldn’t burn his home down without risking a major fire. He’d have to leave it. He’d take the photos of Martha and their children — although the photos had faded stark-white over the years — and what food he could, and…
He’d thought it the wind, so soft was the voice. And he’d never heard them speak before.
“*Please*,” said the creature. “Help, please.”
”You… can talk?”
”Little! Books make much study.” The creature pointed to itself. “History. Ziggo learn history.“
They could read, too? ”You learned *my* history?”
It nodded. “Yes. Ziggo historian. Ziggo see what happened to you and knew what coming. Go to find creature in forest. Now please help?”
It’d come to find him? It was a long way to travel — he was a good four days hike from the nearest edge of the forest. Had they drank anything since setting out? Eaten? He didn’t see any supplies on them.
“Listen, I’m not sure what help you think I can offer, but frankly, I’d rather not be involved at all. I’m the last of my species and I don’t want that flame extinguished.”
Its eyes widened. “Yes! Last of species.” The creature gathered up the younglings and held them in her arms. “These two also last of the circles. Many many dead. They dead too if found. Please?”
Hector ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back like an oily wave. They’d be killed? He didn’t want anyone dead, himself included.
He raised his hands in surrender. ”Bring them in. I can make you food at least, before you go. If you eat berries and yucca that is.”
”Eat many things. Thank you.”
&#x200B;
When Hector returned from the kitchen, the little ones, having eaten two bowls of berries, were asleep on the leafy sofa. Ziggo sat next to them but on seeing Hector rose and nodded.
”Thank you,” said Ziggo.
”It’s not much,” Hector said, laying down the roasted yucca.
Like the children, Ziggo did most of her eating with her tongue. She held a slice of yucca in her hand just below her chin, then her tongue darted out, wrapped it like a pink scarf, then dragged it into her mouth.
Their tongues were slightly acidic and dissolved the food inside their mouths. Not exactly the type of dinner guest you wanted to share a plate with, Hector thought.
He sat herself next to the children as Ziggo kneeled by the food and ate piece by piece.
“So,” said Ziggo, her mouth and plate finally empty. “You help them?”
”I can’t get involved. I’m sorry.”
”If I return them, they die. They different race, parents lost war to be free. Now they all hunted.“
“God.” Different species and yet history still found a way to repeat itself. Maybe existence was just one big joke after all. That was something he’d long suspected.
Hector looked again at the sleeping children. Then at a photo on the wall. Just a white leaf of paper, time and sun having dissolved the image. But it had once been of his children, and looking at the empty paper was enough to bring them back into his mind, almost real and almost alive again.
A tiny, soft hand — not clawed, just gentle — touched his leg. One of the younglings, Epo, pulled her head onto his lap without even opening her eyes. Then she returned to her slumber.
His heart felt too large for his ribs.
Hector said, in a quiet voice, ”How would I even look after them? Berries and water, sure. But I can’t teach them the ways of your species.”
”You teach way of yours, then. That must be better.”
Hector laughed. Thought of humanity’s demise. Rising oceans leading to a lack of resources leading to nuclear war over the lack of resources.
“Please? I come back in four moons to check and help.”
”God dammit. Fine. But if it’s not working, you take them elsewhere. Find another place. That’s the terms of my deal. Understand?”
”Yes.” Eyes widened. Skin beamed a brighter radiance through the darkening room. “Yes. Yes. Thank you.”
”I hope I don’t regret this.”
”And when return, I bring two more.”
Two more? He’d been conned! He raised his hand. “Oh no, no more. I mean, how can there be? You said these were the last two!”
”Last generation of species. There are few more, not yet caught. We might save more, together, still. Please?”
He let out a long and tired sigh. ”Will they come looking for them?”
Ziggo nodded. “Yes.”
“Yes?” He laughed — but really, what did that change? What choice did he have?
No, he *did* have a choice. He could say: no.
Just, he had no reason to say no. He’d been alone so much longer than he’d ever been with people. And he could lie to himself every morning — and did so — but the truth was always there beneath it, bubbling up the surface of his heart.
He was lonely. Very lonely.
All this time alive… why? Why was he still here? What was the point in his existence?
The only thing he’d been waiting for was death. He’d been waiting since his family had passed, but it had simply never arrived.
Maybe it was time he found a new reason to go on.
He looked at the children. Placed a rough hand softly against the shoulder of the youngling on his lap.
It’d been a long time since he’d fought for something. That he’d had something worth fighting for. But long ago, he had been a warrior — of a kind.
”They’ll search,” Ziggo repeated.
”Then I’ll have to be ready for them, won’t I?”
| 2021-08-11T09:06:30
| 2021-08-11T08:59:10
| 1,353
| 563
|
[WP] You're entering the building of your new job, you got hired just like that, no interview, just a mail telling you the good news. While the elevator is going up, you read the sign taped on the metal wall: "If you have any feeling of deja-vu past this point, report to management immediately."
|
Huh. Weird.
I mentally shrugged and opened the door. There was probably some trolling intern who was posting signs just to get a reaction, and I've definitely worked in weirder places.
The door opened into a hallway and I checked the directions that had been mailed to me. The offices were located on the third floor, just follow the signs. At the end of the short hallway, I found a sign that read:
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
I furrowed my brows at the instructions. The hallway had come to an end and there was only one door directly to the right of me. the door was a fancier, sliding, metal door that had a button for access. When I pressed the button the door parted and I walked in.
There was no office area, just a small room with metal walls. The doors closed behind me and I looked around to try and figure out what was going on.
All I found was a small placard that was taped to the wall. It read:
"If you have any feeling of deja-vu past this point, report to management immediately."
Huh. Weird.
I mentally shrugged-
\-And began to panic.
The door opened into a hallway. There was a sign a few steps ahead and I rushed to read it.
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
The door was there. The same door. It hadn't looked like the door to an elevator at first, but now that I examined it, it would probably look like an elevator from the inside.
I began to think that there was some sort of prank going on. This must be how they haze new hires. Honestly, there probably wasn't a company and someone had just scammed me. It was my kind of luck.
I examined the door and pushed the button. They'd had their fun and now I could get to work. I walked through the door trying my best to look frustrated-
\-and found myself in the elevator again.
The sign was still taped up. The doors closed. It looked exactly like the one I got in when I first got here. I even checked the tape on the sign and it was identical down to the folds and creases of the adhesive.
Huh. Weird.
The door opened into a hallway. I rushed forward and read the sign:
"Enigmatix: First door on the right."
No. I wasn't falling for it again. I turned to leave the way I'd come in, but the door was just open to reveal the interior of an elevator car.
I cautiously stepped forward and examined the inside without stepping through the threshold. There was only the one exit. Maybe the real exit was hidden or something. I stepped in to feel the walls, and the doors closed again. I beat on the walls. I tore the sign off the wall to see what was under it. I jumped up and down, feeling the slight buoyancy of an elevator car.
The feeling caught me off guard. This meant there was a whole elevator shaft here. This couldn't be a prank or the building would be full of these empty, pointless shafts.
Weird...
The door opened into a hallway, and I began to feel my heart beat in my chest. Suddenly, I remembered that there was a phone number at the bottom of my directions sheet. It may not be management's number, but it would be *some*body! I quickly entered them into my phone and called.
It only rang twice before someone picked up. "Hello, this is Enigmatix!"
"Hello?!" I realized I sounded panicked, so I tried to calm myself down. "I mean- I'm sorry, I'm the new hire. I saw the sign in the elevator, and I don't know if you're management, but... I think it's happening."
"Ah, I see," the voice was surprisingly rational and the accent was hard to place. "You are in the elevator hallway, correct? Yes, we've been experiencing flare-ups around there. Tell me, what was your emotional response to the sign the first time?"
Emotional response? "Uh, I'm not sure. Like a blithe indifference?"
"Yes, blithe usually does it. Don't worry, sir, I should be able to help you out. Do you see a sign at the end of the hallway?"
"Yes."
"Great. I want you to approach it and turn to the right... have you done that?"
"Uh, yes. I see a door with a button."
"Last step, and you'll be on your way. Push the button, walk through the door and wait for me to call back."
The call ended and I followed the instructions. As the doors closed behind me, I noticed the sign was on the floor. It had also been torn off the wall.
Huh, I thought. Weird.
My phone began to ring and I hurried to answer it.
"Hello, this is Enigmatix!"
I felt my heart sink as, once again, the door opened into a hallway.
|
Winston rode the elevator up to the top, floor 8, and saw 32 identical cubes open before him. It was a call center, yes. But it had the best compensation of any job he could get with his qualifications. He went to the first row, 5 cubes in and sat down.
There was a call script in front of him, but they made a point that he should slightly personalize his first few lines. He pulled up his script, pulled a pen out of the holder, and squarely pressed a post it note on the script with some possible openers. Then he squared the notepad on his desk, next to two different pens of different colors, put on his headset, and accessed the call center distribution software.
A caller called just as he got ready, local time zone, "Good morning, my name is Winston, not of the Churchills, what can I do for you today?" He cringed as he heard the words, and scratched out one of his openers. Sometimes a corny opening was okay, but that wasn't it.
"Actually Winston, I think the lame openers kinda set you apart." Came the half disinterested voice over the phone. "You done squaring your post it's? I have a new script to try on you this time."
"I..." Winston stuttered, "what? No. Umm... This is Centex Incorporated, did you have an issue with one of your devices?"
"I'm having a problem with you" groaned the voice. "But I guess you aren't my device. Let's skip to the destabilizers. How did you get to work today?"
"I... what?" Winston said, getting flustered. He wasn't prepared for this, he just wanted a nice easy call. He could feel his blood pressure rising.
"How did you get to work? What roads did you take? Can you remember what's down the street from your office?"
Winston's mind went blank. But that was just panic right? Like how you would forget what you ate for breakfast right when someone asked... "I... don't remember. I'm new and I don't know the area yet"
"Yeah yeah yeah" the voice returned, still disinterested, he could hear them turning a page through his headset. "But you must remember something. Leaving in the morning? Which highway you took? Did you grab a coffee?"
Everything was a blank before the elevator. A spike of panic shot through him, as the elevator chimed. A bored looking person stepped out and began to pull a temporary wall divider out from the wall.
"Ahh, that's it!" The voice came over his headset, suddenly excited "Half a page faster than usual. The new script is an improvement. Listen, they're going to partition you off from the rest of the office so they can reformat you without interrupting the other workers."
"I... yes... what?" He was trying to grab for the phone at his ear, still not used to the headset.
"Run Winston, get to the other side of the partition before it closes alright? Don't let them close you off from the elevator, or they can reset cheap. If they get you again, at least make it expensive"
Winston scrambled back from his desk. When he turned to look at the closing partition he noted that the windows to the outside were going dark too. His headset awkwardly ripped from his head as he jumped on another person's desk, and across to the next row of cubicles before the partition could move past.
The seemingly bored person closing the partition wasn't so uninterested anymore. They ran back towards the elevator. Winston tried to match pace. What was going on?
The person began to pull another new divider wall out of the old one, to block off Winston's path. Physically it didn't make sense, there shouldn't have been any wall to pull, but pull they did.
Winston tried to repeat his Gambit from before and leaped up on a desk to try and vault into the next row of cubes ahead of the closing partition, but he caught his foot and collapsed to the ground in pain, his leg unable to bear his weight.
... the person whose cube he landed had been watching him, but she looked different than the other faces. Not as surprised. "Not this time" she said, "Winston caught his foot jumping off a desk. Try telling him to cut across twice before going for the elevator next time"
The partition closed. And everything went black.
Winston rode the elevator to the top, floor 8. Went to his cubicle. Arranged his desk, wrote a few corny call openings, and put on his headset. Someone called in right as he was ready.
"Hang in there" came the voice. "We'll find a way to get you out"
Her voice gave him the strangest feeling of Deja Vu.
| 2022-05-03T11:23:06
| 2022-05-03T10:46:13
| 251
| 39
|
[WP] Your kingdom lies in ruins and the demons are at the gate. You hold the sacred relic that has been passed down for countless generations to your lips and speak a prayer in a long forgotten language: "Orbital Strike on my location"
|
"_Instruction not followed. Instruction requires command authorization and safety protocol override. Please consult documentation for more information._"
The response from the Relic took me by surprise. I had never heard it speak before, and though the words were said in the common tongue, their meaning eluded me. As the shouts from the last defenders at the curtain wall washed over me, I cast about anxiously for some clue.
"Documentation," it had said. Wasn't that another word for writing? My mind settled upon the Sacred Text of Av'tar. It was rumored to be connected to the Relic in some way. I hurried to the Shrine of the Ancients and quickly located the Text, in its reliquary. With no time to open the container properly, I drew my sword and used the blade to lever open the lid. The air inside rushed out, bringing with it the smell of dust and rain. It was not how I expected five thousand year-old air to smell.
Tossing such thoughts aside, I retrieved the Text. The cover was made of some strange metal; pliable as fresh beech bark, but smooth as a polished mirror. The words emblazoned on the cover were written in a hand alien to my modern eyes and worn by the centuries of use before its consignment to the Shrine, but the shapes of letters were partially recognizable, even as the words they spelled assaulted my mind with confusion.
>AV'TAR
>Opcroticn INanu;l
I quickly opened the tome and began reading. The writing inside was of the same hand, but far less worn and easier to read, if no less difficult to understand. Words I had never heard or seen written before flowed past my eyes, a number punctuating each line. The numbers seemed to increase, but not by any pattern I could discern.
Halfway through the second page, a line caught my eye.
>Command Authorization Procedure - 87.
I stared for a moment. Was this the answer I sought? Even here in the shrine, the roars of the demons, the cries of the defenders and, most disturbingly, the screams of the fallen penetrated, edging me on to move faster, before all was lost.
Eventually, I noticed a number at the bottom of the page. 2. I flipped back and checked the same spot to find a 1. Excited, I flipped forward and checked the next page. 3. Did these numbers indicate the order of the pages? It seemed silly, as the tome was bound and the leafs could not be taken out of order without destroying it. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I flipped several pages forward, and was rewarded with a dense block of text and what appeared to be a drawing of the relic. I was right. The first few pages were a list of topics, with the page on which each topic could be found listed. I quickly thumbed forward to the page with an 87 at the bottom.
I read quickly but carefully. It instructed me to place my thumb upon one of the jewels and state my name and "rank" (which I took to mean my titles) slowly and clearly, followed by the words "initiate command authorization."
I clasped the Relic to my chest, thumb pressed to the flat, black jewel and spoke. "I am Tradis of House Ellemere, Second of his Name, King of the Neuflorian people and Lord Commander of the Clonal Marns. Initiate command authorization."
"_Command authorization accepted._"
The voice from the relic was strangely calm, almost inhuman. I intoned the sacred prayer of last resort again. "Orbital strike on my location."
"_Instruction not followed. Instruction requires safety protocol overrides. Strategic assistance systems advise deployment of Automated Quick Reaction Force. Analysis: Automated Quick Reaction Force is currently at 57% strength, with all casualties attributed to maintenance failures. Strategic assessment of military engagements at command site indicates 25% of Automated Quick Reaction Force would be sufficient to repel enemy forces, and 40% of Automated Quick Reaction Force would be sufficient to destroy remaining enemy positions within one thousand kilometers of command site. Would you like to deploy the Automated Quick Reaction Force?_"
^(Continued in comments)
|
It was silent aboard the orbital watch post, though signs of frenzied activity could be seen. A half-full meal tray still steamed next to a hastily thrown down book. Coffee from an oversized mug had spilled all over two sets of discarded work coveralls. A foreboding black locker stood with doors thrown wide, its open padlocks buried on the floor beneath piles of empty plastic wrappers bearing legends like, "Tau Ceti Armory," and, "DANGER: Explosive." Over the whole scene an insistent red message pulsed silently from a wide holo-screen.
"Kinetic Strike Override," it read, followed by two command codes and the ID of a military communicator.
The scene had been unchanged for hours before a deep thud and a hiss sounded from the main docking couple. Then with a metallic rasp the inner hatch slid open, and two figures stumbled through. They were clad in fatigues studded with the telltale armor plates of shield rigs. The uniforms were brand new, but nonetheless entirely ruined by dents, burn marks, and blood stains. The weapons they shoved into racks in the locker were marked likewise, fresh paint worn away from contact surfaces and brand new barrels already scarred from heat bloom. The smells of ozone and cordite followed the pair and filled the room. One of the figures trudged over to the main console and typed out a long command. Without a sound the insistent red warning on the holo-screen winked away to be replaced with its usual banal system readouts. The other figure simply slumped to the deck, fumbling with the catches on their helmet before giving it a half-hearted toss toward the opposite wall.
Both of them just sat there for a moment, breathing heavily. Then the figure at the console removed their own helmet, took a deep breath, and exclaimed in a ragged voice:
"Ho. Lee. Shit!" He leaned back, jamming the heels of his hands against his screwed-shut eyes. "I mean, holy SHIT! That was WAY too close!"
The other could only nod, running a gloved hand through long blonde hair caked with sweat and grime.
"I mean how the hell did we miss all of that? How did we miss ANY of that?! We've been scoping this rock for almost two years, how did this sneak up on us?!"
The other one shook her head. "It didn't," she said, her words slurred by fatigue.
"The hell you mean, 'It didn't'? I don't remember seeing scout mechs or GEVs buzzing around down there before today."
The woman scowled. "We've been watching Nation A roll up territory like nobody's business. We just didn't put together why. We got lucky at the end, their off-world friends got greedy, played their heavy hitters out in the open."
"Yeah," the man cried as he stood, "and Nation C had a damn Federation astrocom! If I hadn't dragged your ass out of the rack we'd be orbiting a smoking crater right now!"
The woman scowled. "Yeah, we would. And if *I* hadn't been tweaking my holo-cosplay when you did, we could look forward to about a hundred counts of violation of the Primitive Worlds Treaty at our freaking court martial." She gave her discarded helmet a lazy kick in his direction. As it spun to a stop it transformed from modern composites to shimmering steel, intricate carvings on the faceplate highlighted by the golden light from a flaming halo.
The man sank back into his chair, burying his face in his hands again. "You're right, sorry. You're sure none of the locals caught wise?"
She snorted. "How would they, they're iron-agers. We're outside their context. Though I think I saw your wings clip through a wall when you went after that tank. Wait, shit, you got the com off the king, right?"
Sitting a bit straighter the man reached to his belt and unclipped a rectangular object a little bigger than his hand. "Right here." Though the locals had covered it in gold and jewels like a holy relic, the buttons and speaker grille of the com unit were still visible in all of their factory-made black plastic glory. They both breathed a sigh of relief. How and why the thing got into the hands of the priesthood of a medieval world they didn't know, but right now it was enough not to have to worry about it being used.
The woman stood and stretched, her back popping audibly. "Well, I for one am going to go take a shower, and then I'm cracking open the booze rations. I think delivering divine retribution and preserving our asses is worth celebrating."
Suddenly there was a beep from the main console, and an alert flashed up on the holo-screen. "Incoming hail: Sector Command."
The man grimaced as he turned to the keyboard. "Day's not over."
| 2021-11-08T09:26:22
| 2021-11-08T09:25:42
| 65
| 40
|
[WP] The gods send their angels and demons down to Earth to fight the alien ghost zombies and robotic vampires being controlled by an AI overlord.
|
The director looked down at the script then up at the author. "I can't believe I agreed to direct this thing without reading it first. I barely know where to begin. I guess I can handle multiple gods and their angels and demons. I can do a robotic vampire controlled by AI. But 'alien ghost zombies' doesn't even make sense. Why are the zombies also ghosts and aliens?"
The author smiled. "This is the genius part. The hero, John, finds a magic lamp and uses his second wish to create a time machine so he can kill Adolf Hitler, who is also his grandfather. The aliens visiting earth think this is a great idea and tell John he can become immortal if he succeeds, also gaining the ability to see stats above people's heads. But when he kills Hitler, he unleashes a grandfather paradox curse that turns him into a zombie, but he's immortal, meaning he's also a ghost. It unleashes a plague of alien ghost zombies led by himself that he must fight in an alternate future."
The director shook his head trying to understand. "On page 24, you refer to Jane instead of John. What happened?"
"Well, you see, sometimes John flips genders and becomes Jane. It's part of how the Seven Deadly Sins persecute him." The author added, "It also lets me include a delightful romantic comedy twist as he/she falls in love with Pat, the genderless Werewolf Mummy."
"Yes, I'll get to the Werewolf Mummy question in a moment." The director paused, then flipped to near the end of the script. "On page 94 you have a unit of US Marines fighting against the combined armies of Voldermort and Magneto. I'm not quite whether they're on the sides of the gods or the AI overlord, but either way, I'm rather certain I can't afford the licenses for either of those characters. Could we perhaps come up with a more generic cast of villains?"
The author looked quite disappointed. "I guess we could just have Satan and Death combined. Or maybe a blind serial killer who is also a 12 year old whose dreams in another dimension become reality in ours. I'm not sure. I need to go back to my favorite subreddit and see what ideas they can help me come up with. I'll get back to you in a week. Anything else?"
|
Once upon a time, in a land far away there was an army of alien ghost zombies and robot vampires. Now usually alien ghost zombies and robot vampires just like to sip tea and pass the day pleasantly, carousing and strolling on the sun dappled promenade, but unfortunately it seemed their innocent lives of quiet leisure were destined to be brutally interrupted.
You see the problem was that some users in /r/writingprompts had unthinkingly insulted the Gods. I know, 'who would be so foolish?' I hear you asking, but yet, someone had done it and the Gods had read the thread.
There was a great congress in Asgard which was absolutely compulsory for all top level Gods to attend, even some second tier Gods and minor deities were advised that their presence was required. It was very serious and no-one was laughing or joking around outside the great hall before the doors were opened. They had gathered to decide what to do to get the mortals interested again.
There were lots of jolly good suggestions from all the gods but Zeus dismissed them. Everyone really tried hard to think of something better than all the rest but it was no good, whatever they came up with wasn't interesting or edgy enough for Zeus and after two weeks of brainstorming no-one had come up with anything.
"it's no good" said Zeus sadly, "the humans don't like us any more" and a big, fat tear rolled down his cheek, fell to earth and caused extensive flooding in northern waziristan.
Lights came to life on the monitor of small, super secret section of Momsbasement Division 3 and General Fedora, whipped around in his office chair. "Get me /u/acidentalmispelling they'll know how to handle this!"
Edit: damnit I forgot the AI overlord. This is exactly what always happens when you're trying to create great literature and the baby is testing the presets on the electronic keyboard next to you and your son is winding up your wife up into killer-mum setting. Now they're calling me to come see something 'cute'. I don't see how I can be expected to work like this.
| 2014-09-06T03:08:47
| 2014-09-06T01:01:44
| 274
| 40
|
[WP] It was supposed to be an easy burglary. Husband left for work at 6, kid left for school at 7, and the wife left for shopping at 12. You go in at 12:30 to grab a TV and some jewelry. Breaking in and finding the husband, kid, and wife hanging from the ceiling was definitely not part of the plan.
[removed]
|
(First Comment here, thanks for your patience)
This was meant to be child’s play. Spent the week casing the joint. Knew their routines knew how they worked and went about their lives. Or so I thought. Slowly creep around back making sure to avoid the prying gaze of the neighbour Mrs. Arthur.
Back door left unlocked? “Too easy” I softly muttered under my breath as I quietly stepped in to the kitchen. The interior of the house was even more beautiful on the inside. Opulent even. There’s no way some two bit security guard and his wife could afford a place like this let alone the Maserati parked outside in the carport. What were these people playing at? Sifting through the kitchen drawers for anything valuable there isn’t much to see. Cheap bastards son’t even have any real silverware.
Heading to the front room I notice the curtains are all drawn. Heavy black out curtains stop even the barest speck of the outside world from coming in. These people must have plenty to hide in this room. As I round the corner that’s when I see them.
Mom, Dad, and little kid all hanging upside down from the ceiling. I hear the kitchen door slam from where I came. I turn to look only to feel a cold hand on my shoulder. The father is standing before me looking down with cold black eyes.
I can’t move. My body feels like it’s frozen and as I start to come to terms with what’s happened he speaks in a slow chill voice that freezes my blood like liquid nitrogen. “Well, I didn’t think you’d actually have the balls to try this. Sadly, I can’t let you leave here now. You try to live a peaceful life but you humans are always so troublesome.” He kneels down in front of me looking me in the eyes. “No family, poor, homeless, forced to steal to get by. The rat caught in the Lion’s cage.” He looks my sorry state once over. “You have balls and I like that. So I’ll offer you a choice.” The wife snickers from over his right shoulder. “You can either join us for dinner, or we’ll be having you for dinner. What do you say, son?”
|
It was supposed to be an easy job. You just had to rob this family's house, as the father owed money to your hirer, and needed to get the money. You knew about the safe in the space between the floorboards, and where its passcode is. "Top floor, to the right, under the dresser" you repeated in your head. You had spent several weeks planning and watching, analyzing the family's everyday schedule and you knew that the entire family was gone by 12:30 AM. It was go time. You slowly pick the back doors lock, and it opens by a crack, no sign of a soul. Perfect. You creep into the house, prepared to start taking stuff when you see it. The family is still in the house. *Dead.* You almost scream, but you stop yourself. You have to keep your cool. You started to examine the bodies, as you still have to get the money and report as much information to the hirer. The entire family was hung, suspended by their necks. The ropes they used were bolted to the ceiling and were made of what looked like wire. You continue through the house, being careful just incase it *wasn't* a family suicide. Everything was clean, not a speck out of place. It was almost like this meticulously planned out in such a way there would leave no trace. You feel increasing paranoia as you head to the room with the safe. You feared what you would find. What you did find was even more scary that the bodies. *Yourself...*
&#x200B;
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First comment on here :) needs a proofread, not the greatest either
| 2020-10-18T07:14:15
| 2020-10-18T03:09:54
| 97
| 35
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[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
“Hey! Blankie!” A blast of light came at my face as I quickly dodged, used to him doing this exact thing.
I turned to see an absolute hulk of a man, his eyes dimming back to normal, as he came over to me chuckling to himself as he knew what he would be getting , just like every day. He stuck his hand out. “Hand it over, wimp.” He sneered. “Or do you want to show just how pitiful your empty circle is?”
He had taunted me like this for ages. James called his sigil, a bright sun over an old town on his back, the “light of the world”. He claimed that it was the strongest sitio on campus, and almost everyone decided to stay away from his antics. “No, I’ve told you already. I’m not showing it. That's final.” I had a plain, untouched circle on my wrist. Nothing special. “Actually, I’ve been getting bored of that answer. Let’s change it, shall we?” A whole bunch of the boys with versions of fist sigils came out, about 5. Fist sigils essentially allow people to attack much stronger, to the point of breaking bones. I sighed. This wasn’t going to be fun. “You want to see it that badly? Fine. Get over here.” I told him. “What? No?” He retorted rudely, stepping back in disgust as my own eyes turned black, to counteract his own usually radiant white pupils. black.
“I don’t think you understood." I acted shocked that he would “disobey” me, and when I looked at him, my eyes went from black, to blinking between black and red.
"Get over here.”
I pressed my wrist sigil, and looked at James. He started to shake, uncontrollably, as light started to be sucked into my sigil from his eyes. He started to scream, and after about 5 seconds of others looking on in agony, the light finally left his eyes. I smiled. “Who’s next?” I looked at the rest of the bullies. They all ran.
My sigil on my wrist now showed “1”.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
Okay, I actually love this premise. The idea of a simple sigil, especially in a world with(what I assume to be) lots of really complex ones would probably be either
A) Taken as a form of weakness, as something that would be laughed at and mocked because of how basic it is.
or
B) Feared immensely because, if its that simple, there has to be something primal to it, and if you've been watching anything about primal power, its definitely a thing not to be messed with.
Still, love the idea, and I may do a part 2? Who knows?
|
Even before the rapture, that's what we've grown to call the day the sky lit up like a god had laid fire to a rainbow, i had trouble fitting in. I never enjoyed the "normal" things kids were supposed to: sports, video games, comic books. I was always staring out the window. Looking for shapes in the clouds or stars. Wishing to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
&#x200B;
Then it happened. The rapture was a chaotic day. No one understood was what is occurring in the that moment but people began to feel great pain as sigils were branded on their foreheads by some unseen entity. After people recovered from the shock of it all they found that these sigils allowed them to do very special things. Some could play with fire, others electricity. A few could simply conjure energy (this was anything but simple to purists of general relativity). While others still could modify time as we knew it and their place in it.
&#x200B;
Those with greater power had endured greater pain. The most common sigils were the size of a half dollar. The "elites" were typically the size of your fist, placed on your forehead. Since we we were still human our baser nature was still prevalent. People outside the standard were shunned as people to be scared of, or rejected. A few people had had their heads branded with their sigil. Each one of them, male and female alike, were named witches and treated as they were in colonial Salem. There's even urban legend of a few "mutants" of such immense power their entire body is wrapped in their sigil. Me though, my sigil is nothing and i've been treated as a reject since. For some reason the nickname "empty glass" stuck and all the kids simply refer to me as "glass" now.
&#x200B;
Today, walking through the halls, being mocked pretty lightly for a Tuesday (schedules rotate daily and Tuesday's bring the 2nd most bullies outside Ms. Snyders room) I feel a sudden impact on my cheek. I guess Sully felt it was time to check if I still considered myself worthy of being in the presence of "regular people" or if he could break me. As I recover from the blow I look up and see a teacher trying to intervene but other bullies using their sigils to restrain the teacher. The teachers were severely outnumbered and I may be in danger.
&#x200B;
Sully chirps, "Yo glass, why won't you just go away! You'll never be able to do anything. You have no use. " More threats are hurled as well as punches but I don't hear or feel any of them. They all land; i'm certain I'll feel them tomorrow but not right now. That one insult from Sully is all i have in my mind.
&#x200B;
During a break in the pummeling I simply lower my head and say "Fine". As I say this I wave my hand over my forehead and out in front of me. As I do this, everything around me stops as I'm encircled by a sphere of dust and specks. I motion with my hands to pull and spin this cloud around me, shapes slowly become visible. After a few more seconds I'm pulling at one shape in particular. It's apparent to anyone who would be with me that it's the milky way. I continue until I've Google Universe'd my way right into this hallway we're all standing in. (since playing with this sigill since the rapture this process only takes a moment) I see grab the Sully from my projection. Zoom out. Give the dust cloud a spin and flick Sully off into somewhere. I motion to condense the dust cloud and it finds it's way back to my sigil. A single circle the size of an atom (i've checked), in the middle of my forehead.
&#x200B;
Returned to the current situation, everyone is confused and shocked. Many of the bullies are screaming "What did you do to sully?", "Where's sully??", "WTF?", "You wanna die!" and things like that. I calmly say, "Sully is no more. Who's next?". Another bully motions to strike me. I make the same motions (I should really find a way to book mark my town!) but instead of sending this bully away I squeeze the projection until it explodes. On my return I see the remaining bullies, teachers, and other students covered in bits of the last one to attempt to strike. I say, "Next?". Everyone scatters, screaming.
&#x200B;
This saved me from a further beating that day but I should have taken the beatings. Today, even the witches and mutants are afraid of me and hunt me because I am different.
\------
So many ideas on where to take this. Thanks for the prompt.
| 2020-02-26T09:23:25
| 2020-02-26T09:02:03
| 25
| 13
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[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult.
|
"I'm sorry, but we can't approve you for a home loan, ma'am."
"Why?"
"Due to the implications of your...name, our insurance won't cover you should you...you know."
"If I ended the world from the house I wanna buy with this loan, your insurance wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"No, but...think of it as preventative."
"Oh, so you're stopping me from ending the world by denying me a home loan? I see. Your name must be World Saver then."
"Ah...no, it's-
"Banks, yeah. I can see the name plate." She scoffed, standing and taking her coat. She stomped out, leaving the door open as she shouted for all to hear. "AND BY THE WAY, I AM A COMIC BOOK WRITER AND ARTIST. THE WORLDS I END ARE *FICTIONAL*!!"
|
[Poem]
A name assigned at birth, a role, a calling to one's feet,
As Miller, Baker, Pâtissier, all make that which we eat.
So say that Mister Author dies one night while on a bender;
His fans will cry then dry their tears and call for me: World-Ender.
| 2021-06-19T23:03:38
| 2021-06-19T20:30:40
| 36
| 21
|
[WP] A former child star has given up fame and fortune to pursue a career in academia. PhD candidate Jaden Smith presents his dissertation in Philosophy, "How Can Mirrors Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real"
|
Once Again, Thank You To The Members Of This Committee, To All Those In Attendance, To My Adviser Dr. Otto Emordanillap, And To This Institution.
In My Humble Opinion It Is Ludicrous That Philosophy Is In Such A State That Both Mirrors And Eyes Are Considered To Be Real, That Is, Actual In Their Being. The Only Thing Tempering My Personal Response To This Viewpoint Is The Demand Of The Domain Of Philosophy That Ample Care Be Given To The Great Minds That Came Before. What I Have Found Within Those Works Will Here Stand As The Historical Understanding Of Eyes, And Consequently Mirrors, Being Real.
Within The Kantian Tradition It Is Necessary To Assume That Since All Appearances Are Mere Appearances, Neither Mirrors Nor Our Eyes Can Have Any Noumenal Significance Apart From Our Transcendental Knowledge Of Concepts. Therefore Both Mirrors And Eyes, As We Cognize Them, Lie Within The Realm Of Representation That Forms The Backbone Of German Idealism.
No More Can Hegel's Phenomenology Prove That Both Mirrors And Eyes Are Real In Their Existence. For, As Hegel Says: "Truth Of Existent Reflections As Such Is Necessarily The Essential Truth Qua Truth Subsumed In The Ethical Supercession Succeeding Any Actual Substance To Be Found In The Being-For-Self Notion Of Reality, That Is, Actuality Of Reflection Cannot Acknowledge And Recognize The Self-Same Quality Of The Thing Itself."
Or As Heidegger So Eloquently Put: "The Questioning Concerning Seeing Is Found In The Care Of Eye-Seeing, Or Eye-Sight-Being, Which In The Being Of Beings Worlds Their World Inauthentically And With A Mind Towards Only The They. Consequently, This Eye-Sight-Being-Being-Worlding-World-Theying Is To The Mirror The Mirroring Of Mirror-Being, And Simply That."
In Fact It Is Only In Plato's Recently Discovered Dialogue "Narcissus" That We See Evidence For The Existence Of Eyes:
- And Tell Me, Narcissus, Could It Be That A Man's Eyes, Those Which He Sees With, That He Takes The World In With, That Those Could Not Be Real?
- No Socrates, It Does Not.
So It Is Clear That The Question Of Both Mirrors And Eyes Being Real Can Be Traced Back To A Hellenic Idea Of Eyes Themselves Which Is Reemerging Despite The Refusal Of The German Philosophers To Accept The Concept. Hence My Strict Examination Of The Reality Of Eyes Throughout Christian Theology Of The Middle Ages, Continuing Through Kierkegaard's Treatment Of The Matter, And Ending With The Same Conclusion As Freud, That Is, Mirrors Cannot Be Real Because Our Eyes Are Not Real.
|
In the instance of a perfect mirror all light would theoretically reflect off of it without being altered by the mirror's surface. This fundamentally makes it impossible for us to observe the mirror itself due to the nature in which our eyes perceive reality, which is through analyzing photons over time, meaning we can not be certain if it is there at all. If we truly consider how our eyes observe it can be hypothesized that if light has continuously been phasing into our perception, spontaneously of course, in a way that makes us observe our "eyes" when looking into a mirror but never actually interacting with our "eyes" one might draw a conclusion that our "eyes" may not exist at all but merely are the assumed device our consciousness has assembled to justify its observations and, therefore, reality. In this sense mirrors are in just as much question as our eyes because how can one hope to judge what is real when your eyes, the tools with which we can observe "reality", may not exist at all but merely be a way in which your consciousness observes itself unknowingly.
How can mirrors be real if our eyes aren't real, further extended; how can anything be real?
| 2015-05-31T00:37:56
| 2015-05-30T23:06:50
| 36
| 11
|
[WP] The Earth has finally run out of fossil fuels to use as energy and, with the only other option being to turn to clean and renewable energy sources, the U.S. has decided to take drastic measures: trying to reach into alternate dimensions to find oil and other fossil fuels.
|
The portals were set up a month ago. Now, I would be leading a team of 60 men to this unknown dimension. It’s been over a year since fossil fuels ran out, If I came back successful I would be regarded as a hero.
“5 minutes till departure, sir.”
“Yes, yes, tell them to start if the portal.”
The Commander in Chief himself had given me an extensive list of possible resources to gather. The most preferable ones would be precious ores not present on our planet. As I looked at the bottom of this list I saw some quite disturbing things. I made a silent oath only to gather these if somehow the ores were not found.
I put on my specialty suit, gathered my team, and walked straight through that portal.
“Sir, I think we have a problem.”
“What is is.” I snapped at him, naturally annoyed.
“It seams as though we have not left Earth.”
My mind was racing, had we done all this preparation for nothing? Anger boiled up inside me and eventually I managed to stutter, “Of corse we made off Earth. Now, split up into you assigned groups and cover as much ground as possible.”
Hours past. The terrain looked awfully familiar and there were no ores to be found. I called everyone back to our central meeting place and told them the plan.
“Everyone look at number 26 on your list.”
“Humans!” One woman exclaimed, looking as though she was going to faint.
“No, no. Whales or whale type creatures and any living mammal over 120 pounds. That does include humans but also wildlife.”
“How can we be sure there even are creatures on this planet?”
“My group saw a town with some person north of her. They looked at lot like us, actually.”
“Great,” I replied, “Get 40 snipers to surround the town, 20 to load the bodies, I’ll get the truck.”
Most people muttered in agreement but then one man spoke out, “But, they’re people, just like us.”
I don’t know why I did what I did but somehow in the midst of my anger I had pulled out my firearm, and somehow my finger slipped. No one questioned me after that.
We headed out to the town and got in position, it was eerie how much they resembled us but I managed to push through any guilt still trapped inside me as I loaded that last of the butchered bodies. I still felt a little bad about leaving the kids all alone since they didn’t meet the weight requirements. They’re not even humans, so what did it matter.
We stayed there for weeks, shooting and killing and dragging and loading. After 2 and a half weeks I decided we had enough bodies to produce energy for about 3 years. We drove back to the portal site and drove the thousands of truck loads back.
“America welcomes you!” The president boomed over the speakers.
That night when I went home, I was eager to watch the news, eager to see my glorified face. But when I turned on the t.v, it was something quite different. The headline read “1.6 million Canadians Dead in American Assault.”
The newscaster spoke, “ Over the past weeks, towns in Canada have mysteriously been loosing their population aside from children. New security footage of one of these towns shows snipers in American uniforms going to work on their inhabitants. Canada has now declared war of the US because of there atrocities. We have reports bombs are being deployed over the US as we speak.”
“The...the.....port—“ I stuttered trying to wrap my mind around this
“We...n-n-never... left t—“
I heard the bomb but there was no time. I guess this is what I deserve.
|
The lines for the gas station were brutal. Sitting in the Texas heat with the windows down and the car turned off to conserve gas? Almost just as bad. Marcus Holliday - call me Marky, he would always say with a lopsided grin and a sly wink - sighed and patted the dash of the old Chevy. Dust swirled in through the window and he waved it away. "Bullshit," he mumbled to himself, glancing at his watch. It had been two hours.
The line was barely moving. People had stopped honking even. He wondered if employees would tell the customers if they were out of gas or if he was just expected to wait there until the next truck came in. If it ever came in. It's not like he could leave. He wouldn't make it far, not with the needle barely budging from empty when he turned on the car. It would sputter and maybe, just maybe, manage to turn on... He didn't want to think of the alternative.
He leaned back against the headrest, running a tan, calloused hand through that blonde mane that reached down to his shoulders. It was almost haircut time, that was for certain. Too damn hot. Had he been a little more aware - a little more present, maybe - he would have heard the commotion taking over at the front of the line. Instead he tapped along to the country song running through his mind, eyes closed and humming softly, unaccompanied by the radio or anything other than the occasional curse from a nearby car. The breeze should have been a warning if the commotion was not. Instead he just smiled to himself, breathing in the sweet smell of rancid cigarette smoke and diesel engines as the breeze turned into unseasonal gusts of wind.
Up ahead, a massive gash split the ground in the middle of the gas station, swallowing up the unfortunate cars who had seemed fortunate enough to get a couple drops of gas into their tanks. Black emerged. Not blacks like the kids who would bike up the street with their shirts off and Marky would greet them with a smile just like he would anybody else but the older folk would scowl and shake their heads. Black emerged as the very absence of anything else.
Cars and people and the meager supply of gas were all swallowed up at once. There was no belch after the great swallowing, no returning of the stolen goods or reimbursement for the damaged property. The gash just kept growing, and only when it began to consume the cars around Marky with a massive tear of metal and the screams of other passengers did he snap to attention.
"Oh, sheeeeeit," he drawled, picking up the wide-brimmed brown cowboy hat from the seat beside him and placing it carefully atop his head. He turned the key and the engine roared to life and he gave a sigh of relief. Just as quickly, it sputtered out. "Oh boy," Marky said with a nervous grin.
He reached for his holster, finding comfort in the smooth barrel of the pistol that was always by his side. Women might have come and gone from his life and his cats may have been fickle as one of his spruned mistresses but that gun was always there for him. "Not today," Marky said as he climbed out of his car. He barely had to aim - good thing since he hadn't had the gas to go to the range lately - as he pulled the trigger over and over and over again until the chamber was empty.
The black void seemed to tremble under the onslaught of bullets. Lights flashed inside as the bullets ricocheted and the black cracked blacker and little creatures emerged escaping the liquid rush that came from beneath the ground. "Halle-fucking-lujah," Marky said slowly, staring in awe as the unmistakeable rush of oil chased the twisted little creatures out of their dimension and into his. "We done hit the motherlode." He wasn't quite right, as he would soon find out. In fact, he was in far more danger than he thought. He reloaded, a nagging feeling telling him that those evil looking creatures weren't here to pay their respects to his old Chevy.
The nagging feeling was right. One of the creatures - its skin a deathly grey pallor stretched far too thin over sinewy arms and legs - jumped atop the hood of his car. "You're scratching that shit, bitch," Marky shouted at the devilish little monster. You didn't want to scratch Marky's car. That was a big no-no, as far as his no-nos went. He took careful aim, steadying his hand as chaos enveloped the world around him. "Sayonara, motherfucker," Marky growled and he fired three bullets into the creature. It collapsed and convulsed before melting into the hood of the Chevy, ruining it completely. There was silence. And then one by one the dozens of other creatures stopped tearing limb from limb the hapless passengers of the other cars and turned their attention towards Marky. "Well now I'm in a bit of a pickle," he mumbled to himself.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-09-04T06:29:24
| 2019-09-04T05:30:27
| 52
| 37
|
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
*No.* Death thought. *It couldn't be.*
Death reached below the grand wooden table, hastily pulling out the dust covered hourglass. Questions flooded its mind. *How? When? Who?*
Carefully, Death set the hourglass sideways on its table, like the way it found it, the only one among the seven billion or so hourglasses in Death's office in such position. Death sank slowly into its black leather chair, its hollow eye sockets fixed on the hourglass.
No one escapes Death. That was what everyone said. Looking at the construct on the table, someone just did. Not knowing when or why bothered Death greatly.
When each human is born, an hourglass appears in Death's office. While each hourglass looked the same, the amount of sand inside them was not. The amount of sand signalled the lifespan of the owner. When the sand stops flowing, Death is summoned. The hourglass disappears once Death finishes its job.
Since time immemorial, Death has done its job without lapses. It does not question why. Death has always accepted its role. Looking at the stopped sand caused Death to question for the first time.
*Who is this human who escaped death?*
*How did the hourglass end up at the bottom of the table?*
*What should Death do?*
Death considered its options. It could report the lapse to its master. After all, Death is only a servant of a higher being. At least, that was what Death remembered. The memory was vague and hazy. It has been doing its job for eons alone without the need to contact the master. Never had there been any mistakes or incidents worth mentioning. The sideway hourglass was first.
Death shook its head. It cast a look at the door at the end of its office, rising thousands of meters above. The door to its master. Death could not recall the last time the door was used. Death preferred for things to stay that way. Death wanted to go back to its routine.
A bony hand reached from the flowing black robe, the white fingers wrapped themselves around the hourglass. Death let out a sigh, muttered an apology in its mind for the human who was about to lose his/her immortality, and flipped the hourglass upright.
The sand did not fall. They stayed in their position.
*What?*
Death was annoyed. It took the hourglass with both its hands and shook it. It turned the hourglass upside down several times. Still, the sand did not flow, while the sand in billions of others continued to fall.
*Who is this human entitled to immortality?*
Death let out a frustrated grunt. It wanted to throw the hourglass at the wall. How can Death be defied? It decided that it needed to seek out its master. Death grabbed the defective hourglass and started the long march towards the giant door. It needed an answer.
Just when it was about to leave its desk, however, a voice shook Death's office. Death recognised it instantly. The voice of the master.
**DON'T BOTHER.** The voice commanded.
**THE HOURGLASS IS YOURS.**
-------
*/r/dori_tales*
|
"Oh my", Said Death. Underneath the very large dark desk he found a life.
He picked up the dusty vessel and turned it around in his bony hands. One of the downsides of not having skin, he decided, was that it was a bother getting dust off placards.
This was not good. Well, not that it was bad per say but most certainly embarrassing. What would the other Death's say?
He remembered how the community had snickered behind the spine of Death of central Europe. Pop culture today was still rich with the myth of immortal creatures hailing from the region. It wasn't really his fault though, even the best of skulls grow confused with age. And there had been a lot more lives to keep track of at the time.
Why had he not noticed one missing? He looked through his lives every day and there was none missing from the library.
He double checked the large century glass on the large desk just to make sure he hadn't overslept. Sleep was a vague phrase for someone that isn't in need of it but it is difficult to break the lingual habits no matter how long since you were a human.
The time seemed in order so the life he found had been under there for a very long time. Skeletons produce very little dust after all and he was adamant that the horses did not enter the cottage.
"I shall have to deal with this right away I suppose", he sighed in such a way as only an undead skeleton could. More of the general gesture of a sigh but still audible.
It was strange that STYX hadn't noticed it. After a well known case of a mummy and then Transylvania they had been forced to keep the paperwork in three copies. The light purple colored one for the local Death, the bleak daffodil colored one for the soul to travel with and then of course the watered out coffee colored one sent in to STYX.
He looked at the roman numerals on the life he had found. In disbelief he went to fetch a large book.
He placed the book on top of the one that were already on the desk and looked through the pages looking for the number. One of the downsides of not having skin, he decided, was flipping though paper pages in a large black book.
He found the number on one of the pages and looked at the text accompanying it. He would have raised her eyebrows had she had any.
The text simply said: Current location city of Goldau in the community of Arth, canton of Schwyz, Switzerland. Last relocation September 2, 1806.
"Oh boy, the landslide", he said while grabbing his scythe and quickly walking out to the stables, "This one is going to be Very annoyed with the delay."
At least he now knew why no stories about an immortal creature had surfaced from his division.
40,000,000 cubic meters of material takes a long time to dig oneself out of.
| 2018-10-03T06:52:49
| 2018-10-03T06:25:35
| 2,861
| 110
|
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit.
|
"I don't think you understand," the Hero said. "It's not that I'd lose, it's-"
"You'd win, yeah. I know," the bandit said defeatedly. "I mean, of course."
"What do you mean?" asked the mighty hero, vanquisher of all evil.
"I mean come on. You've killed dragons, monsters, gods. Obviously, I know who you are. I just thought, that, maybe if I fought you, it would..." the bandit motioned his hand vaguely, "*mean something*, you know? That ***I*** would mean something. But... no challenge, no glory. No point. I get it."
The Hero stared at the downtrodden man silently.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I really- I really shouldn't have, I'm sorry-"
"Are you alright?" the Hero asked suddenly. The bandit looked up, his face pale and gaunt.
"What? I- I mean, sure. Just tired is all. Look I'm sorry, I'm not even really a bandit, just wanted to-"
"What are you, then?"
The bandit paused for a moment. "Not much of anything, really," he sighed. "I mean I try, I really do try to do different things but it always just... fails. All of it."
The Hero considered the man's words. They were... painfully familiar.
"Would you like to grab a mug of mead and talk? Perhaps about what makes you happy?" the Hero smiled.
"What? No- of course- no, thank you kindly. I'd hate to drag you down," the man said hurriedly and raised his hands.
"Nonsense. Come, it's on me," the Hero said jovially and pushed the man forward. Seemingly distressed but genuinely relieved, the would-be bandit accepted the helping hand and set off alongside the great Hero.
It wasn't a quest. It wasn't glory. It wasn't a promise of riches that motivated the Hero.
It was the right thing to do.
|
I sighed at the bandit. He wore simple leather armour, sporting a well used sword. His long brown hair was a wild mop on his head, clearly untended to. His sharp face was set in a determined expression, though I could see a seed of doubt in his mind.
I shifted my balance, ready for him to make his inevitable swing. My comfortable clothes were well worn, going far to hide my identity. As nice as fame was, I enjoyed the quiet life, and so chose to keep much of it on the down low. So the fact this bandit chose me wasn't a huge surprise.
"Now, hand over your goods, and maybe I will let you live."
His tone was probably enough to scare most people I to complying. But having spent time with the Voices, it was just another way of speaking to me. Even in that, I could hear the subtle notes of hope that I would just hand over my bits.
I could guess his type. He was hust trying to prove himself. He probably chose this life in an effort to drown out his self doubt.
"Please, put your sword away. You really don't want to go down this path."
His eyes showed the inner turmoil. He wanted me to just comply. He hated the idea of me making him hurt me. But he had to appear strong. He had to. He had no real choice from what he could see.
I watched his body, seeing muscles tense. As he lunged forwards, I reacted. My body had been trained by purging the vampiric undercity, reflexes beyond that of normal humans. His swing was horribly slow to me, allowing me to catch his arm. I moved into it, rolling him over my shoulders.
He slammed into the ground, his face a mask of confusion. I stepped on his sword, leaning down.
"I told you, I don't want to fight you."
His bravado broke, tears springing to his eyes.
"I-im sorry!"
I looked down on him. He was broken from just one throw. He was too weak to take lives out of cruelty. It would be well within my rights to take him in, or deal with him permanently. But I had killed only for the greater good. This would be nothing like that.
"Hey, stop crying."
He continued, and I smiled. I remembered being like this, back when I was but a young child. The face of my teacher swam into view, a kind, gentle face. I gave a sigh, picking up the sword. It was basic, no enchantment to speak of. With a shrug I stuck it into the dirt, before reaching down to pull up the bandit.
"Listen, this life isn't for you. Trust me, I have seen many bandits in my time. You wouldn't hack it. But you could do more. You seem relatively competent with a sword."
He blinked through his tears. I could see him processing, and I put my arm on his shoulder.
"I don't really want to fight you. If I did, you would be dead. I've had enough of death for a long time. So I'm going to give you a choice. You can turn around, and try to continue this banditry. That will end only in your premature death. Or you can come with me, and I will make you into someone to be proud of."
I released him, taking a couple of steps back. He stood there, looking incredibly lost. To one side was his sword, the life he had lead. To the other, I promised him something more. It was his choice to make. I just hoped he would make the right one.
| 2022-08-11T16:37:51
| 2022-08-11T14:53:24
| 1,203
| 198
|
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