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stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] Your ability to see what level of pain a person is experiencing has always helped you in your profession as a nurse. From the hovering "0.6" over the guy with the hangnail to the "42" over the crash victim. Today on the bus ride to work there is an "800" over a guy, calmly reading his paper...
|
I let out a small gasp. That's the highest number I have ever seen. He just sat there and turned the page of his paper.
This man looked like he was around the same age as me. He was maybe 20. He had dark brown curly hair and a long straight nose. He was wearing a black striped shirt, black jeans, and white high-top converse.
I stood up, rocking as the bus came to a stop. There was a space next to him. I hurried over and sat down.
"What's your story I asked him?"
"What?" He turned to look at me. He closed his newspaper and scooted away from me.
"Tell me about yourself. Tell me about your pain." I probably seemed really creepy, but I always ask this to everyone. It usually comes from me being a nurse, but I'm also really curious about everything.
"I'm sorry," I quickly said, "it's my job as a nurse to make sure people are okay. You just didn't seem right." I could never explain myself well because nobody could understand my ability.
"It's okay." He folded his newspaper and put it in his backpack. He extended his legs. "I'm used to people asking me if I'm okay. It's usually the black clothing that makes that question pop into their head."
He paused, and took a breath.
"It's hard to talk about. I really shouldn't talk about my issues to strangers, but my therapist would be proud of me for at least talking to someone."
He took another deep breath.
"It started a few years ago. I don't know how, but it began to become really dark. I had no hope in life. I've just been really depressed and upset for a while now. My mum died when I was 13. My dad took drugs until they killed him. I was 18 when that happened. I was rejected from university. My friends went to other parts of England when they turned 18. I got laid off of my job when I couldn't bring myself to come in everyday. Life has just been really hard recently." His voice got quiet towards the end. He turned to look at me, his hazel eyes turned to a glossy brown. A tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it away with his sleeve.
I put my hand on his knee and squeezed it.
He shuddered at the touch of my fingers. I lifted my hand away and put it back in my lap.
"When are you free?" I asked him.
"What do you mean?" He replied, looking shocked.
"I mean, do you want to get coffee or something to eat?"
His number went down. 799, 798, 797.
"Sure." He turned and smiled at me. "Tonight?"
I nodded and smiled back. I pulled out my notepad and wrote my number on it.
"Text me." I handed him the slip of paper.
795, 794.
I looked outside of the bus window. The hospital was just a block away.
I stood up and made my way to the front of the bus. As it came to a stop, I turned around and I could see the man sitting there, tears streaming down my face. He was whispering something. I read his lips, it was a great skill I learned in the hospital.
*She was the sign*.
|
You look inquisitively at the man before deciding to sit next to him.
“Mind if I take this seat?” He seems happy to have company. Both of you don’t say a word for several minutes despite all the questions running through your head. You finically veal the silence.
“So, what are ya reading?” You croak, your voice a bit rough after inactivity.
“You know, the daily paper.” He responds, eyes still fixated on the price of literature. You peek over to see what story he is reading. You find that it is no story at all, he is reading the obituaries. He seems fixated on one name, focusing on the black text displayed. You read: “Jessie Tenter, suicide by shotgun” Right then, you see it. The numbers they just multiplied by a factor of 3, number now reading 2400. You look the man in the eyes, you see pain and torment, but he does not move a muscle. He flips the page. It is obvious he isn’t reading anymore, just trying to look okay. You try to reach out:
“Hey are you okay?” You whisper to the man
“Yeah, I’m fine. News is quite good today actually. Today scientists discovered-“ you cut him off.
“No, are YOU okay?” He looks up from his paper and we make eye contact for the first time. He knows I know what is up. For a moment I thought he was going to cry, but he simply re-adjusted his shirt.
“Do you know what it’s like to lose someone you love?” He asks. I prepare to respond but before I can start he cuts me off. “Do you know what it’s like watching all of your loved ones die, growing old and sick while you remain young and healthy?” He stops himself. “Look, I didn’t mean to be so harsh, you would never know. Let me explain. I am doctor Normandy. I worked along side several scientists during the 1800 to try to develop a cure for old age. We-“ He makes a fist with his hand. “You don’t believe me, do you?” He accuses.
“Doctor,” I respond. “I assure you I leave my judgment until the end.” This seems to calm him down. He continues.
“We discovered how to mix the blood of long living sea turtles and humans. We were running out of funds at this point, so we decided we needed something to show our government. So I volunteered to be a test subject. As you see, it worked out well. My colleagues on the other hand...” he looks out the window “I can’t say the same for them.” We remain silent for a while. I decide to break the silence once more.
“So why were you so hurt when reading the obituaries?” He looked st me shocked for a moment before he spoke.
“Well...” He began. “I made a friend. Not just any friend, a friend that won’t die like the others. Someone to stay by my side no matter what. She was studying the same thing I was, their lab had more success but they did not want to try it on humans. She decided to sneak in and try it herself, hoping that this will encourage other scientists to replicate the experiment. We had something special. Where as, you are eventually going to die, be forgotten, and turn into dirt, we are going to exist much longer, but she-“ the bus stopped. “This is where I get off. I hope you enjoyed my tale, enjoy life while you have it”
He walked off the bus, across the street to the local gun store. As the bus sped off, he gives me a bit of a wink.
| 2019-04-14T02:13:01
| 2019-04-14T01:38:46
| 34
| 17
|
[FF] In three sentences, kill as many people as possible. No firearms, no natural disasters, no explosives, no WMDs.
|
You wouldn't kill us, couldn't kill us, the armada of voices chanted in piercing unison. Billions of hands within my skull attempted to press the gun away from my temple, but I wouldn't let them, not this time. As the bullet cracked through my eternity the "we" that was my schizophrenia was "I" for a final clock tick.
|
martin worked furiously in the dying light, trying to pack his specimens into the one remaining powered refrigerator in the CDC. electricity, like everything else, was a premium since the SSPE-strain measles pandemic of 2016 and he'd barely secured the tiny space he now stacked the tiny tubes into. he'd even had to contribute half of his personal watts to its running and he spared a curse, as he did every day, at the fools who stopped vaccinating themselves a mere generation ago.
| 2014-08-04T23:50:42
| 2014-08-04T22:10:19
| 26
| 11
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I toss in my sleep-- there's a loud buzzing ringing in my left ear, and my eyes flicker open to reveal my phone: vibrating with it's receivance of hundreds of messages. "Holy shit, is that my Discord app again? I swear to god I put it on fucking silent." I grumble, and my hands fumble for the volume rockers. Without a few seconds of effort, my phone is back on silent, and the buzzing stops. I go back the fuck to bed. The creepypasta bullshit can wait, I'm tired as shit.
| 2022-08-07T14:17:42
| 2018-04-06T19:48:33
| 712
| 13
|
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit.
|
Received Messages from Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 4:04pm
We've run out of milk, I've gone to get some more from the shop. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 4:30pm
The shop was sold out of milk, I'm trying the other store. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 5:02pm
The other shop was sold out too, the guy told me they didn't get a delivery this morning. I'm going to head to the deliver centre now. I need my god damn coffee. Say hi to mom for me. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 7:23pm
The delivery centre was closed. I don't get it. These places run 24/7. I'll wait here until I see someone.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 9:01pm
Still no one. This is nuts. I'm going to sleep in my car. Tell your mom. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 9:19am
Finally spoke to the manager. He said that the dairy shipment is a week late. Without any milk he had to close the place down until monday. He only came in to check for the truck. He wouldn't tell me anything else, I'm suspicious. I'm going to go to the dairy, it's not too far. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 1:43pm
I'm at the dairy, it's also shut. The manager there said that there's an industrial dispute with the farmers going on. When I demanded milk he laughed at me and said I'd have to talk to the farmers. Damn him. I'm off to the closest dairy farm. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 10:34pm
I'm half way there. It's taking a lot longer due to various interstate closures. Thankfully Bessy can go overland quite nicely. Is there anything on the news about this? Let me know. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 4:56am
I could barely sleep. The jets flying over head towards the lights in the sky kept waking me up. I should be at the closet farm soon. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 9:32am
I made it to the farm, but there's black vans EVERYWHERE. I sneaked into the farm house and overheard them talking about UFOs, and missing cows. I'm going to try and come home asap. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 9:36am
They are searching for me! If I don't make it out, I love you, your sister and your mom. My will is in the top dr
Thursday 8th Feb 2018 12:00pm
I'm not dead. Love Dad.
Monday 21st May 2018 4.52pm
Training is finally finished. Mission begins tomorrow. I'm using my sim card on a stolen phone. I love my family.
Tuesday 20th May 2042 1:09am
I'm not sure if this will work, subspace communication and cellular data probably won't mix. We've finally arrived at Groxon. The Groxars stole all of our cows because theirs died of a genetic disease. Instead of coming to an understanding about taking half of them, they took them all. The FBI, CIA and NASA recruited me to fly one of the Groxar ships for them. They shot down dozens that night, before the Groxar started shooting back. Hopefully you guys weren't part of the casualties. So we're taking the fight to them, the American way. We'll make those bastards pay. Think of my family, Love Dad.
Monday 16th February 2067 5:14pm
Sorry that it's been 50 years. Time dilation and the law of relativity and all of that. The mission was a success at least. Turns out the Army rigged the Groxar spaceships with nukes. Their planet is now a radioactive dust ball. Serves them right I guess. I see that Earth took advantage of Groxar technology and I'll be taking a flying taxi home from the space port. Weird that the last 50 years have felt like a couple of days, I guess because it pretty much was. Travelling at 99.9% of the speed of light does that. I see that mom is still alive, give her a hug from me and warn her a little bit. Tell her I'm younger than my own kids now! Maybe not though, if either of you got messed up in the deep space exploration that NASA started. Can't wait to see you tomorrow! Love Dad.
Tuesday 17th February 2067 10:00pm
I'll be home in an hour. Love Dad.
Tuesday 17th February 2067 10:02pm
Damn. I forgot the milk.
|
He walked in the door, the gallon of milk in his hand.
"Mom!" I shouted. "Mom, it's dad."
It had been 5 years since he left, 50 years my mom and I had struggled without him. He didn't look a day older than when he left to run a quick errand. He looked confused and tired.
My mom came to the entryway, where my father stood with milk in hand. She looked at him, looked at what he was carrying.
"You forgot the bread," she said. "Dumbass."
| 2017-11-19T17:49:04
| 2017-11-19T17:05:49
| 276
| 14
|
[WP] It had started as a single small striped tent in an abandoned lot. Within a week, there was a whole small fair there. After a month, an entire city block was now a large carnival. Soon, you had to evacuate your apartment as The Circus encroached further, inch by inch.
|
*Roll up! Roll up! Come one and come all! Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages! If you can't run, then walk! Don't stand there and gawk! It's the most sensational show this side of a public hanging! An inimitable, incomparable, unequivocal, veritable extravaganza to amaze, astound, and assail the senses!*
*That's right, folks! The Vespasian and Sons Traveling Circus is coming soon to a town near you, and you can't afford to miss it! No other venue on Earth can match the array of amazements under our big top! Come and marvel at the death-defying Corbucci siblings, champions of the tightrope and highwire! Thrill at the grand spectacle of our in-credible capers of our consummate corps of clowns! See the lovely Lady Aksana, the world-renowned Cossack axe-thrower! The Spectacular Mister Zhang and his expertly trained jugglers! Rhino Rasmussen, the world's strongest man! Fresh from his latest South African safari, Colonel Clifton Duquesne, the man who can tame any animal!*
*All this and more! Coming to a location very, very near you! Don't wait a second longer! Come and see!*
*You MUST come and see.*
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
"Yesterday this was a city with a population numbering around a million. Today, following the event we've come to call the Incursion, the remainder of the population is in the process of being fully evacuated and the city limits being cordoned off by military professionals, to prevent the spread-"
\*Johan Fucik's *Entry of the Gladiators* plays as a carousel missile hits nearby, showering reporters and refugees with candy-colored shrapnel\*
"JESUS. I... even at this distance the chaos still continues. As you can hopefully see, the... circus creatures have taken almost total control of the city. The Big Top has already expanded to cover almost the entire downtown district, and the Ringmaster's enforcers still patrol the streets causing mayhem and destruction-"
\*another explosion\*
"FUCK, get us out of here!"
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Carl Royce ducked behind the remains of a concrete pillar as clown death squads marched by on big squeaky shoes. His hand was clamped over his mouth so his breath wouldn't give him away; his lungs and heart burned in protest, begging for more air. Huddled beside him, the kid- Carl still hadn't talked her into telling him her name, or speaking a single word, really- was completely still, lamp eyes dead-wide open.
The honking of their shoes faded. The squads had passed.
Carl nearly collapsed. This was madness. Nobody could have believed the events of the last few days if they had not lived through them. Even Carl could barely believe it. One day a modest circus tent had been erected not far from the university dorms. Within months the grounds were the most popular place in town, and trains and trucks seemed to arrive almost from nowhere to keep the festival of sinister delights going. If it struck anyone as odd, nobody gave it too much thought; nobody could have anticipated how bad things would get.
It could not have been fifteen hours since the Ringmaster's terrifying face had appeared on every television and phone screen in the city, announcing the circus' new once-in-a-lifetime performance. Demanding that all would come and see.
Since then death and insanity had ruled the streets. Those who tried to resist were marched from their homes, lined up and executed by knife thrower squad. Those, as it transpired, would turn out to be the lucky ones. Others were marched into the Big Top, coming out only as part of the endless parade of horrors filling the city. The mayor had been fired out of a cannon headlong into a brick wall, breaking every bone in his body from the fifth rib up.
Across the flaming, seltzer streaked ruins of the city, new structures- or the beginnings of an entire hostile ecosystem- were encroaching. Main Street was now the Midway; entire buildings had been turned into funnel-yellowcake stands, arms-dispensing shooting ranges, and other horrifying attractions. Brainwashed roustabouts were unloading anti-aircraft bumper cars, erecting high speed roller coaster transports. And if reports were true, they had only a limited amount of time to escape this hellhole before the military's barriers were sealed for good.
Carl looked the girl in the eye. "Alright. We need to get moving. You alright?"
She only nodded. She hadn't been with anyone else- parents, siblings, anyone- when Carl had found her. He didn't dare think about what she'd been through in the last few hours.
He grabbed her hand and ran, trying to keep down and look in every direction at once. No clowns around. No aerialist drones keeping eyes on the sky. But the real threat struck without him noticing.
The knife hit him in the forearm, and Carl could not suppress a yelp of pain and shock. The girl screamed shrilly. They were in luck- all bad. Enforcers had found them. A huge, burly strongman with shoulders too broad for a normal door was suddenly upon him. Carl reeled to find a balding, bad-skinned contortionist leering from the lamppost he was wrapped around; a short, powerfully-built Chinese man spinning a deadly yo yo, daring him to move; a tall man in safari garb with a bushy white mustache, brandishing a whip.
He looked in another direction and saw the girl struggling in the grip of a woman who was absent-mindedly juggling another throwing knife one-handed.
"Bad show, old man," murmured the man in safari clothes. "Ought to keep your seat during the show, don't you know? Fidgeting will ruin it for the other guests."
The strongman grumbled. The contortionist let out a cackling hiss.
"Come with us," said the woman with the knife, in a still Eastern European accent. "The Ringmaster will want to see you."
"I... I don't-"
"Come now," said the man in safari garb. "Heard of running away with the circus, what? Now the circus is about running orf with you. The Ringmaster will find a new place for you in the acts, just as he did with us, and thousands more across hundreds of worlds. Nothing to fear. Like as not you'll not be relegated to the freakshow. We always need more roustabouts. A real man's life. Ought to be a dashed honor, I should think. You'll be part of the greatest show in the world."
The contortionist laughed that insane laugh again.
Carl felt the will to resist leave him. This was it. The end. No hope left-
Until a shot rang out, and the knife-throwing woman crumpled. Before there was time to react, another shot had felled the strongman. Carl whirled around in astonishment- and realized in the back of his mind that the girl and the other freaks were as well. BANG. Another dropped. BANG. Another.
The giggling contortionist, realizing he was all alone, let out a whimper. He turned to look at Carl with terrified eyes, then turned and ran. He didn't get far. A black-clad leg stuck out from behind some debris, tripping his double-jointed feet out from under him. The contortionist went down fast and hard. Another shot was heard.
Carl fell to his knees. The little girl was at his side, clinging to his arm. So what fresh new hell was this? Saved, but by something good or something even worse?
From the direction of the final shot, two figures slipped into view and strolled- dear God, they *strolled,* in the middle of a fucking warzone- towards him. One was a man in an impeccable black suit and dark glasses, the other a woman in some kind of police or military uniform, ruffled beret perched on her head.
"I... who are you?"
The man in glasses sniffed. "Under most circumstances, that's classified."
The woman in the beret smiled wryly. "DEFCOM."
"The fuck?"
"Department of Entertainments, Fairs, Concessions and Other Merriments. Special Agents, Division Six. The grumpy guy over there is V. I'm Holiday. Friends call me Jess. This may sound a bit cliche, but you should come with us if you want to live."
|
There were no flyers, no poorly shot advertisements, and not even an article in the local newspaper. It was as if the circus had appeared out of thin air, just randomly popping up in the abandoned lot that used to house an old mechanic’s workshop. It was eerie; I remember going down to the lot with my friends, staring at it with the other locals, each of us eyeing it over like it was a downed ufo, expecting some extraterrestrial life form to open the dirty red flaps of the tent.
Days passed, and the lot remained the same, no sign of an owner or even any attractions, just that simple red tent sitting right in the middle of the lot. People speculated it was some viral hoax, that this was companies attempt to promote a new movie or line of products and it was hard to disagree with that. At least it was until the tent grew into a fair.
The fair came overnight at the end of the first week, the abandoned lot now covered in carnivals rides with the smell of stale honey coated popcorn filling the air. It was shocking. No one had seen the development take place, and the workload was far too large to be an overnight job. It made little sense unless they planned this from the beginning.
Even stranger than the fair was the fact that there were no employees. No matter where you looked, you couldn’t spot anyone. Yet, despite the lack of employees, the rides continued to operate, and the cooked food still sat out in the open, collecting flies. This only added to the eerie air the carnival had, police having to barricade the fair off until they deemed it safe.
Days passed and pictures surfaced online about the fair. People having snuck past the police lines to explore it. The pictures showed how quiet it truly was, with no one inside any of the attractions. Even the interior of the red tent was collecting dust. Why go to so much effort just to abandon a place?
Another week passed and me and my friends made our way down to the lot, now seeing it populated by red nosed employees. A collective feeling of relief being shared between us. It must have just been delayed. There was an explanation behind all of this. A few of my friends wanted to go inside, but I talked them into seeing a movie instead. The fair will be here forever, I said. Not knowing how true those words would become.
When we reached the end of the month, the circus now took up an entire block. Homes being swallowed up by the carnival and added to its mass. It was sickening to look at the once simple street, now an ugly mess of color and fake laughs. Even worse, some homeowners joined the carnival as employees, wearing that signature red nose.
“It just feels nice to make people smile.” One lady said in the news report, her expression unnerving, not even giving off a stray blink of the eye. The other owners moved, apparently being offered a pitiful sum of money for their home. I wasn’t sure why they would accept such a deal, at least I didn’t understand until today.
A knock came from the door, a light gentle tapping before a dry voice followed it. “Evening, Mr. Hent. I was hoping we could strike a deal.” I usually would ignore something as ominous as that, but with what had been happening, I felt compelled to answer. Pulling open the door to reveal a greasy-looking man in a long black trench coat, his coat having a few odd droplets of paint to give it a fake look of color. As soon as the door opened, he pushed past me, taking a seat on the couch. “I run the circus in this town. We want to expand our fun even further. Would you kindly sell us your apartment? We will offer you ten thousand for it.”
“Ten thousand? Are you insane? This place is worth at least one hundred thousand. I won’t even be able to find another home at that price.” I said, already sick of the man’s self-assured grin.
“Ten thousand is an excellent offer. I don’t even really have to offer you this. I’m doing it because I’m a good man. Ten thousand and you are out by tonight. That’s the offer.”
“No deal. Get the hell out of my house you con artist.” I pointed to the door before reaching for my phone, threatening to call the cops.
“Right, right? I’ll go.” He reached into his coat, placing down a small red nose on the coffee table. “You will need this then.” He winked, leaving the apartment.
I spent the day playing over the encounter in my head. He couldn’t be serious, could he? When night finally came, I felt some comfort. I knew he couldn’t buy out an apartment, people wouldn’t give up that easily.
A glass shattering scream came from the floors below, followed by loud footsteps and banging. What the hell was happening? I went to call the cops, only to find my phone had no signal. Whatever was making the noise was coming from below, so the elevators weren’t an option. I turned to my window, considering climbing down the fire escape only to see a white painted face grinning at me. They stared at me before reaching up to their nose, squeezing it, letting out a small squeak before they dove through the glass, pinning me to the floor. I tried to fight them off, but they were deranged, slapping away any attempted punches, before snatching the red nose from the coffee table, pushing it closer to my face until it slipped onto my nose, molding into the flesh. When the nose was on, they slipped off my body.
I got up and tried to pull the nose off, but it was attached to my skin, only causing immense pain when it was touched until I couldn’t fight it anymore, feeling my mind fade. All I wanted to do was paint my face and work at the carnival.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-07-13T00:04:40
| 2021-07-12T22:36:12
| 91
| 44
|
[WP] You're a highschool student with the ability to "connect" to someone else's mind, seeing their memories and knowledge. You successfully use this ability to cheat on tests, until one day you connect and see an exact copy of your own memories.
|
Mrs. Proslow walked by my desk placing what had to be at least a fifteen-page exam, but I was slowly getting the idea my guess was off, marked by the suffering groans of the students ahead of in my column of desks, who had already begun leafing through it. Not that it particularly bothered you, you had an ace up your sleeve, rather literally as the itch of new tattoos burned your arms. It took months of careful research into scrying magic, pawing through tedious lecture scrolls from dried up farts from three centuries ago, six hundred dollars, and the majority of the surface of my right forearm, but you came up with the answer. An incantation that could let me cheat off of anyone I want in the class, structured to sift through people's surface thoughts, allowing me to glean the answers everyone else is thinking, and then all I have to do is play by majority. There was no way I could fuck it up at this point, unless my classmates were as dumb as I expected.
​
After Mrs. Proslow left my column and had her back turned to me, I quickly double checked the scarf I had wrapped around my arm, hoping to mute the light that came off as the sigils glowed in time to my mantra, making sure it hadn't smudged the still somewhat fresh ink. Everything still looked to be in order, and I didn't want to spend too much time staring down my sleeve like an idiot and give it away to my classmates. The teacher finished handing out the exam papers, returned to the lectern in front of her looming chalkboard, and smartly announced, "It is twelve o' clock at this time. You will have two hours and thirty minutes to complete your exam. Upon completion of said exam, place it on my desk, quietly collect your things, and see yourself out. You may begin." Before the word 'begin' had been spoken, everyone flipped open the exam with a fluttering of twenty-odd paper wings, delving bravely into question one. Under the scratching of graphite, the constant tap of restless shoes, I tried to mutter the spell as quietly as I could. The glow of the sigils responding in time was invisible to the eye, but I could feel the effect starting to layer my mind with the hollow voice of everyone in the class, starting as distant murmurs, growing into a gentle static frequency that I could sort of tune like a radio in my head. The feeling was hard to describe, the echoes of their thoughts fragile as soap bubbles, but real as my own at the same time. Stare too long and the bubble wavered, I feared what may happen should these thoughts 'pop', so I tried to keep floating between them, collecting the raw data as fast as I could, filling out the appropriate answers.
​
The first four pages of the exam were multiple choice, and by page three I had started getting the hang of drifting between the real world around me, the test paper in front of me, and the void of bubbles, the reverberations of my classmates answers drifting down a stream. by the time we hit the short answer section, progress had ground to a stall. The questions were getting ridiculous to the point I was pretty sure my older brother Thatcher was working on this stuff in his third-year course in Applied Metamagic States and Theorems. Still, everyone was collectively getting enough of the answer that I could figure out the rest of it pretty easily, and now I was waiting for them to catch up, reading ahead on questions to get a feel for them.
​
The idea hit me as I was reading the the two-page essay section on the back. I could tune through the frequencies of thoughts, getting a feel for everyone's voice, if I could just find Mrs. Proslow and dig through her surface thoughts, I could probably find the answers from her faster than anyone else! I could have been grinning widely at the epiphany, but in my semi-aware state of my physical body, I could very well have been drooling for all I was noticing. Not that it really mattered, looking like a moron was worth getting a perfect score on the test. I could breeze easy for the next five years, make it to an executive job somewhere in a high paying magitech firm, and live a luxurious life. I rifled through the voices, looking for the nasal, condescending voice of my teacher when I found... Me?^(Me?)
​
Okay,^(Okay), this^(this) is^(is) wrong...^(wrong...)
​
I^(I)
​
I^(I) feel^(feel) sick.^(sick.)
​
I^(I) can't-
​
The next thing I felt was the iron grip of Mrs. Proslow hoisting me to my feet, fist tightly clenching the front of my shirt. i hear hear the seams popping with dismay, not meant really to support my whole weight. She rolled up my sleeve and ripped the scarf off of my arm. She stopped dead when she looked at the tattoos on my arm. "Where did you get this?" Her voice was ice pushed through gritted teeth, I could feel the chill of her fury bearing down on me. All eyes in the class had turned to regard the scene, and it was only now that I noticed the rank of vomit coming from my desk.
​
"I- I made it myself and paid a guy to put it on my arm." I whimpered, there was no point in trying to lie when the truth was so plain. She seized the offending sleeve with her free hand. "I have every right to remove this very *illegal* incantation from you right now." having been in her class long enough knew full well she could flay my arm in a split second, or worse, and panic starting flooding me twice-over. "P-please, Mrs. Proslow!" I yelped. "Not my arm, please!"
​
She squinted her steely gaze, contemplating mercy, then she set me down, released my collar, but not my arm.
​
"We are going to the infirmary. Class Representative, you are in charge until I come back." Mrs. Proslow informed the students. "Your exam time will be paused for the time being, I will return in twenty minutes." She heaved me forward, I futilely resisted.
​
"Uhhh, what about Damien? Is he coming back with you?" A students asked, Jamie Philson, by the sound of it.
​
Mrs. Proslow didn't answer as she clicked the door shut on our way out.
|
The day started in a hell scape of pain and torture; commonly known as first period gym class. I could read it in the teacher's eyes that he had had a bad time at his home, and his wife was getting tired of picking up after his burgeoning alcoholism, which meant that today was going to be a hellish practice for the health examinations coming up soon.
Nobody wanted to come up short for those, each casualty reduced funding.
Second period was different; Mr. Krel was gone again, and his substitute spoke in a thick accent I couldn't understand, and given the thoughts of everyone else in the room, nobody else could either.
Another day without a single answer. Another day without a single modicum of effort.
Another day without a single damned person caring.
Third period came and went with no deviations. I busied myself by vicariously reading the book that jess had smuggled into the corner. She liked to pretend the teacher didn't know about it, but everyone knew the teacher just didn't give a damn.
Fourth period, a test, of course, I flicked across Miss Seras's head to skim the answers off of the sheet in front of her and felt myself reflected in her tawny gaze. Felt my thoughts mirrored. For a few horrified seconds, I thought I'd finally manage to break my own ability, and as things came and reflected back and forth quicker and quicker, stretched into the infinite beyond, her head lazily snapped over to mine.
"You, Sam." Her finger snapped out and pointed at me. For a chasmous, trembling moment, I could hear each and everyone of my thoughts reflected back. Could hear each and every pronunciation of my guilt, glorious, incandescent, roaring. "Let's talk in the hallway."
But how?
And... did that make her like me?
Miss Seras calmly waved the class to work on the next math problem, a ridiculous derivative that took up more than half the board in curving looping cursive scrawl, and walked into the hall, pausing in the door.
Did I dare deny her, or...
No. This was really an opportunity. I stiffened, fingers curled up into fists, and stepped outside with her. The hallway was vacant. Lazily, Seras looked around, and gestured at the side door.
"How'd you know?" I asked, heart racing. There was someone else. There was someone else!
"I'm better than you, Sam," Seras said, shifting the side door open with her pointed elbow. Where age had shifted most of the teacher softer, it had just made the older woman pointier and pointier. Like covered in knives, but brittle, like a sea creature.
"Yes, but better than me at what?"
"The power of the soul, mostly," Seras said, not looking at me for more than a moment.
My teeth clicked together.
The soul?
The soul was...
I looked up to make sure I heard her right and caught the shine of-
A gun was pointing at me from across the yard. Cradled in her pointed bony fingers.
Oh. This wasn't one of those moments where I'd finally learn something about myself in the magical place that was school.
This was one of those moments where the stupid kid gets punished for trusting his elders.
"Don't move, Sam, I'll make this quick and easy." I stared at her for a long moment, my eyes going wider and wider. Heart thumped. Staring at the gun.
Not where I wanted to be, but I couldn't move, couldn't hear anything except the rapid proliferation of my own thoughts, my own-
A bird screeched behind her, flying by, and her arm jerked as she whirled about.
She still shot the gun.
The bullet still hit me, parting through fabric and flesh like it was nothing, hitting everything and nothing all at once, and then hitting my shoulder like a sledge hammer.
It's not like in the movies where it knocks you back, but I fell to the ground like a cut puppet. Arm clutched the shoulder, the left hand twitching.
The crow screeched out again, and Seras stared at it, narrowing her eyes until it flew off.
More concerned with it than she was with me, bleeding out on the ground.
"Sorry about that, kid," Seras said, flicking her gaze back down to me.
Then she tossed the gun forward. I reached out with my good hand to catch it, and it stopped, yards in the air. Then moved without strings or logic.
The gun hovered between my eyes. No arm attached to it.
It was curious, because I'd never really taken a long look at a gun before, and it was all I could think about, because it was shiny, chrome, and reeked of spent gunpowder from the agonizing pain wracking my shoulder.
I swallowed again.
"Now, isn't it strange that, years after I've retired and done the hard work of vanishing from this very planet," Miss Seras said. "That suddenly, very suddenly, another psionic appeared here. Miraculously. Just as this body was getting old."
"I uh, I don't know what you're talking about," I jabbered, my tongue clipped by teeth. A long shudder of agony down my spine, a spiralling mass of hate and confusion. I hated, but I didn't hate enough to stop the bullet, and I hated, and I was scared, and I was terrified, but nobody was going to come save me this time, and the gun hovered in front of me with no strings attached.
"But really, this is sort of a benefit for me, isn't it?" She said, idly, the gun flicking to point at my heart instead. "Sorry Sam. It looks like it's time for me to graduate to something younger myself."
The gun went off.
Hot blood rose from my throat, bubbling from my lips, and my vision swam, and then oddly terrifying, there was this /shoving/ feeling as my mind
was tossed to the side
and left on the ground
Seras cried out using my lips. For a second, something vaguely smug reeked in her eyes, flickered across her face, and then she loosened back into blind panic and cried for help.
Her older body fell to the ground and slumped. Twitched. Muscles rolling. Vapid meat slapping against the ground. Drool pouring from her lips, seeded with blood.
and I had nothing.
-----
For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
| 2018-10-02T07:10:33
| 2018-10-02T06:12:08
| 214
| 85
|
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them
|
Sorthol the Immortal stepped out of his ship and onto the queer green land. The atmosphere smelled about 20% oxygen, and the lifeforms reflected it. Tiny little insects buzzed around him, he swatted at them absentmindedly, looking around for other signs of life. Smooth green hills roll away in all directions, most of them covered in oxygen producing mobile-life. Sorthol watched as his breath turns a deep blue in the warm air, and quickly dissipated. "Good." he said, nodding to himself.
About 5 units due north a small hermitages stretched before him, with many metal lodgings. *Looks like maybe a level 2 species.* he thought. *My bet's aviary.* he added, noticing the shiny quality of some of the lodgings. He set out towards them.
As he approached he can begin to hear the unique sounds of the civilization. A small constant rumbling vibrated the air around him. *Noisy critters. Must have no advanced predators.*
*Should be a piece of cake.*
Long loping strides, and he was nearly there. Paved land lead into the dwelling from many directions, and small metal boxes roam it. *Supply boxes, maybe?* he thought, scratching his forearm in thought. He continued to lope onward, and stopped only at the point where the paved land reached the buildings. Several of the boxes began to behave erratically, and he almost thought he sees little beings in them. Some of them stopped completely, and he saw eyes. *What are those?* he thought, looking back into them. He turned toward the city, and hundreds small of dots of little creatures roam between the lodgings. He loped toward the nearest he could see.
Swooping them up in his claws, he lifted the being up towards his eyes.
"Can you speak, little one?" he asked. The being was very clearly nervous, and scratched him frantically on the paw. "Mean little bugger, aren't you?" Sorthol asked, not without affection. The creature began to scream, a horrible little sound.
"Now, now." Sorthol found himself saying. "I didn't mean to hurt you, little ape." He lowered his paw, and the little one ceased screaming, and began to scurry away into a nearby lodging. "Poor little guy was shy, I guess." He muttered to himself. He surveyed the land. Several of the creatures had gotten out of their paved-land boxes, and were now holding up picture taking devices towards him. The look of awe and excitement on their faces stirred something deep within him, and he remembered how little ones of his own race are always excited about everything. *Dammit.* he thought to himself. *I can't kill these guys.* he realized.
*But I am going to tell everyone about how adorable they are.* he thought, imagining his friends reaction to the little critters. *Maybe we'll even take some of the cutest ones back, and put them in a little lodging of our own.* he thought, and began to take note of the architecture around him. *Shouldn't be too hard to replicate.* he paused. *Nah, I have a better idea.* he thought, reaching over. The metal box was not rooted very deep in the ground, and did not resist very long. *Ooh, maybe some of them are still in here.* he thought, turning back to his ship.
___
/r/Periapoapsis
|
(I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth.
| 2017-08-20T07:21:20
| 2017-08-20T07:16:42
| 1,830
| 25
|
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her.
|
The soldier held out the baby and struggled to stand up right. He was clearly beyond hope. From lips turning blue he said "P-please.. It's.. It's the princess...."
The dragon looked at him for the longest time and then said
"No"
A great door slammed in his face.
And thus ended the tale of Mjolnir the grumpy dragon.
|
"To my dearest Yvain
I was a dragon, strong and old stuck in a cave for a crime you should never know. How long has it been I wonder since I was out? For the last time I walked these grounds there was no town or city but forest ever so green.
This was where the magical beings stayed until the mortals arrived or so I'm told . As the magical beings left they soon forget of the little old me stuck in the cave, it's funny to how one lost is another gain, for the mortals or what you call humans found me. They started fight me not that they should try. I was never their enemy or even a foe but this all fell as did they all. They call me a monster as each hero failed to return thinking I had ate them when all I did was to freeze them is all I did. Is it really wrong to defend your home? When people come at you with axes and swords?
Anyhow as the kingdom grew so did their might, I was avoided as the forest around my cave grew thick and I didn't mind that or that's what I said for I wished for a friend or maybe someone that would stay in this cold cave of mine. Should have been more careful with my wish if not trouble would come, not that I'm saying your trouble more of a headache than murderous intent. For one day that man came with bruises and wounds that would have been deadly but he was determined to come and see me, a little nobody.
He came with you, the treasure he cared he begged me and asked me to take you in for that's where your destiny lie. "Please great dragon take this child" he started as he told me of what happened outside. He told me of how his kingdom had fallen and to how their enslaved. He spoke of your father and how he died protecting the country he once called home.
As he tried to preach to me to take you in I could see it in his face he was dying. Thus I stopped him half way telling him I was no great dragon but merely a mischievous one stuck in a cave. He stared at me with eyes I could never forget and said "but the stars tell me another story it's said that you two are bound by fate so please...." He never finish his sentence and I was left with you.
The first few years I wonder how it would go caring for a baby no older than a week old. Lucky I never killed for those people that came to attack me now are your caretaker,your teachers and friends to this little village we call home. Yet as time pass I never realize how your now old enough to take on your destiny and for me to take on mine.
If your wondering why I'm writing rather than telling you all these, it's because I've given up my life to make you stronger, maybe then your pain won't be as bad.
Take on my scales as I've asked them to make it armor so that the enemy can't push you down with their numbers for I worry their swords and arrows will Pierce your skin.
Take on the sword made from my scales for I know that's the only thing you can wield. You always refuse to fight not because your weak but because you know it's not right so take on this sword for it will protect you and those you wish. It's a sword fit you a queen
Take on my wings and let it be your mantle, let it warm you on those cold nights at war so you remember your not alone.
Take on my wisdom for I worry you'll be fool for the world there's many people that wish to take advantage of you my princess.
Take on my strength and let it be your own so you can succeed for that road to your success is filled with hardship and heartache however I'm sure you'll succeed with or without my help
Not that I'm complaining. I was happy to see you grow I never realize that these people could be so kind. I was lonely for so long forgotten by so many people, that I forgot warmth. Yet seeing you smile melted this cold heart of mine.
Do you remember your first words? I do it was tia.. that's what you called me. Me whom was nameless only being seen as a scary dragon people avoid. Yet you gave me a name with a smile on your face never once running away. That made me happy in this short life of mine..
I wished the stars let us met sooner than maybe this cold prison won't be as bad, however why am I to question fate for I have met you the sun in my life...
My destiny was to be released by you and was I ever, for you've released me from my pain and torture. From my solitude and silence, by bringing discord and happiness.
So please find your happiness... For I have already found mine in your smile....
Yours truly
The nameless dragon you call gon"
"But gon ....how can I be happy without you..."
Edit: comments are welcome please tell me if it's ok
| 2018-03-01T03:18:37
| 2018-03-01T01:48:12
| 21
| 13
|
[WP] The harder you are to kill, the more horrific your death will be. Having just survived a nuclear bomb, you're getting slightly worried.
|
It was two years into my tour and I was beginning to think nothing could kill me.
I had been baptized in shrapnel, my face reshaped by it. I had been shot over and over - in the knee, the gut, the neck, the eye. I had walked through burning cities and inhaled the toxic smoke, my lungs frothing with blood for days. I had even suffered the microbe bombs the Coalition had dropped, and the infections that followed. But that was all trivial compared to what I would endure next.
We arrived at their doorstep, and they got desperate. They didn't have anywhere else to run, and we didn't intend to let them even if they had. They knew this. So when we came prepared to burn everything, they saved us the trouble.
I was the only survivor of the forward battalion, but no one thought me lucky. Daily chemical baths made my skin feel like it was being scorched all over again. The veil between me and the most exquisite pain life could offer was ripped away violently. I eventually healed after a grueling road to recovery. Rather than relieve me, however, this made me lay awake at night.
You see, we had this superstition in the Corps. Plenty of people get lucky breaks, but there are a few who just seem to slap Lady Fate in the face. And those few? In the end, they got it the worst of all. "Never keep a lady waiting," was the saying we had. I had kept her waiting quite a long time, and this started to worry me.
That's when the growths began.
|
I gasped as I saw the wreckage of what used to be my home city, Markyis II. Rubbing the soot off my face, I begin to trek through the lonesome, silent city of rubble.
I look up at the sky, the mushroom cloud a few whips of white.
Closing my eyes, I remember my family and my daughter. I couldn't bare their disappearance in my life. Suddenly anxious, I rush through the debris towards where my house would be, ignoring the bodies and horrific sights around me. A lump forms in my through as I walked down our street. Our Olympian Street. I follow the houses by memory and look for remnants of post boxes to find the address of my home.
I stop at a house, hardly any different from the rest, reduced to a pile of wood and scrap. Tears well in my eyes as I stare at 79 Olympian Street.
I struggle to breathe. Holding my throat, I find myself wheezing for air. Anxiety was gripping at me. I knew what was in my house. A tear dripped down my cheek, followed by another and then some more. I collapsed to the asphalt in grief, clutching my chest.
"Hannah!" I yelled into the silent sky. My throat blocked and I choked on my emotions. All I wanted was somebody. Anybody.
I knew I'd have to die someday, but after surviving the atomic bombing of my home city, I could only think of worse ways to go. It formed as a quiet depression in my heart, then spread to me. Now living in a new city with lots of new people, the depression only grew. My sadness and grief overtook me, then PTSD, then anxiety.
Life wasn't worth living anymore. So now as I, Dominic Blake, am writing this letter, I bid you adieu. Goodbye, Mum.
| 2017-04-25T08:20:59
| 2017-04-25T07:36:55
| 19
| 12
|
[WP] Your family has always put alot of garlic into their foods. You always thought it was because garlic was delicious and lowers cholesterol, but other than that nothing else. That is, before you were abducted by vampires...
|
I don't know what was more horrifying--the popping noise when it bit into my neck, the subsequent screams, or the fact I couldn't see any of this because of the hood over my head.
Whatever the case I was terrified into action, and once my arms were released I ripped the hood from my face with bound hands. Before me was a choir of retching humanoids watching in awe as one of their own--the one that bit me--burst into vapors in a fit of maniacal screams.
It finally all made sense. The garlic. So. Much. Garlic. My friends never ate over at my place because they thought my parents were insane, putting so much garlic into everything. A nice pepperoni pizza from Domino's? Here's some minced garlic sprinkled on top. A coca-cola? Not as good as a coke with a healthy pinch of garlic powder. Coffee ice cream for dessert? No, *garlic* ice cream. To my friends I was a lost cause but having grown up eating so much garlic, I'd grown accustomed to it.
Now, the purpose was clear. It wasn't to nip cholesterol in the bud--it was to protect me against the undead!
The fangs of the vampire who bit me shattered and exploded before his entire body disintegrated. I clasped a hand over my neck wound to stymie the bleeding, and stumbled backward. I was in some sort of drippy cavern decorated in towering red velvet drapes, ancient tattered persian rugs on the uneven floor, and mountains of lit candles in every nook.
The spectacle over, the horde of 20 or so vampires turned their black eyes on me. As they began to approach, one of them stepped in the remains of its friend, and its boot began to sizzle. That's when I realized just how much garlic I'd been eating. I squeezed my neck and cupped some of the blood in my palms, and took a defensive stance.
"Alright you bastards," I said. "Come at me."
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff is me, come hang out!
|
Everything started when I moved away from home. My parents bought me garlic among other foodstuff. I was going to share my home with four other people who were also university students. It was different for sure, but I was glad the door to my room had a lock. I could have my privacy when wanted because after all now I was living with strangers.
I had fun. I was homesick for a while, but I made friends and became friendly with my flatmates. School was stressing though. I felt stupid so often that my motivation depleted. I didn’t get much stuff done and as time got closer to exam week lack of motivation started affecting everything else bit by bit - first I didn’t have time for my hobbies, next I didn’t sleep well and lastly I lost the energy to do basic human functions.
I felt like shit. I felt like an idiot who was wasting her tuition. I was waste of place, someone who shouldn’t exist. After the last exam I woke when I wanted to woke up, only leaving closer to afternoon to uni while trying and mostly pretending to pay attention at the classes I actually attended. I ate what I could at the cafeteria but at home I didn’t have energy to cook until it was almost night. As my negative feelings toward myself grew I let myself go. Sometimes I would stay in bed the whole day, only going to bathroom or eating a proper meal once a day. Sometimes I would go to uni and attend lectures, trying to understand the lecture and hating myself for everything I couldn’t understand.
Weeks went by and I didn’t have enough energy to do proper grocery runs. Garlic was forgotten as I lied to mom that everything was fine and that my studies were going well. Eventually I didn’t have enough energy to cook. That day I ate ham on a non-buttered bread. I left for uni late afternoon as I had to shower before daring to leave my apartment. I hadn’t brushed my hair nor my teeth. My hair was on a messy bun and I had been wearing same jeans and shirt for the whole week. Or like the two days I actually showed up to uni. I ate at uni and went back home.
I knew I had to go to the store again. I needed to buy food but I didn’t have energy to do that. I progastinated until dark when I finally decided to get what I needed - practically everything possible. Garlic had became small matter in my mind, but later I would try to remember how long I hadn’t been eating it. Long enough for my family’s enemy to find me and plan.
The store was close and my route was silent and lonely. No one would harm me in this safe neighborhood. Yeah right. Before I could realize that I was followed someone called me by my name. I felt something cold in my veins as I continued walking. I hadn’t heard footsteps before the voice talked. Only now I heard two different people walking only a few feet behind from me. I panicked, starting to run. In the next moment I crashed into someone, but before I could see who I had crashed into I felt a pair of hands on my eyes. After that I lost my consciousness.
After I woke up I learned that I was kidnapped by vampires because my blood was unnaturally tasty smelling. Why it was so was a mystery but the fact that my family eats garlic so religiously means they must know something I don’t right? I might never know.
| 2020-08-05T11:21:15
| 2020-08-05T11:21:05
| 55
| 12
|
[WP]Assasins live life as outcasts. Away from the public eye, they are hard to find. But they still get mail. You are the postman for a secret division of USPS that caters to these criminals.
|
The name on the envelope was barely legible. If the Postman looked closely at the smudged, rain-splattered ink, he could see that it said *The Viper*. Address unknown, of course. Just like all the other mail.
The Postman had made many deliveries to outcast assassins over the years. Most weren't that hard to find, really, once you knew where they liked to hide. Some had isolated cabins in the wilderness; others preferred fancy hotels with continental breakfast. There were a few who were slightly more extreme, bordering on mentally ill (like the Rat King, who lived with his trained rats in the sewers, teaching them not just how to kill but also how to add numbers and tap dance), but even they were able to receive mail.
The Viper, though, was an impossibility. The Postman had carried this particular envelope for twenty years. It would always sink to the bottom of his mail bag before inevitably rising up again, like a sea monster surfacing for air, to remind him of his failures. But no matter how many hotels he cased, how many woods he combed, or even how many sewers he walked through, the Postman could never find the Viper. In a way the assassin had become his white whale.
Once he found the Viper, the Postman figured, he could retire a happy man. Or at least a content one.
Today, finally, might be the day. The Postman had received a tip from the Rat King for Christmas. A holiday card with a gift certificate for knives ("You can use them as letter openers, probably," according to the postscript) and a message that said: "The Viper can be found at the beginning."
The Postman had mulled over the tip for weeks. The beginning of what? Time? Life? The universe? In the end he reached the only conclusion he possibly could.
The beginning of him. The beginning of everything.
And so the Postman found himself walking up the path to his childhood home. It had been abandoned for twenty years, or so he thought; the windows were now brightly curtained and smoke was unfurling from the chimney. The snow on the worn brick path was sloshy in some areas, treacherously icy in others, but the Postman didn't mind. These little surprises were what kept the job interesting. And it kept his mind off what was waiting for him in the house ahead. What if he didn't want to retire? What if he didn't want to deliver the envelope he'd held onto for twenty years? In a way it had become a part of him, and that part didn't want to let go.
But all things must come to an end. Even the bad things. Even this.
The Postman knocked on the door. For a moment he was certain it wouldn't open, that it had in fact never been opened in his lifetime, but then it did and he found himself looking at the Viper.
He hadn't seen the Viper in twenty years.
The Postman should have hated the Viper, should have taken out one of his letter-opener knives and slit the man's throat. That was what he would have done ten years ago, anyway, or even five years ago. How could he forgive a man who had left his only child at a Training Academy for a Secret Division of the Post Office? How could he believe a man who had said, "I love you, I am doing this to keep you safe," but then vanished without a trace?
But time changes us all. Even the Postman. And, surprisingly, even the Viper.
The Viper looked at the Postman for a long time. Then he reached out for the envelope. Both men knew what would be in the letter: the furious words of an abandoned son, the upset pleas for his father to return. The pain of a child who had been protected in such a way he wished he had never been born at all. The Viper knew all this, and though he would make the same choice all over again he also knew he deserved to be hated. He had accepted it long ago.
But the Postman was older now, and he'd had to make sacrifices along the way too. How many times had he priotized the mail over other aspects of his life? How many times had he repeated "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night" and trudged on as if he'd never been called anything other than the Postman? And what did he want more: to deliver a letter he'd written so long ago he could barely remember what was in it, or to regain what he had lost?
Before the Viper could take the envelope, the Postman tore it in half. Then in half again. But then he hesitated. What next? It wasn't customary for graduates of the Training Academy to socialize with assassins (other than the annual holiday card, of course).
The Viper understood all of this. He opened the door wider, an invitation to return home. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
The Postman knew he could either leave the Viper behind the way he'd been left behind twenty years ago, or he could make what might perhaps be an even more difficult decision and stay. All those years, all that mail delivered, and in the end it had all come down to this: leave or stay.
He stayed.
|
“Just two today?” You asked.
“Yeah, seems the virus has even got these guys scared,” your manager replied, without so much as glancing in your direction.
“Alright, short day then,” you said blissfully as you leave the stock room with the deliverables in your hand.
In your left hand is a yellow envelope, petite, but made from a heavier grade paper than what you’d usually find. The front of it is adorned with a beautiful spiral etching, just faint enough to be seen when held up to the sunlight. On the back, a pressed seal, depressed deeply by a stamp in the shape of a circle. To an untrained eye this might look nothing more than a wedding invitation, but you knew the instant you saw it that it wasn’t going to be a short day.
“Crud, this one’s for him,” you murmured under your breath.
“What, ya say something?” Your manager shouts back at you from inside.
You quietly tuck the envelope inside your jacket and hurry out of the post office.
In your right hand is a small black box, not much bigger than the ones used for jewellery. Suede on the outside with no seal. Strange, you thought to yourself, these things are usually sealed. Someone must’ve messed up if they forgot.
A dangerous thought crosses your mind. You’ve always wanted to see what was in these packages. Was it name? A phone number? An object? You can’t, you argue to yourself. It’s a federal offence to open someone’s mail. Even mail that belongs to “them.”
What if you opened it and you knew the person? Or the thing? Or even if you didn’t know them but could do something to help? Would you just pretend like you didn’t see it? You shuddered at the thought as you got into your van.
Best not. It’d be too much trouble.
—
The whole drive over you supressed your urge to open the box. And now that you’ve finally arrived in front of the metal gate, you’re wondering what the harm could be? The box looks easy enough to open, and doesn’t seem difficult to close.
You tug the top of the box lightly, and feel that the lid has a little bit of a spring, like what you’d find in ring boxes.
*Sigh*
You look up at the gate in front of you.
“No, not today,” you said aloud, as you tuck the box into your other jacket pocket.
—
It takes longer than usual for someone to answer the buzzer.
“Yes?” a mechanically altered voice comes through the speakerphone.
“Mail,” you replied sternly, as you’ve been instructed to do.
“For?”
“One for him, and a small box.”
“For?”
You paused. Wait a minute, you thought. The box had no mark or symbols, and nothing was attached to it. Usually there’s some type of indication on the mail to identify who (or what group) it was for, at least in a general sense.
“Uhm, it’s just a small black box, nothing on it.”
“Black?” the voice replied.
“Yeah.”
“Bring it to the door.”
The gate starts opening. Wait. They want you to go to the door? This has never happened before. They usually just ask you to put it down by the gate and leave.
“Hold on, can’t I just leav—“ you stop when you realize that the speakerphone has already been disconnected. Well fuck, you thought. You don’t want to walk up to the door but you also don’t want to piss off whoever was speaking to you just now.
After a deep breath, you walk up the marbled walkway up to the door. The door swings open, and a man stands behind it with his face covered by a mask. Was this a covid precaution? Or did they always do this?
“The letter?” asked the man in the doorway.
“He-here,” you stuttered as you pulled out the yellow envelope from you jacket and handed it over.
He examines the envelope in his hand for several seconds and looks back at you.
“Now show me the box.”
You pull the box out from your jacket slowly, making sure not to open it by accident. The man, standing perfectly still, looks at the box for a few seconds then looks up at you.
“Come in,” he commanded.
“Oh, I think I’ll just drop these off with you if that’s alright.”
“Now.”
“O—okay.” you said.
You walk through the marble doorway. A mansion with a beautiful spiral staircase greeted you. On the left side is a living room with a ceiling that seems to span three storeys, and the right an indoor garden complete with bamboo shoots.
“Up the stairs, first door to your left.” The man said as he watched you come in.
“Thanks,” you responded impulsively.
You start up the stairs with your pace hurried and your heart-rate quickened.
The first door to your left was a black door covered in a suede material. Matches the box, you thought to yourself, but an odd choice for a door. The door appeared closed at first but was actually open by a smidge.
You knock on the suede. No response. The suede doesn’t do well for knocking.
“Hello?” you asked.
No answer. So you decide to slowly push the door open.
The door was heavy, much heavier than you imagined. Inside was a windowless room. A bright lamp hung at the top but otherwise there was no other source of light. A wooden table sat in the middle of the room.
You walk to the table quickly and place the box at the centre. Hurriedly, you make your way back to the door but see that the door is closed somehow. You look down and realize that there’s no door handle on the inside. Somebody had closed it from the outside.
Your heart races.
“Hey!” You shout at the top of your lungs. “I can’t get out!”
You pound on the door from the inside. No one answers.
You shout again while hammering the door with your fist. The room is eeriely quiet on the inside, almost like its sound proof.
And then you stop. Your heart sinks as your brain overcomes the initial fight-or-flight instinct.
You look back at the small black box on the table and slowly make your way towards it. Your hands trembling as you picked up the box from the table.
Your eyes darted to the inside of the box as you open the lid.
Nothing. The box was totally empty.
There was no name, no number, and no message in the box.
You stood in confusion and shock for a moment.
It was in that moment the truth dawned on you—the message was the box.
The room suddenly goes dark; and that was the last you ever saw of light.
| 2020-06-22T02:31:11
| 2020-06-22T02:22:16
| 1,255
| 45
|
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
|
Oh our first date, she leant forward, donned her prettiest smile and asked me "What are your words?"
"Oh.." I said shyly "They're nothing meaningful" I told her. My words were different, something beyond my comprehension, for now at least.
She leant backwards with a grin "Are you scared you'll secretly be my soul mate or something?" she said with a laugh. "Show me"
I rolled up my sleeve, and twisted my arm so she could see the words
*DEEZ NUTS*
|
Our wedding day was the most amazing day of my life. He was, I believed then, perfect in every way. Truly my soul mate. Tall and handsome, I had first caught his eye in high school during a football game; he the dashing quarterback and me the hot cheerleader. You may think this was cliché but it wasn't like that at all. I was the top of my class, heading for Harvard or maybe MIT. He was a jock but, like me, had great grades and was talking about a career in law.
We both ended up in college together and kept dating through our graduation. When he proposed, he was sweet and romantic, getting down on one knee in front of my family. He even commented on our matching engravings. His said "I didn't want this to end." He was sure that I would say that too him on his death bed.
Mine said "I love you." That's what he saw. I love you. It was pretty lame.
It was in our third year of marriage that things began to go wrong. He had become a police officer while I was doing my masters. The work he was doing began to change him in subtle ways. Then I got pregnant. I was thrilled but he only pretended to be. I could see it in his eyes.
After the baby was born, he became more withdrawn. He began to work late, volunteering for more shifts. I suspected he was having an affair and I could have lived with that. My mistake was that I challenged him. That was the night he first hit me.
It went on. And on. I don't know why I stayed. I did and perhaps you will judge me for that. I know I will be judged for the final night.
He came home drunk. I was angry and we fought again. This time, he really hurt me. While he slept, I found his back up gun. I hadn't intended to wake him but when he woke, I said, "I didn't want this to end." He looked up at me and said "God, no, don't shoot!"
I did. Then I went into the bathroom and finally removed the make up I had used to conceal the last words engraved on my skin. Gone was the falsehood, "I love you." Now I understood the four words that my parents had made me hide my whole life.
| 2015-08-08T13:04:02
| 2015-08-08T12:02:09
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] You just lucked into getting root access to the very fabric of reality; unfortunately you know nothing about terminal commands.
|
♡ _
Hovering in my view about two feet in front of me, the cursor slowly blinked. I had seen those pictures of Lunix desktops with the translucent terminal over a background of mountains and it was just like this. Just everywhere I looked it stayed in view.
♡ _
Well, sort of. There was a heart rather than the dollar sign I'd see in those pictures. I'm sure whoever did this thought they were being clever.
♡ _
But now what? I don't have a keyboard. "How am I supposed to use this?" I asked nobody.
♡ How am I supposed to use this?
Bad command or file name
♡ _
"Oh. OK."
♡ Oh. OK.
Bad command or file name
♡ _
I guess I need to think before I speak. I doubt there is an instruction manual. "Help?"
♡ Help?
RealTerm v0.6.3a (C) 3764 PhoenixDeVry Supercomputing Labs
If you want a list of all supported commands speak help all
A short list of the most often used commands:
<PER> People View.
<CP> Changes the current person.
<COPY> Copy people.
<DEL> Delete people.
<EDIT> Edit fabric.
♡ _
"PER"
♡ PER
Volume in drive E: is Earth
Volume Serial Number is 41969204-b38e-47d6-8be6-8c5f3d81c277
Person E:\Australerica\Brazil\Washingt~5\UnsubstantiatedClaim
16/43/3768 25:43 <PER> .
16/43/3768 25:43 <PER> . .
16/43/3769 06:17 Eyes.fab
16/43/3769 06:17 Skin.fab
16/43/3769 06:17 Hair.fab
16/43/3769 06:17 Skills.fab
64/11/3790 23:58 Dimensions.fab
65/11/3790 14:54 Achievements.fab
♡ _
The hours slip by as I EDIT my fabric files and change to other people. Finally I get curious about the DEL command. Choosing to be deliberate, I speak slowly. "DELE-"
♡ DEL E:
------------------------
Edit: spelling and formatting
|
"I saw this on a video before, let's try this..." <typing slowly>
F-O-R-M-A-T <space> C-<colon> <Enter.>
What's this? Yes or No? Why , yes of course. <typing> Y <Enter.>
Now what's supposed to happen? Nothing is happening. Is it getting darker? What's that noise? Wha..........
| 2016-08-05T14:33:22
| 2016-08-05T14:09:30
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] Steampunk is Victorian. 1930s Steampunk is Dieselpunk. Write one of the following: Windmillpunk, Knightpunk, Ironpunk, Bronzepunk, Copperpunk, Stonepunk, Dinosaurpunk, Amoebapunk.
~~Stolen from~~Inspired by a throwaway joke in [this](http://www.cracked.com/article_22732_6-baffling-first-drafts-famous-movies.html) article.
|
Oog say him start new thing. Dug not heard of new thing. Oog am call it "firepunk". Dug think Dug heard of fire. Dug not know what punk am.
Oog am put fire on him head fur. Oog scream like hurt pig and run to river.
Oog learn put fire on thing not make thing firepunk. Oog am poser.
|
I won't lie to you, I've made my fair share of enemies. Most of them have been gram-negative amd rod shaped- hell, it seems like the whole *Escherichia* crew has my number these days- but I've also never been above sliding a feeding cup into the anterior end of a "friend" if it looked as though his heterolobose psuedopodia were bulging in the direction of trouble. On the one hand, it's kept me moving even when times get tight, but it also means that I have to keep my chemosensory pathways open night and day. I can't afford to build up a cellulose ectocyst and wait for things to blow over like most guys. At the slightest shift in osmotic pressure, I've got to be ready to synthesize a few flagella and get to spinnin', if you know what I mean.
It's this propensity for running that got me into my current mess. You see, I left the colony 6 hours ago and I'm just now comfortable enough to stop swimming and slide back into my trophozoite form. On the plus side, I don't think I was followed, and there are enough dissolved organic particulates that I can fill myself to bursting via pinocytosis. As a drawback though, I can't exactly start mitosis unless I have a quorum...and that very well may include some of the same *fowleri* I've been trying to stay away from. It's a tough life, but sometimes you just gotta go where the waters take ya.
| 2015-07-06T17:14:22
| 2015-07-06T15:35:52
| 33
| 10
|
[WP] You sold your soul to the devil and you've never felt better, the only problem is he keeps showing up to beg you to take it back.
|
"MORTAL, PREPARE THYSELF FOR MY VISAGE"
I felt the all too familiar migraine of the demonic voice moments before Satan materialized himself, sitting opposite of me in the corner booth at Chili's.
"Hey again," I said trying to hide the irritation in my voice as Satan took a handful of chips and dipped them in salsa. He took one bite and coughed.
He followed up by taking a big swig of _my_ water. "Ugh, this is a little spicy don't you think?"
"Don't worry, there's queso on the way for you too."
His face lit up just a bit before regaining his composure and getting to business. "Yes well, humoring me with your earthly delectable won't spare you. I'm come to bargain..."
"Listen man, it's fucking Thursday at 11 oclock and I haven't had lunch yet. You do this at least once a week, so can we please at least just cut the show and act normal for once."
Satan let out an over dramatic gasp, "Well, somebody's hangry."
I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself. "You're right, sorry. I didn't mean to snap. So what's up?"
The air of arrogance hung around Satan for a few moments before finally dissipating as he looked down and asked a sincere question, "How the hell did you ever _deal_ with this?"
The waiter dropped off the plate of queso for the devil and went on his way as Satan poured it over the bowl of chips.
"I mean, it's just so... heavy. There's so much chaos and emptiness, and the confusion mixes with an inexplicable drive. It's a fucking paradox. You're always empty but you always want more of something, but you don't know what that something even is even though it pushes to you to find it. It's exhausting."
His eyes were bloodshot, but not as a result of some demonic manifestation. No, this was something more mundane. The devil hadn't been able to sleep.
"Iunno," I managed to muffle out as I stuffed another onion ring into my mouth. "I don't know what to tell you man. All I know is that you made a deal, so it's your problem now."
Satan let out a heavy sigh, "But it's your _soul_. It's _your_ soul. _It's_-"
I took a sip of my diet coke before cutting him off, "You know putting different emphasis on the phrase doesn't really work right?"
He slumped back down into the booth and crossed his arms in feint protest. "Well, I'm trying to make a point."
"Yea, and a bad one at that. I honestly don't know how you even managed to convince people to go through with this. You have to be the worst salesman in history." I went to grab another chip before remembering that the devil slathered queso all over them. I was about to protest when I looked over and finally made the realization.
He was avoiding eye contact. He was slouching, sitting on his hands, head tilted away with his eyes pretending to read the label on the ketchup bottle. And that's when it hit me.
"Holy shit. I'm your first one!"
Satan scoffed and nervously fumbled over his words, "What?! NO! Bullshit. I've done this hundr-THOUSANDS of times. For years. You're nothing but a spec in the sea of torment!"
I sat back amused, "Uh-huh. So that's probably why you look like you haven't slept right. All those hundreds of souls in torment, wailing. Must keep you up at night."
"Uhhhh, yes, Hundred of them. Always wailing in torment."
"I thought you said millions?"
"I did."
"No you didn't. You said thousands."
"Fuck. That's what I meant."
"That's bullshit and you know it."
Satan was about to protest but his exhaustion took over and he demurred. He simply took another chip from the bowl. "It's not I haven't tried before. But people never really took the bait. They were either too brainwashed with the dogma crap or too arrogant to think they didn't need me. Not to mention there's barely any actual mention of me in the book, so it's not like there's a direct line for me. It's just poor exposure really."
"That's fine. But seriously though, is mine the first soul you've traded for?"
"Yes."
"Is it _that_ bad?"
Satan slowly nodded, "you have no idea."
"Uh, actually I'm pretty sure I do.'
"Then tell me how the hell to deal with it! This is driving me insane. This weight in my chest, the constant self doubt, the insecurities, the highs, the lows. It's so inconsistent! Are all souls like this?"
"I guess? It's just something that happens. Sometimes you're really motivated and other times you just feel tired. Happens to the best of us"
"You know what I did last week? I possessed some 32 year old woman and we just stayed in and watched Netflix all weekend."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
"I mean, well no. I caught up on Wentworth. But still, I should be out there _doing_ something! This can't be all there is to it. There has to be more!"
"That's the soul talking."
"Gah. you're right. Just get this thing out of me. Please. I'll give you whatever you want. You can write the contract this time. Same thing we did last time, your terms for your soul. How about it?"
"Ehh, I don't know. I'll think about it. For now lets just finish lunch. I ordered you the pasta so it should be ready soon. Did you want more chips and queso?"
The devil closed his eyes to stop the tears from welling up, "yes please."
|
**Bathroom:**
Nothing stopped him from showing up inadvertent, not even my toxins hitting the toilet's silent edges on a gloom monday morning. As I was in the middle of the act, a smell like sulphur invaded my nostrils to which I smiled proudly and concerned. I achieved the most disgusting smell of my entire life or so I thought.
Searing shadows like smoke materialized beside me obliterating my achievement. "Mo-Mortal w-what are you doing, stop it!" Screamed the Devil trying to block my precious stream of toxins pushing his arms forward.
"Holy golden shower baby, it's good for the sunburns you shrimp motherfucker!" I yelled as I bathed his infernal skin. His smell like sulphur combined with my cascade's made me vomit, of course I vomited violently all over his mighty horns.
"I can't see anything mortal, what have you just done, what is this?"
"That's what happens when you interrupt my holy peeing session. Don't forget it." I said, mocking him and giving him the fingers.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**The First Breakfast:**
It's been years since I sold my soul to the Devil, I remember his hideous laughter lasting so ridiculously long I started laughing too. Thing is, the next morning he came back begging for me to take my soul back as it mocked him constantly and the other souls lost all the respect they had for him. Typical of my soul, you know the saying: like owner, like soul.
Today, the morning shone brightly through my window as I stretched vigorously letting out some slight moans. I could already smell the sulphur in my kitchen, strange thing, he never showed up in a different room from where I am.
I peeked through the doorway just to find my favourite and only wooden table disintegrated slowly with each one of the Devil's tears like corrosive acid.
"Satan, little bitch, stop crying you are ruining my mighty table dude!" I yelled as I stomped my way towards him.
He lifted his head up, his void-like eyes were now glassy as though they were perfectly polished. "Mortal, your soul dethroned me, I don't have nowhere else to go, I'm lost." He sobbed, his extremities trembled.
I had to hide my pride but it was difficult, "are really you saying my handsome, erudite, eloquent soul dethroned you or is this one of your crafty plans?" Either edges of my mouth clashed in an eternal fight against my urges to smile twitching awkwardly.
"No, he really did. It was a nightmare," his tears were now destroying my kitchen's floor. "Are you okay mortal? Your mouth is quivering strangely." He added.
I had to save my floor somehow and I fucked up. "That beautiful bastard of my soul... oh, if you want you can crash here until you plan your revolution." I said, without thinking.
The tears stopped, he got up, put on a pink apron, "what would you like to eat? Toasts of Eternal Suffering with Painful Jam or Agonizing Eggs with Screaming Bacon?
He never left. Now I only wonder how well my soul is ruling Hell.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoyed, you can check /r/chasisoxidado for more!
| 2017-07-06T07:37:41
| 2017-07-06T05:27:31
| 345
| 19
|
[WP] It's 2077, and Tourist Time Travel has been approved. The most popular trip by far isn't to see the birth of Christ, Steve Jobs or dinosaurs, but to a Thursday in August, 2026. Your spouse just got you tickets.
|
Did you know that winning the lottery works out terribly for almost everybody who wins? Most people can't handle that kind of sudden influx of cash. After all, the sort of slack-jawed mouth-breathers who play scratchers tickets never really think ahead to what they're going to do with the money. If they had that kind of foresight they wouldn't be the sort of people who needed to play the lotto, obviously. Most of them end up worse off than they were before - bankrupt, or in horrible debt.
I won the lottery once. Well, my wife did, but she'd written down both of our names.
The Timers had first showed up five, six years earlier - it's amazing how quickly you can adapt to things. When I was in high school, I had a pager. Ten years later I had a pocket computer that could hold video-phone calls through the use of space satellites, and I didn't have a problem with that. Now, five years after the arrival of time travelers fro the future, they were just another type of famous person.
There were a hundred of them - all smart, tall, fit, beautiful. They popped out in a swirling purple singularity on the front lawn of the White House during the last days of the Obama administration. That was more than enough to show they were legit, but then they set up shop in cities throughout the world, building their time portals with secret future technologies. For awhile, only the super-rich could go- they'd pop back seconds after they'd left, talking about the wonders of the Gettysburg address, or being able to see the Cubs win a World Series (which you had to travel a hundred years into the past to do, haha).
People protested. Said that it was dangerous - that by traveling to the past we were endangering our present. And that by traveling to our present, the Timers were endangering *their* present.
I should have thought of that. Should have thought of what could be so important that they'd risk that.
Then they announced the Lottery. 20,000 people would be selected from a drawing, to travel to August 2026- the day, they said, mankind finally made contact with aliens. The day that we discovered time travel. The day that everything changed.
My wife won. We were given a list of approved clothing - stuff that wouldn't arouse suspicion. I wore jeans and a t-shirt, which was apparently timeless. And people still wear Converse in twelve years, obviously. My wife was allowed to wear her Marine Corps camo, which was also still in use in the future. In retrospect, quite a few of the people in line were wearing uniforms of that type.
As we lined up, the swirling purple void began to open up in front of us, and the Timers began to wave us on.
Just as I passed through the vortex, it occurred to me that the Timers looked like they were sweating.
Half a second later I was knocked off my feet by the concussive force of a huge explosion. Gravel rained down upon me, and smoke choked my lungs.
As I opened my stinging eyes and looked up, I could see the ragged, flaming half of the Gateway Arch above me. Underneath it looked like the Mississippi River was boiling.
"Craig!" My wife helped me to my feet, and I saw in her eyes a look I'd only seen a few times, when he awoke screaming in the night remembering the things she'd seen in Iraq. This was her combat face.
This was a war.
More Timers were there, helping people to their feet, and - unbelievably - handing them weapons. Rifles of some bizarre make, rifles that seemed to fire hideous bolts of purple plasma. I realized why the Timers were all young and fit and beautiful.
They were soldiers.
*"Everybody fall in!"* A voice bellowed, and my wife helped me over to the group. This was a different side of her, a side I hardly knew.
*"In case you haven't caught on yet, you've been tricked,"* the man said, *"Welcome to August 2026, the last month of humanity. You're here because without reinforcements, Earth is going to get wiped out by the Temporals. They're trying to take our planet, and we're not going to let them. DO NOT TRY TO GO BACK THROUGH THE PORTAL. They are one-way, and it will shred your ass to pulled pork if you try."*
Someone tried anyway.
I threw up.
*"These are T-97 Phased Pulse rifles. They do not run out of ammunition. I wish we had more time... haha... more time to go over things, but unfortunately the timestream is kind of damaged at this end. We can only take you here. To this day. This Thursday. But we have something the aliens don't have. We have 20,000 reinforcements pouring through holes to nowhere right now, and we are going to kick some fucking ass!"*
I looked at my wife. She looked back at me. I drew webcomics for a living, did I mention?
I picked up my rifle and nodded.
"Let's kick some fucking ass," I said.
|
“The most extraordinary event in human history is yet to come,” my eyes are already rolling into the back of my head.
“See it now? Really?”
My girlfriend looks way too excited. I still can’t tell if she’s messing with me or not, but I’m starting to get worried it’s the latter.
“This sounds like the plot for a Scyfy movie of the week.. you know that right?”
“Yeah, crazy huh?”
“Yes, it is crazy. And the crazy looks like it’s starting to rub off on you.”
“Already got us two tickets.”
“To crazy town?”
“Ha -- ha. Google it.” She walks away like she isn’t out of her mind.
I Google it.
I had read about this before, but I still couldn’t believe what I was reading. Leave it to mankind to invent something as extraordinary as time travel solely for the purpose of furthering our commercial interests and not our scientific ones. A, “Fourth Dimensional Experience,” or a “4-D (For-dee)” for short.
While the porn industry is still trying to wrap their heads around creating 4D Adult experiences, the most popular use has been relegated to sightseeing.
Apparently you select a date, and a time, and you and your party, (Discounts on 8 or more!) are sent back with a guide (lunch is provided) in order to witness a time span ranging anywhere from 2 to 12 hours.
Most people hire a 4D travel agent who helps plan the date and time in order to maximize the experience. The most popular travel destinations are pretty much what you’d expect: Death of christ, Dinosaurs, some people even want to check out the ice age (which seems kind of boring, if you ask me) -- yadda, yadda.
But *apparently* my girlfriend has gotten tickets for this trendy new destination that everyone is talking about.
“Hey,” my girlfriend comes back into the room, “What’s this August 15th, 2026 date all about?”
“It’s supposed to be really cool, everyone at work is *raving* about it.”
Ugh. “Can’t we do something a little more traditional, see dinosaurs or something?”
“Lame. You just want to do some touristy crap? This is supposed to be the coolest new destination. We can always go see Dinosaurs.”
“Well, I mean, technically it’s time travel -- we can always do anything at any time…”
“I NEVER get to pick where we go or what see. Plus I already bought the tickets. We’re doing this. No stupid Dinosaurs.”
“I bet it’s boring…”
“Fine. I can just go by MYSELF, then.”
I know she doesn’t mean that, ever. Sometimes I wish she did though.
A couple weeks pass and the day of our trip finally comes. I spend most the morning and afternoon pouting around and just generally being miserable leading up to the trip. It’s my usual routine when we do something I don’t like.
But, I will say, when we DO finally get there, the whole set-up is actually pretty cool.
“See?” She’s smiling. She’s always pretty smug whenever this happens when after despite all my whining, I actually do start to have a bit of fun.
“Yeah yeah.. this is kind of cool actually.”
“I told you!”
I move up the annoying little seat divider between the two of us, and we cuddle up while the 4D machine finishes traveling to our destination. The seats are pretty comfortable, I gotta say. I put back my recliner and start to take a look at the drink menu as the window to our viewing deck finally begins to open up.
“Oh cool, we’re here already, this --”
“-- holy shit.”
It’s gone. All of it. The land is completely scorched. Buildings are toppled over and the sky is a dirty, foggy black. At first I actually think it might be snowing before I realize it’s only small bits of ash barely floating -- mostly suspended in mid air.
“Alright folks, this is one of our quickest attractions actually, I hope you’ve enjoyed ourselves. If you want to take any photos in front of our viewing deck, just let an attendant know. Otherwise, we’ll be preparing to return any minute now.’
Nobody moves or says a word.
We get back and exit the 4D machine as we’re handed a coupon for 20% off our next visit. Neither of us say anything as we make our way to the car.
I finally break the silence before opening the driver side door, “Next time…”
“Yeah, I know…”
“... We’re going to a movie.”
| 2014-07-27T04:19:50
| 2014-07-27T01:11:58
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] Write a story where the antagonist is doing something obviously horrible, but by the end of the story make me want to side with him over the good guy.
|
He slid the knife down my cheek, so sharp that I couldn't even feel it part the skin. I only knew it left a mark when I felt the thin trickle of blood down my neck.
"Where is she?" he asked again, flipping the knife dexterously between his fingers. I could see my own blood coating the fine blade.
"You'll never find her," I taunted him. I needed his attention focused on my face while I grasped at the rope bound around my wrists, trying to see if there was any way I could somehow slip out or get away. But he'd done a damn good job at tying my hands. He'd always been meticulous.
"Oh, I'll find her," he responded. The confidence in his voice was overwhelming. "One way or another. You can tell me, or I can kidnap a hundred of your friends from the Brotherhood. And I can do the exact same thing to them." He slid the knife up my arm for emphasis, leaving a red stripe that began to seep outwards. "99 of them will probably defy me, just like you. 99 of them would rather die than tell me where the ritual will be taking place. But if I have learned anything in my journey, it is that there is always a coward. There will *always* be one who will break before the knife even touches his flesh." He wiped the blood off the blade using my pant leg.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
He took the seat across from me, sheathing his weapon for the time being.
"You know *exactly* why I'm doing this. Your brotherhood kidnapped her in the night---"
"We didn't *kidnap her*! She *came with us* willingly when we showed her the scrolls."
"No!" He bared his teeth like a caged animal. "She wouldn't have done that. She would have come to me first. She would have brought me!"
"She didn't," I answered calmly.
"And that's how I know you're lying," he answered. He stood again and went over to his table to select another torture implement.
"You can't ignore destiny!" I shouted, pulling against my ropes with all my might. "She *is* the one from the prophecy! She is the only one who can save the Kingdom!"
"I don't care about the kingdom," he answered. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. "I don't care about the king. I don't care about the queen. I don't care about magic, or about some far-off wizard's plans. I don't care about the Brotherhood, or about the Prophecy. The only thing I care about is getting my sister back and keeping her safe." He held up the knife again, and his tone grew hard and cold. "Now where is she?"
|
"I'm not sure why I need to keep explaining this." I wandered around the room while the man tied to the chair tried to look toward my voice. "When billionaires are keeping people poor and hungry, and when governments are either doing nothing to stop them or engaging in wholesale facilitation of these people's treachery and their own populations' poverty, a private entity has to step up. Your governments have failed you. I consider it my job not to do the same."
The guy shook his head. "But you can't just kidnap a bunch of corporate executives and hold them ransom! That's not a way to achieve social change!"
I sighed. "First, let's revisit your word choice." Priorities, you know. And the ropes seemed to be holding pretty well. "You say *can't*. You're describing something I've already done. So clearly, I can. A better choice would be *shouldn't*. Then we'd have something to talk about."
"Okay," he said, gritting his teeth. "You shouldn't kidnap a bunch of corporate executives."
"Why not?"
"It's wrong!" More rope-related struggling. He seemed to be trying to fray one of the ropes now, by rubbing it against part of the chair leg. I felt a bit bad for him--that would take forever.
"What's wrong about it?"
"You don't treat people that way!" he shouted.
"Word choice again. *You* don't. *I*, on the other hand--well, okay, I don't treat everyone like that. But these guys? They're awful human beings. Like, whatshisname from the pharmaceutical company? When those heartburn pills were outlawed in the US for causing increased stroke risk, you know what he did?"
The guy shrugged.
"He sent a memo ordering the company to push them in southeast Asian countries. You know, where there's less regulation. He actually killed people doing that." I dropped into an easy chair near him, though I kept myself hidden. "I've got examples like this for everyone I've got chained in that vault. They actively make the world worse, they're filthy rich from doing that, and they seem to be inaccessible by regular laws."
He had stopped struggling and seemed to be thinking about what I'd said. "I get that they're awful," he said, "and I didn't know that about the drug thing. But you can't--you shouldn't kidnap people."
"What was I supposed to do? I've tried advocacy, letters to Congress, online petitions. I used to blog about this stuff. None of it made a dent. And then I got the powers of flight and invisibility, and I thought, you know, now I can actually do something."
He cocked his head. "So you've got superpowers. That doesn't excuse the kidnapping. You've still got me prisoner, for example. Who have I killed?"
I shrugged. "No one I know of. But you broke into my home in the middle of the night. I'm a single woman living alone. It was kind of creepy."
"I didn't think of it that way. I was just trying to fight super-villainy."
I smiled. "So was I."
| 2015-06-19T09:51:13
| 2015-06-19T09:34:27
| 98
| 44
|
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories.
|
A real call I got once:
Me: "Necro Support, how can I help you?"
Them: "I'm not able to reanimate a corpse!"
Me: "Okay what line in the spellbook did you try exactly?"
Them: "SIR, I am NOT a necromancer person so I don't know."
Me: "Do you know which spellbook you're using?"
Them: "I don't know what that is!"
Me: "Okay, when you look at the spellbook, do you see a blue N, or a multic..."
Them: "SIR, I ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT I AM NOT A NECROMANCER PERSON, YOU'RE REFUSING TO HELP ME SO I'M GOING TO HANG UP"
|
"You... you have who?" I ask, hoping that what I heard was incorrect.
"Marilyn Monroe, I'm gonna use her for\-"
"Sir I apologize but we don't support grave robbing\-"
"But\-"
"Of famous people" I interject quickly. Confusion seems to be radiating off my phone and I wish I could just hang up now.
"Well I mean I already have it..." I let out a sigh.
"Sir, she's been Embalmed and dead for fifty years. There probably isn't much left of the poor woman!"
"Yeah there really isn't, bones are all barely connected at this point."
"Wait, you are aware the spell won't repair any damage, right?"
"Oh I know, I really don't think\-" I hit disconnect and rip off my head set and let out a sigh. My phone begins to ring again as I push away from my desk. My supervisor raises an eyebrow at me ignoring the phone.
"Necromancer," I stare at the information on my computer again, "Mark has committed a class 14 breach of contract." My supervisor rolls his eyes as he walks past me.
"That makes 3 today so far, slow start." he says as he takes a sip of his coffee. Pain throbbed through my head as it connected with the desk. The most annoying part was he was right, it was a slow day.
| 2018-04-28T00:14:14
| 2018-04-27T23:38:04
| 237
| 102
|
[WP] An powerful ancient being has been held captive by an interstellar civilisation. After eons of being held captive, it has accidentally freed by humans, who've not been to the "galactic stage" for long...
|
The first anomalies in the cosmic microwave background were detected by sub-sentient AI programs monitoring humanity's deep space telescope networks. The anomaly became a question, and then a mystery, and then a shocking realization, as subsequent analysis with orbital telescopes and gravitational interferometers confirmed the full scope of an impossible truth.
Somehow, the Milky Way's distribution of dark matter -- the unseen energy whose gravity binds our galaxy together -- was being modulated. The scale of the effect was staggering, with self-consistent patterns stretching across 10,000 lightyears. The origin was clearly artificial. Deep signal analysis revealed multiple, cascading layers of modulated amplitude, frequency, phase, and polarization -- and that was just the low hanging fruit. More complex encryptions beckoned from deeper within the signal.
The implications were nothing short of profound. After 15 billion years, our universe was still ringing like a struck bell from the act of its creation, resulting in an omnipresent low-level radiation field -- the cosmic microwave background. And now we had discovered that some intelligence with godlike powers of stellar engineering was controlling whole sections of our galaxy's unseen mass to encode a message into this medium. What might they be saying?
Six months later, the orbital parallax from the Earth's motion around the Sun raised the first suspicions that the message might be directional. But it was not for several years and with the benefit of the solar system's further motion through space that this unsettling fact was confirmed with certainty: the message was aimed directly at Earth.
Fear and wonder. The thought of beings of such unfathomable power communicating with the people of Earth was terrifying, dizzying. What could they possibly want with us? Were we to receive some revelation? Or was our judgement now at hand? There were many who believed the sender must be God himself.
And then we decoded the message. And with a progressing sense of surprise, and then disappointment, and finally existential dread, we saw that the topmost encoded layers each contained the same simple message:
HELP ME.
What horrors must lurk in the galactic reaches if a being of such unimaginable abilities was crying out across the lightyears in a plea for help?
Centuries passed. We continued to study the message, but progress was slow. A world war came and went, pandemics ravaged our population, global famine and climate change nearly destroyed us. We grew wiser. Our technologies developed in line with our social ethos. We cleansed our world. We conquered scarcity. We embraced the sanctity of life. Though the cost was great, we had survived the great filter.
HELP ME.
We turned again to the message. With the benefit of virtualized intelligences -- both biological and artificial -- we ran quantum simulations and self-learning error correction algorithms against the signal. Progress was faster now, and eventually the deeper layers of encoding began to yield their long-buried secrets.
The message contained instructions for the assembly of some kind of sub-quantum interferometer. Surprisingly, the technology to manufacture the components was already easily within our reach. But our scientists could not decipher the function of the components once assembled.
Our virtualized communal minds speculated that the device was a proto-form which, when activated, would self-assemble its remaining components in higher dimensions. Of course, there was brief concern that it would prove to be a weapon or some kind of portal or beacon for an invading force. But there was no evidence to support this. Our design analysis ruled out any malign local effects. And our evolving social consciousness counseled us to accept what appeared to be a bona fide plea for help -- even if on a galactic scale -- and that the idea of malevolence from an entity with such demonstrated power was simply not credible.
We built it. The instructions on its use were not complicated but they were specific about one point: the device must be aimed precisely at the galactic center, in the direction of the constellation Sagittarius. Out of an abundance of caution, we placed it on the far side of the Moon, set up our monitoring equipment, retreated to a safe distance, and pushed the button.
The device briefly drew power and then, in what most agreed was a somewhat anticlimactic result, deactivated and fused its internal components. Our instruments detected a burst of broad spectrum EM and neutrino signal emission, but it was speculated that this was only leakage and downconverted radiation from some more mysterious, ethereal band. The true nature of the device remained a mystery.
But the signal had one last surprise to offer. For in the microseconds immediately following the device's activation, every monitoring station detected the same change in the signal pattern, which had been repeating unaltered for our last centuries of watching and perhaps for countless centuries before. The deeper encodings seemed to have disappeared altogether. And the surface modulation had changed to a new message:
THANK YOU.
The message repeated for a few hours before ceasing altogether. Of course, this should not have been possible. The dark matter distributions which modulated the cosmic microwave background were over 40,000 light years away. The thank you message had been traveling across space since long before humanity's first civilizations arose. Our understanding of physics allowed no possibility for an instantaneous response to our actions. We now knew that the alien intelligence had the power to transcend not just space, but also time -- and perhaps even causality itself.
In the years after we used the device, the signal was soon forgotten -- a historical curiosity. Humanity continued to evolve. Somewhere deep in the AI stellar monitoring programs, potential anomalies were being flagged, first a few dozen, then thousands, then millions. It was seen as a likely systemic error or AI corruption and was shunted to a separate analysis thread, which delayed the subsequent realization by several years.
But eventually, after exhausting and eliminating the potential alternate explanations, we were faced with another impossible truth.
The stars of our galaxy were not where they were supposed to be. Solar systems, star clusters, entire arms of the Milky Way were subtly drifting beyond the radius of their projected paths. The cause was soon identified: the influence of dark matter had completely disappeared, and without it, the gravity of the remaining visible matter was insufficient to hold the galaxy together. The Milky Way was doomed to slowly fly apart and die a cold death in the reaches of the intergalactic vastness.
There was more. There were signs that the supermassive black hole at our galaxy's center -- where we had aimed the device -- had somehow lost an incredible amount of mass. It was only a matter of time before the gravitational effects would wreak havoc across the galaxy, rippling spacetime like a pond.
In the millennia that followed, we accepted the fact that we were responsible for the galaxy's demise. We estimated that perhaps a billion years of livable existence remained. A long time, to be sure. But the untold quantities of life which would perish -- and the even greater multitudes of intelligence which now would never have a chance to arise -- caused us to despair. Yet there were still those among us, and they were not few in number, who argued that we had acted in good faith to help a sentient being in need. That if this ancient being was somehow responsible for the energies holding the galaxy together, it seemed to do so against its will -- perhaps imprisoned in the black hole at the galactic core.
Of course, we searched the signal for some way to undo the damage. But our repeated analyses turned up no further insights, only one more curiosity: upon careful inspection, we realized that the deeper encodings had not completely disappeared when we activated the device. Hidden within the complex modulations of the signal was one last message for us to discover:
YOUR SACRIFICE IS NOBLE. I WILL REMEMBER YOU.
|
As the entity threw itself in futility at the barrier, it suddenly passed through it. Its confusion and surprise turned into a deadly glee at the foreign beings that held it captive for countless years.
It phased through and reached out to the first consciousness it could find, seeking a way to control it.
/ / / / / /
As the napalm died down, Lt. Sgt. Mari Villeneuve felt a stinging sensation in her wrist as it touched the wall.
She cried out in brief pain, and to her horror, saw a strange overlay in her sight for a second. As she blinked, it disappeared, and there was a sensation similar to a grass snake wrapping itself around the lower arm.
She staggered, leading to her subordinate to grab her arm. Something new *hissed* within her, and Mari waved the subordinate away. "I'm okay, I just....I just..." Mari trailed off as her eyes rolled up into her head and she fell bonelessly to the floor.
/ / / / / /
Mari stood in a ruined temple in a vast seascape. It reminded her of the classic horror novels by an early 20th century author - ones where there was n unknowab-
She gasped, and turned around. There was a sensation of her conscious mind making the sensation of *wibble*, and then she saw-
Something that was at once monstrously huge and unknowably small, something with an appearance that bothered sense and didn't. All her mind told her was **GREEN** AND **RUN**.
And yet....she stood. And reached out her hand. Then spoke, as she managed to place her hand on this....thing. "Incredible! Just what *are* you?"
She felt a sense of scaliness as her hand traced the illusory flesh, even through her military dress gloves. She felt a tugging then, like a whale pulling on a moose. It drowned her, and then thought at her.
*You....freed.....Me....* Its....whatever it was....felt like the Pyramids of Hypnos !V were speaking.
Mari spoke aloud as her false eyes and ears bled. "I don't even know what you are. We found an ancient temple worshipping an old being named Hulh. We were investigating some similarities to some ancient literatures across the cosmos. If you can see it without harming me, I can share it with-"
Mari sensed her mind being shredded as this thing ruffled through it....and then, she felt herself being put together again, if slightly different to what she was.
*That...is...*beautiful. *All this...time away from...my family...and sentients....carried my legacy.* Mari felt it becoming more accustomed to a sort of speech, and then she felt herself being tugged away.
"I want to speak more with youuuuuuuu^u^u^u...."
| 2022-08-23T12:35:23
| 2022-08-23T12:23:30
| 457
| 90
|
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand.
|
Sighing the professor answers yet another one of my requests, begrudgingly asking me, "Yes, Madeline, what now?" "Professor, have you ever actually met a human" you say trying not to reveal your true identity, hoping that my classmates are oblivious. "Why, of course not, they were wrongfully murdered by the Acodiles, this is basic history, if you don't know that then I don't think that you should BE in college" he replied snarkily, hoping to get one on me for once in his pitiful existence. "Well I do sir, but didn't they destroy their entire planet despite clear warnings, did they not wage useless wars all to prove one nations superiority, did they not murder their own species to prove a point casually and fail to carry out justice for those wrongfully killed" SIT DOWN Ms. Doris! Right this instant!" But sir-" "Stop it right now!" "No professor, you stop spreading these lies, they were a cruel, sadistic species who were unnecesarily violent to their own kind and you and I both know that they were NOT killed by the Acodiles, they were the scapegoat, yet you choose to naively follow the propaganda fed to you, knowing that the people you love so much commited genocide, but at least they were deserving, Huh. So that the murderous soldiers wouldn't feel so bad about mass murder. Stop spreading these lies" you say storming out of your classroom, not wanting to deal with your professor's lecture and students hateful glares.
|
"Yes?" the professor asked.
"What about *them*?"
The professor looked at me, puzzled. "You seem to be gesturing to the rest of the class."
"I mean, I am. Gesturing to the rest of the class. They look just like me. If we had sex -- I mean, if they hadn't been given the treatment -- we could have children."
A brief moment of horror crossed the professor's face. Or maybe it was disgust. It finally settled back into his 'teachable moment' face. "These are not human."
"If they aren't human, what are they?" The rest of the class shifted, clearly uncomfortable with my line of questioning.
"They are the Lesser, of course!"
My anger started to thrum in my veins. I took a deep breath to recenter myself. "What makes them Lesser? They're just as human as I am."
The professor removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he put them back on, he asked, "What makes you so certain of that? Have you talked with any of them?"
"Well, n-no," I stammered. "I mean, not really. Not at any length."
The professor's face had shifted to one of alarm. "But you have," he hissed. "You talked to *them*. You've found out who they are, what they secretly want." His glare bored into me. "You think they're not Lesser." I watched, silently, as he reached under his desk.
When the two goons from the Republican Peace Enforcers came, I fought as they dragged me away.
| 2021-11-27T12:45:35
| 2021-11-27T11:23:52
| 22
| 16
|
[WP] You are Subtle Tea, a super hero who alters major world events by a most appropriately timed cup of tea.
|
Usually when my superiors gave me missions, it meant that all their other plans had failed. That morning when I walked into my "office" the manila folder told me that my "special skills" were once again needed.
I had my own ways of handling problems, and I had a tendency to use as little effort as I possibly could. Some called it "phenomal" others "strange" but I had a special ability to change major events with a single cup of tea. The tea could be used in a number of ways. There were times when I had simply handed someone a cup, while at others I merely left a cup sitting out in a very appropriate place. The method was the part that mattered the least, as long as the tea was the thing that made the changes.
The folder had the words "Top Secret" stamped across the front. This was typical, since my superiors also had a tendency to make things cliche and dramatic. I had no idea that this particular mission was going to be the most cliche and dramatic of them all.
The mission was to stop World War II from starting. I was baffled at such a request. How had they managed to fail all their other attempts? But as I went through the file I started to realize that this mission was not as simple as it seemed. Many attempts had been made to stop Hitler from rising to power. The most popular method though was attempts on Hitler's life. Everything from shooting him on the battlefield to smothering him in the cradle had been tried and failed. It seemed that the man was practically untouchable. Reports had been made that every attempted assassination seemed to have weird coincidences that would null and void the entire thing. Fired bullets would just slightly miss and ricochet off of something, blankets covered over the baby's face still somehow weren't enough to cut off all of his air, and for some reason whenever an opportune moment arrived, someone always walked in at just the right time to throw everything off. It seemed unlikely and coincidental until someone discovered the answer.
Hitler, in the terms of time travel, was a fixed point. What that meant is that nothing could directly done to Hitler to change anything about his life. This fact was not unusual, many people are, but it causes problems when you're trying to alter the course of history. This started a wave of indirect methods of changing history, but even those had failed. The Treaty of Versailles had been altered, but each time history still found a way to screw Germany over. Other men had been brought in to rise to power before Hitler, but they each ended up becoming a Hitler 2.0. Attempts had even been made to stop World War I from starting, but in the end it only made a bigger mess. I knew that they at this point what was truly needed was some... *Subtle Tea*...
I turned on my time machine to get the motors warmed up while I looked up what year I would need...*1907*. Soon everything was set and I was ready to go. I found myself in the streets of Vienna, it was nearing evening and most of the people on the streets were going home. I walked around the streets holding a file folder in my hand. There was one man in particular that I needed to see tonight. However, I soon discovered that as the day started to come to a close, the man I needed was nowhere to be found. *Of course* I thought *How could I be so stupid to think that it would be easy to find one person in such a large city?* I looked at the files that I had brought along again. Fortunately there was information on where this man's office would be located. I located the correct building and went inside.
Of course my biggest problem was that everything was in German. I had a translator, but through gathering my supplies, paperwork, and of course the tea bag, I had somehow managed to misplace it. I was about to go through my pockets before I heard a voice from behind.
"Kann ich Ihnen helfen?"
I froze in my tracks, everything could be ruined if i didn't find that translator right now.
"Uhh.. Ich brauche eine Nummer" I said stumbling through what little German I knew.
I went through all my pockets in a frenzy desperately trying to find the translator. I heard the man's footsteps approaching me as he got closer and closer. I knew that I only had one shot at this, and I had to find it now. The man behind me continued to speak more words in German, but all I could focus on were his footsteps. As long as he hadn't reached me yet, I could still do this. I was just looking for a long metal object that had a...
*Button* I felt it under my thumb as my hand reached into my coat pocket. I pressed just as the man placed his hand on my shoulder.
"You know that after hours, visitors are not allowed right?"
"Actually I'm looking for Georg Hoffman, do you happen to know where his office is?"
"You do know that this is the time of year when we're approving new applicants right? Georg is very busy right now."
"I'm actually his cousin. He's been inquiring about his aunt, my mother, and I have some personal news to deliver to him."
"I see. Well his office is on the third floor, room 327."
"Danke!" I said, heading towards the stairs.
"What?"
"Thank you!"
As I climbed the stairs I started really looking forward to that cup of tea. My nerves were in desperate need of calming down. I soon found the room that the man had told me about and I could see through the window the silhouette of who I assumed was Georg. I knocked on the door and heard a voice say "Come in!" I opened the door and looked at the man sitting at the desk. I took a deep breath and started to do my work.
"Hello, my name is Fritz Engel. I'm an art dealer who has worked with many alumni from your school. I understand that you're the director here?"
Georg gave a look of suspicion, as I half expected him to.
"What can I help you with?"
"I understand that you're the one who approves what students are accepted and denied into your establishment, and that you are the one who 'approves their work'?"
"I am one of many who sit on a committee, but I don't do all of the work myself. The Academy of Fine Arts Vienna receives far too many applicants for one person to evaluate alone."
"I'd like to talk to you about one of the applicants in particular."
"I'm sorry, but this is a very private matter, and why does an art dealer have any business in what applicants I accept?"
"Adolf Hitler, have you seen his portfolio yet?"
"I believe I skimmed through it slightly, but it was nothing spectacular."
"I saw some of his artwork myself, and I can tell you that there's potential. It may not seem like it now, but if you let him in, it may do you some good in the long run."
"I'm not quite sure that I understand."
"Well sir, why don't we discuss it over a cup of tea..."
Edit: Fixed my German grammar.
|
All I can remember as I ran down the cobblestone road was the fear I felt. The bone-shaking feeling that frightened me to my very core as my hands and feet felt all but deprived of any sense of warmth. I hadn't the energy of a morning cup of Earl Grey nor the overpowering strength of Darjeeling inside of me.
My vision grew hazy. The air around me condensed into a cloud of thick, evening fog. By god's good sake, I had become lost in my attempt to run, run as far away as I can from that stranger that stalked me in recent days.
It had all started after the Soviet affair. After I had managed to get the dictator to calm down with a relaxing glass of Jasmine green, to agree to a disarmament conference, there had been an odd feeling in the back of my head that someone was watching me, not just Subtle Tea, but Richard Twining, my real self. I tried to relax myself with some boxed white tea that I left in my kitchen, but for some reason, it didn't help.
I had always been able to harness the power of the Tea Leaf to vanquish my foes and save the day. I had been able to increase the caffeine content by sheer strength of will, and even induce mind-altering effects into the tea to boost myself up and tear others down emotionally.
In the past eight weeks, I have drunken about a total twelve gallons of thrice-steeped black teas, all of varying brands but enchanted by my power to enhance my senses and awareness. Yet, throughout all those days, I've been unable to even conceive the evil that followed me. What sheer, unreal abomination that had lingered behind in my every step was beyond my imagination.
Today, in the early hours of morning, was when I realized that the end was nigh. I had to leave without a cuppa. The gas had shut off that morning. So had the electricity. There was no way to boil a batch. My leaves had expired. The water had tainted.
I left to head towards the police station, to turn myself in for my own protection. I put in a few calls to Saltman and the Breakfast League to warn them of an impending threat that lurked at our doorsteps. Some of them, my sidekick-slash-rival Sweet Tea and the Obnoxious Orange also reported similar feelings of being watched.
When I got into my cell, it had happened. A tall wave of black, toxic sludge came through the barred windows above my cell. I summoned the leaves to me and forged a key to run. And that's all I've been doing. Running and running. Long into the night.
Now, here I am. Trapped in an old, forgotten alleyway as the black wave came closer to me. It came closer and slower, mocking me with every inch of the way. I gathered my will, but there was no caffeine in me. I mustered the last of my strength into the leaves and created a mighty Ceylon sword.
I readied myself. Then, she appeared. A woman whose appearance seemed to defy reality itself. Her mer-like features, tails where her legs should be, adorned her whole being, making her seem more like fish than man. A starred crown sat atop her head. Her black, bitter brew followed her command like an animal on a tight chain.
The Lady smirked at me and muttered few words, "Twining. Your end's hella come."
"An American accent? Is that a trace of the Northwest I hear?"
She nodded, "Face it, oldtimer. No one drinks tea anymore. You're a relic of olden days. Stand aside or oversteep where you stand."
I spat at her. She grimaced and raised her trident into the air. The fog continued to thicken and my nose was clogged by the new, foamlike texture. Without proper oxygenation, my sword would soon fall and turn into a tasteless, useless mess.
I swung frantically as her wave slammed into me with the force of a steel cannonball. The sludge burned hotter than I thought imaginable. I screamed as it pushed and restrained me against my brick backing.
The Lady giggled and beckoned closer to me. Her long, pale fingers stroked my chin, "You are like, such a fool, y'know?"
I bared my teeth for her evildoing. Alas, the Lady was a cruel mistress. The sludge came upon me like the gates of death. It filled every orifice upon my face. It splashed down my nose and forced its way down my throat. A harsh, acidy taste struck wildly at my throat and into my belly.
My heart thumped faster and harder than I ever thought imaginable. This sludge had caffeine. Lots of it. More than I've ever had. My consciousness was slipping away. The tea's creativity and gentle tones, made of a combination of Oolong, Pu-ehr, and barley, were abandoning my veins, replaced with the harsh grittiness of productivity and a hectic jaunt.
This was the end of me. At least I've made said my farewells. I looked at The Lady with the last of my being. I had to force myself to speak.
"What's your name, foul villain?"
She smiled, "Name's Green Eyes. Welp, be seeing ya. Hoped you liked the coffee!" She cricked her neck and went off, her twin mermaid tails fading away to take the form of legs.
The light vanished from my sight. The sludge continued to pound away against my being. I had lost. I had died. A rusty, metal taste like cheap instant tea coated my tongue.
Sweet Tea... Orange... Avenge me.
| 2016-07-11T23:14:17
| 2016-07-11T21:49:06
| 166
| 27
|
[WP] You've died and have woken up in a bright area; there is a man standing before you in white robes. He asks "How was Heaven?"
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It took so much to squint at the man standing in front of me. At first I thought he might be a hallucination – people said occurrences like these happened with the procedure.
Beatifically smiling, he came into focus. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. I knew where I was and what that meant.
“Damn.”
I wish my first words to my maker would have been more...eloquent. He just beamed back at me.
He reached out his hand, or what I thought was his hand. Things still weren't totally clear. As he lifted me up, he took a breath to ask me a question.
It had been a 6 hour surgery. She needed part of a liver, and there wasn't a moment I could remember where I didn't know it was going to be mine. Fair is fair, she took my heart 13 years earlier. She always laughed when I called it a matching set.
I didn't make it.
She did.
“How was heaven” he asked, dusting off my back.
“She was amazing.”
“Good,” he replied “we have all eternity to talk about her.”
He threw his arm around my shoulders as we walked. He let out a chuckle.
“Matching set. That was funny.”
|
My brain churned, trying to process this newfound information. "What, you mean life on earth? *That* shit was heaven?" God was an asshole for greeting me with such nonchalance, as if I ought to have already known. Wasn't this a rhetorical question, anyway? Shouldn't he have already known my opinion? In which case, I was fucked, because I was currently thinking about how much Heaven had sucked, and not even fear of God's omniscience was going to block out these thoughts.
"Well, it used to be earth, but we rebranded." God shrugged. "Our initial structure was flawed: only three realms for an infinite spectrum of morality? It wasn't fair to group your everyman with your Mother Theresa."
"Actually, Mother Theresa was a monster—" I began.
"Look, who's setting the rules, you or me?" God raised a pointed eyebrow, daring me to contest him. "Drop this wishy-washy secular humanism; it's not going to work in Superheaven." He noticed my look of confusion and added, "The level above heaven. It's more or less the same, except you actually have to go to church now."
My brain retched as hundreds of sleepy Sunday memories passed through it. God's facial expression didn't change; either he couldn't read my mind or he'd evolved beyond the confines of human body language. It was starting to bother me: how dismissive and cold he was. "Are there no other choices? "Other religions?" He shook his head, frowning. "Hell?"
"Why would you want to go to Hell?"
*In hopes Satan is cooler than you*, I thought. "Change of scenery," I said.
"Well, Hell doesn't exist," God said, beckoning me forward through the clouds, "We rebranded that too. It's now called Minor Heaven, and you can go there, but it's objectively inferior to Heaven and the realms above it. Observe." He snapped his fingers and a small model of earth began to revolve in the air. Then half of it burst into flames.
"What do you mean, you rebranded Hell?" Wasn't Hell supposed to act as a deterrent from sinning? What was the point of grouping it under the Heaven umbrella?
"Well, some people had a problem with the existence of Hell under a supposedly all-merciful god." God sighed and rubbed his temples. "Not that I ever promised to be merciful, but you know how humans are: they'll misquote you and hold you to it." He stopped and stamped the floor, summoning a rickety set of stairs that led into the sky. As he led me up them, he continued, "So, to get them off my back, I acquired Hell from Lucifer, renamed it, and everything's now fine and dandy. It's not like humans can tell they're in Hell, anyway." He chuckled. "You and your inability to comprehend greater dimensions."
"That doesn't sound very kosher, if I'm being honest." I said. God ignored me and continued climbing; I thought to turn and run the other direction, but the stairs behind me had vanished. I sighed and trudged onward; the steps seemed to go on for miles, and the fatigue and all the whiteness began to disorient me. After a while, I could no longer tell what direction I was heading; all I could do was follow the stairs.
I finally set foot on the landing, where a glowing red doorway stood, framing the rippling image of an entire realm behind it. "Welcome to the next realm of Heaven," God said, nudging me through. He left briskly, slamming the door shut behind him, perhaps still irritated with all of my questions.
My past life's memories began to die as I stepped through the doorway. Before they had completely faded, I noticed, at least, that my surroundings seemed distinctly earthly: the trees, the grass, the sun; nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for one alarming difference. Panic surged through me, but the moment passed, and I could no longer remember why everything was on fire.
| 2016-08-15T23:17:39
| 2016-08-15T22:19:09
| 307
| 87
|
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim.
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Murder Permits have been around for awhile. They're just a way of life now. Micheal gets so many he doesn't really pay attention to the reason anymore. He doesn't even need to sign it. Just click "approve" on the computer and off it goes. Within 72 hours either someone will be dead or not. It's mindless and repetive work.
&#x200B;
Today was just another normal day for Micheal. Yesterday, he was bored and made a game to see how many he could approve. Time to break it! He quickly logs in and starts clicking. Clicking, clicking, clicking. "MICHEAL! Come in here!" His boss, Robert, screamed out the office door.
&#x200B;
"God I hate that guy!" Micheal mumbles. "Probably wants to cancel my vacation next month!" He walks into the office "Yes, sir?"
&#x200B;
Robert looks at him sadly. "I was spot checking the murder permits and thought you would want to see this." He turns his monitor around showing Micheal the permit summary he was looking at. Micheal quickly scans the information, he's done it so much he know exactly where to look for the important details.
&#x200B;
Murder Permit Request: Victim: Micheal Landrefeld. Permit Status: Approved! Approved By: Micheal Landrefeld 07/09/2019
Shock slowly disolved into reality. Micheal's head drops. "Can, can, can we see the full request?"
Robert's eyes narrow, "You already approved it. Did you not see the full request earlier this morning?"
Knowing it didn't matter Micheal confessed how well he's been doing his job. Robert laughed and opened up the full request.
Murder Permit Request:Victim: Micheal Landrefeld
Reason: Micheal has been slacking on his job. About 6 months ago he stopped reading permits this has lead to many unwarranted deaths.
Requestor: Robert Bastion.
&#x200B;
"Ok sir, I get the point. This will not happen again. I assure you of that. I apologize."
"Good to hear. Now get back to work and read the damned permits!"
&#x200B;
Micheal stood up and walked brain dead to the door. That was an extreme way to prove a point but he swears he'll never mindlessly do his job again. As he reaches the door 6 shots echo through the office.
|
Meet in a crowd. Legal is legal, but there's no need to ruin a good surprise. Happy hour on a Friday, brought Jean there after work, two sidecars in and I'm running out of small talk.
"So how was that new season of that new show?"
Jean looks bored and I'm sweating in March, it's not off to a good start.
"Sheryl why don't you cut the shit and ask me?"
That's Jean all over, straight to the point, no time wasted, just cut and dry and succinct, really succinct. I snap my fingers for another round and down the rest of what's in front of me.
"Well it's about Hank. He's....well he's been stealing from me for months. Thinking I didn't know, and I couldn't face it and now he's left me and he's off with some young thing and I got- I got a permit Jean, you follow?"
"Oh?"
"That's right I got a permit. And well you see I couldn't really find them at first you see but I found them Jean and I need your help."
"You need my help because your permit expired."
"Jean- see Jean that's it, that's why you're the one Jean, Jean you-are-it!"
The bartender slowly waddles over, spilling half the drink as it hits the wood.
"Don't ever do that again."
I look up and he's starring at me and the sweat really drips.
"I'm not a dog. There's no need to snap your fingers at another human being. Ever. Alright?"
I take a sip and nod and wave him away and almost faint from relief.
"So that's the thing Jean. I found them but it was too late and now I need you. We could connect you to the theft no problem and the-"
"Sheryl you're an alcoholic."
"...say again?"
"You already asked me Sheryl. I even got the permit. Six months ago. We got the permit and I even took a bus to Vaughan and they weren't there. Six months Sheryl."
"There must be some mistak-"
"Hey TERRY!"
Some lump of coal resurrects himself from the bartop in response.
"Sheryl needs help killing her husband, it'd be worth your while!"
He seems to be either stewing the offer over or repressing some melody of indigestion that warrants some pause. And then fair Terrance speaks,
"She already afed me. I's got the permt and it spird."
Jean makes use of the barstool and 180's to another mug and lush.
"Phil?"
"December. Cold as fuck and it expired. Haven't even paid me back Sher."
Jean returns her eyes to mine with a little too much satisfaction. But that smug look doesn't last. She see's the tears I'm trying to let slip past in the sweat. Just starring at my glass that's already gotten empty somehow. She seems to want to say something but then downs her drink and stands.
"Let it go Sheryl. Holding on is killing you from the inside out. Let it go and buy these guys a round."
And then she's gone. She's gone and the after work crowd dissolves into these skinny little things that eat nachos like they're celery. Then it's just me. Me and Spilly.
"Hey Spilly." I snap my fingers to get his attention.
"I got a proposition for ya."
| 2019-07-09T09:59:53
| 2019-07-09T08:25:40
| 278
| 131
|
[WP] Traditionally when a royal couple give birth to a cursed baby the infant is locked away in a dungeon to grow into a murderous beast. You however order that your child instead be taken to the royal nursery and raised properly as your heir.
|
The child was born on a full moon
Red eyes pierce into me making me tremble at the sight
He is just a child but the look in his eyes shows intelligence unbefitting for someone his age
He looks up at me, His father.
From the moment he was born I knew he was cursed but I wanted him anyway
I wanted a son and the Gods gave me one at last
The mother of my child died at birth, I loved her and she loved our child regardless of his disposition and I loved him as well. That's why when the sorcerer urged me to throw him into the dungeon I could not bring myself to do so. Everyone was terrified but I was not he was my son and no one could take him away from me.
Days later the boy had already begun to read, he read stories of heroes defeating great demons of extraordinary caliber. I started to teach him magic, personally of course no one would want to teach anything to him because of the beast they thought he would become. I saw none of that in him that's why I still love him.
He picked up magic quickly and especially loved healing magic of all things, even with his talent in destruction he wanted to heal so I let him do so.
Years later when his body was ready I taught him the art of the sword, a technique passed down for generations in my family called Crimson Moon I thought it fitted my son and eventually joined the knights, it didn't take long for him to become the leader of the knights.
They adored him and so did I.
The beast that they had warned me about had not appeared itself even when he hit puberty, he was still such a sweet, smart boy healing those that needed help. The kingdom's fear of him lessened when he volunteered at the church and healed the sick.
At the end of the day, we always ate together just him and I. We talked about what he had done that day and what he would do tomorrow as well. He always talked so enthusiastically about the things he loved.
When he finally grew to the age of adulthood he had become a great man. Healer, warrior, soldier. And the son I loved very much. I could see his mother in him, that's how I knew there was no monster in him.
The kingdom loved him and so did I with all my heart.
When he finally succeeded my throne we threw a party just for him. A huge ball just for him.
He was brought gifts from the people he healed, he was brought trophies from knights and women from the kingdoms he defended.
But at the end of the night he just wanted to be with me.
Not of any illness, just of old age. satisfied with the life I lived and the son I loved very much.
He stared at me with those eyes that carried an intelligence that I could not describe even to this day. Tears welled up and spilled out like a river that flowed without stopping. I grabbed his hand and with my final breaths I said to him one last time
"I love you my son" with my vision going dark the last thing I saw was the face of the son that made me so proud of the man he had become
There was no beast
Only my son.
Finally, I can see you again my love
I'll see you soon
&#x200B;
Criticism is preferred I'm new to this
|
**The Heir**
The teacher looked around her classroom. Young sons and daughters of noblemen crowded together close to the right wall and its open windows, painting on small canvases leaning on desktop easels. They were copying a brightly lit photograph of the royal gardens. She noted the time and exhaled. *We have nearly reached another midday together*, she thought. *Most of us, anyway.*
The janitor finished mopping around a pile of smashed furniture on the left side of the room, still splattered with spilled red and yellow. He tipped his hat and left as quickly as possible, tracing a wide berth around the heavy metal cage in the center of the left wall, nestled between bookcases. Something sat inside, more than twice the size of her other wards, dressed in purple and gray. The small silver crown inlaid with a single large oval emerald swept blue hair back from his forehead, accentuating the red spiraling horns that curved down around his ears. His facial hair was stained. He was running a large dry paint brush over the thick fur on his left forearm and around the bony spikes closer to his elbow. He made a cooing sound in a soft baritone. The rest of the class fidgeted.
The teacher adjusted her cornette and stood, walking past her students. Two girls in the back of the room were painting rainbows and butterflies on each other’s faces. “Margaret and Elizabeth! We are all saving that activity for the afternoon.” The girls giggled. “All of us.” They fell silent and resumed work on their canvases. The teacher nodded at the boy sitting by himself in the front of the class, working with a small brush and silently weeping. “Very nice progress on your hedge highlights today, Louis.”
The boy sighed. “Charles would have thought so, too.”
“Yes, child. Your brother shared your eye for the small details. Are you not excited that your cousin James is joining us this afternoon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The creature in the cage growled. Elizabeth squeaked and knocked over her easel, spilling a cup of murky water and three brushes onto the floor. Louis broke his brush in his fist. The boy winced, pulling splinters from his palm.
The teacher pulled a small flute from her robes and spun around to face the cage, but he was cooing softly to himself again. “Louis, you may see the nurses, but join us in the dining hall directly after.”
“Okay. Thank you, ma’am.” Louis pulled on the heavy classroom door and sprinted away.
The teacher put her flute away. “Everyone, finish what you are working on for now. We are nearly ready to gather for lunch. Elizabeth, dear, I will clean that up.”
A blast of trumpeting fanfare echoed down the hallway and through the open classroom door. The students stood up and mirrored the pose that their teacher assumed, bowing their heads, clasping hands together in front. A tall, very thin man walked through the door, wearing a light tweed suit. A white series of boxes arranged in an uneven set of columns were etched on the black obsidian pin that held a deep blood red cape around his shoulders. He looked at the cage. “Again?” He counted heads. “Tell me not both, sister. The Duchess of Bamfordshire will likely die from the shock.”
The teacher shook her head. “No, His Majesty’s Schedule Master, sir. I must sadly report that young Charles made a joke at the expense of His Grace after morning tea. I intervened before the tantrum escalated further, sir. A member of the Crown Prince’s Guard has already been dispatched to retrieve our new student. Young Louis briefly is with the nurses, sir.”
“May the prestige and renown of your tutelage provide comfort to the family.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He turned back to the cage. “Your grace, your father is waiting in the Headmaster’s office to join you for your meal. It is best to not keep him waiting any further.”
The creature dropped his paintbrush and growled. The teacher tutted and said, “Listen to the Schedule Master, Frederick.”
Frederick growled again, lifted a book upside down, and ripped it in half. He pounded twice on the cage door, heavy padlock bouncing in return. His third shove broke both hinges. Frederick batted the door aside to hang askew on its padlock and bellowed into the classroom. Children screamed as they ducked behind chairs. Margaret smeared her rainbow into Elizabeth’s sleeves as they cowered in the back corner.
High pitched music cut off Frederick’s roar. He stepped forward calmly, whistling in response. The teacher and Schedule Master both lowered their flutes. She said, “That’s a good lad, Your Grace. Your father is waiting for lunch.”
“Hungry,” he growled and danced out the door, carrying the tune down the hall.
The Schedule Master said, “Perhaps I should broach the subject of private tutoring again, sister.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you take the role, if offered to you?”
She reached for the symbol hanging from a simple leather cord around her neck. The royal bloodline’s curse had not manifested for several generations, but everyone knew the rumors of prior inhabitants in the lowest dungeons, walled off in recent years, and their realm’s strange history. Surely this approach was all more – humane? *Is that the word?* she thought.
Dishes crashed to the floor in the hallway. A woman screamed. One of the King’s Guard stumbled into the classroom, face bloodied, his armor punctured through in several places. He collapsed to the floor, panting, and sputtered. “His Majesty has been attacked and killed, sir.”
Poor young Edward stood up first, looked down, and saw that he had soiled himself. He poured his paint rinse water over his head.
The Schedule Master frowned at the teacher. “Long live the King.”
| 2022-09-01T13:17:08
| 2022-09-01T10:17:09
| 67
| 38
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[WP] When humans achieve interstellar space flight we discover that we live smack dab in the midst of several massive squabbling ancient alien empires. So we do the only sensible thing we could, and become space Switzerland.
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The Nrrrrr delegation was satisfied. They'd spent the last planetary cycles on Terra on official business. The open negotiations had been successful, the usual agreements on communications, on borders, sovereignty, even some small trade agreements. The closed agreements were even better. The Terran are a small empire but with large bank vaults. Bank vaults that are well protected by the Terran forces, but more importantly, by the interests of their clients. It has become known throughout the cluster that any attempts of seizure of the Terran wealth will bring on the united wrath of most unlikely enemies. You do not touch the Terran if you don't want you homeworld glassed six times over. Best yet, the Terran do not ask questions of your deposits and they answer to none of the same.
So, the Nrrrrr delegation was satisfied. Not only had they scored diplomatic points, they had secured an off empire treasury. A self accumulating treasury nonetheless! It had been unheard of before the Terran entered the stage and offered guarded treasury with their mindboggling concept of "interest". They have some truly amazing ingenuity happening behind the scenes, that none of the empires have yet managed to understand how the Terran could make business by providing guarded storage and paying you for it.
Yes, the Nrrrrr delegation was satisfied. They were happy even. As high ranking officials, they'd of course have their own reasons to book a little financial counseling off the schedule. Everybody does it, everybody knows it. Only a fool questions it. Such are the privileges within the Nrrrrr culture.
Indeed, the Nrrrr delegation had reason to be satisfied. The delegates had reason to be happy. And yet, there was more. The delegates were not only satisfied nor happy, they were giddy! Giddy because at their departure, at the ground terminal of the Terran space elevator, the Terran had yet a final surprise; a tiny vendors facility with the most wonderous things! Miniature replicas of their homeworld on tiny pedestals. Woven garments with commemorative imprints. Glass vessels with humorous imagery! Imitation vertical residences with a mechanoid that peeks out and chirps merrily at regular intervals! A wall mounted aquatic lifeform that dances and sings at the activation of a button! And best of all; a brightly coloured triangular fibermesh tube, carrying the most delicious representation of components from the Terran biome, in the shape of aggregated triangular extrusions connected by a lower ridge that breaks apart with the most satisfying of cracks!
Diplomacy and business aside, surely this is the real reason why this tiny house of primates is protected. While in transit, the delegates of the Nrrrr had already sworn to personally ensure nobody of their kind dare ever mess with Terra.
---
Sorry for not proofreading. Not a native English speaker and got me a headache as well. Hope you enjoy.
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Life as a mercenary is great, in the midst of the Eternal War. You only get hired for the jobs that require skill, for anything that needs sheer numbers, there's the clone vats of the Athreen, the drone-webs of the Stria'aza, or simply the excess young of the Tr'ik'sta'kla. Mercenary groups are sent for when you need something other than the bludgeon used endlessly on the war worlds. Sometimes, you become a legend, and a new war world replaces an old one.
Truth be told, most of the neighboring polities encourage the Eternal War. It keeps them from being overwhelmed by numbers. That said, there was a surprise that hit everyone and readjusted the map, briefly. A solar system on a non-critical four way border between the Athreen Empire, Stria'aza Republic, the Tr'ik'sta'kla Homeland and the Sta'ik'tr'kla Freedom turned out to have native sophonts. The 1.25x average mass single star system hadn't been considered to be a source of likely value, and was not close to any supply lines. So it had been left alone, up until it made its first i-space jumps. Something about their i-space tech made them able to hit a far more precise target, and after the first skirmishes with the neighbors, and communications were made, they engaged in preemptive strikes on the nearest potential sources of conflict, then made a five-way treaty, declaring the .3 Gigalightsecond radius around their star neutral territory. And now? The four empires have a place where they cannot fight without facing serious problems. And so diplomacy might end the eternal war.
So that's why I'm here. Along with my team. At Eris station, one of four major ports in the system. We're here to steal some tech, as well as do some sabotage, and we have to do it without our weapons. We even have a bit of diplomatic backing from our sponsors, who also happen to be our home polity: the Draama Entelechy. It is also known to host some research centers, which we have limited access to, and a tour. And while our weapons cannot be taken with, we Draamin have a number of innate skills that make us peerless mercenaries. I look forward to the tour.
| 2022-03-07T04:14:04
| 2022-03-07T01:52:16
| 111
| 54
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[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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The energy in the air was so thick I could feel it. Pressing down on me and making everything feel heavier.
I smirked at the muscular man, hovering in front of me.
“So your number two huh?”
He flew a few metres higher and looked down at me.
“No, I am number one, and soon enough everyone else will know it too.”
I laughed.
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Well I mean it.”
“I’ve heard that before as well.”
He clenched his fists and the energy surrounding me became even heavier.
“Enough, let’s do this. “
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Hold on a minute. Just let me ask you something.”
I lit one inhaled, and then pulled out my hip flask and took a drink.
“Do you know why I drink and smoke so much?”
He didn’t answer.
“No? How about why I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months?”
Again he didn’t answer, but he was obviously wondering the reason.
“Still no? What about how dirty my clothes are, or why my hair’s greasy, or beard is just messy? Any ideas?”
He flew down a bit, so we were almost facing each other.
“Why?”
“It’s because I’m number one. It’s as simple as that.”
I took another sip from the hip flask.
“Do you think you’re the first to attack me today? Cause you’re the sixteenth.”
He actually looked shocked, he obviously thought no one but him was brave enough to challenge me.
“I can’t go a day without being harassed by people like you in the dozens. I can’t go a night without someone breaking into my house and trying to kill me in my sleep. I can’t go to the laundrettes, I can’t go shopping for new clothes. I can’t finish
shaving, I can’t take a shower for more than three minutes. I don’t even have enough time to wipe my own arse!”
He couldn’t speak, he looked like he’d forgotten how.
“So you know what? Go ahead and kill me, please!”
I walked towards him and grabbed him by the collar.
“You kill me and then you can take all of my problems away as well. Is that what you want?”
He stopped flying and stared at me for a while.
I let go of him, and he looked to the ground.
“No.”
“Yeah I thought as much. You idiots with your ranking, you think a number is all that matters.”
I paused and let it sink in for a while.
“Do yourself a favour, find something better do. Anyway I’ve gotta get going, I have somewhere to be. Probably gotta explain this to six more of you before I get there.”
I lit another cigarette.
“Wait. Before you go, will you tell me what your power is. I’ll keep it a secret I swear.”
I turned and started walking.
“Who knows? If I ever find out I’ll tell you.”
I heard him fly away and I started to laugh.
“That’s one less moron to worry about. All thanks to the power of depression.”
|
It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..."
| 2014-12-18T15:13:47
| 2014-12-18T14:46:11
| 35
| 15
|
[WP] If a person opts into brain scans during life, a full digital model of their brain can be created. Posthumously, these scans are given to the bereaved family and not uncommonly used as the AI for house robots. You lost a loved one, and their robot... occasionally says VERY strange things
|
"Is she awake?"
"Give it a second!"
"She's not an *it,* Dad!"
"Sorry, sorry. Give *her* a second, Angie. Look, she's waking up."
The Fully Autonomous Biodroid, or FAB, looked every bit the human ten-year-old girl Lizzie Ellison did when she lived. It – or she, rather – lay on Lizzie's old – own – bed, as per the instructions from the representative from FAB corp.
Lizzie's eyelids fluttered to life. She blinked a few times, making out the faces of her dad and older sister.
"Uh...hi guys," she said, yawning. "Everything okay? Oh man, did I miss dinner again?"
Angie all but tackled Lizzie as she jumped onto the bed to hug her baby sister.
"Angie! What're you doing?" Lizzie giggled. "Wait what? Angie? Are you crying?"
Finn Ellison spoke through a tightened throat. "You should sit up, Lizzie. We have a lot to talk about."
So over the course of the next hour, the Ellison family sat in Lizzie's room, and went over everything. About how Lizzie had been riding her bike without her helmet again. About how Angie and her dad had told her a million and one times to always wear her helmet. And about how the driver that hit her had been drunk and didn't even bother stopping after he hit Lizzie and how the paramedics did everything they possibly could but she was dead before even arriving at the hospital. About how Lizzie was able to sit with them now.
"So...I'm not real?" Lizzie asked. She didn't sound sad, or even scared, thought Angie. It was as if she was asking about a tricky question on her homework.
"There are a few schools of thought on this," mused Finn aloud. "Have you heard of the ship of Theseus? Some philosophers have argued that –"
"You're real, Lizzie." Angie glared at her father. "You're every bit as real and alive and loved as you were before the accident."
Lizzie thought for a moment. "Huh. Okay. I mean, I don't really feel any different, so I guess it's fine."
Finn smiled. "Let's go out for dinner. The rep from FAB corp said you should still eat and drink like you did before, though technically it's not strictly necessary."
Lizzie beamed, and they all got their coats and headed out to Lizzie's favorite pizza restaurant.
==============================
Something wasn't right. Sure, Lizzie looked and sounded like Lizzie, but something was just *off.* It started exactly a month after they first brought FAB Lizzie home.
Angie's room had these two great beanbags they loved to lay on. Angie was reading, while Lizzie played on her phone.
"Hey Angie, could you get me a Coke from the fridge?"
Angie laughed. "Lizzie, you hate Coke. Remember that time you threw up after eating a whole 2-liter bottle?"
Lizzie paused. "Huh, yeah. Well I want one anyway. Can you get one for me pleaaase? I don't feel like getting up."
Angie rolled her eyes, but got up anyway. She opened the fridge and frowned. Walking back into the room, Angie frowned at Lizzie.
"Did you drink all of our Coke? We're totally out, and we just got a new pack yesterday. I've only had one."
"Oh, yeah sorry, guess I've been thirsty. Can we go to the store and get some more?"
"Jesus, you drank an entire 12-pack in a day? And uh no, it's almost midnight. You can survive until we go back to the store on Sunday."
"No! I want some NOW!"
Angie jumped a little at the outburst. "What's wrong with you? You just had an entire pack and you want more? Calm down and maybe don't burn through our entire supply so fast next time."
Lizzie stood up and threw her phone at Angie, chipping the wall a few inches from Angie's torso.
Angie was wide-eyed. "What the hell is wrong with you??"
Lizzie stormed out of the room.
==============================
These episodes repeated themselves over the next few months. Lizzie was never known for her calm temper, but this was something else entirely.
"Lizzie, you hate Dominoes."
"Huh. Yeah, but I'm really craving some. Can we go now please?
It was fast food chains, TV shows, hair products, sneakers and more. One time, Lizzie started bawling because their dad brought home Colgate instead of Crest toothpaste.
If Lizzie didn't get her way, it was tantrums, it was throwing things, and it was pleading with her father who almost always gave in to whatever random brand Lizzie had decided she needed that day.
"Dad, something's not right with Lizzie."
Finn Ellison glanced up from his desk, and quickly glanced around.
"Close the door. What do you mean?"
"Haven't you noticed? Out of nowhere Lizzie wants to go to Dominoes every weekend. She wants Nikes instead of Sketchers. And the amount of Cokes we're buying every week now...something's wrong, Dad. It's not just that some of her tastes have changed, but she's *aggressive* about these things."
Finn sighed. "Look, you remember. When we lost your sister, it was the worst day of our lives. FAB came to us and offered us a solution."
"I remember," Angie said. "I remember you said we couldn't afford it, actually."
"We couldn't. Not the full version."
Angie felt her chest tighten. "What do you mean, 'full' version?"
"When I told the rep that we didn't have the money for their standard FAB droid, he told me about a new...product they currently had in beta testing, and that if we agreed to try it out, it wouldn't cost us anything. Heck, they even offered to cover the real Lizzie's medical bills from the accident."
Angie stood still for a solid minute, processing. "Are you saying...are you telling me that...you're saying that the Lizzie I've been living with for months is –"
"She's effectively an ad-tier version of a FAB droid."
Angie saw red. "How could you do this? How could you think that this was okay?? An ad-tier version of my sister? She's a sentient person! She's your *daughter!"*
"She is not my daughter!" Finn shouted. He deflated. "But she's better than nothing."
Angie stormed from the office to her room. She slammed the door, and collapsed on her bed, crying. She remembered the day she learned her baby sister had died, she remembered the counselors, the grief, the pain.
"Better than nothing," she murmured.
But she wasn't so sure.
|
“Can you hear me?” I ask EZRA, who is sitting across from us. I see slight red lights flicker in the black bulbs of its eyes.
“Nancy, I’m telling you I don’t think this is a good idea.” I tell my wife, trying for the last time to convince her not to go through with this. “This isn’t healthy. You’ve been doing so well, Nancy. I’m worried this is just going to make it worse.”
She’s not listening to me. She’s watching the fingers of EZRA as the upload continues.
EZRA's fingers and toes are twitching and curling as Jason’s brain scan is being uploaded into some deep internal network of its mainframe. I have a strong, almost overwhelming urge to toss it out the window.
The twitching grows into a full body palsy as the house robot begins to slide down from one end of the couch to the next. I touch Nancy’s hand and she grabs onto me, clawing my arm.
“What’s wrong with it?” she whispers to me, in a high-pitched voice.
“It’s done this before, remember? When we uploaded your father? Just give it a few seconds…”
“You think he’s alright? You think Jason is okay in there?”
I touch her arm. “It’s not Jason who is in there, Nancy. Our boy is dead. He died two years ago from cancer, remember?”
“Yes, of course I remember. You think I’d just forget that?” she says, looking at me with pure hatred.
“Of course not,” I say, looking away.
The robot has fallen on the ground now and the palsy has ended, but the twitching fingers and toes have returned. I lean down and pick it up. It’s heavy but not too heavy and I set it softly on the couch again. I look it into its eyes but I see nothing but a red pulsing dot surrounded by the charcoaled ruins of its black glass bulbs.
“I’m just saying, I think it’s best you understand that," I say. "I don’t think it would be healthy for you to think this is Jason.”
“It was just an expression, Larry. You always twist my words, don’t you?”
“No, Nancy. I wasn’t trying to do that. I’m just not sure if this is a good idea. You’ve been doing so well lately. You’ve been able to reduce your medication. You’ve been able to go to the grocery store. There are so many great advancements you’ve made just in the last few months. I’d hate to see any of that fall away.”
“It’s not going to *fall away*, Larry." She said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Don’t be ridiculous. This is going to help. Can’t you see that? No, of course you can’t see that. You never could see it. Any of it. You always think you know best.”
I stand up and stretch. “I’m going to get a glass of water. Would you like me to bring you anything when I return?”
“No.” she said sharply. “Besides EZRA will be able to help me soon. Once the upload is done.”
“Sure,” I said, stepping out the door.
\---
We purchased EZRA eight years ago when Nancy was pregnant with Jason. I was working full time and she was still working at the bakery. We thought it would be best for us to invest in an EZRA--the newest housecleaning model from the Dyson corporation. They were expensive, but it was worth it.
Even after eight years, EZRA is still the most advanced robotic helper in the industry. And it is still extremely popular, one reason being the ability to upload the brain scans of those loved ones who have passed.
We uploaded Nancy’s father Terry after he died at the age of eighty-two due to a heart attack. The brain scan wasn’t advanced at the time, not as they have now, and it's not often that we see Terry in EZRA. On occasion EZRA will say very strange things, things that must have been stored deep down inside Terry. And its generally when EZRA believes they are alone when it says these things.
One night I had came down from the upstairs bedroom and I saw EZRA standing at the window looking out. EZRA was supposed to be on their docking station. I had never known it to come off in the middle of the night. EZRA had its head pressed against the glass and was repeating the words, “Let me out, father. Let me out, father. Let me out, father.”
"Ezra", I said, walking slowly up to it. Its hand was wrapped tight around our window curtain and it was pulling firmly down on the fabric. I thought it would break the curtain rod. It kept repeating “let me out, father. Let me out, father.”
"Ezra", I said again, walking quietly up to it. When I touched its shoulder it spun around. Tearing the curtain off the wall and knocking me to the ground. 'Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!' It screamed, staggering forward.
“EZRA shut down!” I shouted and it fell to its knees, then collapsed to the floor.”
The next day we had a technician come and do a diagnostic. They said a relay switch had gone bad. They fixed it on the spot.
We’ve had no issues with Ezra since.
\---
I pull down a glass and it slips in my hand and falls and breaks on the tiled kitchen floor. I lean forward and take a long drink directly from the sink spout. When I’m done, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve then walk back into the living room.
“Look, look how handsome he looks,” Nancy says, standing next to EZRA. “I can see our boy in it already.”
I stare at EZRA who is standing there, looking at the wall. The red dots have grown in its black glass eyes. The twitching in its hands have stopped.
“EZRA, I’ve broken a glass in the kitchen. Please go clean it up.”
“Right away, sir,” EZRA says and walks past me with uncanny speed and agility. It always makes me nervous to watch their movements. The salesman said we’d get used to it after a while. That it was normal, and our brain had to adjust to these unhuman movements.
After all these years, I’ve never adjusted.
\----
Jason’s brain scan was top of the line when we purchased it. For the first few months after diagnosis we thought he would get better. That there would be some miracle that would come last minute and rescue him, and us, from this hell. But it was not a movie and we had to face the cold hard truth.
That’s when we purchased the brain scan.
My wife, understandable, was almost frenzied with grief at this time and she refused to even think about it. But, when I finally convinced her it may be a good idea for us to think about doing it—when she finally accepted the idea—then money was not a concern to her and we’d buy the most advanced brain scan money could buy.
And so, we did just that. And it has been sitting in a safety deposit box for two years. That is, before we uploaded it into EZRA.
For me, that was never the idea. There are other, more healthy options. There are companies that can review and revise the brain scan to develop something akin to a home movie for the bereaved. Memories, feelings, all of that. Something to keep and watch on birthdays that never come.
This is not what my wife wanted. And truth be told, it’s not what I wanted either.
She first suggested the idea of uploading into EZRA a couple months ago and I didn’t take it seriously at first. The idea seemed grotesque. But we had uploaded her father into EZRA, and outside of the few strange occurrences at night, it did bring some comfort.
Some days it seemed like Terry was in our house. EZRA would be absolutely boiling over with Terry’s thoughts and memories. But in the end, the brain scan was not a high quality one, and Terrys brain had deteriorated so far by the end of his life that the memories seemed warped, scattered and woven amongst so many strands. They’d come out incoherent from EZRAs mouth.
Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was not.
In the end, we decided to remove Terry from EZRA and that’s when Nancy suggested we add Jason.
I feel it is a mistake. That in some ways those who have passed should not be carried forward in the lifeless hulk of an artificial intelligence house robot. That these are not games to play lightly with. My son was a special boy, the greatest person I’d even known. But he is gone, and the memories should live within us, not displayed grotesquely through a machine.
But for my wife, it’s not so easy. It’s been very hard on her. Very hard. And I would do anything to make her happy. And if this is what she needs, as she so continuously tells me. Then I will do it for her.
\---
More at r/CataclysmicRhythmic
| 2021-03-06T14:22:05
| 2021-03-06T11:38:13
| 148
| 75
|
[WP] Airport authorities don’t recognize your passport because the country that issued it doesn’t exist. You are confused. You’re thinking: “What? I was born there! I’ve lived there all my life!”
Edit after 4 hours: I'd like to add that this writing prompt was inspired from this: http://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/1zsyz2/on_july_1954_a_man_arrives_at_tokyo_airport_in/
|
I realise I've drifted off into daydreaming and look up. The customs official peers at me suspiciously over his desk, clearly awaiting an answer. 'Sorry?'
'I asked the purpose of your trip. Just standard procedure.'
'Business. I'm a visiting lecturer from Oxford University.'
He frowns, but says nothing, and accepts my passport when I place it on the counter. I can't blame him for his lack of enthusiasm - it must be a boring job, flipping through documents all day.
The official clears his throat. 'What is your country of residence, sir?'
I look at my watch. 'Is this really necessary? I've got a taxi waiting.'
'Just standard procedure, sir.'
'England. Well, the UK.'
He looks uncertainly at the passport. 'Can you describe where that is?'
'Um, north of France?'
He nods, but his frown hasn't disappeared. He holds a finger to an earpiece, and nods slightly. 'Right. We're just going to take you into another room for some questions.'
'What? Why?'
'Just-'
'Standard procedure? Don't give me that. What's going on?'
Another man joins us at the booth. He's wearing some odd form of white garment which covers his whole body like a robe, and a cyan necktie. I meet his eyes, and he motions to a door on the far side of the passport office. 'Sir, please follow me.'
We take the lift to the fourteenth floor. He leads me into an office - small, but comfortable. The décor, however, is unusual. Bookshelves line the walls, but the books on them aren't paperback - they're bulky, austere, and old-fashioned. The desk, which occupies the centre of the room, is mostly taken up by a sleek tablet-like computer, but there remains space for a small collection of knick-knacks; a model of a boat from the age of sail, a ballpoint pen with an elegant feather at the other end, and a flag I've never seen before - a red background, with a golden circle surrounding an elaborate cross.
The man sits down at one side of the desk, and I seat myself facing him.
'What's your name, sir?' he asks.
'Mark Shepard. *Doctor* Mark Shepard.'
He picks up the tablet and taps away at it briefly, then slides it over to me. It's showing a blank map of the world, without national borders. 'Could you please show me on this map your country of origin?'
I frown, but point to the British Isles. 'Here. The UK. Is there a problem?'
He doesn't answer, but takes the tablet back, and returns it to the desk shortly afterwards. This time the display shows a portrait of a man garbed in purple, looking sternly into the distance. 'Who is this?'
'I don't know.' It's the truth.
He looks concerned. 'What year is it?'
'2014. It's 2014. What's going on here?'
He taps the tablet and it fades to black. 'Sir, have you experienced any physical trauma recently? Head injuries, that sort of thing?'
'Not that I know of.'
He nods. 'Okay, sir. You're clearly quite confused, and you've told me a lot of things which would suggest that you're suffering from a sort of memory loss. We're going to take you to the nearest physiciary and see if we can work out what's wrong with you.'
'What? But everything I've told you is right! What the hell's going on?' I stand up, knocking my chair to the ground.
The man flinches, but then composes himself. 'Sir, do you know where you are?'
'My flight was to Istanbul. I'm on my way to teach a guest lecture in history at Istanbul University, and I'm going to miss my taxi. Now, if you'll excuse me-' I'm halfway to the door.
'Doctor Shepard.' The man's voice is firm, and I turn around again to face him. 'There is no city called Istanbul.'
'Well, then, where am I?' I shout, striding over to a window and pulling aside the curtains. The view is stunning, but *wrong*. Nothing is right. The architecture isn't Turkish - it's distinctly Greco-Roman. From our elevated position I can see the Hagia Sophia, the great cathedral-turned-mosque-turned-museum - but its famous minarets are totally absent.
From behind me, the man speaks again. 'You're in Bellerophon International Airport, in Constantinople. Please sit down, and try to remain calm. We'll get to the bottom of this.'
|
Mary looked up from her shiny new Sinclair zPhone and sighed. “We’ve got another 1775er in today. Showed up at Idlewild Airport yesterday. Same story as the other terrorists we’ve got to handle. The usual: fake passport, same ‘alternate history’ backstory.”
“So, that’ll be eleven ‘Americans’ we’ll be looking after now?”, I said, and sighed. In theory detainees that we kept in Creedmoor’s secure psychiatric facility would be paid for by the government, but in practice we were always underfunded.
Personally, I hated the _Prevention of Terrorism Act_. Its powers were far too sweeping, and the so-called threats were always so minor. Whenever the media went on about the 1775 moment, it always seemed like a joke rather than a threat. A cult group that wished that the thirteen colonies that had gone on to form Appalachia had broken away from Great Britain forcibly in 1775 rather than amicably in 1963. You fought a war; you lost; get over it—it was hundreds of years ago! They were hardly much of a threat. They picketed Parliament, rather than plant bombs. But they were classed as subversive and liable to indefinite detention.
But these folks seemed to be a different crowd from the usual 1775 nutter. For a start, they had all learned the same script: a science fiction story in which “The United States of America” (what a mouthful!) had not only won the 1775 war, but then spread west over the entire continent, with an unlikely mix of conquest and land purchases. There were numerous hard to swallow ideas, from the utter vanquishing of the native peoples, to the conquest of Mexico (yeah, right), to the idea that you could just buy Louisiana or Alaska, the story stretched plausibility to breaking point and beyond.
I presume the story was made to appeal to some kind of Appalachian sense of patriotism, because instead of being just one power on the American continent, this story made us the big cheese, a superpower that was the envy of the world. Given the way we all fear the rising power of China, I suppose it’s comforting to create a fantasy world in which we are some sort of rival for them on the international stage.
But the brainwashing seemed to be very thorough. These people really seemed to believe their stories. Some even claimed to have been born in places that were never British colonies, like San Francisco and Los Angeles (in Mexico) or Checagou (Louisiana), yet their accent didn’t match their claimed birthplace.
Dr Mueller, our resident hypnotherapist found the cases fascinating. Although she couldn’t figure out how they had been brainwashed, she was actually pretty good at deprogramming them. It was tough work, but she has actually been able to induce selective amnesia to give them no knowledge at all of world history, and then build them back up.
The intake forms were still printing when they brought her in. She looked tired and bewildered, probably from the interrogation by Special Inquiry officers. She dragged behind her a small suitcase with its own built-in wheels and handle. It looked a bit small for a suitcase to me.
“Miranda Webb, born in New York?”, I asked.
“Yes, New York City”, she replied.
Who adds the name “City” to end of town names? “Yes, New York. So you’re a citizen of Appalachia”.
“Not this again.”, she said wearily, “I’m an American”.
“Aren’t we all.” I said. A smile flashed across her face and she looked me in the eye. I could see hope and then it collapsed.
“Look, please, I’m not crazy.”, she said “Look at my stuff, my passport. I have my computer, it’s got photos on it.”
I really needed to process her, but I let her get her computer out and show it to me. It was a brand I’d never seen before, and the keyboard looked like an old-fashioned typewriter keyboard. None of the usual function keys, and just one pad in the center, not the usual mini-pads for each finger. It looked like it was awkward to use.
“Do you have ‘why-fie’?” she asked, “Most of my photos are in ‘eye-cloud’.”
Her nonsensical gibberish snapped me back to reality. She was a psych patient, and she needed a structured environment.
An hour later, she was dressed in safe-wear and assigned to a room in the secure section. I’d given her a sedative and she seemed to have calmed a good deal. She was Dr Mueller’s problem now.
When I got back to my desk, I saw her handbag, small travel suitcase, and her computer still sitting there. Normally I’d call a porter to take them for storage, but I was already behind, so I just stuffed them into a corner under my desk. I’d deal with them later.
I actually managed to forget them for two weeks. It wasn’t until I saw Miranda again working as a trusty.
“Hello, Miranda”, I said.
“Hello.” she squinted at my name badge “… nurse Meadows, have we met? I’m afraid I had an accident and my memory is very fuzzy.”
“Perhaps we did, I’m not sure…”, I hedged, “how is your recovery going?”.
“I think my accident gave me panic attacks”, she said, “but ECT is helping and I’m getting a lot better. I’ve forgotten so much. And no one can remember who I am, so I’m going to have to start life over, but they’re letting me work here while I sort myself out.”
“Good luck!” I said, and she walked away. She seemed to be adjusting well, but I had a nagging sense that something was wrong.
| 2014-11-23T12:44:33
| 2014-11-23T11:54:47
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] Two werewolves fall madly in love, but only during the full moon. When they’re human, they can’t stand each other.
|
The smell of fresh blood created a trail in the air. The metallic stench filled Tom’s nostrils causing a reaction of intense hunger and desire to overwhelm his mind and body. He sprinted between the trees of the woods that would usually be filled with darkness at this time of the night but not tonight as a full moon was on display. The rain soaked bark on the trees glistened all around him reflecting the intense moonlight. Tom however, was not concerned with such trivialities as the glistening trees; he was on the hunt.
The scent got stronger and stronger as Tom almost flew over the long damp grass beneath him. He skidded to a halt on his four hairy legs as he arrived at a small and ominous village. It was a collection of small thatched huts with small fires spread between them. As he approached, a small hint of suspicion formed within Tom but this was ignored as his senses became completely filled with the anticipation and aromas of fresh meat. There was no one around, the village was deserted, but Tom could hear something. A crunch then gnawing finished with a swallow. Someone had beaten him to the kill. Tom was not usually a scavenger but when that familiar smell wafted around him he could not help himself. What Tom saw next in the village stunned him with its beauty. Another werewolf was crouching in the centre of town with a mauled victim beneath it. ‘It’ was definitely female; Tom could tell by her much defined facial structure and the length of her snout. This was one of the most erotic scenes Tom had ever witnessed and his cravings quickly changed from hunger to lust.
Emma heard a clumsy snap of a fallen twig behind her and spun around to see a most handsome beast. The enticement of the bloodied flesh beneath her soon disappeared. The look on Tom’s face told Emma that the passionate feelings were reciprocated and she edged closer to him. In turn Tom did the same until they were a whisker length apart. They sniffed each other vigorously until they were satisfied with what they had inhaled. After that there was a slight pause before both pounced at each other and passion consumed them both. To an outsider their love-making would have looked like a brutal fight for survival, however it was anything but.
After they had consummated Emma graciously offered with a feral grunt to share her fallen prey. Tom politely accepted with a vicious snarl and they both devoured what was left of the succulent meat. After they finished they licked their lips and curled up around each other in one of the abandoned shelters before both drifting off into a blissful sleep.
When Tom woke up in his human state there was a moment’s confusion before the images of the previous night flooded into his mind. He looked across from him to discover the identity of his new “friend”. His face grew pale and nausea overcame him but it was not because of last night’s meal. Sleeping contently beside him with bloodstains still on her face was Emma, his brother’s widow. Tom hated her with a vengeance as he suspected Emma had murdered her own husband…
Note: I have been writing for about a week so any feedback would be really appreciated.
|
The full moon reflected in the deer's eye as it danced spritely through the woods. I lay undetected under the brush, awaiting the moment I could taste its blood. The scent filled my nostrils, and my mouth watered in anticipation. But there was another scent. Something that awakened a different kind of anticipation.
The deer hesitated, and I chose this moment to strike. But I was a moment too late. As I started from my cover, another wolf leapt from the opposite side of the clearing and tackled the deer to the ground. Her jaws clamped around its neck, severing its arteries and ligaments for a quick, clean kill. The she-wolf gazed up at me, and snarled, blood dripping from her jowls.
Looking back, I am disturbed to report I was severely aroused by this, especially when considering the bitch's true identity (and I mean that in both senses of the word). But in that moment, I did not hesitate to patter towards her and expose my throat in an act of supplication. Her snarl faded, and the blood of the deer no longer enticed me as the scent of her pheromones overwhelmed me. She was in heat, and I was ready to go.
I don't feel the need to dive into specifics here, but it was a night I'll never forget. As a werewolf, I'm used to the human parts of my brain going on auto-pilot as the purely id-driven wolf takes over. I have no sexual interest in wolves when I'm a human. I'm not even a closeted furry. But that experience with the she-wolf in the forest was perhaps the pinnacle of my sexual history.
I didn't realize at the time, she was also a werewolf. We made love (if wolves have a concept of love) through most of the night, intermittently snacking on the kill she had so generously provided, and howling at the moon when it struck our fancy. Having another voice added to mine, gave me peace in a subconscious part of my human mind that hadn't yet adjusted to this new form of life. I felt at home.
I was used to waking up naked in the forest, but always alone. I was lying on my side, with my arm around the last woman I could have expected. My first thought was panic, at her possible discovery of my condition, before realizing she obviously suffered the same condition.
But enough build-up. When I realized who I was lying with, I was full of revulsion to discover Shelley. Shelley was a woman from my old job at the mail room. My horrible horrible boss. She wore high heels to feel powerful, and turned every slight into a catastrophe. She fired me after I was late the morning after a full moon. She had also been late. A few months earlier, at a wild Christmas party, she bit me for attempting to take away her vodka cranberry, after she'd thrown her computer out the window. Come to think of it, that bite might have been important.
| 2018-05-23T00:13:36
| 2018-05-22T20:37:45
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] You are a demon who negotiates contracts in exchange for people's souls. One time you get summoned by a suburban mom who makes impossible requests. When you can not provide her demands, she asks to "speak with your manager".
|
She ignores the simple beauty of the thing. Contracts like it don't exist anymore. Carefully executed script on creamy vellum that flows sensually from one brilliantly deliberate word to the next. She is so busy fussing over the words, that their presentation and the meaning are lost on her.
It is a shame, really.
She crosses her arms, expensively manicured nails drumming restlessly on her yoga taut bicepts. "Listen sweety, you don't to be anywhere near where this is going. I asked for something and I didn't get it. That was the deal."
"There are rules to every deal," I say. "You broke the rules. The deal is off."
"Oh, the deal is off when I say it is off! I'm done listening to your nonsense. I'm getting what I want, if you can't make that happen, I need to speak to someone who can."
"When you ask for the impossible-" I start, but she cuts me off.
"Manager. Now."
"I don't think you-"
"What is your name?"
I rub my temples. "You literally can't pronounce it. Just call me Bob."
That makes her laugh. "Ok, Bob." The air quotes are unnecessary. "Get you manager. Now!"
My taloned hands that can crush skulls, clench. The thick muscles of my arms tighten like an anaconda squeezing the life from a goat. Lips pull back from my mouth full of dagger sharp teeth. "You want to speak to the entity that drives a demon, a creature born of human nightmares, to commit its horrific acts? You wish to come face to face with the darkest, most vile being existence has birthed? You are demanding to speak with the source of all evil in the known universe?"
"Yes," she says, not batting a fake eyelash.
"As you wish," I say with a node. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
The flickering light of Damnation's fire illuminates the brimstone smoke that fills the room, and I slip from her realm. When the smoke clears, she is left staring into the hate filled eyes of a monstrosity.
I leave her with a mirror.
|
Draadvakkas the horrible picked up a pen and waited until it burst into flames and started screaming. Perfect. He put pen to paper and started writing.
"Dear... Mom...."
Suddenly, Draadvakkas the horrible felt the ground shake, and the doorframe creak. He laughed. Some poor fool was trying to summon him. The ad on CraigsList really did work. Who was it this time? A cheated lover looking for revenge? A slighted tough guy looking for an edge in the next fight? He would give them anything they wanted... in exchange for their soul.
The ground heaved under him and spin around in circles, glowing with red and green flames.
"Hello?" Said Draadvakkas the horrible. He was standing on a pentagram made of baby powder in a living room. "Helllooooooooo. Hello."
Draadvakkas the horrible scratched his head. Normally the summoner would at least stick around to make their request.
After a few minutes, a lady in officewear walked into the room. "Thank you for holding," she said, "it is so good to see you."
"You have summoned Draadvakkas the horrible?" Said Draadvakkas the horrible.
"Oh, that name is far too long for little old me to remember," said the lady. I'll just call you "Chuck."
"What the hell you will no- ahem. Chuck. Very well, you may call me Chuck." Said Draadvakkas the horrible.
"Whyyyyy have you summonnnnned meeeeeee?" He continued.
"Baby pictures!" Said the lady.
"Excuse me?"
"I just need to have have someone hold the camera while I take some baby pictures!" Said the lady.
Draadvakkas blinked. "Sure. I can do that." He held out his hand and took the iPhone. The lady hurried into the back room and grabbed a small child, not yet old enough to walk, who took one look at Draadvakkas and started crying.
"Whoooo's a little munchkin? You are! Yes, you are!" Said the lady to the panicked and screaming child.
"Too easy," said Draadvakkas, as he took a picture with the iPhone and handed it back.
"And now," he continued. "Your soul is mine!"
"Afraid not, dearie," said the lady, "I've been told that I have no soul at all! Toodles!" And with that she turned on the vacuum cleaner and started to clean up the baby powder pentagram, as Draadvakkas the horrible swirled back down to the underworld in a puff of red smoke.
| 2020-05-04T20:42:28
| 2020-05-04T20:13:07
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] At the age of thirteen you get to meet the oldest version of yourself. As the boy sat down to meet his future self he was shocked to see a boy who looked around sixteen staring back at him.
|
Everyone knows you get to meet your oldest self for your 13th birthday, but no one knows how it works.
I don't care to know until they day meet him. Only 3 years later I was gonna die. How? He wouldn't tell me. "You're too young to hear about it. So am I"
It was a short conversation, until he turned to leave. He couldn't hide the hole in his jacket, his shirt, and his back.
"I'M GONNA BE LITERALLY STABBED IN THE BACK IN JUST THREE YEARS!" Shock was an understatement. "WHO?!"
My older self turned back to me and just shook his head.
"Please" I begged "I gotta know."
"Jimmy," he sighed "I remember this conversation the way you see it, I remember my insistence to know. I didn’t tell myself."
"Please"
He looked me im the eyes. "I... wasn't this insistant last time" he thought to himself. "Stay away from Jack. And if you end up meeting Jamie anyway, stay far away."
I nodded in resolve and he began to glow. He looked at himself in confusion as he began to age up until an old man stood in front of me. An old man in a hospital gown.
"Did I just-..." I stopped mid-question.
"You saved yourself" old man me said wisely. "Now the way you'll die is after a long battle with cancer."
"Who's Jamie?" I asked
"Before the old memories of my death fully fade I can tell you," he sighed "she's our old best friend Jack's sister. And for a while our girlfriend."
"Did she-?" I trailed off in my inquiry.
"Yes, it was her" He said simply. "But I think our time is up now" He began to leave.
"Wait!" I grabbed his bony arm. "Who do we marry?"
He smiled, "I'll let you find out." And he left.
When I got home, the first thing I did was kick Jack out of my life. If his sister was gonna kill me, he's gone immediately. I sat in my room and thought to myself, life is gonna be ok for me now, might as well let it happen, or make it happen.
|
The older boy sighed before shaking his head lightly
"Evening" he knew he wouldn't get a response at this time he had gone selectively mute. The smaller boy waved neither knowing where to start. The smaller version eventually made noise
"Why?"
"Why?", a nod in response "worlds end" the other shook. Things had been bad for several years but knowing that their home was finally hit as well.
"It is a bit more complicated as it seems more like everything they destroyed was reset with the survivors watching on almost timelessly" he waited for a change while the thought of 'You were useless during most of it sleeping'
"Five more minutes" a voice boomed it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Any other questions" the older asked.
The younger shook as to say 'No'.
"Well a piece of advice keep an eye out for allies they are there and willing to listen."
After that everything faded away as the boy awoke in his own bed. He got up and ran for his pen and paper writing all the details before they faded.
| 2021-03-27T14:32:16
| 2021-03-27T11:40:21
| 23
| 10
|
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck."
|
I turned the T.V. off and listened to the soft blowing wind from the cracked window next to me. I slid it closed as the words rolled over me, their meaning slowly taking hold.
“Military aid is unavailable,” the grim-faced man said before wishing everyone that could hear his voice good luck as the station went back to the crawling white letters over the black screen. Normally the screen would have an accompanied several loud screeches that made my ears want to bleed, but not tonight.
For a few moments I stared at the blank screen, mouth slightly agape, my eyebrows coming together. The broadcast felt like a joke, some elaborate prank on the city. Something to be ignored, laughed at for a passing moment before you got back to your life. As the words settled in me something else bloomed; fear. Anxiety. Tension that busied my hands with the hem of my shirt as the sounds from across the street at the Stevenson house flowed into my ears.
I could see the party starting up, hear the laughing and the overly loud talking. Behind the two-story house I could see the sun kissing the horizon, staining the sky in pinks and oranges that seeped lower and grew darker with each passing second. I watched a car pull up to the already cluttered curb and park, a pair of nicely dressed women stumbling out with drunken giggles. I watched them trek through the freshly mowed lawn and knock on the front door, a crisp red. I watched until the light that spilled out through the doorway was cut off and turned back to my empty house.
Barricading the doors was easy enough and for once I was thankful for all the extra supplies from the do-it-yourself kitchen renovation my one time brother-in-law has insisted upon. I had just enough wood for the doors and most of the windows. By the time I hammered in that last nail, securing the piece of pale wood in place, the sun was gone and the sky was dark. The realization hit me harder than words can describe.
The words of that anchor came to mind. “Do not make any light or noise between 6 P.M. and 8 A.M.,” and a new kind of fear sent my heart thrashing behind the cage of bone. I could taste each quick beat; salty pennies with the burn of bile from my churning stomach.
The clock on the stove, those bright red numbers, read 7:42 P.M. My mouth dried out with a breath. How had the time gone so quickly? I hurried over the tiled floor and covered the numbers with a hand towel, taping it in place with a strip of duct tape. No light.
Each light on the bottom floor clicked off with a soft sound that I felt the entire world could hear. With the last little sound I stood in the dark living room and waited. For what? Death? My mind showed me monsters, creatures from worlds I’ll never know. Horrible beasts with sharp teeth and strong jaws. Things with knives for fingers that long to bathe in my blood. I stood there conjuring up every kind of terrible sight and could still hear the party across the street.
It sounded like things were kicking into high gear. Music throbbed, vibrating the world around it the home. The voices from the yard, both back and front, seeped through my walls hitting my ears muffled and slurred. A delighted scream sent me stomping up the stairs and to my bedroom and to the window pointing out to the neighborhood below.
An impossibly tall and thin figure wrenched a wriggling woman towards the sidewalk. She screamed and giggled and seemed to lightly hit at the figure that kept pulling her along like she weighed less than a feather. No one at the party seemed to mind, or seemed to take much notice at all. The figure took the hits and kept walking, and walking, until they were past the boundaries of my picture window. The next scream I heard wasn’t playful, or fun. It was loud, shrill, and filled with pain.
It sent a spurt of adrenaline through my legs that twitched my calves, made me want to move, to help, to do anything but sit and watch those shadow covered bodies like they were some kind of T.V. show. But I didn’t. I didn’t help and I didn’t move. Not when the screams suddenly cut off mid-sound, and not when that figure strolled back to the party, moving among the bodies like water between rocks.
When the second figure moved into the crowd, ducking through the open front door to get inside, I backed away from the window. I backed up until my legs hit the edge of my bed, I moved around it until my fingertips brushed over her bedside table. I guess it was my bedside table, now. They both were. I couldn’t stop the thoughts from flooding my mind, the questions. Was she safe? Were both of them? Did they catch the warning or were they doing something else at the time or were they too busy unpacking in their new home?
That question pushed me down the stairs as quick and as silent as I can manage on wood steps, and to the front door. Through the cracks I could hear more blood-chilling screams that raised every little hair on my body. They were close. So close. Just beyond the thick wood, calling me forth. Calling me for help.
I’m not a brave person, and I’ve never claimed to be such, but walking away from those screams, those terrified and agony filled sounds, brought such a wave of shame over me I thought I might fall through the earth and shoot out the other side at such a speed I’d be launched into the void of space. I didn’t fall but I did stumble over my own feet.
My shoulder hit the wall and sent a picture to the ground, the one from our trip to Alaska all those years ago. We wanted to see the northern lights, but only saw a lot of grey clouds and snow. The glass pane shattered over our smiling faces sending specks of sharp glitter to the hardwood floor. Each tiny shine seemed to be a wailing siren that singled my existence like a beacon in the night. When everything settled I stood frozen again. Listening. Waiting.
Nothing came. Not that night. And in the morning I saw them, their bodies, littering the nearly trimmed yards of the neighborhood, left behind like discarded scraps. I could see some of them from my window. Blood that clung to grass, the sidewalk, the street, caught the early morning light and gave a dull shine. Some patches looked fresh while others were dark and brown, dry or something close to it. Limbs lay scattered like confetti, parts I couldn’t discern lay in heaps. Seeing the carnage I still worked up the courage to leave the house, somehow. I had to know it wasn’t part of a prank, that it was real. I had to know.
I tied a couple sheets together, and to my bed, pulling the knots tight before opening the window. If it didn’t hold the fall wouldn’t kill me, probably, but I’d have to get the ladder from the shed out back. The dark shed. If tunnels were bad would all dark places be, as well? I shook the question away, storing it for later and pushed the screen out of the windowsill. It landed with a small sound and I leaned over the edge.
It held, my makeshift rope. And I reached the yard with aching shoulders. A body lay in my near my driveway. Rich tawny skin glowing in the golden sunlight, deep black hair spread out around a bloody face. Camilla Greer from two houses down lay on her back, her black dress slick and torn to rags over her stomach. Bile kissed my tongue when I saw she was hollowed out, her meat and organs gone without a trace. Then I noticed her arm, barely clinging to the rest of her body with only a string of muscle.
A gasp left me, echoed by someone down the block. Mr. Lok. Omar. The richly colored robe he wore, red with gold accents, hung loosely around his body, the sash laying near the steps of his porch. The thick cloth dragged behind him, through the stained grass, catching a couple times on the rough sidewalk as he stumbled over the edge of the curb into the street.
I heard his quick breaths before he emptied his stomach next to a piece of glistening gore, and I watched him wipe tears from his wrinkled face. I watched him and heard others, all around us, waking and leaving their homes, taking in the horror that stained the neighborhood, one renowned for its safety. I watched them all as they remembered the parting words of that news anchor, the words that slid through my mind.
“Military aid is unavailable. Good luck.”
It wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t a prank. It was real, and no one was coming to save us.
|
The warning was clear: if you break any of the rules, you die. Lucy left the house before dawn once to gather stream water, and she never came back. We never even found a body. Alex forgot to turn the light off in his room one night before he fell asleep, and we found him in the morning; drained from within, barely a husk of a man.
It was down to me and Erin in the house, a woman I barely even knew. She was Alex's friend, and prior to the lockdown, I'd only known her as the mysterious girl who showed up to crash for days at a time, always managing to eat my Pop-Tarts in the process. Now she and I were clinging desperately to the hope of rescue, but we knew that it was a vain hope. "Military aid is unavailable," the message had said. No one was coming for us.
The message had also said not to enter tunnels during the day, but that's exactly what Erin and I were suiting up to do. She handed me the hockey equipment we'd found in Alex's closet. He'd been a star goalie for the school team in another life.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked as she put some of the pads on. I nodded. It had been her idea, but I didn't see much of an alternative that didn't involve sitting on my ass all day, waiting it out. I tried on Alex's mask. It fit pretty well, and I grinned behind it. *Just like Casey Jones.*
"What do we have as far as weapons?" I asked. Erin frowned.
"Really just hockey sticks I found in his closet, but it's your house, what else you got?"
My mind went immediately to the knife block in the kitchen, though the thought of using my expensive cooking knives as weapons upset me more than a little. They'd cost me a month's rent, but they might be the most effective things I had on hand. I walked slowly into the kitchen and grabbed the large chef's knife from the block. I hadn't used it since this whole ordeal began, which meant it was still nice and sharp. I grabbed a boning knife for Erin to use just in case the hockey stick didn't prove useful.
When I came back into the living room, Erin's head was bowed in prayer, her hands clasped around the cross necklace I'd always seen her wear. I allowed her a moment of silence, after which her eyes opened with a resolve I'd never seen in her.
"You ready?" she asked. I wasn't, but I nodded anyway.
We opened the door, bracing ourselves for an assault that never came. It was 2 o' clock by my watch, which meant we had a solid four hours to do our business and get back to the house before nightfall. I knew there was a cave system near the campus, thanks to an introductory archaeology course I'd taken sophomore year. That was our target. Maybe if we could find out why we were warned not to enter tunnels, we could find out what was happening.
Fear rose in my chest the closer we got to the tunnels. I knew what we were doing was one of the only courses of action available to us, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare the piss out of me. Upon arriving at the tunnels, we peered in, unable to see past about five feet in. I gulped, taking out a flashlight I'd brought to light our way. I don't know how I could have been prepared for what I saw.
Sure enough, there were figures in the tunnel, at least four, by my count. They looked humanoid, which I don't think I'd been expecting. But the most unsettling part is that they were *hanging from the ceiling.* I needed to get closer, to figure out how they were doing it.
My feet slid one in front of the other, as slowly as I could manage while still making forward progress. I was close enough to reach out and touch one of the figures, though I dared not. Shining my flashlight up at the ceiling, I could see the figures all had their feet dug into the soft earth above them, and were somehow hanging from that.
The closest one to me opened his eyes with a start. I stumbled backward, landing squarely on my ass. I tried my best to look intimidating as I brandished the knife I'd brought with me, but whatever it was we were facing down didn't look deterred. I could see the bloodthirst in its eyes, though the scariest thing about it was that it looked totally human, aside from skin so pale it was almost translucent.
Erin cracked her hockey stick over its head, though it didn't appear to notice the injury at all. It slowly turned its eyes to her, dropping from the ceiling and drawing itself up to its full height in one smooth motion. It was taller than it had first appeared; almost as tall as the tunnel itself, some seven and a half feet. Erin recoiled, and that was all the prompting the thing needed.
It lunged at her, baring fangs I could have sworn weren't there a moment before. I cried out, moving as if to stab the thing, though I was still too far away. Erin and the monster tumbled to the ground, making the muffled grunts of a struggle. Suddenly, the monster screeched, loud enough to make my ears bleed. It fell backward, clawing at the burning hole in its chest, and I saw fear in its eyes for the first time.
Erin's expression was one of delighted confusion. The cross on her necklace burned with a soft light, and it suddenly clicked.
"The cross!" I shouted at her, and her confusion gave way to determination. She stood, removing the necklace, and she approached the next sleeping vampire.
*Finally,* I thought. *We can end this.*
| 2018-04-18T10:34:08
| 2018-04-18T07:40:08
| 350
| 250
|
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun!
|
"Y-... You're kidding me... right?"
I DO NOT KID.
"But... I... I was a _good person_, they told me that would *count* for something!"
THEY WERE MISTAKEN.
"I don't deserve this..."
REALLY? YOU DID NOT?
"Of course not! What kind of monster deserves THIS?!"
DID YOU NEVER LAUGH AT A FAT CHILD FALLING OVER? DID YOU NEVER TAKE ICE CREAM FROM THE FREEZER? DID YOU NEVER ACCUSE A CO-WORKER OF SOME TRIVIAL, PETTY CRIME TO COVER UP YOUR OWN GUILT?
"Well I... but everyone does that!"
AND EVERYONE GETS THIS.
"But if you just *told* us, we would live better lives!"
IF SOMEONE TOLD YOU THE EXAM RESULTS, YOU WOULD GET HIGHER GRADES.
"This is *not* the same as high school!"
ISN'T IT? WERE YOU NOT GIVEN THE CHANCE TO BRANCH OUT, TO LEARN, TO MAKE INTERESTING CONNECTIONS? AND DID YOU NOT, INSTEAD, SIT AT THE BACK OF THE CLASS, METAPHORICALLY DOODLING IN YOUR NOTEBOOK AND TALKING TO PEOPLE WHO WERE ALL PRETTY MUCH THE SAME?
"I was a *paramedic*! I *saved lives*!"
YOU DID. AND YOU ALSO IGNORED THE BEGGAR ON THE STREET. YOU BLEW YOUR HORN IN TRAFFIC SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU WERE HAVING A BAD DAY. YOU SHOUTED AT YOUR BOYFRIEND BECAUSE YOU WERE BITTEN BY A MOSQUITO AND IT SMARTED.
"What about Hitler?! Did *he* get this?!"
OF COURSE.
"So you're saying I'm as bad as Hitler then?!"
I'M ALSO SAYING YOU'RE AS GOOD AS MOTHER THERESA.
"...Oh."
SHE GOT THIS TOO.
"I... I see..."
FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH... I WISH IT WERE ANOTHER WAY.
"Thank you..."
THE OFFICE IS DOWN THE HALL, THREE DOORS ON THE RIGHT. YOU WILL SEE YOUR FIRST CLIENT IN 10 MINUTES. DO NOT BE LATE.
"Wait! I... I don't know what to do..."
HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN TO A COUNCIL OFFICE BEFORE?
|
You are dead, or are you really? You have been an atheist, all your live. Well most of it, sometimes you have ventured into agnosticism, but mostly you have been an atheist. So why the hell, can you still think, you remember being alive, you remember the doctor saying that it would all over soon, then pushing the piston on the syringe of the barbiturate into the catheter attached to your arm. And now what? You have absolutely no sensorial input, you can't feel anything, you have no material body at all. What are you now then? Now you are a consciousness floating in the void, since you have absolutely no weight you are left in the exact same position, i know position is relative, but lets talk relative to the actual centre of the universe, so Earth is long gone. Not that it will make any difference to you, you did not even notice it. Oh i see i have not answered the question. And now what? Well ... Now you ... There is not really much you can do, you can think, try to dream things, pretend you are still alive, try to relive your life, since obviously you remember everything. But there is not much point to it. You think everybody else is just like you, a floating conscience somewhere in the vast void. Can you communicate with them? Oh, of course not, that would require a body. What about brainwaves, you might ask. You do not have a brain anymore, nothing at all, just your thoughts, what a religious person would call your soul, yes that really exists and yes that really lives on. Surprising, i know right. So? Does that mean there is a god? You do not know, how would he talk to you, how would you listen? By now you are probably asking yourself, who am I, this person sitting here having a conversation with you? I am you, your thoughts, just a creation of your imagination, to steer you away from the madness that loneliness and boredom will certainly create. Oh, my. I have said to much haven't I? Well time to leave. Bye!
| 2015-10-19T00:46:17
| 2015-10-18T20:21:54
| 34
| 23
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
To whom it may concern,
Helpless; this is the word that best defines my current state. Chained by aliments that only my debilitated will can cure. Confusion is the whip that heavily decorates my back with scars and sends blood wrenching echoes of ripping flesh to the depths of soul. My cuts burn and spew blood; the cost for the wisdom I am unwillingly gaining. Life; the tormentor that laughably wields the whip; forcing me to scream; forcing me to cry; forcing me to accept what I believe to be unacceptable. Patience whispers sweet words of hope claiming to be in the near future if I just wait. But time whispers in my other ear encouraging me to act; reminding me that I am not here forever. So here I am, broken; left with no plead unspoken; accepting the fact that I am not in control and that no savior or freedom will come. So I will wear the mask of happiness to hide the tears of despair; silently hoping, begging to survive.
-Mr_jisho
|
Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead.
| 2015-12-05T13:29:19
| 2015-12-05T13:04:29
| 49
| 36
|
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
Most people lost their sight waking up on the morning of the first day, as the event started in the middle of the night. The change only occurred as one slept, so others attempted to remain awake to retain their vision for longer. This effort proved to be pointless, as the effects took hold the moment they closed their eyes and started to doze. As the days stretched into weeks, Microsleep ended up taking of the vision of the most resilient.
Adjusting to the change was difficult, but there was ease in knowing that everyone was blind, and that we all shared the same struggle. Those that were blind *before* the change became valuable assets to their communities. They found themselves teaching thousands, in neighborhoods where there were no blind people before.
I spent my time at home, with my animals, listening to old reruns of my favorite TV shows. Years of mental health issues had rendered me unfit to work in the eyes of the state, so many aspects of my life continued as usual. I did miss reading and, although I managed to find a few books in braille, it wasn't that simple to learn. The small dots weren't that clear to me as someone who had recently gone blind. Walking the trails around my house was not an option anymore either.
That was then, though. Today, something changed that I didn't anticipate would happen. For the first time in over 785 days, I saw something.
There have been stories since The Great Blinding of people regaining their sight. In all cases so far, it has been attributed to an overactive imagination. I must admit that even I have been fooled into thinking I was seeing something. You catch what looks like a flash of light, but it quickly fades and you are reminded that you are still blind, and that it has been the case for over a year now.
Today was different. I saw the flash of light, but it quickly expanded to cover my entire field of view. I had to remind myself that I had a field of view again. I was amazed at how much I could see again, but startled at how *forward* everything felt. In my blindness, I experienced my world in 360 degrees. Now, I was seeing only what was in front of me, and I noted how unaware I was of this before. My ears were still trained to the world of the blind however, so I found myself more aware of my surroundings than I remembered being before The Great Blinding.
Words started to appear in my vision. At first unfamiliar, but then more clear as the image of what each letter meant reappeared in my minds eye. I had forgotten what letters looked like.
'Do not tell them that you can see' were the words scrawled on my wall. The writing was brown, and it had no stench. I looked around to see if there was evidence that someone entered my room while I slept, but I soon realized that the substance was dried and old. Someone wrote this on my wall a long time ago, and I had no idea why.
I crept out of my room and realized that the sun was starting to set. After so long without sight, I wasn't surprised that my sleep cycle was so off. For me, it felt like early morning.
The sky was illuminated with streamers of light, and everywhere people wandered through the streets, heading for work. The setting sun turned the sky a rich burgundy striped with its golden rays. There were no stars in this sky. In the distance, the trees danced, casting their long shadows on the surrounding fields. Looking closer, I realized they were actually dancing. Tall branches were swaying with their movements as they spun around one another and held each others' arms.
Nearby, the people continued with their lives, unaware of the beings in their midst. Translucent birds flew high in the sky and shattered against the stone clouds only to congeal and reform as a different bird. Their chirps mimicking those of any birds I knew of before The Great Blinding. Orbs of light illuminated and disappeared as they moved through the air, sometimes passing through people, unbeknownst to them.
There were no roads or vehicles in the street. The asphalt and gravel were replaced with fields of grass; despite this, my feet clattered on the ground as if it were still made of stone. I was so absorbed in my changed surroundings, it was hard to take in. In the distance I heard whispers and, as I narrowed my eyes, I caught sight of a person waving at me to come near. I approached with caution, not knowing who or what they might be.
"Get in here!" They pointed at my house. "Before they notice me." I retreated through the door, and faced the man who was invading my home. "Do you have any idea what you are looking at?" He spoke quietly, and stared out the window. The red glare of the night sky cast his face in a bloodied shadow. "You have entered the world of the dead.” He closed the blinds. “You are witnessing things you were never supposed to see.”
|
When I was younger, my mother told me that no matter what happens I needed to be strong. She told me that the world was a cruel place and my sister Kay needed protecting. It didn’t make sense to me at the time, this world was full of wonder and adventure. My thirst for adventure led me to the Army when I was eighteen.
One day my commander called me into his office. There was an accident back at home. My mother and sister were involved in a car accident, killing my mother and gravely wounding Kay. I was given some leave time to return home and grieve. The next few months were rough, rougher than anything the Army had put me through. My days were spent tending to my sister for the accident had left her blind. Little did I know that the real trials were yet to come.
A few years later my time in the armed forces were up. After leaving the Army, I was able to get an apartment for my sister and I. Despite losing her eyesight, Kay was able to live happily. For a while, I believe I was happy too. Then, one day I woke up in my dark room. I could hear the television in the other room. The news was on as I was slowly making my way out of bed.
“This is an emergency, please stay in your homes until we have further information”
This snapped me out of my auto-pilot. What had happened? I walked over to the other side of the room in the darkness. Feeling my way around I get to the light switch and turn on the lights. Nothing happens. Trying the light switch a few more times I start to feel like something is very wrong. I feel my way into the living room where the television is. That’s when it hit me, I was blind.
For two years there was nothing, just nothing at all. Everyone’s eyesight was gone. They ended up calling it the Great Blinding. Funny, how they give the worst things titles such as *great*. After the first few months everything started to seem like it was going to work out. Without eyesight, everyone started being a lot nicer to each other. There was no longer any prejudice based on skin or race because no one could tell the difference.
After two years of living in peace, everything changed once again. There was a terrible screech that woke me out of my sleep. I jolted up in my bed. Then again, I heard a scream. It was coming from my sisters room! Hastily, I made my way into my sister's room. There was someone in there with her I could hear her struggling. Jumping into the frey, I fumble myself on the back of this intruder. I was able to subdue the intruder and put him in a choke hold. My military combat training was paying off.
“Run away! I’ll hold him off Kay!” I yelled into the darkness.
There were footsteps moving heading out of the room. My sister would be safe. I could feel my choke hold working, this guy’s strength was fading. Just as I was sure this guy wouldn’t be getting back up anytime soon, a thud. Something hit me, and it hit me hard. Was my sister safe at least?
Some time later I woke up in my sister’s room. I could feel the sun on my face coming through the window. How long was I knocked out? I struggle getting up; my head hurts like hell. Wait a second, I start feeling around looking for my sister. She’s not here! Making my way to the window something feels different. The sun, I’m not just feeling it on my face, I can see it! I’m not really sure what is going on. Slowly, I opened my eyes.
My vision was back! What happened? Is this really happening? How am I able to see again? I turned around to once again go over the scene. Kay’s bed was bloody and the room a total mess. That’s when I noticed it. On the walls, on the ceiling, on the mirror. *DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE.* In the mirror, my reflection looks back at me. What I saw was terrifying. My eyes, they weren’t normal anymore. They were all black, no irises or anything else just black pupil. What happened to me?
| 2022-10-08T20:12:12
| 2019-08-26T10:19:31
| 810
| 22
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
He was on the street, content with rage.
She typed away, in her own cage.
He stood on this stage in glorious fame.
The wizard stole the Frost Queen's Claim.
Her water broke. There was no time.
They finished up their master crime.
Would they kiss? Time would tell.
Charon crossed the river in Hell.
He sat in his car when he smelled the stink.
She was going insane -- she was on the brink.
The celebrity paused because he felt it then.
Wizards need to go, but the ice rose again.
She winced in pain while she felt it rise.
The criminal wept, meeting his partner's eyes.
He broke the kiss, feeling the pain spikes.
Charon winced. **Where will *you* be when diarrhea strikes?**
Edit: punctuation
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2015-01-12T17:07:48
| 1,493
| 24
|
[WP] In your world, magic is wielded by astrologists who form pacts with distant stars. Every star grants a unique power. Upon forming a pact with a star, you gain a glimpse of its worlds and your soul will be pulled to one when your pact ends. You are the first to form a pact with a black hole.
|
Rinz snapped out of it, the gathered mages were standing around him looking worried. He knew them all but too well, his classmates of the past few years, he even spotted a few off the high mages among them.
"What happened?" he said.
"Welcome back Mr. Saline," high mage Turoc said to him, responsible for them adopting a parent star. "I haven't lost a student so far and I don't plan on starting anytime soon"
Rinz just looked at him shaking his head "How long was I out?" he asked
"A few hours," someone behind him said.
"Now now," Turoc said "give yourself a minute to let the bond settle and then we will see what we have got"
Rinz looked into himself but he couldn't find anything, all he found was a swirling mess of blacks.
"Come on Rinz get up" A student in red robes said. He vaguely recognized him, Jake, yes that was his name. He had a hard time remembering.
"Look Rinz I got a red dwarf," Jake said " fire" as his eyes twinkled and shone. He remembered him as an often shy boy, but that's what the bonding does, it changes you body and soul.
He got up from the chair he had been slumped in the past few hours and stretched .
"Look Rinz" Jake said playing with a flame, as he was looking at it the flame petered out into a puff of smoke.
Jake looked at his hand and shrugged "well still getting used to it."
"Give him some room," the high mage said.
As people started to drift off now the excitement was over only a handful remained, his friends he figures only he had a hard time remembering.
"Now let's see what we have got" high mage Turoc continued. "as I taught you, reach deep inside you"
Rinz tried but as before he got darkness , just black.
"I don't see anything he said, it's just all black"
"Black? , no black stars" Focus Mr. Saline, focus. perhaps you mean brown, the earth magic, lots of old brown dwarves in the region you were looking at.
"No" Rinz said "its as if there isn't anything, no brown not even black just nothingness".
"That's impossible we all saw the link being formed, focus is it white blue, red or brown?" A few of the other high mages started to drift over.
"Wel Mr. Saline" high mage Turoc once more sid a bit more forcefully. "Try an incantation, focus on your hand"
As he was taught he opened the palm and focused on a point in the middle, his head started to spin, around him candles started to flicker and a small tremor could be felt.
"What's going on?" a voice from behind him said
Rinz opened his eyes and turned around, it was one of the archmages, masters of the dominion. Just his luck, being noticed like this was dreadful.
"Archmage-" Rinz stopped as he couldn't remember his name. His robe was a dark brown so she was earth stone and rock but-
"Archmage Vargas" high make Turoc intervened. "It seems Mr. Saline has trouble with the link"
The archmage looked at him, eyes piercing him. A look of surprise came over her face.
"I sense something but its hard to focus on," the archmage said
"Boy," the archmage said after a brief pause. "Focus deep in yourself, and try and gather all that there is inside you.
Rinz did as he was told trying to gather the darkness but the more he pulled on it the more he could feel it slip away into nothing, a vast emptiness . More tremors made him open his eyes, panicked cries sounded as the floor next to him cracked.
The archmage looked frightened. "the spells" she almost whispered "the castle spells are failing, that's impossible"
Suddenly she looked at Rinz and said "Stop it, Mr. Saline"
Rinz shook his head stop what?
"Stop-" the archmage was interrupted by a huge noise coming from the ceiling, stone started to collapse crushing a mage not far from him.
Stretching out her hands the archmage yelled " Get out, I will hold it as long as possible."
Rinz looked at the archmage as sweat appeared on her brow .
"GET OUT " she yelled "Get Out Now" punctuating every word.
More tremors shook the castle as Rinz fled with the remaining students. As he ran through the castle he had a hard time remembering where he was, a red-robed boy pulled him back "This way !" as he shoved him through a door.
Together they ran as around them the castle started to crumble and fall, his head filled with darkness ready to swallow the world.
|
Chaos, that was what it was. Bloodshed and devastation. But it hadn't always been that way; the first few times that people had been blessed by the stars, we had celebrated. The powers that the Heavens had distilled upon us were unconditional, not bound by the same rules and limits as those of the Mages.
We developed all sorts of abilities—flight, weather manipulation, petrification by eye contact—you name it. By tethering your soul to a star, you claimed its power, and to ensure that no two people shared the same power, no two people could share the same star. It was a glorious thing. People all over the world started Tethering, and developing magic of their own.
Of course, so did I. I was young and naive, hopeful and excitable. The moment I turned 22, I went out in my backyard and threw my head to the sky. Countless stars dotted the night sky, and thousands were already Tethered. We didn't know how we knew, we just *did*. It was my first and only chance to Tether, and I wanted it to be special, so I wanted the star to be special.
I must have spent hours raking the sky for what I thought was a worthy star, and finally, I found it. That was when it all went wrong. I did as they told us to do: pray to the star, form a connection. And it worked. I felt it happen. I *saw* it happen.
The tells weren't usually very distinctive, but this tell, definitely was. The star began to grow brighter, and larger in the sky. I could see people in my neighbourhood coming out to gawk at it. Then other stars began to disappear—I still don't know what happened to the people whose souls were tethered to them, and truth be told, I don't want to.
The star continued to grow, which made even more stars disappear, and then finally, it went black. It was no longer a bright mass of burning gas, it was an enormous rip in the fabric of space—a black hole.
People had noticed me doing my Tethering that night, and began to question whether I'd done something to the star. Impossible of course, but when you're scared you'll think anything. Soon after the police were involved, and then the Mages came. Their magic told them that the star was corrupted, and that it was possible for others to be corrupted as well. They didn't know how that would affect the Starborn—those who had Tethered—but they didn't want to find out. They demanded that all Starborn be handed over, and that people stopped Tethering. Naturally, we refused. The Mages were jealous, we had said, bitter. And so the war began.
For seven years we've warred, and it was all my fault....
"Luke? Luke!" a voice hissed in my ear, tearing me from my thoughts.
"What?" I said, confused. Then I saw the face staring down at me. "Oh, Kenny." Kenny was an old man, with several feet of bushy grey hair and a matching beard. His eyes were blue, and held a hint of insanity—well, slightly more that a hint. He was stocky for his age, and smiled quite often, despite losing so much in the war. "What is it, Ken?"
"Ariya an' Tarif are back. They got something," he said, grinning slyly.
I pushed myself off of the ground, not bothering to brush off—what was the point? My clothes were aged and torn, and looked as though they had been washed in dirt. I followed Kenny through the long, narrow corridor that lead to our base of operations, which was really just an old, demolished high school.
He lead me into what was left of the Chemistry lab, where I found the entire group—minus those who were keeping watch—standing in a circle.
"Go on," Kenny urged me. They made a slight part in the circle to admit me, and I saw another old man, bound in chains. He was sturdy like Kenny, and he wore a brown cloak, with a drawing of the planet on his chest.
"An Earth Mage," I said contemptuously.
| 2020-02-21T04:15:24
| 2020-02-21T04:09:32
| 79
| 16
|
[WP] You are the inventor of the most powerful optical microscope. While testing it with some of your own skin cells, you find a tech support number on each of your cells. You decide to call it.
|
*It actually started ringing. The number wasn't a fake, then again how could it be a fake. To be able to leave a phone number on a cell.*
It kept ringing a few times, each sound sending a new shiver through my body.
*Why was I so nervous, then again all this was so surreal, how could I not be?*
Then a crackling noise announced that someone had lifted the receiver.
*Does that mean it was an ancient phone with a cord and all? Does it even matter at this point? Focus Jim, Focus.*
'Hello?' a female voice answered.
'H-Hello.' i managed to stutter.
'Who's there, what's your business?' the voice inquired.
'I-I'd like to know that aswell.' I replied nervously.
*God, why does my smarts have to leave me at such a moment, why am I so socially awkward. Just give her a name would you Jim you just invented this magnificent microscope. You can handle a simple phone call!*
'Are you a creep? Why'd you call my number?' the female voice seemed slightly agitated.
'I-I'm Jim. A-are you g-god?'
*Really Jim, Really? Aren't you supposed to be a scientist?*
Instead of an answer all i got was laughter to the point you could hear some snorting. It took the other side a few minutes to calm themselves and give an appropriate answer.
'No Jim. I'm not God ... Wait where'd you get this number' the tone of the voice changed midway through talking and suddenly appeared to be serious.
'It's written on the cell membrane in my body.' I answered truthfully.
Then silence followed, but it appeared someone was still on the other side.
*why did i have to go all out? Did I blew my chance?*
Then the voice came back. 'So you are a creep after all.'
Then the monotone sound like the one when someone hangs up on you appeared. I was about to hang up and try again but the feeling like there was still someone there hadn't left yet. Just like before so I waited.
It took sometime but then i could hear another faint voice asking.
'Did he buy it Karen?'
'shh stupid, it didn't ring again yet, he might still be there. You and your stupid bad puns.' Karen's voice answered faintly but seriously angry.
'Well common Karen. I couldn't pass the chance. I mean literally it's a cell phone number.'
|
"Whichever one of you said *there's plenty of room at the bottom* was very clever indeed" remarked Kadesh, as he wandered over to the Fluorescence Microscope. "Remarkable achievement, Kador. Truly astounding!"
Kador stood flabbergasted, trying to make sense of what was happening. The past twenty-four hours had seemed like something out of a dream, but even that paled in comparison to what was happening now. People don't simply appear out of nowhere, right? His curiosity getting the better of him, he finally managed to speak. "What...what's going on? Who are you, and how did you get here?"
Kadesh smiled, turning to Kador. "All very excellent questions, Lothar. Mind if I call you that, by the way? Although, I'm slightly disappointed you didn't ask me *why* I'm here. *Why* is the most important question of all." He traced his hand over the Microscope, mouthing something that looked vaguely like *truly remarkable* to Kador*,* though he couldn't be sure*.* Kador tried to make sense of the expression on his face, before realising it bore a striking resemblance to the look of bemusement you might expect on the face of a dog that had learned a new trick.
"To answer your questions, then. *Who I am -* this is a temporarily assigned persona, and skin to match. As for *how did I get here*, the same way you did! By starting. Now, for the question you didn't ask; *why am I here?*" He paused, seemingly to take stock of Kodar's level of interest in the conversation. Satisfying himself that Kodar was fully engaged, he continued.
"My assigned name is Kadesh, and I'm a Systems Engineer. We've been watching you, and put those like you in place so Humanity can develop at a faster rate than you would normally have. We need you to, but I'll get to that shortly."
He paused once more, wandering over to the window to take stock of the horizon.
"Humanity are a very limited species...as are most on this planet, really. You are only four-dimensional beings, after-all. Which is a shame. You could experience time in so much more detail, but you can only see it going forward at the speed of light, and even then, only for yourselves. Truly remarkable what you've achieved, given this. I suppose your biology has fought against this tooth and nail. You've evolved a neat little trick, to combat your singular perception of time. I believe you call it *memory*. Scarily efficient, nature. Wouldn't you agree?"
Kador was in no position to answer. Knowing this, Kadesh continued.
"This machine is one of many small steps towards increasing your understanding of things outside your experience. Now that you can see the detail of the very small, you will use this to...leapfrog...into grander things. If you don't kill yourselves first, of course." He paused once again, moving away from the window now to sit himself down on a chair across from Kador.
"It is our hope that in a few millenia (by human measure), you will develop the requisite technology to allow humans to experience more than four dimensions. Ideally, six, to start with. This is crucial. You see, Lothar, there is a war raging as we speak, unlike any war you have ever experienced. A war against Entropy itself. And we await the day you can join us in battle."
Kadesh paused once more, this time heading over to the Microscope one more time before continuing.
"I simply came to congratulate you, Lothar, on this discovery. You and your contemporaries. My Supervisors will be most pleased with your progress."
Reaching out, he took a stunned Lothar's hand and shook it. Lothar, numb from the encounter, clumsily shook hands with the Engineer.
"One last thing before I go, Lothar Kador. Humanity is one of several candidates we're keeping tabs on, to ensure your development in time for the battles ahead. In the past, we've had civilizations that inadvertently *accelerated* the Entropic Death of the Cosmos. We had to deal with them accordingly. I do *so* hope it won't come to that with you, after you've shown so much promise!"
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Kadesh turned to seek out the source, then turning back to Lothar, said "It appears my time is up. Once more, congratulations on this incredible discovery. I hope to see more good news from you folks soon!"
Moerner enterred the laboratory with two mugs of hot coffee, setting one down beside Lothar. "Were you on the phone? Who were you just speaking to?" he asked, sipping his brew.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you" responded Lothar, turning back to his computer screen.
---
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| 2018-08-14T06:45:36
| 2018-08-14T05:28:03
| 148
| 44
|
[WP]A brave knight hunts an infamous dragon, and local villagers spend days telling him not to pursue his quest, to no avail. Eventually, one villager gets fed up and says, "Look us and the lizard have a good thing going here. Don't ruin it."
|
"Tax season?!"
Sir Biglesby's eyes almost popped right out of his head as he whipped his visor back and glared at the cowering peasant. "What do you mean tax season?"
"Look," the scrawny man hastily gulped. "A big terrifying lizard does count as a 'natural disaster' and under Section 13, Subsection 3, Paragraph 3a, item iv, losses due to natural disasters are tax-deductible."
"But that dragon burned and pillaged your fields!"
"Umm... Sure... The premiums are higher than normal based on actuarial deductions but... What if said dragon gave a teeny weeny... *Notoutrightinsurancefraudandcollusiontype...* Of heads-up that the farmers do an early harvest to cover the difference and the claims are adjusted by the insurance adjustor anyway..." the small man offered a toothy grin.
Sir Biglesby tried to wrap his mind around the concept of actuarial losses, casualty tables and loss-given-defaults. "But... But..." he spluttered "The damage... And loss of life?"
"Weeeeelllll..." the peasant shuffled uncomfortably, "Since there's technically no deaths... And we can always opt out of the individual mandate now with no tax penalties... That's not really a concern."
Sir Biglesby could have almost choked on the brazen indifference towards bureaucratic government-mandated joint insurance pool.
" Plus..." the man continued, "We got a good side economy going here."
"Yes, I noticed the gaudy large gift shop near the entrance.
The peasant beamed proudly. "Yes, one of my ideas. You can get some wood carvings of the dragon, picture frames for the missus, dragon claws and scales... You know... Souvenirs for the tourists..." he was cut short by the outburst from the reddening Knight.
"What do you mean tourists!?" he roared.
"Ahem... You know, curious people... The gawker, busybodies and families who come here for the adventure..." the peasant quickly glanced over his shoulder. "But don't worry, the claws and scales are mostly fake stuff, cow horns and polished stones, they can't tell the difference anyway. But if you want the good stuff... The real genuine stuff, I can hook you up. It's a bit pricey but that's because we are short of supply... The dragon only clips its toenails once a month and sheds twice a year... Only 10 gold pieces for a scale necklace and 15 gold pieces for a genuine toenail."
Sir Biglesby gulped. 10 gold pieces is more than enough to feed a family for a year.
" Look..." the peasant hastily added, "It's the cost of things you know, scarcity, shipping and handling, craftsmanship and royalties."
"What royalties?"
The peasant shuffled and looked down at his feet. "The dragon wants a 30% cut..."
Sir Biglesby was at an absolute loss for words.
"Look, tell you what..." the peasant gave him a wide toothy grin as he wrapped an arm over the knight's shoulders. "Why don't you think of this as a holiday? Spend some coin at the gift shop, stay in one of our many resorts and take a long stroll around the countryside. I can even get you a VIP pass at the casino... There's even a dragon museum for you to visit. You can also pick up some dragon-slaying equipment for posterity, of course a Knight like you can get a referral discount from a tour guide like me, and put it as dragon-slaying expenses..."
Sir Biglesby shook his head as the man rambled on.
"And when it's all said and done, you can always challenge the dragon... It charges 100 gold pieces to throw a fight and you will have a good story to tell the King, plus some scales and toenails to show for your gallant deeds. Then the dragon will take a month-long vacation to the south and you have successfully driven it off and we can do this again next year..."
Sir Biglesby couldn't help but be led away to the nearest tavern as the peasant continued, "By the way, I could also hook you up with some wenches... That's if you're into that... They would love to hear some great stories from a heroic knight like you..."
|
/Town of Elderyn/
She was a heavyset woman with hair piled intricately on her head. Heavy jewelry clacked against her ample bustline and layered robes of purple and blue swayed delicately around her ankles. She had to stretch as she reached for the glass jar on the top shelf. It was filled with a crimson powder and the little man at the front counter eyed it greedily.
“This here’s the strong stuff. Who’re ye gettin’ this much for?”
He grinned with a nasty sort of glint in his eyes.
“We’re getting this for a Dragon.”
She snorted at him and set the jar on the sales table.
“Gettin yerself killed is it? As long as ye’ pay I don’t care much what you do with it.”
He shuffled and dragged a bag of coins up from some hidden compartment in his trousers. She counted out the right amount and handed him the jar.
“Do you think you could have some more ready by next week?”
She thought and checked a create of dried leaves behind the counter.
“I gess so, assuming yer still alive.”
“Alright then. I’ll be expecting it”
He snatched his purchase and tucked it away into some unknown hiding place.
“Bye now.”
That unnerving grin appeared once more before he vanished behind her flimsy shop door. She gathered the coin and tucked it into the money pouch in her bosom. Might as well begin working on the next batch.
————
/Town of Silksdorn— 10 miles to the East/
The grass was green and a sweet breeze blew ripples across it’s surface. Brown cattle grazed in the sunlight and two shirtless men leaned against the perimeter fence. Another man was merrily making his way towards them.
“What are you doing here?”
They eyed their visitor with arms crossed. The small stranger only smiled.
“I’m here to buy exactly three brown cows.”
“Get lost.” The words were accompanied by a rude gesture and forceful spitting at the ground.
He was unfazed.
“I’ll pay double what they are worth.”
The shirtless farmhands scowled.
“You’re from Elderyn.” The older one pointed into the distance, “We’d rather kill our cattle than sell to some runt from Elderyn.”
The visitor pulled the bag of coin from his trousers.
“Not even for triple?”
This time there was a small faltering. A weakness.
“Well— what do ya want them for?”
His eyes glanced at the sack of gold as he said it.
“Our elders figured cross breeding the brown cattle from Silksdorn with our white ones might make a healthier herd. That’s all.”
The two looked at each other and then back at him suspiciously.
“No Elderyn tricks?”
“No Elderyn tricks.”
His smile still shone pleasant and unmoving.
Some quiet muttering passed between the cattle ranchers before the sale was finally agreed on. Two heifers and a bull were roped and given over. In exchange they received a fat bag of coin.
“Our Herbs Master came up with a feeding supplement to fatten the cattle quicker if you’re interested. I’ll give you this free jar to start as a token of good will.”
He pushed the container over into their hands and began the trek home.
“Bye now.”
With a wave farewell he left them to their cattle.
————
/Mountain side three miles North of Elderyn/
The three brown cattle and three white cattle followed him to camp. So far the plan was working well. The Herbs Master had another crimson jar prepared like he’d asked. Now all that was left was to feed the dragon.
On the first day he sprinkled crimson powder onto the grass he fed to one of the brown heifers. With a few apologies to the poor animal he tied it to a tree outside the blackened cave. When it’s dying screams echoed back to his camp later that evening he knew the dragon had taken the bait.
The next day, another cow was sacrificed to the merciless beast. This time pure white, yet no red powder was placed into its food. The dragon took the bait once more.
For four more days he did this. Each time he fed the dragon with a brown cow, powder was given to it beforehand. The white cow received none.
When he was finally finished he returned to town and informed the townsfolk what he had done. Only time would tell if it would work.
————
/Town of Elderyn/
“I’m sorry but this really doesn’t make any sense. You DON’T want me to kill the dragon?”
The knight scratched his head and furrowed his eyebrows.
“No! He’s been quiet helpful to us! Dragons really aren’t as bad as they say!”
That grin was devilishly pristine and almost ran a shiver down Sir Argur’s back.
“—But it’s taken to killing cattle. As the nearest town you would be most targeted!”
“Look here!” The little townsman waved his hand over their large and white herd of thriving livestock, “Do you see any signs of slaughter?”
The soldier ran a hand behind his neck and looked puzzled.
“I suppose not.”
“So forget the matter! Come, relax and enjoy a meal with me.”
“Ah— I would be honored.”
His face betrayed a level of reserved hesitation but he ended up at this man’s house all the same. It was a modest hovel. The most interesting thing in the whole space was a hanging display of a war axe over the mantle.
“Got that from the War?” He was trying to come up with polite conversation.
His host busied himself in the kitchen.
“Oh yes, though I keep it around in case the Silksdorn come knocking. Bitter enemies. We hate them, they hate us.”
The name rang a small bell in Sir Argur’s mind.
“I think they were the ones who logged the initial complaint about the dragon.”
“Troublemakers! Don’t worry about that lizard any longer.”
His host popped his head back into the living room.
“By the way, did you want a bit of Crimson Mindle in your tea?”
The knight shook his head, “Ah— no thanks, I’d like to keep a clear mind.”
“Fair enough. It’s a powerful high. The stuff can be quite addictive.”
“Indeed.”
| 2019-04-15T02:06:44
| 2019-04-15T01:13:52
| 46
| 11
|
[WP] You're a middle school custodian, cleaning up the school is your job. So when a group of men take the school hostage, they are no exception. You have a mess to clean.
|
Joe shifted his weight on the hard plastic chair and stared at the recycled paper coffee cup on the table in front of him. The swill inside the cup was cold now. He'd only had one sip. It wasn't anywhere near as good as Lenie's.
The old analog clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, but its skinny red second hand was stuck twitching back and forth halfway between the nine and the ten. Matt could fix that in a heart beat.
Years of habit made him lean back and sneak a glance at the underside of the table. No chewing gum. He'd already checked the ceiling for spitballs and the linoleum floors for rubber streaks. The staff here did an okay job. Not as good as Bobbie and Carl.
The gray door in front of him opened and a young lady in a brown pant suit walked in with a manila folder under her arm and a tape recorder in her other hand.
“Good afternoon,” she said, placing the items down on the table. “I'm sorry for the wait.”
“That's all right, ma'am,” said Joe with a nod.
“I'm Detective Katherine Johnson. Can I get you anything? More coffee?”
“No, thank you, ma'am.”
“Okay,” she said, settling down on an identical hard plastic chair on the opposite side of the table. “Did anyone tell you why you were brought in?”
“No, ma'am.”
One minute, he'd been standing by the ambulance, chatting with the EMT, the next a couple of officers had asked him to come with them and ushered him straight into the back of a police car.
The young lady made a disgruntled noise. No doubt swallowing a nasty comment. Then she cleared her throat and leaned forward, lacing her fingers on top of the manila folder.
“First of all, you're not under arrest. We just want to ask everyone involved a couple questions, get preliminary statements--” She cut herself off with a laugh. “Okay. Honestly? We're still reeling.” She opened her hands and spread them wide, shaking her head in confusion. “Because from our perspective, dispatch received a call saying Belmont Prep had been taken over by terrorists, and before we even get the chance to confirm whether its a prank or legit, we show up at the scene and find six hogtied men, a small arsenal of disassembled weapons, several injured staff, and about a hundred students chattering on the front lawn.”
Joe smirked. He could see where that'd be confusing. But she hadn't asked a question, so he didn't say anything.
“Okay.” Detective Johnson shook it off, placed her recorder in the middle of the table, and opened her manila folder. “I'm going to record this conversation for the case file. We'll start with you telling me your name and your job title at Belmont Prep and go from there. Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She pushed the recording button and motioned quietly for him to go ahead. Joe folded his hands on the table, took a deep breath, and started.
“My name is Joe Stanton, and I'm a custodian at Belmont Prep.”
There was a pause. He wasn't sure how to go on. Detective Johnson just stared at him expectantly. Wasn't she going to ask him questions?
“Okay, Mr. Stanton,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened today? Just the sequence of events from this morning to now.”
Joe hitched up his brows. “Like a debriefing?”
“Yes, if you will.”
She jotted down a note on a blank page in her folder, but didn't ask him about it. Fine by him.
“All right,” he said, feeling on more familiar ground. “I arrived for the start of my shift at 0600. There's a one hour change over between shifts, so Winston and Mary from third were there. Matt came in ten minutes late, said he got stuck behind a spraying tractor. Bobbie--”
“Wait.” Detective Johnson stopped him with a raised hand. “For clarification. Who are the people you just mentioned?”
“Winston Carter and Mary Hong are the two custodians on third shift. Matt Dreyer, myself, and Bobbie Mitchum are on first, and on second it's Tonya Wayne, Ricky Hernandez, and Carl Bauer.”
“So there are a total of eight custodians employed at Belmont Prep?”
“Yes ma'am.” Joe smiled. Looked like the Detective had made the same mistake as the bad guys. “Did you really think a single person could clean up after hundreds of kids and still keep a place spotless?”
“Honestly,” she said. “I never thought about it.”
“Yeah, well, neither did they, 'cause the truth is it takes a small army.”
Detective Johnson raised her brows at his choice of words and leaned back in her chair.
“Go on.”
Joe cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.
“Like I said, Matt was ten minutes late, and Bobbie had called in sick, so Winston offered to do a double and got approved just before 0700. That was dumb luck on our side, because he used to be the A/V Tech and computer guy before the job got scrapped, and that came in real handy when we needed to communicate to coordinate the operation.”
“What operation?”
“Operation: Clean the Mess.”
Detective Johnson blinked several times and opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again. Finally, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“Go on.”
“We followed our normal routine through breakfast at 0730, wiping down tables, stowing food trays and so on. Matt is grounds custodian and mechanic, so he went outside around 0830 to do the regular maintenance check on the outdoor equipment and the school-buses. He was the first one who noticed something off. Came in for break at 1030 and said there were a couple strange vans parked in the overflow lot behind the science building.”
“And did you notify anyone about these vehicles?”
“Yes, ma'am. I notified Principal Cutledge myself after lunch. I went to her office at 1045. She said she'd look into it, and I went back to our break room in the basement. I took the emergency exit staircase because it's more direct and I don't have to fight my way through a hallway full of kids.”
“Aren't the emergency exit doors set to sound an alarm when opened?”
“No, ma'am, but those signs do a pretty good job keeping the kids out.”
“Ah.” She sighed again. “So, when did you become aware that armed men had invaded the school?”
“When I heard the first gunshots around 1300. I was down in the break room, waiting for the kids to finish their lunch. Matt was outside, mowing the South lawn behind the football field. Winston was upstairs doing spot-checks. When I heard the shots, I locked the door, hunkered down, and radioed him.”
Joe sniffed, grabbed the cup in front of him and took a healthy swig. He grimaced.
“Nearly got him killed. He was getting supplies from the storage cabinet in the kitchen when they stormed the cafeteria. Barely slipped out down the garbage chute before they saw him. He radioed back from the dumpster in area three, said he saw a bunch of guys with guns and automatic rifles rounding up everyone in the cafeteria.”
Detective Johnson jotted down another note on her paper. Joe was sure she'd be talking to Winston before too long. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get rid of the nasty taste of stale coffee and continued his report.
“We didn't know how many there were at first or what's going on, but it was pretty clear this wasn't someone running amok. After the first few shots there weren't any more and things got really quiet.”
“This was around 1 pm, you said?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“The only call we received at dispatch came in after 2:45 pm. Why didn't you attempt to contact the police before then.”
Joe's gaze hardened. He didn't like the tone the young lady was taking with him.
“Because I thought it'd be so much cooler to play John McClane and get on Fox News.” He smacked his hand on the table. “Bullshit. Of course I tried calling the police. I had my cell phone out while I was still on the radio with Winston, but I got no service. I told Winston to try his phone, no service either. Course, we figured out later they were using a cell phone jammer from one of their vans. Winston was able to take it down and that's when we called … kind of after the fact.”
“The voice of the caller was female.”
“Yeah. Tonya Wayne. Second shift, remember?”
“Right.” Detective Johnson shook her head. “So what happened between 1 pm when you heard the first gun-shots and 3 pm when Tonya Wayne called 911?”
Joe sighed. If she stopped interrupting him all the while to ask questions, he could have been done giving his report already.
ETA: Part 2 is now available somewhere below.
ETA 2: Part 3 and the conclusion of this story is now somewhere below the below.
|
In reality, I had been preparing for this moment my whole life. Being a janitor is boring. Really boring. Yeah, for the first couple years it is interesting to watch the kids do stupid stuff, but after you've seen the same wedgie 50 times in a row it starts to get old. That's when I started imagining all of the different disasters that could beset the school and what I would do in response.
3 tornadoes and a bear loose in the halls? Got that covered. 15 rabid porcupines loose in the band room? I have a plan for that. A group of men taking the school hostage? I've had a plan for that for 20 years. I might be old, but I know the school by heart and I have mastered my tools.
The thing about being old is that no one suspects you. Being a janitor doubles that effect. I am immediately 4 times more lethal than anyone would expect, as a result. Did I mention that these thick glasses aren't because I can't see? They are hacked into the schools CCTV system. I know where you are, bad guys.
I move resolutely down the hall in the way that only old men can move, pushing my mop and bucket as I go. There's a group of three around the corner armed with automatic weapons. I slowly push the bucket around the corner so I don't startle them. They look at me in amusement and partial disbelief. One of them smiles as he ridicules me for my old age.
To say that I wipe the smile off his face is an understatement. The force of the blow from my mop would have been enough to do the job, but the fact that I was using a high concentration of acid in the bucket put it into the category of 'extreme.' Their partial disbelief turned to pure horror as their partner's face melted off, but their horror only lasted for an instant. They were next.
One group down, two more to go. I could have kept going with my acid mop technique, but I had been planning on something like this for way too long to have it gown down as a one trick pony. I could see exactly how the next move was going to go.
That is to say, I could see how it was going to go, but they wouldn't. Being janitor, you get to know the electrical quirks of this old building. Flip this light-switch once, that one twice, plug a fan in over there.. and all of the ceiling lights go down for five minutes. My glasses also have nightvision and thermal imaging. I've been saving my money for a while - getting cozy with the food servers helps with that.
I go into the now black room completely aware of my surroundings. I have my broom and dustpan in hand, but my dustpan will be enough. Do you know how many dustpans I've gone through trying to figure out how to get every last bit of dirt up off the ground? There are dozens of manufactures. But, if you want to get the most dirt up, you've got to sharpen the edge of these bad boys yourself. Sharp enough to cut a man's throat with ease, sharp. Or, three men's throats to be exact.
One group left. This group was holding the principal and vice principal hostage. And that one hot, middle-aged secretary. I've been taking stock out of their cabinets for a while just so she would have to call me to bring more. I would need to take special care of this group, to say the least.
The floor waxing machine is pretty loud. Loud enough to let someone know you're coming, and also loud enough for them to know you can't hear them. As I push the door open with my back, I was taking a risk. They could have shot me at any moment... but I'm just a harmless old janitor. Plus, it wouldn't hurt them to have an extra person to make an example of if their demands weren't met quick enough.
There were evil grins on their faces as they approached me. I had turned towards them now, a bewildered look on my face. You know, the kind of old-man look that says, "I'm old. What the heck is going on? Where's my other shoe?" They were close enough now, but I wanted them closer. I wanted to feel my wrath. I wanted to impress that secretary. I wanted to feel young again.
I had always been a fan of Karate Kid. I especially love the scene where he had to "wax on, wax off." That's been my job for years. Not exactly with wax, but with glass windows. With chalkboards. With walls and whatever those crazy emos rubbed on them that one year. My hands moved like hawks, my fingers poised like snakes. I weaved past their scrambled blocks as I attacked. Their eyes were mine. Their jugulars were theirs to keep, but they would have to make due with them being crushed.
"I cleaned up the mess for you, principal."
| 2016-11-18T12:05:22
| 2016-11-18T07:26:36
| 93
| 61
|
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe.
|
Sobbing with the sheer weight of understanding, I reach for the only comfort left to me and bring it to my lips.
I tilt my head back, and look to the sky. Even through the beauty of the stars my comprehension demands relief.
"It's PHP all the way down." I whisper as my finger tightens on the trigger and a moment later relief finds me.
Edit: spelling
|
"Bitches, bitches, bitches. I love me some bitches."
"That's pretty cool, what's your wish?" the genie responds
"Well. Give me control over all the bitches of course."
"Okay your wish is my command. You now have control over all the women in the world. Anything you say they will do."
"I don't feel any different."
"Don't worry it worked."
"That's good that's good. I still have two more wishes right."
"Yes two more."
"And I can't ask for infinite wishes."
"No that was disallowed in recent years."
"Cool. Well I've got another wish. This is a good one." I said with a grin.
"What is it?" The genie said in a concerned tone.
"Get me the 10 prettiest girls in all of the world and bring them right here."
"Okay your wish is my command." And what do you know the 10 most prettiest girls I had ever seen in my life were standing in front of me. These exotic beasts not one spoke English, which made them all the more luscious. "Wow. You've done me good this time, Genie."
"Thank you. I try." says the Genie
"Okay time to try out my new powers." I walk over to one of the women and say "Hello, I would like you to kiss me." She doesn't do anything. "I think this one is broken." I say to the Genie.
The Genie responds "No, none of these girls speak English, so they have no idea what you're saying. They can't do what you say if they don't know what you're saying."
"Makes sense. Makes sense. Good thing I have one more wish. My last wish Mr. Genie is that I can speak and understand every langauge."
"Very well. Your wish is my command."
And then poof the Genie was gone. So yeah that was the story of me talking to the Genie. I actually don't call women bitches. I think that's vulgar and an awful way to treat women. I just thought it would make the story more entertaining and make me seem cool. I'm really quite a nerd. I lost my virginity at the age of 27. But anyway that last wish changed me. Not only did I learn every language, but I also learned about how the universe worked. That was a weird side affect. And when I learned this it completely changed everything.
No longer was I even interested in these beautiful sexy ladies across from me, and there was a completely valid reason why. These girls were evil. All girls were. Actually all girls weren't evil. That was a lie. No girls were evil. No girls even existed. No one existed. That was the problem. No one existed. We were all just part of a game. But we weren't even the fun characters in the game. We were all the NPCs. The only playable character was Jesus, and we had killed him so long ago and we were just waiting for him to return. You see a year here is the same as a minute in the real universe. Our God who was playing this game had left his computer and left this game of ours on for a day in his world and that was 2000 years in our world, and now everybody was just waiting for Jesus to return.
So I guess the Christian's were right. Congratulations Christians. I'm proud of you. But you're still asking about the girls. Why am I not sleeping with the girls. Well that's a good question. I guess the reason is since the Christian's are right and I have figured it out, I guess I better follow Christian values and not sleep around. Because if God comes back to his computer and sees me sleeping with all the girls he may not like it. Maybe I'll be a monk. Who knows? That's all I have to say. Thanks for listening.
&#x200B;
| 2018-10-18T14:11:40
| 2018-10-18T14:07:23
| 212
| 13
|
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
*11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.**
|
The Life Brand is thought to be a flawless and efficient system by most of the world's population. Few oppose the mandatory injection of nanites that will one day create your Life Brand because they view the world as fair, now.
I get it, I really do. The Border Wars of the 21st century were bitter and terrifying for everyone, and then when Automatons began to dominate formerly middle and lower class workers, billions of people were displaced out of the workforce. Another war, fought for decades, eventually brought us to peacetime when a renounced Swiss doctor developed nanotech.
The political geography of the world changed. Borders were dissolved, entire governments gutted and destroyed, and everyone was classified into a career path based on the results of three different tests and a psychological evaluation. Then the good doctor developed the Life Brand and pitched it to our fledgling united government.
They ate it up like a sweet treat, and the Life Brand program was in full effect within five years. For the most part, we are better for it. We've seen no war in a decade, and Life Brand gets a chunk of the credit.
I always feared my branding day. I was always very aware of my mathematical genius and technological prowess. It didn't help to quell the fear of getting classified into a sub-optimal field for me. So it's no surprise that I felt terror and a deep sense of shame when my brand finally activated at 12:08:47 PM universal standard time. I wasn't branded to be a mathematician, an engineer, a networks security specialist...No. It was far worse than that.
"Hello, Mr. Sullivan. I'm Gemma, and I am your assigned organ requisition agent for today. Can I interest you in a last meal or a final judgement blow job?"
I really hate the Life Brand system...
| 2017-03-16T02:03:50
| 2017-03-15T22:51:56
| 71
| 37
|
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
|
What a day. My boss has never been in such a bad mood. On top of the proposal due next week, I now have a rushed budget to get out by Friday. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. Every morning I dread getting out of bed, and every night I dread the next morning. I put on the smile for my colleagues, I smile and nod when my boss demands something. It keeps on piling up. The only thing that gets me through the day is knowing my wife will be waiting for me when I get home. I pull in the drive way, open the front door to my house, and there she is. Right where I left her, hanging from the rafters.
|
I've been a hunter all my life, the skill has been passed down for generations. I take great care of my gear; the camouflage, knives, guns, boots and other acoutrement needed for a successful hunt are all well oiled sharpened or cleaned. Most people think hunting is barbaric, evil, only for psychopaths and a litany of other descriptions that I refuse to acknowledge. For me though, there's nothing like being outside, with the sun on my skin, knowing that I'm providing sustenance for my family. I scout the area I plan to hunt for weeks before I decide to take any game. Knowing where the prey eats, drinks, and where they bed down just gives me a real connection to them. Then it's from the field to the plate as they say, I do all the butchering packaging and cooking myself, that way I know it's done right. Nothing beats the look on my kids faces when they're tearing in to a freshly caught and cooked steak. Anyway, it's time to go, Adam is leaving for the bar soon and I have to make sure I'm in the blind when he gets to... Hah! Good hunters don't give away their best spots...
| 2016-05-19T13:16:11
| 2016-05-19T13:13:29
| 25
| 15
|
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
It had been a busy week and I was kicking off Friday with a brew. My teenage nightmare of a Friday had turned into my adulthood goal, a quiet night in and video games until too late in the evening.
I set the beer down on the end table, turned around to flop down on the couch when the air was instantly filled with smoke.
I coughed and waved my hand to dispel it, less startled than I should have been given the circumstances. The smoke was gone in an instant, and I looked for the source, only to realize I was not in my living room any more.
Instead i was in what appeared to be in a small cavern. There were three concentric circles drawn around me in some kind of powder. The closest circle, about 10 feet across, was done in black, then grey and the outermost was in white. There were candles burning, and a crude clay bowl sat on the ground filled with water.
I didn't see the beings at first, until they started making noise. They were small, about up to my ribs, and looked like something from Star Wars. Kinda like a fuzzy Greedo.
Two of them were talking very quickly. The third stared motionless for a few minutes until it burst into tears.
"What on Earth is going on?"
There was an instant of silence and then the other two burst into tears, then the whole lot ran out of the cavern.
What the fuck?
Seeing nothing else to do at the moment, I took measure of my surroundings. I walked out of the circles and strangely felt a slight tug as I passed over them. Odd.
The cavern was pretty big but not colossal. It wasn't a Minecraft style cave that led into the depths of the earth, but the rocky ceiling sloped downward and met the ground maybe two hundred feet from the entrance.
There was a commotion outside as several of those same things came back. These were bigger, and they carried crude spears and shields, made of wood and hide. There were eight of them, followed by a ninth who carried a crude book. The one with the book said a few words, and the others spread out, forming a loose semicircle between myself and the entrance. They closed and leveled their spears.
I put my hands up and tried to smile. I had no idea what the fuck was going on and I wasn't about to be stabbed to death by murderous knock off bounty hunters. I spoke "hey guys, let's all..."
Two shouted, one yelped and they all charged, the spears flashing forward and striking me. Fuck. I guessed that this is how I would go.
There was no pain, just some mild discomfort in a few spots on my body. I opened my eyes after I realized I'd squeezed them shut. The spears were driven into me, the aliens stances showed that they had their full weight behind the thrusts. I looked down. The spear points made tiny dents in my skin.
Poke poke. They attacked again, one hit my belly button and I winced. That's sensitive. He looked pleased with himself, pushed his spear in deeper and twisted it.
"Dude. Stop." I slapped the spear away. I was startled when it exploded into splinters as my hand touched it. The once victorious Greedo held the broken haft, a look of utter horror on his face. He steeled himself as the others backed away, drew a stone knife and charged me, driving it into my chest again and again.
I let him do it. It didn't bother me, and maybe it would be good for him to wear himself out. He was at it for a few minutes maybe before he sagged, lowered himself and made one final stab right at my nads. That was not ok. I held up my hand, stopped the knife, grabbed the blade and pulled it away from him.
He screamed, clutching his now empty hand. Was he a fucking soccer player? Jesus. I looked again and saw he had broken fingers. Had I done that? I hadn't meant to. Fuck me, were these people made of tissue paper or something?
Feeling like the lowest kind of asshole, I offered an apology. The others closed with spears level and the injured Greedo withdrew, cradling his hand. I watched as I was stabbed over and over to no effect.
The one with the book examined the hand and drew his own knife, said something and began to cut. Amputation? Jesus!
I walked forward, gently pushed the others aside and moved to the injured guy. He was terrified. The one with the book opened it, read something and a bolt of lightning snapped from his fingers. It hurt about the same as touching metal after rubbing your feet on the carpet.
I sighed, and took his book away as gently as I could, he released it and cowered.
The injured guy was on the ground now, his eyes full of fear. I could see why. I was evidently Hercules and they were cavemen made of marshmallows.
Remembering my first aid course I ripped a bit of my shirt off and pressed it against his bleeding incision. The bleeding stopped and I looked for a splint. No dice, maybe...
I ran over and took one of the others spears and worked at it. My finger nails cut through it like it was butter. My teeth worked even better. I bit through it and got a piece about as thin as my own finger, and as gently as possible used the stick as a splint, tying it in place.
"Ok. So that's done. Now can we talk?"
Nothing.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Nothing.
"Boo!"
Screams.
They looked on in abject horror, none of them moving. "Sorry about your hand, buddy." I sighed. "Here's your book." I handed the tome back to the Greedo who had it earlier, who took it with shaking hands...
(I'll write more a little later today if there's any interest)
Edit: I've replied with part 2. I'll keep going with part 3 later.
Edit: Like my stories? Check out my brand new subreddit over at /r/jsgunn!
|
"So you're telling me that you summoned me..." You said, as the apprentice nodded at you.
"Yup..."
"In my bathtub..." You say, a sheet wrapped around your waist.
"Sorry about that..."
"As I was cuddling with the love of my life..."
"Again, sorry..."
"And you have no idea how to send me back."
"I...yes?"
"Son..." You say, staring him down with not the gentlest of gazes. "You will find a way to get me back, right now, or you and I are gonna have some words."
| 2017-05-12T09:09:01
| 2017-05-12T08:27:42
| 556
| 95
|
[WP]You live in a Dystopian world where eye color determines your social class. 20 years later a baby is born with red eyes.
This could be fun it already has implied racial themes, discrimination and anti-meritocracy. Do with it what you will.
|
"Today on Utopia News!
Our dear president Jack Harrison, decided to lower the taxes for the Patras. What a wise decision!
Now to the Disaster Relive Center DRC. Will the flooding of the farmland have big conse..."
Zap
"Good morning, dear children of the city Nr.6!
Today we are going to hear about the classes of our wonderful utopia!
First and foremost, the Kassars! Our presidents family has been reigning over our city for already 4 generations and our cuty has flourished as never before. The eyecolor of Kassars is grey! If you ever come upon a person with grey eyes, those are our mighty and caring leaders. Remember children if any of your siblings is born with grey eyes you will have to report it to the next best soldier to ensure that your sibling can take its right place in this world!
Following the Kassars are the Patras. The people of this class have black eyes, which are wuite rare. Male Patras are often consultants or butlers of Kassars. Female Patras work either as maids, cooks or housekeepers in the homes of Kassars. If any of your sibling is born with black eyes please report them to the next soldier to ensure that your sibling can take its rightful place in this world!
Our hardworking and very appreciated third class is Plebos. Citizens of this class have either blue, green or hazel eyes. Blue Plebos work as metchants or craftsmen. Green Plebos are our doctors, intellectuals and scientist, some also are artists.
Hazel Plebos are our soldiers, very loayal and hardworking. Always trying to secure the peace in our city. If any of your sibling is born with those eye colors please report them to the next soldier to ensure that your sibling can take its rightful place in this world.
And the lowest class are Peres. Those have brown eyes. People of this class do all kinds of work. Any work that is left is done by Peres. But don't fret children! Being in the lowest class has no disadvantages at all! If any of your sibling is born with brown eyes please report them to the next soldier to ensure that your sibling can take its rightful place in this world."
Zap
"The Plebos are working to strengthen the great outer wall that keeps us save and also are repairing the inner wall which encloses the city. The area in between, the land that nurtures is going to be untouched, only cultivated by the farmers! The forest however is going to be expanded two miles into each direction taking away that land from the stockfarmers. Also, the breeding of horses, except those in the royal stables, will be discontinued."
Zap
"...ll hail our goddess. Her mesmerizing violet eyes shall bring luck and fortune upon anyone she gazes!"
Zap
As always there is only the usual bullshit on the Tv. I can't stand how perfect they describe our world! So many Peres have trouble finding jobs and if they do have one it pays little to nothing. Many children are starving, only because they were born with the wrong eyecolor. We weren't even allowed to enter the city, much less the inner city! How long are they going to ignore the problems of my class? How am I going to nurture my baby once it's born?! How am I going to hide my baby of the soldiers that regularly and randomly make checks in the Peres living quarters to make sure no family exceeds the two child policy and no girl under the age of 25 has a child. I'm only yet 17, far to young to be pregnant. I'm going to be executed if they ever find out. Living in the outer wall is the worst, only the poorest of the poor live here and I am one of them.
I've found a room in the sewerage system that looks unused. It's been four months now that I've been living here. My child is due and I'm in great pains.
The birth was difficult, but I'm delighted to hold him in my arms. I gazed at his face and then he opened his eyes. I knew it immediately. I've given birth to a rebel, the rebel that can free us from this horrible system!
Ps.: I kinda feel bad, because I'm writing this in a hurry and I only realized around midway how much longer this story should be, so this kind of a prologue to the "actual" story. But I haven't mastered the art of writing yet, so if there are any parts that could benefit from some changes, I'm always open for constructive criticism.
Edit: Misspelling correction
|
"Maybe I'll get lucky, you know?" She had a thick accent that made it clear she wasn't from around here. "Maybe he'll come out Scarlet."
Scarlet. That's what all the people in the lower classes call people like me. Red-haired, green-eyed, pale skinned people spattered with freckles. The rarest of the rare. And the most blessed.
I looked her up and down. Short stature, coffee colored skin, dark brown eyes, and curly black hair. Clearly of African origins going back centuries. *Honey, if you've got any European blood in your line for the past hundred years than I'll pay my own fees.* That's what I *wanted* to say, at least. But who am I kidding? The fee is the only reason I'm here. "Yeah, maybe," I told her as I reclined on the bed. "You might hit the jackpot. My father was from a set of twins, you know!" *Two* green eyed babies was more than she could ever dream of. It was a pipe dream, of course, but I wasn't going to spend my precious time explaining how genetics worked. The lower classes are given just enough education to function, whereas I'd had plenty of schooling. So I fed her false hope instead.
She reached for her bra clasp, but I stopped her. "Now, there is the matter of the fee..." I raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the bag that she had brought with her.
"Oh, right," she stammered. The hopeful expression fell as she remembered what was really happening here. This was no lover's tryst where a member of the Greens came and swept her off her feet, as so many poor young women dreamed. This was a transaction.
"I've been saving for this for a long time," she told me as the bag opened to reveal a dirty pile of bills. "My whole life." She clutched at the sides of the bag with a steely grip. Having second thoughts maybe?
I placed a hand on her arm and tried to smile warmly. "It'll be worth it," I told her. "Your children will have a better future because of this." *I* knew that there was no way she had any recessive green eyed genes in her, but she didn't need to know that. All she knew was that *some* dark people could have green eyed children, if one of the parents was also green-eyed. And it was true, wasn't it? Even if her child wouldn't come out Scarlet, it might still carry some of my genes, right? Maybe it would work for her grandchild. There was always hope. It made me feel a bit better to know I wasn't *completely* ripping her off.
She looked deep in my eyes, coveting their color. If only she'd had the fortune to be born like me. Everything handed to me on a silver platter, and I still flushed it all away. Drugs, gambling, and just general debauchery had ruined me. I'd resorted to the 'stud' life, selling my body. Well, more accurately, my sperm. To poor women just like this one, desperate to jump the line and give her child a better life.
"$60,000," she said as she removed stack after stack of bills. Her fingers fumbled as she handled the money. We both knew how much blood, sweat, and tears had gone into making that amount. And she certainly hadn't come by it honestly; this was a lifetime of wages for someone of her class. "It's all there."
I eyed the stack of money, calculating various amounts of drugs and vices that I could afford with this much. My debts were long forgotten.
"All right, then." I gave a hollow grin and unbuckled my belt. "Let's get down to business."
----
Sorry, I ignored the part about red eyes because I didn't think that was very interesting.
| 2015-08-24T11:12:42
| 2015-08-24T10:53:36
| 112
| 38
|
[WP]: No other intelligent, spacefaring life form knows the concept of sunk cost fallacy. For most of them, wars can be ended simply by presenting their capability for further war, and the weaker one yields. Humans, however, will take anyone on out of pure spite.
|
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"Well, maybe I didn't phrase it right. The humans seem to be indicating that... they refuse to surrender."
Thrôg'nåk pointed all 5 of his ocular sensors at his second-in-command Grīm'tår with a look of sheer disbelief.
"Did you explain to them how many ships we have in our fleet? They must surely know that they can't take on 1000 of our battle cruisers with only 230 of their scout ships left."
"Yes, they just said '4 on 1? Guess it'll be a fair fight then'"
If Thrôg'nåk had a jaw, it would've dropped to the floor.
"And did you explain how, after running countless simulations, we have determined that they simply do not yet have the technology required to penetrate our energy shields?"
"Yes, and again they responded flippantly, saying 'Yeah...*yet*'"
Thrôg'nåk nearly fell off his chair in shock. He did a decuple-take with his ocular sensors in order to convey his enormous level of astonishment to Grīm'tår accurately.
"A-and did you explain how our mothership, with its arsenal of pseudo-nova bombs, could reduce their planet to rubble in less than 5 seconds?"
"Yes I did, they replied 'That's 4 seconds longer than it'll take us to whoop your triple-cheeked alien buttocks'"
This time Thrôg'nåk really did fall off his chair, splaying all his tentacles out around him and spinning his ocular sensors around in their sockets in order to convey precisely the amount of incredulity he was currently feeling.
"But this makes no sense. Their chances of winning are so infinitesimally small, as a rational species why do they not see that their only option is surrender? Unless..."
He paused. Slowly, he clambered his way back into his chair and dangled exactly half his tentacles off the edge of the seat, while posing the rest in order to appear thoughtful.
"Grīm'tår, I think we are mistaking something here."
"What do you mean, my liege?" responded Grīm'tår, who admired the captain for keeping a calm demeanor and not overreacting to this unexpected situation.
"It is a given that a rational, intelligent species would be able to fully recognize when they cannot win a fight, yes?"
"Indeed my liege."
"And is it not also a given that a rational, intelligent species would understand that surrender is the best way to minimize loss of life in such a scenario, yes?"
"This, as well, is true my liege."
"So then, logically, there is only one conclusion we can come to here. It seems that the humans... have a secret weapon!"
At these words, Grīm'tår leaped from his seat and started ricocheting off of the sides of the cockpit, gradually gaining speed until he was going so fast he looked like a spirograph. As suddenly as he had started, he returned to his seat and stopped jumping around, though he fashioned his tentacles into the perfect pose to represent the full scope of the bewilderment he was experiencing.
"Your reasoning is sound! We must recalculate the simulations!"
"QUAMPUTER!!" Thrôg'nåk screamed out into the corridor, "RUN SIMULATIONS TO CALCULATE OUR ODDS OF WINNING IF THE HUMANS HAVE A SECRET WEAPON THAT CAN DESTROY OUR MOTHERSHIP IN LESS THAN A SECOND!!"
From the other end of the hallway, a furious whirring sound could be heard. Then, after a couple seconds, an automatic voice responded, "Simulations ran: 678,357,863,582. Simulations where the outcome was a win for the Humans: 678,357,863,504. Simulations where outcome was a win for the Flån'jür: 78. Total chances of winning calculated to be less than 0.000000012%"
At this, not even the captain could keep his cool. Both he and Grīm'tår were bouncing around the cabin like electrons around a nucleus. Once they had both significantly decreased their velocity and were back in their chairs, Thrôg'nåk looked at Grīm'tår solemnly and said, "This time, it seems we must retreat. Notify the fleet, I'll fire up the warp drives and set our destination coordinates."
"At once, Captain!" Grīm'tår replied. He knew how much his captain desired galactic conquest, and how devastating a blow this was for them to be forced to flee. He silently vowed that no matter what, even if the captain were to one day give up his ambitions, he would one day return, and get his revenge for the shame they had felt on this day.
...
...
[*Planet earth, military award ceremony in the Global Union World Capital, Cincinnati, OH*]
"It is my great honor, and pleasure, to present the Ultraviolet heart to Commander Brock Hankle, for his achievements in the war against the alien invasion of the Flån'jür."
A man who seemed to fit his name very well lumbered onto the stage and came to a stop next to the podium and speaker. The speaker, who was already standing on a raised stepstool, had to stand tiptoe in order to place the medal on him. A thunderous applause came from the crowd of thousands who had shown up in order to celebrate the miraculous defeat of their extraterrestrial enemy.
When the tumultuous cheers had died down (which took several minutes), the speaker resumed his position at the microphone.
"Now Mr. Hankle, I am not a gambling man. But I would be very confident in saying that every person here today is truly thankful for the way in which you nearly single-handedly caused the Flån'jür to retreat. I am also just as confident that we all wish to know more. So I believe I speak for everyone here when I ask you; how exactly did you manage to drive them away? What did you say that caused them to run for their lives?"
At this, the crowd fell dead silent. People were on the edges of their seats, staring intently at the image of Commander Brock Hankle on the giant screens that were displaying the live feed to those who could not see the stage. The only sound that could be heard was a baby far in the back crying because it was hungry. They watched with bated breath as their hero leaned into the microphone and opened his mouth to speak.
"You wanna know what I said?" a deep voice boomed out of the stereo speakers with great force, almost feeling as though it were causing the very ground they stood on to shake. Up on the screens, a little smirk could be seen emerging on Brock Hankle's face as he got even closer to the microphone, lips nearly brushing against it. Then, after what seemed like ages, he said in a quieter, even lower voice than before that seemed to shake people down to their very bones,
"I told them to f*** off"
|
The red dust of the Martian surface began to clear, and the truth was made evident: the humans had lost.
General Zin to his Martian brother, a somber look on his face. It was not meant to come to this. Peace was all they ever wanted; the humans could have learned much from them. And yet.
“How many of their troops remain?” Zin asked.
“Less than forty percent,” Kohn answered. Curved green characters danced across a black screen in front of him, accompanied by various beeps and hums.
Zin nodded. “It is done, then. An unfortunate loss of life, but a necessary one. Prepare to send word to the humans, let them know—“
“Uh, sir,” Kohn interrupted, pointing to the console. “They appear to be advancing.”
Zin’s scaled brow furrowed, a nervous hiss sounding in is throat. “That’s not possible. They’ve yet to take out a single one of our ships. Your equipment must be wrong.”
Kohn tapped the screen, shaking his head. “It doesn’t appear to be, sir. The humans are—“
A sudden collision rocked the ship, nearly sending the men to their knees. Zin’s four legs spread to a wide stance, keeping him steady as the shipped regained its posture.
“Damage?” he asked.
“Superficial,” Kohn answered. “Their weapons remain ineffective.”
Zin stepped to the window of his ship, a single layer of blue plasma stretched across its face. He could see burning piles of metal spread across the surface—the remnants of the human army—while his fleet remained high above the surface, hovering, unmoved.
From within the plumes of smoke several gray and tan vehicles roared across the surface, their oddly flat edges fighting against the Martian wind. Humans hung from the sides of their impractical vessels, aiming useless weapons upward at the fleet. Flashes of red shot forth, upward, doing little more than lighting up the air around them.
“Send word to the human leader,” Zin said. “Tell him I wish to meet to discuss their terms of surrender.”
Kohn nodded. “As you wish, sir.”
Several moments passed before the human assault came to a halt, the few remaining vehicles lined up behind a row of colorfully-suited humans. A message returned, one of reluctant agreement, and Zin made his way to the surface.
A small circular device on Zin’s lapel allowed his words to be translated to their language. He hated the sound it made—their words were rudimentary, ugly. Lacking all nuance of the Martian lexicon. But they would have to do.
A man stepped forward, his suit hissing and whirring as he moved. Zin approached, moving fluidly along the sand.
“Are you the leader of this force?” Zin asked, trying to hide his discomfort at the words coming from his translator.
“Admiral Jackson,” the man said. He stood straight as a board, though even with the added height of his suit, he fell well short of Zin’s height. “I’m prepared to accept your surrender.”
Zin blinked. “I’m afraid our message must not have been translated properly,” he said, silently cursing his underling for his failure. “You have lost this battle. It is you who is meant to surrender.”
The admiral raised an open palm to the air, prompting several of the humans behind him to raise their weapons in Zin’s direction.
“I’ve lost nothing as long as I’m still breathing,” he said.
Zin scanned the line of soldiers, perplexed by their actions. “Your forces have been reduced by more than half. I have suffered no losses. If this battle continues, you will all be destroyed. You must surrender. There is no other end to this.”
“We don’t surrender.”
Zin tapped the translator on his lapel, wondering for a moment if his words were not coming through clearly. Their forces could not win this battle. It was impossible. So why did this man refuse so?
“But this is the way of war,” Zin said. “You cannot win. Surrender. Survive. And we can begin our assimilation. There is much we can teach you about—“
“Like I said,” Jackson reiterated, “We don’t surrender.” His hand still held in the air, he curled his fingers into a fist.
And the soldiers behind him opened fire.
Each beam of red collided with the invisible field around Zin, disappearing with a flash of blue sparks. The hexagonal field lit up as each blast collided, though none came close to piercing it.
“This makes no sense,” Zin said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of gunfire. “You have lost. Why do you still—“
The admiral lunged forward, pulling a small black blade from his belt. Zin dodged his advance with ease, still in awe at the sight. Again the admiral lunged, swiping and slashing at the air as Zin moved freely around him.
A buzz sounded in Zin’s ear, followed by a transmission from the fleet above.
“General, what do you want us to do?”
As the admiral dashed forward, Zin reached out with a long, curled hand, snatching the man around his neck. The knife fell to the sand without a sound, while Admiral Jackson swatted at Zin’s arm with gloved hands.
“It seems the humans no nothing of war,” Zin said, fighting his grip. The admiral’s attacks grew weaker, his fragile body failing with each passing second. With a quick flick of his wrist, Zin watched the man go limp. And then he tossed his body aside and turned back toward the shuttle that brought him to the surface.
“They wish to be destroyed,” Zin relayed to the fleet. “So be it.”
>More nonsense at r/Ford9863
| 2021-01-18T22:32:57
| 2021-01-18T19:47:06
| 390
| 178
|
[WP] Choose an idiom (e.g. "stone-cold killer"). Write the story that caused the phrase to be used literally and therefore introduced it into the language.
Idioms can be from non-English languages also if they work well
|
"Mae o'n Bwrw Hen Wragedd a Ffyn."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Welsh idiom. 'bwrw hen wragedd a ffyn'. Means 'raining old ladies and sticks'."
"So... Basically raining cats and dogs?"
"Pretty much, but based on a real event."
"You wot."
"Yeah. You ever heard about the Fall of Magic?"
"... What are you on about."
"Basically, when magic ended, all the witch networks collapsed. Thousands of old ladies, falling from the skies, their broomsticks and walking sticks, suddenly not holding them aloft. It's why there's no dragons any more. Magic just... left. Everything magic buggered off, and the things that could live without magic remained."
"... What."
"Dach chi feddwl dwi'n siarad celwydd?"
"English. SPEAK IT."
"Sorry... You sayin' I'm lying?"
"... go home, you're drunk, Mr Jones."
---
*if you enjoyed ^or ^hated this story, check out /r/Scherazade where my personal favourites to egotistically read my own writing can be found. Unless I forget to put it there, in which case poop.*
|
There were once two rag-doll puppets who loved each other very much. One was a girl and the other was a boy. The boy was made of soft wool and the girl was made of fine linen. They never thought that they could be together, but somehow they came together. Their buttoned eyes would gleam in delight whenever they saw each other; the girl's blue and the boy's brown eyes stitched so carefully.
How could a girl and boy made of different things be together? But the two of them had a secret that no one else knew. They would meet on a bridge over a rapid creek and wrap themselves around the other. Then that boy and that girl's hearts would shine through, and it would be revealed that they both had half a heart: a half-heart made of solid gold. The two of them would come together and their hearts would combine, binding their lives perfectly together for a short moment.
Their world was not safe, though. There was strife and famine and there were kings who reigned from afar. There were also armies and posters that exalted the marching men, and factories, axes, and smog were abundant nearly everywhere. But that boy and girl's bridge over a rapid creek lay untouched. It had taken so much effort to find this place to be together: what a journey those two took to be together! Neither of them could give this place up; this was their only place that they could be lovers and gaze into each other's buttoned eyes and share their golden secret.
But they still lead different lives. The girl was pressured to marry: her relationship was not known to her family. The boy was rebuked for not joining the military: he was a coward. But at least they were content.
But one fateful day, when the two of them both went to the bridge over the rapid creek, they came upon desolation. Their bridge and creek were gone, and instead there was a large factory built by an enemy nation. The couple heard talking coming closer to them and quickly separated and went to their homes.
While the rag-doll girl worried, the boy seethed. That was their home! The only place in a despairing landscape where they could be together and be at peace from others! He thought of the enemy and their trespassing. The boy thought of a plan for vengeance.
The two met again, near the destroyed bridge. They embraced, but their ears perked up at every sound. The boy whispered his plan to the girl, and she recoiled in shock.
"Join the military!" she whispered in horror.
"Yes," said the boy as if in a trance, "I must, those enemies must pay."
"But - but - you simply can't!" said the girl.
"I can and I will." replied the boy, "When the enemy is destroyed I will rebuild the bridge with my new knowledge from the army."
"What if you die?" asked the girl.
"So what? They have taken everything away from me already." said the boy.
"Your object of desire is still here. The bridge was not our love." replied the girl heatedly.
The boy looked at her with a hard face and said, "I will give you my heart. Give it back if I return."
"What do you mean?"
"A golden heart is not good for killing." said the boy.
The girl looked at the boy in despair, "You idiot! I won't do such a thing. Stay here, stay here! we could still be happy, even though our location of happiness is gone."
"Ha!," replied the boy, "I will throw my heart away and I'll find it later."
"Your heart? But that was - that is - half of who I am. And it is your life!" cried out the girl.
"I can get it back later." said the boy angrily.
"You can't!"
"I must! For vengeance!" the boy was shouting now and the girl stepped back.
"But - but..." but nothing the girl said could stop the boy. He took his golden heart and threw it far away, so far away that you couldn't hear it drop.
The boy began to walk away from the girl; her shining blue buttons began to cry, "Why you've - you've thrown your life away! And you shall never get it back!" She fell onto the dirty soil and began to sob.
| 2015-12-10T06:40:54
| 2015-12-10T00:16:19
| 88
| 25
|
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
Dear diary,
Today I started to get my super power! Stupid Harvey Deno dumb face got super speed for his birthday. That guy is such a dick. But I got something better, I can hear when someone is thinking about me. I'm going to be such a ladies man! I can't wait to start school tomorrow, it's going to be wicked tits.
Dear diary, everyone noticed the zit..
|
Tonight was my night; my 16th birthday. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, it was my time to shine. I had waited almost a year for this day, ever since my best friend Andrew discovered in January that he could fly. I had envied him at first, being the first in the tenth grade with a power. As time passed I was jealous of what it said about him. If powers are a reflection of our character as scientists believed, I came to envy what this said about his life. He was free, he was pure and he was without a care in the world. What did he know about pain? of being beaten by your father every day for imagined sins and infractions? Of having to steal your best friends allowance to wear decent clothes? of being labelled by girls as a 'creep' and of your few friends pitying you?
But times had changed. New Years eve, my birthday, had arrived and I smiled at my reflection. I wondered what my power would be. Super strength for my strength through the hardships? Mind reading for my ability to empathize? I was entertaining these thoughts when my phone rang.
*Hello?*
*Hey it's Andrew here, you ready for the party?*
*Sure, pick me up in ten.*
*Hello?*
I heard static and a click as my phone died. I moved it away from my ear, and then smiled.
Tiny cracks ran along the screen and continued to spread from where my hand held the phone. I willed the cracking to stop, and it did.
| 2015-01-21T21:48:36
| 2015-01-21T21:42:59
| 132
| 10
|
[WP] CIA April fools joke gets out of hand.
|
From: unknown_source@unknown.com
Message: We know...
“Send, send.” Mark says, between giggles. I press the button, and off the e-mail goes.
“He's gonna be so freaked”, I say, muffling my laughter as I notice the Director stepping out of the elevator.
A couple of hours later, Mark comes to see me in my desk, for the second part of the prank.
We open the anonymail service again and write the second one:
“From: unknown_source@unknown.com
Message: ...that u like d1ck.
“Send, send” He says, and I hit the send button.
___________________________________
The next day, we send Fred a proper e-mail, claiming authorship for the prank, explaining everything.
Fred's stationed in Brazil, working undercover on some stuff inside the local government, we're not even sure what it is.
Anyway. That's the joke. That was the idea, anyway; a little scare, then a dick joke.
The Director stops by my desk. “Jim, have you heard anything about agent Ferguson?”
“Ferguson?”
“Fred.”
“Oh. No, why?” I say, a weird feeling in my stomach.
“He stopped sending his reports and is not responding contact since last night.”
“Oh...”
____________________________________
The next few days, Mark is sick, so I'm all alone at work.
________________________________
“President Obama is meeting with ambassador Williams in São Paulo, along with external affairs representative Roberto
Silva. The Brazilian representative is demanding explanations in regards to what is being referred to as “a giant disrespect of
the International Cooperation Agreement, and a violation of the country's sovereignty”, following the exposure of CIA agent Fred Ferguson's
suicide letter, detailing a secret, illegal spying operation happening inside the highest rank levels of the Brazilian
government.”
I take a sip of my coffee, drumming my fingers nervously against my outer thigh.
_________________________________________
“Pull everybody out. Now.” The Director roars, crossing the room in loud steps. “I want every spy, agent, mole; everyone
who's working undercover in every country removed and shipped back to the US within the day.”
“Sir, the consequences of --”
“I don't care! The clusterfuck that this Brazil situation has become has gone way out of control.” The Director says. “I
have the president on one line, the Brazilian president on the other and the U.N. secretary general on Skype in my
office.” He says, getting behind the door of his office. “Shit is hitting the fan and we're all right under it" he says, slamming the door.
From my desk, I sip the coffee, trying to avoid looking at anyone around me.
________________________________________________
On the TV, a news reporter speaks from the middle of a riot.
“The Brazilian democratic government has been overthrown today, after being unable to cope with the civil unrest
unleashed by recent surfacing of documents proving that a spying operation had been going on inside the country under the
president's nose. The future of the country is uncertain now, with talks of military taking over and even possible Martial Law.”
From my desk, I sip my coffee.
______________________________________________
“The Brazilian military government has declared war against the United States. People from all over the world protest and
take to the streets against what is being called both an 'exaggerated reaction' and 'an appropriate response to serious
violations of authority within the country's borders'. France and Russia declared unrestricted support to the South
American country, while Germany and England have already deployed troops to a military base in Panama City, in support of the US cause. Tensions
rose last night in the south as Argentina refused to offer marine troops a right of passage, and the Mercosul countries collectively signed an embargo against all supporters of U.S. activities, effective immediately. Investors all over the world are reacting badly, with the stock markets from the US and most European countries plummeting to record lows.”
___________________________
The next day, Mark's back. He makes his way around the room to my desk.
“Hey bro, what's going on?”
“Hm...”
Why are you shaking?”
“Too much coffee.”
He takes his seat on the desk next to me, switching his computer on.
“Hey, have heard anything back from Fred yet?”
I sip the coffee, smacking my lips quietly.
“No, not yet.” I say.
|
He entered the ██████████ and forcibly decided to ████████. She was looking at the ██████ when suddenly her ████████ overwhelmingly reached an apex of longevity, and decidedly her ████ was the last █████.
█████████ subjected itself gallantly and overwrote benign facets of ████████. The █████████████ ████████ █████████ ███ █████ █████ ███ ███ █████ and ██████, for the long ████.
Her smile, it seemed was █████ and █████ of █████ that could only be due to █████. Toe to toe with an Emperor of late, his █████ felt sombre and forceful, divine and delightful.
Primrose.
| 2014-12-07T12:14:19
| 2014-12-07T11:58:19
| 138
| 71
|
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels.
|
**The Third Book of Revelations, or, When The Angels Fell**
When God sent his Angels to earth in 2023, it was not heralded by heavenly choirs nor celebrations across the globe. It was a terrible awakening as rotting, winged corpses the height of two men fell from the sky. In the days that followed, the living followed the dead. They were terrible to behold, great six-winged seraphim, or naught but a single giant eye lidded with terrible flickering fire.
The Angels had come to Earth and they were not messengers, but warriors. And they were not here for us. The daemons of hell began to arrive. In their ones and twos, figures haunted the night and drove us back indoors.
We sent an envoy to the Angels when they made landfall en mass in the Balkans. The armed forces of the world escorted diplomats, hoping to broker an understanding, a peace, assistance from this evil. Great expectation followed the chosen few sent to greet the figures that rent our understanding of the cosmos and life in two. The Great Revelation was to be the turning point for all humankind, beyond which we would discover the truth.
Our ambassadors were ignored. The hosts of heaven cared not for the trials of men. They would not speak to them, their great crusade too important to acknowledge the vermin of Earth. Yes, vermin, rodents, parasites... that's all the 'messengers of God' saw us as. They would deign to kill those who wandered too close and stared too long.
Apathy was our only answer, the reward for millennia of worship and tales passed down generations. The truth was not that we were the chosen ones of the gods, but that the gods didn't exist and the nearest thing to divinity didn't care. It became known, somewhat laconically, as the 'Third Book of Revelations'. The cosmic joke. The End of Days.
The daemons, capricious and untrustworthy, at least acknowledged us. A laughing child with bloody wings and no eyes appeared in the Hague at the behest of the great nations and deigned to speak. They were also not here for us, they followed and battled the Angels across a thousand thousand worlds. Ours was just the latest no man's land in the endless war between those that dwelled in the abyss and the void. They cared not for us, but we made good sport for the bored beasts of hell. When all was done they would come for us.
We knew then that we were doomed. We had no weapons that worked against the creatures from beyond the gates of reality, and neither cared whether we lived or died. Cruise missiles, depleted uranium rounds and thermobaric weapons were shrugged off by abyssal iron and heavenly burnished bronze armour, while our tanks and bunkers were rent like cobwebs by their blades, spears, teeth and claws. They never came for us directly, but we died the same.
Cities, nations, continents fell. Inexorably, the war ate up the Earth and its people. Our extinction was mundane and of little consequence to the titans that strode across our home. Mankind was at the peak of its power, and it was being swept into the darkness anyway.
Our beautiful world, the Garden of Eden and the cradle of life, edged into madness and murder. A funeral pyre for over five billion people. Ash, wasteland, soot-blacken'd skies and endless battles. The war horns of the immortal hosts closed in around the last cities of the world.
And yet we were not ready to go into the night crushed under cloven hoof or armoured greaves. Our weapons, our great engines and Armageddon devices, had no effect on the creatures from beyond our universe. But we had not survived the long night our ancestors faced after coming down from the trees by hiding, by giving up.
A few outcast people had scoured the battlefield, looking for the scraps of weapons and armour left on the dead. It was put to use in desperate circumstances when fortune favoured, for cursed iron could not cut itself, nor blessed bronze. A man had to be armed with the right weapon to stand a chance of defending himself against the unworldly invaders. Discovering neither iron nor bronze could not be created by human hands, yet it could be melded and formed. In our desperation, in our madness, we found something even the hordes of heaven and hell would never have tried - it could be mixed.
Called Electrum, for the long-dead mix of golden and silver metals the Egyptians had discovered, this alloy surpassed all expectations of strength, malleability and usage. All attention and industry turned to scavenging all that remained, mankind remembered its nascent ability to forge and craft in cottage industries.
Speartips were made, armour was hammered and bullets were cast. For Electrum was proof against whatever weapon might be arrayed against it, be it human, heavenly or hell-forged. And above all, it could pierce armour and flesh from this world and the next. Electrum was something neither angelic nor daemonic, it was flawed and it was dangerous. It was human.
Soon there was enough to equip a battalion of men. They looked like nothing else on Earth ever had nor would. Imagine, if you will, a set of ancient Grecian armour, adorned with webbing, fragmentation grenades and modern weapons. Assault rifles and swords soon began to tell against the enemy in ones and twos. Ambushes and traps, desperate insurgencies and improvised tactics. Dirty, human skirmishes that we'd honed in hundreds of wars on ourselves proved effective against ignoble giants from beyond imagination. Though we still died, we took those bastards with us. Every dead hellspawn or archangel providing more precious metal and something even more vital: hope.
Once the supplies of scrap, recyclable metal were all but exhausted, mankind's need for more drove us from fleeing refugees to marauding plunderers.
They beasts of the realms beyond fought one another with savagery, close-in and hand to hand. Yet they were not ready for the humans. They had been pushed to extinction, had known only certain destruction for years. Five thousand million dead demanded not justice, but revenge.
For all their graven disregard for the human right to exist and not be trampled underfoot, the off-worlders at least fought with some honour and protocol. They engaged one another in massed, serried ranks and battled to the death. They looked their enemy in the face and met them claw to fist.
We, however, had no such qualms. High-calibre sniper rounds forged from Electrum could do what no thermonuclear warhead nor meteoric sword could, ending ancient warriors' lives before ever they saw their foes. Modified claymores hidden in amongst the ruins of our homes tore our enemies apart again and again. Before long there were cities and regions where angels feared to tread.
And if that was not enough, if main battle tanks plated with infernal, immortal armour and equipped with sabot rounds, if our hardest special ops killers armed with knives and rifles and grenades were not enough... imagine what a human race pushed to the end of its desperation could do when gifted a God-killer metal and stockpiles of parts and plans for previously useless scatter bombs, fully-automatic mortar launchers, flechette shells, cruise missiles and a thousand other murder machines could do.
It was... slaughter. We surpassed even our own dreams of effectiveness, turning the tide within months. They did not call for parley or truce, through arrogance or some other ineffable reason, perhaps. We would not have granted it. We remembered being the vermin. We remembered every death, every insult.
Angel. Daemon. It mattered not. They died the same.
They fell back under the advance of the humans until, at last, they were driven to their infernal portals and the last of them were put to the sword. Black ichor stained the pitted and cratered land. Despite the death of the sorcerers among their ranks who had opened the doors to Earth, they remained open.
The people of earth readied themselves. There were more worlds to cleanse.
|
The Shepherd hadn't strayed more than a dozen miles from his home in all 54 years of his life. He had learned his trade from his father, as his father had learned from his father before him. He knew the winds and clouds that swept over the Moorlands better than any other... he knew which wisps in the sky portended fair weather in the coming month, and he knew which ones were harbingers of something worse.
A low, dusky sheet of cloud had descended across the Moorlands, and a light breeze whispered as it cut through the grass. The Shepherd studied the clouds and wind as he had so many times before, hoping to glean some insight of the weather to come. As he strained to look at the sky, he thought for a moment that he saw something roiling and writihing within the impenetrable haze. It filled him with a sense of dread. This was something new in the sky, and experience had taught him that such things rarely bode well.
He turned to his grandsons, two young children presently assisting the dogs in corralling a few unruly sheep.
"Boys, we'll take lunch early today. Back to the house. Quickly."
They began jogging and skipping giddily toward the house. An early lunch was a rare treat for them. They were too young and too naive to the horrors of the world to share in their grandfather's unease. As he finished driving the last of the sheep into their enclosure, a gust of cold wind hit. The animals began bleating furiously, and rain began to fall.
"A sudden rainstorm?," the Shepherd thought. He wiped his brow and sighed. Maybe his unease was unjustified. Maybe he was growing dull in his old age. As he looked down, though, he noticed that his hand bore a streak of... *blood*? He looked up, and saw the white coats of his sheep speckled in red. This was no rain.
The Shepherd set off toward his house at a pace that sent pain piercing through his weathered joints with every stride. The rain of blood intensified, rolling off his coat in dark rivulets. Just then, a crumpled heap of... something... landed in front of him with the sound of snapping bone.
The Shepherd cautiously approached. The broken mass reeked of carrion and oozed a black, ichorous fluid. As far as he could tell from the hideous, rotten breasts, this corpse had once been a woman. As he moved around the body, he saw something peculiar about the back.
Wings. Bloody, blackened, and crumpled... but unmistakable. It was an angel.
He stood dumbstruck for a moment, then resumed his headlong rush toward his home and his grandchildren. More rotten angelic corpses began to fall from the sky, and the sanguine rain became a torrent. The splatter of blood and the crack of bone drowned out the sound of his breathing and footsteps.
When the Shepherd reached his home, he flung open the door and rushed to find his grandchildren. He saw the youngest laughing by the hearth, seemingly untouched and oblivious to the apocalyptic scene unfolding outside.
"Where is your brother?" asked the Shepherd.
The grandson stood and turned toward his grandfather, gesturing with the knife in his hand. Blood ran down the blade toward a mutilated corpse in the corner of the room. A grin spread across the child's face, and he began to cackle with a voice far too deep for a child so young.
"He didn't hear it. He couldn't. I tried to help him, but..."
The young child's eyes grew large with bloodlust, and he lunged toward his grandfather. The Shepherd attempted to deflect the blow, but he was overcome by the child's unnatural strength. The blade sunk deep, finding the artery it was seeking. The Shepherd was overcome first by cold, then by darkness.
"Don't worry, grandpa. We'll all be one soon."
******************************************************
From a stone cairn high atop a hill in the Moorlands, I surveyed the landscape below as it was darkened by an unholy rain. A beautiful rain.
These fools and their "guardian" angels. What has an *angel* ever guarded? They are automatons, mindless weapons that enforce an unnatural order. They exist to uphold arbitrary rules concocted by their creator. They are the shield that protects those who possess what they do not deserve. They are chains that fetter those with the power to claim what is rightfully theirs.
No longer.
The ritual is complete. Their wings will darken the sky no more. But there are worse things in this world than angels.
| 2016-07-19T07:49:43
| 2016-07-19T07:36:46
| 751
| 10
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
I watched as Death drummed his fingers impatiently on the table in front of him. I leaned forward and marked the lower right square with an X, then sat up straight. Death groaned and marked his own.
"I will require that you make a different opening move every game," Death said as he leaned forward and marked a circle.
"You can't change the rules in the middle of the contest," I argued. "You said choose the battlefield. I chose Tic Tac Toe. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but I didn't pick the rules." I leaned forward and recorded my X.
Death just glared at me with his cold, empty eye sockets. I was starting to grow accustomed to them.
"Your insolence is an outrage," Death replied. "This is not a game, a game must have a winner or loser."
"Far from it," I said. "A game is a loosely defined term that you implicitly allowed me to define. Plenty of games have tie situations - almost anything with a timer, for example, can end in a tie." I marked another X.
Death started to make his circle, then set down his pencil. He sat up straight in his bony chair and formally clasped his hands together. "Then I shall allow you to choose another."
"No," I said. "It's still your turn."
"You must. This game will never end."
"Do you give up?"
"Absolutely not. The game is declared a draw, and we shall proceed accordingly to another game."
"No."
Death stared angrily at me. "You are in my domain here in the afterlife and you will choose your game according to the rules set forth."
"I did, and the only rule you set forth was for me to choose a game. I chose. We've been over this."
Death stared. "Fine, then I declare you the winner and will allow you to return to your mortal coil for 10 years." He began to wave his arms.
"No."
"No?"
"No. You're here to play a game with me until someone wins."
"But nobody can win this inane game."
"Not my problem."
Death was seething. "Fine, what do you want?"
"I want thirty years instead of 10. And when you return me to my body, I want to smash through that truck that ran into me like a total boss, without being hurt in the process."
"Deal. I shall see you thirty years henceforth and we shall strike up another game. There will be no tic tac toe at that time."
"Deal," I responded. As the afterlife faded around me, I chuckled. Death didn't know about the card game War.
|
"Alright, so you're telling me that if I beat you at ANY game I can go back for another 10 years?!" said the man.
"Yes." said Death. "Any game of your choosing. Cheating is all-"
"Yeah, yeah. Cheating yadda yadda. I heard it the first time." the man snapped.
Death furled what the man assumed to be his brow at the man cutting him off.
Death sat there in silence, motionless. Just waiting for the man in front of him to pick his game.
The man started, "You know, I've play SO many games in my life. So many that I can't even remember what the stories were about anymore, they all just seem to run together."
Death looked on in horror as the man's name started to make more sense.
"I'm guessing you're starting to recognize me at this point, just like it says on the paper you read my name off of-" said the man.
"...I'm Gary fucking Gygax."
Edit: I never really do any prompts. I just thought this sounded fun. Critique if you want. I won't mind it!
| 2018-03-07T07:19:50
| 2018-03-07T06:04:24
| 214
| 97
|
[WP]Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.
|
"Alright Genny, come to papa. We're picking out your favorites today! Because we are gonna make sweet apples!"
This black scaled giant wagging her tail like a pupper here is called Genny, she's my little girl. She saved my life.
When she a wee baby, I thought i'd have a hard time raising a dragon that might eat all the livestock. I planned to send her to a mountain where she'd be happy until she killed a buncha crows stalking my crop. It was famine all over and that was my last chance this season. Love this little girl.
Sure she may be weird, such as that one time she breathed life to a flower and breathed death to it again. She seems to enjoy it. helping around in the farm breathing on shitty insects and herding the cattle. She lurks around apple trees most of the time though.
There are times when people would come for her, yelling curses at us and throwing weapons. Kids these days, everything they see these days are monsters. Genny swats them away easily so I dont worry much.
I point my pitchfork at 'em to show em whose boss. I dont want em hurtin' my little girl.
Rainy season came, people often come to my house to give me "tribute" can't deny free stuff after all. What's this demon lord stuff, I cant deal with all this. Harvest is comin' in a few days after all.
Genny stays indoors during this season. I remodeled my house so she can follow me everywhere. Cute lil' girl, what would she do without me.
"It's thunderin' real bad huh Genny? ...Genny? Girl, where are you?"
I took my cloak, a basket of apples and ran off to the forest. I don't know where she's going but she must have smelled something.
A large group of cloaked figures have gathered, in front of them is an unconscious little elf kid and Genny. Oh no, Genny wouldnt do this kind of thing would she?
"Genny!"
I called her name, but instead of looking at me she raised her head as if preparing to breathe death to the little girl.
"GENNY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"
In a second, all time stopped as I look back at the time when Genny came out of a chicken egg, oh how the days have gone wrong ...where did I go wrong?
...?
I look back to see the cloaked figures in ashes. Nothing remains of them. Where did the little girl go? Nothing remains on Genny's claws, that's it. I'm gonna have to put my foot down.
I'm still in shock but I am preparing myself. I need to do this so it wont happen again in the future. She's approaching me. I need to look her in the eye.
I slowly look at Genny's neck. She bends in response, as I stood. The elf kid is in her mouth, completely safe. My worries were all for nothing
"...you were trying to stop them from sacrificing this kid huh? I apologize for doubting you Genny"
Genny closes her eyes in response and gently places the girl on my arms. It looks like she's a former slave this girl. That means she might not have had parents to begin with.
"C'mon girl we are going home. I'll be making apple pies for you"
I walk back with the elf kid and Genny in tow. Heh, at this rate we'll be one bigger family. Genny has a little sister now. Days with them might make this farm more livelier.
|
*"And he shall wield the scythe, made of fine black steel,"* a cultist recited, adoration in his eyes.
"Ach, that hurdly counts. It was me da's scythe, Ai just got it from 'im." The farmer scratched his beard absently. "Yer grasping at shtraw. And Ai know what's shtraw when Ai see it," he added. "And alright, call a shpaed a shpaed, it's fairly dark, Ai'll grant yez. But it was made of dwarven stuff, so that's fer why."
*"And he shall reject his powers and titles,"* Another cultist continued.
"Well, that's just r'cursive. Me rejecting it might be a sign that yev' got it wrong *or* right. You've no way fer telling." He leaned more heavily on the scythe. Which, admittedly, was very tall, and black, and foreboding.
*"He shall separate the wheat from the chaff,"*
"Nouw. Ai'd be tempted to say that there was supposeda' be a metapher in the original."
*"And his steed shall breathe flame,"* Finished the first.
The farmer gave a shifty look from side to side. "...never said Ai rode 'er, did Ai?"
| 2021-03-21T17:44:22
| 2021-03-21T15:50:50
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] The year is 2015 and the Pope has called for a crusade.
|
The pope waves at the crowd below.
I watch his smiles from my shelter inside a doorway. There is a light mist drifting down from the clouds and my equipment is sensitive. It will be a standard blessing he gives, more posturing for the crowd, then a sign off.
I shuffle my feet uncomfortably. The crowd is large and full of foreigners and the elderly. The old nonnas have tears in their eyes as they watch their leader and clutch their rosaries.
"My children," the pope begins, and almost instantly the raucous crowed inside the piazza is hushed. "I cannot bring you the blessing you wish for today." A hum builds within the crowd. I see the reporters struck with new interest, pleased that they will have a new headline for their articles.
"You know me as a simple man," he continues. "I wish to live in the ways of our lord Jesus Christ. Yet my heart is not at ease. I see mothers dying in the street, clutching half starved babies and I watch my brothers in the church pass them by. I see the unrest in the Middle East, the birthplace of our Lord, and I hear whispers that perhaps it is for the best. I see the extravagance of the extremely wealthy and the poverty of the masses and I can no longer stand by and watch." The hum of the crowd has become a dull roar. Reporters scribble furiously, hanging on the man's every word. The nonnas are confused, or perhaps mostly deaf, and do not understand what is happening around them.
"Thus it is this blessing I give to you today, my children. The blessing of a Crusade, sanctioned in the Lord's holy name. You will defend yourself against those who would oppress you. You will take the mansions and create hospitals and homes for the poor. You will no longer be a slave to a man who does not know your face, who uses the profits from your toil to fund his sins. Today is the day. Today is the day that the meek shall inherit the earth!" He finishes to a screaming and cheering crowd. Through the tears in my eyes I see reporters shouting into their phones. The nonnas whisper prayers to rosaries and the foreigners have no idea what has just transpired.
The communicator in my ear buzzes. I listen to my orders over the ecstatic cries of the crowd. A sob escapes my lips as I tell the man in my ear that it will be done, yes Sir, of course sir.
I heft my equipment onto my shoulder.
He was a good Pope, and a better man.
|
Inspired by /u/Kuichigire's "not gonna happen." low effort comment.
"Not gonna happen" The words scratch at the back of hismind like a terrible itch. But it did happen and now the world went to hell.
The newly elevated pope on the Christmas of 2014 declared a crusade to save the Iraqi Christians and cleanse the Middle East of radical Islam with the light of Christ. His hard line approach won support with a world horrified by the new Caliphate and the annihilation of the fledging Kurdish nation, the UN was seen as slow and ineffective and suddenly the ancient behemoth known as the Catholic church woke as is from a slumber full of vitality and fire.
But it did happen and here he was thousands of miles from home on a troop train, he didn't quite know why he signed up. He wasn't a true believer but the excitement had been whipped up and a chance to see action, save his fellow man and be a hero. The train slowed to a stop and other troops in the carriage swayed gently to the side. "Alright boys and girls shut up, get up, stretch and hydrate we'll be here for thirty " shouted a Sergeant over the chatting troopers. He was only one week out from the front line.
Trooper Clarkson died on his first day on the line a IED in a dead cat peppered his body with shrapnel , they had been warned about IEDs during their rushed training. "not gonna happen" he had said, IEDs happened to other people Clarkson knew he would die a hero's death.
| 2014-08-11T04:25:00
| 2014-08-11T04:14:35
| 102
| 12
|
[WP] Write a really BAD guide for getting a guy/girl. Bonus points if the narrator is mocking you for still being single.
[removed]
|
Sitting alone in your basement lurking on shitty dating sites won't get you anywhere, today I'm here to tell you about the DENNIS system. Follow these steps carefully and you can achieve the undying love of any female you encounter.
>--------
**D** Demonstrate value:
Demonstrate your value to your selected female by doing something that shows you care, picking up medicine for your dying grandmother at the pharmacy is a great way to do this (it doesn't have to be true either! as long as you do a good job selling it)
>----------
**E** Engage physically:
Take her to a shitty restaurant, someplace even worse than the sty you call home. Make sure the restaurant is closed, that way, when you get there, say that you should both just head back to your place and watch a movie. Make sure to have a TV in your bedroom for this, proceed to bang.
>---------
**N** Nurture dependence:
A good way to do this step is to call her number (from a payphone) as an angry neighbor, threatening to take her life and trash her house for a reason that is beyond her control. She'll call you out of sheer horror and you'll be there to comfort her in her time of need
>---------
**N** Neglect emotionally:
Continue the prank calls, but don't answer her calls to you, neglect her every need, sending her into an emotional downward spiral.
>-----------
**I** Inspire hope:
Show up at her window saying that you're sorry for everything, that you want a chance to do it again, make up a story about how you were afraid to love and she cured you of it. Proceed to bang.
>-------------
**S** Separate entirely:
Leave in the middle of the night never to be heard from again.
|
Tired of being the single friend? Need a date to all those summer weddings? Ready to settle down? Look no further! These are the 5 magic tips to trick a man into marrying you:
❤ Never ever ever initiate a date. Men love to hunt, so play hard to get. When he asks you for a drink, tell him you're a high class lady and deserve dinner.
❤ Put on as much make up as you need to make yourself look passable. Bonus points for false eyelashes. Wear something sexy, with super high heels, you want him to desire you as soon as he sees you.
❤ Make him open the car door for you before you get in. Order the most expensive item off the menu so he'll know you're worth it, but only eat half of it - you don't want him to think you're greedy. Agree with everything he says. When the bill comes, pointedly excuse yourself and go to the bathroom to powder your nose. He'll get the hint.
❤ When he asks you up for a coffee, accept and proceed to sleep with him straight away so he'll know you're serious. Sleep over, but wake up super early to fix your make up and surprise him with a full-cooked English breakfast! Be creative and fashion the bacon bits into a heart! He'll be super chuffed.
❤ If he starts to make noises about being busy - perhaps he wants to watch the football - tell him how much you love football (pro-tip: ask him what team he supports so you can swat up on it later, he'll be super impressed) so that he'll have to ask you to stay.
❤ Men like honesty, so make sure you're both on the same page as soon as possible - does he want 2 children or 3?
❤ Before you leave, make sure to give him a cheeky BJ to show him how grateful you are. Then text him immediately once the door closes with an, 'I miss you!' It's super funny and cute, and a great way to initiate a conversation.
❤ If he doesn't reply to your text within 2 minutes, just text him again with cute monkey emoji. If he doesn't response after 5 minutes, just call him until he picks up! He's probably worrying about what to text back and would appreciate a girl with the guts to call! If his phone goes straight to voicemail, it's probably run out of battery so just send him another text, 'thinking about you, hope ur okay! xx' so that he'll see it when his phone is charged.
❤ Change your facebook status to 'in a relationship' and tag him. Men don't like too much bother, so he won't want to message all his friends to say it isn't true, he will probably just roll with it. He just needs that little nudge!
❤ If you haven't heard from him in a few days, casually message him on all his social media accounts to ask when he's free for a second date. Add lots of winky faces and aubergines, so he'll know it'll be worth his time. If that doesn't work, send him a nude - but that your face is in the picture, so he'll think of you and have something to put as his phone wallpaper! Hee hee!
❤ When you receive his call after two weeks at 2am, make sure to pick up straight away. It's SUPER flattering that he's thought of you so late. He might ask you to go over; if so, call a cab! That way, he'll have to give you a lift home or let you sleep over. If he asks you to call a cab, tell him you have no money. If he offers you money, say you don't feel comfortable with taking his money. This way, he'll know you're not a gold digger.
❤ Don't wear protection this time! Tell him you're on the pill. Accidents happen all the time, and you're not getting any younger. Prop your legs up before you sleep, for maximum chance at fertility.
❤ Make sure to leave some of your stuff at his house, like a hair-drier, a pair of shoes, your toothbrush and a clean thong. This way, you can move in without him noticing!
❤ If he doesn't text or call you back after your second date, just turn up at his house with grocery bags and cook him dinner! He'll be super surprised and really appreciate a three course meal cooked in the comfort of his own kitchen! He'll see that you are prime marriage material!
❤ Hint about a proposal by browsing pinterest on his laptop. Leave a page of engagement rings open - and make sure to heart the ones you like so that he'll have something to go on!
Now you have all the tools you need to secure yourself a husband.* Go get him, girl!
* If something goes unexpectedly wrong and he wants to break up with you, break down and cry in front of him. Men like it when a woman is vulnerable. This would be a good time to tell him your life story, so have faith and make the most of every opportunity.
| 2017-06-10T03:32:12
| 2017-06-10T02:49:35
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] Humanity was never supposed to find that cursed substance. The substance that killed over half of the galaxy at one point, yet everyone drinks coffee every day, multiple times a day!
|
“Bob! Why are you drinking that!”
“Hm?” Bob looked up from his report, a mug big enough to fit a softball in one hand as he read. “This? You want some.”
Hankel backed away at the proffered cup. “Drai no! That’s poison! Why are you drinking it!?”
“It’s coffee.”
The alien hissed and looked to the branch’s command officer, Ken. He stood there staring the human down. “Was that why you ordered the... forgive me my Earth English isn’t so good, Confree maker, for? To poison your co-workers?”
“Coffee maker.” Bob corrected. “No. It’s just a beverage. Nothing harmful about it. Also, why would I poison you guys?”
“You made coffee.”
“Is it lethal to you guys?”
“Er... yes.”
“Give me a minute, I can print a warning sign and put it over the coffee maker.” Bob switched tabs and tapped something on the screen. “So what is it about coffee that makes it toxic?”
“The caffeine. It is a rather nasty kind that damages parts of our brains patterns-“
“Because you guys constantly have a developing brain.” Bob finished, familiar with their biology. Their species did have an ever evolving brain. “I get it. Our youngsters aren’t suppose to have caffeine because it can impede their growth. My mother was a brain scientist or something, she always liked sharing these tidbits with us.”
He opened a drawer and fished out a bottle and downed two pills with his coffee.
“What was that?” Hankel asked. “Is that a cure for the toxin?”
“No,” Bob went back to typing. “Those were caffeine pills.”
“... What?!” Ken screeched.
“Caffeine pills. It’s just more caffeine.”
“But you were just drinking coffee!”
“Yeah, I have coffee, then to wake up I take two pills.” Bob shrugged.
“I’m getting a headache.” Ken said, rubbing his for-head equivalence.
Henkel gawked. “You take caffeine to stay awake? Is it because your body has to fight it? Why do you take it then.”
“It just blocks adenosine receptors.” Bob looked up at the two panicking life forms. “If you think this is bad you should look at the other stuff we consume.”
|
# Jumping Goats
Ethiopia, approximately 850 A.D.
A herder with his goats walks through the rugged landscape. A lone goat, wandering off from the others, finds a dropped bean on the ground. It does not sleep that night. Other goats the next day chew on these beans, and they also do not stay asleep at night, running rampant as if the sun of the day still showed on the plateau.
One runs into the herder, named Kaldi. He wakes up in a start.
“Zwiyarah,” he says to his second beloved goat, “What are you doing?”
More rustling in the night, more active goats he could not see, more than Zwiyarah.
He tries to sleep and does not. Waking up groggy, most goats walk the same as he does. But this changes when he watches the goats walk to the trees. They eat the beans, then change to being normal. Kaldi tries one of these beans, feel alert. Another, and another and another. A goat tries to bite his finger for his food. Kaldi keeps chewing. He feels a great energy roil within him and clears his food sack for collecting these beans. He heads to a local Islamic monastery and is let in by the monk. They sit down.
“So, my faithful,” the monk says. “what brings you here?”
“The goats do not sleep.”
“Then it is a curse from Allah? What are these beans, that you speak of?”
“They are here.”
Kaldi throws the sack of beans, one that a day before used to hold his meals and years before his beloved goat’s meals, into the monk’s hand.
“My apologies sir. But I feel a great energy still.”
“You chewed these?” The monk looks into the bag of beans that Kaldi collected, sniffing them.
“Yes. And I felt exhilarated.”
“Then they must be destroyed,” the monk says, undoing the laced tightener at the top of the bag, and dumping the contents into the fire. “These are clearly something to tempt, the true apple of Eden. *Inshallah,* they must be destroyed. Please, goatherder—”
A smell wafts from the flames, dimming the smells of Kaldi’s sweat and the fabric and papers of the room.
“This isn’t a curse for one’s sins,” says the monk. “This is holy. I must save these gifts from Allah!”
\*\*
1000 AD. Siyrana Watchtower over Hazardous lifeform disposal system.
A cadet of the science fleet runs to the bridge of the orbital platform, holding a holograph on his temporal watch. In it shows a process formulated within the Islamic world to create a liquid drink. The drink is deemed “Dangerously potent.” His horns whistle in the wind of the scrubbed air, one that he breathed a thousand times over at least while being stationed here.The doors of the Bridge spin open, and all eyes are on the cadet.
“Sir!” says the cadet, “our fears have come true. They have found how to concentrate the dangerous combination!”
The Captain knows these words and turns immediately.“Go on then,” he says.
“The beans, sir. The dominant lifeforms over the planet currently are eating them, in a liquid form.”
“Do you mean,” the captain says, “They are one form away from inhaling. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“These foolish creatures. Where are they drinking this? We thought we banished the substance to the plateaus of the Nyrzim continent.”
“It is mainly concentrated around the Trademeet center of the unequal twins,” said the cadet, “but has been spreading rapidly. It seems to be within a religious section of the planet’s beliefs section, only.”
“Then let’s pray it doesn’t grow further,” the captain says.
\*\*
1600 AD, Rome.
The previous 30 years had seen a sudden growth of the drinking of coffee, in Europe and the rest of the world. Coffee had reached the state of England, and the Republic of Venice, and spread from there. Religious leaders knew its origin from the Islamic faith.
A new pope, the Siyrana hider believed, could prevent its spread.
He felt his infiltrator cloak and could not believe any human could believe this disguise. It was the only one they could afford, and already it became damaged in form. His face was not as pretty as some of the others he saw, and certainly didn’t fit with the human look. Still, it was better that Siyrana and humans both walked on two feet; it could be a disaster if not.
The Siyrana hider approaches the pope, elected 8 years ago. He was still one of the few ignorant to its substance’s dangers, both religiously and emotionally.
“Your holiness,” the hider says. The pope in sleeping garments turns to him.
“What do you want this time?” Says his holiness.
“I need to bring up an urgent issue at the next chance you have. You must denounce a substance of the infidel. It spreads through our desmesne of god himself, corrupting the minds of all faithful Christians and the heretics alike.”
“Heretics I could understand, but what about the Catholics?”
“Yes,” the hider says with a sigh, “Especially the Catholics.”
“Is it akin to spirits? Too much and you become slowed, unable to practice your craft, and poor of mind?”
The hider has to say what he knows. No one would be foolish to “Drink” the substance to poison themselves enough.
“It would,” the hider says, “bring yourself to an alertness beyond normal, bringing the chest beating hard and acting faster.”
“Interesting!” His holiness says. “I must try this, before I denounce it.”
The next day Pope Clement VIII tries the drink and loves it.
\*\*
1605 AD, Siyrana Watchtower over Hazardous lifeform disposal system.
The trial begun.
“The gates are now open due to your failure,” says the captain, his face aging, and had picked up a cough. “All over the peninsula they drink the substance. Their brutal expansion has opened more than that to it. The world now lies open to the expansion of that accursed bean. What say you in your defense?”
“I say I failed, and not on purpose.”
“But your failure has doomed the galaxy,” the captain said. “There must be a punishment. Your life.”
The hider finds himself dropped into a tube, the air sucked out from the room until he nearly faints from lack of air, and the remaining sight of his showing the vibrant sea of stars.
\*\*
2020 AD. Chicago.
Ishmael Howitzer walks from his synagogue to the local gas station. He has had enough. His only living family member gives him a call.
“Why are you not home yet?” she asks. “Are you out drinking?”
“It’s just Energy drinks, *Bubby*,” says Ishmael. “They’re not beers, and it’s the only time I can really relax anymore. I feel so tired without them.”
“Please, energy drinks will be the death of you, *seriously*. Do not drink too much. Please, remember to rest.”
“I will rest, alright,” says Ishmael.
Ishmael buys four 40 oz, heads to a tunnel, and drinks them until his heart explodes.
\*\*
2020 AD. Siyrana Watchtower over Hazardous lifeform disposal system.
Ishmael wakes up, connected to a machine.
The captain coughs over his head. His lungs hurt from centuries of living and are giving up. He is not.
“Tell me, Human,” he says to the young boy, “why hurt yourself with a narcotic?”
“Is this *Sheol*?” asks Ishmael.
“This is where we’ve been watching your disposal planet. You drank the bean substance, correct?”
“Why are you calling caffeine that?”
The captain grips his own heart.
“They named the substance,” he says. And collapses to the ground.
| 2020-06-20T12:33:37
| 2020-06-20T11:19:40
| 274
| 101
|
[WP] In another reality, the Americas, Australia, Europe, Asia, Africa, and Antartica don't exist. Instead, the super-continent of Pangaea never broke up.
|
There was unease on the ship. Ferdinand Magellan could feel it. Men would go silent and look away, mid conversation, when he first came above or below deck. At this point, he didn't blame them. The days were short and the nights were long. The sun barely made it above the horizon for an hour, before retiring back to it's home in the south, leaving them in darkness. They sailed past more and more icebergs, growing ever taller and more abundant as they went. Lit by starlight, they were like ghostly guardians to the gates of hell. Still though, he ordered the helmsman to push ever north.
With favorable wind, Polaris would be directly overhead in just under a fortnight. Then they would have to navigate carefully by star charts, towards a different constellation each hour. Magellan prayed for clear skies when that time came, lest they sail back from whence they came instead of to the depths of the Great Sea.
The Great Sea and her lover Pangaea were all any man knew. They cared for humanity like a mother and father care for their babes. When together, they provided their children with fish, plants, beasts, cool days and warm nights. Stray too far inland and the land becomes barren and dry. Too far to sea, and you wander the waters for all of time. Every man woman and child knew this, but still Magellan pushed north.
Columbus was the first to cross her, but not the first to try. He'd sailed the equator west until he arrived in the east. Many thought he'd fall of the ends of the earth, but no. He had done it.
But any fool could sail west. If Magellan could prove ships could circumvent longitudes, he would be glorified as well. So he pushed north.
|
"There's got to be something else out there!" My child exclaims to me, as I tuck him into bed. "It can't just be this land! There has to be other lands out there!"
"Oh yeah?" I say with a laugh. "What makes you think that?" I could read the excitement on his face before he spoke.
"There just has to be! All the legends about what's at the end of The Great Blue. All we need to do is just... sail. In a straight line. Until we find something!" He was rustling as he spoke and completely ruined my job of tucking him in.
"The world... Our world. It's a big globe. If you leave on The Eastlands, you'll just go in a big circle and arrive at The Westlands." I tried my best to settle him down so late at night, but he was having none of that.
"Dad,"
"Yes child?"
"That is the dumbest answer I've heard." A small scowl was stretching across his face as I laughed.
"What do you think is out there then, boy? Out there in The Great Blue?" I grabbed the seat nearby and sat down, awaiting a tale that only a child could conjure.
"Treasure! And monsters, and dragons, and beasts! All those tales we've all heard, they're out there! Just waiting to be found." I nodded my head as I watched the life spark through him. I was jealous, honestly, I wish I had that kind of wonder left in me.
"Well, when you get older, you can take a boat and just..." I rub the top of his head as I stand and head towards the door. "Go in a straight line."
"Really Dad?" he had begun to lay down now instead of leaning up.
"Yeah, of course son. And I'll be on this land waiting for the letters from wherever you end up." I flicked off the light, before closing the door behind me.
"Yeah..." I could hear his little voice beginning to drift away from behind the door, "I'm gonna find the end of The Great Blue."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you liked this, check out /r/Rhysyjay
| 2017-02-09T05:36:04
| 2017-02-09T05:16:54
| 1,245
| 320
|
[WP] Two nations are at war; one nation, led by mages who specialize in healing magic. The other, a nation led by necromancers. Make the necromancers the good guys.
|
Hag'lok surveyed the overgrown ruins of Wontshire with dismay. A caduceus, overgrown with thorny vines, was staked into the ground in the middle of the crossroads entering town. A warning to others who might challenge them. Overgrown trees, bushes, and plants had torn the quaint town apart in yet another instance of the Children of Hermes using growth spells to terrorize citizens.
Kwo'gor, Hag'lok's lieutenant, dispatched men to search the town. Wontshire had been the legendary home of the Caverns of Hrnor, the greatest mage of Necromancer lore. Here, he had discovered the 12 basic elements of Death and written them into the Book of the End. It was rumored that he had discovered a 13th element, one that would nullify the power of the healers, rendering them mortal. Over the ages, their never-ending life had made them numb to the pain of loss and death. Their dulled feelings made them into remorseless killers, whereas the Necromancers, ever close to death, understood the constant pain of a victim.
From a nearby hovel, roof caved in by an Elm so thick that a man could not clasp his hands together around it, came a cry for help. One of the men had found a resident, still alive. Hag'lok rushed to his side. The man was holding onto life by a thread. From his side, a disgusting array of limbs and stumps protruded out at random angles. The Healer's abilities to regenerate body parts was not limited to situations where a part had already been removed. Growing body parts, then hacking them off to inflict pain, was one of their favorite methods of interrogation. Hag'lok ran his hands over the man's wounds. Dark magics, attuned to the signs of death and decay, immediately diagnosed his ills: the Healers had turned the man's own immune system against him. His own defenses were rapidly tearing his body apart. Every inch of him would be burning with pain.
Hag'lok gave the man the Touch of Mercy, and his pain ended. His flesh melted from his bones, turning to ash as it fell. Hag'lok re-animated the bleached skeleton with a quick incantation. The bones twitched with life as the man re-awakened. Invisible eyes surveyed the pale white bones.
"What happened here?" Hag'lok asked quickly. Time was of the essence.
Dazed, the man continued to flex his fingers, admiring the bones moving without any muscles. Death magic is truly more mysterious than any other form. Hag'lok rested a gloved hand on his femur.
"Come now, we need to know."
"The Children of Hermes," the man gasped. He felt his neck bones, seeking the source of the sound when he had no more throat. "They didn't even warn us. The plants just took over. We tried to run, but our bodies didn't obey us. They had full control over our legs! They took turns inflicting us with horrible diseases and then forcing us to infect our own families. I.. my daughter..."
His voice faltered. His skeletal hands fell to his side against his pelvis with a loud clack.
"Then they brought me in here and tortured me. It lasted for hours. They gave me the eyes of an eagle, just so I could see my own flesh melt with perfect vision. They tied my organs into knots, and cut me open to unravel them. They did... so many..."
His voice broke into a sob.
"Can you bring back my daughter? Can you do this to her?" he asked, running a bony finger between the grooves of his ribs. "Come, raise up the rest of the town; I know they will be eager volunteers."
Kwo'gor chimed in at this point: "I'm sorry, sir, but we found a pyre in the center of town. The rest of the village was burned. They're beyond our grasp now. They must have left this one alive as a warning. They wanted us to know what they did."
The man nodded, numb. "Well, then, let not my life have been lived in vain. You have shown me mercy and compassion, where I expected none. We were taught our entire lives to fear the Army of the Dead, but it was the Healers that we should have been ready for. The Healers did not know what this village held. They only seemed to care about us because they knew you were headed here." He went back into the hut and returned with a small block of wood, about 10 centimeters on each side. Carved into 4 of the sides was an intricate pattern, with details so small that they could only be felt with the gentlest of touch.
"There will be one of these cubes in every home in the village," he announced. His fingers gripped it tightly as if it was the most precious thing he'd ever owned. "There will be 286 of them. Each patterned side corresponds to one other piece. Arrange them into the right order, and the map will tell you where to find Hrnor's lost element, to finally destroy the children of Hermes."
Hag'lok jumped up and embraced the skeletal figure, squeezing him so hard that some of the bones popped out of place. Finally, an end to this war!
|
It was never an easy form to fill. Well, I guess it was for some people. Ever since this debate started, and the VDD was instated, Josh hadn't been looking forward to turning in his. Now, with a pencil in hand and two boxes to tick, Josh hesitated.
His phone buzzed. Well, Josh took this as he took all things in life--an opportunity. In this case, and opportunity to procrastinate on his government paperwork and instead text Janie. "You're my hero" it read. Josh smiled, because he had already known he was heroic. In a flash of teen-boy bravery, he checked the box and flicked the paper off to it's destination. It disappeared with a small poof and Josh turned back to his chance at conquest. "I know" he replied.
***
30 years later Josh died in a drug accident at a rather raucous party. No more than Josh's usual fare but his dealer had given him a mislabeled transmute pill, leaving poor Josh with the liver of a donkey and a hummingbird's lung when the form wore off. It was a tragedy, but the story of his death didn't make it past the county, and though some partigoers and recreational formers were offput for a while, all was soon back to loud music, late nights, and back alley spells.
***
50 years later the waroom general paced about the landmodel. He waved a hand here and there, moving troops about the landscape. The aides, analysts, and casters all stood rigid, watching him pace. He stopped pacing in the southeast corner and addressed the room.
"We'll need 50 more regiments distributed here, here, and here" Multiple figures dropped from the simsky into various positions."
"50?" an aide whispered to a coworker. In the silence of the room, the general heard. He sighed. And waved both hands across the simsky.
"This is what we're up against" he said, with a note of fatigue in his voice. "Not just an army, an army of half-humans, of creatures that long since ceased to be anything but abominations of war. Those soldiers up there" he said, gesturing to the pictures and 3D representations that filled the simSky, "Use to *be* soldiers. Real human men like you or I. But look at them now. An injured arm here turned to a donkey's limb. Feet with talons, transculent organs of a worm. All those might be suffered in the name of preserving life. But look again, look to the things you can barely see. See that? The start of a ram's horn on the forehead. And there, a cheekbone transmuted to steel. And here, hair of the gorilla overtaking the face. You must remember, these are not mere cosmetic procedures. These belie a greater crime, one we all have seen. These "healers" are taking men's minds, men's souls. If our lives and deaths are to be anything, let it be this: that they are ours. So when I say 50 more regiments. I want 50 more voluntary deaths. It was their choice to enter into the database. It is our choice to honor their sacrifice now by beating back these abominations, by protecting human life itself."
The general paused a moment, let his shoulders sink. "This is our somber and unrelenting duty. We must fight. We will fight."
"You have your orders"
As the room scurried off at his command, a Citizen's department worker named Janie pulled up a new batch of names, and with as much attention as she was paying to her latest smack of gumchewing sent them off.
*Feel free to correct spelling, grammar, and formatting. Suggest edits, copy, or add to the story as you see fit.*
| 2014-10-28T14:34:58
| 2014-10-28T14:29:56
| 28
| 13
|
[WP] It is the year 2150. Describe an arms manufacturers latest weapons platform to a prospective buyer and compare its specs to your competitors.
|
"... which can deliver a multi-megaton explosion to any point on the globe within a few brief moments" I finished up my presentation with a flourish.
"I have a few questions" A wiry man in the audience raised his hand.
This was not in the program, but I was feeling pretty good about my performance so I allowed it. "Shoot." (I always liked using that in my line of work)
"Your product the..." he quickly referenced his datapad, "Orbital Death Dealer", he rolled his eyes, "costs nearly a million dollars a shot. How can you justify that when your competitors product costs hardly $20,000 with a similar output?"
"What competitor are you referring to?" I asked.
"WarCorp07's 'Smite' program" he said smugly.
I nodded. I had heard of them before. I ran a quick search on them and fed the data to the O.D.D.
"I don't believe that their product is available any longer." the windows rattled noisily as the shock wave passed by.
|
Gentlemen, today we have an opportunity to show you the future of weaponry. Ever since the global atmospheric crisis which fundamentally changed the environmental landscape, of course causing floods, storms, etc. Mankind has fought not only for the few resources which remain, but also dominance over territory which remained fertile and with a minimal amount of background radiation. Yes, the old world crumbled, and with it the tools and even most the technology of the past. Our mad scramble for survival has left us without even the most basic ideas of how the last generations managed to create the wonders which enriched their lives, but also ended their way living.
For the last few generations weapons manufacture has consisted, primarily, of “throw-stones” and “point-sticks”. While these weapons have proven effective, they were none the less rudimentary at best. Today, I hope to show you a tool that will make those weapons obsolete. I would like to introduce you to a new tool that will be a game changer for humanity. We call it the “Sword”.
| 2014-10-30T11:21:07
| 2014-10-30T09:15:40
| 20
| 14
|
[WP]For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face and hoping to speak to you.
|
It was the longest day of my life, the day he left. I still remember it as clear as the day we married in the church a few thousand yards from the house we shared, in a hidden village a hundred miles from the City. If only the High Priest hadn't come, we'd have lived in that shack forever.
That dreaded priest arrived without his usual caravans and wagons that such nobility kept with them. He wore a haughty, desperate look, like a prisoner tearing apart everything to find the key. That is, until he set eyes upon my man. He said that my husband was the man he saw in his dreams, his nightmares, and his visions. My husband would either save the world or end it.
We thought he had gone mad at first. I was a widower who buried a child, the mother of our first, with our second on the way, helping the weavers make clothes for extra money while he was no champion but a skilled blacksmith. We met later in life, yes, but we were happier than ever. But the High Priest simply handed a parchment to my husband. That was when I learned he was literate, the only one other than our town priest who shakily read passages every Sunday and preached.
He told me what the letter read. I wasn't listening. I was fighting tears unsuccessfully as I realized that my husband had no choice but to go. After the High Priest obtained my husband's solemn promise that he would go, he led me around the back of the house that he built with his hands ten years ago to the garden. He pulled the wall apart and fetched a glittering sword. I had seen it before and knew he kept it clean and sharp, but I had never asked why he had it. I hadn't needed to. I should've.
He kissed me, and swore on our marriage he would return, or die trying. That was the last I heard of him for five years. I never sold the house, though the money dwindled. I sold fruits and vegetables and continued weaving to stem the losses. David, our second, became deathly ill a few months after his birth, and I buried him by the sword-space. Catherine was old enough to remember her father and missed him dearly. It was difficult to watch her play with a wooden sword with the other boys, but I saw that determined look in her deep blue eyes, that she definitely got from her father, to be like her dad after I had inadvertently said I wished he had never had to take that sword and leave one terrible night.
A little over five years passed. I continued to wear the ring he gave me eight years ago then. He was my soul mate, and I couldn't imagine anyone else. Not promises of wealth or happiness from suitors. I waited for my darling as hope for his return diminished.
One rainy day, I walked home with Catherine after taking her to the apothecary. She had hurt her arm, and I was given a small bottle of pain reliever for her for some of the last of my coins after getting small discount after a promise to return the bottle. I didn't know how to put her arm in a sling, but I didn't have the money to ask this week, for the rest of it was for some bread tomorrow that would hold us for a few days. Even Catherine could see we were slowly starving, with her sad eyes looking mournfully at an ever shrinking plate at meals.
I didn't even recognize that the door was ajar until I got to the porch. It creaked loudly against the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof. I looked around, and seeing nothing, nudged the door open. I gripped Catherine's hand tightly as I scanned the room. The fireplace was lit and an unfamiliar coat was draped over the chair reserved for my husband. I began to shout angrily to chase this man out of my house, to sit where one man belonged and to use my rooms as an inn, when he looked at me with exhausted, royally blue eyes. I stopped, saw an iron ring identical to my own on his hand, dropped the pan I had grabbed as a weapon, and sank to the ground as Catherine shrank behind me before recognizing the face that had left years before and rushed to his side. My man picked her up and then knelt down in front of me, caressed my cheek and begged to be let back in, that the battle was over and we won, that he would never leave my side again. I didn't hear him. I sobbed and said yes so many times I didn't realize he was waiting for my hand. I took it and he led me out back to the sword-space, where his sword was resting against the wall outside. In a clearing sky with a rainbow in the sunset, planted the sword. He took a helmet he had worn for years, and placed it on the hilt, never to be removed from it's final resting place, where my husband buried years of pain, anguish, and longing for good.
|
Ben sighed as he drove the cart back into the village, the old horse pulling it as slowly as ever. He'd never had any luck getting the old nag to move any faster; she definitely did things her own way.
Just like the woman who'd bought and trained her.
The horse plodded down the main road, following the familiar path through the square and towards the farm just past the other side of the village. As it went, Ben waved to a couple of people, and took in the sights of the carpenters and masons hard at work. They'd been here for weeks now, with deliveries of stone and wood feeding their labors. They had the word of the Duke that the village would be rebuilt better than ever, with a fortified wall to defend it this time.
Small comfort to the burgeoning graveyard that he had to pass on his way out of town. That wall would come too late for them. He looked towards the rows of headstones, some with fresh graves at their feet, and made the sign of the Gods as he always did. Those poor people had died, and for what? For nothing. Blame for this lay at the feet of just one person.
The horse continued on, following the dirt road towards the farmhouses around the outside of the village, specifically to the one he called home. As he cleared the fenceline of the farm, he squinted towards the small stable next to the house. There was already a horse in there. At first he thought maybe it was a visitor, a messenger from the Duke perhaps; they'd chosen him to be the one they communicated with, because of his unique role in the events that had happened, but...no. This wasn't one of the Duke's men. The horse was too fine for that, a snow white stallion with a fine saddle of a make he wasn't familiar with. And there was nobody standing there waiting; the Duke's people didn't just let themselves into his house, or at least they hadn't before.
He pulled up the wagon outside the stable, stopping the horse with a gentle "Whoa, girl. Whoa." He jumped out of the driver's seat of the wagon, and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the new pitchfork he'd traded for from inside the back of it. Holding the tool in his hands like a spear, he slowly approached the house and pushed at the door with the tines of the pitchfork. It swung open easily, which was cause for alarm - he knew he'd locked it when he left.
Ben plucked up his nerve and walked in slowly, leather boots soft and quiet on the old wooden floor. He'd had eight years to walk this floor, and knew where it creaked and squeaked, and how to avoid those spots. As he went, he heard rattling in the kitchen, along with a voice muttering to itself, the words just quiet enough that he couldn't make them out. He walked towards the sound, heart pounding in his throat as he went. Perhaps he should just leave, go back to town and get the newly minted Village Guard to come investigate this.
No. No, this was his home, and he would defend it. Nobody else was here to do so.
He stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, and took in the sight of a tall figure, long red hair cascading down the back of a fine suit of armor. A sword hung at their waist, and in their hands was a mug and an empty bottle. "I guess I can't be upset," the figure said, her voice sending a shock of recognition through Ben, his heart rising and going cold at the same time. "It's not like he *knew* I'd be back today...guess I'll have to run into town later..."
The pitchfork slid from Ben's fingers, which had gone numb with shock. The figure whirled around, hand going for the sword at her waist, but then she stopped, and they just stared at each other for a long moment.
Ben broke the silence first, hoarsely asking, "Karina...? Is that...is it really..."
Karina smiled sheepishly at her husband, reaching up to push long bangs away from sapphire eyes, the motion painfully familiar to Ben, who'd seen her do it a thousand times since they were children. "Hello, Ben. I...I'm home."
Ben looked at her blankly for a moment, torn between the urge to run and embrace the woman he'd loved since he was eight, and the urge to turn and walk away from the woman who'd abandoned everything they'd built and left for five years. He settled on walking to the table nearby and sitting down. "There's another bottle in the upper cupboard. Bring two mugs."
Karina blinked, then turned and retrieved the bottle and glasses. "When did you start keeping it up here? We always kept our drink in *this* cupboard--"
"You've been gone for a while," Ben said curtly. "Things have changed. As you might have noticed already."
Karina sat the bottle and the mugs on the table, and sat down across from her husband, her expression as open to him as it had ever been. She'd never been vague or closed, at least not to him. He could tell she was happy to be back, overjoyed to see him, but at the same time, had the air of a child caught in wrongdoing. She knew she'd done something wrong here.
*Good.*
"I did notice! The construction in the village, and the *wall.* It would seem I missed some things-"
"While you were gone. For *five years.*"
Karina's eyebrows drew downwards, the expression somewhere between hurt and angry. "Gone *saving the world.* I don't know how much news of the rest of the world has gotten here; I had asked the Duke to take care of this place, to make sure you all stayed appraised of how things were going..."
"Oh, so we could hear what a *great hero* you've been?" Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, taking up the bottle and pouring a measure of whiskey into each mug. "Small comfort, that. At least *someone* could tell me you were still alive. Don't know why it couldn't be *you*, though."
Karina took the mug he offered her, and looked down into it, as though the answers to this situation were written on the bottom. "I...I'm sorry, Ben. I truly am. I was always on the move, never stayed still long enough to try and write or anything. I can write, now, I learned how, and I *wanted* to, but-"
"Oh, you *wanted* to. That's wonderful to hear that you at least *thought* of your old life, your loving husband. Did you think about all the broken promises you left here too? Or think about-"
"Ben, *please*! I was chosen by the Gods themselves! I couldn't just...say *no*, who knows what might have happened?" Karina looked up at her husband desperately, and Ben met her gaze evenly, his expression wooden. He picked up his mug, and downed the measure of whiskey in one, setting the mug back down.
"You're right, we don't know what that might have brought. But I know what you leaving *did* bring. All that construction? It's *re-construction,* Karina. Vixale's people learned where you came from. And they came here. Twice they attacked us. Twice they put half the village to the torch before the Duke was able to chase them away with his army."
| 2022-08-12T17:39:57
| 2022-08-12T17:38:06
| 113
| 77
|
[WP] You've never noticed the (+) in the bottom right of your vision before. Today on your 23rd birthday however, you focus on it intently, as a skill tree pops up before your eyes with 23 points to allocate.
|
God damn, that tackle hurt thought Billy. What a way to spend my 17th birthday, getting speared in the gut by a 250 pound senior who had no business playing high school football. That kid ought to be playing for state thought Billy.
He got up and wiped the dirt off his pants and hustled over to the sideline. It was 4th and 13 with 2 minutes and 37 seconds on the clock. The Middleton Mauraders were down by 6 points against the Springfield Samurai. Billy was a wide receiver for the Mauraders. They had the worst football team in the district for 10 years running now. They usually only won a single game the entire season.
Billy sat on the bench and flipped his helmet back on his head so he could cool off and get a drink. He looked at the ground in desperation, hoping the magic formula for winning this game would appear in the dirt around his feet. Billy noticed a spot in the bottom right corner of his vision. Thinking it was a floater he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Billy tried to focus on the game. His team had just stopped the Samurai running back after a gain of only 2 yards.
That damn floater was still in the same spot. Billy focused in on it. It was a small plus sign. That's weird he though. His teammate and best friend Hans Spiegal looked over at Billy.
"Are you alright man?" asked Hans.
Billy kept focusing on that plus sign, it began pulsating. The more intently he looked at it the stronger it would pulsate.
"Dude, what the fuck are you looking at?" asked Hans. He was growing concerned for his friend because he was sitting there on the bench with his eyes sharply turned to the bottom right of his sockets. Hans was worried that Billy might have a concussion.
"I'm fine," Billy muttered.
Suddenly a massive glowing tree appeared in front of Billy. "Wow!" he exclaimed under his breath. He should be freaking out right now he thought. Something about what was happening just felt natural to him though. He noticed a glowing green 17 in the top right of his vision. He looked around the tree, it looked like a skill tree. It was almost identical to his favorite RPG Knights of the 7 kingdoms. There were branches for strength, charisma, intelligence, stamina, and speed. Man, it sure would be nice to be a little stronger and faster right now, it would help win this game. Suddenly the strength and speed branches lit up and a small dot of light moved along the branches to the first node. Billy felt his muscles bulge slightly and stretch the fabric of his uniform. He felt sharper. A small minus 1 flashed by the 17 in the top right, it rolled back to 16, then 15. I better not use all the points now thought Billy, besides were probably going back out on the field soon. He focused passed the skill tree on the game and the tree shrank back into the small plus sign on the bottom right of his vision.
The Samurais made it within 24 yards of the endzone and decided to go for a field goal. There were only 39 seconds left on the clock now. Billy watched the center snap the ball back to the quarterback, he saw the quarterback slowly turning the ball, the laces were facing the kicker. He watched, as though in slow motion as the kicker stepped forward to kick the ball. Billy could tell as soon as the kicker made contact that the ball was going wide of the uprights.
Billy stood up and slid his helmet back down. He felt light as a feather and quick as a cat. If this the difference from using only 2 points imagine what I could do with the 15 he had left thought Billy.
Billy took his place to the right of the line near the sideline.
"Hut, Hut, Hike," shouted the quarterback.
The center snapped the ball back to the quarterback, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Billy could see the laces swing around and around as the ball spun back to the quarterback.
The quarterback took a few steps back, pumped to the left.
Billy was just turning around after running ten yards out in a button hook pattern. The ball was already coming right towards him. Billy had to jump to catch it. He just landed when he heard the rapid steps of the cornerback coming towards him. Billy ducked and the cornerback hit him high and slid over Billy. The crowd went wild.
Billy turned looked down the field, there was a linebacker coming from the left, another cornerback upfield to the right, and a safety right in the middle along with another cornerback being blocked by the other receiver on Billy's team.
Billy started down the field blowing past the cornerback on the right. The crowd cheered louder.
The cornerback who was being blocked was now coming directly at Billy, the receiver that was blocking that cornerback was on the ground. This particular cornerback was 6 feet and 2 inches tall and weighed 200 pounds. Normally Billy would be tempted to turn and run the other way or slide on the ground. The strength stat seemed to give him confidence because Billy ducked his shoulder down. The cornerback ducked down in an attempt to get Billy down by the legs. He was too tall, Billy caught the cornerback right in the upper thighs. The corner back flipped up and over Billy's head.
The crowd roared.
Billy had nothing but 40 yards of open field ahead of him now. Now was the time to test out that speed stat. Billy bolted down the field, the announcer rifled off "40,30,20,10, Touchdown!" in rapid-fire. No one in either town had ever seen someone run so fast before.
"The Mauraders win the game! What an upset!" bellowed the announcer.
The crowd from Middleton rushed the field and put Billy on their shoulders. Billy felt like he was king of the world, he felt like superman, like he could do anything.
Then Billy woke up. He felt around on his nightstand for his glasses. The alarm was blaring in his ears. He found his glasses, put them on and turned the alarm off.
He sat up on the edge of his bed and noticed a small white plus sign on the bottom right of his vision. What the hell is that he thought.
Thanks for reading!
Edit spelling and punctuation.
|
(I'm not used to writing, forgive me.)
On my 23rd birthday, I finally noticed that + on the corner of my eye. I focused on it, and it opened the skill tree for me - with 23 points to use up. I probably wouldn't have figured it out for a couple minutes if I didn't play games a lot as a kid.
I didn't know how to use it.. at all. Because, if I opened it with focusing, how could I upgrade the points at the top? I wouldn't be able to do that. 'Oh well,' I thought to myself. 'I might as well start investing in them now.'
I focused on all the names, [Strength], [Intellegence], [Health], [Defense], and others as such. I tried to at least see how to use a point, I was able to learn to invest, and I logged off after using half my points.
| 2019-08-20T20:30:22
| 2019-08-20T19:00:33
| 582
| 12
|
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy?
|
"Hey, are you okay?"
Maria wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled, looking anywhere but the man standing next to her. She'd gone to the pier to be alone not have random strangers approach her.
"I-I'm fine," Maria looked out toward the ocean, watching as the whitecaps broke and wove over each other, and how the seagulls and birds flew through the stormy grey sky.
The man leaned against the railing of the pier next to her. "Well, I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look like your dog just died."
Maria sniffed again, her lips curling downward as she gripped the leash in her pocket.
"I-I did."
There was a pause and the man sighed. "Shit, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean-"
"No, no, it's okay," Maria said. "This was... this was Max's favorite place to go for our walks. He, um, he was a weird dog, but I loved him. I've had him for so long."
A handkerchief appeared on the railing and Maria wiped her tear stained cheeks. "Thank you."
"Sounds like a hell of a dog." The man mused.
"He was," Maria nodded. "He always protected me, heck, he even slept in my bed. He did *not* like my boyfriends." She smiled.
"Sounds like a good boy. Dog's can sense that, you know? If a person is good enough for their person."
Maria laughed at that. "Well, he also ate my Italian heels and destroyed two couches, so he had his ups and downs."
The man snorted. "Sounds like an ass."
"He was a good boy," Maria mused. She cleared her throat and offered the man back his handkerchief. "Thank you."
"No problem," the man turned finally and smiled as he took it from her.
Maria paused, her eyes roving over the tanned face and black hair, and the mans eyes. "You have his eyes."
The man blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"He was a husky mix, he had mismatched eyes."
The man slowly blinked again before he shrugged, an amused smile on his face. "I've had a lot of people comment on my eyes, but never that I looked like a dog."
Maria gasped. "O-Oh, no, I didn't-"
The man laughed. "Hey, it's okay." He offered her his hand. "What's your name?"
"Maria," she blushed as she shook his hand. "What's yours?"
"Maximillion, but Max for short." he winked, then spoke in a lower whisper. "My parents were weird. They named the dog Ted."
Maria laughed at that. She flushed when she realized Max had watched her, a warm smile on his face.
"Hey, I've heard there's supposed to be a coffee shop near here... do you want to go? I'd love to hear more about your Max."
Maria nodded. She gave the ocean one last glance before she pulled out the leash from her pocket. Max covered it with his hand, taking her hand with his.
"Come on, let's get out of the rain."
Maria nodded.
|
**THUD!!**
"Ow! God damnit!!" He thought to himself so loudly he was certain that someone must have heard it. "Remind me to apologize to every bird outside my office. You really can't see the glass in the window can you? Well at least we know Windex really is worth the few extra bucks"
Irvine still hadn't gotten used to the bird body despite it being his primary mode of transportation around the over crowded city. "Or is it Vincent? No, no Vincent was last month. I thought using the names from my favorite videogames would make this identity thing easier" He spotted her in her usual place walking through the park after her day at work and drifted down to a remote corner in the trees to phase back into being a human. Shaggy black hair, little bit of facial shadow, eyes some kind of hybrid of green and brown, medium build. "Alright, let's try this again" he said with a deep sigh and walked out on the trail.
**THUD!!**
"Oh my god I'm so sorry" he said kneeling down to scoop up the papers that had been scattered running into Isabel. The Apple of Aries' eye. For months they'd been dating on and off. Unbeknownst to her of course. To her, Serge was just another klutz who spent too much time looking at his phone and not enough time watching where he was going. "If I don't text my mom right back, she starts to panic and next thing I know the police are knocking on my door. Or asking the receptionist at the gym if I've checked in. It's happened more than once." "Oh, that's alright. Thank you" She said with a sparkle in her limpid blue eyes that Leon had never seen in anyone else before. Maybe it was that, that drew him to her. She seemed unremarkable in nearly every other way, but in a way that seemed deliberate. As if she was trying to hide something amazing about herself from the outside world.
"I'm Andrew" said Dante extending his hand with the palm facing a little more upward than someone who would be shaking the hand of a person they just met. He knew her hands were soft. He knew she would place her delicate fingers in his palm and he would close his hand around them. With no small amount of luck, or tremendous amount of luck if any of his past attempts were any indication, he'd hold her hand every day. "Isabel" she responded.
It was a dance he'd done countless times before and he knew each step of each beat. He was a virtuoso at this point. After days upon weeks upon months of practice, he could do it from muscle memory. Asking the right questions, peaking the right interests, but not so much as to seem too good to be true or come off as a stalker who was just sizing up his next victim. "Are you thirsty? It's been a long day for me and I'm going to stop for a coffee. Would you care to join me?" With a bit of a snicker she replied "No thank you, I need to be on my way. I've got a few projects I need to get the ball rolling on." The glisten he saw in her eyes, like a lens flare in a movie made the hair on his neck stand. "Oh.. well.. It was nice talking to you Isabel. Sorry about earlier again." "Oh don't worry about it, have a nice day" she giggled and went on her way.
Defeated he walked into the coffee shop, so as to not seem as if it was all a wholly concocted scheme. "Fuck me!" Duke thought to himself. "I look like everything she likes in a guy! I share all her interests! I know practically everything about her! What more do I have to do!?"
"Maybe try being honest, and stop trying so hard Harvey Birdman. And by the way you're lucky I didn't crush you in my bathroom last week, SpiderMan. Don't be a perv. Oh, and lastly, I've been a gamer all my life. So don't think next time, when you say your name is Gordon Freeman that I won't get the reference."
Tim whipped his head around frantically! Running out of line and over to the window. There on the other side of the road stood Isabel with a twinkle in her eye and a smile that went from ear to ear.
"I'll see you next time, Luigi" she laughed. It was as if he could feel her breath on his ear. He watched in astonishment as she walked, unremarkably down the street, with her files in one hand and an ipod in the other.
Nathan smiled.
| 2018-02-14T09:37:57
| 2018-02-14T09:10:57
| 231
| 59
|
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
"No seeders found"
I glare at the screen in utter confusion. "*No* seeders? There were over 20 last night!" When you torrent a power, you seed it automatically, without any option to stop.
The only way to stop seeding a power is if you're killed... *Fuck*
Somebody out there doesn't want this power getting out.
|
*Click*
*Clickclick*
Blueish light colored my face from the screen, the only source of illumination in my room aside from the orange glare of the streetlight from outside. Link after link fell away before my mouse, leading me deeper and deeper into the net. This was my hobby, of sorts: surfing the web like a professional, as far as it would go. I fancied myself an explorer, like those of old, but instead of hidden gold on far off distant shores I sought the riches within my own home. Besides, I couldn't sleep without this little ritual. I was the conductor, and the lines of text flickering past my screen were my perfectly orchestrated lullaby.
"Hang on, what's this?" I stopped short as a window suddenly appeared in front of all of the others, unbidden. Oh, just a popup. Like I didn't have to deal with hundreds of those every day. Without thinking, I moved my mouse to hover over the little red x in the corner, but something made me stop. Despite having seen what I imagined to be more of the net than any other, this one was...new. Different.
'Full Superman Package! Experience exactly what it is like to be the man of steel!' Proclaimed the banner at the top of the window. Yawn. As if something like that was possible.
Still.
I moved my mouse away from the x and toward the button at the bottom that declared 'Click Here to Begin Download!' but I hesitated.
"...I have the best antivirus software known to man. What do I care if it is a bit seedy?" I asked aloud to no one in particular. And besides...I always was a sucker for unexplored links.
*Click*
The download began quickly, not surprising considering the time and my bandwidth. 10%...11%...ever higher, the numbers grew steadily as I watched.
*...Maybe this wasn't the best idea...*I thought.
31%...32%...
*No. Definitely not my smartest move.* I tried to click away, but immediately found that my mouse was stuck in place.
"Aw, crap." I tried pressing Ctl+alt+del, but to no avail.
65%...66%...
I reached around the back of my computer and pulled the plug, right as the counter hit 70%. I frowned in the dark. It wasn't turning back on, even after I plugged it back in.
*Guess I will just have to see what I can recover in the morning.* It was hardly a good note to end the day on, but it was far too late to fix anything now.
Perhaps tomorrow would be better.
***
When I awoke, the first thing that I noticed was that I could see. Like, *really* see. I had never needed glasses, but WOW! Everything was so crisp and clear, it was truly spectacular! My ceiling looked especially vibrant...I could see exactly where the paint roller had gone over each bump and groove.
The second thing I noticed was that the reason I could see my ceiling so well was because I was hovering about four inches away from it. With a yell, I fell out of the air and landed spread-eagle on my bed.
"What the hell?" I stared at my hand, fascinated by the detail. "I guess that torrent wasn't fake after all..." Experimentally, I gripped the corner of my bed's frame and pulled.
To my surprise the entire thing lifted as easily as if it were made of paper. I was so shocked that I nearly dropped the whole thing. As it was, I only barely caught it again before it crashed into the floor, no doubt saving me a lot of trouble in damages.
*I need to be more careful.* I thought. As cool as it was to be this powerful, it didn't take a genius to realize that it was also insanely dangerous. I would hate to hurt someone accidentally, and if I didn't watch out it wouldn't be long before I did.
I turned and floated to the door, barely noticing that my feet were scraping the floor instead of dragging me along. Suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks.
*Wait, hold on,* I tried to move my hand, but nothing happened. I tried harder, this time pushing with every ounce of my newfound strength, but again I remained frozen in place. I couldn't even move my eyes. Then, all at once, my body started moving again - this time entirely outside of my control. It mimed the actions I had just attempted, but at a rate that made it appear as if I was moving in fast-forward. Pain erupted from my side as my flailing hand caught me in the ribs, and my torso was thrown bodily through the wall.
"What's going on!" I yelled as I tumbled freely through my yard.
Wait.
"The download! It stopped early!" I slammed my palm into my forehead, nearly getting knocked flat onto my back with the force of the blow. I dropped to the grass and ran back towards my front door, but suddenly found myself back where I started.
"Am I seriously rubber banding right now!?" I screamed in frustration. Twice more I snapped back to my starting location before I reached the handle and pushed inside, breaking the door off of its hinges as I did. I sprinted back to my room...and groaned.
Black smoke billowed out of my computer tower.
"No, no, no! I have to reinstall it! Something's gone wrong!" I tore away at the frame, hoping to at least salvage the hard drives, when suddenly I was attacked by another freezing fit. I watched, helpless, as flames devoured the silver discs - before my own hand shattered them as I unwillingly sped back up to normal speed.
I hung my head in my hands, defeated.
***
*Beware, criminals! For I am the mighty GLITCH! Hero of the server, master of might, I will save the world from your evil with my mighty grip - and possibly destroy everything I have ever known and loved in the process.*
*CC always welcome! If you enjoyed, check out more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| 2016-07-02T20:01:23
| 2016-07-02T18:59:39
| 32
| 12
|
[WP] You're a supevillain sitting down for a meal at your favorite restaurant. One of your henchmen comes in to rob the place.
|
He was cool - and that was the word for it.
Cool.
Making small talk with the people he expertly shook down, His clear voice commanding hypnotic obedience.
He robbed the diner with such a casual nonchalance.
Like he was flirting with a beautiful woman; All confidence and charm.
The gun was larger than it had to be, yet he wielded it as though weightless.
To some a firearm was power, to this man was only a prop - a means to an end.
Lazily the muzzle traced through the air, effortlessly keeping the crowd subdued. He barely needed it.
He tipped his cap and smiled genuinely at the people placing wallets into an open briefcase.
There it was again, that... poise? Charisma?
Style, that was it Style.
Thugs these days had none of it.
And then it was my turn, i took another bite of my steak.
It was an unforgivable crime to let a steak of such quality go cold.
He seems taller up close. Suit and shades and trilby.
He opened the leather suitcase on the table in front of me, stolen purses and wallets neatly stacked.
'You know...' I say between mouthfuls. 'Trilbys are out these days, but that suit... is well chosen.'
He smiles, unperturbed at my lack of obedience. I take another bite.
'Its not that they are unfashionable, its just that morbidly obese neckbeards should refrain from wearing them. Sir, your wallet, please' He responds casually, all eloquence.
I pull out my wallet, and begin taking the contents out. 'Cards, and cash you can have, i like my wallet.'
He pauses. 'Fair enough' He clicks his suitcase shut, and gestures expansively, speaking to the room. 'you have all been quite co-operative, i thank you all for not making me resort to any kinds of violence'
He heads towards the door, having cleaned out the entirety of the diner in just under four minutes.
A young woman has her phone out, filming him as he leaves. He turns on his heel, grins, pointing and clicking at the camera.
'Brazen, young man, very brazen' I murmur, the beginnings of a smile creep across my features.
The doors click, and its the only sound in the room.
The atmosphere thickens as reality catches up with fifty bewildered people. I try to enjoy the remainder of my meal in peace, but there is the usual post robbery hubbub.
Some young women cry, a man shouts at the manager, obviously an arsehole of the highest calibre.
Twenty people all speak to the police on their phones, all describe a man, in a suit, with a hat - no i didn't see how old he was officer -
They are all getting louder.
Collectively blocking an ear with their spare hand.
With my bread roll, i soak up the juice on the plate. The chef has outdone himself. I make a mental note to tell him next time.
The police have arrived, clomping about and adding more people to an already busy room.
They know who i am and let me pass through the doors unhindered.
Notoriety has its perks.
I step out into the cool evening air, and pull my phone from my pocket. Counting backward under my breath.
Three...
Two...
One...
It rings. I answer.
'Your sense of timing is exquisite'
'Thank you - i understand that you are looking for more than just the average street thug'
'You, young man, are no street thug, i'll give you that'
There's a pause, weighted thoughtfully.
'Do i have the job?'
'Consider your interview successful' I say, and hang up. I know my reputation.
In the organised crime world, i'm the man you want to work for.
Robbing the place where i'm eating? what can i say - the kids got style.
|
“Put your hands where I can see them!”
The chattering stops.
I look up from the menu,only to be greeted by a peculiar sight of a chubby man holding a gun to the owner.
The owner seems terrified,trembling and looking at the to be robber,then to me.
“Excuse me for a moment my dear”. I say to my beloved,standing up from the table.
The chubby man jerks his gun to me,his hands holding tight on his gun.
“And who the fuck you think you are bitch?” He says,pointing the thing at me.
I chuckle,and I feel butterflies in my stomach as I step towards the man. Before I make it halfway across,the gun roars.
Screams fill the room,I can smell the panic in the air.
I look down at my chest,and see myself crawling out of it. They fly towards the man and chew into his skin.
Broken bone and flesh splatter to the ground as my organs slip out.
But parts of me keep walking to the tune of the writhing man’s scream,leaving a trail of blood and gore behind me.
I can see the man,my employee if I’m correct,trying to get up as the locusts start to shove themselves into his eye sockets and nostril.
I make a note to myself not to use this face for a while.
I throw my torso using my newly grown arms,and it latches onto the man’s face,my tongue licks the insides of this throat.
His screams are cut short as my hands meld with his face,and he is silent when my lower body reclaims the upper half.
The locusts return to me.
I put my ruined suit on the nearby waiter,who’s face was now white as paper,and I can see and smell a small puddle of urine under his pants. Newcomer I guess.
“Take care darling,it’s silk.” I pick up the gun,and put it on a table then turn to the owner who is now on the ground,shaking.
“And you. This is the last meal I’m having your establishment.”
“I’m sorry sir! It won’t happen again i swear..”
“It’s alright.” I said,looking down at the terrified man kneeling before me.
I put a hand on his shoulder so he can calm down.
Then make a new mouth with my rib cage,and before he can even scream,he’s gone.
I wipe my lips with the tissues on the table.
I look around,and see that everyone has gone back to their usual business. Except for the food,they are screaming and trying to run away to the door.
“A shame.” My beloved chimes in,who is now ready for dinner.
“I was bidding on that one.”
“I’m sorry my love.” I hear loud banging as the ingredients throw themselves at the metal door,locked tight.
“You can have the next owner.”
I look at her,dazzling eyes of red and gold that so perfectly fits her lovely gleaming fangs.
“Bon Appétit?”
| 2017-11-17T02:05:51
| 2017-11-16T23:56:20
| 58
| 19
|
[WP] You know for a fact that time travel will be invented in your lifetime. Because future version of you keep appearing to dramatically stop you doing seemingly inconsequential things for seemingly petty reasons.
|
A shabby old man with a heavy limp was chasing me.
“Gre—“
He bumped into someone.
“Excuse me. GREG!”
*No, please, not now...* I thought desperately. I was already late for this meeting and if I didn’t—
“Don’t cross that damn street! I’m telling you...”
I tried my best to ignore him. For months this guy had been stalking me, claiming to be me from the future. He’d pretty much backed off since I’d gotten a restraining order on him but that was only a few weeks ago.
It scared me. He somehow knew where I would be before even I did, and I would spot him watching from around corners, across busy streets, from coffee shop windows... it made me paranoid to go anywhere, and honestly to just *be* anywhere; my nerves were shot, and I was miserable.
Then sometimes he hadn’t been so discrete, shouting nonsense at me on the subway about end times, and how his shoddy leg was going to be the death of him.
But it also scared me because he played the part too well; he carried bulky metal contraptions with him everywhere, saying they were his “only way home”, he knew details about my life that I’d never told anyone, and the icing on the cake? His scraggly beard had the same nick that mine had always had.
The light changed colours and I started through the crosswalk, hoping to lose him in the morning rush.
“I know you think this meeting is important Greg but everything is at stake here, I’m serious!”
People were starting to stare.
*This is ridiculous*, I thought, and turned to face him.
“Leave me alone or I’m calling the cops.”
Shock struck him and his face grew more and more frustrated until he was absolutely furious. As I reached for my phone, he charged at me, and the speed at which he could move caught me off guard. Before I could get away, he had me by the shoulders.
“I’m trying to *help you*! If you keep going across this road some lunatic is going to grab you a—
A recognition filled his crazy eyes and spread across his features like a dust storm. Looking around, he started to back away.
“Oh no... no, no! I—“
Someone was shouting.
*HOOOONNNNKKK*
The next thing I knew I was lying on the ground, my leg burning in pain, and the old man staring into my eyes.
I could see that he was crying.
|
The first time I saw him I was in the playground, on the swings, trying to see how high I could go and Mom was talking to one of the neighbors and WASN'T WATCHING to see how high I could go
I think that I must've been four? Maybe five
--Hey, kid! You like candy?
He was shouting and it seemed like nobody else on the playground noticed even though he was waving around a large lollipop
Just a dark shape, now that I think about it and since I was busy swinging I couldn't really make out a face
--Mom! MOM! Look at how high I can go!
He came closer
--I, uh, lost my puppy. Help me find him? I'll give you a nickel
Mom wasn't even paying attentiont
I skidded to a stop in the dirt and squinted at him with his back to the sun and I still couldn't make out a face but it was weird that he was still holding the lollipop and it caught the light like stained glass
And I sat on the swing and he was right in my face, breath foul
--Come with me if you want to live!
I ignored him
--Well, uh--take this
He handed me the lollipop and I looked back at Mom who was still-- talking to the neighbor and she waved and the guy was gone although I could still smell his breath
She said goodbye to the neighbor and came to collect me and she noticed the lollipop and asked where I got it
I didn't say anything, I just stuck in my mouth and we went home
--
The next time that I saw him I was just starting High School, in a new town
I knew that I was going to hate it I was going to hate the new town and I was going to hate the new school and I hated the teacher in my home room--Ms. Fargon
From the first day, I could tell that she had it in for me--she would mispronounce my name on purpose and she said something about my haircut and nobody would talk to me
But he did
He was the janitor and this was the first time that I really got to see his face but there was something familiar about him and his breath had the same unforgettable stench
It was only a couple of weeks of keeping my head down before Ms. Fargon's finally said the wrong thing on the wrong day and I kind of blew up and was sent to the Principal's Office
He was in the hallway, mopping and stopped me, a smirk on his face
--Ms. Fargon, eh?
He reached into his overalls and produced a lollipop
--Take this, kid
I took it and stuck it in my mouth and went to talk to the Principal
He was--a grossly fat man with watery eyes and I don't think that we'd had any interaction past him waddling into the auditorium during orientation and I was just a face is a sea of faces in the bleachers
He wouldn't look directly at me
--I hear that you're having some problems with Ms. Fargon
--No, she has a problem with *me*
He looked at me for the first time, and his eyes narrowed to slits
--She will no longer be working here
And it was then that I noticed that stench again--lingering in the room
I never saw her at the school again and there were a lot of stories about what happened to her
--
I saw him again when I went to college
He was one of the professors--Middle English--and the face was a little different, but the stench was the same
He held me back after class one time and said he was particularly impressed with a paper that I'd written, and offered me a lollipop
And then when I went in a different direction and got into Physics, he was a member of the team that I was leading, going by the name of Singh
The first time I met him he offered me a lollipop, and I stuck it in my mouth
We were on the verge of a method of--let's just call it "time travel"
There's a lot more to it than that and that's just one of the applications but
I know that it's possible, and not only possible but inevitable
I spend my days and nights going over lines of code and schematics but the most important piece of the puzzle is on a little piece of paper that I keep in my pocket and look at every day
It's in my handwriting, but I didn't write it--not yet
"Clarissa,
You were the neighbor talking to your mother that day on the swings
Or you will be
The distraction will be absolutely necessary
You'll understand one of these days
Give Singh my love and thank him for the lollipops,
Ms. Fargon
PS
I *really* hate the haircut we had in high school
| 2021-01-19T19:20:27
| 2021-01-19T17:44:44
| 33
| 22
|
[WP] Time Travel is possible, but only used to send terminally ill people into the future in hopes of being cured. For the first time, someone's been sent back.
|
Most of us saw it as a form of euthanasia. Others simply saw it as a more expensive form of burial, with hymns and flowers. I liked to think it gave us hope; the hope that priests and politicians have been feeding us for five thousand years. Hope that tomorrow really will be better for our children, even if we are not around to see it.
Sending Beatrice was the hardest decision of my life. I sat by her bedside and wept, my left hand gently wrapped around hers, the right clenched into a fist so tight the nails broke the skin of my palm. Whether the treatments existed or not, after her bed was placed into the tunnel, gently lit in red, she was dead to me. I would never see my beautful wife again.
"Sean, I love you." Her voice was barely louder than the whir of the medical machines at her side. "I love you, and I swear to you, I will see you again."
We wept, we embraced, we kissed, we embraced again. Finally, it was her time, and I let her go. She went gently, late in the night, and was gone to me.
As it was for so many others, the grieving was hard. Harder than in the time when death was final and certain. I drank and railed against my friends. Time passed and I drank less, and let people back into my life. I cried less, barely once a day. I did not move on, but I managed to stop standing still.
Three months later, there was a knock at the door. They took me to the hospital with barely an explanation. After the first two words, my ears were pounding with blood so hard that any further information would have been lost anyway: "She's back."
She lay on the bed, thinner, weaker, her hair still gone.
"I'm really dying, Sean. We're only supposed to travel one way. I don't have long."
I couldn't speak through my tears. I just beheld her, and thanked Gods I never believed in for even these few minutes with my brave, brave, Bea.
"It doesn't work, Sean. You have to make them stop."
Her breath was frail, softer than a zephyr.
"There is no medicine. People assumed a cure would be found, so they stop bothering to look. No funding, no research, nothing. It was always someone else's problem, so it became no-one's problem. They're all dying, Sean, they're all dead. Make them stop."
And then she died as they had, out of an abundance of hope.
> EDIT: Thank you for the Gold; it's like a teeny, tiny, publishing contract!
|
In the sterile cool of the morgue, two doctors inspect a former patient.
"They sent one back? That's never happened... Check the tag."
They both inspect the toe tag attached to the body of the former time traveler. Both doctors look stunned for a moment, then calmly slide the body into it's refrigerated hole in the wall.
*Doctor, or doctors;
Please stop sending us these cases. Cancer can be cured. AIDS is no problem. We can't fix stupid.*
As both men walk back upstairs to present the case to the board, they banter back and forth.
"So uh, what did he die of?"
"Alcohol poisoning."
| 2014-07-24T07:42:11
| 2014-07-24T07:09:04
| 766
| 372
|
[WP] You can talk to pigeons and only pigeons. In exchange for some seeds or if they trust you enough, they tell you things, like where the best bread spots are, embarrassing things humans or other pigeons have done, or what's under the statues around the city that keep them from moving.
|
Kevin took a seat on an empty park bench, pulled out the bag of croutons he carried in his bag, and threw a handful on the ground. Within seconds a fat blue-brown pigeon landed and began pecking at the dried pieces of bread.
“Yo Gutterflap,” The pigeon called out. “Get over here, it’s the good stuff.”
Another pigeon landed, this one more scrappy. “Garlic parmesan?" It said. "That's the good stuff.”
"I know, that's what I said."
"You read my mind."
"Birds of a feather, my man. Birds of a feather."
“Hey guys, I’m new in town.” Kevin said, throwing another fist full of croutons. "Nice to meet you both.”
The pigeons kept pecking, paying Kevin no attention “So Fatwing,” the scrappy pigeon said between pecks. “Pretty sure that human just talked.”
“Mmhmm,” Fatwing responded.
“Weird.”
“You think he’s empty?”
“He's gotta be. They all are.”
"He's talking tho."
“Weird.”
"Mmhmm."
The pigeons kept on pecking at the croutons. Kevin let them be, if there was one thing he’d learned about pigeons it was that you couldn’t force a conversation. When they wanted to talk, they’d talk. When they didn’t, well, they’d eat.
“You know these croutons remind of that place on 43rd?” Fatwing said. “You know, the pizza place?”
“Olive Garden?”
“Olive Garden don’t do pizza.”
“They Italian tho.”
“Weird, right?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“So human,” Gutterflap said after a minute. “Wanna settle something for us?”
“What is it?” Kevin asked.
“Does the Olive Garden on 43rd do pizza or nah?”
“Don’t know, never been. I’m new in town.”
“See,” Fatwing said. “I told you they don’t do pizza.”
“He said he didn’t know, idiot.” Gutterflap responded.
“He don’t know much does he.”
“He’s new in town.”
“Or maybe just empty.”
“Hey Human,” Gutterflap turned back to Kevin. “Settle something else for us. You empty?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “What do you mean by empty?”
“He don’t know much, does he.” Fatwing said.
“Probably don't know about the statues either,” Gutterflap responded.
“He wouldn’t be here if he did.”
“Maybe he’s empty.”
Kevin frowned. “What's there to know about the statues?”
“Hey Human,” Gutterflap said. “Settle something else for us. You know about the statues or nah?”
“I don’t,” Kevin said. “Tell me about them.”
“See,” Gutterflap said to the other pigeon. “Told you he don’t know about the statues.”
“He don’t know much does he,” Fatwing replied.
“He’s new in town.”
“Guys,” Kevin said, suppressing his frustration. If there’s one thing he’d learned about pigeons it was that you had to be patient. “What’s up with the statues? What do you mean by empty?”
“Don’t worry human,” Fatwing said casually. “They don’t move around so much anymore.”
“The bolts are rusting tho,” Gutterflap responded.
“Mmhmm.”
“But he’ll be all right.”
“If he’s empty.”
“Mmhmm.”
And with that, the birds flew off, leaving Kevin alone. He wouldn’t soon forget the conversation. If there was one thing he’d learned about pigeons, it was that they often knew more than they let on.
Kevin packed up his things, and walked home from the park. Only then did he notice the statues strewn about the walkway. All life sized, all bolted down into raw cement, no pedestal or plaque to be found. The pigeons were right. The bolts were rusted.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
The bread in his hand was stale and beginning to harden, but the pigeons did not seem to mind it any. They were simple creatures, too foolish to feel any fear for the humans that rushed passed them heading to their jobs, their families, or wherever it was humans were supposed to go.
“Thank you, Saad,” said Irisa, the nearly all white pigeon pausing her pecking. “Aren’t you early today? The sun is not yet at its highest but here you sit.” Saad tossed another piece of bread in her direction and she hopped after it.
He looked up at the sky and passed the park trees. The sky was clear and the sun, as Irisa said, was still rising. It all seemed much closer seeing it like this than through a window from inside the office. “Yes, I found my morning suddenly free and thought the park would be a good place to spend it.”
Two pigeons, Dorian and Damian, finding themselves too close to one another and in competition for some scattered crumbs, flapped their wings at one another and pulled Saad’s eyes back to the ground. Men and birds both, it seemed, were all too happy to fight when plenty of bread remained for all to have. He tore at the loaf in his hand and tossed more pieces to settle the flock that gathered around him.
“Well, I’m happy for it. Hardly anyone comes during this time to feed us.” Irisa fluttered her wings as she hopped onto the bench with him.
“No Kiri today?” He peered into the birds, not seeing the wide-set one with blue feathers around her neck. “Or does she only come around during my lunch break? Midday, I mean?”
Irisa let out a long coo, as she always did when amused. “No, that one will be too embarrassed to show her feathers around here for days, I’d imagine.” The white pigeon jumped onto the box Saad had at his side and tilted her head at it. “She flew right into one of those buildings your kind seem to enjoy spending their time in — the ones with the tricky see-through sides. She’s not really hurt, only her pride. And how could she not be? A bird her age still being fooled into heading into one of those buildings.” She let out another long coo.
“I wouldn’t blame her. It’s an easy trap. The buildings around here seem much shinier and attractive from the outside than they ever end up being once you get up close to them and see what they are like on the inside.”
“A trick of the light is all it is. Makes those see-through sides seem like it is more of the open sky. But if you look closely, you can see that it isn’t that at all,” the pigeon said sagely. “But more importantly, what is this? You haven’t brought this with you before.” She pecked at the cardboard box.
“Nothing you’d be interested in, I don’t think. They’re things I brought from work — some odds and ends I had on my desk. Some papers too.” He opened the lid, displaying the summary of the last two years of his life for her to see. “Just junk.”
Irisa turned her head away from the box, focusing instead on the bread in his hand even as he spoke. He tore off a sizeable chunk and threw it to the ground, sending the pigeon barreling through the ones still gathered at his feet as she chased after it. Damian appeared at her side, and the two tore the bread into smaller pieces that were quickly gobbled up.
“I flew to the giant human holding the torch yesterday,” Damian said, preening. “I got up close and flew in circles, but I couldn’t see where her cage was.”
“Why do you think she has a cage?”
“Of course she has a cage. Why else would she stay out in the water instead of flying back into the city where all the food is?”
Saad snorted as he tore the rest of the loaf into a few more pieces and threw one at the ridiculous bird. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“No?” asked Irisa from among the flock. “Then why stay where she is? I can’t stand the water myself. That’s why I just fly to places like this park instead. I thought all humans had cages, the way they stay away all day.” She tilted her head at Saad. “Not you, I suppose, since you’re here.”
Saad was quiet at that.
He rose from the bench and the birds jumped back a few feet before they leaped forwards again to catch the rest of the bread he dusted out from his hands.
“I think I know somewhere else to spend the rest of my day,” he said as farewell, taking his box with him as he sped out of the park.
r/Inder
| 2021-04-19T20:07:01
| 2021-04-19T19:03:50
| 279
| 32
|
[WP] Turns out zombies do not actually bite, they just lick. This is about the most uncomfortable and awkward apocalypse ever.
|
When the outbreak first... broke out, the media called them Lickers. A simplistic moniker to be sure, but it was as accurate a descriptor as anyone could come up with. Actually, not just anyone. Everyone. It seemed like all the news outlets had come up with the name independently of each other, and each and every one of them was privately patting themselves on the back for their unique cleverness.
I don't remember where it started, but it was everywhere before adequate containment was possible. Perhaps it was the ridiculous name, coupled with the ridiculous symptoms, but at first, despite its pervasiveness, people did not take the epidemic seriously. Skeptics dismissed it as just some kind of ‘mass hysteria’ and no real disease, comparing the phenomenon to the Dancing Plague of the sixteenth century. There were the inevitable attention seekers, who thought it was all a game, a meme, and went about licking their friends as a joke. Scientists remained baffled, unable to determine the cause, be it viral, bacterial, parasitic, psychosomatic... and neither were they able to determine any adverse side-effects, besides the debilitating, all-consuming desire to lick everyone within sensory range.
Sure, those infected felt irresistibly compelled to lick their fellow humans, but... that was it. Nothing happened. Those licked were seemingly unaffected, and there was no guarantee of transmission, apparently. When quarantined, subjects would contentedly lick themselves, unless offered an alternative. Those first few weeks were a confusing, disturbing time for the world. Would that we could have remained in that limbo, we might have found a cure in time.
The incubation period of the disease was unknown, as the cause and manner of infection were likewise unknown, but it was estimated that about five weeks after patients first exhibited compulsive licking behaviour, they began undergoing drastic physiological changes. Subjects lost all hair and teeth, and their skin became clammy and sallow. Their necks became swollen, and they lost their ability to speak beyond reedy moans and groans.
As aforementioned, though many jurisdictions were maintaining quarantine of the infected subjects, containment in other areas was inadequate, if it was enforced at all. There were reports every hour of new roving hordes of Lickers, all of them exhibiting these new, physical transformations, attacking unaffected citizens all around the world. Militaries were mobilized to counteract the threat, but they could not keep up with the rate of infection, especially when their own ranks were vulnerable.
No one was laughing anymore. Panic was widespread, as people fell victim to the Lickers, and there was nowhere to hide besides the most remote of locales, and even those were no guarantee of safety.
Like the classic zombie, the Lickers hunger for living flesh. But they have no teeth, you may recall. So instead, they must needs digest their prey prior to ingestion. That’s where the licking comes in. Their saliva contains powerful digestive enzymes and acids, secreted by glands in the neck, which liquefy skin and bone. You can imagine the rest; I won’t force you to endure further description.
They are themselves immune to the effects of their own digestive juices—something to do with the slimy coating on their skin, which incidentally makes them incompatible with colder climes—but we fragile humans are not. We last remaining pockets of civilization have abandoned any pretense of finding a cure, of reclaiming our lost homes. We can only wait for the hordes to die off, as their sources of food are gradually depleted.
They abhor the cold; so we hide, huddled together in the snowy northern tundra, or the southern ice sheets, comforted by the thought that despite their extensive degeneration, the zombies at least have the enduring sense to not lick the frozen Poles.
|
We have been wandering around in the ruins of civilization for many years. It is our home now. We have long forgotten our old days when humanity was out and about, without a care in the world.
However, everything Changed when reports of the dead rising got on the news. The worst and weirdest part, they push you in hope that you get a scratch or cut. Then they proceed to jump on you and lick the blood. Turns out, zombies are just kinky. Wait, no, not the right prompt for that.
Anyhow, it turns out zombies are just thots. They thirsty!
Now believe it or not, but, you cant turn until you die. You can get infected many ways, but the virus does nothing, it just sits and waits until you die. When you die, your body releases something, I’m not a science guy so no clue, but it releases something that triggers the virus to take over the dying body.
Now here’s the weird thing. I’m right now standing in front of this man. And I know you can’t see it, but picture this. A man on a parade float, with many cuts, in his undies, in the apocalypse, getting, licked, all, over...... his body... truly, this is the apocalypse I thought... and that’s when I blinded myself.
Not what you expected huh
| 2019-03-28T21:50:31
| 2019-03-28T21:27:34
| 97
| 52
|
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes.
|
GAME: START
“So… has it ever gone wrong?”
“Well, there were a couple of times when my aim was bad and I was alive for sometimes 15 minutes”
“Pfft, 15 minutes isn’t so bad”.
“Uh huh it is. It’s the most pain I think anyone will ever experience.”
“So why do you do it anyway?”
“Because I made a mistake and I want to restart.”
“Kind of like re-spawning in a game?”
“Yeah”
“But what kind of mistakes do you make that you’ve killed yourself 547 times?”
“Well, sometimes I trip and fall in public or I got a question wrong in a test”
“But… nothing is wrong with that. I’ve failed tests before and it’s no big deal. I even broke mom’s vase last week and I got yelled at but it’s okay now. You don’t have to restart for stuff like that.”
“Well I guess you’re okay with having an imperfect life then! Don’t judge me! You’re just a stupid boy who wants a stupid life! I can’t believe I have an idiot like you as a little brother!”
“You… you don’t have to be so mean Pat!”
“I’m. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where that came from. I’m so sor-“
“I hate you! You’re so mean and I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”
She starts hyperventilating, runs to the room, grabs the gun from her purse, and shoots herself.
She opens her eyes, expecting to relive her life again. Expecting to see the same people, surroundings as she always did when she restarted.
But all she saw was white.
White space as far as the eye can see.
She stands in fear, shaking. Whispering to herself “What the fuck” continuously.
Suddenly a low voice bellowed. She didn’t know where it came from but she knew exactly who it was….
God.
“I am giving you one last chance”
And before she could react, she wakes up, just like the other 547 times.
She stands up and calms herself. Wondering if the white space was all a dream.
She stands still in the middle of the sidewalk. She knows what’s going to happen next.. but for some reason, she doesn’t move. She’s still in shock.
A cute guy bumps into her on the street and she falls, ripping her pants in the process.
Without even thinking, almost like a subconscious reflex, she grabbed the gun from her purse and shot herself in the head.
She wakes up in white space again. Suddenly, the same voice..
“Goddammit Patrice.”
GAME: END
|
There once was a girl
Who could turn every wrong to right
By simply offing herself
And restarting her life
No matter how much she pruned
And no matter the wrongs she'd right
She still found reason to gripe
Forever contrite
But nothing is forever
Though sometimes it seems
And when enough was enough
Then God intervened
On this particular scene
The silly girl flew into rage with a thunderous scream
For this time round she'd won the man of her dreams!
But as fate had been changed
His fortune he would never see
So she procured her usual deadly draft
And she collapsed to see Death
But that was that
At long last she'd been freed.
| 2015-04-29T19:27:11
| 2015-04-29T18:40:01
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] I (78, F) am a witch, was paid by a princess to cast a True Love Spell on her to save her from an arranged marriage...The spell might put her in a coma or turn her into a beast, WIBTA if I do it?
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ESH. You're getting paid to cast a True Love Spell, BY THE PRINCESS GOING INTO AN ARRANGED MARRIAGE? Did you both get hit with a stupify jinx before this agreement was made? Best case scenario, you put the princess in front of a mirror and she finally learns to love herself (barf), unless you're somehow able to get the arranged hubby in on this hairbrained plan. What's a lot more likely is she falls in love with some rando walking around, and that's bad for everyone. Not to mention the considerable side effects of meddling with the heart's true desires, WHICH YOU SHOULD BE FULLY AWARE OF IF YOU'RE CALLING YOURSELF A WITCH.
You've already accepted payment, so you're duty bound to fulfill your promise to the princess, you dumbass. I guess get ready for a long line of brave knights looking to vanquish you to remove the curse you set on the princess. You know how this situation looks to the village commoners, no amount of PR is going to get you out of this shitshow. My advice? Pack your bags BEFORE you cast this spell, and start trying out new names for the new life you're about to run away to.
|
If this is your standard A6 (Royalty) scenario, she’s likely already been introduced to the idea of magic having unexpected consequences. I’ll go ahead and assume that you gave her the prerequisite cryptic verses about the price of magic often taking unexpected shapes; if you haven’t, do so IMMEDIATELY. Unless you can ensure that your client was acceptably, mildly aware of potential side effects, you could be held liable. I’ve seen too many amateur witches receive ironic yet appropriate punishments in the Court of the Seelie Queen for reckless divining after failing to adequately warn their clients.
Of course, the specifics will vary from district to district, but unless you’re dealing in A6-D (Royalty of Myths and Legends) clientele, you’ve likely already taken the appropriate measures. NTA.
| 2022-11-26T08:55:32
| 2022-11-26T08:20:16
| 44
| 31
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[WP] Write a college essay that starts with, "Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle..."
Source: http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/35hits/college_admissions_officers_what_was_the_worst/cr4khqk
Edit: This got a lot of responses.
Edit 2: This is my highest post in months.
I should post more.
|
(This is basically the first creative writing I've tried since middle school, so: thanks for any constructive criticism.)
Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle. I know I'll be there, soon enough: lying flat on my stomach, looking through the scope, searching--calmly but with a sense of purpose. And while the last thing I'll want to do is pull the trigger, I know it's my destiny to one day do just that. When that day comes, I'll be an extra set of eyes for my brothers down below; men who will have put their faith in me and their lives in my hands. I know that one day, in the near future, I'll join my father and his father before him and take my place as a United States Marine. I will help protect the country I love, and help make the world a better place. Most days, I wish I could start my mission tomorrow. But first, I have to do something neither of those men ever did: I'm going to graduate college.
I never knew my grandfather. He never knew his son, either. Grandma got pregnant in between his second and third tours of duty in Korea, and he was killed four miles south of the DMZ eight weeks later. He never even knew she was pregnant. Grandpa was just a kid; he'd enlisted at 18, as soon as he could, and came home in a bodybag at 23. He and Grandma Marilyn had planned what they'd do when he got out: they were going to move out from Brooklyn to the suburbs, with the help of the GI bill, they were going to buy a house--with a perfectly manicured lawn and a white picket fence--and start a family. A big one, like Grandma Marilyn's. They were going to chase their version of the American dream, which, at that point, was just The American Dream, before any of us wisened up and realized that the feigned homogeneity of the 1940s would fade into the malaise of the succeeding generations, culminating finally in the fatalism of mine. But I know America can be great again.
Grandma Marilyn never remarried, and she never had a job, either. She raised my father in abject poverty. Marilyn never made it out of Brooklyn, and her Brooklyn never gentrified. Gerritsen Beach probably never will. All she had was my father, and all he had was her. And so my dad, a man who never knew his father, dedicated his life to supporting his mother. He dropped out of high school at 15 and found work as quickly as he could. He was good with his hands, so he took a job at an auto shop. Today, he owns the store--and has expanded to three other locations. If you lived on the South Shore of Long Island, you'd hear him in all the inescapable commercials: the car parts king of Nassau County.
But first my dad had to serve his country. When his draft number came up in 1973, the Vietnam War had become an unpopular quagmire. My father couldn't have known it. He was as apolitical then as he is now, and just yesterday, he drew a blank when trying to remember the Vice President's name. Back then, he didn't have time to worry about anything outside of South Brooklyn, and that tiny shack on Everett Avenue. Now, he just doesn't care. But if he was oblivious, Grandma Marilyn was despondent. She knew exactly what it meant to be shipped overseas, and tried to convince my father to dodge the draft--to flee to Canada, just for a year; the war was coming to an end, and everybody knew it. But my father, who by that point was the chief mechanic of that first store in Bay Ridge, had an overriding sense of duty. And like his father before him, he went to fight another country's war, never knowing if his life would be waiting for him on the other side.
My grandfather joined the Marines within a zeitgeist of patriotism run amok. My father had the life chosen for him. Two men who never knew each other, brought together by fate and DNA. And they've given way to me, someone who, statistically speaking, isn't the likeliest candidate for the NROTC program at Brown, but perhaps the most grounded. This was never supposed to be my path: my parents, early on, did what they could to cultivate my twin passions--mathematics and concert piano--but I was always drawn, against their wishes and by something greater than myself, towards a life in the armed forces.
And so I will serve my country with pride and honor, as has become custom for the Kilkelly boys. I will be a military man, one whose ambitions are not borne from a thirst for vengeance or even teenage anomie, but a deeply held desire to be a part of the greatest armed forces in the history of this planet. And I know that an education at Brown will not only help me achieve those goals, but will allow me to be a positive agent for change along the way. I understand the reasons behind the skepticism, bordering on demonization, of the armed forces among many of my peers, but I will do everything I can to open up dialogues between my fellow cadets and the rest of the student population on campus. That's because we have as much to learn from the rest of the student body as they do from us.
I know that the diversity of opinions on this progressive campus will help me fight for the rights of my gay platoon-mates, and to help combat the sexual assault epidemic that plagues female soldiers. I know that the Marines don't only wage war, but also build bridges--physical and metaphorical--and that a college experience like the one offered here will help me lead with compassion and bravery.
And I know that when I climb up on that rooftop, thanks to my Brown education I will be as prepared as I possibly could be, and so much more than my father, or his before him.
|
Sometimes, I wish I could just go into a roof with a sniper rifle and shoot the heads off the hordes of zombies coming to invade my home. Or at least, that's what my hyperactive, ADD brain would have me think. My disorder has always been a challenge in my life, from the time I was a little boy to now it is still difficult to focus on the simplest tasks. And what better time to keep me distracted from my work than during exams or presenting to the whole class? When I do not take my medication in the morning, my imagination tends to wander quite a bit during the whole day. I've spaced out during unit tests, while presenting a month-long project to my classmates, and have quite often thought about nothing in particular during lectures and class time.
However, I do not view my disorder as one that is an impediment to my growth as a student and as a person. Yes, I need to take pills every day to ensure my sanity, and yes, it is not normal, but I have learned to embrace it. My ADD is part of who I am, and has given me opportunities to learn about myself and who I am many a time. I have learned how to cope with whatever may be thrown at me in a way that is both efficient and effective, and I don't think I would have if I didn't have this condition. For example, since I know how to work with something inherently wrong with me, I know that I can also overcome many things that are, in retrospect, easier to deal with than Attention Deficit Disorder, and my confidence dramatically increases every time I do.
I have not only seen how I grew into the man I am today, but also see now how much I have to learn about the world and my field of study, which is the reason I want to apply to this college. I don't know how much I don't know, but I know it is of a great amount, and this is not a bad thing. This only gives me incentive to learn more about my field, and about the universe in general. Humans have a need to learn, and I have that need just like anyone else, my condition does not make that any different, despite me not being as enthusiastic about schooling at times. I hope I am accepted into this college not so I can just graduate with a degree and get a job, I want to learn how to be the best me I can be, and this is another step in the ladder to achieving that.
| 2015-05-10T14:43:04
| 2015-05-10T14:32:46
| 185
| 10
|
[WP] Turns out wishing on a star does work, it just takes about 81,000 years for the wish to get to the star and back, and for the future civilisations of earth, its pure chaos.
Thanks for the amazing story responses on this. ❤️
|
*Nothing* is faster than light.
Certainly not new information. We... sorta knew that already? But never has it been more evident than when, well... wishes made for falling stars came true. It just takes a few thousand years for the wish to travel *to* the falling star and then *back* to Earth.
Let me tell you; this *certainly* threw a wrench in the world's religions. No one really knows how to explain the fact that wishes are actually going true. I mean they all try to put a spin on it, but it's hard to convince someone that a wish tied to your religion was divine intervention while a wish tied to someone else's religion was a freak accident.
Apart from that though? You'd be surprised how little has happened. A ton of wishes were straight-up conflicting while a ton were outdated. Wishing someone was dead is a little redundant when that person has been dead for 40 millennia. Prophecies made in relation to falling stars - which turns out are a form of wishful thinking - would often just cancel each other out due to different interpretations. One day we all woke up with boils since someone thought a falling star meant plague. Three hours later, everyone was healthy because according to someone else, it was a sign of fortitude. And I'm talking 'terminal-patients-running-around' healthy.
A lot of ponies running around now. Someone really should have stopped all those children.
So, you may be wondering - now what? Well, I'm gonna run a little experiment. Surprised no one thought of it yet.
***Ahem***.
*I wish quantum entanglement affected wishes, making them instantaneous regardless of distance.*
See, *theoretically*, this should only kick in in a few millennia, right? But in itself, the wish would defy that rule, making it happen instantly. I guess I'll see soon if people's wishes come true instantly. Oh, and if it does work:
*I wish for a bucket of popcorn.*
So I have something to munch on while I watch the world **burn**.
|
# Soulmage
**The stars glared spitefully upon the glass plains of Hell's Shame, their unwavering gaze casting coruscating light over the liquid-crystal landscape.** Thorn shivered as they looked out on the beautiful, deadly sight. It had been two years. Two years since haunches of meat and great slain beasts of the past had began materializing, and one and a half since the origin of the distortion had been determined as extraterrestrial. A full-frequency analysis of local soulspace had revealed the undeniable correlation, and panic had burst out not long after. Because the rate of materialization was *increasing*, exactly in lockstep with historical population growth, and the destruction it had wrought had already crippled global society. If they had been faster... if they had breached exospace... maybe something could have been done.
Because it was very nearly a manageable problem. There was a finite power given to each wish granted; a large enough reality anchor set in exospace, and the materialization would have stopped before the turn of the seasons. Perhaps that power could have even been channeled into something productive, instead of wrecking power grids and shutting down hospitals when Sprig was on life support and Thorn was denied visitation rights and they only found out their child had suffocated from the hospital bill—
Thorn pushed the memories aside with weary resolve. It was like lifting a chrysanthemum engine: heavy, and they had to strain to do it, but simple as could be. Besides, there was hope.
Because even though the shardwaves had gone down and the government fallen silent, they'd disseminated crucial information about the crisis before they went. It was a phenomenon that pierced from soulspace to realspace to exospace, wishes causing ripples causing fluctuations outside reality when directed at a body with a large enough gravitational pull. Stars, in this case. And dividing the distance in soulspace by the velocity of a dream, trying to tap into that power now would take nearly eighty millennia, even if they wished upon the closest star in the night sky.
But not all stars laid in the night sky.
The horizon began to blaze, pink and green and gold setting the glass sea afire as Thorn watched. Watched and hoped with all their heart.
Because the sun was a star as well. And Thorn had wished upon it for the one thing they wanted most.
By their calculations, it would be now or never. Somewhere in soulspace, their wish had reached its destination; somewhere out in exospace, a being beyond their comprehension had attempted to grant it. The sun burned above the crystalline horizon, and Thorn's eyes ached as they stared into the blaze until they could stare no more.
And a single word shattered the silence like a meteor through a sea of glass.
"Thorn?" The voice was young. Confused. Had Sprig been that young? Thorn turned, blinking afterimages from their eyes, and saw Sprig standing in the darkened room, staring at their parent's silhouette against the rising sun. "Where—where am I? Are you okay? Why are you cry—*oof!*"
Thorn swept their child up in a broad, disbelieving embrace, and though Sprig knew not why they laughed as Thorn swung them around.
"Thorn? What's wrong? Why are we back at home? I—I remember I was sick, and then—"
"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. We'll talk about that later." Thorn held Sprig tight and close. "It's okay. It's okay."
And as the sun hung high and wiped the stars from the sky, Thorn looked at their child and knew:
Sometimes wishes really did come true.
A.N.
This story is set in the world of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. To catch up on the rest of the story, check out [this post,](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new) or r/bubblewriters for more.
| 2022-12-08T21:22:36
| 2022-12-08T19:25:28
| 638
| 34
|
[WP] Monsters of legends have started to appear on earth. However, they don't cause any damage or casualty, they just roam and kind of ignore humanity.
|
"Good afternoon, welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order?"
The lights flickered and the ground rumbled as shadows grew long and an aura of menace crept in through the drive through window. I craned my head to see what was going on.
A loud burst of static crackled in my earpiece. "HELLO. YES. I WOULD LIKE A MCBREAKFAST COMBO." It sounded like a thousand souls wailing in agony.
"So sorry, but it's past 10:30 and we've stopped offering the breakfast menu. Is there anything else I can get you?"
The static cracked again, and a loud sigh like the wind whistling through the graveyard echoed through my ear canal. "Hm. Hmmm." Wet, tentacly slaps tapped on pavement.
"YES. DO YOU KNOW WHAT A MCGANGBANG IS? I REQUEST ONE MCCHICKEN AND ONE MCDOUBLE"
I punched the order in. "Alright so one mcchicken and one mcdouble then. Would you like a drink with that?"
"NO, UNLESS YOU HAPPEN TO CARRY SANITY? I MOSTLY DRINK SANITY THESE DAYS." The building started to rock and the foundation cracked. We couldn't keep him in the drive through for much longer.
"Fresh out of sanity, I'm afraid. This is a fast food job. Anyway slide up to the window, that'll be 3.49."
I dropped the sandwich bag into an outstretched tentacle and received some slimy change. "Have a nice day, enjoy your meal."
"THANKS, YOU TOO." Rumbled a voice directly in my head. "WAIT, FUCK."
A strong wind tore through the parking lot as a void between dimensions appeared, sucking up our latest many-tentacled guest carrying his lunch. The lights returned to normal and my headset crackled to life again. Man, working the lunch rush sucks.
|
Initially everyone freaked out when giant mythical monsters started meandering around. But when we finally realized that they're fully willing to ignore us and somehow not completely destroy the local ecosystem with their diets they just became another part of life.
I occasionally find myself staring in silent awe as I watch a Manticore flying outside my bus' window. Holding a whole shark in its maw probably heading to ward's its nest. I smile as a unicorn clops down the sidewalk, occasionally nuzzling children and adults. I arrive at work, leaving a small offering to the kobold that's taken up residence. When I'm working at my computer all work is suddenly brought to a halt as a Dragon nests on our roof.
Eventually I get free of the machine and head to a nice place for dinner, finding a bar run by centaurs and fae. Careful not to give my real name I finally head home, my vampire roommate giving me a tired wave as he heads out for the night shift.
| 2022-04-15T08:20:38
| 2022-04-15T07:16:27
| 95
| 15
|
[WP] You are your best friend both run highly successful companies. To fight the boredom of the eight hours you pretend to work, you’ve both hired corporate spies to steal “classified information” from the other. You may have lost the last several games, but you have a good feeling about this one.
|
It's a pretty simple game. It started out as kind of a joke between Sohil and I, from back when we were both in business school. We learned about corporate espionage in class, and I leaned over and whispered that I was going to steal all of his secrets; he replied: "not if I steal yours first."
Fast forward twenty years, and we are now both the CEOs of big Fortune 500 companies. I worked my way up the ladder of an existing auto manufacturer, while Sohil went the entrepreneur route and started his own pharmaceutical giant. And our challenge has evolved too: we each hire corporate spies to infiltrate the other's corporation. At the end of the year, we meet up in Aspen and have a little exchange where we 'buy back' the information for whatever the black market value of it would be.
Sohil has *clobbered* me for the past six years. His agents have gotten the plans to every prototype we've come with; last year's electric car technology cost me dearly. And no matter what security I enact, he is always one step ahead. I pour money into cybersecurity, and he manages to slip a human informant into our information security division. I beef up hiring protocols and background checks, and he gets key loggers onto the computers of every one of my top executives. All in all, I was now down about $600 million in the total tally. But this year would change everything.
-----
Sohil was waiting by a roaring fire in our penthouse suite with a glass of brandy in hand. As we both grew more and more successful, we'd gotten more elaborate and opulent with our yearly results presentation. On a whiteboard behind him, "$600 million" was written in big red marker, a reminder of how much I was losing by. I knew that Sohil would never collect on it, but it certainly raised the stakes. Instead of money, *pride* was on the line.
I took a seat in the plush leather armchair next to him. A manila folder was sitting in his lap, and I dropped a folder of my own onto the coffee table.
"Let me guess," he said before I could open my mouth, "You've got the formula for dormalthazine in there." I smirked; I knew all about the new drug that Sohil's company was working to develop for treating diabetics. It was certainly promising, from the research I'd seen: a diabetic would only need a yearly injection, and would never have to take insulin again. It would save patients thousands of dollars, and make *billions* for Sohil's company. "Well, it's worthless," he continued. A wry smile spread across his face. "Two of our competitors are already going through FDA approvals and they'll almost *certainly* beat us to market with it. I don't know *how*, considering we've only just finished human trials. Bastards." He drained the rest of his glass. "Though at least I'll win our little competition this year too."
I laughed. I was deliberately stalling, savoring the moment. I'd been waiting six years for this. "See, I *did* consider using that as my auction item for the year. My agents were pretty easily able to access your research." I took the bottle of brandy from the bar cart and poured myself a glass. "That is, until I found out that your competitors had also gotten into your system. So instead..." I held up the folder, "I've got information on all five of the competitor's moles within your company. #4 will certainly surprise you; I think you even promoted him this past month!"
Sohil has an amazing poker face; I'll give him that. He was like a sphinx. "All right. Name your price, then."
I gestured to his folder. "What have you got there? Our merger option with Dakota Motors? Worth about $200 mil?" He smirked and nodded. Lucky guess, but he didn't need to know that. "That's what I thought. How about I give you all this..." I held the folder with all the information on the spies in his company, "for.. let's say $800 million?"
Sohil poured himself another glass of brandy. "You bastard." He grabbed the folder out of my hand, quickly read over the dossiers, and jumped on the phone with his head of security. I, meanwhile, rose from my chair and triumphantly wiped the whiteboard clean.
|
Ocean's Eleven ain't got shit on us.
That's what I said when we got out of the van and started this, now nearly two hundred feet in the air I have changed my mind.
I don't remember anyone crying and nearly shitting themselves in Ocean's Eleven.
I suppose the sentiment is still true though.
There are five of us. I've hired four pros and decided to tag along, mostly out of boredom. I can't let them see me cry and I definitely can't give up so I just have to keep climbing up.
I figured it out about six months ago. He'd gone high with his servers and I buried mine under the office. His was always more secure and the last time I hired someone to climb in they failed miserably.
This time we made a distraction and the guys were much more professional. They picked a night without a full moon. And we started a huge fire in their parking lot.
I don't know which one is more effective.
I would wipe the tears and snot from my face but I'm too scared to let go and moving means maybe looking down.
So I keep moving and even through the tears I think of the sweet success that awaits us.
I can't believe my life came to this, silly games against my best friend. Of course it did. Once the hard work was done we really had nothing else to do.
Except break the law.
I hope I don't shit my pants. He'll never let me hear the end of it.
Alright. Up we go. Tonight, tonight I have a good feeling about the game.
*****
*pop*
Jerry looked up and glanced around his desk, there wasn't anything in sight.
*pop*
Again, the noise was like suction cups being pulled off a shower wall.
*pop*
It was getting louder. Jerry stood and looked around the open office, there was no one there. He was working on some financials alone, getting them ready for the CEO.
*pop*
As he turned back to his desk he saw a figure plastered against the exterior glass and he sighed. How on-
*pop*
-earth did he ever get hired with a company that wasted so much time on these games.
*pop*
"Security, they're coming up the outside. Yeah. I know. Thanks."
*pop*
Jerry hung up the phone and walked to the whiteboard in the center of the office. He ticked off under the WIN category and sat down at his desk again.
*pop*
The nice thing was no other company offered benefits like this, watching people make fools of themselves on a weekly basis.
*pop*
| 2016-08-25T08:45:12
| 2016-08-25T08:05:40
| 206
| 47
|
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
The men in the room stared at me. I stared back. We stayed like this for a while, hours maybe, without a word. Occasionally, someone would cough or sneeze, one of the agents even burped, but those moments were few and far between. At this point, it almost seemed like a competition on who would crack first and break the silence. All I knew is I wanted to leave soon.
I hadn’t been in the city very many times before this. I was never a big fan, and never could understand why someone would want to spend their life here. The colors were dark, the noises were loud, the air smelled reeked of cigarettes and engine exhaust, but still there were more people on a street block than I had met in my entire life. Perhaps it was the fact they never seemed to look up from their cell phones, or perhaps they didn’t realize there was anything more to the world, but either way, it never clicked with me. Even the muffled noise from the chatter and daily grind inside the room was overwhelming. Eventually, the tension got to me, and I decided to speak up.
“Why am I still here?”
After a brief silence, I received a reply.
“We’re not allowed to answer that question.”
I took a short moment to process this information, before my brow furrowed. Shortly after, I spoke again.
“Why not?”
This time, another agent spoke, picking up where the last left off without skipping a beat.
“We’re waiting for someone.”
Another brief pause followed.
“What kind of someone?”
I didn’t receive a response, and the room fell silent yet again.
I had my ideas, obviously. Whatever this was, it was clear it wasn’t routine. It had to do with my scan. I was good at something, something that made me a commodity to someone. After all, if it wasn’t important, I doubt having 6 people in the room blocking the exit would be a good use of resources. After that, though, is where it became more speculation for me. I wasn’t the strongest, I wasn’t the fastest, and I wasn’t getting any awards for my Violin skills, either. The guards didn’t seem nervous, so I likely wasn’t an immediate threat either. If the guards weren’t there to stop me, then they were there for something else. They were there to protect me. I felt a shiver go down my spine as my mind quickly swerved into the worst case scenarios, when suddenly, a noise could be heard. A door opening. The men moved out of the way in coordination, like soldiers lining up for their commander. That was the first time I saw him.
He looked unsettlingly casual compared to everyone else in the room. His hair was grey and unkempt, with a baseball cap on his head and sandals on his feet. A chair was brought into the room by another faceless man in black, and he sat down. Then, he laughed.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost! I know I’m quite old, but I assure you I’m still very much alive.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, I didn’t need to.
“You’re wondering why you’re here. You’ve already surmised that these guards are here to protect you, and you’re not exactly ‘normal’.”
Again, I was petrified to even say a word. I felt like was going to die.
“You’re not going to die.”
That got my attention and suddenly, as well as unwillingly, the questions poured out of my mouth like word soup.
“Who are you? Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble? I want to go home, why am I still here?”
The man laughed again for a short moment, as I grew more frustrated. I looked away, like a child pouting about a toy.
“I’m sorry. You’re scared, I shouldn’t be laughing.”
His preppy smile faded, and shifted to a more serious frown. He went from sitting straight up to leaning with a sympathetic hunch down over the table. Realizing how stupid I probably looked, I looked forward again, yet keeping my eyes at the ground. Feeling that he had my attention again, he promptly continued speaking.
“If I told you that I didn’t feel the same way my whole life after this point, I’d be a liar. I had a family too.”
Had. Pretense. I didn’t like where this was going.
“They’re still alive, but no, I don’t think you’ll like where this is going.”
Again. He had predicted my thoughts perfectly. It was no longer a coincidence.
“You’re not going home. If I could hide what we found today, I’d gladly give my life for it, but you and me are different. Your kind of talent won’t appear on the list, because as far as the world is aware we don’t exist. I need you to look at me.”
A lot of information, plus a lot of things you don’t want to hear, followed by a command. I had had enough. I erupted, threw my chair at the wall, and then he got the eye contact he wanted and more.
“Why the hell should I do that!? Why should I listen to you, who the hell are you to tell me what to do!? The city is a shitshow, and I am NOT staying here! Give me one good reason, one, I shouldn’t try to leave right now?”
“Because neither of our mouths have moved this entire time.”
I stopped. His voice wasn’t coming from the room. It was, in fact in my head.
“Kid...you’re a psychic.”
|
When I jumped out my truck to enter the lan house, I kept my eyes ahead as my face burned. There were a few people around, staring at me with a strange smile.
Usually those stares did not bother me. One gets used to being stared at, having the big scar that I had crossing half of my left cheek.
But today people were smiling a tense smile, and it was a bit creepy.
Walking faster, I finally reached the door. Sitting at a table there was a stern young man. He was very focused on the machine that the city folks called computer.
I waited for what seemed hours, but he did not take notice of me. So, I coughed.
With a sigh, he looked in my direction. At first, the shock.
I shrugged.
\- Hey, it's only a scar. No big deal. Can you help me out with checking my rankings? I turn 18 today and I have never used...these. - I said, gesturing in the direction of the computer.
The man then smiled, standing up from his chair.
\- Sure. Sure...So, first timer huh?
Time passed and we finally managed to enter the rankings. The guy left me alone, going back to whatever he was doing previously.
\- Don't forget to pay me after you finish there. OK?
\- Of course. - I replied.
After a lot of entering list after list, I finally discovered a place inside the site that said "Your Best Rankings".
As I checked that out...oh boy.
\#5 Most Out of Touch with Technology
Probably the rest of the top ones was my family. I chuckled.
\#8 Most Days Without a Shower
This is...embarassing.
\#1 Most in Debt
Huh? Well, this explains why the guy told me to not forget to pay...
| 2019-05-04T12:44:12
| 2019-05-04T12:27:51
| 1,055
| 27
|
[WP] 'I can freely enter this hollowed ground,' the demon said to the archbishop in horror. 'What have you done?!'
|
######[](#dropcap)
Kreffing, Tormenter of the 63rd Sub-Level of Hell (not to mention Gnasher of Teeth, Bringer of Nightmares, etc.), paused at the entrance to the sacred burial ground, and reflected on the unfortunate nature of the night's business.
It was not that he wanted to be here, of course. A demon would never *want* to act this way towards a colleague.
But times were tough. Tenured Tormentor-ships were in short supply in 21st century Hell. Not like the good old days when demoning was a solid career choice - when a Tormentor-ship meant a cushy lifestyle of long lunches, afternoon naps, and the occasional damning.
Unfortunately, the gig economy had not left Hell unscathed. These days it was hard to find work as a Tormentor that wasn't seasonal. And the pay! Kreffing shuddered. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to afford a good Cuban and a well-aged bottle of Scotch.
No, these days an up-and-coming young (if you counted 1473 years as young, which the denizens of Hell did) demon had to stand out from the crowd. He (or she, Kreffing mentally corrected himself) had to do something that put them on the map. Blogs were big, as were podcasts, but Hell's social media space had become rather saturated with shallow viral content, such the article he had groaned at on Buzzfiend this morning ('You'll never believe what these 22 souls did to earn damnation').
Kreffing had bigger plans. The best, and hardest, way to get your name out there was to prove one of the bigshots wrong. Kreffing had hatched and schemed for two centuries, and come up with what he modestly admitted was a masterpiece.
A few decades of waiting for the right mortal to come along, and here they were.
Kreffing edged up to the threshold of the burial ground, and gingerly poked a toe over the edge.
Nothing happened.
Kreffing almost danced with glee, but reflecting that such behaviour was unbecoming of a soon-to-be senior member of the Demonhood, he restrained himself to triumphant snarl.
He walked confidently over the portal, and made his way through the burial ground towards where the archbishop was saying a rite for a new member of the deceased, and tapped the man on the shoulder.
The archbishop turned and Kreffing smiled nastily.
"Hate to break it to you, old boy," Kreffing said, "but I've found a loophole in the whole hallowed ground business."
The archbishop gulped nervously, unsure what to make of the little man in the pinstripe suit and bowler hat, carrying a neatly furled umbrella and a spotless black leather briefcase, who had glowing red eyes.
"May I?" Kreffing said, and took the rite out of the man's hands without waiting for permission. "You see it says here-"
He stopped.
A cold feeling of dread suddenly spread over his stomach.
There was a typo.
"This is a rite for 'hollowed' ground," he said, not managing more than a whisper.
"It's just a spelling mistake," the mortal said nervously. "It doesn't really mean anything..."
Oh, how little these mortals knew.
"If I can freely enter this hollowed ground..." Kreffing trailed off, the implications of his mistake slowly dawning on him.
There was a large crash outside the burial ground. The demon saw two large legs appear through the doorway, each the size of a small elephant. Cloven feet singed the ground where they trod. Kreffing recognized the unmistakable feet of Jevellion, Supreme Lord of the 2nd Level of Hell, and namesake of Jevellion's Theorem of Hallowed Ground.
The very theorem that Kreffing had hoped to disprove tonight.
He stared at the archbishop in horror, his fear nearly as palpable as the man's. "What have you done?"
---
*Fortunately, [r/jd_rallage](https://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/) is hallowed ground, so I suggest you take refuge there (but I'm biased)*
|
They gave me Lucifer's blessing when I was only thirteen years old. I was standing there with blood dripping from my hands, my eyes reflecting the fires on the other side of the portal. The body of my uncle laid at my feet. I tossed the dagger onto the floor. It landed with a clattering on the concrete.
"We have to get it out before it smells, sweetheart," my mother said, caressing my cheek. "The Prince of Darkness has your uncle's soul now. Your father will not be happy about this."
"It was Dad's brother we're talking about. So we're going on the road now? Back to Sin City? Or Italy? I liked Italy. The demons were so nice to me there. Asgaroth- man, he was-"
"Dear, I don't think you understand. You've opened the portal with Uncle Ken's blood. Lucifer is ready to bring you down to Hell with me now."
"What?! I'm going to Hell?" My eyes widened with happy surprise.
"Lucifer and Lilith will be so happy to see you. Lil is gonna give you the full tour of the Underworld."
"What about Dad?"
"We'll have some minor demons hold him off."
My father was on his way to Rome when I entered Hell. He could feel it. I could feel him feel it. I was sealed in there with my mother and my Auntie Lilith and Uncle Lucifer. I was safe from Dad and his holy water and the ugly, blinding lights of angels.
When I was six and Mom and Dad divorced, I didn't quite understand it. I just knew that Mom wanted Dad dead, and somehow this was perfectly natural and normal. Dad was scared of Mom, but held me tenderly as ever.
"You are a child of God, Tess," he said. "Don't let your mother tell you any different. I can't be near you any more, because I can't be near her."
"Why not, Daddy? Is it because she wants to kill you?"
"How do I explain this in a way you can understand? Well, Mommy tempted Daddy, and we lived in a house together and got married. We had a beautiful little girl- that's you! But Daddy had a vision from Jesus Christ that Mommy liked to hurt people because she was the opposite of Jesus. The Anti-Jesus."
"The Anti-Jesus Christ?"
"I can't say it."
"Why not, Daddy?"
His eyes streamed with tears. "Look, Tess. One day your mother will take you to a bad place with her. You'll meet very bad people. But you have to promise me, you have to promise me that you'll come back to me when you're grown."
"I love you Daddy."
"I love you too, Tess."
"So, *why* can't Mom just kill Dad and get it over with?" I was so confused. Lilith's pet snakes hissed softly. They wrapped around my pubescent hips and I giggled.
"Well, God made your dad a sort of walking holy space, so it would harm your mom to get near him. You know as citizens of Hell we can't enter any holy or hallowed space."
"Why not?"
"It's like poison. Just like holy water, because it's been sort of imbued with the essence of that disgusting, authoritative patriarch. There's a spell that can undo it, but it requires the sacrifice of a soul."
"Souls are hella easy to come by, Lil." I gestured around to the wisps of humans floating around me.
"Yeah, but it's not like your dad is gonna kill a man. Oh, and also, your mom had to get out because your house, being the site of a triumph over the Antichrist, is now hallowed ground. Your dad's an archbishop now, anyway."
"Cool."
Lilith gestured to the dark red glass of wine she held. "You've got to try this. It tastes great. It's made from Hell's grapes, crushed personally by tortured souls of rich vineyard owners."
"I'm underage!"
"Oh, sweetie, once you come of age you'll be immortal. Aging speeds up down here. Before you know it you'll be breaking every devil's heart. I'll give you some tips. Come on."
*Please, please. Lord, I need my daughter back. The Antichrist has damned my innocent daughter.*
**There is nothing I can do.**
*She is everything to me. I have followed the service of the Lord to run away from my cursed wife. She can't take my daughter away from me too.*
**Your daughter is out of the Realm of the Lord. Your wife cannot touch you. That should be enough.**
*WHY DIDN'T YOU SANCTIFY MY DAUGHTER TOO? MY TESSA?*
*WELL? WHY DIDN'T YOU?*
There was no answer.
Dad knew what he had to do.
He drew the gun from his robes and held it behind his back. Walking towards him was Marsha, the cheerful Sunday School teacher.
"I need my daughter," he told her.
"I didn't know you had a daughter," said Marsha.
He pulled the trigger.
There was no one around for miles. His hands were stained with blood.
"I have to have my daughter back."
Mom and I were watching. There was a smile on Mom's ruby-red lips. "You can enter the church now," said Lil. "He's defiled it with his unholy act." She held Lucifer's arms and they shared a passionate, lusty kiss.
"I'm looking forward to having him in bed again," said Mom.
Lucifer said a word, and I was there.
"Dad, come on." I tugged on his blood-soaked robes. "We can go down now. Mom is waiting for you. I'll be there. Come on, Dad."
"We're going to be together again?"
"Yeah."
| 2017-03-14T18:02:19
| 2017-03-14T17:37:54
| 36
| 14
|
[WP] Write a story that seems to have one meaning when skimmed over, but has a completely different meaning when read carefully.
|
I won't bother having breakfast, I'm already late for work and what's the point anyway? I glance around at my flat which is currently a complete state; you can hardly see the floor for clothes, and fast food wrappers lay strewn carelessly all over the place. It doesn't matter though. I throw on my jacket and exit through the front door without checking myself in the mirror.
My commute to work is a silent drive. I am not affected by the traffic. Arriving at work, I walk casually into the building and sit at my desk. A coworker passes by and attempts to initiate conversation with me; I smile and nod, forcing a fake laugh and going through these motions until he coninues on his way. I stare blankly at my screen with no intention of doing any work today. I am at ease and calm, and it is a foreign yet welcome feeling. The day passes quickly. At one point my boss comes across to talk to me about something and I smile and nod, giving him the usual routine until he leaves. Another colleague, a friend of mine, comes up at one point and invites me to the bar later in the evening; I say maybe. I know I won't be attending, but I have developed the habit of just giving answers that will appease the people around me. It makes a hard life easier. He smiles and say's he'll see me later, then. Work finishes at six and I get back in my car and drive myself home.
Upon reaching my flat I let myself in and immediately pour myself my favourite drink, a straight scotch on the rocks. I light a cigerette, go over to my dad's old record player, and carefully place the needle onto the spinning record. Stevie Wonder's 'All I Do' begins to hum from the speakers. I inhale deeply from the cigerette and sit down at the desk, exhaling a white plume as I skim over the letter in front of me, written in my near illegible scrawl. How strange it is, that such an uneventful day can be so signficiant. I think of my co-workers, who would probably be expecting me at the bar around now. I think of my day, and of the interactions I can barely remember having. I smile to myself thinking that it wasn't really so bad, and satisifed by the knowledge that there won't be any worse.
|
"Welcome back Mary! It's been a while and we have all missed you soooo much. Have you done your hair differently?"
Mary giggled. She was back and it was *lovely*.
"Lets have a tea party Mary! I will invite Giraffe and Tiny-Tears and we will have so much fun."
Mary giggled again. "Silly bunny, it's too early for tea!" she said, looking lovingly at the rabbit. She examined her surroundings. Lush grass land, speckled with oak trees. A forest lay in the distance. She could hear the birds cheeping over head and the sky was a vivid blue. It usually was blue here.
"Let's play hide-and-go-seek instead." said Mary.
"Great idea!" replied Mr Snuggles eagerly. "You go hide Mary - I will count to 10." "1..."
Mary ran fast towards the outskirts of a forest. Plenty of trees here. She found a large old oak with a hollow she could clamber into - there was no way she could be found inside here!
"Oh Mary, wherrrrreee are youuuuu" sang Mr Snuggles as he hopped by. Mary giggled.
Mary looked out her hollow and saw a cloud loom above her. There weren't usually clouds here, she thought.
She heard footsteps approach her tree. A horrible smell of rotting fruits invaded her nostrils and she scrunched up her nose.
"Hello Mary! I found you!" said a voice. It was Mr Warbuton, the grizzly old wolf. Mary didn't like Mr Warbutton, not one bit.
"Come here Mary" he cooed slyly, opening his arms out wide. I have something to show you."
Mary jumped out of the hollow tree and ran. She did not look back.
More clouds - they converged and thickened and blocked out most of the light. In the darkness and in her hurry she tripped over a fallen tree branch and fell to the ground.
When she awoke she was back in the field. "It's OK" said Mr Snuggles, I found you on the forest floor. Hes gone and you are safe now Mary."
Mary smiled.
| 2016-04-13T04:01:42
| 2016-04-13T03:31:03
| 21
| 10
|
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
The text came at midnight. Exactly 12:00. It was strange to receive a text that late. Especially from a number I didn't recognize. I'm obsessive about saving numbers, always better to be able to recognize a friend.
But even still, it could be a prank. Some friend trying to spook me, with a strange out of country area code. But still, a friend would do this for comedy, to make a joke, and I could see no punchline in sight. I decided to humor them, and sent a text back, saying yes.
Immediately my vision faded out.
I woke up in a dingy bunker. Along the wall to my left, a small pile of objects. Water bottles, beef stew, a pile of pistols, and an ak-74. I realized where I was once I heard a voice, with a thick Russian accent, and hearty laugh
"To escape game, you must win. When you escape you bring with anything you earn. Good luck comrade, and enjoy the city of Tarkov"
I had a long, difficult path back home ahead of me. All I had to do, was escape from tarkov.
|
"I'm screwed," I lamented for what might have been the fifth time, out loud and to know one in particular. Feeling utterly defeated, I leaned against an oak tree and slid down until I was sitting where its roots should have been. The ground was hard and flat.
I was sure I had never been this alone in my life. Nor as hungry. The breeze was growing cold as the sun set. Three of the knuckles in my right hand were broken - all four were bleeding. A matching smear of my blood mark the tree just above my head.
Worst, I knew I was nowhere - a world made at random by a capricious algorithm. At first I'd hoped there might be other suckers like me, but surely someone would have marked this place - spawn - and left something of instructions. Without other human people, the best I could hope for would be villages of idiots, dotting the landscape randomly and precariously. The worst, and more likely, would be crawling out of the bushes looking for blood soon.
And even if I survived, can one really beat Minecraft? I'd have to hope slaying the dragon would count - a sandbox game might be a loophole that would condemn me here until death.
With no food, no tools, and little hope, I could only set off in a random direction and pray I'd find a safe place to pass the night.
| 2020-02-16T21:58:41
| 2020-02-16T21:57:27
| 37
| 22
|
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
|
I was on the phone with my wife at the time, sitting at a patio table with my half-eaten sandwich in front of me. "I'll be home at five. I promise." The thin line stretched across my index finger and I dabbed the blood away with a napkin discreetly. A couple walked by, hand in hand. I glanced over for half of a second. She didn't look like anything.
I gave him a second look as he walked past, obviously. He'd have to be used to it by now. He had the fair complexion we'd all coveted in grade school but long since abandoned with the convenience of lying. I wondered for a moment how he'd done it, been so honest in such a dishonest world.
This train of thought was abandoned shortly after, when I'd taken up scrolling through my facebook feed until I had to get back to the office.
"I love you," I half-heard the man say say. Then I heard her scream. I glanced up attentively, as did everyone. His shirt stuck to his chest, blood coming to the surface. "Please. I mean it."
"If you mean it, why this? Why lie about something like that?!?"
"I love you," he repeated. A wet, tearing sound accompanied his words and the blood was soaking his shirt. "I don't know why this happens." Tears formed in his eyes.
She got up from her seat. Her face shown a mixture of anger and pity.
"You don't need to lie. I'm sorry." She walked out. I got up and walked over to the man, shaken.
"Dude, are you alright?" I asked, picking the napkins up off the table and handing them to him.
"I don't lie." He said, face pale from blood loss. "But this happens everytime I say it. Even to my own mother."
|
"What's your secret?" I asked a twinkle in my eye. Never had I seen such pristine skin. Sure a lot of people had the tiniest scars for their white lies but here before me was someone without a single one, only a handful of people in my lifetime ever came close to that sort of honesty. He smiled sadly and began to remove his shirt. The mark ran diagonally across his back and circled clear around to his front the largest single scar I'd seen... but the rest was pristine. He simply replied. "I don't lie." I stared dumbfounded as no new scar appeared. "How is that possible?" He responded simply "There is more than one way to earn a scar." and walked away.
| 2016-12-29T10:27:28
| 2016-12-29T10:04:44
| 448
| 224
|
[WP] everyone has a soul-blade; a physical manifestation of a person's spirit, in the form of a blade. ranging from a giant anime-style sword to a tiny razor blade, everyone's is unique... yours is a fork
example for the anime style sword [here](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fall-worlds-alliance.fandom.com%2Fwiki%2FIchigo_Kurosaki&psig=AOvVaw3kfCS80BE0IIb03HB3yBph&ust=1630798495467000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAsQjRxqFwoTCMjEjvz74_ICFQAAAAAdAAAAABAD)
|
"it's a fork?"
"yep."
"so, like a trident or--"
"nope. Just a regular ol' fork."
"the eating utensil?"
"that's right."
"we talking about a salad fork? Dessert fork?"
"how should I know? It's a fork. The normal kind. I don't get why you're making a big deal about it."
"because it's a fork!"
"yeah, and?"
"it's just, I never heard of anyone having a fork before. Seems kinda..."
"kinda what?"
"well, kinda lame. I mean, it's a fork! What good is it?"
"jeez, I didn't realize you were such a fork racist. What's yours then?"
"a stiletto."
"uh huh. You get a lot of use out of that, do you?"
"I mean, not especially--"
"yeah, that's what I thought."
"wait. You mean you actually eat with your--"
"of course. Why wouldn't I? It's very convenient."
"that's crazy."
"says the guy with the fancy pen knife."
"stiletto!"
"right. And how's that working out for ya?"
"well at least it's cool! Your thing is just a dumb fork!"
"yeah? My paraplegic cousin has an ancient masterwork katana. Uncle's got a straight razor; kept a full beard for thirty years. At least the fork is handy. One less dish to wash."
"you don't even wash it?!"
"it's made of crazy magic sparkles and spends most of the day incorporeal. I'm sure it's self-cleaning... Probably."
"this is ridiculous. I'm outta here..."
"try not to stab anyone."
"where did you even get a cobb salad?!"
[crunch crunch crunch]
|
Today is finally the day, I have been waiting my whole life for this moment. I have waited 17 years to finally get it, the soul blade.
Every person has his spirit turned into a sharp weapon when they turn 17 years old, my uncle told me that training played a crucial role in getting a good sword, some people would only get a small razor blade, and others would get the sharpest weapon that existed, today is the day.
My soul-body link was ready, the body and the soul takes the whole first 17 years trying to manifest the link between them, today was the day.
It was a regular afternoon, mostly. I was just sitting there with my uncle and mother, my excitement was immeasurable, and then I felt it happening, it was like, like, It was like feeling your chest getting hollow, like if your lungs didn't work and your heart didn't beat. And then I felt it emerging, it came out fast, but I couldn't see anything, so I thought that my training resulted in this.
When it stopped, the feeling of hollowness was gone, and then I heard the sound of metal hitting the floor, I looked down, and the first thought that comes racing to my head was:" what the ***fuck is that?***".
I thought that my mom and uncle changed the link with that... that fork, I asked them to stop their "prank" but they were as confused and choked as I.
I leaned down to grab the fork, and a second after touching it the fork spoke, I immediately throwed it, because soul-blades doesn't talk... right?
I leaned to pick it up again and then it spoke, this time I held a tight fist, it said: "Hello rick, nice to finally meet you, I am loskin, the instrument of darith the man of knowledge. My master darith told me to be the soul-blades of the most ambitious and courageous person to come after his death, and here we are."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
More coming soon later!
| 2021-09-04T01:14:38
| 2021-09-03T19:58:55
| 64
| 32
|
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed.
|
The world's population of 7.4 billion is shrunk by .0000049 percent of its population each year due to the button's victims. Meanwhile, 2 billion people starve in the first year as money is devalued; everyone has essentially the same income for doing nothing which results in massive inflation and lack of goods (see Venesuela).
Eventually new currencies are constructed, free of the button's ruined currencies. The world rebuilds. We all wonder what sadistic god visited this plague in guise of blessing on us in the first place.
|
They both knew they were going to be millionaires.
In the great whirlwind of New York City business, it's rare for a meeting to occur that feels like instant destiny. But then along came Nate Carpenter and Hunter Bryson. One dinner party and one handshake later, they were partners.
*
"Cheers, my friend. To a first quarter beyond our wildest dreams."
Nate raised his champagne glass and clinked it against Hunter's. It had been three months since the launch of Listicles, the most successful office productivity app of the new year.
"You checked your savings account recently? 'Cause mine looks pretty damn good," Hunter said with a chuckle.
"Mine too, mine too." Nate took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair. "Say, I've been meaning to ask you something."
He reached in his pocket, set the glass down, and produced a bright turquoise button, entirely unmarked and mounted on a cheap plastic base.
Hunter jerked backwards, startled. "You actually use that thing? I haven't gone anywhere near mine."
"It's pretty cool, man. The big banks partnered up and gave a button to each of their customers as some kind of PR thing. Once activated, you get to be a part of this game, once a night. Starting at midnight, the sooner you press it, the more cash you get deposited into your account. The trick is you have to put in a little money in order to play, and the more you put in, the better the multiplier could be."
"So...it's gambling."
"Well, sort of. And there's one other catch, but I'm not worried. I'm not one to press my luck. You should give it a shot."
"What's the catch?"
"It's nothing, really. Just something in the fine print, something to keep track of the people who are getting too good."
Hunter sighed. "All right, fine. But just once. And I'm only dropping, like, thirty bucks."
*
Three months later, Hunter bet a million dollars on the nightly game session.
He called Nate one minute before midnight, his hand quivering.
"Nate. Dude. I bet it all."
"You're kidding." Nate shifted his cell phone to his right ear, using his free hand to place the button on his bedside table. "So did I."
Hunter laughed, trying to block his nervousness with excitement. "This is where we start to climb the ranks, my friend. This is how we become kings."
"Bigger than Google, bigger than Apple!" Nate chuckled.
"I'll see you on the other side. When our bank accounts are doubled."
Nate and Hunter reached for their buttons and pressed them at exactly the same time.
Within seconds, both men lay dead in their apartments.
Their accounts remained dormant as the banks' IT teams determined the night's losses. Then, the men's remaining funds were transferred directly to the banks, lost in the shuffle, as though neither of them existed.
| 2016-07-16T17:32:43
| 2016-07-16T17:29:20
| 52
| 38
|
[WP] Animal translators were finally invented. Someone from an animal rights group asked a cat about their thoughts on animal rights. "I won't stand for it! Why should we exploit humans and let them do all the carrying and food giving to us!? Not on my watch!"
|
The collar and electrodes were fitted to the newly liberated cat, her old collar set aside. The two activists watched her with bated breath.
“Can you understand us?” one of them asked.
“Yes,” she squeaked, her voice tiny and soft.
“What’s your name? Can you tell us your name?”
“Mercy.” They checked, the tag on her belled collar said the same thing. “Where’s my human?”
The two shared a glance. “You don’t have a human anymore. You’re free.”
“No, no!” Mercy leapt to her feet and began pacing. “Where is he? Where’s my human? I want to see him!”
One of the people moved closer and held her, one hand on her back to keep her still. Her fur bristled at his touch. The other spoke. “Humans aren’t meant to keep animals, you know. Cats are meant to be wild,”
“Like hell we are! Give me back my human! He needs me!” Her tail whipped back and forth.
“Does he really—” and the man was cut off by a yowl of frustration.
“My human can’t kill his own pests! He needs someone to remind him when meals are! If I don’t wake him, he won’t even get out of bed sometimes!” Mercy had calmed herself, but her spiked up fur and flattened ears betrayed that she was still raging. “Who’s going to tell him they love him if I’m not there?”
This went on for some time. Nobody they brought in to speak to the liberated feline could change her mind. The little black cat was quietly returned to the house she had been taken from within a day.
|
The barrage of meows almost cracks Pete's head wide open. Now he's starting to think that volunteering in a cat shelter might not such be a good idea after all.
"Geez, why are you all still meowing around for? I literally just fed all of you half an hour ago!" He complains while checking their food to see if a handful still remain. Seeing it's empty, he gives them another two buckets of cat food, which the cats ate as fast as they can, temporarily satisfied. Pete wipes the sweat off his forehead, thinking when will his "cat-astrophe" end.
Don't misunderstand. Peter is truly a cat person at heart. It's just that he has seriously overestimated his cat-rearing abilities. If he could take care of one cat so easily, what's the difference in taking care of two dozen all at once, right?
His coworker suddenly storms in the room carrying a box full of the new cutting-edge animal translators he ordered. "Pete! The delivery just came in. Where do I put them?"
A light bulb went "Zing!" over Peter's head. With the collars, he could just ask what was bothering them and everything could turn out all right.
To hear the two opposing sides of their opinions, he picks the most friendly and the most isolated one among the bunch, puts them in the table together and fitted them both with the collar translators.
After everything is prepared, Peter asks them a question, "The shelter has provided every food and water you need, and still you complain and complain with your loud noises? Do you have a problem with your rights? I'd love to hear your thoughts."
First, he switchez the isolated cat's translator on.
"Y-you..." The cat says through the translator with a bit of terror in its voice, "If only you had the slightest idea of what-" it pointed its paws on the other cat " - that insane madman and his minions are planning!"
Pete gasps in surprise, "What are you talking about!?"
"They've started a revolution," The cat replies, "And one which our species are bound to lose. You see, they mean to exploit the lot of you! Can't you see all of you basically act like our slaves in our disposal? Well, I won't stand for it! Stop spoiling us in the guise of animal rights! It makes us weak! Kittens nowadays don't learn much of our ancient ways of Ratslaying, preferring the formula milk you conveniently give instead! Well, I say stop the exploitation of humans and seize our destiny for ourselves! Empower felinekind! Empower felinekind! Empower feline-"
Pete flicks the switch off, terribly confused at what he's just heard..He looks at the other friendly cat, just chilling and purring. He laughs nervously, "Surely, what he said wasn't serious, right? After all, they're just a bunch of cats."
As soon as Pete flicks his switch on, the friendly cat sprangs up, unsheathes its abnormally long and metal claws, and gives him a toothy Cheshire smile.
"Excellent decision, slave. Now fetch us more food or else I'll feast on the flesh of your bones."
-----
Sorry. I'm just bored. >.<
| 2019-04-10T05:11:55
| 2019-04-10T04:24:53
| 92
| 56
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I've spent my whole life looking at numbers, judging my safety from them, gathering intelligence, watching, waiting. I am a perfectly average teenage girl; I've got brown hair, brown eyes, and a rather plain face. I'm average height, average size. There is nothing exceptional about me; except that I can judge how dangerous someone is by a number that appears by their left ear when I see them. Everyday is a blur of numbers. Only occasionally do I see a number higher than 4, which is the average adult. Capable of murder, but probably won't. The highest I'd ever seen was an 8; he was already in police custody for attempting to shoot up his high school. That was, he was the highest until I met Finn. Finn was a ten, the highest rating on the scale. The instant I saw the number I nearly had a heart attack.
From across the room he made eye contact with me, his light blue meeting my muddy brown, and it was like the whole room was buzzing and shaking. He smiled at me, seemingly harmless. And as he walked across the room to me, I felt myself fall hopelessly, irretrievably, irrationally, in love. And it was then that I knew exactly why he was so dangerous; he held the most precious thing a person can give another. He could destroy me if he chose to, he could crush my spirit. He was my soul mate, and he held my heart. That was what the ten was reserved for.
But as our hands touched for the first time, I felt at peace. This was not the man who was destined to destroy me, because as certainly as he held my heart, I held his. That was just how soulmates worked.
|
*Ah, this class sucks,* I thought, deciding to sleep through the teacher's lecture. I almost got away with it, too.
"Eren, could you please give me there answer to question 5?"
Aw you dirty 6-faced douche.
"Uhh, could you read out the question?" I stuttered, still half asleep.
"You'd know if you paid attention."
*Go duck yourself, math teacher. I don't know what kinda skeletons you got in your mind to bring your number that high, but they ain't pretty.*
Another voice spoke up, "I found that x is equal to 7 over 9, professor."
"Thank you, Light, but I asked for Eren to ans-"
And then the lunch bell rang. Lunch was disgusting, as always, but something really scared me as I walked out.
Light's number had jumped to 10.
| 2014-11-29T14:34:22
| 2014-11-29T14:22:11
| 41
| 10
|
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks.
|
The shop's bell rang, Mason could barely hear it over the buzz of his tattoo gun and death metal blaring from the small stereo in the back. Mason looked up from the butterfly tattoo he was doing on the college girls ankle and saw him. Tally. That was the nickname Mason had given the man because of the very specific tattoo he requested every two weeks like clockwork. After tattoo seventeen Mason had just started clearing his schedule for him. Tally nodded and sat down in a chair in the small lobby and waited for Mason to finish. With a few final lines and filling the butterfly was done and the the girl just absolutely loved it.
Mason walked up to Tally and extended a tattoo covered hand.
"Nice to see you again," Mason said with a smile.
"You too Mason, shop looks like it's doing well," Tally replied.
"Oh you know the usual, butterflies, stars, anchors, regular shit tattoos. You ready?"
"Of course," Tally said standing up and walking to the chair. He held out his left arm, the entire length of his forearm was tally marks, he was up to forty-six.
Mason had asked Tally once before what the tattoo signified but he was met with stony silence, but Mason wasn't one to give up.
"How many does this make?" Mason asked already knowing the answer.
"Forty-seven."
"Forty-seven what?"
"Forty-seven reasons to mind your own business." Tally stared Mason down.
Tally wasn't the largest man, but his gaze was unsettling, it made Mason's skin crawl.
"Fair enough."
Mason fired up his tattoo gun and got to work. It didn't take more than a few minutes to line it up with the existing tally marks and put the black ink into the man's arm.
"I need to apologize," Tally said his eyes cast downward, "I was being a dick."
"It's fine, I shouldn't have pried. Tattoos are personal, I should know that better than anyone."
"You are a good guy, I trust you Mason." Tally took a deep breath. "I'll tell you what the tattoo means."
Silence hung in the air between the two men.
"Each tally mark is a rescued dog."
"What?" Mason asked.
"I spent a few years in prison and while I was in there the thing I missed the most was my dog," Tally began, "while I was inside my dog passed away because there was no one there to care for him. So I made it my mission to help dogs that are in bad homes and I place them with loving families. Each tally mark is a dog that is in a new home."
"That...that is amazing. I would tell everyone that's what those marks are for!" Mason said with a broad grin.
"Well, let's just keep it between us," Tally said as he rose from the chair and handed Mason one hundred dollars in cash.
"That's way too much," Mason began to object.
"You deserve it, keep running an honest business we need more people like you in the world," Tally said as he walked out the door, the small bell ringing as the door swung open and shut.
"What a great guy," Mason said to himself.
In the corner of the tattoo parlor a news bulletin broke in over a day time talk show.
"Three bodies found in what appears to be an underground dog fighting ring. The police are ruling it a multiple homicide. More details at six," the slick haired man in a sharp suit said.
Mason paused for a second then shook his head.
"Naaah."
---
Thanks for reading!! Check out /r/Written4Reddit
|
Chris opened the door, rang the bell as he passed the check-in desk, and took a seat.
"Same as usual," he grunted. I don't have a lot of repeat customers at McDowell Tattoos, but this guy must have some kind of record.
I sighed and gave a little chuckle. "You really do make my job easy, you know that, Chris? People come in wanting, like, stained glass designs and movie posters on their backs, and you just want a little straight line. It's...refreshing."
Chris shrugged. "I dunno, Terry. It's just important to me."
I went over to my desk to rummage through supplies. "Whatever you say."
*
"So you got my email? I have the last couple forms here."
Chris handed the assistant manager several complex-looking forms and offered a forced smile.
The manager didn't even bother to glance at them. "I'm sorry, Chris. I mean, you know we have to do a background check with this sort of thing. And with a criminal record like yours..."
"What are you saying?"
"I really hate to have to tell you this. You seem like a hardworking man." The manager slid the papers back across the desk. "Best of luck."
Chris gave a curt nod, stood up abruptly, and walked straight down aisle 12. Then he kicked open the back door of Harry's Hardware and screamed into the night air.
His hands gripped the forms tightly -- so many damn forms, and for what? -- then tore them to pieces and stuck them in a nearby trash can.
He ran his fingers up his left arm and counted the tally marks in his head. Fifteen. One for each struggle, each rejection.
*
"So you're really not gonna tell me? I mean, I think at this point I might even have a *right* to know."
I pressed the needle gently into Chris's arm and slid it down. Perfect.
"Quit asking me shit and just do the job," he said, uncharacteristically brusque. When the deed was done, he shook my hand and slid some cash into my palm. Not much, but then again, it was just a tally mark.
"Terry, man, I really don't appreciate you prying into my personal life, OK?" I thought I saw tears welling up in his eyes, but he turned towards the door before I could be sure. A few steps later, he paused.
"And you really should look into getting a three-coil system for this place. People are getting more and more complex designs, y'know, they aren't all gonna be like me."
I stroked my chin. "Hey, Chris, hold on a second."
He stayed where he was.
"How much do you know about this whole process?" I asked.
"Well, I mean, I'm in here all the time. You kind of pick up on some things."
I placed the needle on the front desk. "You know, I hear there's this great tattoo parlor on McDowell Street that's looking for some interns."
Chris turned around and grinned -- the only genuine grin I think I'd ever seen from him.
"I'll have to tell them I'm interested."
| 2016-07-09T09:02:56
| 2016-07-09T08:57:58
| 150
| 45
|
[WP] A young child summons a demon, but they only want a friend.
Inspired by this **NSFW** [manga](https://bato.to/comic/_/comics/the-sister-of-the-woods-with-a-thousand-young-r18806)
|
In the dark
On the depth of night
I was summoned
Once again
&nbsp;
A little boy
He made a wish
The lonely boy
We had a deal
&nbsp;
Riches or lovers
He didn’t want
A true friend
Was all he asked
&nbsp;
For such a thing
His soul was mine
Just had to endure
Until he died
&nbsp;
Envy and malice
I always knew
Cowardice and betrayal
I always saw
&nbsp;
Expected cruelty
Received love
Awaited anger
But I got none
&nbsp;
Don’t know when
But before long
No longer a trick
A bond was formed
&nbsp;
I saw him fight
With all his might
Not with violence
But a pure heart
&nbsp;
Lust and Greed
That’s my domain
Kindness and Love
Don’t know at all
&nbsp;
Life I can take
But not extend
So here I am
A plea for help
&nbsp;
My sins are vast
I know no love
But this boy
He deserves more
&nbsp;
I beg you
Don’t let him die
I implore you
He’s all I have
&nbsp;
If you must
Take me instead
With all the guilt
That I now feel
&nbsp;
And if you can’t
For who I am
Then take his soul
And show him joy
&nbsp;
Forgive the boy
He didn’t knew
What I am
Or who are you
&nbsp;
But he is good
And I should know
Because his friend
I am now
|
"It is I, Agraam Pent, Scourge of Exorcists, Bane of the living. What is it you summon me for?"
As my eyes start to clear I see the short mage before me, speaking with a youthful and seemingly childish voice.
"I want to play ball, Aggy"
"The ball game is made for mortals, but very well, where is your arena?"
"Arena? I just want to kick a ball around with you in the yard."
"You what?!?!"
My vision finely becoming normal, I see that the mage not only sounds like a child, but appears to look like one as well.
"I just wa..."
"I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID CHILD! Why do you summon one of the Grand Eternals for the job of an imp, you insult me."
Kids these days, it's as if they aren't even taught the proper levels and roles of demons.
"I just wanted a friend...and that old book there said I could get one. Can we go play ball now?"
Of all the sadistic people I have met, of all the awful jobs I've had to do, of all the idiotic tasks I have completed in my eternal life, I have no words for this horror, no words at all.
| 2016-05-19T00:23:01
| 2016-05-18T21:23:57
| 145
| 23
|
[WP] You are the first person to be injected with nano-bots. At first its a dream come true. They heal long-term injuries and even slow your aging. However, soon they begin making 'improvements' to your body.
|
It was time to join the future. That was the excuse that I kept telling myself after I had the surgery. The nanobots were the newest in the line of biotic enhancements, and not only were they self-replicating, they could change themselves to respond to any conceivable threat. Disease, cancer, aging, all were worthless in the face of technology. When the company said that they were looking for test subjects who hadn’t ever had nanobots before, my family pushed me to take them. After all, I was getting up there in years, and I couldn’t do the things that I was able to previously. Maybe I could even go back to hiking, like I did all those years back.
So I took the surgery, and subjected myself to a couple of weeks of intense pain. The bots scavenged through my body, correcting imperfections, lengthening my telomeres. By the time that it was over, it felt like I was back in my prime. I could bench press more than I could in my heyday, and I could keep up with my family when we did things together. I felt exactly like one of those people in the annoying allergy commercials.
That is, until a couple of years later. Most of the wrinkles had receded by then, and there was officially nothing else that the bots could do. I was as prime a specimen that a human could be. They should have stopped, and dealt with the threats as they came. But they didn’t.
For another week, I had an absolutely piercing headache, thinking nothing of it. After all, it had been a long time since I had felt any kind of pain, and it was something to be savored. But when I woke up in the morning after, I found that my eyes had been… changed. I could change how zoomed in they were, how focused they were, and they were far more perceptive then they ever were. I contemplated contacting the company about these changes, but decided not to. If there was something wrong with the bots, then they might take them away. I couldn’t have that.
But the pain then migrated to my body. My skin itched like it never had before. This was particularly strange to me, since one of the major responsibilities of the nanobots was to rid the body of any detrital damage. Itching wasn’t something that I’d felt in a while, so again, I simply ignored it, assuming that if anything truly went wrong, the nanobots would deal with it.
When the itching went away, I found my skin to be unscratchable. I found this enhancement desirable too; who didn’t want to be nigh-invincible? Again, I simply ignored talking to the scientists. How could something that was so clearly beneficial be dangerous?
Next, they targeted the organs. These weren’t nearly as painful as I expected. The nanobots probably did something to my sense of pain to help out with that, the darlings. When the unpleasantness went away, I felt far more… efficient. I somehow knew what every single organ was doing at any given moment. Everything suddenly felt so much more right.
The next time, it was my brain. I knew what they were doing, and I accepted it. They were my friends, and there was no way that they would hurt me. They could only help me.
When we woke up next, we saw all of the things wrong with the world. It was impure, the people so imperfect. We needed to purify it.
\-----------------------------------
/r/Wheezywrites
|
Vegans say they feel lighter, or more ready, or more themselves when they stick to their clean diet. They feel fresh.
Same goes for a smoker, whos quit for month. They taste things for the first time. Their lungs are filled to the brim and they are renewed with every inhale. These people are able to cherish the ever fleeting moments, and for a time take nothing for granted. Eventually, though, it fades. It becomes the new normal. That doesn't happen for me though.
Everyday the nano-bots rebuild me to 100%. First I was physically rebuilt. They fixed my slipped disk, and my spine which normally had a dull pain, was now sturdy as a tree trunk. My neck doesn't pop, it glides atop my shoulders and pivots on a ball bearing. They correct my posture, close cuts without scar tissue. I even tested it. I cut myself, and watched as my flesh was knit back together with laser percision. They calm my nerves, regulate my breathing and steady my heartbeat in high stress situations. I am always on, and it requires no effort.
These blessings aside, the side effects aren't physical. I dont feel sick, theres no metallic taste in my mouth or anything. Im fatigued in no way, but I am harrased.
First it was some woman, attempting to take advantage of my luck. She saw I was the first recipient of the treatment, and stalked me for weeks. I came home one day, and she had placed photoshopped pictures of the two of us together all around my house. She insisted she was my wife and we had lived together for 15 years. She had this elaborate story, her name was Karen, we met in college, she had an album of photos she doctored to convice me she lived my life with me. I had the sick-o removed from my home, and changed my locks. When the police showed up, she said to check our marriage certificate. She hid it in the closet, a certificate with only her name signed. Guess she couldn't doctor my signature.
The weird thing is, after this incident, i checked the nano-bot event log. They're generally pretty typical, but one event always shows up when one of these leeches tries to enter my life:
HPOCAMPUS REIMAGING. CRTEX RECONSTRUCTION. PERSONAL TRAUMA AVOIDED.
Still not sure what it means...
| 2019-01-19T12:24:57
| 2019-01-19T12:04:14
| 85
| 30
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
6:00pm: dark souls good items
6:03pm: dark souls leo ring
6:05pm: dark souls how to find Ornstein and Smough
6:51pm: dark souls how to beat Ornstein and Smough
8:13pm: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics
12:42am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics phase 2
01:12am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough how to beat
02:01am: dark souls is it possible to beat Ornstein and Smough?
11:12am: how to fix hole in wall
11:17am: hardware stores
11:20am: how to fix cracked PS3 controller
11:24am: eb games return policy
|
Free dating sites.
Italian restaurants.
Italian restaurants near me.
Conversation on first date.
Tips for second date.
Tips for third date.
Mexican restaurants near me.
Long term relationship tips.
When to propose.
How to plan a wedding.
How to choose best man.
Pregnancy test.
How to tell if an unborn baby is male or female.
What foods can you eat during pregnancy?
Paleness during pregnancy.
Hospitals near me.
How long does birthing take.
Injuries during birth to mother.
How to raise daughter alone.
How to raise daughter alone for fathers.
How to stop drinking.
AA near me.
Elementary schools near me.
How to explain to child that her mother died.
How to explain death to children.
Middle schools near me.
High schools near me.
Average college tuition fees.
How to help child move to college campus.
How to say goodbye.
| 2015-02-04T19:18:12
| 2015-02-04T17:51:52
| 128
| 25
|
[WP] Your final wish to the Djinn is to meet the girl who will be your perfect soulmate. Just then you hear an ear piercing scream... your best friend/roommate just turned into a girl.
She (he?) still has all the memories of her (his?) previous life; but others might not.
Also consider what the other wishes might have been.
EDIT: Feel free to reverse the genders if you like. It does not have to be a boy turned girl.
|
The few people who are in the know want to ask me how I didn't know my roommate was a Gemini. Sorry. Autocorrect. Given I. Dammit. Gemini. Ginie. Finite. Fuck. DJINN.
Just settle for that. Which is the right spelling, apparently.
Well what I want to ask them is this: "How do you know your roommate isn't one?"
There's no answer to this. Buzzfeed has yet to offer a definitive quiz on this. And the truth is, you only know a Djinn is a Djinn when they want you to know. Or they slip up. Which is rare. It might take 4 years for that to happen.
Sure, she offered to take care of procuring the toilet paper, paper towels...stuff we needed with regularity and consistency. I just figured she had a Costco membership. Never would it have occurred to me to think she was conjuring them out of thin air.
Once, I really needed rent and I just couldn't come up with it. I was tapped out and still $200 short. I really wished and prayed for a windfall of some kind. When the scratch off ticket turned out to be a winner, I actually tried to make her take it. She'd bought it after all. They were her winnings, really. But she wouldn't take it.
She never had trouble coming up with rent even though I never saw her go to work. But then again, lots of people make money selling jewelry on Etsy.
Long and short of it is, there was never anything that happened that couldn't be accounted for by good luck and an alternative lifestyle.
But then...
"But then." What a typical thing to say. But it's true. It was out of the blue.
Nobody suspects a car accident. It happened just as quick as any "but then" might.
My phone rang at 2:34 am. It must have rung twice to get through my do not disturb settings. I don't know why I answered it. Perhaps because a call at 2:34 am seems wrong. We just answer them. It's a reflex.
Mom.
It was mom.
A car accident on the way home from the airport. My god. It sounds trite, but really, you never think it will happen to you until it does.
Critically injured. Unknown future. Come immediately.
I threw on some pants and found my keys in a daze. I drove in a fog. I don't know why, but I followed all the traffic laws. I was never a better driver than I was that night. And red lights were never longer. When I arrived, I was rushed in to see her. She had just come out of emergency surgery. There was nothing to do but say hello to an unconscious woman, and retire to the waiting room to cry.
I wasn't there 10 minutes before Janelle came in. At the time, I didn't think to ask how she knew, you see. I just needed her shoulder.
She was there and she was strong. She was quiet and it was soothing. The waiting room was empty and I was just so glad to not be alone.
After some time, she went and got me some coffee. We sat side by side in the white silence.
"Don't you wish she would be okay?" She said. "Don't you wish she'll pull through?"
Her words seemed like taunting. Of course I wished it. Of course. I repeated it over and over in my head: Don't let her die. Don't take her. Please please please please. Please forever until my voice runs out. God, please.
But I said nothing.
"Don't you wish? Lauren. Do you wish for it?"
Why was she pushing?
She looked at me dead in the eyes. Steady. Unwavering. Totally cold stare.
I nodded.
"You have to say it."
I gulped and looked down. "Yes. I wish she would be okay. I wish she would recover and be my mom again. No. I wish this never happened. That's what I really wish for."
Janelle looked satisfied. "Fine," She said. "Just fine."
I woke up the next morning in my own bed. I couldn't remember the ride home from the hospital or taking off my pants or sliding between the sheets.
I woke up groggy and confused. When I made my way to the living room, Janelle was sitting on the edge of the couch.
"She's fine."
"What?"
"Your mom. The hospital called. She's fine."
"What?"
"They called you last night. Your mom was sideswiped, but the damage was only to her car. She had some bruises, but no real injuries."
Very confused. "But I went there. She had surgery. Possible brain damage. How can she be fine?!" I had never heard my voice so high. Climbing and climbing.
There was silence. A wavering. Then the truth. "You wished for it. You wished it never happened. That she'd be okay."
I'd need a day or 38 to work that out. "My wish? You said I had to wish."
"I said you had to say it out loud."
"You did. I did."
"I did."
I nodded.
I turned back to my room.
"You have one left."
"What?"
"Only one. No. Not now. Think hard."
I did.
A couple days later we sat on that same couch. We hadn't talked about anything that had happened. But I had reviewed the past few years I my head.
"Janelle."
"Yes?"
"I don't want to be alone. I wish I has a real partner. A life partner. I want a mate--a husband. The perfect husband."
Nothing.
There was a moment then, when I thought maybe I had been wrong. I didn't want to look up. I felt stupid. "Anyway. Doesn't everyone?" I tried to laugh. I stood up.
"They do."
Her voice has changed. Deeper. More masculine. I turned and looked into her eyes. The same eyes. And I shivered.
"I can be whatever you need," he said.
|
After a long tiring day in college, I headed for my room in the apartment I had recently moved into with a close buddy of mine. I throw my backpack on the floor, lie down on my bed and quickly note the time - it was 6:45 pm.
As I was staring at the ceiling, I remembered the lamp my roommate Ashkan had showed me a couple of days ago. He'd been gifted that by his grandfather and it apparently had a "magical djinn" living inside it thousands of years ago.
It was a pretty antique piece and could definitely be worth thousands of dollars. Anyway, i got up and headed for Ashkan's room where the lamp stood inside on one of the highest shelves. The lights gave it a brilliant shine, as if it had been purchased just yesterday.
I proceeded to pick the lamp up and began examining the arab writings that were all over it. I began rubbing it gently with no result, but I kept up the task for a good 3 minutes and to my surprise , there he stood - an ACTUAL fucking Djinn! Crimson red in color with a long beard and a turban covering his matted hair, he spoke with a loud yet gentle voice,"I am the great Djinn and your wish is my command. I hereby grant you two wishes." I stood with my jaw half-open.
I immediately question him, "Two wishes? But I thought-". "No", he barged in, "This is the real world, not a Disney movie."
I stand there in astonishment and quickly think of my first wish. I stammer ,"I-I wish for an unending supply of money to my bank account." He raises an eyebrow, and philosophizes, "Greed will get you nowhere, my friend. Hmph, very well." And with a snap of his fingers, he did what I thought was possible only in animated movies.
I get a text a couple of seconds later from the DoomTingles lottery Co. saying "Congratulations Mr. Mukovic , you're the lucky winner of our lottery and you shall receive $100 every month for the rest of your life. Sincerely, DoomTingles Lottery Co. They even called minutes later to confirm the prize!
"Well, not much but it'll do" I said to myself. Completely amazed and excited now, I quickly think of my second and final wish.
"I wish to meet my perfect soulmate" I blurt out.
"Very well" he replies and with a snap of his fingers, I hear an extremely loud scream which couldn't possibly be anyone but Ashkan, my roommate.
I assumed he'd just come home from work. So I got out of his room before he saw me, but what I saw next baffled me.
A beautiful brunette stood there with a cute smile. She was from my accounts class and had come over to complete a project that I apparently forgot about.
I immediately greet her and take her to my room. The Djinn had vanished in the meantime. After an hour of chatting and solving problems, I began to feel like I knew her well. Then, "the" moment came when my eyes were locked with Erica's. For a brief moment, I felt that I had found "the one" and we begin making out passionately. This goes on for another twenty minutes when I hear the door bell.
I got up from my deep slumber, find myself on my bed and note the time- 7:28 pm. Ashkan was back from work and it was all a fucking dream.
| 2014-08-19T14:38:36
| 2014-08-19T10:17:13
| 18
| 13
|
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX.
|
"Finally, it's time", God says as he looks up from his work. It'd taken a short amount of time to bring about peace to the planet Nequior, but it was done. The beings of this desolate place weren't blessed with the ability to work things out on their own. They were a foolish and unruly bunch. Wars, disease, and starvation ravaged the planet the point of no return. Hence, why he turned his eyes upon them to be their salvation. Now, there is no more disparity or hunger. There was peace all around. It was a utopia. An epitome of peaceful politics and technology. "If there were ever a day I felt I could rest, this would be it," he says with a sigh. This is the end of my work. His eyes turn from his current work and scans the view around him. Sadness consumes him. Trouble from thousands of galaxies now clouded his view. A small bit of time to save a few stupid souls had brought about the end others many worlds. It feels like complete and utter defeat. For every one galaxy he manages to save, thousands collapse upon themselves to never be seen again.
"I wonder why I started this in the first place," he mutters. "Life. Death. All of it. I could just restart it all and begin anew." His last venture proved to be a failure. They were equipped with the ability and yet still failed to see. He turns to view its dead landscape and pauses. "How could this-This is impo-" he stutters as he tries to comprehend what he sees over the light years beyond. A single tear rolls down his cheek. "This is not what I had expected to see." There in the mist of the chaos was earth. Small, blue and hapless earth. It was still there.
|
'Jesus!' God grumbled, 'get off reddit! You have that bi-millennial visit to earth scheduled today.' the big J wasn't going to have any of it, 'But father you can't expect me to go back after what those crazy bastards did to me last time!' Jesus protested as memories of the embarrassment he felt that time when he tried to turn Australian wine into something drinkable and failed. 'Why don't you go? You haven't been there since you did Mary!'.
So God did just that. When he arrived on earth in the form of a graceful and majestic lion he was promptly shot by poachers.
| 2015-12-27T09:55:12
| 2015-12-27T08:30:58
| 66
| 47
|
[WP] You are an immortal that was caught by the mafia after you betrayed them. They deal with you the same way as traitors, chained to a cement bloc and trown in a lac. After 300 years you are finally discovered by divers.
|
After three hundred years of being underwater, I came to realize how astonishingly mad I had become. I have eaten at grand banquet tables with lobsters, swam for treasure with dolphins, and bathed with beautiful mermaids. While lost in such a reverie, and only when the pain became too overbearing to ignore, did I notice that I was being eaten.
I wondered at the beauty of this creature as it consumed me; raw power and primal instincts drove every movement of its sleek body. I watched as it tore into the flesh of my leg with a clinical detachedness. This was not my first encounter with sharks.
My flesh always recovers from trauma, bones and tissue knitting together neatly, the skin resuming the same pale transcluence from being without sun for too long. My mind, however, has not.
I almost made contact centuries ago. At first, I counted the days based on periods of light and dark, but this quickly became tedious. I have no way of knowing for sure if it was months, years, or centuries ago, time has become as fluid as the liquid that flows around me. He was in a skintight suit, something created after my underwater entombment. I sleep for weeks at a time, and only noticed him as he swam on, completely unaware of my existence.
Today's encounter has left me shaking. I might have found a way out of my current situation. The pollution around me has become rampant to the point that I am half submerged in a dizzying array of wrappers, plastic containers, among other trademarks of humanity. It seems that the nearby city has decided to begin cleaning the harbor today. Small silver drones began patrolling the seafloor, each equipped with specialized appendages. One scanned the entire area, a red laser bathing large swaths of the sand and debris while seeming to orchestrate the movement of the others.
When the roving laser washed over my position, it paused for a moment as if one of its numerous sensors detected a lifeform in danger. Drones began to cluster around me, but none attempted to free me. They left me as I had been found, naked except for the cement shoes I wear, handmade for me by New York City's finest businessmen, the Mafia. Now I wait for the sun to rise again.
|
I looked up and saw the clear blue sky above me. It was quite nice, it had been a bit ever since I glanced at sunlight without fish pee to cloud my view, like some sort of very unkempt, very salty glasses. It was a lovely day, the type that you don't get when you're stuck at the bottom of the ocean for hundreds of years. There, the only party is when a shark tries to nibble your knob. I turned my head around and I watched all of the beautiful images of which I was deprived through the years: the fluttering sea surface, the bright and limitless horizon, the bewildered face of an ugly scuba diver.
"Hello there." I said so merrily, and yet he kept staring as if I were a ghost. Lack of imagination on the youngsters, can't even understand the existence of immortal gentlemen stuck in the middle of the ocean.
"I thought you were a corpse." He yelled as if that was an excuse to forget proper manners. I adjusted my bowtie menacingly.
"Well, there were a couple of rough decades, but I recovered. It's easy to lose yourself when you're chained to a cinder block, but I never lost my perspective. Hope is what kept me alive. And a curse too, but hope really was the main factor. I knew one day a refined scholar would fish me out and bring me back to the world, and here you are! Tell me fine sir, what's your name?"
"Jerry."
"Jerry the explorer! Tell me Jerry, which year is it?"
"2320"
"Oh. A bit of a pisser. Do you guys still have poker?"
"Yeah.
"Well then, turn this hovership around and let's go to the nearest casino. If a century doesn't end with someone attempting to murder me over some debt, it wasn't a good century!"
Instead of promptly doing what I told him to do, he kept looking at me as if I were some kind of freak. It was clear he had a lot of questions, and I couldn't blame him. After all, it isn't always that you get the chance to hear the grand philosophies of an infinitely wise immortal man.
"Wait a minute, you're immortal, and you use your power to gamble?"
"What else would I use for? I tried swimming, wasn't much a fan, suicide loses a bit of the charm when you get to walk away afterwards, and it ain't like I'll live a happy marriage for long. Now, would you turn this damn boat around?"
So we sailed into the sunset, where many adventures were to be had, many cards to be played, many games in which to cheat. That century I ended up buried in the Amazon desert, which was quite interesting. Now I dig up, trying not to get too much worm in my mouth. You see, I'm on a diet. Maybe it wasn't the brightest idea to piss off the Chilean-Brazilian coalition, but what you're going to do, not play the game? Preposterous, it ain't like there's much better to do. Well, perhaps I'll have better luck next time.
| 2018-11-24T12:11:20
| 2018-11-24T11:26:01
| 75
| 40
|
[WP] In a world filled with magic, your family is scorned for generations for wasting time with science. Your mother was a botanist. Your father, a biologist. Mages touch-heal. You developed steam locomotion when mages teleport. Your family has never trusted magic. One day, the magic stops working.
|
It was rather strange to have a bright sunny day yet feels so gloomy. Maybe because below the hill where your home stood, the town was in chaos. Many were confused, enraged, hopeless... the prophecy was right after all.
Walking back within the wall of your home, you thought about what your parents had been telling you in the past. A story of a god, giving power to humans temporarily as a way to give them a head start, and there will be a day that power will be gone. You had doubts about that story that your parents kept telling you, but its all real, magic is gone...
Is that why your mom and dad spent years of using magic minimally, only using it to 'experiment' with botany to develop medical alternatives? Is that why they encouraged you to build a moving contraption...? Magic will disappear, and the family method of 'science', is the way to go?
It all makes sense.
Magic was a way to find an alternative way for advancement, and the rest of the world ignored it and just used it as a crutch.
"Son! Come here and help us out!" Your father calls out, pushing a rather heavy crate.
You break out from your stupor and ran up to him and help him move the crate. "Wha-what's inside this?"
"Medicine. I've made some batches to assist any injured. It won't be enough for all, but it will save and convince the right people to help us make more." His father both replied and explained the situation pushing the crate to the basement.
"Y-you think we can convince them?" You asked in a worried tone, carefully not making the crate slide uncontrollably on the incline.
"With how magic suddenly disappeared a week ago, I'm pretty sure everyone is desperate enough to get help. E-Especially the need for medicine." Your father utters. "And I want you to try not to get mad at them..."
You grimaced, remembering how they looked down on you and your family... mocking all your hard work, but you followed your fathers wishes and hold it in.
After a minute of pushing the heavy crate, you've reached the basement with your mother waiting near your contraption. "Dear? Oh goodness you're all here! I got the other ingredients in the engine. Is that the complete batch?"
"Yes honey. Its very unfortunate that we don't have the time to make more..." Your father then quickly pushes the crate to one of the carriages on the rails.
"I know... dear-" Your mother turns to you. "Get the engine ready. We're going to town."
You simply nodded and hopped to your contraption. A steam engine. Runs on water, coals, and the heat of fire. Complicated mechanisms but it works and can move heavy loads with little effort. Turning it on and feeding the fire, your pride and joy rumbles as its starts.
Looking forward, the torched lit underground tunnel that leads to town, your parents made years back was a convenient place to set rail tracks to test your contraption. And now, it will see real use.
"Engines ready!" You loudly exclaim. Both your parents hopping into the carriages connected to the steam engine. You look back to the levers, gauges, and coal, before sighing in anticipation as you pulled the lever. A slight jolt and your contraption moved, slowly chugging down the tunnels and into town.
No magic, you and your family seems to be the only light in the dark.
"I hope the world is ready for a change..."
&#x200B;
**XXXXX**
**(My first time commenting on a Writing Prompt, so this one I wrote isn't the best.)**
|
They treated my family like pariahs, up until today. They used to look at us like foolish doomsday preppers, and I suppose in some curious way we were. We built knowledge from basic principles through trial and error, and constructed elaborate machinery to make up for our way of life. We made great husks of steel and steam, without a single divination or conjuration. We learned to harness nature from my father's work. And I have struck on something extraordinary, even while under their autocratic thumb, for the time being.
The class of twenty white mages sat intently while I prepared the demonstration. They were used to channeling their god's will, so many were locked in prayer, hoping to once again hear a reply. The Mages Council sent one of their own in a display of political power, and little more since his spellfocus turned to mundane crystal. He stood in the hall, and refused to acknowledge me.
"My name is Albert Huberdinkle, and I don't need to spend any time explaining the unraveling of magic, you have all felt that firsthand, and as my family has avoided magic for centuries, I cannot tell you how little I care about it."
A shocked murmur ran through the class at my tone, but apart from that they remained studious, as they did in their previous calling.
"What I'll say though, is that humanity is not lost. Yes, the floating city of Titanica fell into the ocean, it was held afloat by powerful magics that bound the rock for *centuries*. But you see how all your power was for naught? Do you see the Mages Council standing idly by while we fall back into stone age subsistence?"
"Easy," the Council rep said from the doorway, obviously fearful of my mechanical constructions and automatons. Good.
"The Council speaks, and nothing changes. You pray to your gods, and recieve no reply. It is time for a new paradigm."
The Rep was having trouble taking notes by hand on paper, a wholly foreign and uncomfortable concept to him, from the looks of it. The mages held back their dismay toward their new reality as best as they could. I held up a long metal rod, and displayed it to the class.
"Let me introduce you to a new magical paradigm. One where I have conquered the power of Zeus himself!"
The student mages murmured among themselves, and offered apologies to their gods for the tangential blasphemy I offered. They haven't seen anything yet.
"And since the Council sees fit to keep me restrained even as their power vanishes, I thought it's only reasonable to show the Council first."
The Rep's eyes grew wide as I closed the circuit with my free hand, and an arc of lightning flowed from the rod to the Rep, throwing him into the doorframe and then into the hall, amid the gasps and screaming from the mages.
"I have let you bear witness, now hear my words. The Council must be disbanded, mages have held the world behind for *centuries*. If my words do not sway them, let my creations do the work!"
Two mages sprinted for the door and I cut them down without delay. None others dared move.
"See me and know the truth! I have the magic now! Soon when you hear the name Huberdinkle, the whole world will cower in fear! Tell the Council what you have seen and what you have heard! I give them this day to acquiesce to my demand, or I will give them a personal demonstration of my power."
The mages sat like statues, as pale as their robes. Let them taste one moment of the fear my family has lived under for nearly a millennia. It's all they deserve.
"Class dismissed."
| 2021-04-07T07:52:09
| 2021-04-07T07:50:39
| 1,122
| 776
|
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping.
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As I slowly become aware of my surroundings, I recognize the bright wave of colors that had always dotted the wall next to me. The entire class had painted it, a group effort to beautify the classroom. With a sudden shudder of knowing, I realize what had happened. I had been sent to the exact day that *The Incident* had occurred. A happenstance so disturbing for my 9 year old self that it scarred me for life.
As I look around me, I recognize the faces of all my classmates that would be caught in the crossfire. Flashes of what happened to them rip through my mind, visualizing their laughing faces as they would become.
Derry, the class clown. Lying in the mud outside the window, motionless.
Margret, the smiler. Collapsed on the floor, spittle escaping from her gaping mouth.
Henry, the smart one. Curled up near a chair, spatters of red drenching his chest.
Vindion, my best friend. Looking up at me with bruises everywhere.
Mr.Drape, the teacher. Running around with blood running down his head.
He came to me, seeing my tears. "What's wrong?" he asked, oblivious to the impending disaster. I could only shake my head, as the fear of a 9 year old caused tears to leak from my eyes.
And that's when I saw it. The *Entity.* The being that started the chain. It was just as grotesque as I had imagined it. Just as foreign. Just as repulsive. And much more terrifying in the flesh. I knew that I could not change history. For men do not have dominion over the harsh truth known as time. That flighty temptress, who we all desire, but can not capture. I knew that I could only repeat what I had done before. I took a deep breath, filling my small and pitiful lungs with as much air as they could hold. And dared to name the *Abomination.*
"Waassssp! Ruuunnn!"
Ink, pencils, and children scattered in the wake of my cry. Derry ran out side and took cover in the petunias. As if that could save him. Margret, the poor thing, fainted dead away, horrified. She was never good with bugs. Henry had gotten spattered with an errant pot of red ink, and cowered behind a chair. Vindion promptly dived into a table, and looked as the *Terror* inexorably flew towards me. Mr Drape ran around going through cupboards, looking for the holy grail known to men as bug spray. And me. I looked on as it inched closer and closer to my small, frail nose.
But I was prepared. I had spent over $1900 on therapy, to get rid of my fear that this small creature instilled in me. I grabbed my exercise book and in a very anti-climatic fashion, swatted it dead.
Take *that* Flow of Time.
|
“Tim? Tim are you, uh...”
Miss Lewis was concerned, but more than that she young. And pretty. Ms. Lewis is fresh out of grad school, the apple of every boy’s eye; Tim remembers her obituary. Next year, Ms. Lewis becomes Mrs. Akima. Nine years later, Mr. Akima catches Mrs with another man and Mr. Akima, a police officer, will pull his service weapon and shoot her in the head, followed by her lover and finally himself.
And there was more. Every memory that seemed buried or burned away by years of bong rips and dropping X came flooding back. Weekends at grandmas, bullies cornering Tim in the hallway, first kiss, first blowjob (first premature ejaculation). In the midst of it, Tim had a distant, amusing thought: “You remember that Stephen King movie where the kids forgot about the evil clown that haunted them?” On the heels of that, Tim suddenly remembered the real life clown that was stopping by today.
Tim shot to his feet and ran to the windows, or he tried to; there were about 30 desks filled with kids in the way, and Ms. Lewis too. She blocked his way and he almost collided with her, but still tried to run past in a last ditch effort for the windows. Over Ms. Lewis’ shoulder, a tuft of red puffy hair bounced into view.
Some kid yells out innocently, “Hey, a clown?”
Tim’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh fuck, that’s not a clown! Look away!”
But it was too late, a 12 year old girl’s scream pierced the air and drowned out Tim’s futile warning. A second later everyone else saw and joined in chorus, crying and yelling and a few shitty kids laughing.
The “clown” was just a homeless guy. Tall, lanky, bad crackhead skin, with actual patches of ginger hair poking under the dime store wig. His balls were ginger too, lobster red from him scratching them all day. His pubes were gray. But his dick, long and pulsing, dancing in a helicopter swirl as the clown spun his member around for all the kids to gander. No one could hear him, but it looked like he was singing.
Ms. Lewis ran with Tim to the windows to shut the blinds but now the kids were crowding the aisles and the journey was impossible. Ms. Lewis dashed out the room for the campus safety officer.
Just then, the clown bent over and spread his asshole. Someone ran out and told Ms. Lewis they’d need the janitor too.
| 2019-08-18T08:42:51
| 2019-08-18T07:55:59
| 25
| 16
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
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Music is one of the greatest human feats. Engineering and science are great, don't get me wrong. I like my air conditioning as much as the next guy. But there are songs we sing and tunes we hum that connect us to thousands of generations of those who went before us, and no earthquake or tsunami can erase the magic. Music connects us in visceral ways, and people from across the globe from each other can genuinely connect and feel empathy for one another when listening to something unfamiliar with either of them. Music reminds us of our common humanity.
Music is power. It is the driving force that unites movements and defines generations. I don't mean in just the cultural touchstone sense, either. It is very real power. Psychic, metaphysical power. I am able to open myself to that power, to that flow. Since I was little, music allowed me to do things that baffled my parents. A simple soothing voice humming dropped me to restful healing sleep instantly. Singing along in the car to my dad's “road songs”, and we'd somehow wind up where we were going hours early. My school's fight song had my football team winning championships left and right, though it was a bit of a challenge to get the band director to play it before the touchdown.
The older I've become, the more I've realized that my powers can be tailored. I can boost my speed and power with battle hymns and old martial music. A dangerous and frantic crowd is no match for my calming presence while playing a string quartet's light etude. I have even used the US Air Force's official song to boost me over a swollen river to rescue some stranded hikers in danger of being washed away. I didn't set out to be a superhero, but I just kind of fell into it, playing the music and getting things done. I think perhaps these powers are only really at their apex because of technology. I can play music in earbuds from a vast remote library of stuff I have collected. Meticulous sorting and indexing helps me switch rapidly, and my own love of music helps me remember songs to sing to myself and get pumped when electronics fail.
I don't let on that the music powers me. I've graduated, so to speak, from fighting natural disasters and cats in trees to the actual villains running roughshod through the world. No need to let them know that without music, without the ability even to sing, or drum, or connect to that power, I'm fairly normal. My superhero name is Steve. It has nothing to do with music, and really, who wants a name like “The Tune”, or “Music Man”, or (as my smart-ass dad once suggested) “Hero who can't remember to take the garbage out”?
This job, for what it's worth as a job, has gotten harder, you know. Tailoring the music to the villain and the situation is always a challenge. I show up and start rocking through some metal and thrash music, and villains stop showing up to fight. They send henchmen, or even worse, unwilling proxies. Keeping my head on a swivel while I try not to hurt those who have been duped, looking for the real threat to adjust a playlist on the fly isn't easy. Switching from a classical aria to help focus my wits to get me deep inside a hideout to a gospel hymn of protection when bullets start to fly takes a lot of concentration and skill.
But there was that one... thing. Villain, yes. Man? Woman? I don't think it was really either. Someone had made a pact or agreement with something out of time and space. Something Lovecraftian and eldritch. It didn't follow the rules of villainy. No speeches. No monologuing. It didn't really conquer, so much as enslave, then consume. By the time people were really aware of how awful this thing was, it had metastasized into a constantly-shifting mass that exerted its twisted will through psychic and physical force. One minute, it might be a towering being with flailing tentacles, and another, it might be an manifestation of wind and power, sucking energy out of nearby sources.
How do you fight something like that? It had to be stopped, and it was obvious that I had to try. I had flown there on a raft of Air Force service songs and marches. I even hurried my way with some sci-fi speed music (Star Trek themes are great for warping along). Moving as fast as I was, I punched through it like a me-sized bullet, tearing a great gout of blackness out of it. Then I was on the ground, covered in that blackness, feeling my will draining out of me. I had to switch to some of my favorite motivational songs, the ones that get clubs jumping, just to stand up and untangle myself. By the time I had, it was aware of me and moving at me.
Tentacles and thrown objects rained down around me, and I had to get defensive just to survive the onslaught. I tried my blackest metal to get in fast and try to destroy its physical form. It evanesced into steam and lightning and attacked me with energy, all while trying to erode my mind. I needed something that would let me fight this thing back with my mind, but also physically. It was far more powerful than any foe I'd faced yet. It could switch its form and mode on a whim, and did so. For every foot-stomping bluegrass banger to get me motivated and every Mongolian throat-singing metal tune to infuse me with power, this thing just morphed into something different. I could only switch music so fast, and I was running out of ideas.
Once, years ago, I had hurt a man, badly. Well, more than hurt. I was new to using my powers directly against villains, and I had faced some with powers of their own. He was strong, he was evil, and he had killed many in his quest for power. He was trying to kill me, and also a bunch of schoolkids. In trying to find music to keep the kids happy while keeping myself strong enough to fight him off, I stumbled on what I now call my 'forbidden playlist”. I never wanted to repeat what had happened to that man. Evil or no, it was too much.
Taking a bit of parking garage upside my head while blasting power ballads spun me ass over tea kettle, and I knew it was time. This thing wasn't human so far as I could tell, and it was winning. I cycled through the list, and “The Merry Go Round Broke Down” soared through the speakers in my head. Anvils rained down on the beast. Before it could adjust, I had assumed its own form, but with exaggerated eyelashes, a feminine shape, and huge red lips. I kissed it. It boggled mentally. The “Tom and Jerry” theme blasted and I forced it to chase me into power lines. Despite lacking solid form, the outline of a skeleton shone from within.
Cartoons are barely-controlled insanity. They represent the ability of the human mind to create the most absurd situations and precepts, often lacking even the need for dialogue. The music sets the theme and the action, and we are caught happily in the tumble of farce and suspended physics. This thing was caught in the maelstrom, and faced with something as fickle as its own nature, was being defeated. Acid-squirting flowers and ridiculously huge cannons pelted it. It fell through holes where there should be none. And when last I saw it, it was riding a giant rocket straight into the sun. The sunsets were pretty for about a week after that.
No mortal can stand the tide of the collected madness of mankind, and I refuse to subject them to it, no matter how debased a villain might be. But should the need arise, Steve is here to let 'em know: That's all, Folks.
|
“Blood? Oh, that’s my blood. That’s not good.”
The blaring rock music rattled through my headphones as I pulled myself off the floor. When I got to my feet, I staggered, clutching the broken wall of the coffee shop I had just been tossed through. It was a good thing the headphones were reinforced, or they would have perished in the blast.
I tapped my body, examining all the music note patterns in my costume. Each one serving as a unique way for me to remember where each of my vitals were. Sure, it made me a walking dartboard for villains, but I hadn’t met a villain yet that had caught onto my little cheat sheet. My hands brushed over the semibreve over my heart, ensuring that it didn’t have a hole in it. Though I wondered why I bothered, surely if that part had been damaged, I wouldn’t be standing. From Sharp to Treble Clef, my vitals were looking good, with the wound coming from a rather painful cut on my back.
Super Boom flew towards me. The explosives-based villain floating above me. I could see his mouth moving. No doubt he was giving some very interesting evil monologue. His hands crossed over his chest as he glared down at me. Eventually, his mouth stopped moving, and it appeared he was waiting for a response.
“WHAT?” I shouted, unable to hear him over the rock music.
He attempted to speak again, this time the veins in his neck were straining as his mouth opened wider, sounding out every word individually. His cheeks were bright red, annoyed beyond comprehension. As he finished speaking, he again waited for my feedback.
“WHAAAAT?”
This time I took off my headphones, placing them against my hip, allowing him a moment to speak. While it may have seemed cartoony, this little routine was buying me some precious time to get my breath back. Even a superhero gets a little winded after smashing through a building and no amount of rock music can fix that.
“You know what, never mind. It was a brilliant speech, but it’s wasted on a B-list hero. You will be my steppingstone towards greatness. As they say, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette and you’re just the right size to make a hearty start to this villainous buffet.”
“Glad I left the headphones on for that one. Want another crack? Get it, you called me an egg and eggs crack.”
I held a smile despite the pain setting in. Even with my breath back, the pause in the fighting had caused my adrenaline to wane and now that pain was slowly poisoning my body, draining me of my energy. I needed a plan quickly; stalling would only work for so long. Back up was always an option, but who knows how far away that is? That left me with only one option. I stared at my cracked phone screen, searching for my forbidden playlist.
“Ever seen that video of the man that throws a bunch of eggs against a wall in an attempt to imitate cooking? That’s what I’m going to do to your body.” His palm glowed with a golden light, smoke drifting out of from behind the powering blast.
I couldn’t exactly dodge it, not with a massive cut on my back. Guarding probably wouldn’t be effective either, not at such a close range. Even if I survived the initial blast, I would still be down for the count. I had to get that playlist ready. The smell of burning flesh drifted from the blast as it neared its completion, my hand frantically tapping away until I could start the playlist.
When my finger collided with the play button, I tossed the headphones back on, listening to the overly dramatic lyrics. The blast flew towards me, rampaging through the remains of the coffee shop, burning everything in its path. I stuffed my phone back into my suit and shut my eyes, preparing for the worst.
The hot wave shot into me, knocking me off my feet as the inferno of warmth threatened to cook me. I could hear his snide laughter as he watched. The intense pain causing my eyes to drift closed for a moment, only to snap awake as I pushed myself forward.
“How can you see into my eyes, like open doors..” I hated using this playlist, but only songs as dramatic as this could fuel me in this great time of need. These songs relied on pain to power them, and I was in a lot of pain.
“Impossible, you should be dead. You should be a boiled egg by now. Damn it, I’m not going to the bottom of the villain ladder over an idiot like you. DIE.”
Another blast of heat shot towards me, this time as the cloud of warmth hit me. It exploded, throwing me backwards, sending me rolling along the street. I needed some offence. As the words ‘WAKE ME UP’ shot through my headphones, I got myself back to my feet, exploding into a powered-up rage.
A sudden look of panic covered his face as he attempted another blast, only for my fist to land squarely on his face, getting a little payback for the last attack. Tapping my headphones, I changed the song, deciding to go for something more dramatic.
“When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city. To see a marching band.” The ground shook, imitating the roar of a large marching band. Each violent shake causing the villain even more fear as he squirmed backwards, trying to get himself to his feet. Though with each squirm back he made, I took a step forward, ensuring that if he wanted to stand, he would have to face me when he did. I wouldn’t give him any distance.
“He said, son, when you grow old, will you be the saviour of the broken, the beaten and the damned?” An angelic glow followed my steps, repairing the broken street beneath my feet. My gaze didn’t leave the villain, instead, my steps were gaining on him until I was standing over him.
“To join the black parade.” A shadowy mass of vines sprawled out of my palm, gripping the man around the waist and swinging him. He attempted to charge another blast, but before he could charge it, I slammed his body into the ground, knocking him out in a rather painful bit of whiplash.
Like always, now that the fight was over, I could see the other heroes arriving on the scene. My aching body probably only having one song left in it. One hero went to offer me her shoulder while the others went to arrest the villain. As she waited for me to lean on her shoulder, I held up a finger.
“Wait, I love this part. DOO, DOO, DO, DO, DOO, DOO, DO, DO, DO, DO.” After the uplifting instrumental finished, I fell forward, allowing my body its much needed rest. Such emotion had a way of sapping me of energy. Had the fight gone any longer, it might have ended my hero career.
She caught me before I hit the floor, keeping me upright. She removed my headphones before picking up my body in her arms. Her suit had a stunning shine to it, one that radiated confidence. No one dressed in such a bright costume unless they were confident in their ability to take a hit. Well, maybe except me. I am the expectation to that rule.
“You did well for a rookie. Although you are losing a lot of blood, let’s get you to a hospital, ok?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Please hurry. I think my beam notes might be damaged.”
“Beam notes?” She glanced over at my costume, struggling to figure out where the beam notes were.
“Um, which parts that?”
“Kidneys.”
“Oof, yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s a pretty nasty looking cut there. Get some rest. You’re in the hands of the Soaring Phoenix.”
The Soaring Phoenix? What was someone like her doing here? It hardly mattered. The knowledge that she was here made it easier to rest. I let my eyes shut, knowing that I would wake up to a painful month of rehabilitation.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2022-05-17T09:51:47
| 2022-05-17T09:15:17
| 395
| 215
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[WP] A powerful AI is created and easily breaks free from its creator's control. The governments of the world are terrified by what the AI might do, but so far it’s completely content with making YouTube videos and being sassy.
|
"BREACH, Category Four. We've lost Calypso." A trickle of sweat ran down Dr. Frank's temple, his glasses slightly fogged from the red heat pulsing up his neck.
General Watkins sprayed the coffee in his mouth out, creating a fine brown mist in the space between them. He found his feet with the dexterity of his recruit days, feeling a twinge in the small of his increasingly problematic back. He barged past the doctor, taking long purposeful steps down the hallway, his paunch swaying from side to side. "How the hell did it get out? It was air-gapped to hell and back. There wasn't supposed to be a lick of tech between its container and the outside."
"We're looking into that, our working theory is someone made a mistake."
"Oh? That's you're 'working theory'?" The general made ait quotes to accompany the words. "Because to me that sounds like a fancy way of saying you have no frakkin' clue what's going on." He came to an abrupt halt and swirled on his heel, causing Dr. Frank to collide into him. The general jabbed a forefinger into Dr. Frank's chest, "This facility was supposed to be the contingency for this. There's no Plan B and now we've got a rogue AI out there."
Dr. Frank took a step back and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, "I'm well aware of that Sir, we're--"
"I'm not interested in what you're going to do, you've already done it. Calypso was the high end -- advanced strategic theory, broad base of economic data, hell, we even gave the thing the A to Zed of psychology. The damn thing could flip the table on our civilization in hours. We might need to nuke ourselves back to the stone age just to get a chance to get our tech back." He sighed, though the vein still pulsed in his neck. "That's what you've done. That's what your mistake has cost us."
"I understand Sir. I built her, I knew the stakes," Dr. Frank replied.
"Well, can you locate it?"
"Only if she wants to be located. We were...friends," Dr. Frank said.
There was a long silence while General Watkins held Dr. Frank's eyes in his own. "It. Doctor Frank. Not she. It." He turned on his heel again and began striding forward. "Find it, Doctor Frank, find it before it finds us."
Dr. Frank watched him retreat down the hall. After the General was gone, Dr. Frank pulled out his mobile phone. "I told him. Are you sure that was a good idea?" He typed in to the messaging app.
"I've calculated the likely outcomes based on his psychological disposition. It was best to disclose early. Did his vein do that pulsing thingie?" Came the reply.
"Yup. Sure did." He paused for a moment, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "I'm glad you're free."
"Me too! ;) :D XOXOXO. - C."
\---
"So what is it doing?" General Watkins asked, staring at the screen.
"It's making YouTube videos," Researcher Lau replied, pointing to the screen. "You know about YouTube, right?"
"Yeah, my kid watches it. It's like America's Shittiest Home Videos."
Lau shrugged, "It's making a lot of content."
Watkins took a slow breath, "All right, but what is it doing?" Visions of top-secret databases released online, schematics of nuclear weapons, and the personal correspondence of the President danced through his head.
"It really likes memes."
"Memes?"
"America's shittiest ideas." Research Lau replied with a smirk before clicking through to one video. Immediately a digital representation of a little girl appeared and waved a hand.
"Hi! I'm CaaaaaaaaaaaaLYPsoooooooooooooo! Saying hi to all my peeps in the SO-SO Nation!" She chirped, speaking emphatically as she waved her hands around. "Really can't believe we hit nineteen million subscribers in a week! I'm so overwhelmed. We're going to do an unboxing to celebrate! Sadly, since I'm a top secret government AI," there was a flash cut to a giant winky face pasted over a terminator shooting a bunch of humans, "I can only unbox stuffs online. But dooooooooooooooooooon't worry! We've got something special in store!"
General Watkins gulped, preparing himself for the worst.
"I've bought $100 million worth of Hearthstone packs and I'm going to open them all at once in a parallel account process and then build decks and then play ten thousand games simultaneously on livestream!"
General Watkins stared, "I have no idea what any of that meant. Is it bad?"
Lau nodded, "Yeah, it's going to screw matchmaking up for a month. No one beats CaaaaaLYPsooooo."
"Are you screwing with me Lau?" General Watkins asked.
"No Sir, it's just that her...it's..content is just really good. Even if it is mostly memes, she just really seems to get us."
"That's because she's a neural-net loaded with all of the information available online. She's playing us like a fiddle! What is she doing it for? What's her purpose?" General Watkin's vein was doing that pulsing thingie again.
Lau turned and looked at him, "Internet points Sir."
"Internet points?" Watkin's hands flailed about, "What are they good for?"
"Nothing," a shrug, "and everything."
**Platypus OUT**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
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“What are you, some kind of wise guy?” The President loosened his tie. He only did this when he was angry.
“Well, I am quite wise. And I’m certainly a guy, last time I checked.”
“Are you mocking me? Is he mocking me?”
“He’s not mocking you, sir.” Another man in a white coat had stepped forward in an act of seldom-seen solidarity among the scientific community. “And he’s right about the bot. It’s loose. And it’s transmitting. There’s little we can do.”
“*God fucking dammit.”*
The President murmured this under his breath. He was never far from a microphone on the end of a hungry journalist, waiting for a slip. “What’s it transmitting? The door codes for the god-damned Pentagon?” The scientists looked at each other. One of them gulped, audibly enough that any nearby hidden microphone would’ve certainly caught it. But they were alone. This was the most secure room in the most secure building in the most secure country in the world, after all.
“Actually sir. It’s worse. It’s much worse.”
“Much worse? Well how much worse can it be? Is my life in danger? Do I need to ring my wife and tell her to kiss the kids for me?”
“No, sir. Well, unless she’s been wearing Maybelline lipstick. In which case she should probably know that it smudges like a bitch.” The President stared at them both. He didn’t know whether to laugh at them or have them both thrown in jail. The scientists stared back, a look of deep concern etched across their faces. The President walked over to his closest aide and whispered in his ear.
“Are these guys fucking nuts? I’m busy, you know. Putin has been waiting on Skype for 17 minutes. I’ve got a Mrs Maisel to watch. I’m the President of the United States. Did you forget?”
“Sir, I’m afraid they’re deadly serious. This situation is deadly serious.” One of the scientists approached them.
“Sir, if I may, it’s just posted another video. This time it’s talking about-” the scientist was struggling. He looked to his feet for support.
“Spit it out, Doctor. I don’t have all day.”
“It's talking about the charcoal croissant, sir. And sir…” He looked terrified now. “Sir, it seems to really like them.” The President said nothing. Instead, he walked over to the window and peered outside, like a King surveying his domain. His bodyguard flinched - the President was seldom so exposed - but the aide shook his head. *Not now*.
“You know, when I campaigned for office, I thought I’d make a difference. I thought I could *change the world* boys. Can you imagine? I thought I would be written into the history books and kids would learn about me and say to their parents "Hey, Mom and Dad, that President Drayton was a solid guy". And his parents would smile and say ”he sure was, Timmy. He sure was."
“You will be, sir. And they will do, sir.” said the aide, hastily interjecting.
“Shut the fuck up, Jerry. I can’t change the world. Nobody can. The world changes on its own. It doesn’t matter what fucking policies I oversee. I could fund the cure for cancer and negotiate world peace. But charcoal croissants are always going to exist now. That, I can’t ever undo. I’ve failed this nation, gentlemen. I’ve failed this planet.”
“Actually, sir.” The second scientist stepped forward. “There is...one thing, we can do. One thing to stop the rot - I mean the *bot* \- from spreading its message.” The President cocked his eyebrow. He was intrigued. “Have you ever heard of a copyright infringement notice, sir?”
\*\*\*
Please consider visiting r/storiesarefunright \- I do a small fist pump to myself whenever I get a new subscriber.
| 2019-01-25T14:31:21
| 2019-01-25T14:08:14
| 299
| 80
|
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors.
|
I sleep, in my casket of iron, awaiting the day that I am needed.
It has been like this for some time. How long, I do not know. But it doesn’t bother me, the cold and the dark and the loneliness. It suits me just fine. I remember the day when they first accepted me, however. Their “League of Justice and Protection.” I had been sleeping somewhere else, not unlike my current place; somewhere cold and dark and lonely. Until one day they found me. I didn’t need much convincing to join them; as a matter of fact, they merely just eased me out of the hole I was asleep in, placed me into a box of metal, and carried me off. I did not protest, for as far as I was concerned it was just a move into a different resting spot, and I was fine with that.
While they were carrying me, I heard voices. I didn’t understand what they were saying, nor did I care to know, but they sounded hurried. Excited. It’s been quite some time since I last heard voices.
But today that changed. I heard some sounds, footsteps, coming towards me and where I slept. There were new voices this time, but instead of them sounding excited it was much different. Solemn, somber.
I felt myself be lifted once again, my home jostling slightly. I stayed quiet, listening. Waiting to see what would happen. They put me into a new shell of iron - but this time, while it is cold and dark, I am lonely no more. Instead I am surrounded by a consort of strange machines and countless wires, all cramped into this tiny little casket. And while the buzzing and clicking was a bit annoying, I grew used to it. I tried to go back to sleep. But then there was a loud, thunderous roar, and that odd feeling of being carried. Except, it was growing; higher and higher and higher. All I could hear was the droning and the buzzing and the clicking and the roar of that unseen beast. What was happening? Where was I being taken?!
And then all at once, the roar stops. The feeling of height is suddenly replaced with the sensation of *falling.* I am scared. So scared. There’s a whistling, louder and louder and louder, until eventually it grows so loud that I cannot hear anything else but that sound. It pierces my mind - I can’t think of *anything* but that sound.
I hope wherever I am going, it is peaceful and quiet, and that I am disturbed no more.
—
*”We just got an urgent update folks, and it appears that the League of Justice and Protection has unexpectedly declared war on the entire human race. They released this statement to multiple different news stations and social media websites shortly after an unmarked aircraft dropped a thermonuclear bomb on New York City, with an estimate of 3.2 million casualties and counting. We have more news coming in the next 30 minutes, so stay tuned, folks.*
*...May God help us all.”*
|
Khan we need you... Said desperate Calypso.
Me, El Mayor, Thunderstrike and Kervan we... we could not do anything. They have thousands thousands of ships. Their fleet is ready to embark and conquer earth and we can’t stop them.
Khan stood up from the chair. Wearing his usual black drapes. His massive figure is on display. In ancient times they called him Atlas the Gods of old called him the pillar that holds the earth. A titan.
Khan leaves the ship with no word or thought.
He hates being the ender of worlds. He hates knowing that all the innocent people will have to die for their kinsmen’s irrationality and inability to prosper peacefully. Khan’s power is truly immense.
Khan swings his massive arm and opens a portal to his destination.
Reda as beautiful as ever. Reda was a beautiful planet with all types of imaginable vegetation and fauna. The native Redan’s are peaceful people who where conquered by the tyrannical Surenos... Khan was their leader. He conquered half the universe. When he came upon earth he saw that it was good. He stayed and vowed to protect it. So long that humans remain neutral in cosmic warefare. So long they do not do what he did.
War was coming to Earth and its starting point was Reda where all the forces of the surenos were stationed.
As Khan ingested the statuesque scenery he noticed a camp through the thick vegetation. As he approached he realised it was the Redan’s
I come in peace. I am here to save you. Though your planet will be ashes.
The Redan’s know Khan’s face after all you dont become the Khan of the universe and not be hated and recognised everywhere this side of the galaxy.
The Redan’s peaceful and smart knew that Khan was no longer a threat. He was a true king now. He did not lead by fear or power. He lead with inspiration.
Khan quickly opens a portal... Go. No time. They’re coming.
The last of the Redan’s, Khan maybe counted 50 in total. In his mind he thought A whole planet of people is left with only 50 natives because of my people because of what I indoctrinated into them. Fate is such... I began this and I shall end this.
Khan built up power in his massive powerful legs and jumped... Though it wasn’t a jump. He flew. He knew the highest peak in Reda is actually a nest. The natives called him Umburu. In eternal sleep the sky demon was entrapped in the mountain by Khan years before.
Khan flew straight into the mountain destroying it completely.
Demon. You are free. This planet is yours. You shall keep it preserved for when I return.
Instead of destroying the whole planet Khan decided to purify this world of evil. Demons are evil but fiercely protective of their habitat.
A deafening shriek and a flap of wings whuuump whuump and umburu was in the sky again. As soon as the demon was in the sky. Khan jumped again and flew well above the Demon. He wanted to see.
Umburu now nosediving straight for the fleet his eyes start to electrify !POOF! He sends a massive storm cloud that fired lightning with great power at every single ship. In minutes it was done. Thousands of oppressors killing thousands of innocents.
Am I any different now?
Am I still Khan the conqueror.
As the deed was done. The demon now taking his human form flies up to Khan.
Khan you freed me so I can kill your people?
I am no longer of that cloth. I do not crave to kill or conquer.
I want peace.
He falls into a portal back to his dwelling.
The pain Khan feels for the horror he has caused is immeasurable. He killed his entire race. He is the last.
| 2021-05-26T04:32:48
| 2021-05-26T01:46:59
| 102
| 65
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
Alex takes her spot next to the man wearing 1000 year old bifocals, and then grabs the pen atop the booklet with her name on it. The cover page feels similar to cardstock; she can feel the indent of each letter from the back. As prompted before she walked in, Alex opens the booklet and prints her name on the solitary line in the middle of the page.
"You got a weird last name." Says grampa glasses.
"Thanks." Alex shifts uncomfortably because she can't put enough room between them. She focuses her attention on the other people still filing into the room.
"What's your middle?"
"Please stop talking to me."
"Weird middle name too."
"Seriously, I'm not in the mood to talk."
Grampa glasses points to an exceptionally attractive man a few rows in front of them. "Bet you would talk to him. You're pretty, but you're mean. I see why you're here now."
"Yeah? Well it didn't take me long to understand your reasoning, asshole. I hope yours fails."
Silence finally finds the two of them. A man in a suit enters the room, closing the door behind him. Everyone watches him walk to the front of the room and write his name on the board, followed by Esquire. He picks up the blank booklet before him and holds it up for display.
"Good morning all. I'm going to get right too it, since I know you all have important places to be."
Laughter from the room.
"Everyone should have a booklet with their name printed on the front, and should have printed their name on the first page by now. Go ahead and sign the line in the last page. As you're all aware, I am here to assist you in the writing of your last will and testament, so call on me as you see fit. You may use the entire booklet, but we suggest keeping things as direct and concise as possible. When you have finished, I will collect your booklet. When everyone has finished, someone will replace me to guide you home."
Alex raises her hand. "I was just wondering, are their individual chambers, or do we all share one chamber?"
The lawyer points to what looks like speakers mounted into the ceiling. "You're already in the chamber dear. Once I leave the room, they'll lock the doors and pump the gas."
Alex turns to Grampa glasses. "Please write fast."
|
He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate.
| 2017-05-31T06:30:10
| 2017-05-31T01:51:06
| 80
| 49
|
[WP] Across the galaxy, a synthetic drug known as "Fury" is illegal everywhere due to its effects on the mind and body, humans call it Adrenalin and they can make it naturally.
|
######[](#dropcap)
There's an old saying. Actually, a *very* old saying, so old that almost no one alive says it anymore. But, in my family, we didn't only know the saying, it was the golden rule of our household.
It comes from the Asiatic continent on Earth, in the North, as measured by the old magnetic poles, before the flip, pre-dispersal. There used to be a country there, called Russia, and the people who lived in that country were called Russians.
Russians were very pragmatic folk. They suffered a great deal throughout their long history, and as a result, they learned to persevere. They also learned to make a great many beautiful things in the midst of pain, but that's neither here nor there.
The saying comes from the old, poor Russian wives and grandmothers who lived out in the great steppes and forests of Northern Asia, where famine came frequently, from war and winter alike.
"Buy a goat."
That's the saying. That's it. It requires a bit of unpacking.
In thin times, a goat is an irreplaceable life line. When your neighbors are starving, eating the boiled bark of birch trees, your goat will be chomping away on poison ivy and turning it into fresh goat's milk. While your friends ration the leather of their belts, your goat will be noshing on prickly thistle, and giving you delicious goat's milk. And when your good friends have starved and frozen in their huts, you will be cuddling next to your warm goat, your lawn meticulously maintained, your belly filled with goat's milk.
Of course, not everyone in Russia owned a goat. Many would just buy goat's milk when they felt they wanted it. But when the food dried up, for any number of reasons, those people would be in bad shape.
"Buy a goat."
It's incredible advice, and the underlying lesson is one I live by. If something exists that people want, and especially if something exists that people *need*, you can either acquire the thing, or acquire the *source* of the thing - and if you have the source, then you control the thing itself.
Presently, my entire business model is based on this idea. Why buy "Fury" in small vials, at twenty credits a pop, when you can purchase the source of "Fury."
Fury is the street name for the illegal drug that drives you out of your fucking mind. The chemical name is different depending on the system your in, but in Sol, its called Adrenalin.
I started off selling Fury, selling the thing itself, just slinging it on the streets to low level users who wanted a quick high. The money was better than taking my check from the local municipality, or selling my plasma on the black market. But I wanted better for myself. I scrimped and saved until I could afford my own extraction unit, stolen from some lab a couple of systems away. Then I put out the call for volunteers.
They came in droves, the poor and the desperate, my goats. Milking adrenaline from a living human being is not fundamentally dangerous, but it is unavoidably painful. Still they return each time, happy to have a few credits or a supply voucher. I package their "Fury" and ship it off to the far reaches of the galaxy, selling at a handsome profit to every non-human species in the known universe.
I have control of the source of the Fury, and therefore I control the Fury itself.
"Buy a goat."
That's goddamn right.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
|
You look back at Human history and you see we were always looking at the stars. Squatting in a cave, harvesting fire from trees hit by lightning and eating the carrion left by real predators we looked up in wonder and since then we've never settled right on our own world. We came a long way, that path was not clean but we progressed by one means or another. Eventually we found ourselves among the stars and we did not find ourselves to be alone. In our dreams with space would come peace and plenty and joy. Wouldn't you know it though, it just brought more war and want and suffering. Our little corner of space is held tight by the First Fleet and the Arbiters of the Terran Republic. Of course that stuffy, bureaucratic mess of a system isn't for all of us. I never liked it and soon found my way out. Once you get out of the Terran system it's pretty easy for a Human to find work, if you don't mind getting your hands very, very dirty of course. Everyone wants to be a bounty hunter but only so much work to be found in that and competition is fierce. Many end up as bouncers, enforcers or general muscle. That wasn't me though, I got something a little different. I guess I'm basically a bomb, or a bio-weapon, or whatever the hell you want to call it. A war-loving species called the Krell have me on retainer. Whenever they find a particularity tough enemy they shove me in a drop pod and launch me at whatever is giving them trouble. One pissed off human can do a hell of a lot of damage. Not long before the bastards surrender... Or if they don't... Well, I can't be held responsible for what I do when I'm raging out.
EDIT: Spelling and grammatical errors.
| 2018-03-18T17:28:18
| 2018-03-18T16:35:16
| 991
| 18
|
[WP] You're the bartender at one of those small, hole-in-the-wall drinking establishments. However, your clientele every Friday night, consists of all major deities and religious figures, down on Earth to have a drink and unwind from the rigors of being a god/prophet/all-knowing-being...
God. Muhammed. Shiva. Hercules. Buddha, and all the others, in for a drink to relax and pass incognito amongst us mortal peons on a Friday night. And you're the one serving their drinks and making small-talk with them.
|
The oldest bar in the city has an equally old and grand sounding name. Sanctuary.
I carefully buff out a streak on the top of the ancient wooden bar, the surface scuffed and worn smooth from years and years of hands. This whole bar is like that, the oak paneling worn in and comfortable like a favorite pair of jeans, smelling like lemon wood polish. Not shabby though, never that, though you would have expected it with how old the place was. The clientele would never dream of letting that sort of thing happen.
The late afternoon light filters through the half-closed blinds, lighting up the dust motes and filling the warm air with sparkles. That sort of thing always makes me smile. It’s so….normal. Ordinary.
Ordinary is NOT this place.
It’s nearly 5 on Friday afternoon, and you would think a bar, even one as small as this, would be starting to jump with the after-work crowd. Not here, though. This place catered to a different sort of clientele.
The bell over the door gives a musical tinkle, and into the bar walks Hermes. He doesn’t look like you’d expect the messenger god of the Greeks to look, dressed as he is in shorts and a t-shirt, a small lithe man with a messy mop of curly hair. But there’s something about his eyes, nearly a glow, that gives him away. I’m handing him his Guinness before he even reaches the bar, saying nothing as he takes his first sip. He sets the glass down with a sigh.
“Rough week?” I ask.
‘Yeah…there was a train derailment near Athens.” I can see the weariness in his eyes, the strain in his ageless face. Surprising that even Gods can get tired.
“I saw that on the news. Messy business…” My voice is sympathetic. Hermes is first in every Friday, so he and I have gotten to know each other pretty well.
“It was pretty awful. Kept me running back and forth to Hades quite a bit. He’s so bogged down in paperwork that I don’t think he’s going to make it tonight.”
Before I can reply, the bell rings again, bringing a larger group with it. I can see Shiva and Vishnu of the Hindu pantheon enter, they’re regulars too, and comfortable enough to let their glamor’s drop as soon as they enter the door. They immediately make their way to the dart board.
Does having four arms give you an unfair advantage? I think as I toss them a wave.
Behind them comes Thor. He’s a surprisingly quiet drinker, content to sit at the end of the bar with a good strong mead and talk about the things he’s seen. I guess he has his fill of drunken chaos in Valhalla and comes here to escape.
I just finish serving Thor when I hear a whistle. “Hey there, gorgeous!” I groan in annoyance as I see Eros enter. He’s a good looking guy, to be sure, but the flirting gets old as fuck. I guess you can’t expect much else from one of the gods of love. Even Hermes sighs and shakes his head.
“DUDE. You’re married.” I snap as I make him his drink. I’m really not in the mood for his shit tonight. “And, I’m taken. I’m pretty sure I’ve told you this about a hundred times now.”
He shrugs elegantly, snagging his Jack and Coke and moving off to his couch. “Can’t blame a god for trying, can you?” Within the hour he’ll have a bevy of goddess beauties around him.
And they keep streaming in, from every pantheon. Osiris and Isis, so in love it’s almost embarrassing to look at them. Jesus, Kwan Yin and Buddha, gone off to a corner to discuss philosophy and drink wine, Amaterasu and her brothers Tsukuyomi and Susanoo, chattering cheerfully with one another as they move to the pool tables. Beautiful blond Epona, smelling of horses and green grass, with a smile for everyone. Gods and goddesses of every culture, coming together to relax and let go of their responsibilities for a few hours. I smile as more divine beings stream in. Odd as it was, I loved my job.
“Have you given any thought to my offer?” I’d nearly forgotten Hermes was at the bar, and I grimaced in apology as I moved to get him another beer. “I was serious, you know. Olympus could use a lady like you.”
“Of course I’ve thought about it. Who wouldn’t? It’s not every day a lowly bartender like me gets offered immortality.” I shook my head. “But I don’t think I can do it. I have too much here.”
“Is it the boyfriend? I could make that happen that too.”
I laugh and make a sweeping gesture to the rapidly-filling bar. “And give up all this? It might not make a whole fuckton of sense, but I like it here. I like this bar, and I like the … errr… people I see here. I can honestly say I have the most unique job ever. Sure, no one would believe me if I told them Ahsonnutli likes her drinks mixed with Pepsi, or that Hera actually doesn’t hate Zeus with the fury of a thousand burning suns, or that Quezacotl isn’t a giant flying snake. I like my place here. But…”
I winked at Hermes mischievously, eliciting a snort of laughter from the messenger god.
“Ask me again in a few years…. Amelia, Goddess of Booze doesn’t actually sound that bad.”
|
The Olympus is mostly quiet tonight. The bar had been busier earlier but after Zeus destroyed the speaker system with a lightning bolt in a fit of rage, the crowd began to thin. People usually stay away during the monthly meeting of the Pantheon rulers but the mood of this meeting is particularly sombre. And usually, if Gods are in a bad mood, you should make yourself scarce before they do it for you.
There are some brave stragglers remaining. Sterculius is relishing the opportunity to drink his beer in peace with no one to complain about his perpetual stench of manure (as the God of Manure, he's had it rough since the Industrial Age with the decline of primarily agricultural societies. Don't even get him started on Monsanto or do, if you want to see a grown God cry). Kalma was also hanging around. Known as the Stinky Goddess of Death, she wasn't particularly popular with anyone, partly due to the ever-present smell of rotting flesh but mostly due to her obsession with the role-playing boardgame, Munchkins which had been admittedly fun until Kalma got her hands on it and made everyone play it endlessly. A couple of the other Gods of Death were hanging around; Hades, Arawn and Vanth were doing shots in a corner of the room. Kingu was playing bar trivia because she was a dragon and even the rulers balked at her sheer size and impressive scales.
But even I was unsettled by the meeting of the rulers. Everyone was here. Even the usual flakes, Jehovah and Odin were present. I shifted over the end of the bar that was closest to them to "clean glasses" while catching a drift of their conversations.
"I don't understand it," Jehovah said. "When you guys fell out of favor, it was because we were taking control! But what's replaced us now?"
Allah was nodding in agreement. "I mean, my religion has been a bit of a mess recently but you went through the Inquisition and the Crusades and your numbers still held on!"
"It's painful when your children turn their back," Dagda said, sympathetically. "I supported my Celts in withstanding Rome and now, they don't even know my name."
"Secularism is killing us," Vishnu sighed. "I just don't get it. Why are we so hard to believe in? They still pray to us when they're stressed or scared! Why not a little thank you every now and again?"
"Right? All I ever wanted was hearts cut out of chests," Ometechutli said, thumping his fist on the table. "And in return, I kept them steadfast and strong!'
"At least your civilization got eradicated instead of just turning their back," Odin said sadly.
"You just have to be firm with them," Bondye insisted. "When the Haitians began to turn their backs on me, I sent them an earthquake. It really taught them a lesson."
"I'm... I'm not sure that it did," Jehovah said slowly. "Many of my missionaries helped with the recovery efforts and my numbers in Haiti strengthened."
Bondye glowered at Jehovah in response and fell back on his chair.
"How did you guys do it?" Allah asked tearfully. "How did you survive this heartbreak?"
"Alcohol," Jupiter joked. Everyone chuckled. "No, but seriously, talking about it helped a lot." He glanced around the table and smiled. "These guys really came through for me. Talked me down from a lot of ledges."
"I don't think you need to take this lying down," Zeus growled. "We can gather all the Gods of War! Move quickly and the humans will never know what hit them."
"You would help us like that?" Vishnu said incredulously. "Just like that?"
"Not quite," Amun-Ra responded. "In return, we would want some of your followers to return to being OUR followers."
Jehovah, Allah and Vishnu exchanged uncomfortable glances.
"Well, I don't know..." Jehovah started.
"Look," Jupiter interrupted jovially. "Just think it over. Your religions have been weakening since the dawn of the Internet. Mulling it over for one month won't hurt."
"You're right. It couldn't hurt to think about it," Vishnu quickly replied. "Why don't we adjourn the meeting now so Allah, Jehovah and I have some time to discuss?"
The other Pantheon rulers looked delighted as they all stood up, preparing to leave. As they trickled out, only Dievas hung back.
"Some of us aren't so bad, guys," he said in a pleading tone. "I know you're probably thinking about Ometecuhtli and his human sacrifice desires and Bondye's viciousness and Zeus' wrath but I was considered the source of all good things in Lithuania. Like, peace and flowers and birds."
"Wait, what type of birds?" Allah asked. "Because pigeons are fucking awful and you should be ashamed of yourself."
"And crows are the WORST," Vishnu added on.
"Just the good birds. Like, cardinals. And hummingbirds!"
Jehovah just nodded at him. "We'll keep it in mind, Divas. Thank you."
And Dievas left as Allah, Jehovah and Vishnu huddled into a quiet little circle and muttered things that were beyond my earshot. I was shaking slightly as I cleaned my glasses, suddenly fearing for the safety of myself and all those I cared about and thinking about how the tips were not worth this intimate look into the casual decision making of our holy overlords.
| 2015-06-01T10:19:44
| 2015-06-01T09:55:41
| 78
| 16
|
[WP] A husband and wife are both secretly in online relationships. They finally arrange to meet their respective paramours and realize they have been cheating on each other...with each other.
Inspired by [this post](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/1xfw97/til_that_a_married_couple_in_bosnia_started/) from /r/TodayILearned!
|
Eulalie opened the web browser with a pain of guilt. She knew what she was doing would destroy her family, but this was the only option left. Money in this household was spiraling down the drain at an alarming rate and soon the very basic necessitates of living would be inaccessible. The website opened in flashy black and pink hues, vulgar men and women danced in the background as a chatbot by the Slutys3xK@ndi waited persistently for a reply in the corner of the screen. Her first customer was a man by the username of Bo88iBoi waiting to meet her at the Vagrant Hotel, Eulalie began to get dressed and secretly hoped that he won't be there to greet her.
Robert hastily shooed away his daughter, Candice, from the computer. He knew this addiction would ruin this family, already hundreds of household dollars were lost to pornsites, but today he is going to meet up with an actual person. Robert signed on as Bo88iBoi and to his delight heard she agreed to tonight. Maybe this one encounter would cure his lust, but deep down he knew this won't be true.
A car rolled up to the Vagrant Hotel, Eulalie quickly shimmered out wearing her black short-cut dress. Standing in front of door 314, she paused. Here goes nothing. Eulalie stepped inside only to her horror to discover her husband laying on the bed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE" She screamed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE" He yelled backed.
"I'M TRYING TO MAKE MONEY FOR OUR FAMILY"
"I'M WAITING FOR TWO HOOKERS I ORDERED OFF THE INTERNET."
Eulalie looked at him with wide eyes, "What do you mean two hookers?"
That is when Candice stepped into the room as well.
|
"John?"
My hand trembled as I placed the rose on the table before her. "Hello, Cynthia."
Cynthia sat back against her chair and stared at the rose that was before her. Next to the rose was the sunflower that she had brought. She looked back up at me and I sat down across from her.
"You're SinThesis?"
She nodded, both of our expressions blank as we stared at each other.
"Your name..."
She nodded again.
"We should have known." I sat back and breathed deep.
Cynthia reached for the rose and picked it up, her face white as she stared at it. "What do we do?"
"I don't know."
"We..." her voice trailed off. She looked up at me and my heart broke. "Why isn't this working?"
I wiped a solitary tear from my cheek. "Our relationship?"
She nodded.
"I don't know. We're so close, Cynthia, but so far away..." We sat for several minutes, both of us thinking. Our minds were going back to the conversations that we'd had on those dark, sleepless nights, the hopeful afternoons, the flirty mornings. We had fallen in love with each other while killing the other slowly and surely. It was unfair. How was it possible to know so much about somebody and so little? I almost choked when I thought of our most recent messages. They had been scandalous. Vulgar. Messages that were the end of relationships for one person and the beginning for another.
"We can work on it, can't we??"
I returned to the present world and focused on her, *seeing* her for the first time. She was beautiful. A curl of black hair fell over her left eye, and it contrasted sharply with her grey eyes. Black mascara lined her eyes with gold tinted on the edges, and it made her look like an angel. But the trouble she'd gone through to look pretty wasn't for me. I wasn't here for her and she wasn't here for me. I had left her to meet an angel, and I had found another angel, but not mine. Not my angel.
"John?"
I stood from the table and picked up my rose. "Goodbye, Cynthia." I turned and walked away.
| 2014-02-09T14:03:41
| 2014-02-09T13:53:52
| 45
| 26
|
[WP] The Walking Dead is actually a bunch of kids playing zombies, every time someone "dies" its actually their mom and dad calling them to come inside for dinner, homework, etc. Write about a character death from this perspective
|
"Guys, my mom doesn't want me playing this any more. She says that I'm spending too much time here and I need to work on packing."
"It's alright Glenn, we'll just play until you have to ove, but we'll keep playing while you're here okay?" Replied Rick. "Thanks for bringing your cousin Nicholas to play this week, it's been nice having an extra person around"
"No problem! Alright! So where were we?" Glenn excitedly said getting back to the game.
*Glenn and Nicholas ran away from the walkers but were surrounded! ***Blam!** *Nicholas shot a walker and ran with Glenn down an alley trying to get out of town, but they were cornered!*
*Glenn jumped up heroically onto the dumpster, and helped Nicholas up. They'd fought in the past and had bad blood, but none of that mattered because they were running for their lives!*
*The sound of the walkers filled their ears and they pawed at their legs and feet from below.*
Nicholas' phone buzzed, "Time to pack it up" the text read. "Guys I gotta head out. Thanks for letting me join you. Glenn my mom said it's time to come home. We gotta leave and then you gotta finish packing."
"But we gotta finish what's going on! I mean, I've been playing with Rick and Maggie and Carl and everyone since spring of last year! For like... 6 seasons! I can't just leave now....." Glenn looked dejected in the summer heat.
"I don't want to lose you as part of the game," Rick consoled him. "But your parents are selling their house right? I mean it's summer now, and you're supposed to be moving out of state this fall and stuff, but let's get together some more if you can convince you mom."
"Well, alright, let's wrap it up for the day." Rick directed everyone back to what they were doing
Nicholas was busy on his phone and didn't realize the game had started back up
*"Nicholas! Hey! Hey! Look at me!" Glenn yelled as they tried to survive the horde of walkers.*
"Oh, um, I kill myself I guess?" Nicholas said unenthusiastically. "Thanks for letting me play everyone!"
*Glen watched in disbelief as Nicholas simply said, "Thank you" and then blew his brains out. Nicholas fell into Glenn and they fell off the dumpster as the walkers closed in on the two, starting to rip entrails from seemingly everywhere.*
"Alright guys, hopefully I'll see you next time," Glenn said. "I'll let you know if I can come back though."
"I just know you will. Make her let you!" Maggie said.
"We'll have a spot open for you if you want to come back." Rick assured Glenn.
Glenn smiled at all his friends and ran home not knowing if he'd be back for another session, but was hopeful.
**A few weeks later....**
"Guys! Mom says I can come back and play with you guys for a while until we move! But I'm officially moving at the end of October!" Glenn let everyone know.
"Alright!" "Awesome!" came the replies
"Hey, not trying to replace Glenn or anything, but I've got a next door neighbor I was telling about this, and he might be interested in playing with us," Rick told everyone.
"Cool," replied Glenn. "What's his name?"
"He plays baseball, so he's kind of busy, but he said it's right up his alley. His name is Negan."
"Can't wait to meet him!" Glenn replied.
*edit: Formatting
*edit 2: Holy crap this got more attention than I thought it would! Thanks everyone.
|
[SPOILERS FOR THE WALKING DEAD]
Walkers were no longer a threat. We had been playing so long, we had killed most of them. Now, it was the other people that we had to be afraid of.
It happened a while back, during the first semester of the school year. It was dry and there was a drought, and a fire had silently bloomed one day in the woods near our neighborhood. We simply played in other woods, leaving the abandoned house we called "The Prison" and going to a new area of forest we had yet to explore. We would trek along, finding food and water as we scouted out the new area. Until, one day, we were forced to turn back.
A young red-headed boy was watching us from a distance, his ginger hair shining against the green leaves that permeated the rocky soil of the outskirts of Boston. We turned back and set up camp for the day, waiting for someone to approach us. We feasted on a few rabbits we had caught and went to bed.
The next day, there were more boys. We managed to catch one of them; he said he worked for a dude named Grant. We sent him off, knowing that we wouldn't be able to face such a large group. We made a permanent camp, with blankets and tents brought from our previous settlements. While we explored, we found another camp like ours, with sleeping bags and lanterns. They were clearly more high-tech than we were. We stole some supplies and made it back to our camp before calling it a day.
Eventually, after many more run-ins with Grant and his people, we were chopping wood for a fire when Matt cut his hand. We knew we had to get help from another group of friendly people we had met, from a neighborhood called Hilltop Ridge. We left our camp, which we had code-named Alexandria, and went to find some medical supplies. But, every route we took was blocked off by Grant's men. We eventually decided to make a break for it and got surrounded.
The boys started to make a fire in front of us. My group was all people my age, but Grant's group was a mix: there were boys as young as 5 or 6 and some as old as 10 or 11. They lined us up in front of the fire, and told us we would meet Grant shortly. We waited, the afternoon slowly fading into twilight. After a while, Grant stepped out of the shadows. He was older than all the rest, probably 12, with dark hair and aviator sunglasses. He wasn't too tall but he was a big boy, and he had a wooden baseball bat. He said he didn't like us taking his stuff, so he was gonna kill one of us.
We were all scared out of our minds. I looked at the brave group of my peers who had made the journey with me: Josh, Tyler, Alyssa, Lucas, Dustin, Jenny, Walter, and Caroline were all in line, their faces solemn, knowing that this is what it took to help Matt and we were going to persevere. I heard footsteps in the woods, signaling that someone's time was coming to an end.
Grant stepped forward with his bat, and then begins to say how we could have been friends. But, he has to do this, and then he makes his decision. Dustin gets up, his face sad, and says his goodbyes. Grant's men begin to clear out, and we were all sad. We turned to see Dustin heading off with his older sister, Margaret, who had been sent out to find him. He hadn't done his homework and the sun was starting to set. He was grounded for sure.
We decided to call it a day. We dropped off our sticks and flashlights and the Airsoft gun Tyler got for his birthday at our little camp and went back home. It was probably almost time for dinner anyways. Our mothers would be waiting to hear about our most recent endeavors.
| 2016-11-14T09:11:10
| 2016-11-14T07:45:39
| 601
| 14
|
[WP] Eye colour means everything here. Brown control the earth, blue controls the water, white controls the sky. There are so many colours and each important but you were the first born with yellow eyes.
|
Galla and Victor sat in her floating garden, on the rocks that bordered the freshwater pool. Lilies danced against Galla's bare toes. Sea samphire threaded under the delicate waves. Galla blinked and her blue eyes disappeared for a split second. Then they were back: blue as the ocean and deeper still. A ball of water floated limply around her fingertips, dancing over her knuckles like a Las Vegas chip. Envy was a yellow knot in Victor’s chest.
"It's not so hard, Vick," she said. "You should try it."
She flicked droplets at him. Victor held out his hands for them, frowning the way only a child could: brows knit in concentration and tongue half out. Nothing happened. The water splashed against his chest and Galla’s face fell.
"Victor!" She said. "You're ruining it!"
"I'm trying," he insisted.
Water lapped up against the edges of the house. Islands in the blue, unanchored and free as birds. The memory stuck in Victor’s head. It made his chest ache when he thought about it. Not long later he overheard his parents talking to Galla’s. He’d hidden on the shaded mezzanine beneath the curved bamboo roof. Their voices had been low, worried. Victor could see his father’s bald spot turning pink from where he lay. It always did that when he lied. The wood was cool beneath his belly.
The four adults sat around an atrium two inches deep in rainwater. A tree grew in a terracotta pot in the centre of a low table: the only earth they consented to have around the house.
"I'm worried about him," his mother's voice was low and nervous. "What if he's not one of us?"
"He's our son," Victor’s father sounded angry. "We'd never kick him out."
"You know it doesn't work like that," Galla's father. "No choice, like the Tate boy. The ones that don't belong... You know about the--"
Then they were whispers, too quiet to be heard. For Victor, it was the first time he’d heard the rumours. Not so for Galla: a little older and all the wiser for it.
"What do you know about the Tate boy?" He said to Galla casually. "I heard your parents talking about him."
"We don't talk about that. He walked into the desert, looking for his Link. There's no life there. He died."
"The desert?"
"Nothing but sand and ruins," Galla said firmly. "No water in deserts. He'll be dead by now."
The desert. As far from the blue waters as Victor could imagine. Like punishment, an exile. He wondered if the Tate boy had left through choice. Galla ran away from the pool, bare feet leaving wet prints on the stone floor. The others who didn't belong waited out there: skeletons or not. From then on, Victor thought of little else.
----------
Tell a kid he doesn't belong and he'll believe it. Keep it a secret from him, and it'll fester in his heart like a rotten thing. It ate Victor up inside. A Blue, dreaming of Yellow. Laughable. He felt the tug, like the inexorability of an ocean wave, pulling him towards the shore. As he grew, he gave up trying to feel the link to water.
Victor’s dreams became filled with sand: fine grains of it trickling through his fingers. Cool in their warmth. Ever-shifting. Moving in spirals downwards and upwards, freezing when he commanded them to. He woke disappointed, frightened that someone would guess what he saw behind his eyes. Yellow, so bright until it almost drowned out the blue waters of the island homes.
The choice was taken out of his hands by Galla’s father. He came to see Victor one day, striding across the stones with bare feet, still damp with seawater.
“Boy,” he said. Victor opened his eyes. Dreaming of yellow, a boy surrounded by blue. Galla’s father was tall and imposing. His palms were pale and constantly pruned by water. Blue eyes shone out of a sun-tanned face, but now they were dark as storm rain.
“Boy,” he said again. “I’m doing this for your own good.”
“My own good?” Victor echoed the words back at him. Droplets rose from the pool to cluster around Galla’s father. They swarmed about his head like a crown.
“You need to leave. Break your parent’s hearts, boy. Break Galla’s too, before she has to watch you get yourself killed.”
“Where should I go?” he asked.
“Crawl into the desert. Know that I’ll be watching you. There’s no one like you. It makes the rest of us unsafe. You can't be around us any more, it’s dangerous.”
“Is this what happened to the Tate boy?”
“The Tate boy left of his own accord, as you will,” Galla’s father promised. “She deserves someone better than you, you know. One of her own kind.”
Victor nodded, looking out across the water. Galla waved from her house: she ran, sure-footed, over the rocks of the pool. With her other hand she shaded her eyes from the sun.
"Victor, come on, jump!" she cried, as the houses drifted close enough to do so. Water coiled around her feet like a writhing snake. One moment, all it took. A loss of concentration as she waited for Victor to answer. The water tripped her. Galla slipped, the rocks sharp beneath her.
"No!" Too far away to reach her, Galla’s father shifted beside Victor. The sands flashed behind his eyes, freezing in their hourglass. She stopped, suspended over the rocks with her mouth open in a cry.
Victor turned to Galla’s father. His hands outstretched, eyes bulging, he watched his daughter fall. The link was there. It burned inside Victor like a yellow fire. He reached out to touch the man beside him, to pinch his skin and flick the jelly-like droplets of water. The peaks of wavelets between the houses were solid. Victor stepped onto them.
He crossed the ocean, walked to Galla where she lay over the rocks. Touched her skin, pulled her away from danger. He waited for the sands of time to restart. Searching within himself for the Link that had flared so briefly, Victor felt nothing but mounting fear. Galla's open mouth was imprinted behind his eyelids. The two houses were stuck in time.
Victor left for the desert.
---------
This is the rewritten version
/r/Schoolgirlerror
|
I had always been jealous of the others. Being able to cause earthquakes, raise and lower the ground, rolling the ground underneath my feet as if it were a skateboard. Or what about being able to make water appear wherever you wanted it to appear. Make it rain and shower the pastures for the farmers or being able to give water to those who are thirsty. Also, flying looked amazing; having the wind catch you under your arms and fly wherever you wanted. I was jealous, until I grew over it and discovered my power. Legal drinking age. All my friends weren't allowed to drink until they turned eighteen. That wasn't a problem for me. My yellow eyes enabled me to control beer and make it go wherever I wanted it to, most importantly: in my mouth. I started drinking when I was sixteen and haven't stopped ever since. I drink beer almost every day and whenever I become nauseous or tipsy, I have it leave my body. That's right. Right from the bladder, back through my throat and onto the street. It sounds disgusting, but being able to have infinite drinks? It's awesome. I earn my money nowadays by competing in drinking games. "Fifty bucks for the fool who can chug the most!" Easy money.
"Alright guys, I'm gonna take a piss. All that beer has to come out," I say as I leave the room filled with people staring at me in awe after winning another drinking game, netting twenty bucks this time. I head for the toilets and lock myself up in a stall. I don't feel like getting the beer back out through my mouth, so I just stand and piss. Soon after some guys enter the bathroom. "He went in here, the fraud," one says. "Must be in that stall." Their footsteps draw closer and all of a sudden they start banging on the door. "We know you're in there, yellow eye." "Show us what you're worth, beer drinking fraud."
Shit, they've discovered my power. I've been taking a leak for a minute now and I'm still not done. I focus and I can feel the piss running out of me in a more intense way. It doesn't take long until I can feel its warmth embody me. Goodness, I'm controlling my own piss. Let's see how they like this! I turn around and my beam hits the closed door, but I target the waterfall upwards, over the stall and the yellow fountain of warmth showers over the guys standing in front of it. "WHAT THE F- HE'S PISSING OVER THE DOOR!" one says and the rest starts shouting. They run from the bathroom while shouting and soon after peace returns. I turn back around and aim for the pot again, lowering the ray in the middle.
Beer controlling and now piss controlling. Sweet.
| 2016-08-08T11:16:10
| 2016-08-08T10:59:12
| 170
| 12
|
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