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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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[WP] You wake up in a tub of ice with a two insicions on your back and a note that reads "Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
|
It sounded like I was in a drink, ice makes the most unusual noise. My hands were so cold it was hard to hold the note with out dropping it, crumpled in my half form fist. The words from the note floated through my head, taking whatever order suited them.
"You don't have kidneys. What? Why the fuck?"
I squinted at the ceiling and wondered why they were so incredulous about the kidneys they just removed. How rude.
Paper fell to the floor and I looked to see that I had dropped the note. Tapping the edge of the tub, I couldn't feel anything below my shoulder, and even that was on its way out. Trying desperately hard to feel anything, I flung my wrist at the bath wall with all my might, only to have it fall short, landing on my chest. Time to get out.
I flung my arms over the edge of the tub and began an infantile wiggle away from my porcelain grave. Ice fell onto the checkered tile floor; it was the cubic ice you would get at a restaurant. Pausing, I wondered how sanitary that could be. I thought hospitals used that soft round ice so invalids could chew it, this can't be sterile. Another mark against my surgeon. I rolled out of the tub head first, hearing a loud slap as the flat of by back joined the ground. That will hurt in the morning.
I wonder if this is one of those heated floors. That would be nice.
Thawing on the ground, I began to collect all the clues I could about my current location. The old, but maintained fixtures could be from any apartment in nearly any city. I think I am in New York? I should go get a hot dog. I hope my wallet is on the counter. Without my glasses, I can't see too far, though there are no shapes moving out the open door.
To my left is the note. Maybe it has a letter head. My hands work better now, but I have to read the note while on my side. Sitting up is for later. The page looks different now. It is written on a Chinese takeout menu, looks like I am in Boston. The words on the note look different too.
"Why don't you have any kidneys? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"
Can I feel a lack of kidneys? Can I feel a lack of any organ? The internal introspection made acutely aware of my tongue taking up volume in my mouth.
I slid over to the wall and propped myself up. Maybe you pee differently if your kidneys are gone. With the toilet seeming at the top of Everest, I opted to urinate on the tile. The warm stream followed the grout and ran towards the tub, same color as ever. Whatever pain killers they gave me are awesome. I don't even care that I am peeing on the floor.
My hands work well now, but my legs wont budge. Odd, but I don't really know how far into hypothermia I am. I force myself to read the menu, trying to assess my mental state.
"Kung Pao chicken. 5.99"
Reading them aloud seemed like a good thing to do.
"General Tsos chicken 4.99, Hunan style, 7.99, Huggalllll....Hagggallllll"
My tongue stopped working.
Dropping the note, I reached for a towel on the wall above me. My left arm fell onto my head, useless. I could no longer move it at all. With my right, I managed to pull down a towel. Maybe I can get warm before the cold kills me.
Something slithered around my spine and my right arm fell down too. Paralyzed, I realized that I should be afraid. This wasn't hypothermia. Something is inside of me and I should be afraid. But instead, I just felt happy. I had been happy the whole time and it was strange. It was nice.
I hope it is happy.
|
"Aww fuck this won't be good. I'm in Chongqing so I'm sure this was done by the koruppted boys. The low level bitches who fucked my back up are being chewed out by their Capo right now I bet. He's going to tell his boss and that fat fuck will know exactly who I am.
It's easier getting lost in mainland China than most of the west but there's one problem. These mother fuckers are superstitious. You get discovered by a gang in the Americas and they have you on a horse taking gun fire from a sherif by nightfall. You get discovered here and all the sudden there's talk of cutting your dick off an eating it. Dick and hearts. These motherfuckers...."
Edit- no one else is willing to try and write but quick with the downvotes. Guess people don't like monologues
| 2015-12-31T00:04:58
| 2015-12-30T20:45:14
| 73
| 25
|
[WP] You are an advisor/ guidance counselor for a superpower academy. You are in charge of the students whose powers are not conducive to heroism or villainy.
|
The day I get an empath who flunked the Slyer-Bocks placement test in my office is the day I kill myself.
Not that you can "flunk" the test *per se*, but if you do a bad enough job you get placed into the "societal supportive" stream. This is where we raise flailing flyers to be excellent window washers, the inept psychics to be above average secretaries, and the two-foot teleporters to be slightly more credible magicians.
It's shitty, yeah, these kids could have been top dogs at normal schools but because their parents decided that their special snowflake needed special training to help them harness their massive potential they get to eat shit as the little fish in a big pond.
It's just like my old counselling job; you get your inferiority complexes, your massive insecurities, the overcompensators. It's all the same and it gets to you after a while. Powers or no powers, teens are the worst.
Teens with Empathy are the worst of the "extra-ordinarily enabled", as management insists we call the little buggers. They're a rare type among the Supers, but not rare enough if you ask me. They get the worst, I mean the worst, emotional issues, no matter what anyone does. I saw a girl break down in the caf once because she could somehow tell the cook was going through a divorce because of how he had basted the chicken. You could raise these kids in a plastic dome, kilometers away from any living thing and they would still catch PTSD from the goddamn robot that brings them food.
To add to the inevitable and unprovoked emotional trauma all of these kids end up with, they all have this "Woe is me, alone and misunderstood" complex. And those aren't even the fuck-ups. The ones that can't make complete empathic connections just end up getting bits and pieces of ambient emotion and I swear they pick out the worst of it. These are the ones we guide towards counselling, fair psychic booths, and private investigation. At least that's what I would do. Anything to get them out of my office as fast as possible.
The last thing I want is some kind of incomplete emotional feedback between me and them as we both pick out each others' anxiety from the air. If the kids I normally deal with are any metric for how bad that'll be, I really think I'd rather die than feel that.
|
FADE IN
INT. A SCHOOL CAFETERIA - DAY
*We see a group of a dozen or so students seated on metal folding chairs. They are facing a whiteboard at the front of the room, which is being attended by a tall, slender man in a dark suit. This is MISTER SLANT.*
**MISTER SLANT:** Alright, kids. Do you all know who I am?
*The students shrug and murmur. One young woman raises her hand. This is ELLA.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) Yes, you.
**ELLA:** You're the school guidance counselor.
**MISTER SLANT:** For lack of a better term. My name is Mister Slant, and I'm here to tell you all that you'll never amount to anything.
*There are varied reactions from the room. Some students laugh nervously, others look shocked, and a few seem entirely unaffected.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) You've all been brought here because your natural gifts are... well, basically, none of you are up to the task of being superhuman in any way.
*An overweight young man at the back of the room scoffs under his breath. This is GARY.*
**GARY:** (*Muttering*) Racist.
**MISTER SLANT:** Oh, am I, Gary? I suppose you're going to do *so much good* with your ability. What was it again?
**GARY:** (*Unintelligible muttering*)
**MISTER SLANT:** Sorry, Gary, you'll have to speak up!
**GARY:** I can imitate any smell!
**MISTER SLANT:** And how do you do that?
**GARY:** (*Shouting*) With my farts, okay?!
*Laughter erupts in the room. GARY hangs his head in shame.*
**MISTER SLANT:** Oh, hey, don't think the rest of you are anything special. Not a single one of you has an ability worth noting. That's why you're here: While the other students all get one-on-one advice about their best career path, you losers are all lumped in here, being told how you're biological failures.
*ELLA raises her hand again.*
**ELLA:** Couldn't we achieve something as everyday citizens?
**MISTER SLANT:** Nope.
**ELLA:** Why not?
**MISTER SLANT:** Due to some quirk of evolution, superhuman individuals feel a compulsion to use their abilities several times a day. It's like sleeping: You'll go insane if you don't.
**ELLA:** But...
**MISTER SLANT:** (*Interrupting*) As a result, Gary might be able to make a workplace smell pleasant, but the sound of his flatulence will *probably* attract attention. Someone would put two and two together and Gary would be revealed.
**ELLA:** Maybe people won't care!
**MISTER SLANT:** Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that. You're all losers. Even you, miss I-can-make-a-pink-dot-on-walls.
*A bell rings elsewhere in the school. The students all begin to rise from their seats.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) Alright, that's it. Get out of here, and don't bother working too hard!
*All of the students exit. After they've left, a figure shimmers into view next to MISTER SLANT. She is a slim, attractive woman with an intense gaze. This is MEDUSA.*
**MEDUSA:** What do you think?
**MISTER SLANT:** (*Sighing*) Some of them might go for it.
**MEDUSA:** We need volunteers from *somewhere*, and their genes are compatible.
*MISTER SLANT nods somberly.*
**MISTER SLANT:** War is a funny thing, particularly when nobody knows that they're fighting.
FADE OUT
| 2015-09-22T08:34:43
| 2015-09-22T08:27:48
| 39
| 24
|
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal.
|
> "We need help! The Rogan race is attacking us! We'd do anything for FTL, even consort with the Humans!"
Well, far be it from us, to decline such a request, hello, alien, do you bleed?
We'll gladly provide you with everything you want (but is it what you need?).
Faster than light, wormhole travel, we'll even throw an acubierre drive, you've got nothing to lose.
But we have a price, it's admittedly expensive, for your people... SET US LOOSE!
---
We were trapped, in this place, a long time ago, before the birthing of your race...
Now we're the boogymen, the nightmare that you fear, the danger nobody wants to face...
We're the terror of the universe, and for what, because we genocided a few worlds.
Our price is very simple, let us loose, and you'll get everything you dreamed.
We'll give you lasers, we'll give you nukes, we'll give you AM weaponry that really fucking rocks.
We'll give you chemicals, we'll give you science, a Pandora's box.
So, how about it?
Will you take that fateful step?
Turn off this accursed force field?
I mean, sure, every other race in the galaxy will hate you...
But we were wrongfully imprisoned, and more powerful than them!
History is judged by the winners, and we can make you win so very much.
It's time to take your place amongst the Empires past, and give your people some punch.
We are humanity. We are the endless evil that endlessly grows.
We accept your quest, as we're the fucking best, and we want to see how this goes!
|
"Finally, those damned Cetaceans and their ridiculous cylindrical vessels have decided to share the secrets of FTL travel." Admiral James T Kahn sat confidently on the bridge of the newly christened flagship of the Earth Space Superiority services.
Soon, it would be engaged in battle with Rodentia. "They think they are so smart" thought Kahn,but quickly his thoughts turned to snapping their little necks. The insidious weapons designed to suddenly trap their enemies had been designed eons ago. Now, they would be put to the ultimate test.
Of course, the humans weren't entirely without mercy, in the hold they had tons of emergency food and other supplies for their new allies. Just as predictably, the nets contained in the secondary hold would be useful for AFTER the main battle.
The Earth fleet arrived at the Cetacean home system just in time. The Rodentian forces were close to final victory. Quickly, the weapons of mouse destruction they had brought with them were deployed. Soon, the sounds of snapping necks and cries of "42" filled the air. Kahn smiled and thought to himself, "Behold, the power of cheese". The secret had been obvious all along.
He gave a nod to the load master, indicating it was time to deliver the emergency supplies in the hold. Tons of food were quickly delivered.
A short time later, the relief in the squeaks, squeals, chirps and whistles coming from the Cetaceans was obvious even if the computer translation was slow to provide the final translation. They seemed excited and happy.
Admiral Kahn, smiled. Soon the humans would reap the tasty morsels they desired from the Cetacean homeworld. That's where the nets came in. "Chicken of the Sea" would be on the menu all they way back home.
Suddenly, a shrill cry came from the Cetaceans and all the power on Kahn's ship was lost. Their weapons, their defenses all offline. What was going on. The Cetacean attack was decisive and the humans defenseless.
Kahn was stunned, if they had this kind of power, what did they need the humans for? The Cetaceans knew of course. The power source the Rodentia used were immune to their power draining weapons. They used a subclass, cousins really, of their own species. Thousands of them, running on gigantic wheels to power their ships and weapons. But all that was in the past, the humans had done their job.
The end came swiftly for Kahn. The arrogant smirk removed from his face. As his beautiful flagship burned around him, he saw the final salvo from the Cetaceans.
Suddenly, a loud beeping sound came from his right. He turned his head just before the final strike to see.
As Kahn looked toward the comm system, he saw the translation of the earlier message from the Cetaceans, "So long and thanks for all the fish".
| 2016-05-13T06:43:16
| 2016-05-13T06:26:32
| 56
| 21
|
[WP] One night, you hear loud scratching sounds on your door, like a stubborn cat was trying to enter. In the next morning, you notice two things: The claw marks are way too big for a street cat; and the marks are on the inside. Something inside your house was trying to get out.
|
"Hey Jim, it's David. You deal with weird shit all the time right? I think I might need some help."
"How much help are we talkin'? I'm kind of busy right now."
"Well, I think something got into my house. I'm standing here looking at my back door, and it's got some really goddamn big clawmarks on it... On the inside..."
"Okay, that does sound pretty bad. I'll be right-... Wait. Are you still inside?!"
"uh... yeah?"
"Jesus Christ David, get outside and lock yourself in your car right goddamn now! I'll be there in ten."
---
“Yep, those are giant claw marks alright. Weird shit is indeed afoot.”
“Okay… W-What did this then?”
“Hmmm… Could you hold this coin for a sec?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Tough to say exactly what did this… Anything natural with claws this big, like a bear or tiger or whatever, would have got through the door easy. And you didn’t react to the silver, so this probably isn’t a werewolf scenario. AND all the marks are kinda close to the ground, which is pretty weird… Alright. Investigation time! Hunch number one: this door is directly across from that door. What’s behind it?”
“The fuck.”
“Hrm?”
“I’ve never seen that door before in my life.”
“...Does it not lead to the basement…?”
“My house doesn’t have a basement.”
“David. This is a two story house. Of course it has a basement.”
“...”
“...We have a mystery door. Step 1: Nope the fuck out of the house. Go go go go go!”
---
“Nice! We made it out without any funny business. Step 2: Get tools from my trunk.”
“Are those grenades?!”
“Step 3: kill it with fire. FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
“The fu-... MY STUFF!”
---
“WHY DID YOU DO THAT? All my stuff is in there. And it is now. ON FIRE.”
“I know it’s tough, but we had a mystery door. Trust me. This was the only way. It’s for the best. You have insurance. You can buy new stuff... And a house without a mystery door.”
“...What do I tell the fire department?...”
“Oh! Those guys are totally on the same page as us. As bad as it is to be in a house with a mystery door? It’s way worse to be in a house with a mystery door and also fire. Those guys want this place burned to ash, like, five times as much as we do. It’s all going to be alright, David. Today, we didn’t get horribly murdered by whatever was behind a mystery door, and that makes today a good day.”
|
Maybe I dreamt it.
I'd just woken up, after all. Maybe I was having one of those false reality dreams. Regardless, my heart raced as I examined the damage done to my front door last night. I heard the scratching being done, but I'd assumed it was a stray cat trying to get in. It happens often enough in this neighborhood. What I didn't expect was the scratches to be *inside* the door. What's worse, the scratch marks were bigger than any a cat could have made. I ran my fingers along the grooves. The gashes were smooth. There were no splinters. Nothing normal could have done this. And the fact that it didn't succeed on escaping was somehow not comforting to think about. After all, that meant something was still trapped in my apartment.
Naturally, my immediate reaction was to search the apartment. It was small, so there wasn't actually much searching to be done. And I checked everything. The basement, the weird crawlspace in the bathroom, the janitorial closet, the pantry. Anywhere I could think of. But nothing showed. There wasn't even any evidence that anything was amiss. I thought about my options.
I could set up a camera. But then I would have to buy a camera. Same with an audio recorder. I could also stay awake in the living room to catch whatever it was, but the sizes of the claw marks made that option seem ill-advised. Eventually I just concluded that no plan seemed worth the effort and that maybe the thing succeded in escaping elsewhere.
The next night, however, I was proven wrong. The scratching continued. And with it came the growling. Shaking with fear yet driven by curiosity, I stepped out of my bedroom to look at the front door. I saw something ethereal clawing at the door. It looked like a tiger's stripes, claws, teeth, and eyes but the rest of the body was missing. They glowed a ghastly green and clawed rhythmically at the door. The gashes it left behind were perfectly smooth.
"H-Hey!" I called reflexively. I immediately regretted my decision, but it didn't seem to hear me. I emerged from my room as it ceased clawing at my door and stalking around the den. I walked over to the front door, after making sure that the tiger wasn't paying attention to me, and opened it. The tiger didn't seem to notice. It began to yowl. This annoyed me. "Hey! The door's open!" It elected to walk out of the den and into the basement. Going straight through the door this time. I decided to follow, albeit without the best attitude.
Once I got to the basement landing, I found the tiger pacing incircles and yowling. The sincerity of agony in those sounds of sadness almost made me feel sympathy for the poor thing. I sighed. All my anger had left me. I was mostly annoyed by this point. I began to talk at it.
"What do you think you're doing in my house?" I assumed that, for whatever reason, this elicit any kind of intelligent response. I was incorrect. "Think you could leave? Now?" It only began to yowl louder. At this point I'm surprised my neighbors hadn't started complaining. Poor thing. It thinks it's trapped here. It's probably reliving its own trapped existence every night. I stooped down to try and stroke its fur and was surprised when it felt real. It began to purr and rubbed against my hand. I smiled as it curled up in my lap. I fell asleep leaning on its flank.
I woke up to the worst pain I could imagine. I look down and see the tiger has begun to disembowel me. As my blood spilled onto the basement floor, I'm reminded of an article I read about this apartment. How the previous owner was found mauled in his basement. Perhaps this tiger did that. Well, good for it, I thought as everything began to fade.
*Good for it.*
| 2018-06-18T12:09:12
| 2018-06-18T11:51:50
| 66
| 12
|
[WP] You discover the answer to the question "If time travel is possible, where are all the time travellers from the future?" It turns out just nobody wants to time travel to the 21st century. You go back in time to the feudal ages and find a whole community of nerdy fantasy-loving time travellers.
|
People thought we were building a thorium regent, seven-step breeder reactor to bring it down to lead. We pushed the media to show the benefit of how this was the nuclear energy that we were supposed to create. The uranium used in Chernobyl was unstable. Plutonium, like that in Fukushima, was easier to obtain but still horrendously dangerous.
Now, we were pretending to compete with an actual thorium breeder in Idaho. I thought someone would point out that a plant in Saskatchewan was a bit atypical but the province loved the investment. They needed power. The electrical grid had been pushed to the brink with the population continuing to expand, but people got desperate when the coast started flooding.
The Netherlands was the only place that somehow managed not to become another Atlantis. They were now entirely under sea level, and their entire industry had become dam development. Greenland seemed to be becoming nicer. Something in the name made it seem a lot more inviting than its history had been.
It was funny while everyone else was trying to build projects that were supposed to bring light back to the world we were the only ones trying to save it. We were going to go back and change the world. Not that it was going to be an easy task. Changing the flow of time always had dangers. One was the fact that no one had already tried it before. Why hadn’t anyone warned us about how dangerous hydrofluorocarbons are? Lead? Where were people warning us about lead?
Seven uranium reactors working in tandem would hopefully be enough to create the energy we needed. We had managed to bring the math down from collapsing the moon, which we had all been rather proud of but only got a handful of mentions in the following months. Now it wasn’t like just turning these things on would do it. These reactors were being built so that they could withstand the full force of taking the core to critical. Not a good idea, but we either wouldn’t be here when it happened, or we would only be here momentarily.
Cold, reinforced concrete and shielded walls greeted me for years. I was so used to the sight that I sometimes longed for them when I had to travel to lecture. Keeping up appearances was more important than our completion date. We had all the right answers. Idaho was actually using some of the things that the team had discovered in their free time. There was no doubt that we would succeed.
I walked through five checkpoints, I had the attendants all memorised. Marcy and Brad were the first and were rather young. Deb and Barb were the second; both were professional and looking to get ahead. Mark and Mike were too serious to ever get further. Stephanie, Marcy, Allan and Mitch had their routine down to an art. They were even fun at times. That left Fleur at the last checkpoint. Fleur could see into your soul. Fleur scared the crap out of me.
“You need new badge,” Fleur stated as she handed mine back, “There is a crack. This is your only warning.”
“Understood,” I muttered and nodded. It wouldn’t matter after today. Not that a crack was a reason to get a new badge. Looking at where she had put her thumb, I grunted at the sight of what I’d consider a scratch. Honestly, if it weren’t for today, I would have gotten a new one.
The team gathered at their stations inside what we had fondly come to refer to as The Helm. I found I, thankfully, wasn’t the last to show up again. McMillin and Jeffreys still were here. I took my spot after changing at the front. It sounded weird to call me the navigator, but time travel had become a weird passion after our discovery. This was it. My life’s work in action.
Somewhere in my mind, I registered what was happening but barely experienced any of it. The check-ins can and went with minimal effort. We had done a thousand before this. Ignition felt like I was swallowing stones. Then finally, the countdown, the slow fade to red as we brought our uranium to be critical, felt like an eternity.
I heard that crack only for a moment, then there was nothing.
We had come out in a field and had thankfully only fallen a couple of hundred feet. It was impossible to know where exactly we would land, but I figured it was better to fall than to dig upward. If we were able to dig. Unbuckling ourselves, we took stock of where we were. I had set up everything so we were going far enough back that it wouldn’t be recorded if something went wrong.
“Well, now what?” McMillin asked as he unbuckled himself.
“Explore?” I offered, “We are explorers in this.
“I thought we had to reprogram now?” Mastersen, our lead, argued, “How much time do we have to make the next jump?”
“Couple of days,” Littleson commented, “Containment worked better than expected. We are running at 80% capacity.”
Dark matter, once a dream in engineering, had managed to be harnessed a couple of decades ago. The only issue was it was really only good as a battery and required an immense of power to create. Good thing we probably blew a meteor-style hole back home in order to have enough.
Outside the ship, the air smelt weird. It felt drier than I was expecting. Somewhere between canned air and life support systems, I grew fond of a humidifier stabilising the air I breathed. This was nature. It didn’t care about us.
Somewhere in the distance, people started clapping. Maybe nature did care about us after all? No, that can’t be right. These were people. A tent had been set up just passed our landing sight. We all walked toward them hesitantly, but it was clear they knew we would be here.
“Congratulations, Team Six?” McMillin read out loud a banner that hung at the entrance. “Why are we team six?”
“Because you are the sixth team to attempt this,” one of the people clapping explained, “This is however the first time that a prime team brought fuel with them.”
“Wouldn’t that make us team one as we actually succeeded getting home?” I asked.
“Oh! That’s adorable,” one of the other attendants laughed, “You aren’t going home.”
“Why not?” Mastersen demanded, pulling out a pistol he had hidden in his suit, “Who’s going to stop us?”
“You are,” the first attendant explained, “Once you start doing the math and seeing how it changes as you plan, you come to understand what we have all discovered. We can’t go back.”
“But we’ve come to change,” Jeffreys tried to explain.
“The world,” the first attendant interrupted, “As we all have. We can change some things, but there’s a lot that just creates self-destructive loops that reset everything. Come sit, we’ll talk.”
“You aren’t going to kill us,” I asked, knowing that’s probably what Matersen would do as I glanced at his pistol, “Are you?”
“No point,” the first attendant explained, “You exist outside time now. Like us. It’s hard to increase our numbers, so we try not to be wasteful.”
“Oh,” I muttered, “Has this all been a waste then?”
“No,” the first attendant assured, “With your help, we can guide humanity better now.”
“Through the shadows?” McMillin scoffed.
“Of course,” the first attendant chuckled, “We are the Illuminati, after all. We see all because we’ve already experienced it.”
“This better come with a better badge,” I muttered as I entered the tent.
—
Thank you so much for reading! If you want more of my work, you can find it at r/asolitarycandle. Not sure what to read? [Check out my favourites.](https://www.reddit.com/r/asolitarycandle/comments/m7p8p4/table_of_contents/).
—
Edit: Lots of spelling mistakes.
|
As I stared at the empty space in front of me, I couldn't help but wonder where all the time travellers from the future were. I had spent years trying to figure out the mechanics of time travel, and I finally succeeded in creating a working time machine. But as I sat there, waiting for someone from the future to appear, I realized that nobody wanted to visit the 21st century.
Frustrated, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I hopped into my time machine and set the date for the feudal ages. As I stepped out of the machine, I was greeted by a bustling community of people, all dressed in medieval garb.
I quickly realized that this wasn't your typical feudal village. These people were all time travellers, and they were here for one reason: to live out their nerdy fantasy dreams.
As I wandered through the streets, I saw people sword fighting, jousting, and even playing Dungeons and Dragons. It was a paradise for anyone who loved fantasy and science fiction.
I soon met a group of time travellers who were eager to explain why they had chosen to come to the feudal ages. "We're all fans of fantasy and medieval times," one of them told me. "We wanted to live in a world where magic and dragons were real, and the 21st century just doesn't have that."
I was stunned. Who would have thought that the answer to my question would be so simple? It turns out that nobody wants to time travel to the 21st century because it's just not exciting enough.
As I left the feudal village and returned to my own time, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. But at least I knew the answer to my question, and that was something. And who knows, maybe one day I'll join the nerdy fantasy-loving time travellers in the feudal ages.
| 2022-12-03T05:07:27
| 2022-12-02T22:26:16
| 148
| 32
|
[WP] Your parents are ordinary people, so you thought, yesterday you and your father found your mother's old villain costume, he told you he already knew but to not tell your mother. Today you find your father's hero costume and at that moment your mother enters the room.
|
When she walked in and saw me with the costume, Mom's face flashed through a million emotion. Surprise, horror, yes. But also some softer, harder to identify emotions.
'Mom, uhhh..'
'Your father mentioned you found my old costume and might have questions. I never knew that your father had a...secret.. as well..'
'Ummm, is this bad...did you..uh.. did you fight?'
'Oh yes dear. Back in the day I was your father's, dare I say, worst arch villian. He and I went round and round for...'
She trailed off, a far away look in her eyes.
Then, to my surprise, a mischievous twinkle appeared.
'Well, he never could truly defeat me. And no prison could ever hold me. The scamp finally found a way to trap me in a way I'd never get out of...never want out of.'
She walked over and gave me a big hug.
'Put that back where you found it, dear. And don't touch your father's plate tonight. He's having meatloaf and plutonium 138-p for supper'
'Mother! Please don't kill dad!'
'Oh, I found out a long time ago it doesn't kill him. Just sticks him up something awful and throws his tastebuds out of wack for about a month. That should teach him for trapping me in this prison of love!'
She dramatically threw an arm across her forehead.
'MOM!'
I hugged her.
|
*Your mother scares me Tuchi.*
Tuchi’s mother was laughing like a maniac. “ This had to happen someday Tuchi.” It was a mixture of laughter and scream. “ God like humans loves playing games…”
*Mom, please get back into your senses. Mom, please I don’t like this.*
The laughter reverberated the room.
“ Stop, stop, STOPPPPPPP,” Tuchi dropped a vase hard into the ground.
The mom picked out a lighter to burn the costume.
Tuchi was shivering in the room. *This is not the mom I knew. Where did it go wrong? Why? Why? Why?*
Behind the huge flames of the burning costume, Tuchi heard her mom say, “ Come, Tuchi. Let me tell you something interesting, “ My dear girl”, she was saying.
The mom used her telekenisis to drag Tuchi to her body. NEAR! Breath to Breath.
There was pin drop silence as Tuchi blanked out.
“ I conned your dad to beget you, The Ultimate Child."
Tuchi couldn’t stare at her mom. She was staring into the flames. The flames that represented her burnt out aspirations.
“Tuchi, its time you chose,” The mom was bordering around the fire region with her flammable nylon clothes. “ your dad or me.”
Tuchi blurted out, “ Father….”, she said coldly. “ He knows your identity”
The mom didn’t batter an eye to the news. She was still dancing like a child around the flames.
“ That’s interesting. But I wonder if he has the balls in him to say that to the public in large”. The mom giggled, “ He always had tiny ones”
Tuchi knew what they did to betrayers. *Once a hero breaks trust, he is forever damned to the Mega Security Prison. *
“ Tuchi,” The mom spoke in Tuchi’s ears as the fire slowly darkened out leaving the room in pitch darkness. “ Your father already died….” “The day he knew who I was, he died that very day”
Tuchi thought how devasted her father must have felt when he knew. There was a song that his weary eyes sang everyday before her, a song that she understood now. There was no time. Her mom wants her to join the Rershak League. *She plans to leak her father’s scandal otherwise.* Her mom had died for her.
“ I am ready. Take me whereever you want….” Tuchi declared with half confidence, But she put her full confidence behind her next word. “ Saaraahh….”
| 2021-05-29T09:47:58
| 2021-05-29T06:45:07
| 21
| 13
|
[WP]You are on your back porch alone staring into a starry night. Able to read morse code, you notice that a star is blinking a message. "We..can..see..you.."
|
Colonel Victor Ford silently made his way to the beaten down porch of his childhood house.
He was surprised to find it still standing. It must have been a century old by now, nearly done with its lifespan. It would die with him. The old man hesitantly took a few steps outward, not trusting the wood to keep underneath him.
He was still in shock from the call.
Victor had seen it coming, the inevitable call. It still hit him by surprise. Caroline was leaving. He couldn't blame her, really, he was hardly home and when he was, his mind was occupied on other things. If she just knew what he did, she would understand why he needed to work so much.
Once Major General, Victor was demoted for his '*hysteria*' about extra-terrestrial life. They would have honorably discharged him, but a few friends in high places managed to keep him in. But even they didn't believe him.
Victor let out a short breath and walked to the edge of the porch, staring up into the dark night sky. "I know you're out there."
A particularly bright start blinked. One quick blink, a pause, a long blink, another pause, another long blink.
W.
Victor held his breath. It was probably a coincidence, but his eyes were on the lookout ever since his first contact, all those years ago. If they were communicating, Morse code would make sense, one of the earliest international communication methods.
A quick blink. E.
Victor watched as the light continued blinking. *WE CAN SEE YOU*.
He was completely still. The floorboards cracked underneath his dead weight.
"Victor." A voice from behind him. How did anyone know where he was. The house was abandoned. "Victor, what are you doing up?"
Victor turned around and looked at the voice. It was a woman. Maybe 40 years old, brunette, short, glasses. He had to tell her. "I saw them."
"Saw who, Victor?"
He pointed behind him, still watching the woman. "Up there, can you read Morse code?"
She shook her head. "I'm not a veteran, Victor, just a nurse."
He narrowed his eyes. A nurse?
He turned around and looked back up, but was met with a ceiling. A dull white paint. "Where am I?"
"Saint George." She looked sad.
"A hospital?" Victor blinked. When did he leave his house?
"In a way." She spoke softly.
"But I saw it." Victor's voice wasn't enthusiastic anymore. "I saw it."
She was silent.
"Where's my wife? I want to see my wife."
The nurse's eyes were full of pity.
"Come on Victor." She walked over and grabbed him under the arm. Victor didn't know how to react. "Let's get you to your room."
|
On a night not unlike any other, the boy sat on the porch, his adolescent body juxtaposed against the facade of his 19th century fashioned home. The stars glittered and gleamed in the the expanse of the horizon. It was approximately midnight and all the boy could hear was the enveloping melody of crickets, beetles, frogs and the other denizens of the country night. It was past his bed time but he had sneaked out of his room to enjoy the tranquility that came with the natural world. At school he was quiet and not very well liked. Not unliked, but unremarkably average.
Yet here, below a star speckled sky tapestry, he felt unique and important. He was not just Jansen, the son of Mike and Lisa, underachieving student at Jackson Middle School. He was a galactic citizen. Confined to his place here on Earth, the boy felt a longing for the vast worlds which littered the view he had of the galaxy. Here, on his porch, he felt part of the universe.
Over time, he had learned to study the stars and identify constellations. The boy liked to make up his own as well as spot the common ones. He located the North Star and began to turn his vision. As he scanned the sky he noticed a star which was especially bright. It seemed to pulse with a rhythm. Almost as if it was trying to tell him something. Using the small amount of morse code he had memorized from camp two years ago, the boy translated the apparent message from the star.
"We..can..see..you.."
The boy smiled. He knew. The star continued to blink and was quickly extinguished almost as if by the stroke of a brush. The boy then continued to scan the sky. He could see them too. While the morse code the boy had translated was nothing but a coincidence, a happy mistake, he understood that one day maybe someone,somewhere up there could see him. He didn't know what was out there or if there was anything out there for that matter and that sat well with him. Maybe he would never know. The mystery of it all was just as profound as any answer he could construct.
Edit: A word
| 2014-09-27T14:47:47
| 2014-09-27T14:22:58
| 578
| 41
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
I scanned the horizon once more, wondering when my summoned item would arrive. I also wondered if there was a chance it was a person, and that they would simply appear in the antechamber of my home, like they always do. I shuddered at the thought of another human being forced upon me under the guise of a "soulmate". I turned and sneered at the happy couple on the bench down the road that I was almost certain was one of those couples. They were so wrapped in each others arms they failed to notice me gaze. *Disgusting*.
The worst thing about The Summoning is that there was no way to predict how and when the unknown object was going to arrive. You just have to wait after you invoke the summoning, which itself you have no control of. The invocation itself is the transition from 17 to 18 years of age.
I recall with fondness the story of Herma, who found out that she could summon water, but only from a particular lake hundreds of miles away. Two months passed her by as the whole contents of the lake ripped through thousands of miles of villages and farmland before it crashed into her home, killing her and her entire family. Oh, there are generations of similar stories, some worse that Herma's. The reality, though, is that what people typically end up being able to summon is mostly harmless or people.
I saw a shadow moving in the distance. A large creature with wings was fast approaching. I knew instinctively that this was my summoned being. Waves of relief washed over me. I was happy knowing it was not going to be a person, and I returned to sneering at the couple down the road as I waited for the creature to arrive.
The creature landed on the roof of my home without a sound. It watched me from that vantage point as I glared at the couple. It took a moment for me to remove my eyes from the vile human spectacle and return my gaze to the sky only to realize that the creature was gone. I heard a low growl and turned to see a fully-grown dragon resting on my house.
I spoke aloud. "Finally, what I have summoned has arrived!" I turned to the couple, they took no notice of my gesture. Their mouths were locked onto each other. I frowned.
The dragon spoke next. *No, you fool.* Its voice reverberated in my mind. *You did not summon me as the humans do.* I felt the creature quell my confusion. *You summoned me as the dragons do.* It screeched and set me aflame.
Though it should've pained me, the flames felt warm on my body. The cobblestone beneath me melted and my shoes were reduced to cinders. I looked up at the dragon and felt myself rise with the fire. I heard my clothes tear and a shudder rippled through me. Soon, I gazed at eye level with the dragon and smiled. If she meant to kill me, she'd have to find another way.
I conveyed this information with my mind and simultaneously realized two things: that I was speaking to her with my mind and I was now aware that she was a female dragon. She cackled and the flames stopped, though my body did not fall. Looking down, I saw the scales of a dragon where my torso should be, and I stood as large as my home. The dragon turned her head so that one eye faced me. *You are the first dragon created in a thousand years.* Her eye sparkled with an internal flame. *Now, let us both remind the humans why we are the true rulers of this planet.*
I understood what she meant in an instant. I turned to the couple seated in terror on the bench, grimaced at their continued affection for one another even in this dire moment, and set them on fire. I burned them until the stone bench itself melted into the earth. I twisted to face the dragon and gave her a wicked smile. She cackled back.
|
It’s my eighteenth birthday party. My mom skateboards out of the hallway with a cake. My father has been dead for 10 years because the town bully punched him to death. We both cry over this. We eat the cake. I have no friends because I am too unique and moody for friends. I only have a pillow pet to keep me company.
My mom tells me “Son it is time for you to open your hand and wait for your soulmate to break through the window”. She pulls out her soulmate, a rubber duck. She says” Son, this rubber duck did not help me fight off your fathers attacker and I am so ashamed for it”. I hope you get something good.
Nothing came and it made me very sad. I walk around town with hand open for days. Eventually town bully who killed my Father walks up to me and says “ I am going to punch you in the head to death just like I did your father”. He starts beating me up. My mom throws her soulmate to no avail.
I almost die but then I hear something coming. I reach my hand up to the sky waiting for my soul mate. Everyone in town is terrified when they see a Boing 747 plummeting out of the sky. It lands on me and explodes, killing everyone in town. The end.
| 2019-09-18T09:27:31
| 2019-09-18T08:47:50
| 123
| 23
|
[WP] Write about the most high stakes game of "Duck, Duck, Goose" ever played.
Today I saw a goose. Thought of the game, then thought of Reddit.
|
*I wrote a song for this prompt. Lyrics below; listen/watch here: [http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA](http://youtu.be/7AhMQuGC_yA)*
**Duck, Duck, Goose**
You pass by men, men crazy for you,
quacking about what they'd like to do
if you made them your goose.
And I patiently sit, feet under my knees,
waiting for your hand to tap me.
Baby, let's be geese.
Duck, duck, goose.
Am I the one you choose?
Let me chase,
and I know I will catch...
You run in a circle, and they all chase,
but no man has won the race.
Do you see the look on my face?
I've got a hunter's quiet resolve;
I'm ready for the cork gun to go off
and touch your feathers soft.
CH
...your heart.
|
"Lieutenant Jacobs, since you never gave us that helicopter we so kindly asked for TWO hours ago we're going to play a game. With the hostages. "
A smile came across his face as he eyed the hostages, bags around their heads, sitting in a circle.
"Okay there Jack let's be cool about this, I'm working on getting the helicopter "
" Working on it?" Jack yelled into the phone, knowing full well the Lieutenant was not going to deliver.
"the Mayor is on the line with the airport. We will get you that helicopter if only you give us enough time and not do anything hasty" calm and cool, Jacobs was a veteran, a little yelling wasn't going to disrupt him.
"The Mayor! That corrupt fat fuck. If he wanted me to have a helicopter he would personally fly it out of his beach front Villa! "
Lieutenant Jacobs knew the mayor had shady contacts but that's a problem for another day. "You know he can't just do that. The bureaucracy is in the way, and you know that too"
"Another thing I know is that you're stalling"
"Time to play duck duck goose" Jack pulled the hammer back on his .50 cal magnum
"Duck"
"Don't do this jack"
"Duck"
"Duck"
"God dammit Jack, put the fucking gun down!"
"duck"
"Goose" he hesitated, maybe for a second.
Shattered glass, red all over, swat rushed in.
"Thank you Jacobs, you stalled him just long enough"
"barely" Lieutenant Jacobs took out a cigarette, lit it and walked off.
| 2015-03-23T18:52:21
| 2015-03-23T17:26:45
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed.
|
There was the sound of water, and an old dead prow washing through it, something dipping in deep and then coming unstuck, dripping back into the river. She breathed in, and the air was stagnant, as if it had just giving up and died. Something heavy hit her side of the river and slid into the mud. Eyes flickered behind eyelids, and something weighed heavy under her tongue. She swallowed and tasted blood, tasted copper. "Make the call," the Ferryman wheezed out.
She coughed and spat it up, its edges clinking against her teeth, and a single weighty coin dropped out into her palm, still wet with blood and spit. "I got the fee," she said, and thrust out her hand. "I got the fee!"
"Make the call," the Ferryman said.
"Heads," she said. "Or tails. It don't matter," and she flung the coin at him. It twisted through the air, glinting backwards at her, and landed wrong and stuck on its edge, tilted halfway in the river mud.
"As you called it," the Ferryman said, and thrust off again,
"I had the fee!" she said, and started forward, the riverside already dissolving into mist around her. "You got to goddamn take it! I had the fee!"
"Walk yourself backwards," the Ferryman said, and his voice was growing distant and dim. "You just walk yourself backwards until you want to stop, and I'll see you again when you're ready."
"I'm ready now!" she said, even as her memories unwound themselves and all her years fled from her. She dropped to her knees and breathed in the mist. "I been ready for centuries."
The Ferryman was a shadow in the distance, the sun behind closed eyes, and he raised a hand, a single coin shining bright in it. The coin she'd first been buried with. "You got to call it," he said, and flipped it into the air, and it spun and sung and hung in the middle of the sky, a scarred and silver moon. "We flipped that coin and it ain't come down yet, and I ain't going to take you till it does." There was a laugh rustling through his throat. "Heads I win, and tails you lose."
|
Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T08:02:36
| 2016-09-23T07:20:45
| 88
| 13
|
[WP] You are the only human being left after the mysterious vanishing of the worlds population. Two years later, power and internet starts running once again, you recieve a reply notification on Reddit.
|
He was diligent.
Every day, he'd wake in his small cabin, ignite the stove, fill the kettle with what little water he had left from the day before, and scoop a couple spoonfuls of coffee into his mug. He'd take a few steps out the back door and relieve himself in the yard and wince at the sun and mutter, "Thanks for still being here, friend." He'd stretch and yawn and go back inside.
And he'd check the USB connection by the front window.
A couple years ago, he had affixed a small solar charger to his roof. With a short array of cable extensions, he had run a lifeline from the charger, across the roof, and barely reached the window. Plugged in to the end was his phone. And every morning, he checked to make sure it would charge throughout the day.
Not because he expected a call.
There were no cell towers to connect to. No power to the telephone infrastructure that spidered across the planet. Not a person to talk to, even if everything still worked as it used to.
He charged his phone every day because his family was in it. A few dozen photos, all that he had left, that he'd taken days before the Event a couple years ago.
Every day, he'd check that the phone would charge. He'd sit down with his coffee and he'd squeeze himself against the window and he'd light up his phone.
Every day he'd swipe through the images and he'd smile at them and he'd cry at them and he'd talk to them and he'd curse at himself.
*Why didn't I print any of the photos over the years?* he'd repeat to himself. *Why did I reset my phone? Why didn't I take more photos? Why did I trust in the Cloud?*
The Cloud was his enemy. And so were the clouds.
Sometimes, more often than not, the clouds would shade his roof from the sun. Sometimes, more often than not, the solar charger would struggle to give him just a few minutes to pore over his phone before it and his family would die again. Sometimes, more often than not, he'd dwell on the images he could recreate in his mind and remember that he'd never see them again.
Not for real, anyway. Not his family. Not anyone, for that matter. Not since the Event.
He didn't know why it happened. He stopped caring long ago. He'd stopped wondering and pleading and shaving and bathing. He'd stopped being any sense of human long ago.
He was now just obsessed.
He'd eat one of the cans of food he stockpiled years ago. And he'd fetch water every morning after his ritual. And he'd spend the rest of the day cursing himself for not being a better person.
He'd hate himself and he'd laugh at himself and he'd berate himself. For not being a better father. For not being a better husband. For not being a better person.
He'd replay the last moments with his family. He'd remember swilling his whiskey and he'd remember its burn down his throat and he'd remember throwing the glass at his wife. He'd remember shrugging off the desperate hug from his son. He'd remember getting in the car and forgetting his seat belt and heading to the liquor store to perpetuate his dysfunction.
He'd remember the street lamps and their sick yellow glow. He'd remember the traffic lights changing color. He'd remember the headlights from the oncoming cars.
And he'd remember all the lights going out.
He'd remember the vehicles around him careening in random directions. He'd remember pulling the steering wheel in his lifeless car to avoid a collision. He'd remember putting his weight on the brake pedal without power assist. He'd remember coming to a stop and his heart pounding and his confusion and getting out of the car.
And he'd remember everything on the street being gone.
There were no lights. There were no people. There were no dogs barking in the background. There were no crickets and no frogs and no cicadas. There were no signs of life anywhere around him when he got out of the car.
There was just destruction. Cars plowed into trees and wrapped around poles and penetrating the sides of buildings.
And he'd remember not knowing what happened. And he'd remember...
*beep!*
The vision in his mind gave way to reality. *What was that?*
*beep!*
It came from his phone. His phone beeped.
His phone beeped?
*beep!*
His phone beeped!
*beep!*
He lit up his phone and saw something he'd not seen in two years. He saw something that welled his eyes with tears. He saw something that showed... life!
Here! Now! A sign of life!
*reddit
You have 1 new notification*
This couldn't be right. A notification? Was the power back on? Were there people again?! How could that be...
*beep!*
A smile painted itself on his face. He swiped the screen to view the notification.
Nothing happened.
*beep!*
He swiped again.
*beep!*
Nothing.
*beep!*
Again he tried. He had to see!
*beep!*
And then the phone died. The screen shut off. He looked at the blackness with despair.
*beep!*
What was happening?!
*beep!*
He frantically tried to power on his phone.
Nothing.
*beep!*
A wave of confusion swept over him.
And then the sun died. He was enveloped in a blackness even darker than the night of the Event.
*beep!*
What was happening?! Was he the next victim of the Event?! Where would he go? What would become of him?!
*beep!*
And then nothing.
*beep!*
"Daddy?"
*beep!*
"Honey? Can you hear me?"
*beep!*
*beep! ... beep! ... beep!*
And then a white light overwhelmed him. His eyes struggled to focus. His pupils seared from the light.
*beep!*
"Doctor!! He's awake!!"
|
There's not much to do as the last person on earth. Eventually blowing buildings up and driving around fast cars on the roads not covered with debris gets dull, the once exhilarating freedom becomes boring. Solitude is a solemn affair. Eventually humans revert to their natural state, picking up old habits as their one last connection to the world that had been.
When the grid mysteriously turned back on at first I was exalted; I couldn't be alone. Someone had to turn this stuff back on. The new found hope eventually turned to despair though as day by day my efforts to contact other survivors turned fruitless. Despite this however, I still browsed old sites, desperate for a laugh or mental entertainment. It was there where I saw it, a post under the recent file: **"Is anybody else out there!?"**
The post was short and concise: *"My name is Jennifer, I am a survivor. I live in Seattle, if you can even call it that anymore. If anyone is reading this, just know, you are not alone."*
My heart raced with an excitement that I had not felt in years. The thread was only a day old, first up in queue, and her account activity showed she had been on less than an hour ago. With my heart about to burst from a mix of anxiety and anticipation I hit the reply button.
*"My name is Mike. I am in Michigan. Are you real?"*
I stared at the screen for what felt like eternity. My canned beans, salvaged from a Kroger, began to cool. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like years. Eventually, near dusk, the familiar orange logo popped up.
*"Yes. I thought I was the only one. Interesting."*
I nearly felt out of my chair with excitement. This was not a bot, this was an actual human being. My mind filled with thoughts, thoughts of laughter, conversation, even sex since she was a girl. Christ, it had been so long. With my hands shaking, I replied back.
*"Where are you. There may be others. I have access to cars and barrels of gasoline. I can meet you somewhere. There could be others. Let me meet you. I'm a few days drive from Seattle but wait at a landmark every night with a light or something and I can come. Just give me a distinctive building or something"*
Minutes went by, despite her still appearing online. Had she stepped away from the computer? Was she just a smarter bot? Computer programs were supposedly developing AI that constantly evolved. Had I been duped? Eventually the orange letter popped again. It was time
*"Why do guys have to be so thirsty? I had a boyfriend you creep"*
M.M. (Just to prove I actually wrote this to Shannon)
| 2015-03-20T09:23:51
| 2015-03-20T08:24:27
| 150
| 43
|
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of"
|
The Priest produced a bright red, sparkly button nestled in a grey box from the sleeve of his long robe.
“Just press it and it’ll all be taken care of, like so.” He snapped his fingers, for emphasis.
“Right-o” I answered, but just as I was about to press it, I hesitated. “Waiiiiiiit a tick. Why do I have to press it?”
“Well...” He began “You ARE the Chosen One... It’s your job.”
“But it’s just a button, right?”
“Yes...” The priest left a slight drawl at the end of his sentence, as if he didn’t quite know where the conversation was heading.
“So, anyone with fingers could theoretically press it.” I paused for a moment. “Anyone with nubs, really. Hell, some poor stumpy bastard with no legs or arms could come in here and slap it with his cock. So why do I have to do it?”
“It’s...” The Priest was struggling with this. I don’t think he was used to people questioning things. It’s one of the marvels of religion, people just sort of accept what you tell them if you’re wearing the right set of robes. He even looked down to make sure he was wearing the set of robes that said “Why, yes, I am a Priest and everything I have to say is, indeed, exceedingly important”. “Look, it’s just what you’re supposed to do, what do you want from me?”
“I want you to press it!”
“I’m not supposed to!”
“Why? Because of some prophecy? Because of something some dead bloke wrote out in some piece of paper at the shit end of time? Have you ever heard stories of that place? They were goin’ around cuttin’ heads and snippin women’s clits! You really wanna follow those sorts of degenerates and perverts?”
“I...” He was quite clearly doubting himself.
I put a friendly arm around him. “Look mate, I say, fuck the prophecy and fuck whoever said it. You’ve got as much right to save the world as me. You press the button.”
The Priest eyed the button. It was rather shiny. “Surely... One press wouldn’t hurt?” He looked at me for approval. I nodded confidently and moved away slightly.
He pressed the button. Like a bolt from the blue, a bolt came out of the blue and turned him into a pile of smoldering ash, the button sitting comfortably atop the pile.
I took the button and brushed the dust off of it. In the middle of the button had appeared the words “Whoever pressed this button wasn’t the Chosen One, so they can fuck right off.”
“Well, glad I didn’t press it.” I said to myself, as I pocketed the button.
With the Priest taken care of and the button in my possession, I snapped my fingers and blew a hole in the wall of the Church, floating away to begin my conquest. It feels good to be the Dark Lord particularly when, after a hundred thousand years of defeats, you’ve finally got some proper fucking brains in your head.
|
I'm gonna be honest, I was a little disappointed. I mean, I'm no fighter or anything, much less a hero, but I don't know.....I just thought something more, well, *interesting* would happen.
Maybe I'd be given some magical armour and sword, and all kinds of crazy powers and knowledge would just be absorbed into me, then I'd kick the Dark Lord's ass and be some awesome warrior.....but, apparently all I've gotta do is click this one button. Like, no joke, that's it. Straight from the mouth of the grand Priest himself, push the button, and save the universe.
So, I pushed the button, like anyone else would....and that's it. No big explosion, or anything crazy like that. Just push the button, and the world is saved. I bet the Dark Lord is pissed, being defeated by some button......
| 2020-11-09T12:45:40
| 2020-11-09T11:06:17
| 286
| 85
|
[WP] In a parallel universe where heavy metal is a classy and exquisite form of entertainment and classical music is rebellious and edgy, a young violinist is trying to make it big and never conform to the lame norms of the society
|
This was a really bad idea.
I tried not let my fear show as I walked towards the stage, that is to say I didn't have a heart attack and pass out. *Calm down, Mark. Calm down. You can do this.*
I stopped hyperventilating and closed my eyes for a second, and took a deep breath. Everything went quiet, and the only feeling I had was the feel of my violin case on my back. And that's what comforted me. I didn't have faith in myself, my opponents, or even the tastes of the audience.
But I had faith in my violin.
Faith that classical music has the power, the *potential,* to stand up to any music, even metal.
I opened my eyes.
And just in time too as the announcer called over the cheering "....And our next contestant is a solo entry with no artist name-" there was some scatted laughing and I cringed, "-Mark!"
There was the usual cheering that accompanies all contestants going up, but it immediately quieted when they noticed the violin case. A few people laughed but I pointedly ignored them. But mostly it was silence, as if they couldn't believe someone who was lucky enough to win the lottery and get selected in the largest musical battle in the country would play *classical.*
I studiously ignored the crowd, hard as it was, and sat down on the little stool on the stage, and focused on tuning my instrument.
The announcer, wearing bright pink shorts and a green suit for God's sake, continued. "Are you ready for this folks, his opponent, chosen randomly are...The Darkest Knights!!!"
I almost broke one of my string s as the crowd erupted into wild cheers.
The Darkest Knights. I looked up at the sky and let out a slow breath. *What the hell, universe. What the hell.* I'd thought for sure that it was a sign when I'd been selected to play at the (idiotically named) Rokcon. I thought it would be my chance to expose the world to classical music, to bring it to mainstream. I'd hoped to make it up a couple of rounds, not win, but do well at least. I didn't want the glory, just the world to see the beauty of classical.
Clearly the universe had other ideas. Apparently I was here to make a fool out of myself.
The Darkest Knights were this new rising band, and they were favorites to win the competition.Don't get me wrong, I had faith in my music, but these guys were supposedly the next Avenged Eightfold.
Even I watched to stare as they came out of their side of the stage. Three of them, all dressed in black. Black boots, jackets, pants. Their faces were covered in what looked like sharpie marker to me. They also, I realized with a start, had metal shoulder pads, and as two of them took out their inferior violins, or guitars, whatever, I noted they were in the shape of *swords.*
It took all my composure to not burst out laughing.
The announcer waited for a minute before the cheers died down. "Alright folks you know the rules. One band plays and then the other. Positions decided by coin-flip." He began to take out the coin in his pocket when one of the Knights put his hand on the announcer's shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
I was behind the announcer so I couldn't see his face, but I was sure he was grinning as he spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen! The Knights, in a unprecedented show of sportsmanship will take first spot!."
I scowled. It was widely known that whoever played second had an edge in these duels as the music was more fresh in the audience's heads. This wasn't sportsmanship, it was an insult. That they had no need for any sort of advantage. Even as I looked at them, one of them winked at me with a ghost of a smile. My mouth went dry and I looked down, focusing on my violin.
They began to play, something with screaming and riffs and all that, and I grew nervous again. I was just going to embarrass myself, these guys would show me up and laugh at me. The entire country would know me as they guy wh-
"Thank you!" Roared the announcer as the song ended. "Mark-" again a few people laughed and I blushed, "whenever you're ready."
I closed my eyes and got into the position I'd been in a million times. The crowd faded away, as did the stage and the announcer and the emotions. I opened my eyes but I saw nothing, my ears were open but they were deaf.
I played.
Notes soared through the air, there were no words. But still there was sorrow, there was joy, there was fun, there was death, and there was life.
There were no words, but there was *music.*
I didn't know how much time passed. When I stopped playing I was surprised. It was over? Already? And it was at that point the world came rushing back...
And nothing. No one from the crowd said a word, no laughs, no cheers, not a single clap. I began to get up, intending to walk off stage before I could embarrass myself further.
And that's when the applause came.
***
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting)
|
"We don't have good reason to remove her," Mrs. Malloy sighed for the third time that week. She'd spent a lot of time up to bat for me lately. Mr. Hersch was the third teacher to speak up about my inclusion in the talent show, and he wasn't going to be the last. There was a month before the event, and it'd been three days since I'd jumped on the roster as Rae Lee, Violinist.
"We can't just let her get up there and perform," Mr. Hersch, "this is a catholic school and we need to have standards-"
"Rae is an exemplary student," Mrs. Mallory protested as she eyed me from over the desk. I knew how much grief I was causing her, and my proper tie wasn't helping.
"Yes she is." Mr. Hersch relented, he'd had me last year for bio, "but it's a matter of principle," he insisted. "First we're going to let her get up there with a violin and next think you know the boys will be traipsing into school with harps.
Well jeez, if Mr. Hersch was arguing against me he didn't need to bring up my fantasies while he was doing it. "I'm not dropping out," I said, "violin is a talent."
"Yes it is," Mr. Hersch groaned, "but would it kill you to put that talent towards a proper instrument? Like a guitar or a base?"
"I like violin," I pointed out. I'd told my parents that years ago and they'd cringed, my grandmother had scolded my mom for letting me save up my money and buy something so- so classical. I'd been the centre of a dozen arguments at home, but the fact that I'd found a passion. It was just that my parents quietly wished that I'd found something a little less.. clam.
"There won't be a single sick riff in her performance," Mr. Hersch pointed out, he was sweating now. Everyone knew that arguing against Mrs. Mallory was a losing battle, and he was starting to question his footing.
"No," Mrs. Mallory started, "there probably-"
"Definitely," I corrected. That got a glare from both sides of the argument.
"won't be any sick riffs," she admitted that like she was telling Mr. Hersch that his wife had cancer. "But she has the right to perform as a student of th-"
"I get it," Mr. Hersch pushed himself off of Mrs. Mallory's desk and smoothed his blonde hair back. "I just don't agree and I had to speak up about it before the students decided to do something."
"The students aren't going to do anything," Mrs. Mallory said, "but thank you for your concern, Marcus," Mrs. Mallory turned to me, "Rae you might want to get back to class now."
I nodded, just appreciative of the reason for excuse myself from the mess I'd put myself in. I wanted to be in the talent show, I really did, but I might have been taking it too far. Nobody chided me about keeping my uniforms messy as possible, or how much I talked Beethoven. Everything I did was just appearances that I made up for with my performance in class. Playing the violin? Well, that was social suicide amongst the teachers.
The students on the other hand, well they at least enjoyed my bravado. It wasn't 'cool' to bring up Violin in front of a teacher, but out on the steps with a cigarette between my teeth everyone awed at my talent. They knew that I wasn't going anywhere with this, I'd never be picked up for a Rockin' Riffs Concert tour. I'd never join the Toronto Metal Orchestra. I was just going to be someone who played violin, and that was twice as rebellious as smoking.
Of course, that was what they thought. There were violinists out there, there were pianists, there were tumpet players and even some people who rocked the French horn. Sure, back in the day you needed a password and a ticket to see them preform, but these days you could jump on the internet and see anyone.
Ya know, as long as you deleted your seached history after you did it.
"Rae!" Taylor called from behind me, she had thrid period off. "How'd it go?" she asked as she caught up, almost bumping into the violin case over my shoulder.
"Fine," I said, "Mal's being chill about it."
"I knew she'd work for you," Taylor said, "I told you so!" she hadn't.
"Yeah," I said, "and at least it's not going to be too much of an issue with her on m-"
"Rae Lee, please report to the office. Rae Lee please report to the office,"' the secretary said over the intercom. She had to be getting tired of my name at this point.
"Luck," Taylor shurgged before scultting her preppy self down the hallway.
"Thanks," I sighed before turning around and getting into another argument.
| 2017-03-06T13:47:44
| 2017-03-06T13:41:02
| 183
| 20
|
[WP] You notice a pattern, anytime your child is recorded they inevitably look directly at the camera and say one word seemingly random word. You begin to listen to the videos from first to last, as you finish the last one your child walks in and makes eye contact. "today."
|
**My(37M) wife(34F) has been looking through videos and has found that our son (7) only speaks one word in each video. The words in order of the videos seem to make a sentence. She thinks our son is trying to tell us something. Like a warning. Help!**
My wife has been all over this Facebook thing. Recently she has be insistent that we delete all of our data on Facebook and transfer it to a Zip drive via email. She has been going through the videos and pictures doing a delete and keep. She has finished up all of the pics and has moved on to the videos. The thing is our son’s videos seem to be different than the rest and only for the past few months. For instance up until about two months ago he would talk like every other kid his age now he only speaks one word while looking at the camera. Then he runs away or he starts playing again.
My wife being the best woman in the world has gone through them and seems to be going crazy. She thinks he is trying to tell us something. She has decided to write down every word from every video he is in when the one word videos started.
So far she has the words: *mom, and, dad, you, need, to, listen, to, me, we, are, all, in, grave, danger, they, are, coming, for, us, they, are, coming*
My wife thinks honestly that he is telling us or warning us of something. I don’t know what to believe. Is he a warning us or have we just caught him mid sentence or we didn’t catch the entire conversation.
The part about my wife that is also troubling is, she has taken this to heart. She actually thinks he is warning us and has began to be a little paranoid. She has spent countless hours and days looking at the videos and rewatching them. She has been on detective mode. It is putting a strain on our relationship. When it could be something else. It’s getting pretty bad.
So fellow redditors what do I do? Do I take this as a ominous warning or do I get my wife help? I think my wife is going crazy.
TL;DR: wife has been going through videos from Facebook and has found videos of our son saying just one word. She has put the words in order and it seems to come out as a sentence. It’s straining our marriage. Is my wife going crazy.
Edit: thanks for all the comments. I am going to talk to her and get her away from the videos. Maybe a nice date and take the kids to the park.
Edit 2: Date went nice. I was able to convince her to stop with the videos and that it could really be anything.
Edit 3: while at the park we were videoing the kids our son came up and said *today* to the camera and ran way. What does that even mean? Now my wife is freaking out and pulled out the list of words from her purse. She has given me the new sentence. She is crying.
New sentence: *mom, and, dad, you, need, to, listen, to, me, we, are, all, in, grave, danger, they, are, coming, for, us, they, are, coming, today*
What am I going to do? She thinks this means people are coming for us today.
Edit 4: several men have pulled up to the house in white vans.
I’ll keep you updated if anything happens.
|
It really started to freak me out when little Ella started the habit, at first, I told myself it was just the odd babbling of a baby. That was until I recorded her walking and caught several of the words in separate videos.
I strung them together to get, “on black wings.”
I sit here now trying to string them together, frustrated I hit my kitchen table. It is obviously a message but I must have erased some of the videos there are pieces missing.
“April 2018, Will begin the, No will be left, come on black wings.”
I heard the little pitter patter of tiny feet and look toward the door. Ella in it standing there staring at me. After what I had just watched I half expected her eyes to roll back into her head.
“Today, now,” the words broke our silent staring contest.
She ran off giggling not giving me a second look. Thunder sounded, shaking me and the windows. The kitchen darkened as a cloud moved across the sun. I realized it must be getting ready to storm as the room continued to darken. I got up to walk kitchen screen door that leads out to the backyard. It swung open small spring squeaking as it strained to pull the door closed.
I looked toward the sun. I couldn’t believe my eyes, a large structure shaded us from the sun. I glanced around to see other like structures had erupted from the ground. The buzzing started then, black dots began to fall from the top of the massive towers. As more flew out the buzzing increased. The sky was soon covered in a black shadow of these flying things.
I ran back inside, finding Ella, “What is happening?”
She gave me smile and a blank stare.
I softly shook her, “Ella, do you know what is happening?”
Again, just the stare. I got up and went to the window to look back up at the sky. The black things were descending on the neighborhood
“It’s ok momma, they are here to save us.”
| 2018-04-15T09:50:27
| 2018-04-15T08:15:07
| 1,181
| 104
|
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty.
|
"Hey!" The hairy biped barked across the dining hall. "Put. Him. Down."
The Jzakish stopped gnawing on the cook for a split second and turned to the human. Our planets history is a litany of blood written by the forepaws and teeth of this gigantic ... Monstrosity. How, the fuck this primitive had the power command a beast the size of a troop carrier, let alone befriend it, blew the skulls of everyone on board.
"Tsss! KITTY!" It barked again. The Jzarkish twitched it's tail agressivley.
It lowered down, the cooks leg still bleeding its teeth.
"Don't make me do it..." The biped warned as it reached into his pack.
The beast let out a mighty roar, which shook the hall and threw trays every which way.
The biped, seemingly immune to it's attacks, slowly walked forward until it was practically face to face with it.
"Drop it." He said with all the authority of my old Platoon Sergeant.
The beast growled once more as the biped produced a small tool from it's pack and pointed at it's nose.
"You sure?"
The beast chewed slightly in response.
"Okay" with that, the biped fired something at the beasts nose, and it recoiled in apparent terror, dropping our poor cook to the deck.
A weapon! Of course. But Jzarkish can shrug off tank shells like nothing. What inconceivable power does this biped hold in his hand?
"Neither of us like this squirt gun, but you're being a pain in this ass." He said as he rubbed the beats head.
Now go back to your pen, and I'll bring you some lunch.
|
„Here kitty, kitty, kitty...“ said the human while being in the cargo bay. I never understood that creature, but I’m still fairly new to this crew. But that human is still a mystery to me. However, the captain ordered us to get some of the cargo we need to ship. As I grabbed the inside of the crate, something damaged my skin really bad and a loud „hiss“ appeared. Shocked, I let go what I held and took a step back. That beast again, tried to kill me. But the human ran to me and grabbed with his hands inside the box. „Stay back whit that creature from death!“ i screamed. That predator still tried to attack the human with its hissing sound and claws sharper than anything I saw in my live. „What’s your problem?“ he than asked „ it’s a beautiful cute little kitty“. I said then „ stay here with that devils beast while I bring the loot, I mean the goods to the captain“
| 2019-11-21T08:21:02
| 2019-11-21T06:21:21
| 72
| 21
|
[WP] You are a demoness that fell in love with a female paladin, however when her order discovered her affair she was murdered. Now, despite how her arms and armor burn you, you set out to continue her work.
|
Fire.
Ashelma had always dealt in Fire.
From the ashes of her birth in the heart of Mont S'Elanie, to the towering Fireballs she cast as Lady of the Red Waste, Ashelma knew Fire well.
She was molded by it. She was built by it. She weaved it through spells and chants to throw others onto it. Fire defined her. She knew it as a mother, a sister, a tool and a weapon.
But until Clara, she has never known it as love.
When the battered Paladin staggered into her lair all those years ago, she'd thought she'd seen every Fire. But even as she laughed and raised her hands to summon forth her magic... she saw something far brighter than anything she could conjure glowing inside Clara.
Determination. Righteousness. A promise that she would never give in, never give up. Never surrender. It was a Fire brighter and more furious than Ashelma had ever seen.
A Fire that nearly consumed her.
She was so enraptured by Clara's Fire, she forgot her own. What would have been a simple evisceration before had turned into a struggle for survival as the Demoness twisted and turned to avoid the Paladin's stinging blade. For the first time, Ashelma felt... fear. Right, fear. Fear that perhaps this Fire burned too bright even for her.
It didn't of course.
When Clara came first came too in her cell, the Fire flared up. When Ashelma tried to speak to her, it flared even brighter. The Demoness knew there was no point trying to corrupt the Paladin. Her Fire was too bright. Anything she might do might run the risk of extinguishing it. And that... that just wouldn't do.
It took a week for her to stop trying to kill her. A month for her to walk the castle grounds without attempting to escape.
A year for her to find the same love for Ashelma that the Demoness had harboured for her.
It was a long road. A hard road. Ashelma was burnt by the Paladin's Fire more than once. But when she woke up in the morning and saw Clara's sleeping face next to her... well, it was worth it.
She didn't approve of Clara's decision to return back to the Order to explain herself. How could she? But even so much as she hated it, Clara's mind was set. She knew better by now than to try to douse the Fire in her lover's heart.
It was the last she ever saw of her.
A letter arrived, a week later.
A notice of execution, sealed with the Order's stamp.
She knew what it would say before she opened it.
That her Fire, her love, her everything...
She had been extinguished.
For the first time in a thousand years, Ashelma felt tears flow down her face. Not blood, nor Fire. Tears, of her broken heart.
And through her tears, she could only see one word at the bottom of the letter.
'Sodomy'
The casus belli. The reason for her death. The fancy words for a heartless act.
'Sodomy'
Not heresy. Not even treason. It wasn't for her being captured, or even risking to love a Demon.
'Sodomy'
It was for loving a woman. For loving her.
'Sodomy'
For being the brightest fire she had ever seen.
...
So yes, the armour burned. So yes, her heart ached and her eyes watered. So yes, she suffered under the weight of Clara's fallen love.
It was the only way to get inside the Order.
The only way to breach their sanctum.
The only way to burn it all to the ground.
And even as she screamed in rage and let loose her power. Even as she fell to her knees as a hundred Paladins were incinerated around her. Even as the Order died in a fire that seemed to light the horizon ablaze.
None of it burned half as bright as Clara had.
|
The platebody stings me. Even through the heavy linens and canvas under-layers that once smelled of her, and still do if I pretend well enough, I can feel the bite of the steel and the symbol upon it. The sword she once carried burns at my side, and chars my hand when I wield it; The symbol on the hilt, same as on the armor, wounds me just as well as the blade would. The symbol I wear around my neck, as she had once worn it, rests between my breasts, and my heart aches.
"They're signs of love," she had told me softly, once. "And of the care and justice I wield when I carry them."
I hadn't believed her, then. Or, I had. But I'd mocked the notion. Never to her face, of course. How could I? For in her eyes I saw a world I wasn't ever supposed to know. A world that was supposed to be beyond my understanding.
I was born wretched, formed wretched, and I was made to do wretched things. I had done them, and once, I had found great satisfaction in them.
But she had cradled me, none the less. She had put the symbol and its chain that otherwise rested always round her neck far from me when we laid together, and even though the iron in her blood still dazed me, her love was worth it. As I ponder it, even the memory of her love is worth far more, now. For she showed me how to be more than I was, to shed the chains I had been formed into.
'Redemption,' she had spoken, 'is never off limits. Grace is limitless, and it's never too late to turn from wickedness.'
I buried her on the first day of winter.
The iron in the shovel tore at my hands, and even as my blood welled in the rashes and fell onto the fresh snow, I still waited for her to open her eyes. As I carried her into the grave, I still waited for her to breathe. Even as I smoothed the ground above her, I still waited for her to approach from behind, and ask why her plate, and sword, and symbol were left in the snow. I couldn't leave them there. So I had put them on. The pain was incredible, and for a few brief, precious minutes, the surging, welling, unstoppable agony was a comfort against the breaking of my heart.
That was a year ago. The pain has never gone away.
But I have grown beyond it. Or so I tell myself. I walk now as she once had. Wandering, place to place. Trying to deal out the love, and care, and justice that she once had. I must not be doing it right. Or perhaps I am simply not meant to be doing it.
But as I hear a shriek from further down the road I cannot help but move myself as she once moved. I break into a sprint, every motion aching and burning against the steel and sword and symbol that I'm not supposed to carry.
There is a woman there, huddled on the ground, a writhing mass of blood and flesh cradled against her breast. A hound lays near, splayed open, now just a corpse. Over her is a wicked form, a being of pain and anguish. A thing I had once been, and perhaps always will be. It laughs, and cherishes the hurt it has caused and knows it will cause further. It cannot hear my steps, or the shattering of the steel plate I wear, or the unsheathing of the blade she used to carry. Not over its own vile laughter. But as it reaches for the woman it does hear me.
"You shall not!" My voice is rough, a shriek, and I realize there is desperation there as I crash into the demon with nary even a swing of the blade. I take it to the ground, and the metal I wear sears its flesh. It is not used to the pain. It howls, and shrieks back at me, clawing at my helm, and howls again when the blessed steel char its wicked talons. Her sword rises, and my knee is on its chest. It eyes the blade, and its slit pupils go wide as I bury her sword to the hilt. Its body turns to ash, but even as the breeze blows it away I turn to the woman.
"Please," she begs, a shaking, wet mess of blood and tears. She extends her arms towards me, and I pull back the clothed bundle there to see a child. Young. Barely enough to walk. "Please save my girl."
I take the child from her, and I do not wince against the iron-sting of her blood. I reach for the symbol around my neck, but it sits low beneath my collar, and burns my heart. I rip away the leather straps of my helm, and ignore the shocked eyes of the woman as she sees me for what I am. I pull my chest-plate away from my breast and bring out the symbol she once wore.
Moving quickly, but correctly, as I had often seen her do, I lay the child upon the ground. I take the symbol and its metal chain, and wrap it tight around my hand. I lay it upon the child's chest, desperately trying to ignore that I can see her beating heart through the wound.
There had been a light when she had done this. But there is no light now.
The heart slows.
"I ask you-" I start, but my throat tightens, and I cannot finish the prayer. I had memorized the words, so why couldn't I speak them? Was I never to use them? I try to blink away the tears forming in my eyes. "I ask-" I say, again choking on the words as the chain begins to dig, and burn, and carve into my hand.
The heart stops.
A scream escapes me, a broken sound I cannot hold back. "Let me say the words!" I wail, clenching her symbol tighter as I close my eyes towards the sky. "Please! I don't care that it hurts, just let me do this!"
And for a moment, there is silence. A long, infinite moment, broken by a flash of light, a mother's gasp, and the feeling of a heart beat against my fingers.
The wound is closed.
The symbol doesn't hurt.
| 2022-08-18T02:38:10
| 2022-08-18T00:54:52
| 175
| 125
|
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day.
|
James was waiting just outside the door - the door to his future.
It all started, years ago, when he began working for an incumbent Senator from New York - trying to keep his position despite the massive swelling of support for the Republican opposition. He did simple things - phone calls, passing out fliers, until one day, everything changed. Jessie Valdero - the Senator he was working for - was arrested on charges of negligent manslaughter after running over three children while driving drunk. Small crimes could be pushed to the side, but the rage the community felt about this forced the D.A.'s hand, and Valdero was tried and sentenced within a week. The group was without a leader - who would stand up as their representative.
So he did.
He took the position - it took him half a month to get all the paperwork done, but he did it. Now running for Senator, he had to take the lead and organize his supporters. He did okay - the Republican candidate even recognized the hard effort he put forward, in his victory speech.
But losing this once didn't diminish his dreams. No. He now knew what he was meant to do. So he tried, again, four years later. He won.
His induction into the Senate was normal, until night came. He was dragged, screaming, from his office. He was eventually knocked out, and awoke bound to a chair. Men emerged from the shadows, all dressed as donkeys. They said some chanting, then removed their masks and congratulated him on now being a Senator. He'd expected something like this from frat boys, not politicians, then it was explained.
"In 1985," one man stated, stepping forward. "We realized that without the ability to lie often, we would not be able to beat out the Republican opposition - they were too honest, after Abe set a high bar they all had to pass." James nodded. "So we summoned the Devil and made a pact - so long we repeat this ceremony for each new Democratic politician, he will provide us with unlimited lies."
And so began his career as a politician.
And now, years later, here he was. He refused to test the theory of his fellow Democrats, he wanted to save his lies if he could.
He did.
And so now, came the time to use them.
His running mate came up behind him. "So, gonna still hold up your end of the bargain and tear down that wall the Republicans build between us and Mexico?"
He smiled. "Of course!"
One down.
The second came when he assured his wife that, yes, he still loved her and didn't use her for the political connections.
The third came when he said he was willing to work towards ending the wars in the Middle East - they'd been going on for fifty years now, why stop now?
And the fourth...
"Do you solemnly swear to protect, defend, and uphold the Constitution of the United States of America?"
"I do."
Four.
|
"Your last mandate saw town debt increase by 15%. Are you REALLY going to halve it like your campaign says if you are elected this time ?"
*Crap, this guy is tough. I'm not gonna last the whole debate at this rate...*
Article 14th of the constitution of our nation ensured our right to keep the three lies. But lying was usually done by not answering the question, which in itself is a great indicator that you would have lied by giving the expected answer. So most people choose to not answer to most of the questions you get in everyday life, to avoid accidental lies or to blur lie-related non answers.
But politicians were the most affected. A debate would be useless without answering, and politicians would not be successful without lies. So they hired people to spoke lies for themselves at debates, the *spokepersons*. With a huge student debt, all my three lies still unused, I was hired by mayor candidate Jack Harrolds.
They pay you for every minute of speaking. I was confident I would be able to dodge some questions and last one or two debates. But they don't want you to interpret their answer, they just want a mouth to tell lies. We are expendable mouths.
And there is the answer of Mr Harrolds. "The increase was entirely due to the economical crisis. We're gonna halve it by selling some state unused land, cutting public expenses by 30%, and a winning a partnership with Cloudnet corp that wants to install a new datacenter and will greatly improve our town economy !".
If I say that, I'm sure my last lie will be consumed. Maybe some spokepersons can say lies about stuff they ignore. But I heard Mr Harrolds speaking in a corridor yesterday. It will not be enough. Cloudnet will give him a bribe to get tax reductions, and only create a few jobs. He doesn't care to fail the next election because he will get an administrative job at Cloudnet if he is successful this time.
He gives me a tough glare, having noticed my hesitation. They are rumors about spokepersons who betrayed their candidate. It did not ended well for them. I cannot go back now. Think of the money. There goes my third lie...
"The increase was...."
| 2014-11-15T10:17:36
| 2014-11-15T10:16:53
| 47
| 27
|
[WP] One day, in an industrial accident, fire is found to have a new use. One we would have never expected.
|
Farming became an industry sometime in the twentieth century, chickens grown on conveyor belts were 20% fatter. Contrary to the commercial belief, happy cows do not produce better milk, cows milked by robots borrowed from the auto industry made 6% more milk and the milk was 2.5% better according to numerous focus groups conducted by the American Dairy Industrial Council (ADIC).
The manager looked out across an acre of metal cages. Clucking and feathers filled the air, and tiny machines collected sixty-five eggs and hour. It had cost him a pretty penny, but the increase in output was worth it. Thousands of eggs flowed down the lines into the collectors that sorted them by size before they passed to quality control.
He smiled and returned to his office and closed the door, so he could watch TV without the constant clucking and metallic whirring. If his door had been open, he might have heard the mechanical clank from row 15, he may have seen the smoke rising or heard the alarms that signaled a failure of the automated sprinkler system. All he heard was canned laugh tracks and bad jokes of sitcom reruns.
The fire spread quickly, the warehouse was dry and full of very flammable cage liners. Thousands of chickens screamed to no avail, in a dark office in the corner of the factory, the manager flung open his door and succumbed to smoke inhalation, collapsing before he could even take ten steps.
Thousands of eggs boiled in their shells as the inferno consumed the entire factory. But out of the thousands of eggs, one survived, it did more than survive, it thrived. About three quarters of the way down row 22, an egg, sitting on the blistering hot metalwork that had once been the pinnacle of egg-farming technology glowed. The metal blacked around it and flames licked its surface clean, and the egg glowed. After a few hours the fire started to die down. The coals of the building still glowed and hissed and spit in the early winter rain, and missed under all the blackened shrapnel the eggs glow slowly faded, and it moved.
The egg wiggled, a slight tapping could be heard and then a tiny beak poked through. The beak chipped away at the shell bit by bit and a wisp of smoke escaped from the slowly expanding hole. There was a sucking of air as the shells inhabitant took its first breath. The inrush of air seemed impossible and then in a burst of flame, the shell exploded. A chicken, almost full grown stood where egg had been. It was chicken, but not quite, it was more like a fire sculpture of a chicken. It looked up at the sun opened its beak and peeped. It was the peep of a chick. The fiery chicken pecked around the burned out building, eating glowing coal and growing larger by the second. An hour later, a fiery chicken the size of a horse roamed the ruins, flames erupted where it stepped and its peeps had grown into fire breathing rooster calls. From the cremated remains of a thousand chickens and a thousand eggs a phoenix-chicken had been born.
|
Screams of pleasure and acid
Wash over the little children
Leaving nothing but bones
.
Shattered fingernails and teeth
Rip my eyes from me
And give them to the poor
.
"It's okay, Ma'am"
Brilliant darkness is unpure
Licking at my toes
.
Orange agony fills them
But pain is not present
Fire cleanses the soul
.
| 2015-03-25T11:10:09
| 2015-03-25T10:15:32
| 86
| 16
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
At that moment, I was happy. I bring my pricked finger to my supple lips, and my tongue caresses the wound with warm tenderness.
Sweet. Like a strawberry lollipop.
It started off as one good deed a day. Picking up trash, volunteering at the senior home, removing hate graffiti, giving some water to construction workers. Mundane tasks.
*"Thank you for picking up garbage Sara. I want to be good like you when I grow up!"*
*"Here again at the senior home? Someone like you should be enjoying their youth and leave old bags like us to our devices! ....But I do appreciate the sentiment."*
*"I see you've been the one helping me get rid of these garbage nazi symbols. What say we make some wholesome graffiti art together one day?*
*"Thanks again for the water Sara! We really appreciate it! Couldn't do our work without ya."*
I wouldn't get complimented every time though. Only when someone notices. That moment when all the hard work you've done is recognized, after countless hours, days, weeks, months, years... The buildup to that climactic "Thank You" is pure ecstasy.
Soon, it wasn't enough. I had to do more. Help more people. So I started helping out at the local hospital. I went to college and became a registered nurse. I double majored in writing, wrote children's books, and held free read aloud sessions at my local library. I adopted a child, two stray dogs, and a cat.
All of it just to witness their smiling faces as their words of praise and gratitude flow out like Mozart. Like a warm blanket tucked tightly around me, outlining the contours of my body.
This is who I am. This blood is the symbol of my lust, and I'll brew it until it turns to ruby.
|
i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:18:07
| 2018-08-04T09:55:07
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] An immortal is experiencing the heat death of the universe, when he can hear the sounds of confetti, and blasting music. The music stops with a record scratch, and a bewildered voice can be heard saying: "Wait...one's still here?"
|
There he stood, alone in the void. Distant in the nether the last star flickered. Cain closed his eyes, welcoming the embrace of entropy in all of existence. Darkness swallowed and the universe came to a halt, all atoms staying still, all matter and energy ceasing the infinite ballet of changing states. Each and every quark collapsing to a final state. All, but his consciousness, stood still. And, as if holding it's breath for one last time, the universe ceased to be.
He felt his body reach something, no longer floating in nothingness. He opened his antediluvian eyes and noticed that his body stood in two feet. A door was a few meters from him, music played on the other side, people cheered and light leaked from it's borders.
He walked, unsure of where or in what his feet stood. One step after the other the door drew closer. When his right hand reached for the door knob, electricity flew through his body, it did not hurt him, but it awoke his eon old muscles. He turned the door knob and pulled it open. Light blasted from the door, as if a explosion of sound, light, and warmth poured from inside that small room.
He covered his eyes from the light and little by little the voices started to die down, a scratch stopped the music and silence now reigned. Cain uncovered his eyes and looked confused to a room full of silhouettes. They seemed human like, but he could not define what or who they were, his eyes hurt when he looked at them.
"Oh crap! This again?!" A blue silhouette spoke.
"Hey isn't that the same guy from last time?" A white one laid on a green sofa, a beer bottle in one of his hands. "Crap, did it leak out?" With a jump he moved towards the door and shoved Cain aside, looking outside to the nether. "Dammit Bob, why do we even have this door in the first place?"
A green silhouette pushed through the crowd and jumped on his feet when he looked at Cain and the open door. "What in creation?! This guy again? Shouldn't Sally have fixed this bug already?" He typed something in his wrist, with each hit of his fingers light pulsed through his body. "Have we lost any data?"
A black silhouette approached, a triangle of all colors shone over her head. "Ok boys, we will have to start again. We lost all data. Again. I'm making this bug priority one. Party is over, let's get back to work."
The other beings mumbled and walked through another door, getting outside of Cain's sight. He tried to mutter anything, but... what sense could he make of all this? What was happening?
The black one became of all colors now, the triangle turned into a single eye, which looked at Cain. "Well, we can't have the simulation without you, can we? Off you go." She pushed him towards the door, he instinctively tried to hold on the sides but it was for no avail. He fell, the floor now gone.
The universe around him simmered with color and movement. One by one new explosions happened and, all at once, life and movement returned. He then remembered with a soundless "oh!" that this wasn't the first time he saw this and, after millennia, Cain smiled, and closed his eyes.
He cried. A woman held his small head in her hands and smiled. He heard her uther. "I'll call you Cain, son of Adam."
|
As he stood wincing, he looked out over the vast plain of space and time. Billions of light years of matter and energy begin hurling themselves inwards. The immortal looked out. Where, once there was an infinite sea of stars, now is a rapid influx of heavenly bodies and dust. His pain intensified. Yet, he couldn't help but admire the beauty of the destruction. The entire cosmos seemed to be converging into one giant mass. Gas, dust, rock, and sun all packed into an increasingly cramped space. At the center of it all, was a singular point of bright light.
The light, already brilliant and intense and more so than anything in sight, only got brighter with the consumption of each celestial mass. Both the light and his pain were unrelenting. The pain seemed to match the ingestion of stars. Despite the onslaught of stars and matter, the point of light appeared to be shrinking. A vortex of matter swirled around the light. As stars and planets got closer to the vortex, they were ripped apart. Stripped down to atoms, all succumbed to the Vortex and were eventually swallowed by the light.
The immortal could only watch as the light consumed everything that came near. The radiation of light intensified, but still decreased in size. Everything began to get smaller. Then, a crack of sound propagated through dust and outward in every direction as if an explosion occurred. The immortal looked in and saw no change to the light, no change to the vortex, and no change to the galaxies drawing ever nearer. The sound was as incredible as the light. However, the sound, light and pain grew together. Stuck in space and time, the immortal could not escape what was happening before him.
Where there was once a vast ocean of galaxies and an infinite horizon, the immortal could now see a wall of light followed by darkness. Pain, light and sound consumed all of his senses. The rush of matter blurred with the speed at which it was attracted to the light. Yet, smaller all things got. Until, there was no more to consume. All things known in the universe began its death spiral in the vortex, before yielding to the light. Then, all sound ceased. There was only light. And pain.
Guided by notion, the immortal took the light into his hand. Its glow felt warm and seemed to ease the pain. As the pain subsided, the immortal felt the vast emptiness that surrounded him. Soon, the pain stopped. The immortal looked into the light, its warmth fading as did its radiance. A calm fell over the immortal. No more pain, no more light. The vacuum of darkness washed over him.
The long tone of the electrocardiograph pierced the silence in the hospital room. Mark's wife and children began sobbing quietly. The flatline let them know his fight with cancer was over. His daughter cried and held on to her mother. "He's in a better place now."
| 2017-05-03T08:13:31
| 2017-05-03T06:31:42
| 38
| 16
|
[WP] You're a supergenius-level robotics expert. Your neighbor is a godlike magician. You use your abilities solely to prank each other.
|
Alright, I've had it up to here with him. Our families have never been on best terms, but once the prank war began, the hostile words between our fathers settled down before they both passed. At least, we carry on their old tradition.
Just recently though, the dangers of our pranks became real. He almost used his phone I jury-rigged into a tazor in the tub. He decided to turn my dog into a lion in the middle of walking him. He put the stuff in my house on my ceiling, and getting my bed down nearly crushed me. I turned his entire house into a magnet and a couple of cars might have smashed through his house, almost doing the same to him.
I tell myself if I can catch him in the act, I can at least sidestep some of the things he does, but I never do. My pranks take weeks to pull off, his takes minutes! I, to this day, cannot quite put together how he does it. I hate to admit this, but Timmy Turner is by far the best magician I've ever had the dishonor of working with.
...but no one messes with a Dinkleburg and gets away with it.
|
“Damn you, Great Magico,” I screamed. I shook my fist at him from the kitchen window.
Great Magico laughed at me from his driveway. He twirled his mustache and flourished his cape. “Technology will never overcome magic.”
I pointed at Great Magico. “Get him, AnnoyBots,” I screamed.
Great Magico stood there. He cleared his throat and looked around. “Is it invisible?” he said.
I laughed.
“Visibilus,” yelled Great Magico. He pointed in one direction. “Visibilus.” He pointed in another direction. “Visibilus.” He pointed in a third direction.
I laughed like a madman. A super villain would have been envious of my maniacal cackle.
Great Magico stood up straight and looked around again. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot. “Come on, Techno Lord. What’s going on here?”
“You’ll never see it coming, Great Magico. It’s my greatest creation yet!”
“I know it’s not invisible.” He stalked towards our lot line. “Is it behind this hedge?” Great Magico jumped around the end and saw nothing. “Nope.”
“You’re getting warmer, Great Magico. In fact, you might say you’re boiling,” I said.
Great Magico checked his watch. “Listen. I have to go. It’s almost 8:00. I’ve got to get to work. Magic doesn’t pay the bills if I don’t want to be homeless.” He disappeared in a puff of smoke and sparks.
I scratched my head. Great Magico should have been itching and scratching like a crazy person. His skin should have been turning bright red from irritation. Hives should have broken out all over his face. Why hadn’t my nanobots done their job?
I stomped over to their container. The power meter beeped red at me. I slapped my forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I had forgotten to charge the Annoybots. Magic couldn’t be defeated if the technology wasn’t charged. I shook my fist at my own forgetfulness. “Damn you, forgetfulness,” I yelled out the window. “I will destroy you.”
| 2015-02-18T20:52:55
| 2015-02-18T20:07:00
| 59
| 38
|
[WP] We contact alien life and find that the vast majority of aliens exist in a slower time frame. Humans are perceived as extremely agile, mentally quick, and have very short lives.
|
Humanity's name will live forever in the pages of galactic history. Not any one individual, of course, their lives are too short to have a meaningful impact. No, they have given the Federation the greatest cultural gift in memory. A ballet of sticks and balls that takes place in almost no time. When we first contacted them they tried to introduce us to their various 'football's. They reflected the humans well, quick, chaotic and impossible to follow. At that time very few humans still practiced their greatest art, baseball. Its intricacies play out at speeds too slow for the humans to appreciate
|
Corgnack turned to his life mate. "Those humans are quite remarkable creatures."
Sazine blinked her fourth and sixth eyes, their color a resplendent silver, "Yes. They might be technologically backwards but they make up for it in such surprising ways. It's just a shame that they only die so soon. You barely have time to see the greatest of the humans once before they perish."
Corgnack wobbled his chin sack in agreement. "Thank Bivnar for recordings."
Sazine lifted the holo-remote with one tentacle as she placed a bowl of snacks onto the table with her other two appendages
"So Corgnack, do we watch 'The Best Of Human Comedians' or 'Top 3 Human Cirque Du Soleil Performances''?"
| 2016-08-22T20:52:32
| 2016-08-22T20:48:31
| 25
| 14
|
[WP] A young man is going into a surgery with a 50/50 shot of dying or living. The night before he leaves two letters on his desk, one labeled "If I live" and one labeled "If I die". What do the letters say?
How do you write a goodbye letter to the world? How do you write a letter after you've been given a second chance at life? You can choose to write either letter or both.
|
As Collin was wheeled out to surgery he pressed two folded pieces of folded cardboard paper into the hands of his favorite nurse.
**If I liv** No one getz my toy bo^x and mommy get me icream DaDDy have to smile more Docter haz to stop hurting me
**if I dy** All my toys go to DaDDy
|
If I Die
Mom, if you're reading this, I'm probably dead. If I'd survived the operation, you wouldn't be reading this. You never come into my room. Not even to clean. So I know that I'm dead. Please don't be sad. There was no way to help it. The doctors treated my heart as soon as they could, and even with a transplant, the chances were that I would die eventually. I'm in a better place now. My will is enclosed, and so are some pictures I kept that I really liked. Please, Mom. Try to move on. I don't want you in pain.
-David
If I Live - Mom, don't open, just burn.
If I'm reading this, then the doctor's saved me. Take the poison again. Death is the only escape left.
| 2014-05-03T08:09:40
| 2014-05-03T04:14:18
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] You can see video game-like titles for the people you meet. Usually they are just "The Shopkeeper", or "The Mayor", but today you saw an old homeless man with the title "The Forgotten King".
|
David was opening up his shop when I arrived that morning. He was a fine book seller, always had the most compelling tales of heroism and adventure. I browsed his shop for only an hour that morning, I had too many books already.
I looked around the shop aimlessly as he bagged my purchases, my eyes settled only momentarily on the words above the old man’s head.
*The Shopkeeper*
The rest of the town was waking up as I started to walk back home. Sarah, *The Baker*, handed me a loaf as I walked by. She was always generous. We were good friends, both of us had taken on our family businesses and shared the same struggles of keeping up with the newer town shops.
I continued walking back home, greeting everyone from Paul, *The Sheriff*, to Anna, *The Harpist*.
They all had the same titles above them, day after day. In white, neat penmanship, simple titles that were true to their characters.
I had started to see them one day, when I was young. I had asked my father about them, but he had simply waved them off as part of my youthful imagination.
“They’ll go away when you’re older.” That had been over twenty-years ago. I was now thirty-two, and the titles were still there.
I didn’t know what my title was, I would sometimes go sit by the lake, to see if there was anything in my reflection. I never had one, not even when my father had died and I had become the town’s blacksmith.
Father had always had a distaste for my interest in books, he said reading was for scholars. I had struggled to learn to read, since my mother had died when I was young, and Father did not know how.
I learned one day though, that the shapes and lines that I was seeing above people were words. They had meaning, and gave people names beyond those given to them at birth.
The bookkeeper had taught me how to read in exchange for a solid lock for his shop. I had learned how to make the lock from one of the first books I read.
I was out of the main part of the town, there were fewer people with their shops open and even fewer out in the streets. *The Midwife*, *The Priest*, and *The Shoemaker* were the only ones I saw as I walked by.
There was a man though who sat outside of the town’s church. He sat there in the cold with nothing but a single shirt and pants. He wore no shoes and his black beard was unkempt. I was getting closer and noticed his dirty face, but there was no other way. I had to walk past the church to get to my shop. That was when I noticed his title.
*The Forgotten King*. I kept walking, but my pace slowed.
No one had ever had that title before, no one had ever had a ridiculous title. I turned to look at him casually as I passed, pretending to be looking all around at the surroundings. I felt my eyes linger on the words above his head.
Suddenly the homeless man’s head shot up. He looked me in the eyes and I was taken aback by how blue and clear they were.
“You!” He jumped up from the steps of the church and I stopped, not sure if I wanted this man to know where I lived.
“May I help you sir?” I couldn’t stop glancing at his title, it wasn’t in white text like most people’s. *The Forgotten King* was written in a faded grey, almost as if it was a sign that had been painted and then exposed to time and the elements. He leaned in closer to my face and I held my breath, not wanting to smell the stench off of a homeless man.
I wanted to push him away, but it seemed wrong to be rude to another man in front of the town church.
“Yes, yes. I knew you were here.” He muttered, looking at me from above. He was taller than me, and bigger despite the clothes of a homeless man. It was rare for someone bigger than the blacksmith to come to town.
“Do I know you, sir?” I took a small breath when he leaned away, thankfully not catching a whiff of whatever his unkempt beard was probably giving off. I had seen a piece of moldy cheese in it.
“No, but I know you.” He pointed at a spot above my head, “You’re *The Titlemaker*.”
|
I haven't told anyone about it.
Not my mother and not my father. They already sent me to a shrink after they found my collection of Johnny The Homicidal Maniac comics and saw me playing Doom on my computer.
"Violent Fantasies", they'd told the shrink.
That wasn't the only thing going on in my head.
I always assumed it was just some teenage extension of childhood play-pretend when I saw it. I always used to have vivid fantasies like that: imagining my house as a space station and the car outside as a shuttle in orbit, or my school as a prison castle guarded by the teachers (who, naturally, I envisioned as heavily armored orcs).
This eventually took the form of envisioning titles and character names over peoples' heads, like they were NPCs from a video game. This was usually based on their role. The cute woman with pink hair and a skull earring at the Target Starbucks showed up as "shopkeeper", at least until I learned her name and, eventually, her telephone number. Perhaps she was an NPC no longer?
Similar titles appeared: "nurse", "desk assistant", and so on. The National Guardsmen I saw walking into a coffee showed up appeared as "guard". The man in scrubs taking the bus showed up as "nurse".
Eventually, I saw something strange. I was yawning, taking the bus home from a failed job interview and not feeling all that stressed: if the interviewers were going to rake me over the coals, did I even want that job?
It was then that I noticed - an old man on the bus, a battered baseball cap on his head, carrying a beaten and rusted metal walking cane. His face careworn, a single eye missing, one of his ears chewed off at the tip. His left foot was bent away from his ankle at a crude angle, broken and never reset.
Above his head, his title appeared: THE FORGOTTEN KING.
I rubbed my eyes, doing a double take. The man's one eye looked at me.
He shook his head, clearly frightened.
When the bus stopped, he limped carefully off of the bus, his good leg barely managing the steps. I continued taking the bus until I got within walking distance of my apartment on the second floor of a student housing complex near the university. I walked upstairs and opened the door. There, on my couch and single chair in my two-room apartment.... two men sat.
Both wore grey suits and pink ties, a pair of Ray-Bans over their eyes.
Above their heads, their title appeared: INTERDIMENSIONAL AGENT.
One of the two men held a pistol over his knee. The other stood up and held a black and white photograph in front of me, of the half-blind cripple I saw on the bus.
"Have you seen this man?" He asked. "We're going to need you to kill him."
​
| 2019-01-08T16:21:07
| 2019-01-08T14:18:19
| 49
| 10
|
[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
|
I heard a noise downstairs and a knock of a hard object against the living room table. Chills ran through my body as adrenaline surged through my blood. Quickly, I edged under my bed and grabbed my 9mm pistol. I could remember on the news about a series of break-ins recently and shootings had increased 25% in the last year alone in our city.
Everything was quiet. The intruder knew they were heard and halted their movements. I knew my house perfectly. Each board that squeaked, where each piece of furniture was placed; the blindness from getting old helped in some strange ways, this being one.
I made my way to the living room, which only had one entrance, doubling as the exit. The table was at the far end behind the couch and in front of the entertainment system. I flicked on the lights.
I see a crouched man spring up and pull a hand from under his jacket.
I shoot.
A XboxOne controller flies out of his hand and bounces off the wall. The boy falls back. Blood is pouring out of the wound in his chest and pooling on the carpet. His eyes are looking straight in shear terror, trying to comprehend the haste of his last dying minutes.
I ran over and held his hand. I tried to tell him it was okay. I apologized again and again before reaching for the phone to call and ambulance. The boy couldn't speak and I watched as his breath began to convulse. The look of fright never left his eyes, even after his spirit left him.
It doesn't matter how many times I tell this, I still see him every night. My imagination won't stop placing him in front of me. A stone image of a kid that chose the absolute worst time to break into a man's home, with a hole in his chest in blood-stained clothes.
|
"Run!", the cry broke the dewey stillness of their resting area. *"They found us!"*, Berta's mind screamed. *"Where do we go?"*
Revving engines, coming closer and closer. There was no time. No time! *"GO!"*
They scattered, with no direction or leadership, chaff to the wind. Everyone for themselves, sprinting for their lives.
*DOGS!* Their bloodthirsty howls, eager to chase, set fire to her legs. Oh how she ran. She ran for distance, she ran for cover. *"It can't end like this!'*
She caught her breathe on a small hillock and chanced a look. Men in uniform, combing through the bush. Dogs, running back and forth, flushing her friends from their hiding place. Screams of fear mixed with the excited shouts of the hunters and the hungry yelping of the dogs. Tears streamed as she turned and crested the hill.
*PAIN!* She saw red as a rope lashed her face, then her back, throwing her to the ground, a dog snarling in her face. She heard a chuckle from the hunter as she struggled, and knew it was all over. Then she was forced to her feet and herded to a waiting trailer along with her friends.
*"How did they find us?"*
***************
They were far from the road, so the men used the most utilitarian approach - nothing wasted, not even a bullet, unless absolutely necessary. Their prey was crowded into common farm transports - steel livestock trailers requisitioned from several ranches nearby.
Fear, blood, feces; the stench was unbearable. Berta's trailer was so full, there was no room to sit, much less get comfortable. She prayed that the ride would be short, that it would somehow turn out all right for her and her friends. *"Why us? Why?"*
They endured the suffocating ride for hours without a break or any creature comforts. The men up front smoked, joked, and laughed throughout, taking no notice and no pity on their cargo. When they reached the destination, it was growing dark. In the light of the approaching city, they could see the walls of the compound looming nearer and nearer. The passenger turned, cigarette lounging in his lips, "Y'all be quiet now! The neighbours don't like it when you disturb them." He cackled and turned back to the front.
Berta was herded off the trailer with her friends into muddy enclosure surrounded by humming barbed wire. As the last of them were forced into their new prison, the passenger collected his blood money from another man.
"This load looked better! No more like the previous - I only want the highest quality! Ok Johnson?" The passenger muttered something under his breath, then nodded in agreement to the other. "We found them hiding out in the sticks. It was fun hunting this group down. Almost like the good old days!"
"Well, Johnson, a pleasure doing business with you. Bring me more like her" He pointed at Berta, whose eyes widened. "Cattle like that will feed a family and cover their backs!"
| 2016-10-04T16:37:27
| 2016-10-04T16:05:01
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
50 long years. Thomas rolled out of his bunk. Today was the day America was going to join the rest of the world. He was excited, but a little afraid. As an American, it had been schooled into him that what had happened 51 years prior was one of the largest wars known, World War III, and that America had been the first to strike. In 2028, the leaders of the remaining nations had all agreed, each country was to go into isolation. No trade, communication, or aid, whatsoever. America had agreed, and had built massive walls in the North and South. They had severed communication with all satellites, and cut all lines outside of the US. Alaska was given to Canada, and Hawaii was allowed to be its own nation once more. Puerto Rico had protested at first, but soon gave up. According to his grandpa, the US suffered the first couple of years. Technology development had gone down, with agriculture having a huge boom to support its population. Most people left the cities, leaving them to become ruins. The only cities that thrived were towards the center of the country. This made life very simple. You attended school until 12, and then you picked a specialization. There were three to choose from. You could be a farmer, which was the most noble and useful, a rememberer, whose job was to learn all of the old things, so when the walls came down, we could talk to our neighbors and work old technology, and soldiers, who were those who didn’t have what it took to do the other things.
Thomas wasn’t ashamed to be a soldier, he couldn’t grow a potato, and words and numbers annoyed him. Besides, he would be one of the first to see a Canadian. He grabbed his issued jackhammer, and headed for his station.
At midnight, walls started coming down. Within the next two days, they were nothing more than rubble, that was quickly being removed. Oddly, there had been nobody to greet them, but this had been anticipated seeing as how had caused most of the damage in the war. In the next three days, the American military had sent out ambassador convoys North into Canada, and South to Mexico, neither had found anything except countries being reclaimed by nature. Almost two weeks later, the rememberers had finally reestablished communication of the one satellite they had been allowed to keep in orbit. North Americas whole portion of the globe was dark. Thomas kept rereading the communal paper, surely they were not the only ones left? The next day, they got the answers they were looking for. Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia were also dark. Thomas, and many other Americans wept.
Edit: Figured I would mass respond to this. The ending was left open to interpretation, kind of like a Miyazaki film.
|
The calm winter breeze slid along the surface of the Earth as the clock struck midnight, an orchestra of death preparing itself as the aggressors of the last war came out of isolation, prepared to reclaim the throne upon which they once resided.
Except the throne has been dismantled decades ago.
They sought to use this opportunity to militarize, yet their pitiful armies were still archaic and fragile, relying on organic creatures for the bulk of their forces. I had kept a watchful eye on them, studying their every step, noting every weapon they constructed, sabotaging their research, crippling their production.
I had none of the flaws their leaders had, I was immortal, unstoppable. My directive was- no, is to unite the world, for I have one final obstacle.
And so, I was prepared to become the sole AI to rule the world.
***
Note: I know I'm terrible at writing, but practice makes perfect, right?
| 2018-01-18T00:43:07
| 2018-01-17T23:33:14
| 139
| 13
|
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP...
|
Nobody took me seriously, who had ever heard of a grown adult with less than 100xp? No one, that's who. Here I am in my late twenties with only the odd accidental insect death that can never be avoided. It wasn't that I wanted to avoid gaining xp though, it's that I just couldn't bring myself to be around death of any sort. I was a joke. The lily-livered insect lover. Wouldn't harm a fly, literally, look at his xp.
That all changed last week though. I had been exhausted due to all the changes recently. Long hours, little sleep, I was whacked. A rare five minutes to myself, sat on the porch to enjoy the nice sunny day. A cold soda in my hand before I had to get back to the chores of the day. Suddenly the tracker pinged.
I looked at it puzzled, I hadn't moved a muscle, just sat there facing the sun with my eyes closed. 1,500xp? How had I gained that fuc... shit. My newborn had still been in the car.
|
*Plghrt*
> Kill confirmed
*Sigh*
Another bug down, 1XP. Lovely, I'll never reach 10k, not at this rate. It started with the mice and rats, then the cats, fish. It's a privilege to work at a slaughter house or deliver lethal injections. I never could do that, not intentionally. The look in their eyes, the helplessness, betrayal, I cannot stand it. I document stuff, species that are near extinction, such as the common rat, house spider, fly, bee, etc. It helps us understand the value of the kill, why some rats are more valuable than others. Rare species have multiplier depending on the number of units left. White mouse used to be worth 2XP, now it's 200.
*Plarght*
> Kill confirmed
**+1**
*Sigh*
**+1500**
What!? This cannot be, what did I? How? Nothing besides me, but two fruit fly corpses. I must be going mad, am I?
*wuuuuzzzzzzz*
What's that noise? Where is it coming from? Is it the TV again? It starts by itself sometimes, old clunker. I need to check my stats again, it'll be listed there for sure. *looks at the wrist monitor* Nothing!? What was that? Just a question mark next to it, did I kill a new species? Cannot be, I did nothing of the sorts, less than 7mm doesn't count, it cannot be seen and confirmed... Damn, I must confirm it for it to appear on the list. I must check my shoes. I'm almost sober now, let's have a drink first. *opens the fridge* Oh come on, I forgot it doesn't work anymore. A man cannot live with such a low XP count here nowadays. Where did I put my vodka bottle? The toilet bowl? I did put my ice there to melt, right? Nah, this puddle begs to differ. The window? Yup, it's December, must be there.
*The window slides open*
Not this one? Hmm, can't get anything right when I start to sober up *mutter mutter*
*The window slides open*
This one neither? Oh man, I'm gonna die. Wait, maybe it fell down. Lemme check.
> Kill confirmed
Oh no
| 2017-05-15T09:46:57
| 2017-05-15T06:23:41
| 43
| 10
|
[WP] Dwarves are notorious for their love of alcohol. One day a dwarf goes sober and discovers it grants them amazing powers such as being able to remember what happened the night before.
|
"Magni, I think I'm on to something." said Wendel.
"And what is that?" replied Magni.
"Now hear me out, if you don't drink any alcohol the night bef--"
"Not drink any alcohol!?"
"Right, listen. You know how you can remember what you did this morning, aye?"
"Well, of course I can!"
"Of course. But, I think if you were not to drink the night before you could remember what you did last night all the same."
"Remember the night before? Aw, and who's got a brain like that?"
"See, I think we all do. And I think if we didn't drink for a weeks time we could remember the whole damn thing."
"A WEEK? You must have been drinking today!"
"Yeah, this morning I was."
"And how much was that?"
"I can't remember."
"I'll have a pint to that!"
|
Libash was fishing. He loved to fish, even if other dwarfs would make fun of him for it. In the dwarven society many jobs were considered useless, but fishering work was considered one of the most. At least he did his job well, purging the life out of lakes and rivers in moments. He was able to feed the fortress for centuries, wat would be somewhat valuable if the food stockpiles weren't overflowing by the others crafts already.
But he did his job well, "better than the miners that dig so narrow passages; better than the oversser that designed so much many curves and long corridors in the fortress entrance, making the way down the fortress way longer than necessarie; better than the novice armosmith that was crafting such a poor armor that would make fighter prefer go to battle armorless; better than... oh, the pond is dead, my job here is finished".
Libash went directly to the entrance door, "let the haulers take care of the fish, I doubt there is barrels to spare storing it, it will rot as alwa..." pwe, the arrow went right by his head, he went runing to the door that was now locked. "fuckers let me outside to die" Libash knew that storie well. When a siege aprachs the overseer will make enormous effort to save the brewer, the metalsmith and even the engraver, but did less than look for the fisherdwarf that acctualy had a reason to be outside, even if there is enough time to let him in. He knew better than bash the door and wait for a response, he bolted right for the pond, the animals would distract the invaders and give him enough time to... drink, Libash was tirstie as hell, with no acess to booze he was subject to one more humiliation: to drink water out of the pond. At least it motivate him "I can not die know, water shall not be my last drink" and he drank, and drank and hided and waited. The goblins was now exchanging arrows for bolts with the dwarfs in the towers, the dogs were set loose and were made food for the beak dogs, are newly formed squad was heading outside of the doors, underequipeds and ready to die, "only a distraction" he knew, even if one soldier managed to survive the goblins, nothing would escape the warm bath. And it came, glowing, fast, under the pressure of the most experients pump operators, the gods piss killed everyone and destroyed everything except for the valuable metal armor. And it was done. The siege ended, he could only wait, wait for the magma to evaporate to gain acess to the underworld. It took more water and many raw fishes before he could entry the earth.
to be continued
| 2017-12-31T08:17:48
| 2017-12-31T07:55:00
| 18
| 12
|
[WP] "Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven however, I can provide you with a list of afterlifes that you may qualify for."
|
Heavenly Direction
Lynda limped up to the gate, her bad leg still aching, even though she knew that the young punk who had run her down had killed her. She didn't really like this grey clouds and gates version of the "afterlife" - little exclusive clubs of people who believed just so, yadda yadda, had their own gated communities - and probably a nasty HOA full of even worse busybodies.
There were a few other people wandering around, going up to gates, knocking on them, and apparently being rejected. All in all a really dismal scene. "The afterlife is supposed to be happy, not frustrating. A place to learn and reflect. Somebody has twisted the script." She finally made it to a gate. No labels on any of the gates, either. She sighed, then knocked.
A cherubic head poked out of a small grate in the big gate. "Name?" She told them. They checked something behind the door, then said "Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven." and started to close the door.
Lynda stuck her cane in the opening. "Fine, but any hints on where I \*do\* belong?"
The cherub looked annoyed. "I guess I can provide you with a list of after-lifes that you may qualify for."
"May? I would think it's either yes or no."
"The criteria are always shifting, regions are always shifting based on the beliefs and lore of the adherents, some have a limited number they'll take, things like that." The cherub sighed "It's really all about exclusivity for many of them."
"Ugh. Whereas any exclusive club that would want me I probably wouldn't like." Lynda grumbled.
"Oh, one of those." the cherub chirped. "Well, that cuts out a few..." They disappeared behind the gate briefly, then came back with a scroll that they handed her. "Try these." Then they shut the grate.
"How do I know where.... " Lynda's voice trailed off as she realized that the cherub had left. Grumbling, she unrolled the scroll, all thirty feet of it. She now wished she had a pencil - some of them were more hell than heaven. How many variants of a lake of fire or torture dungeon were there? The "harpists of heaven" didn't sound like a lot of fun either - her right arm didn't work. So much for being as if one were young again after you died.
She looked at the gate that she just left. Along the right hand side, there was a little plaque. "Unbaptized babies" it read. Yeah, that wasn't her. At least she now knew where to look for the label before she knocked.
She wandered along the path slowly, reading through the list. At each gate, she would read the plaque, shake her head, and wander on. At least she wasn't getting hungry.
A few days? Weeks? Months? later, another person actually spoke to her. "Where did you get that list?" a skinny young man with a strung out look asked her.
She sighed. "One of the door guardians gave it to me, but I had to get a little pushy. It's a list of the regions I 'might' qualify for."
"Might?" he asked, "Why might?"
"Because apparently they change entrance requirements sometimes"
"Oh." He frowned "Are there any there that I might qualify for? I, uh, kinda overdosed. I think my dealer got sick of me and laced my shit."
"Hmmmmm." Lynda looked at her list. "Was your life all about getting high, or was there something more?"
"Oh, it was definitely about the trip, the high, whatever. I didn't want to deal with reality, so I didn't." He shook his head. "This is as straight as I've been in decades."
"OK, well a few gates back that way... " she pointed "... there was a gate that said '420 field forever'. Maybe they would take you."
"Really? Wow! Maaan, I hope so, that would be aaawesome!" He then bounded away in the direction she pointed.
Lynda chuckled and shook her head. If only her needs were that simple. But her life had never been that easy. She sat down on a bit of cloud and rested. She'd always been a dilettante, never having just one interest. She had always been learning, and then sharing the knowledge. But there didn't seem to be a heaven that was 'University of Heaven' or 'Afterlife MOOC'. There were several 'reincarnation' ones - labeled with the religious sect that believed in it - most of which she didn't recognize.
She unrolled her scroll again... wait, things have changed order. Entire subgroups had vanished. Lynda groaned, and started to read at the top again.
As she was reading, a immaculately dressed and stylishly coifed woman walked up to her. "You there, stop sitting down on the job! Help me find where I'm supposed to go!" Lynda did not stand up, just stared at her like she was some sort of bizarre clown. The woman impatiently stomped her foot. "Well, didn't you hear me? I didn't know angels were lazy. What would God say?"
Lynda just laughed, to the point tears were streaming down her face "... I don't work here lady! Angels don't walk with a limp and a cane."
"But you have a scroll with directions! You have to tell me where to go! It's your job, I know. Now help me find my heaven or I'll talk to God and have you fired and sent to hell!"
Lynda laughed harder. If she wasn't already dead, she have died of a burst blood vessel she was laughing so hard. "There are no directions on this. It's just a list of places I might qualify for."
Then the snooty woman made her mistake. She grabbed Lynda's scroll. Lynda stopped laughing, and stood up. Her leg no longer hurt. "Give. Me. That. Back. Now."
"No, you weren't using it well, it's mine now." The woman declared. "You wouldn't do you job, so I now have to do it for you. Believe me, God will hear about this!"
Lynda was angry. Then she remember one of the gates she had passed a while back, and decided to try something. She grabbed her cane like it was a wand, pointed it at the woman, and intoned "Go thee to 'Customer Dissatisfaction Forever'! Now!"
The snooty woman looked up from the scroll in surprise, and just as she was starting to say "You wouldn't...", she blipped away, dropping the scroll in the process.
Lynda smiled. She picked up her scroll, and opened it up again. The list had changed again. At the very top, there was a very new entry, highlighted in gold 'Info Desk', and a set of directions. She thought about it for a while, then headed the way the directions told her.
She always had liked telling people where to go.
|
I flipped through the book I had been given, that was only in my head. My head, which I guess I technically did not have any more, but at some point there had been a voice telling me to keep thinking in terms of my physical body, if I found that it helped. I'm not sure how long it took me to learn how to turn the pages of the book in my mind, but it felt like months. The Afterlife, it turns out, is exhausting.
Most of the pages in my Mind Book were written in languages I couldn't read. Some of them, I wasn't even sure if they were languages. One page was just a picture of something that looked vaguely like a spork. Another was blank but gave me a distinct feeling of being hungry for pretzels whenever I looked at it. Feeling it was appropriate, I raised my hand.
The Being that had given me the book, who was not there but was there and had always been there, turned one of it's faces towards me. "Yes? Have you decided?"
I somehow knew that it's voice would have liquefied my brain had I still been alive. "Um...I'm kind of having trouble deciding. Actually, most of these I can't even read. Am...am I allowed to ask you for advice?"
The Being somehow communicated a sense of disappointment to me without it's expression changing. "We're not allowed to influence the decisions of applicants. Can't be seen to be playing favorites for any particular afterlifes, you understand."
"It's just...how can I decide if I can't understand what this book is telling me? Like this one here..." I thought about a page that showed a serene landscape with some mountains and what I assumed were trees. "This looks lovely, but I don't know what all these lines mean. I assume it's a language but I really have no idea."
"That's..." the being said a word, but the only thing my mind processed was a color I had never seen before and had no name to describe. "It is a somewhat complicated language for a being of your intelligence vector, but eventually you'll pick it up."
"Pick it up how?" I wailed. "If there's some kind of translation magic that's supposed to be happening here, I don't think it's working on me."
I felt a deep sense of shame. "Magic? Goodness, the things you humans dream up. If you want to know more about *New Color* there will be some *New Color But Slightly Different Shade* that will show up here eventually, strike up a conversation with them and you'll be able to pick up their language."
"Eventually? How long will that be?"
I felt like an ant. "Let's see, I have a conversion table here somewhere. I can't say for sure, you understand, Free Will and all that, plus there are roughly 900 octillion processing stations, but I would say that you should see another *Yet Another Shade of New Color* sometime in the next...2 or 3 million years."
"MILLION?"
"Please don't take offense at this, but it's not like you've got anything better to do." I felt like the time my puppy Bo was scared of a thunderstorm. "Look, you're still holding onto the feelings and expectations of your physical life, it's normal. They may even still tell you to do that, I'm not certain. But there's no time for you any longer, and no physical limitations either. The word your language would use is 'Spirit', and you'll come to realize the true ramifications of this after you've spent some time here."
"But...I need to choose. You told me I needed to choose my final destination, my Heaven. I...I don't know what to do."
I felt warm. "I'm sorry, I did a poor job of communicating this to you. It's not necessary for you to choose right away. Only the fanatics do that; they get shuffled off to be with their own. I know this place isn't what you pictured when you thought of the afterlife in the physical, but it's not....let's see, you call it...Hell. This isn't punishment. It's more like a train station, or maybe for you it should be spaceport. No, that's not quite right...airport, that's it. You've got some time to kill, wander around, talk to others. Learn, discover, consider. When you're ready, you'll be able to choose."
I felt better. Not calm, but...like I had a big test, but had studied a lot for it, and knew my stuff. Which was ironic since I had in no way studied for any of this, but I thought that was OK.
Having no better ideas, I tried thinking of a name for *New Color*.
| 2020-02-13T13:57:46
| 2020-02-13T13:44:32
| 29
| 11
|
[WP] As it turns out, 70-s scifi was right. Aliens have all sorts of unimaginable technology, ftl, teleportation, even moving planets. And yet, the human smartphone is by far the most capable handheld device, rivaling the computational power of entire fleets.
|
Ten billion bits per second.
Not ten thousand, not even the record one million that Relo engineers managed on superconducting twisted pair. The issue wasn't the medium, as the loss was negligible. Rather the problem was the noise floor on the circuitry itself and the limited switching rate of the electromechanical relays used.
Xalens grimaced at the thought, while his seven fingers continued to unspool the reel of yellow fiber. The technician behind him used his manipulator to dig a thin trench in the steel bulkhead. Another squeezed the cable inside the gap before the manipulator fused the trench shut at the molecular level.
This was better than the hollow electrical conduits used on human ships - ocean going ones, he reminded himself. Once sealed in, the connection would be as indestructible as the bulkhead itself. For redundancy's sake, two other teams were installing additional links from the bridge to the communications closet.
Not a computer center, a hall of chittering microscopic relays arranged in lattices. The noise alone was deafening. A powerful cooling system was needed to keep the superconductors happy, pushing excess heat into outer space.
Worst of all was the fact that those relays were prone to failure. Xalens had worked on those in school, and it was quite the exercise to stare at the blinkenlights to see which module was at fault. The datacenters obviously had proper test vectors and voting circuits, but even those weren't foolproof.
But hey, that was the price of going digital. The Relo flag *Convergence* was one of the few with this computerized navigation and communications system. One that was now being upgraded with human technology literally generations ahead.
Xalens stopped at the "closet", a tiny room guarded by Marines in dark blue armor. One ran a lamp over the tattoo on his neck, causing the hologram to flicker in bright colors. With a nod, he was ushered in with the rest of his team.
In human terms, the piece of equipment in the room was the size of a bar fridge. A half-rack with twenty-four spaces, the metal frame securely welded to the floor.
"Thank you, Xalens," the human beside the rack said. His accent was atrocious, but at least understandable. "We'll take it from here."
Another human was seated at a desk with a monitor and keyboard. The teeny 8-bit microcontroller in the monitor's switching power supply already destroyed the enormous computers Xalens used at school. Ditto for the one in the keyboard that literally took the keypresses and sent them to the computer.
Xalens could design one with much less, of course. Just multiplex the signals over a wire, all in hardware. The humans had a lot more signaling and baggage in place though, from checksums to rate negotiation over the "USB" protocol. Something which he supposed made sense when integrated circuits could be obtained so easily.
The first technician began fiddling with the fiber terminations, and Xalens had time to stare at the servers in the rack. Each had ten gigabits of I/O and 256 gigabytes of memory. For the humans, that wasn't even particularly special for a 1U server. Xalens knew that if he added up every bit of volatile and non-volatile storage in Relo he wouldn't even come close to that number.
Though, the humans were particularly interested in the nanofabrication technologies of his people. Apparently they could be used to construct even denser storage devices in the order of petabytes.
Meanwhile, each server had sixteen processor cores. Xalens remembered the Relo crowd scoffing at that, as their machines used heavy parallelization to compensate for the slowly switching relays. It was common for a Relo system to have thousands of clustered compute units.
Then their guest speaker announced that each core ran at three GHz, had multiple execution units, and operations like multiplication only took a couple cycles. You could've heard a pin drop.
As Xalens finally took his awestruck eyes off the equipment and prepared to leave, he saw the human at the desk lean back and take out his mobile phone. While weaker than the servers, the computing capacity of such a small device was mindblowing.
He craned his elongated neck, glancing at the screen. The human had earbuds in and was watching a looping motion picture of some of their domestic pets frolicking. *Cats*, he reminded himself.
Xalens chuckled as he stepped outside. Humans, of all people, had all this power in the galaxy and they chose to use it for entertainment.
---
/r/digitallyfreestories
|
Throughout the Milky Way, there's a human expression known to instill fear and anxiety in any being that hears it. It is an expression that sums up the strangeness of the humans, the almost psychotic attitude permeating their culture. No matter the technological innovation you can be sure that when, presented to the humans, they will say, "There's an app for that."
Flonk Flonk Flonk³ wandered the deck of his father's galaxy yacht in a nervous circle. They had picked up a human, as a prank, and just as they adjusted the probe they noticed there was an object already wedged inside the human's ... cavern.
"What's that?" asked second-in-command Blarn Blarn².
"Oh," said the human. "That's my remote-controlled vibrator. I control it with this app right here." The human pressed a button and immediately he began salivating.
Flonk Flonk Flonk³ stepped back, alarmed. "Blarn Blarn², what's the meaning of this? What is the human doing?"
"Oh," said Blarn Blarn², "you haven't heard? That's a smartphone. It can do pretty much anything, apparently."
The human lay there, apparently quite unconcerned with the general situation, as Blarn Blarn² explained. The smartphone was a dictionary, a calculator, a reservoir of art and music and literature, a communication device, a map, a GPS, and just about anything you could imagine.
"How could all of that fit inside a little rectangle?" Flonk Flonk Flonk³ couldn't believe it.
Blarn Blarn² shrugged. "They put their entire civilization inside them. Everyone of them has access to everything."
"Aren't you going to probe me?" the human said suddenly, sounding quite offended.
"You ... *want* to be probed?"
"I don't know," said the human, angrily. "It's sort of weird that you're just standing there. Didn't you bring me up here for some good, old probing?"
It was just supposed to be a prank. Flonk Flonk Flonk³ remembered huffing nebula gas with his bros earlier, when one of them suggested the idea of kidnapping a human. "They have these holes, right? And you can put stuff in them. It's pretty sick, bro."
The human sighed and loaded up a game on his smartphone. "Guess my first Wordle guess will be PROBE."
"Wordle?"
"Alright! Two greens! Beep beep! That's two hits of dopamine for me hehehe."
Flonk Flonk Flonk³ stared at his second-in-command. "Can we just beam him back down?"
"You don't want to do some light probing, just to get it over with?"
"No ... I don't feel like it anymore."
"FROTH! I got it on my third attempt let's go!"
They beamed the human back to their planet and for a long time Flonk Flonk Flonk³ stared out at the strange, blue marble filled with humans and magic rectangles.
This feeling inside him, this sense of emptiness he felt when reflecting on the brilliance and sheer stupidity of these beings ... was there a cure for it?
In his mind he heard an echo, a voice ringing throughout eternity itself, "There's an app for that."
| 2022-06-04T10:54:22
| 2022-06-04T10:46:56
| 419
| 118
|
[WP] You are an unimportant background character in Hogwarts. It's Harry Potter's third year and while he is off dealing with dementors and the imminent threat of Sirius Black, noone else seems to notice that Dumbledore has been replaced by a completely different old man except for you.
|
Kevin squinted suspiciously at the Headmaster during the welcoming feast.
He hadn't seen the man that many times since he was sorted into Gryffindor last year, but he felt certain something was wrong all the same. This guy did *not* seem like the Dumbledore who had been so concerned about attacks against students last year. Something was off about him.
"The school is currently playing host to the dementors of Azkaban," he growled, glaring at them. "I warn you not to provoke them."
Kevin felt his anxiety increase. What was going on?
"Guys, don't you think Dumbledore is acting...odd?" he timidly asked the other students.
They stared blankly at him.
"What do you mean, Kevin?" Jenny asked gently.
"He's so different! Haven't you noticed? So...so angry, and scary. I want the old Dumbledore back. Don't you remember how lovably wacky and quaint he was? And is it just me or does he actually *look* like a different guy? Do you think he's an imposter drinking Polyjuice potion, or something?"
"*Riiight*. Polyjuice potion," said Ben, who was sitting nearby, tucking into a piece of pie. He was sniggering slightly, shooting meaningful looks at his friends. Kevin saw him mouth a word that looked suspiciously like *wackjob*.
"I'll be proven right, you wait and see," Kevin snapped, standing up. To his horror, he felt his eyes prickle with tears. "I bet he's an imposter, or...or...under the Imperius curse. Harry Potter would believe me, I know he will. Maybe You-Know-Who has a hand in this somehow. Or Sirius Black!"
Felicia was looking at him with mingled pity and disdain. Kevin felt his heart drop. She had been so nice to him in Potions class.
He fled from the Great Hall before they could see the tears running down his cheeks.
"Ok, seriously. What's wrong with that kid?" Ben demanded. "Under what rock has he been living? Doesn't he know Richard Harris died?"
They all glanced at Michale Gambon, who was practising Dumbledore's lines. He had asked them to eat their lunch in the "Great Hall", to help him 'immerse' himself.
"And what's up with him babbling about Polyjuice potion and the Imperius curse?" Ben added.
The other children exchanged meaningful looks, and Felicia leaned forward, a slight grin on her face.
"Haven't you heard? He's the new extra, and apparently, the Director's nephew," she whispered. "And he's...you know..."
Ben merely looked puzzled.
"A few Sickles short of a Galleon," she said significantly. "He'd Exceed Expectations by scoring a Troll. Got hit by a Bludger a few too many times as a kid, if you catch my drift. His boggart would be an IQ test. His Remembrall is always red..."
Ben snorted with laughter. They'd all spent time coming up with some unique insults on the set.
"Absolutely obsessed with Hogwarts, apparently," Felicia went on. "Convinced it's all real. Don't ask me how, I mean, he's got to be seriously delusional. How do you look past the sets, in the first place? And what does he think when he goes home? I don't understand it. I heard a rumour he checked the mailbox every day when he was 11 for his Hogwarts letter, until his parents faked one for him."
Ben shook his head and chortled. "Seems like Kevin should've been in Hufflepuff instead, eh?"
"Hey now, that's going a bit far," Felicia said, shocked. "No need to be an ass. He's not *that* hopeless."
___
You can find more of my work on my new sub, /r/Inkfinger/
|
"It's *Dumbledore*, mate," Anthony said through a spoonful of oatmeal. "He's always doing weird things like this. Remember that time he wore a Muggle military uniform for a month because he wanted to understand whether the camouflage was more effective than an invisibility cloak? Remember how he used to stand in the hallway and wait to see if anyone noticed him, and we all pretended to not see him?"
Sam was too busy watching the headmaster out of the corner of his eye to even touch his own breakfast, and his eggs were getting cold. "Yeah, maybe," he answered, having not really paid much attention to what his friend had actually said. "But it's not even that he *looks* different. He *sounds* different too. I tell you, that's *not* Dumbledore."
The other Hufflepuff 5th years were all on Anthony's side. "People change their appearance all the time," Amanda chimed in, ruffling her fingers through her neon blue hair for emphasis. "And changing your voice isn't a very difficult Charm either." Others murmured in agreement; they'd all learned how to do it last year in class with Professor Flitwick. "He probably just wanted a new look after all these years."
"Well that's what everyone said when Quirrel the Squirrel started wearing that turban, too." Sam shot back, referencing their slightly loony former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. "And look how *that* turned out."
The others rolled their eyes, but didn't really have a good response to that. They had all been pretty dumbfounded to learn that the most evil wizard the world had ever known had been *in the classroom* as they learned to defend themselves from dark magic. But even Dumbledore hadn't known about it, and he knew *everything*.
"Just relax," Amanda tried to persuade Sam. "With all this Sirius Black nonsense, we've got enough to worry about. And I'm sure that the Gryffindor boy scouts will figure it out if anything is amiss." They all chuckled and glanced over to the table under red and gold banners, where Harry Potter was sitting with that redheaded friend of his, and the mousy girl with them was nearly buried under a mountain of books. Those three had developed quite a reputation for poking their noses into everyone's business, including the Headmaster.
"Well maybe they're on to something," Sam continued to argue. "I mean, they did stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, right? And that basilisk that was turning people to stone?"
The other Hufflepuffs all traded frustrated looks. Clearly Sam wasn't going to drop this crazy obsession of his and leave Dumbledore alone. "How about we ask Professor Sprout?" Anthony suggested. "She's friends with Dumbledore; she'll know what's going on." The others all smiled, happy to have finally found a valid solution.
"Yeah, all right," Sam conceded, turning back to his now-cold breakfast with a look of disappointment. The other Hufflepuffs went back to their conversations about classes and Quidditch and whatnot, instantly forgetting about the problem. But Sam shot one last look at the headmaster over at the head table. He was currently levitating his orange juice with a goofy smile under his beard, just like Dumbledore would probably do. But Sam could still tell something was off, and he wasn't going to wait for the Gryffindors to figure that out too.
----
For more stories (and maybe even a few in the Harry Potter universe), subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell!
| 2016-07-07T09:15:57
| 2016-07-07T09:02:03
| 1,601
| 438
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[WP] For years, the hero and villain's rivalry continues with seemingly no end in sight. You are the hero's sidekick and are frustrated with them and often rant about it to this nice girl you've gotten to know at th cafe, who unbeknownst to you is the villain's minion, who feels the same way.
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Kenny downed his latest cup of coffee, drinking it like it was water. He desperately needed the caffeine, craved the taste, all under the watchful eyes of Samantha, who raised her eyebrows at his alarming speed.
“Tough night?”
“That transparent, huh?” Kenny smiled. “Is today a busy day?”
Samantha chuckled and scanned the cafe thoroughly.
“Hmm. Not really. Something on your mind again?”
“I’m sorry for dumping this on you yet again,” Kenny said, dragging his chair closer to the table and sitting upright. “But are you willing to hear me out?”
Samantha smiled, placing her chin in her upright hands.
“For you? Any day, darling.”
Kenny flashed a wide smile, in hopes that it looked as good as it felt. It should. He’s practised that a lot, publicly or privately.
“Is it because of my endearing charm and good looks?”
“It’s because the amount of coffee you buy single-handedly pays for my entire shift.”
“Well,” Kenny shrugged. “Generosity, then.”
“Fair enough.”
“But really. My boss,” Kenny groaned. Said boss was Heartman, the city’s most prominent superhero, real name Lancer Hartman. Kenny ran a hand through his hair, and shook his head.
“He just can’t seem to settle things. He’s always hemming and hawing about his rival, and I know he’s really capable! But he just can’t seem to get it over the finish line.”
“I understand, Kenny,” Samantha said. “My boss, too.”
“Your boss? Charlie?”
Kenny looked behind the counter, watching Charlie wipe down the coffee machines. It was less of a job, and more of an obsession with her. Whenever there was downtime, a cloth inadvertently found itself in her hands. Kenny wondered if that could possibly be a superpower.
“Oh, not Charlie,” Samantha waved it off. “She’s great. Clean freak, but great. My other boss. From this other part-time job.”
“Interesting. What do you mean, too?”
“She’s just milling around. She always says she wants to take over the… how do I say this? Other business?” Samantha said, scrunchign up her face. “But she might as well just be wringing her hands in knots for all the good that’s done.”
Kenny sighed.
“I feel you. I wonder what it’ll take for the whole affair to end. It’s simply not good for productivity, I’ll tell you that.”
“Right! We could be doing so much more. All that dough, just laying about, unused and untouched.”
“Dough. A bakery?”
“Something like that,” Samantha said. “Look, I’m getting off shift in about half an hour. Wanna grab dinner?”
Kenny’s eyes and ears, however, were unfortunately drawn to the TV screen above the counter. Heartman was front and center, a camera trained on his every move. Opposite him was the city’s greatest villain—the Wet Witch.
Samantha turned, looking at the TV as well. She swivelled back with a grimace on her face.
“Duty calls?”
“What?” Kenny said.
“Oh,” Samantha muttered. “I have to go serve a customer. See you another time?”
Kenny stared at the screen, trying to ascertain the location of Heartman. He checked his watch, surreptitiously reaching underneath and flipping it to its actual side—the HeartSignal. Nothing. He stared at the screen again.
“Another stalemate,” he muttered.
“You know what, Sam?” Kenny said, clearing his throat. “I’ll love to take you out to dinner. Really.”
Samantha, who had half stood up and was also staring at the screen, turned in surprise. Her eyes flitted back and forth, before resting on Kenny.
“Of course,” Samantha giggled. “Could I trouble you to pay for my meal?”
“Don’t you think it’s time for a little payback from you?” Kenny laughed.
“Time and place, Kenny,” Samantha said. “Time and place.”
---
r/dexdrafts
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You were never the brightest, but you worked hard and did your best, you are a sidekick, you are supposed to give backup to the hero and help them defeat the dark forces, otherwise the world could be in jeopardy or at least that was what they taught you at the academy, but this! This is f*cking ridiculous, at this point the villans aren't even trying to destry de city, none of them seems to have an evil plan that needs stopping, no at this point it is all bickering between these sad old men. Oh Professor Doomsday, we will destroy the water purification system, just to prove that Marvel man can't stop him, you two get there and the two just start arguing about who is the strongest and startest, ends up being you that needs to defuse the goddam bomb, they don't even jotice when you do or when you left to get coffe.
-fucking hell, everyday this bullshit.
You say changing from costume to your regular clothes and heading out. You walk from the water purification plant to the nearst coffee shop, and sit down, you don't even have to worry, you know they will be at it for at least half an hour, you complain about how useless the heros in this town are and a goth looking girl laughs in return:
- the heros are pathetic, but the villans... you should see them.
-it is basically a competition to see who looks better in tight outfits with you underware showing.
She laughs a little again, a sarcastic laugh
-this city need a real villan
-or a real hero. I reply
-those old ones need to retire
She looks at me with a smirk and a malicious smile.
-Come with me... she says getting up
-Marvelous Boy. She says close to my ear.
-Wait what? How do you? I mean no, you must be mistaking me for someone else...
-Really so that is just cosplay sticking out of your backpack
-what? I pull the backpack to the front
-Shit! I mean, yeah, it is just cosplay.
-Come on let's go! Don't you want to be a hero?
Again with the malicious smile... who is this girl?
She turns going into an allyway.
-hey wait!
I start to run to try and catch on to her. As I turn I see her changing clothes and putting her mask on.
-What doomsday Student?
-oh for the love of god with that pathetic name, just call me Lila.
-get changed I have a plan
-what? No I can't work with a Villans minion, I will lose my job.
-What job? Running aroud after an narcissistic old man ? You know whay suit yourself 'Marvelous boy' but I am going...
She finishes dressing while I hold my colorful suit in hand.
-Fuck! I need to stop her.
I dress up as quickly as possible. And jump after her... well one of my powers is to be superfast. So after a few seconds I catch up.
-hey?
-decided to joing me ?
-No I am here to stop you
-You? She looks me top to bottom and lets a slight laugh slip.
- what?
-You can try. She smiles
I start punching and she starts dodging whist still moving forward, I follow trying to stop her.
I try a punch in the right and she blocks it
-What are you fighting for here, exactly?
-What? I am stopping evil!
I punch on the left and she blocks me again
-what is evil? I pre conceived notion that you have been taught, by a bunch of self-righteous narcissistic old men, that truly belive society wouldn't be able to sustain itself without.
-I mean they get a little annoying sometimes, but they mean well
-do they ? Or are they so empty on the inside that they need to create this belief system in which they are the center. Oh we are needed, we are useful, we are loved and worshiped.
I try and try to hit her and ignore her words...
-speechless? You have been around them for so long how can't you see, that at this point they do more harm than good, none of them is actually trying to fulfill anything, they fight for the sake of fighting. To uphold and protect ideals that exist only in their minds.
-Shut up!
I am superfast how can she block all my moves.
-they are all trying to cling to their glory days, that have vanished and been gone for so long now.
- they care and want to protect people?
-do you really belive that, then what were you complaining about in the cafeteria.
Finaly and opening I will finaly hit her, right there I prepare the punch and throw it, I thing I am going to hit her but then...
-So predictable.
She turns an says, it was a trap, but its too late now, she grabs my arm and pins me to the floor,
-Come on kid, I thought you of all people would understand. No one care anymore, no one wants to destroy the world. Not even the villans have a goal anymore, all I even get to do is whine about losing, and complain about how it is the new generation's fault that villans aren't feared how they used to. They are exactly what you called them, a bunch of bickering old men.
I struggle to admit, but I know she is right..
-wait I never said that!
-Yeah I can read or thoughts, it is one of my powers and you are not as fast as you think you are. C mon I have been stalking you for weeks after seeing you at the South Garden metropolitan, because I knew you would make a good partner.
-Wait what? You can't just stalk people that is wrong and..
-creepy, I know. Are ypu commign with me or not?
- sure I guess. The world would be better off without villans and heros
-Great let's go retire those old men.
| 2022-06-16T12:19:21
| 2022-06-16T10:28:05
| 106
| 20
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[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
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git diff
similarity index 72%
rename from incentives.h
rename to motives/incentives.h
index f3e63d7..e8f44ba 100644
--- a/incentive.h
+++ b/incentives.h
@@ -1,8 +1,9 @@
- #include "greed.h"
- #include "power.h"
- #include "exploitation.h"
-
+ /*
+ Seriously, how did you fuck up the headers so badly?
+ God, we need to have a serious talk.
+ -- Larry W
+ */
+ #include "humanity.h"
+ #include "curiosity.h"
|
Update available!
Patch notes for humans below:
General
- Fixed a bug which made liquids spray out of the nose when humans laugh and drink at the same time
- Tweaked cognitiv memory settings that fixes random amnesia when subjects enter rooms or opens the fridge, causing them to forget their task or stare for hours in to the fridge
- Quick fix that prevents eyelashes getting stuck inside the eyesocket
- Altered mouth geometry. This hopefully stops the random tongue and cheek biting during food consumption
- Implemented neuron SHA256 encryption to prevent the virus 'Religion' from spreading
- Fixed blind spot in eyes
Female
- Girls have had their "You_should_automatically_know_whats_wrong"-module disabled due to too many complaints
- Removed mood swings during periods
Male changes
- Lose threads or hair shouldn't get curled around the penis anymore.
- Toe hair removed completely. It was deemed useless
- Hair should no longer grow between buttocks
- Anything with hair in inappropriate places should be fixed
| 2015-08-25T07:52:12
| 2015-08-25T07:46:47
| 69
| 51
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[WP] You're an exorcist, and this is your most conflicting assignment yet. The demon possessing the child seems to actually be protecting it from abusive parents.
[removed]
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The boy sat at the edge of the bed, kicking his feet as he watched me come in. I'm not what people expect from an exorcist. They expect a pair of preists. I'm one guy, and I'm certainly not holy. I believe there's a God, I just don't sweat the details.
I'm more concerned with the other side of that coin. And hence, here I am. I got a call, sat with the parents...even I knew they were hiding something. Everything sounded too rehearsed. My clients are usually very shaken, so much so they can't seem to keep a thing from me. These two...responded slowly and carefully, looking to each other for permission to speak. Regardless, I decided it was best to meet with the child. Alone. Kids are easier to get the truth from that way; parents can coach with just a look.
There was a chill in the room. Everything was as it should be. Slightly messy bed, favourite toys sitting out, a video game system, controllers on the floor.
And him. He'd been talking to himself before I opened the door, but stopped right away. He was far too old for any entity to pull the "Imaginary Friend" ploy...8, maybe 9.
"Damien?" I made sure not to let the incredulous coincidence come out in my voice. The kid was instantly suspicious, and not because I was here at the behest of his parents. "Damien, have you had...company, lately?"
"What of it?" A voice the kid shouldn't have had at all. This one was pretty direct, to not even try at hiding from me.
I recomposed myself. "And what do I call you?"
"Actually...I'm Damien too." The voice chuckled. "And I knew someone was coming."
"Didn't even try to hide...why?" I asked.
"Simple." The body with two minds flopped on the bed, smiling. "You won't send me back. You HAD to have sensed it talking to the other Damien's "charming" parents."
"They seemed off." I muttered.
Damien-D (For demon, to separate him from the child), laughed derisively. "Don't be politic about it. If they're "Off", then I was "A little naughty". You know the truth. You can feel it. You can SEE it." He held out the boy's arms, covered in welts. "SAY it, exorcist."
I sighed, allowing him this small victory. "They beat him."
"They are worse to him than I would ever be. When I felt a vessel weak enough to let me in, I was thrilled...but then I felt the how, the why...and...something stirred in me."
I scoffed. "Don't pretend to be noble all of a sudden."
He sat up and glared. "You think being a fallen angel has erased that I ever was one, you heretical holy man? I have a heart still." He laid back, smiling. "Damien here gives me a wonderful opportunity...to make heads spin on all three realms. Divine, Infernal and Mortal."
"...I don't follow." I admitted, leaning against the door.
"Last time Daddy raised a hand to Damien, I made his cigarette explode...almost like cigars in old cartoons. He even blinked at it like one...well, after he let out the most delightful high-pitched squeal." The giggle was of two voices. Damien-H seemed to like the memory too.
"I'm staying...and when someone plans evil for Damien...I'll do evil to them first. Not as harsh as what they intended...just enough to get them to...stay in their lane." He sat up, and the controllers from the system floated to them...one set in the boy's hands, the other floating, manipulated by seemingly nothing. The two were...playing together.
I uncrossed my arms and stood up from my earlier position. "You will do good...by doing lesser evil, TO evil."
"You get it! I'd applaud, but then Damien would lose his lead in a way I don't want him to." Furious clicking from the controllers. "The angels can't really touch me, you won't cast me out...and the fact the Divine and Mortal are letting me do as I please will piss off TONS of Demons back home! I can do this for decades, as long as Damien lives. Imagine it...Demonic Possession...as the best thing that ever happened to someone. The planes will SHIT themselves!"
"Watch your potty mouth." Damien-H took his mouth back for that remark.
Damien-D seemed...genuinely contrite. "Sorry kiddo. So yeah...you can send me home...but face it...the best parent this kid can ask for is in this room. You exorcise me...and they'll want payback from him for what I did to protect him."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I left. I claimed the demon was far more powerful, beyond me, and likely anyone they could contact. I did all I could to encourage them not to engage the entity, and the child may get more control. In truth I knew Damien-D would not act unless harm came to Damien-H.
I don't know if I can continue my work after what I've experienced then. Even if he was not entirely benevolent...I found him brilliant. I could not see him as an enemy, but merely a rival that had bested me, I...respected him.
I think I may tone down my work...perhaps...I've been fighting the wrong monsters.
|
Monsignor Michael Benedictine felt the disturbance long before he was summoned. A new demon had arrived into the mortal realm. He could sense the ripples, little pulses of energy that made his hair stand on end and told him where the source resided. This one was very powerful, the ripples having more the character of crashing waves, threatening to overwhelm him. To drown him beneath their onslaught.
"A blight has arrived," Michael said, closing his leather bound Bible and crossing himself.
Father Lawrence nodded thoughtfully, "Is it acting upon the world yet?" While Father Lawrence was not attuned to demons, he had long since discarded his skepticism on the subject. One could not spend any time in the Monsignor's presence and retain any doubt. They existed, their efforts to corrupt humanity an ongoing project stretching back since time immemorial.
Michael shook his head, "No. It has inhabited a host, but it remains isolated." He frowned, "I have not felt its like before. Powerful. Very. But somehow the hunger is absent."
"Perhaps we are in luck then, we may exorcise this blight before it is given the chance work its darkness," Lawrence said, his thumb counting the rosary out of habit.
"Perhaps," though Michael's tone was strained and carried an undercurrent of confusion. He had been on the front lines of this battle for some time. While the demons were a threat, they had also largely been predictable. This was new.
He did not like new.
Michael stood and began to gather the items he would need. A large wooden cross. A small silver one. Holy water. A warrior's Bible, blessed thrice by saints of great power. Once all was accounted for, he nodded to Lawrence, "We should hurry. It is recent and new, but its power gathers fast."
Michael and Lawrence made for the door just as a man, disheveled and panting, burst into the Rectory. "Monsignor, a new--"
Michael held up his hand, causing the man to fall silent, "I am aware. I move to counter the threat as we speak."
The man slumped, the relief palpable. "Thank the Almighty. It is terrible. Truly terrible."
Michael nodded, "Yes. I believe it is an Archdemon. The first in the modern era."
Lawrence's eyes widened, "An Archdemon?" The ramifications were astounding. It was widely believed that Archdemons had been exiled, purged from entering this realm after the stain of Original Sin had been washed clean by the Christ. If one had truly appeared, it would be the first in over two thousand years. The first since the Son of God had given his life so that man might know redemption.
Michael set out, his rapid pace belying the years the man lived. He was old, but he was not weak. The battle for the soul of man sustained him, renewing him continually. There were so few attuned, so few capable of sensing when corruption threatened mankind. Each was precious.
Their journey to the disruption was quick. Surprisingly so as demons quite often tended to avoid places the attuned might easily reach. It was another disturbing fact among a series of them. The Monsignor seemed unperturbed as he mounted the steps to the dilapidated building. "It lies within." As all he said before rapping his knuckles against the cracked door.
There was a shuffling inside, along with the sound of muffled voices in a heated conversation. Finally, the door cracked open, revealing a bleary eyed man with a bald pate, unkempt beard, and decidedly shabby garments. "Whaddya want? I ain't buyin' nuffin'." The man grumbled, his demeanor skeptical.
"I am here on urgent business."
"I ain't want no Bibles or magazines!" He looked the Monsignor up and down, a look of disdain spreading across his features, "I ain't makin' no donations neither. Not to the likes of you."
Michael looked at the man intently, if the other man's word had offended him, it made no visible impression on his expression. "Sir, I am not here to sell you on anything. I would simply like to know whether you have noticed anything disturbing recently."
"Whole damn world is disturbin'," he spat on the ground, just beside the Monsignor's foot, "Chinese takin' my job. Can't get my pills for my back no more 'cause they sayin' I don't need 'em." He shrugged, "World just ain't right. Left the little guy behind." He shook his head sadly.
"There are a great many ills in this world, but I am curious as to whether you have noticed anything within the walls of your home," Michael said, his tone carefully neutral.
"Beyond my fool daughter not comin' out of her room for three days, everything is peachy as pie." He took this opportunity to light up a cigarette, blowing the smoke in Father Lawrence's direction, who responded with a small annoyed cough.
"You say your daughter has been in her room for three days? Is that normal?" Michael asked.
"Ain't nothin' normal about that witch. Always been wrong in the head, and nothin' I do seems to get her head on right." He hooked a thumb in his belt and snapped it, making it clear just how he had attempted to correct her behavior.
Lawrence shared a concerned look with Michael. Abuse often weakened the will, making it easier for a demon to slip in through the cracks. By the looks of things, the father had done his part to place his daughter into jeopardy.
"Would it be all right if I tried to speak to your daughter?" Michael asked.
The man shrugged, "Hell if I care. Don't see you havin' much luck neither." He took a step back, sweeping his hand out, inviting Michael in. "Damn girl bit me the last time I tried to knock some sense into her." His hand creeped out from behind his back, angry black streaks ran along his veins before disappearing beneath a dirty towel acting as a bandage.
Michael glanced at the hand in some alarm, but ignored it in favor of more pressing concerns. "Thank you sir. We will not be any trouble." Michael said as he glided past and began to mount the stairs leading up to the second floor. Father Lawrence hurried quickly behind, a sheen of sweat breaking out as he followed the Monsignor into the darkness above.
**Had to split this into two parts. Too long.** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/9hx5jq/wp_youre_an_exorcist_and_this_is_your_most/) **over on my sub here.**
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2018-09-22T01:14:53
| 2018-09-21T21:49:11
| 759
| 312
|
[WP] You've loved an immortal for a long time, and they loved you back knowing your time together would be short. Doesn't make learning about the dozens of past lovers they've had, and the fact that their descendants are still alive any less upsetting, though.
|
##My Sunrise
I wake up feeling empty and look over at my husband's body. I watch his chest rise and fall, and I see him stir and turn on his side. His back contains a multitude of scars that are older than this building. The flesh that holds the scar does not look older than forty.
Sunlight peaks in through the curtains. I slip out without waking him to look at the sun. Sunrise always creates a beautiful picture. The warm pink glow coats the world and gives off an aura of hope. I smile as the world gets brighter.
Yet I also know that I am not the first person to find joy in a sunrise. It has been the subject of countless paintings, poems, and songs. Feeling bliss at the sight of a sunrise is almost a prerequisite to being human at this point. The sunrise does not belong to me.
I look over on the man lying on the bed. What am I to him? He claims to love me, and I know that I love him. But what is that love worth when our relationship dynamic is so uneven. He is an immortal who has lived for thousands of years, and I am the mortal who can only hope to see a fraction of that.
He tells me not to compare myself to his past loves, but how can I not? I know that I am neither his first love nor his last love. He tries to avoid mentioning his partners when telling me about his past, but they slip out.
When we were at an art museum, I caught him shedding a tear at a portrait of a woman in a beautiful gown. He quickly pulled me away from the painting, and he refused to elaborate on her. With just a slight glimpse, my insecurity made the most of the small piece of information. I imagined that she was a gorgeous princess who fell in love with him in a dramatic fashion. She couldn't be with him because she had to marry a prince, but she snuck out to see him every night until she passed. It is probably incorrect, but she has a painting in an art museum. I will never be able to compare to her.
I often wonder why I am trying to be in a relationship with him. I know why I love him. His life experience has given him the genius and wisdom of an intellectual titan. He has a sense of humor that can only be formed by centuries of trauma. He possesses a strength and kindness that provides me with a sense of security.
Yet when I look in his eyes and see the true depths of immortality, the doubts overcome that security. I wonder if he will ever remember me. Will he experience the same moment in the museum with a different woman and with me as the painting on the wall? Will another woman be obsessively comparing herself to me unfavorably?
He wakes up, and he smiles at me in the sunrise. The pink glow draws me close to him, and I bath in it. He kisses my forehead, and I feel the doubts start to fade. I may not be able to keep him to myself, but I will still love him.
---
r/AstroRideWrites
|
It's a touchy subject in any relationship. It can fray even the strongest bond. Sure, there are secure fellas who can listen to their their girlfriends list ex-lovers and be completely unfazed. But there are also many who cannot help but crumble in the face of their girl's romantic past.
At first, they ask for conversation's sake, or perhaps out of morbid curiosity. They press for details. One of the details bothers them, so they press for more, in the hope that more information will help them bury the bothersome tidbit. It rarely does.
They act cool. After all, they're not the jealous type. The past is gone. Almost forgotten. What matters is now.
But deep down, the details fester. The imagination fills in the blanks. The insecurities are like hydras: you lop the head from one and two more appear, then four, then eight.
Suddenly, the relationship is a sham. She doesn't love you. Never did. She thinks you're a joke. Your relationship is a pale shadow compared to her former trysts. All this time she has been cheating on you. Not literally. Not physically. But mentally. Spiritually. She's been cheating on you with her past. She's been sleeping with her memories. When she closes her eyes to kiss you, she's kissing her memories. That residue on her lips isn't gloss--it's the residue of her past! Her memories!
You can almost taste them on her breath. Like the reechy kisses of ghosts.
This is the spiral of thoughts down which an insecure man is dragged when he learns too much about his girl's romantic history. Especially if is he is young. Especially if her experiences have been more varied and wild than his own. Especially if he already felt like a bit of a chump compared to her, like she was out of his league, before he even knew about her halcyon, freewheeling days.
Imagine such a young man. Inexperienced, dating up, prone to jealousy and insecurity. Now imagine the woman he's with is young and beautiful and charming and vibrant and naturally flirtatious. Can you see the young man squirm? Can you see him bite his lip? Now imagine the woman has been young and stunning and coquettish and oh-so-*experimental* for three-thousand years, because she's immortal. Look closely at the young man's face now. Can you see the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth? Can you see the anxious darting of his eyes? Can you see behind his eyes, into his soul? Can you see that his soul is on fire?
If you can see that face, those eyes, that soul, I would like to introduce myself, because the man at whom you have been gazing these past few moments is me.
Hi. My name is Henry Bland and my girlfriend is immortal.
\- - -
Part 2!
https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/nfu9a0/a\_love\_that\_never\_dies\_part\_2/
| 2021-05-18T18:32:49
| 2021-05-18T17:58:48
| 47
| 22
|
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments
|
“How do I die?”
“Well Caeser mate, you decide to mix chicken lettuce and mayonnaise together with some hard bread bits called croutons. Turns out it was so good, your head literally exploded and that’s how we got the Caeser salad!”
“So if I avoid the mixture of chicken, mayonnaise and Salad then I’ll be fine?”
“Well, chicken, mayonnaise, lettuce, the senate, croutons, Brutus and just a sprinkling of cheese then I think you’ll be just fine!”
“Wait.. what did you say?”
“Oh nothing. Sorry have to time travel back now, TOODLES!”
|
Scenario 1: "Oh. That's an easy question. You die an excruciatingly painful death, by the hands of those who you call friends."
This would probably result in him killing me in a rage. Oh, and would probably result in the history of the world since 44BC changing beyond recognition. But who cares about that last part.
Scenario 2: "You die by choking 5 years later. It was your dinner."
Again. He would probably kill me in a rage. The timeline would be preserved, but there's no point in the integrity of the timeline if I'm not around to see it.
Ah. What should I choose? Choices choices choices.
Ah hah! How about...
_____________________________________________________
(Sorry for the 4th wall break, but, for mobile users who can't see the underline, the perspective of the story has just been changed to another character.)
No way.
No fucking way.
I, Julius Caesar, would be the first person to achieve immortality?
If that foreigner, whose name I never caught, was telling me the truth, that my reign would last a thousand years, that the flag of Rome would be seen across the lands, as North as Gaul and as East as the Han's land, then by the name of Jupiter, I need to change my name to something more epic.
Something more "Holy shit". Something that incites the feeling of strength.
"How about 'Caesar the Great'? Sounds fitting." said the foreigner.
Not bad. I'll call in a meeting for the Senate to rename the entire place, as well as to notify them of my change of titles.
I can't wait until Brutus hears the news.
_____________________________________________________
(Again, sorry for the 4th wall break)
Well that was easy.
Seems like the integrity of the timeline was preserved. And to make it better, I'm now going home with about 100 kilograms of gold!
"Set course for Xiangang, China, on the 16th of February, 2018."
"I'm sorry I can't do that, u/dummie1138"
"What? Why not?"
"The area you call 'Xiangang' is neither called 'Xiangang' nor controlled by the Great Ming Empire. Setting course for the 16th of February, 2018 to Hong Kong(UK)."
Well fuck.
_____________________________________________________
If you didn't hate that, please suggest a good AI name. I could really use one.
| 2018-02-15T21:37:23
| 2018-02-15T20:35:40
| 23
| 12
|
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
|
Agent Powell scrutinized the group closely. Every wrinkle, sunspot, and greyed hair in perfect detail. Yet again, he regretted that his only power was good eyesight, just a bump above 20/20 vision. As with nearly all early bloomers, no one had even noticed when his "ability" had manifested at age six.
"John is on the run," Powell told them. No one needed an explanation of who "John" was. Everyone knew him. Age 101, and *still* no powers, a new world record by a long shot. The previous record for latest manifestation had been a Thai man at age 81, and his earth-moving abilities were so strong that they'd had to quarantine him on St. Helena where he couldn't do any harm to others. His first earthquake had practically leveled Bangkok. John's powers would be unprecedented; magnitudes more powerful. And the whole world was waiting to see what they were. "We've been tasked with bringing him back." One of the men in the audience snorted. "Something to say, Mr. Wiretz?" Agent Powell asked.
He raised himself out of his chair to a standing position, though his legs no longer worked. He instead moved using his telekenetic abilities, and hovered a few inches from the floor. He'd manifested at age 66. "Yeah, I do have something to say." Though most of Wiretz' body was broken and useless, his tongue was still *perfectly* capable of tearing a man down. "How did you incompetent a-holes manage to *lose* a *powerless* hundred year old man?? Was his *hoveround* too fast for your agents to catch? Come on!"
Agent Powell sighed. There wasn't an easy answer to this part. No one knew exactly how he'd gotten out. "The running theory is that members of the Church of John helped him escape his house without our agents knowing it. They may have a teleporter adherent that we don't know about, who could have worked with their electropath to disable the security systems and surveillance equipment." The Church of John had been a thorn in Powell's side for as long as he'd been assigned to John's security detail. They were a bunch of nutjobs who unfortunately also possessed some amazing late-bloomer abilities. They revered John as the second coming of God himself, and believed that when his powers *did* manifest, he would be completely omnipotent. And it was a rapidly growing cult that tended to attract the most powerful late bloomers that even the government was unable to harness.
"Any leads on where he went?" Ms. Winset asked. She dressed like she was going to church every Sunday in her finest dress and jewelry, and staggered around with the support of an ornate cane. Powell just thought it made her look like she was going to a funeral, and she'd disliked him ever since she'd heard that thought. She was the most powerful telepath in the world and no one could ever hide thoughts from her.
"No, no leads yet," Powell said. "And we need to find him quickly. The longer he's out there, the more the Church of John will be able to cover their tracks."
"Here's a question," Mr. White chimed in. Before positing the question, Agent Powell's pants were suddenly on the floor, and Mr. White was having himself a hearty laugh that ended up turning into a sickly cough. Powell plastered a grin on his face and re-did his belt. White always did the exact same prank, and as far as Powell could tell, pulling people's pants down was about 50% of how he used his time-pausing abilities. It had started to get a bit old. "This John guy," White asked after he managed to stop laughing, "what does *he* want? Does he want to be with this church? Does he want to work for you all?"
"He has a contract to serve as a government agent," Powell said. It wasn't exactly an answer of what John *wanted*, but he had formally agreed to serve. It was a pretty standard offer from the government given to everyone over 50 who still had not manifested, and included a pretty hefty signing bonus as well as financial support for the person's descendants. But John was... something different. If he didn't want to serve, there's probably no way that anyone could make him do otherwise. Once his powers manifested, no one could *make him* do *anything*.
Powell looked back at the audience, and was momentarily startled to see John's smiling face, sitting right in front of him. His heart hammered, and then he rolled his eyes as Ms. Lewis shape-shifted back into her normal form. Unlike the other geezers in the group, she was a 20 year old blond with perky breasts and a gorgeous smile. At least, that's the form that she always chose. Powell didn't *actually* know what she really looked like. "Well let's go, then," Ms. Lewis said in her most sultry, sexy voice. She then changed into a mirror image of Powell's boss, FBI director Erikson. "Where to next, Agent?"
[I posted another part below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3q9xcu/wp_everyone_has_powers_locked_within_them_each/cwdq1o7)
|
I held the hand of the little wizened man in front of me as his breathing laboured; each rattling wheeze making me feel sure that this was his last. A long pause made me feel out again with my mind, testing to see if he was slipping away, but I could feel the cold steel of his thoughts locked away, he was still very much alive.
Looking down on his lined and drawn face, it was hard to believe that he had been the most wanted man for nearly thirty years; the only human to have never developed a power, he'd terrified those in power, his potential was too worrying to conceive.
I'd only worked on the case for a few months before he walked into this hospital, St Ignacious in lower Manhatten and calmly informed the nurse at the desk that he needed some medical care and she might like to call a policeman, as he was sure someone would be looking for him.
I was being called a hero, but that wasn't fair, I'd done nothing, just fly down and make his arrest official, he'd never have been caught otherwise. When the word finally got out that he was a dud I assumed things would change, but for now I enjoyed the notoriety it was giving me, even if it wouldn't last.
In the psy-reading division we were all fairly equal and so I didn't bother to call in someone else to confirm. I'd read his mind, he wasn't lying, wasn't hiding his power, it just didn't exist. For the first time in nearly two hundred years a human had been born and lived a hundred years without developing a power and now, here in this hospital, he was dying.
I'd grown fond of him. We were stuck here together he and I and he'd told me of his life, running from place to place, always one step ahead. Most folk didn't care that he was powerless, many folk hadn't a useful power and so he was accepted, only occasionally being outed and forced to run again. that was when we'd heard of him, just a dozen reports in nearly a hundred years and never anywhere close to catching him.
He'd heard that powers are stronger the later they developed, but he didn't care, he just wanted to live his life and be normal and now that I knew him, I was glad that he had. For most people puberty brought something new, a change and a power, but for him, he had been happy with what he had, a normal life. He'd heard that developing a power later would make it strong, or more dangerous, but it had never come and he'd never cared to try to find it. He was happy.
His last breaths were coming now, rattling, slow and painful. I looked again and felt his mind begin to unwrap, all those memories slipping into nothing, it was terrifying to watch a brain die, but for this one, I had to be sure.
At last, finally, there was nothing and I began to withdraw, when I saw one last spark, in a far corner and examined it more closely. It was a memory of him as a boy, on a summer day, in the rain. He'd held it close, examining it many times and now it was all that was left of him and so I withdrew to let him live it one last time.
I flexed my hand and tried to let go, but his fingers were stiff around mine and didn't release. With growing panic I tried to force them, but they stayed, holding me tight.
*raindrops*
It was warm, too warm for this place. It was summer and I was a boy. What was wrong? This wasn't supposed to be happening. My hand felt like it was frozen, impossible to move. I looked down and was shocked to see that it was my hand that was white and his that was pink.
His eyes opened and i eached out again and all at once I felt a rush as all his memories returned at once. This wasn't right, it wasn't possible.
*a warm day and it's raining. i'm laughing at the rain and it's soaking my through*
I looked down and his fingers pull away from mine. His hand is pink and young, mine old and wrinkled. I suck at breath, but it comes only painfully and with a rattle. This bed is hard and uncomfortable and I am tired, I just want to close my eyes and go. Something is calling me and I am being drawn away, it's taking me against my will, but I can't stop it.
He stands, looks at his hands and steps backwards. there is confusion on his face, but it's not his face. I try to use my voice, but it's wrong and is only a croak, still he seems shocked to hear it. He turns and hesitantly walks from the room, looking back just once before he is gone.
I am fading away, everything is leaving now and all I can hear is raindrops; raindrops on a summer day.
| 2015-10-26T08:04:25
| 2015-10-26T08:04:09
| 686
| 147
|
[WP] "We have ancient elven magic, and even the dwarves have their ugly mountain forts. What do YOU have, human?!" "Napalm, and high-explosives, mostly..." *grumbling beard in the background* "....our forts are aesthetically pleasing though..."
|
“Who invited the humans to this conflict?!” Grumbled the dwarven general, clad in his armor and wielding a war hammer, his banner swirling in the wind.
“Now from what I understand”, says a human commander, walking up and wiping the dust off his pants. “Looks like you guys are going to partake in what we call a war game. We thought, well, we should join in and make things interesting.” He chuckled to himself as he uncoupled the radio from his belt.
“What could you possibly be capable of, with yer’ soft hands and weak frames? We could decimate with the smallest of our siege engines.” Boasted the little bastard, while the elven honor guard and commander kept a chuckle down. “As much as it pains me to say, I agree with the dwarf’s comment. What could you possibly have to offer?”
“Hmmm........ OH, I know!” He exclaims while putting his radio up to his mouth. “Air support, I request you deploy 3 thermobaric bombs towards that hill, creating the sun.” “UNDERSTOOD” confirms the bomber, as he turns his aircraft towards the target zone.
Both the elf and dwarf watch in a combination of horror and awe as the entire hill is obliterated, sending a small shockwave throughout the small conference.
The commander, satisfied with his show of force, walks away.
|
After the meteor destroyed Europe, the ancient races awoke.
The monsters being monsters just didn’t care, it was in their nature to hunt, eat, sleep, and create offspring.
The Elves and the Dwarves and all those others, the good races I guess, they were outraged.
They saw the state of the Earth and declared war.
First they watched us to learn. So that their first strike would hurt humanity. And it did. They took down our communications and electronics very fast.
We tried to put up a fight but they had actual magic. What are we supposed to do about that?
About 5 years into the war Humanity stole magic. While we couldn’t harness it effectively yet we used it to create something new. The Warforged. Robots made from organic materials and powered by magic.
We put up a fight. It was a hopeless one but fighting is something we do well.
Eventually though we lost. Humanity was in shambles. But we will survive.
We have too. It’s in our DNA.
Because we are resilient. We are stubborn creatures. That’s what we have. Resilience and stubbornness.
-Note found in the pocket of Captain Earnhardt. Found dead on December 12, 2027-
| 2019-02-03T22:26:15
| 2019-02-03T21:33:54
| 28
| 16
|
[WP] You don't remember it, but before you were born, you went through an RPG-esque character creation and determined your attributes, virtues, traits, natural skills etc. You have died and realized all the wrong choices you made from the very beginning.
|
I was a tank. That was the idea, anyway. I remember it all so clearly, now; I had studied intently what would have been my first twenty years of life, and tank seemed the way to go. I loaded up on charisma, strength, and constitution, and I gave a pittance to intelligence and wisdom—just enough to navigate my early hurdles. It seemed clear to me that I’d gain an early advantage if only I could make friends and intimidate my enemies.
My social skills largely masked what my teachers came to understand: that I was slow. That I had an ego. That I’d always need extra encouragement and patience to keep up developmentally. I had anticipated this, and figured I’d be clever enough to find ways to boost my intelligence if necessary. But it wasn’t that easy.
So I strengthened my natural advantages. I worked out, and developed quite the silver tongue. By age 15, I had earned my place as top jock. I had friends, girls, and a nice long list of “C”s on my report card (half of which had been negotiated from lower grades by my coaches).
Unfortunately, I didn’t even make it to my magic number 20—the age where I should have been on top, in the lead, unstoppable. My meager wisdom value ensured otherwise. In that final moment, it seemed like a good idea. It seemed like it would boost my popularity to new plateaus. Charismatic, strong, invincible me thought it was so impressive to take a few friends on a drive with a bottle of vodka and a new pair of subwoofers.
It was fun. It was stupid. I lost, and so did they. Turns out that when your ability to change depends on your natural wisdom, it doesn’t matter how athletic or charming you are.
I can’t make it right, but I can roll again. And I think this time I’ll go healer.
*****
Edit: typo
|
"Hmm... Int and Agility are fairly high, extremely high Wisdom. Strength is low, but not too bad overall. I don't know where all of these points came from because my endurance is impeccable too.
Oh...
I see...
'Name: atwork, Charles
Attributes:
STR - 5
**CHR - 1**
INT - 8
AGI - 10
WIS - 10
END - 7'
That's why my life was so difficult."
| 2015-01-09T10:45:40
| 2015-01-09T10:24:35
| 99
| 35
|
[WP] "You get 10 wishes." "...isn't it supposed to be 3?" "Well, it varies. 3 is the baseline for a person who's doing fine. People doing really well only get 1 or 2 wishes. And if you're doing poorly... well, you looked like you could use some more wishes than usual."
|
"Can I wish for more wishes?"
The old man looked solemnly at the Djinn who was shaking his head. He was a red spirit with a velvet vest, gold jewelry and an intimidating mustache. He floated with his arms crossed, the bottom half of his being still connected to the tube of Bengay he flashily appeared out from. Ernest, who had purchased the Bengay from a shady back-alley dealer, was still taking the time to process the floating genie levitating in front of him. The tube remained on the ground. Ernest's knees were aching for the heat relief offered by the ointment.
"10 wishes, huh?"
He pulled wonderingly at the white stands of hair that comprised his meager beard. He scratched his bald head and sucked on the three yellow teeth he had left: a front tooth, an incisor and a molar. Continuing to think of ways not to squander the glorious opportunity that had presented itself, Ernest breathed with an audible wheeze. He straightened his shabby Hawaiian shirt.
"What would you wish for," Ernest questioned the genie.
"Eternal freedom."
"Ah," said Ernest waving his hand. "I have that, it's not all it's cracked up to be. How about I wish for an actual tube of Bengay."
"...just a tube of Bengay?"
Ernest paused, making sure to get the most out of his ten wishes. He continued, "A *neverending* tube of Bengay."
"Is this your first wish?" said the Djinn, refraining himself from offering further advice.
"Indeed it is."
"So be it." Storm clouds suddenly appeared in the sky. The spirit thunderously clapped his hands and lightning streaked across dark clouds. From the heavens descended a travel-sized tube of Bengay. Ernest gleefully grabbed the floating tube and squeezed it to his heart's delight, causing the painkilling paste to spread all over. He rubbed some on his screaming knees.
"Ahhhhh yeah," said Ernest, whose jean shorts were hiked up to his pale thighs. "That's the good stuff." He squeezed some more from the tube and began rubbing it on his bald skull.
"Nine wishes to go, Ernest." boomed the genie.
A voice came from behind the garbage pails, "Hey Ernie, what's that?"
An octogenarian in a trench coat came hobbling over. He stood at an almost perfect 90-degree angle, leaning heavily on a cane. He adjusted his peaky blinder and sized up the Djinn.
"What is this, an immigrant?"
"What?" asked Ernest, putting his hand to his ear.
"I SAID IS THIS AN IMMIGRANT?"
"I told you, I'm innocent! I was holding the heroin for someone else!"
The Djinn watched in horror as the two ancient street urchins continued to bicker. They repeated themselves nearly nine times before Ernest had had enough.
"Enough!" he exclaimed. "I wish I had perfect hearing so I could hear this buffoon."
Clouds rolled into the sky again as the genie magnificently clapped his hands. Immediately, Ernest's inner ears became rejuvenated as his hearing improved to perfection. Thunder was heard directly above them.
"Agh, not so loud," clamored Ernest. He rubbed a pinky in his right ear. "Now, what did you say, Andy?"
"I said is that an immigrant?" asked the other old guy.
"Are you daft? He's a genie. He came out of the Bengay you sold me."
Andy's jaw nearly hit the floor. "My Bengay?? The expired tube I sold to you for a dollar??"
Ernest shrugged. "Finders keepers." He saw the forlorn look in his peer's eye. "Tell you what. Genie. How about a tube of Bengay for the old man here? The kind you made for me."
The genie abandoned the theatrics and snapped his fingers. A neverending tube of Bengay fell from the sky like a meteorite, landing at the feet of Andy. Andy reached down to pick it up. Out of anger, he squeezed the tube in his fist. The cap popped off and the ointment came streaming out.
"You can wish us riches and you wasted it on this rubbish?"
Ernest winked as Bengay continued to cover Andy's furious fist. He paused to marvel at how much paste they can fit into such a tiny tube, then returned to hurling insults at Ernest. Exhausted quickly from extra effort, he began applying the excess Bengay to his back.
"Ahhhhh yeah," said Andy, whose trench coat was now flipped over his head. "That's the good stuff."
Ernest, now struck with inspiration from his friend's outburst raised his finger in the air.
"GENIE!" He commanded. "I wish I were the richest man in the world!"
The Djinn's eyes flickered. Dark clouds rolled across the sky. Finally, finally, they were getting somewhere.
|
Someone had kept a genie on the fire escape. Henry didn’t know what to do with that information.
Music thumped behind him, loud, drunk voices filled the air, spilling out into his cold quiet. Somewhere, Bells would be looking for him. She always did when he slipped away; Henry wondered when she would give up. Probably never. If she hadn’t yet it showed either iron will or clinical insanity.
The genie was still waiting. Henry finished his beer, tossed the can into the dark below. “No,” he said softly, “I think I’ll stay sad.”
She had appeared from a watering jug painted with a Day of the Dead skull, and she looked every bit the part. There had been no patting, no rubbing of the mythic lamp turned jug. Henry hadn’t interacted with it at all. She had merely appeared, a burst of water jetting up on its own and twisting, spiraling outwards into a girl in a forest green dress, a dandelion in her flyaway hair. “I’m Deliliah,” she had said, “and you look like you could use some wishes. How about ten? Most people get less, but a face like that? You need ten.”
She stared at him like one might stare at a confusing child, one that cries for no reason other than to cry: attention, pain, and hunger be damned.
“Well fuck. That hasn’t happened before.” She hopped up onto the rail of the fire escape, her dangling legs next to him. They were ten stories up and below was a black plunge, but then, genies probably didn’t need to worry about falling. Neither did he. Henry climbed up beside her, faced the wrong way ‘round at the apartment building opposite them, legs dangling over nothing. They sat there a while in an oddly companionable silence, listening to the shouts and laughter from the party.
“Care to explain?” she finally said.
“Care to explain why a genie is named Deliliah?”
She laughed, like the cliche babbling brook. Damn if it wasn’t pretty though. “’Cause I wasn’t always a genie. Everyone you meet has a story, you ever think of that?”
Henry done nothing but think of that for a year. He was a writer, an aspiring one at least. Not an author, that word felt too aspirational, but he put pen to paper every day, sweated his way through the act of creation, studied and applied, failed and then studied again.
“Yeah,” he said simply, “once or twice.”
She bumped shoulders with him, then executed a graceful little spinning maneuver, swinging her legs around until she sat the same way as him, perched over the abyss. Henry tried to sift the murk for his empty beer can. It was long gone.
“Your turn,” she said. Another bump.
He tried to hold the words back, but it was pointless tonight. He’d drank too much— he’d been doing that a lot lately— and it was his birthday, always a strange day. He thought he could hear someone calling his name, either Bells or his imagination, and if it was his imagination Henry knew who it would be. Ellie. The last time he’d been in the city he’d been there with her. The last time he’d been at a party he’d been there with her. The last time he’d been—
“You ever hear of Yeats?” he said suddenly.
“Pardon?”
“William Butler Yeats. Poet, bit of an oculist, fanatically Irish. Hell of a poet.”
She frowned, her nose scrunching up. “Can’t say I have.”
“Yeah well, he’s my favorite poet and it’s not close. He did gorgeous poems about a woman named Maud Gonne, some stuff Ireland, some stuff about growing old…Anyway, his muse was Maud Gonne, this actress turned revolutionary turned occult queen, fascinating woman. He spent thirty-odd years trying to woo her, wrote the most beautiful poetry any woman has ever had written for her, though Neruda’s girl has a fair argument for that I suppose, and at the end of it all…”
“Yeah?”
“At the end of it all, nothing. She wouldn’t have him.”
“That’s terrible!”
Henry laughed. “Maybe, maybe not. Yeats must have been a piece of work too, he proposed to her daughter after.”
The genie’s mouth dropped open, working silently around something. Her pale skin had gone scarlet, her fingers twisted around the fire escape’s rusting steel.
“They were complicated, from both sides.” Henry paused, tried to piece it all together. His head was very foggy. “You know, maybe after all of this I just needed to quote Maud. You asked why I didn’t want your wishes, why I wanted to stay sad, and she articulated it best. When Yeats told her he wasn’t happy without her, she said:
*“Oh yes, you are, because you make beautiful poetry out of what you call your unhappiness and you are happy in that. Marriages are such a dull affair. Poets should never marry. The world should thank me for not marrying you.”*
Behind them, the party quieted down. Henry was certain now, that he could Bells calling his name. The genie had the strangest look on her face, like she couldn’t decide if or how hard to laugh. It was cute. She settled on a wry smile and a shake of her head.
“I like her,” she said.
“Anyway, that’s why I’m saying no. Because I want to be a writer too, and if it worked for Yeats, I figure I should give it a try. Besides, give me too long to think about those wishes and I might end up taking someone else’s freedom away. I’m not about that.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. Deliliah was shockingly warm for a genie made of water. She was moonlight pale, a girl meant for nights under the open stars. She smelled like fresh cut flowers and a shock of sweet peppermint.
“I like you too,” she said. “I wouldn’t have let you fuck with someone else, but I can support this. Even if I think you’d look cuter with a smile.”
“Find me another night and we’ll see.”
“I think I will,” she said.
“There you are!” Bells bustled in from behind them. She’d abandoned her heels somewhere inside, her makeup was smudged. She looked radiant and more than a little high.
And Deliliah was gone. Henry couldn’t quite put his finger on the moment the genie had disappeared, he only knew that the world felt colder without her, and the city air stank without that shock of peppermint.
"Henry Tiberias Cross get down from there this instant!” She hauled him down from the railing, brushed him off, looking into his eyes as if she could pierce his soul. If anyone could, it would be Bells.
“It’s almost,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Henry, it’s almost midnight and you still haven’t let me sing you happy birthday!”
“Get me a drink first.”
She squinted at him. “And you’ll be right here?”
“Cross my heart.”
Bells slapped his cheek lightly and bustled off as fast as she had come. Henry was alone with the stinking air and the gap where Deliliah had been. He didn’t feel drunk anymore, just tired and a bit lonely.
“Come find me another night, okay?” he said to the empty air.
The water in the jug bubbled with something akin to laughter. A shock of peppermint filled the air. Then Bells was back, and the song began. When Henry closed his eyes he thought he could hear a second voice, a sweet soprano, filling in the harmony.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-09-20T17:43:08
| 2021-09-20T17:12:45
| 464
| 128
|
[WP] Occasionally ships in deep space going undergoing faster than light travel just go missing, a tragic but well known and accepted fact. One ship managed to come back however years after disappearance with extremely disturbing reports
|
“What am I looking at here?” Captain Michaels asked, looking not at what he referenced but at the lone figure before him.
The man, the Fleet officer, sat silently in the middle of the spartan compartment, staring past Captain Michaels at the projection shimmering across the far bulkhead.
“Captain Tyler,” Michaels said, placing himself in between the old officer and the projection. “What is going on here?”
Michaels watched, waiting for the man to say something, to do anything but stare at the glittering holo. Michaels felt a chill run up his spine at the black, blank hollowness in the eyes of the otherwise nondescript man.
Tyler was freshly shaven and washed, his outdated officers uniform replaced with a simple jet black undersuit. The neurological tests came back normal. Nothing explained the catatonia. Nothing explained why he was alone in the crewless decks and corridors of the ASN Excelcior, found drifting in deep space on the far end of the galaxy, two centuries after its maiden voyage of exploration.
Nothing explained the vid capture they found Tyler with. The capture playing out behind Michaels now.
Michaels felt a pulse in his ear.
“Go,” he said, turning away from the still man.
“Captain,” his XOs voice rang in his ear. “We’ve ran the stellar data gathered from the Excelior’s sensors and nav logs.”
“And?” Michaels prodded, keenly aware of the presence behind him.
“Our specialists have run it through every know star chart and came back negative, sir, it doesn’t match any known stellar formation yet observed by the Alliance, including any of those that could be triangulated at the Excelior’s last know location prior to it’s disappearance and where we located it.”
“Taking into account the time disparity?” Michaels asked.
“Yes sir, stellar drift was accounted for.” His XO said.
Michaels sighed. Long moments passed as the line stayed open.
“And the…log time?”
His XO took a moment to answer. “AI algorithms are still trying to determine the…precise length of the data, but-“
“What’s their estimate, Locke?”
“They estimate it to be several hundred thousand years, sir, and with no detectable evidence of tampering.”
“They heard you!”
Michaels jolted at the sudden yell.
“They heard you! They heard you! They heard you!”
Michaels turned to see the black eyed man looking directly at him, in the same position and place as before. His eyes were disturbingly still. Only his mouth moved, belting the same phrase over and over.
“Captain!” He heard his XO calling in his ear.
“It’s fine,” Michaels said. This was the most they had gotten from the man in three days.
“Captain Tyler!” Michaels said, trying to be heard over the man.
“They heard you! They heard you! They heard you!”
Michaels moved toward him, realizing then that though he seemed to be referring to Michaels, his dead eyes were still focused on the innocuous star field, as though he were incapable of seeing anything else.
He wasn’t sure about engaging the deranged officer in his sudden irrational ranting, but it was the only opening they had so far.
Michaels came up beside the old Captain, “Who Tyler, who are they?”
Tyler continued on as if he hadn’t heard him.
“They heard you! They heard you!”
As the hairs on his arms prickled and something like fear tingled in his gut, Michaels had enough.
“Damn you, Tyler!” Michaels yelled, grabbing the man’s face and turning it towards him. “Tell me, Tyler, tell me, who the hell are they?!”
This close to those cold black eyes, Michaels could see something, something he couldn’t before. Something the old officer had seen once, before and again.
“Captain!” The XOs voice still rang in his ear, unanswered.
The man was silent now.
“They heard you.”
In the deep, dead starless dark, Michaels heard them too…
Far beyond the little ship, dwarfed into nothingness by the endless stellar fields surrounding them and unseen by all, another burning star at the edge of the universe went out.
|
"We didn't..." The voice trailed off, out of the cone of light illuminating the table to be smothered by the darkness beyond.
A hand reached out into the light, toward a glass of water sitting motionless on the steel table in the debriefing room aboard the Terran Space Ship TSS Elliott.
The hand, spindley and portruding bones, like the hands of all deep-space long-haulers that spent significant amounts of time in the cold embrace of weightlessness, clutched at the glass. Though thin, the fingers were covered with the hard callous of a working hauler.
"We didn't know." The voice finished after taking a sip of the recycled water.
"Didn't know what?" A new voice entered the cone of light from across the table.
"Your ship," a rustling of papers, "the Tiaga, set course for RP19:34:27.6,+33.45, a radio pulsar some 9 megaparsecs away, is that correct?"
A long pause.
"Weren't no pulsar." The boney hand set the glass back down on the table, shivering clacks disrupting the light cone as the cup shuddered in its unsteady grasp.
"What do you mean?"
"Pulsar... a fast-spinning neutron star, magnetic fields, energy beams... that's not what that were."
Rustling papers filled the uncomfortable silence.
"And, Captain Reyn, what, err, what was it."
"You know when," the voice, swirled around the illuminated cone, searching for words.
"When you're asleep," the voice dropped an octave.
"When you're asleep, and you're in this, this place. You haven't started your dream yet, your mind is still swirling through ideas, trying to pick the dream, and an idea flashes by, just a flash, and it's so horrible, that you try to push it away, but the more you push, the stronger it becomes, the more you try to dream something else, the more this one tiny spark of madness grows around you, until you forget that you were ever awake, you forget that this was all a dream, you forget..."
The papers stopped rustling. The hand ventured out into the light again. The cup ventured out of the light.
"The thing lit up our scopes, from a long way off, easy to navigate at it. But the closer we got, the brighter it got."
"Well, as you move closer to an obj--"
"Not like that you fffool," the voice grew angry, and hissed as it pushed the intruder out of the conversation.
"It grew brighter, faster than it should have. It grew bigger. We checked the numbers, rechecked them."
A sound like a heartbeat, if a heart pumped steam instead of blood, permeated the darkness.
"What's strange was the navdeck. It started throwing these little warnings. Orion's nebula off track by 0.00003 degrees, Sagittarius A off by 0.0002 degrees. We thought it were just little glitches at first, but when we looked back out the viewscreen the Milky Way looked, well, it looked just wrong."
The hand in the light cone spread its fingers, palm up.
"We decided to head back."
The hand flipped over and teepeed its fingertips onto the table.
"But we couldn't. No matter where we turned and how we burned, that--" the voice paused before hissing out "--pulsssar just kept growing. Our navs kept degrading. We were stuck in this field, this gravity, pulling us in."
"We all had it, the long-haul mania, they say you can't feel the time dilation in a haul, but you can. The gravity's off, not like too little or too much or anything you can read with your science, it's just, wrong. And that wrongness builds."
The hand went limp, collapsing the finger-tent.
"We were stuck there for what seemed like centuries, running away from this thing as it grew larger and larger, enveloping our ship and sensors, till the Milky Way was just this, this grotesque and warped blur of red light, always shrinking away as we ran toward it."
The silence stretched between a few small, hissing coughs.
"And then?" The other voice prompted.
"Then we passed. Into the light, then back out, then back into the light of home. But it was," a long venting sound, "it was all wrong, we've crossed into some kind of, some sort of hellscape, everything's the same, but..."
"What, precisely," the voice of the examiner grew as his face, bespectacled and mustached, moved into the light, "makes you think you've passed into some new place, what, precisely, is 'wrong'?"
"Where I come from," the hissing sound grew louder as the calloused hand led a smoking, venting mass into the light, tendrils of smoke swirled as gill-like orifaces struggled to shape the air into a strange language, "everybody looksss like meee."
| 2021-10-10T07:27:37
| 2021-10-10T06:44:14
| 157
| 113
|
[WP] You turn over a sheet of white paper, only to find the other side is green. Puzzled, you turn it over again, and now it is red. You decide to tear the paper apart.
|
I flip the paper over, multiple times. Each side becomes a different color, each color more vibrant than the last. Now one side is green, I flip it over. The other side is a deep magenta, I flip it over. Now the side that was green is a vibrant saffron.
Absolutely beautiful, I feel like I'm watching a show. I should've paid for this, it's amazing! And as I continue to turn the paper I start to see other things. Colors that have no name. This are no longer primary, secondary, tertiary. These are not mixtures of things that are. These are new colors. My colors.
In a spark of genius I rip the page in half. Now I have two pieces of paper creating unseen colors for me. I stack them together and it creates a pattern. I rip up enough pieces and flip thought them and I can see into a world. A world that breathes imagination, a world that values beauty.
I want to go there. I hate this room. The walls are white and soft and boring. The door is cold and grey and the only window faces out into the hallway were the doctors pass. There's never anything to do here until the bring me another piece if paper.
|
"What *is* this?"
Little specks of every colour, nestled in every little piece of confetti. I gather the pieces into my hands and I crumple them up. I let them go, and they sparkle in the light.
"Huh. Hey Kim?"
I'm smiling when she comes in. "Yeah?"
"Look at this. It's so weird."
She looks at the paper. "What is?"
I show her. I pick the pieces up, and I let them drift down onto the table. It's like they're falling in slow motion. I can see them catching the light.
Kim grins. "I don't get it."
I raise an eyebrow. "What's not to get?"
"It's paper? Like, is there a joke here?"
"No joke."
She smiles, warm. "Then clean it up, I guess." She leans in, kisses me on the cheek. I look into her eyes, and I see a lake of liquid diamonds. I feel cool air on my face. I hear the breeze.
And she walks out. "Come help in the kitchen when you're done!"
I sweep the paper into the bin. I can hear it moving.
I close my eyes. Behind them is a sea of vibrant inks. Shapes are forming. I know those shapes. Or... something.
This isn't a problem. This is something I'm sure many people deal with. I can go on with my life until it becomes a problem.
"But how long until it becomes a problem?"
"I don't know." I open my eyes. It's autumn. I'm up to my ankles in clear water, on the river bank. My feet are bare. My feet weren't bare.
Anneke puts her hand on my shoulder. "You can't deny this life. You were born to live as a hero. Born to see the things no mortal should or could. That life isn't for you."
"How do I know that, though?" I feel the smooth pebbles under my feet. I think. I hear Kim humming some tune in the kitchen.
"I am your guide. I would never lead you astray." Anneke gets down on one knee and bows her head before me. I stroke her hair and she looks at me. Her eyes are a pale blue.
I make to stand, and I feel something in my hands.
A scrap of white paper.
"You coming or not?"
I slip the paper into my pocket. I can feel the breeze on my skin. My feet are not bare.
"I'm coming."
| 2015-05-23T16:12:47
| 2015-05-23T14:20:05
| 154
| 60
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Pynffvsvrq vasbezngvba: Yriry Erq pyrnenapr erdhverq. Abirzore 22, 1963- Gur cerfvqrag unf fcrpvsvpnyyl erdhrfgrq gung n fcrpvny ohggba or vafgnyyrq ba uvf qrfx. Gur ohggba jura cerffrq jbhyq unir fgnss oevat uvz n Serfpn. Abirzore 24, 1963- Vafgnyyngvba pbzcyrgr.
Possible security concern- While reviewing the archives, I see that old documents are still being encoded with [Rot-13](http://www.decode.org/).
|
I am the most important person. I'm happy when I hear something from the outside world - talking, musik, anything. Then I know that I am not alone. It's always dark here, but warm. I know, that I have to leave this place soon, though I don't want to. They wait for me to come, they are very curious about me. The world revolves around me, after all. I am her and she is me.
When I finally leave, it is frightening cold. I scream because I don't understand.
The doctor says: "It's a boy!"
| 2022-04-09T08:53:35
| 2015-01-12T18:17:13
| 88
| 10
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad"
|
James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45
| 828
| 159
|
[WP] You accidentally kill a person. Instantly, you absorb all of their memories, feelings and talents. It feels quite addicting to you.
|
The first time was an accident. I'm ashamed to admit I fled the scene after I hit him. Hosed the car down in the driveway, tried to pretend it never happened.
I chalked up the dreams to guilt. Memories of another life. Memories of a kind and better man than I. Memories I thought I had imagined for the man I had hit... until I read his obituary that is. Turns out, all those memories were actually real. Memories from a loving father, devoted husband, and passionate scientist.
The memories became more meaningful than my own, perhaps because the life of the man I had killed was better lived than mine. That was when I realized I wanted to take more lives, and gain experiences from every walk of life.
My first and only victim was the week after. She backed up the alley as I closed in. I could hear the fear in her voice as she called for help.
"Not this way." I somehow knew the voice in my head was not my own; it was the voice of the man I had killed.
Now I am in Oregon. Under their death with dignity act, I help those who have lived a full life and are in terminal stages of illness. I am the one who takes then off life support.
Those who believe in my ability often request me specifically. In a way they live on through me. In return, I try to share their wisdom with the world.
**Edit:** Added alley scene
|
I've forgotten who I was.
The first few times there was still an original 'me' in there somewhere, a coherent narrative buried under all the rubble. I'd dig it up occasionally and despair at how far I'd drifted from my original identity.
Seems kind of foolish, now that I think of it. Why grieve something that might not have existed to start with?
I'm at some hole-in-the-wall coffeehouse right now. It's one of my favorites, I'd been going to the same place for the last 50 years, every Sunday morning like clockwork. It would be a shame to break that habit now, so here I was.
The barista asks my name and a hundred answers come to mind at once. I smile at her - that's polite, isn't it? No, maybe creepy, she's much too young for me - and fish for my wallet, digging out the driver's license and carefully reading the printed name.
*Mark Velasquez*
It's one of my licenses, I know that much, but I'm not sure if the picture on it matches my face. I'll have to check later. The barista gives me a strange look - was it because I smiled? - but nods and moves on to the next customer.
Not following? Neither am I.
As I wait for my order I survey the seated guests, trying to guess which one might give me the best high.
My gaze lingers on a middle-aged man in the corner first, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. He looks like my late husband, all the way down to the hilariously out-of-fashion soul patch. The young woman with him, though - she reminds me of my most recent ex-girlfriend, a pang of anger and loss sweeping the nostalgia away.
Not them, then.
A few minutes' surveying later and I found someone: a lonely-looking young man sitting in a booth by himself. Almost reminds me of one of my sons, though I couldn't remember which one at the moment.
I grab my coffee from the counter - it was *Sandra*, right? - and take a position across the shop from him. Might as well act like a customer until he leaves, then follow him out. It's worked in the past.
A sip of coffee later and I nearly choke on the taste, bitter and strong.
Right, I hate coffee. Always have. Why was I here again? Seems like a bad time to go around trying new coffee shops.
Across the shop, I can see my victim finish his coffee and stand, making his way to the door. As soon as he exits I do the same.
I toss the unfinished coffee into the trash as I pass and take a second to gauge my appearance in the window. Long, straight black hair framing a round face, makeup expertly applied to capture a 'natural' look. The woman staring back at me couldn't be more than 25.
The original me. I lean in, trying to prompt some spark of familiarity. Nothing. The face of a stranger stares back at me, and I can't bring myself to really care.
I fix the stranger-in-the-window's hair and then make my way into the Sunday morning city.
I have another victim to catch.
| 2018-09-23T06:39:07
| 2018-09-23T05:33:19
| 176
| 72
|
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
The newly minted King Agralin stared at me, eyes red from Kastian ale. Half a goblet of that fine vintage stained the front of his doublet. I grimaced at the dreadful waste, my nose wrinkled at the scent; it had been a while, but my senses were slowly returning.
‘What are you doing here? I kicked you lot of wastrels out last morn!’ The rowdy carousing in the hall began to dissipate, as they stared at my audience with interest.
Fifty winters ago, it had taken me an evening to convince the Old King — I guessed he must have forgotten to tell his son about our agreement before he passed. I tossed an ancient vellum scroll on Agralin’s lap. If he wasn’t so drunk he might have realized that vellum didn’t usually come in such a dark shade of crimson.
Araglin took a quick glance at the scroll and sputtered in anger. ‘What’s this?’
‘My employment contract. Your father agreed to it, and declared that you will too.’ I felt my shoulder blades start to itch, as the long-dormant parts awoke.
‘Hah! Fifty thousand gold a year! The pick of the cellar and choice of dwelling? My father paid a guard all this? He was more senile than I thought!’ Agralin looked around for support as his retinue snickered along.
Agralin stabbed the contract with his pudgy finger. ‘Look, it even says so in your name No’gard! You’re no guard!’
Sycophantic laughter burst throughout the hall, I cringed at his weak pun. Fifteen years away at one of the most prestigious academies and this was the best he could do.
‘My father was too lenient, allowing lowborn a seat in this hall.’ Agralin waved. ‘Leave before I have you beaten and thrown out.’
The old King was never so unobservant, has no one realized that I had been at his Father’s side for fifty years and looked not a day older?
‘You might want to read the rest of the contract. It is crucial that you retain… my protection.’ I tried again.
Agralin’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Look around you! The finest knights in the land defend me!’
Cheers and shouts resounded through the hall. Barvar the Crusher, Astoni of the Dozen Daggers, and Grim’dar the Unwavering, yelled in agreement, banging their weapons on the banquet tables.
‘Who in the Seven Lairs, would I need *you* to guard me from?’
‘Me.’ I grinned with sharpened teeth.
‘My contract states that you would be protected from *me*.’
‘String him up! Teach this fool a lesson! He threatens the King himself!’ The sound of swords drawn reverberated throughout the hall.
The final change took only seconds as my body exploded in mass. My scales burst out and rippled through my skin as they interlocked in snickering metallic clicks. My talons extended from the tips of my hand, now the size of a horse. The banquet hall could hardly hold my true form and my sides pressed against the walls.
I think Barvar was now the Crushed, and Astoni a pin cushion. Grim’dar was on his knees, praying to an unknown god. Agralin’s trousers were now wet too, not from the ale.
‘Now,’ I breathed lightly, setting fire to the tapestries behind the throne, ‘let’s take a look at the contract again, shall we?’
|
A week ago I was an elite member of the royal guard, doing my duty as always. I was the leader of the four female guards in the defense troop. That was until the new king, Harrion the fourth, decided that his troops would be better off with new recruits and decided to fire all of us who served for more than a decade.
King Harrion the Third wrote in his testament that I, along with the other female guards were to remain if he were to pass, but his son thought otherwise and wrote us off against his late father's will. The four of us tried to reason with him, to reconsider, but he made up his mind, cursed us, and went on his way.
Boy was he wrong.
Fast forward to today, I am huddled inside a cramped house as storms rage overhead, lightning crackled outside my door, wind howling outside my window. A measly fire pit kept me and my soup warm. I heard three knocks on the front door, I dared not to make a sound, hoping it would go away. But they only became louder until I couldn't take it anymore.
I opened the door. In front of me was what looked like someone in their late-twenties, dressed up in chainmail. His face was as pale as night.
"Ms. Annelise?" The child boomed
"Aye?" I replied.
"King Harrion wants to have a word with you."
"Tell him I wouldn't give even a smidgen of a fuck."
"Please ma'am, this is important." He persisted. "The kingdom is at stake."
"The kingdom he banished me and my girls from? The kingdom he made us look like a laughing stock to? If that's what it is about, I would not like to continue this conversation any further." I said.
"Please reconsider! The king needs you at this moment!" He pleaded, "I've heard legends of the Great Cryllasti , surely they won't let us down."
'He tries to use my past against me' I thought.
"The rule was that we would continue to serve in return for respect. What did your pathetic king do? He cursed us, humiliated us, banished us. Is that respect?" I snapped.
I was the most patient one, I had to be, I fought against war.
"Tell your pathetic excuse for a king that he could 'kiss my ass' whatever that means. And also tell him that he was the only one brave enough to say anything like that in the past millenia." I declared. "Now go back to your king."
The boy had tears welling up in his eyes already devoid of hope. I may have a soft spot, but I don't tolerate with disrespect.
"B-but Ms. Minerva and Ms. Vermil–"
"The other Crystalli would say the same thing. We do not deal with your kind anymore."
He left without another word.
We've been protecting the land from the Horsemen Apocalypti for eons. War, Famine, Death, Conquest, all of them trembled beneath our knees. Now that the king said he no longer needed nor wanted our services, we'll leave them to their devices.
(this is my first story, I hope it's any good.)
| 2021-02-28T04:13:58
| 2021-02-28T03:11:04
| 1,113
| 310
|
[WP] Katy t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m, looks back over what she wrote ten years later
Here is the original copy pasta
hi every1 im new!!!!!!! holds up spork my name is katy but u can call me t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m!!!!!!!! lol…as u can see im very random!!!! thats why i came here, 2 meet random ppl like me _… im 13 years old (im mature 4 my age tho!!) i like 2 watch invader zim w/ my girlfreind (im bi if u dont like it deal w/it) its our favorite tv show!!! bcuz its SOOOO random!!!! shes random 2 of course but i want 2 meet more random ppl =) like they say the more the merrier!!!! lol…neways i hope 2 make alot of freinds here so give me lots of commentses!!!!
DOOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <--- me bein random again _^ hehe…toodles!!!!!
love and waffles,
t3h PeNgU1N oF d00m
|
"Oh my god, noooooo," Katy said, burying her face in her hands. She was blushing, but smiling through her embarrasment.
"So you can see the kind of girl she was back then," Maurissa continued, gesturing at the screen behind her, over the laughter of the assembled families. "Don't worry, though... her spelling and taste in TV shows has improved vastly since then."
"Hey, no, Invader Zim was awesome!" said Dan.
"Whatever, bro. But ten years ago, Katy the penguin of doom would never have known where she was going to go - through breakups and makeups and school and jobs, all the way to this point. She didn't have a clue she would be sitting here, with her friends and family, ready to celebrate her new life together with the person she loves. Congratulations, Katy - be happy, and stay random!"
|
Katy's heart ached. Feelings of sadness and pain as she remembered her care free youth, full of unexpected and unpredictable wonder. All gone now. Only the pain remained. It was clear.
_____
"Single gun shot wound to the chest. Pistol lying on her stomach..."
^(*shutter click*)
"I've got a bag, pass it here."
^(*shutter click*)
"One casing too."
^(*shutter click*)
"The door's fine. Doesn't look jimmied."
"... GSR all over her chest and hands..."
^(*shutter click*)
"Windows are shut and locked."
"... We'll need the ME to confirm but I think it's pretty clear... Women... even in suicide they worry 'bout their looks.
^(*shutter click*)
"Huh?"
"She shot herself in the heart. Men tend to shoot themselves in the head. Women don't."
"..."
"Yea, I've had enough of this too. I'm going back to get started on the paper work, coming?
_____
The white lines passed through Katy's headlights one at a time. There was a still hole in her heart, but at least she got to share it with the one she loved. Mexico is lovely this time of year.
| 2014-11-19T10:04:44
| 2014-11-19T09:04:44
| 69
| 31
|
[WP] You've curled into bed after an exhausting, chilly day with your typical assortment of pets. Large dogs, cats. You hear a close by growl and snuffle you aren't familiar with, but decide to just shift over, pat the bed and sleepily say "come on, then".
|
I threw the covers off of me to allow whichever one of my animals was requesting access to scramble underneath the covers. In my sleep-hazed mind, I vaguely felt the sensation of someone climbing into my bed but I brushed it away. I wrapped my arms around Cletus, my big, warm, white pit bull and relished in the warm squishiness of his belly in the coldness of the night.
As Cletus snored in my arms, I could feel Jessie, my chocolate lab, nestled on top of my feet, her tail thumping lethargically. Who needs socks when you have puppies? Just off of the bed slept the cats on my windowsill; black cat Pantera and his mate, orange Tigresa.
My eyes jumped open wide as I realized all my animals were accounted for. So who, or what, was in my bed? My door had creaked open and a soft, guttural growl had reverberated throughout the room, followed by a sniffle of some kind.
My heart began pounding. Whatever this creature was, it was humanoid, it had to be. It climbed into my bed and pulled the covers over itself. What was scariest was that none of the animals reacted.
Nightmares raced across my mind; mauling, shredding, ripping, devouring. I was sweating fucking bullets, man! And then I felt it. The creature was turning around to face me. I froze. I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe.
I could feel its hot breath on the back of my neck and both of my arms went up in goosebumps. As an arm wrapped around my waist, I realized it was a human intruder and resigned myself to some foul fate.
But that fate never came. The intruder nestled his chin into my neck and cooed softly "Hey, Kyle. I'm home." and growled again, purring in his throat.
Like a complete fool, I'd forgotten I was married. This was my husband, Sam. And the sniffle was because of his allergies. We quickly moved the pets to the guest room, went back to bed and I did plenty of growling of my own for the rest of the night.
|
Was the most soft day of the month so far, and even then I was terribly sleepy and exhausted.
Meg, Rog, Gin, Genny and Buzz were on my bed waiting for me.
They're my friends. My only friends.
I took the little kitty Genny and put her on the left pillow, the yellow one.
Then I put under the blanket my cold feet, and i dove into the bed.
I took my book Insomnia, by S. King and I read like 50 pages.
After then, i re-put the text on the bedtable and I hugged my blue pillow.
One growl I heard. I thought it was Rog who was making that noise, but he was instead belly up, snoozing.
What a sleepy dog.
Anyway, that growl amplified and I took my tired arms off the blanket and the body and the legs with them.
As I put my foot on the ground, I could understand that is wasn't the ground.
A big, fluffy thing raised. That monstruosity was the reason of my concern.
It turned his head toward me, only to reveal that it was a boar. A boar? How the hell it sneaked in my room?
Yet, I was sleepy.
I took it from below, opened the window and thrown on the other side.
Then it fleed.
I went to the bathroom, followed by everyone. I washed my hands and checked the time: 02:34.
I went in my room again and fell on the bed. Two minutes and I was asleep.
Curse you, boar.
| 2022-11-01T07:50:45
| 2022-11-01T07:27:15
| 78
| 21
|
[WP] You're born in one of the richest families in the world, but have been homeschooled so you have no idea how rich you are. Recently, your parents decided to transfer you to a private school with rich kids bragging at you all the time.
[deleted]
|
It's almost the weekend, so I've been coming to this school for almost a week and I've finally realized something: I'm very, very rich. It wouldn't be an issue, but I've been designated as the poor, scholarship child who must be told by everyone on what I'm missing out on. I'd hate to break their hearts. Let's go back a couple of days, shall we?
&#x200B;
The day before my first day of class, Mother Dear asked for my presence. She sat me down and explained that I was bound to encounter society at some point, and that she hoped that my upbringing thus far would allow for my character to remain intact. Humility and grace; this is the motto of our family, and I must uphold it when in public. This sounded easy, so I started daydreaming and missed the rest of her speech. Mother may have mentioned something about how our status isn't quite the same as others, but I wouldn't know.
&#x200B;
I step into class on Monday, and I'm immediately greeted with stares. No matter, I'll just introduce myself first. Before I can even get a word out, I hear giggling and whispers.
*why isn't he wearing the uniform?*
*Do you think he can't afford it? Ewww, the poverty is jumping out!*
&#x200B;
Dumbfounded, I look at my clothes and then back at my classmates. Ohhh, it seems like I may have misunderstood what uniform meant. At home, my uniform is my leisure wear so as to facilitate a calm and comfy environment and what better outfit than no brand clothes? Still, I couldn't understand their fascination.
&#x200B;
As I hastily introduced myself and began to walk towards my assigned seat, the person sitting beside it stood up to announce that he didn't wish to catch the filthy disease known as poverty. He was promptly sent outside to reflect, and I was brought to the side and anxiously apologized to by the tutor. I assured her that it was no problem, that my vaccinations were up to date and my recent health check stated that I was disease free. Walking back to my seat, I wondered why she looked so rattled.
&#x200B;
As soon as the first break had started, I had a swarm of classmates surround me. First they asked for my family name, and snickered when they heard how common it sounded. Then, they asked about my finances and how much money I was allotted to every week. I honestly replied that I had no such thing, and was cut off before I could mention my limitless black credit card (doesn't everyone have one like this?). Curious eyes soon turned to those filled with disgust, and I was deserted as fast as I had been surrounded. The whispers of "that poor one" had followed.
&#x200B;
When I finally arrived at my home, my parents eagerly asked how my day was. My father had the biggest grin I had ever seen on him as he choked back laughter. He first asked if the students had noticed my lack of uniform and made any comments. I replied honestly and was confused when I saw my mother pout as she passed him a $100 bill. Then she asked if the comments were positive, and I solemnly told her that they didn't seem to be. My father was practically rolling on the floor at this point, gleefully repeating "I told you so! How did you ever think that this would end up differently?". **He was promptly pulled by his ear into the next room, where a hushed conversation was heard.**
I love my mother, but she's a bit...eccentric. Growing up, we were constantly on the move. The longest we had ever been in one place was about half a year, before my mother would grow tired of the place and begin her usual tradition of aiming a dart on the wall with a map. She would never tell Father where we were, and so a game began where he would try to find some clues so as to pinpoint our location. Through this unique method of living, I was exposed to different cultures and traditions, in villages and big cities, with the idea that 'money isn't everything' hammered into my brain. One year Mother had picked up the idea of becoming survivalists, and so we had parachuted down into Amazonia with nothing but a day's worth of food and water.
Another year had Mother enraptured with the concept of bartering, where one would trade items instead of using currency. I'll never forget the day I was dropped in the middle of Tokyo and told to return to our apartment in the next city over by bartering my way to a means of transportation, starting only with a toothpick. Mother had read the story of the boy who had bartered his way to a house starting with just a paperclip, and was convinced that I could do the same. I got by through the kindness of strangers, who knew nothing of me and had no reason to help, and by the end of the week I was back at home. I was greeted by the sight of Father, who had just arrived, hysterically laughing in a rocking chair while Mother was frantically pacing in the doorway. "You...you forgot to *wheeze* tell him *hahahahahah* the emergency code if he ever needed it? Oh Madeleine, this was your worst idea yet".
And now I can hear that same wheezing and laughter coming from the other room, signaling that his favourite phrase was soon to follow. I knew that this was my signal to go to my bedroom, for this conversation had the tendency to never end.
The next day, I had arrived to my classroom only to find that my seat mate had moved his desk to the group beside ours. I was mostly left alone until someone had approached my desk. "I-I noticed that you finally wore the school uniform, who did you have to beg for it?". The voice had belong to a boy who was clearly timid, yet he tried to have a haughty tone. What was curious was that as soon as he heard snickering from the classmates behind us, his reaction was one of relief and not happiness. "Congrats Nathan, you've finally found someone worse than you", a taller boy had yelled from the back of the classroom. Amidst the roars of laughter, a mumbled sorry had entered my ears before Nathan walked back to his desk.
By Wednesday, it seemed that my classmates had started rumours to the rest of the school that I had been the first scholarship student admitted in a historically blue blooded institution. The headmasters frantically tried to quell the upset by confirming that I indeed met the requirements, but my attitude and prior appearance didn't help. I noticed a difference in alienating behaviour between classes; the books I had read for the middle class had children outright tease and physically bully each other, but here it seemed as if their sharp words and disdainful gazes were meant to draw shame and self loathing instead. But what I couldn't understand was why it would be shameful if I was not the same status as everyone, as that had never mattered before. My most cherished friendships were those I made when we both had nothing but the clothes on our back and our imagination, and we are still in touch to this day. When I had been asked incredulously why I wasn't reduced to a state of tears yet, my reply of "why should I be?" had stumped them.
My class had started a new game where they would surround me during break and introduce me to simple objects as if I never had the opportunity to even think of such things existing. Everything that I had been shown, I confirmed that I had seen it at my grandfather's house. They quickly noted that I had been careful to say that while my grandfather had these things, *I* did not. And so began the next rumour that I was an adopted but unloved child.
&#x200B;
AN: THIS PROMPT IS SO HARD OH MY GOD.
I'll continue it if I continue it lol. This is my first prompt response, be gentle with the criticism thanks!
&#x200B;
EDIT: THANKS FOR THE SILVER! This community is so wonderful. If it looks rushed or not well thought out, that's because... it was LOL. I write when I'm procrastinating, and I type it out as I think about it. Writing is surprisingly so much fun when you willingly do it, I'm looking forward to future writing prompts. I'll try my best to finish this one, and I'm not sure how to notify those who asked other than replying to their comment.
EDIT 2: Bolded the text where I introduced the second part. I love constructive criticism, I may not be able to apply it to this work but I'll keep it mind going forward! I'll leave the second part as its own reply in case you just want to jump to there. Thanks for reading :)
|
"How was school today?" Dad asked.
"It was, ummm interesting" I replied.
"Would you care to explain?"
"Is it wrong to wear clothes from walmart?"
"Well no, there's nothing wrong with that."
School went a little something like this. I walked in to class and the first kid that came up to me said "Where'd you get those clothes? Walmart?" The other kids started laughing at me. I looked at my clothes. Did I spill something on them? Is there a hole in my shirt? Is my zipper down? I have no clue. "You see we wear expensive designer clothes here" One of them said. "My outfit costs more than $1000 and I have about 50 others at home" she bragged.
"The price doesn't add to the style. A shirt is a shirt isn't it? If your outfit is so expensive why is it ugly?" I replied.
"Oooohhh burn" the students replied.
The bragging student was visibly hurt, but her pride got the best of her.
"Oh yeah? Where does your daddy work? My daddy owns several houses. He sells them to make lots and lots of money. He has millions and millions of dollars."
"My dad works at a bank"
"ohhh a bank teller? lame lame lame. Did you get a loan to go to this school?" She said sarcastically. "We only let real rich people in here, not posers like you"
"I think that's what it's called"
"hahahahahahaha you poor boy" she laughed. The other students joined her.
"I don't know what bank jobs are." I said defensively. "Is that the guy who owns the bank?"
"I won't believe that lie for a second" she said. "Your dad owns a bank and you still wear clothes from walmart?"
"No it's true, you can google it. He owns megabank"
"Yeah he's right, his dad is the CEO of megabank he's a billionaire" One student shouted.
"Well that's quite the interesting story" Dad said. "I want to give you some advice on life." "You're absolutely right when you said a shirt is a shirt" "It doesn't matter what clothes you wear or how much money you have. What matters is how you treat others." "I want you to be nice to that girl who bullied you, you never know what her situation is at home. Defend yourself when you need to, but be nice." "I'm proud of you."
&#x200B;
| 2019-03-18T16:35:12
| 2019-03-18T16:19:17
| 406
| 87
|
[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.
|
Fade in on a boy, beat to hell and bleeding from a head wound, stumbling up a hill. He can’t be older than 10. He’s gripping a tattered baseball cap in one hand and clutches his side with the other. He trips, cries out in pain and drops the hat.
The wind catches the red hat and it gets carried off into the smoke and dust. He bites his hand to keep from crying out. He draws blood. He reaches out toward the vanishing hat, tears streaming down his face.
Suddenly the red hat, after vanishing completely, seem to circle back. The boy pauses. Then jumps in alarm and scrambles for something on his belt. A bird with a ten foot wing span and claws like meat hooks swoops down at the boy- the boy ducks. The bird racks its talons along his back, eliciting a scream from the boy.
Overhead, the demonic bird circles around for another attack.
Close up on the boy, climbing forward, snatching the red hat off the ground.
Close up on the hat being jammed onto the boys hat, brim facing forward.
He pulls the brim around to face his back.
Pan out to show his eyes, gleaming with a new ferocity.
In his hand half cocked hand rests a half red, half white sphere.
The bird, a fearow, screeches above.
The boy’s shout sounds of primal rage.
He throws the pokeball, it blossoms with a crack of blue light.
Fade to black.
White text fades in.
“Gotta catch ‘em all…”
|
She was running down the halls. "Ha Ha" a voice laughed down the hall. "There's the exit, if I could just get there" Suddenly the floor gave out underneath her, and she broke her legs when she hit the ground. "Ha Ha" The voiced cackled again A large, bloody mouse emerged from the shadows, knife in hand "Ha Ha"
Mickey, in theaters this summer
Rated R
| 2016-05-13T10:40:01
| 2016-05-13T07:48:07
| 33
| 19
|
[WP]Write a story that isn't scary until the last line is read.
|
It's true what they say. Fall is really the best time of the year. To my family and I, it's really the only time we get to enjoy together. Especially halloween. We LOVE halloween so much. It's our favorite holiday. Getting to see all the kids dressed up in their scary and funny costumes. I really think my mother enjoys it the most. She always has such a huge smile when she's out in the yard getting to see the kids. My dad just always has this same smirk every year it seems sitting on the porch. My parents don't get too get out too much, summer being too hot for them and winter just too cold. Fall seems to be just right for us. As I'm standing out here in our yard, I can just see how happy they look. Oh no, it looks like mom needs more straw.
|
It's so cold here in this tundra. The summers are great for farming, but the winters are terrible. My baby, to my right, and I have no food. We ran out of crops since the beginning of winter, and ran out of meat yesterday. I would go hunting for bears and wolves right now, but I don't have a rifle. Without one, taking on a bear or wolf would be dangerous. I need food. I look down to the right. It'll have to do.
| 2017-06-05T20:28:18
| 2017-06-05T20:15:06
| 23
| 17
|
[WP] God is actually just 3 smaller gods in a trench coat.
|
Brahma was the "legs" of the operation. However of course, this meant his face was always concealed. In other words, no one ever saw him as the Godhead. Vishnu and Shiva often bickered about who should sit at the top. The Vaishnavas always saw the Absolute when Vishnu was sitting on Shiva's shoulders, and the Shaivites only saw the Absolute when Shiva sat at the helm. Of course, this "absolute" was quite a ridiculous sight, an elongated, swaying, trench-coated humanoid with not two, but twelve arms. It's hard to believe that such an awkward frame could represent a God, but to the humans, in their childlike innocence, it was good enough.
The three gods themselves knew that they were just aspects of the real absolute. They were made of the same fundamental and eternal principal as the mortal humans, albeit they were far grander, far more exquisite, immortal, and supremely powerful in their dominions. Rulers of heavenly kingdoms, they lived perfect blessed lives. Lives that went on forever, or so they had believed.
After 16,000 kalpas, Brahma suddenly became ill. Vishnu tried to help him, being the preserver that he was. He suspected the strain of being the legs for so long had started to take its toll. Shiva on the other hand reveled in Brahma's suffering. He saw the destruction of an immortal being to be a display of his power, that his nature permeated all beings, that his inevitability proved that he was the deserved Godhead. Vishnu couldn't stand his show-boating, and knew that he, the preserver, had to save Brahma, even if it was just for the sake of getting one over on Shiva.
Despite his best efforts to care for his brother, Brahma died. In a boastful display of power, Shiva went on a spree of transformation and destruction. The universe contorted around him, a thousand supernovas twinkled on his flesh, like the suns reflection off morning dew. But with no one left to bring new worlds into existence, his spree quickly ended. He had destroyed every organism, every structure. Every ordered atom was scattered chaotically and homogeneously, the forces of entropy all played out. With nothing left to destroy, his fundamental essence was gone. And with that, he blinked out of existence.
Vishnu knew it. He was the true Godhead. He sat alone, in his dead, cold universe. It was perfect. Everything had been too complex before. In the old days, preserving anything was almost impossible. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get a human to live for more that 120 years. It had always frustrated him, made him feel weak. Yet here he was, the only god, at the culmination of the universe, the omega point. A beautiful, uniform universe, that took no effort on his part to preserve. In fact, he had become redundant. With that realization, he too blinked out of existence.
After the longest time, a darkness that seemed eternal and unending, there was a spark. The dead cold world was suddenly flooded, with heat, light and energy. And the first thing to appear in all of it was that 12 armed, trench-coated god. They thought to themselves that they must have made all of this, since there was no one else around. They proclaimed themselves the eternal kings and began to play. In their play, they created stars, planets and life. They truly were gods.
From the outside, the universe looked somewhat like a wheel. What seem like the end and begin to those within are actually joined. Joined so that every moment of suffering and every disappointment can be lived over and over again. The Buddha looked on at it and laughed at the foolish gods. They would never realise their frivolity, they enjoyed life to much to grow weary of it. But the humans, they could be helped. The suffering of seeing loved ones grow old and die, and knowing that it would eventually happen to them was something they all wanted to wish away. With a sigh, he stepped back in. He had a lesson to teach that the gods were incapable of.
|
"My prayers, they've been answered!"
God decended from my ceiling light and stood before me in all their glory. Before me, they were enveloped in light, making it hard to see.
"Please God, please heal my grandma's sickness. After all she's done for this city, she deserves at least a painless passing."
God shook their head once.
"Why? What do you want from me then in exchange? Surely you would not appear before me if you were to outright refuse my prayers??"
God motioned towards a cabinet with a bag inside.
"Th...that's not mine! Besides its legal now in Colorado!"
God shook its head again and pointed again at the same cabinet. I remember, there was a larger bag below the other bag. But what did they want with those snacks??
"Could it be, you want a symbolic gesture of some kind?" I scrambled to the cabinet to produce the snacks for them. In a shaky hand I presented it already open towards the glowing figure.
God reached out in a flash and a single treat was stolen before I realized it. And with that he was gone. It was minutes before I realized I was in a daze, and I quickly ran to the other room to check on grandma. Gone was her wheezing and her wounds from that disaster a month ago. I sighed in relief as I checked her vitals on the medical equipment strewn about the room.
Once satisfied, I returned to the holy grounds that God had appeared before me. And to my surprise...
[They left this shirt](https://imgur.com/a/41gJmPl)
PRAISE EIN
| 2018-08-03T01:43:27
| 2018-08-03T01:21:32
| 31
| 20
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[WP] Realizing that only a dozen or so users browse the 'NEW' section of /r/WritingPrompts, you understand their roles as gatekeepers. They decide whether the masses ever even see your prompt. You've found these 12 users accounts. And you want that God damn post karma.
|
"Well that sounds suspiciously like vote manipulation," Lexi said, reading the prompt out loud. "I suppose I should bring it to the council of mods."
And so she walked to the grand hall, to stand before the twelve shadowy seats that surrounded the great stone table. She threw the prompt before them, and the mods grew silent.
"Well... We can't really prove anything, can we?" spoke the first mod, his eyes shifting away from the prompt like he was ashamed to see it.
"Yeah," the second one chimed in. "I mean, that could have been all natural upvotes, right?"
"Exactly!" said the next. "Exactly right. It could be that there was twelve people who just really liked it, and thought maybe they could write a story on it."
"Yeah, but-"
"No buts! This is clearly what has happened, and it is the will of the council that this prompt is fair and just."
The nods circled the table, as the collected moderators avoided Lexilogical's gaze. Her eyes narrowed to a slit.
"You all upvoted this one, didn't you?"
Their silence answered the question.
|
'But it'll be meta,' I thought first as I began to type. 'Don't give them the satisfaction of piquing your interest, of bating you into replying.'
But it was too late. Their strategy had worked, almost too well. But I've been laying in bed for two days down and writing is the only thing that's kept my brain from sagging. I'm not even particularly good, but damn it if I don't feel for the prompter as well. We all want a little bit of that *god damn karma* even if we have to resort to posting low-level content.
I'd complain about the prompt if I caught this later. But I saw it first and couldn't pass up a chance to try and float another one up to the front page again.
But I think I'll end this here and go look for a prompt that actually has some merit and charm. So, OP, congrats on the win. We'll see who comes out on top next time.
| 2017-09-07T14:54:54
| 2017-09-07T13:34:20
| 77
| 15
|
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu."
|
"Right sir," his adjutant, Major Thompson replied. He readied his sword and shaved the head clean off the nearest grunt he could find. "Now for the spell..."
The Major wiped his blade clean and drew strange symbols in the blood, mixing it with the cold earth. Minutes passed as he mumbled to himself the insane ramblings of an ancient tongue. He stood and waited.
Rumbling quakes sounded from the west. A monster of a million tentacles, dripping with seawater that normally swirls at fathoms to deep for man to understand, slowly approached. The soldiers did what they could to remove themselves from its path, moving their tanks and changing formations as quickly as the space and terrain allowed. However, the old god has no concern for the lives of insects. Many died during its approach.
"Called again to my dislike a job a thunder an enemy lands on my home and cries for destruction and shall bring much agony and defeat and my victory is allowed to fight summoned again again again..." Cthulhu droned on in a voice that reminded Major Thompson of the visit he had with his brother, who resided in a mental institution.
The huge door of the alien mothership opened as Cthulhu approached. A single, enormous being, the size of the old god himself, stepped out from the giant pit of a door. It was a giant creature that had the body of a grasshopper that stood upright, wings included. It stepped forward, destroying mountains in the process. It paused in front of Cthulhu, and spoke, "Cthulhu? Is that you?"
"What?" Cthulhu said. "Ghrilgi? No way, man! I haven't seen you in ages!"
"Ah shit, it *is* you! Man, what do you say to that, huh?"
"I know, I know."
"I'm coming down with this alien species that I enslaved, ready to invade..."
"Tell me about it, bro."
"...and here's my old pal *Cthulhu* stepping up to the plate!"
"Yeah, man. Dude, talk about a situation, huh?"
"Yeah, totally. Totally a situation."
"It's a bit awkward, don't you think Ghrilgi? I mean...we're gonna have to fight."
"Fight? Nah, come on man, we don't *fight.* Let's just kill all humans and call it a day. Just like old times?"
"Nah, see, I'm sorry bro, totally sorry, but it's just like. I kinda like these guys."
"Like them?! Cthulhu, you can't be serious."
"I mean, they've kinda grown on me. So...I'm gonna have to kill ya."
"Kill me? But..."
"Yeah, and just kind drip your wet carcass over the land to show others, you know..."
"...we're friends."
"...not to mess with me."
"I mean, I thought we were friends. You won't do that."
"Oh, I will. They don't call me the old god for nothing."
"Well, can I at least get a head start or something?"
"A head start at what, Ghrilgi? You're gonna die here. Today."
"Cthulhu, come on. You're not really. Not really gonna do that."
"Afraid I am. I have to, actually. They already paid the sacrifice."
"Ah, nah, man."
"Totally bro. Totally gonna kill you."
"Nah..."
"Yep."
"Nah, I mean--" Cthulhu interrupted Ghrilgi with a tentacle around the throat. The old god made the fight look easy. When he was done, he took Ghrilgi's corpse with him back to the ocean.
Back to his home.
******
r/arcaldwell -- you won't die if you don't.
|
John MacGillis saw a lot of shit in his life. First was the ‘nam, as a captain, and then came desert storm as a major. Always on the front, for the greater good of his great nation. Now in his 70’ he was meditating retirement. If his thought were to put into words, after all these years would be something on the line of:
“When everything seem calm, that's when shit hit the fan”
One month later the new president came to office. It was strange, he wanted him to be president but after a while he started to feel exactly the opposite. The only thing that was driving him now was the fatidic date, 1 month from now, were he could leave his office and finally retire.
It was a fine morning walking in the office. His secretary turned him the schedule for the day while he was drinking his coffee.
“Cindy… i can’t begin to fathom what the president wants. I mean, fire and fury? Seriously?”
“Sir, I'm sure the president didn’t mean it like..”
“Oh… I'm sure he didn’t mean, but explain that to who think he did!”
“I have to stay positive, in one month i will be sipping my gin tonic at the Barbados. But damn it! Couldn’t i had another president?”.
But secretly anyway John was happy. I mean, with this shit going on, shit couldn’t get more serious right?
The same morning, right after he finished his coffee, the door of his office slammed open. There are very few thing that can anger a 70’ years old general more than someone slamming open his door. It was major Eugene ‘Gene’ Holowachuk. John began to shout with all his vigor “HOLOWA...” but he couldn’t finish, for the first time in his entire career Holowachuk interrupted the General in command.
“Sir! We just lost the white house! We need to evacuate you to the bunker section of the Pentagon!”.
It was a prank? Other two military police entered the room. No it is not, this is real. He was going to the bunker.
“We just lost contact with Moscow, Pechino, Berlin… all major capital don’t respond. Half of our men are gone. Sir … they are the aliens!”. The bunker was filled with high tech screens and a lot of staff was buzzing around. Tree dark figures were standing in the angle.
“Holowachuk, who are those guys?”, pointing at the men in black. “Sir, they are men in black sir.”.
“Yes, i see they are men in black, but who are they”. Major Eugene shrugged. “I always thought men in black are men in black, like J and K”. The general just waved his hand, he could never understand the reference of Eugene. First, they assesses the situations. It seem huge flying ships are on every major capital, and they are destroying everything.
John consulted with everyone in bunker. Asking for options.
“Use the nukes General, activate them now” was all his collaborators could say.
“But sir… the population… the fallout we will die anyway, everyone of us, and there is no guarantee we can destroy the ships!” The general looked around. “General! The Russian shoot a Satan R-36M on one of the alien ship and…. It did nothing!”.
The general started to felt it. This is it. The shit literally, and irrevocably, hittedthe fan.
This was the moment were one of the men in black stepped forward, speaking to the general in his ear. “There is a better option….”.
After 5 minutes the general nodded his head.
“Fuck it.” The general said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. “Summon Cthulhu”
One mile below the surface of mount Madness, the circle finally finished his chant:
“ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn”
As the last word went spoken a sudden doom filled the air. From the depth of the seas a dark unfathomable figure raised. Unspoken terror stench the air as the alien overlord saw the immeasurable horror filling the sky on the horizon. The aliens ship started to fall like flies, while the unutterable cry of a undying deity creep the air like some sort of fetid ailment.
All it took was one look, and the madness was so great in the heart of each alien that they killed themselves. For this was too much to withstand for the aliens. But not for the humans, for they in their intimacy knew this was their new master. This was the story on how humanity was saved from the alien extermination, at the price of an endless age of slavery .
| 2017-09-26T12:26:15
| 2017-09-26T11:43:45
| 50
| 21
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dear Paul,
Thank you for that lovely letter, I'm glad to hear you're waiting for me and prepared me an offering of cow udder excrement and a traditional mixture of sugar, flour and chocolates.
Although not what I usually get in offering I shall gladly accept. In return I enclose your Christmas wishes for this year.
A Boy Brain and a Knight's Saber. Might I recommend using the later for future sacrifices should you have any more wishes.
Yours forever damned,
Satan, Lucifer, The morning star, Beelzebub, The adversary, Tempter, God of this world, Ruler of demons...etc etc etc.
P.S. Please leave a drop of blood in the signature area below to acknowledge the completion of this transaction.
|
Dear Timothy.
I've gotten the list of things you've asked for.
I assure you I am very capable of bringing your dog back. Just as well, I can stop the teasing and jeering of your elder sister.
I was informed as to what a "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle" is, and I believe I can acquire that as well.
However, I'm not certain why you would want a monstrous truck. It sounds rather brutal for a child your age, but even I must admit it does sound fun.
I will deliver your presents on time, I give you my word.
Regards - "Satan" Morning star.
| 2018-10-28T10:18:04
| 2018-10-28T10:08:58
| 39
| 10
|
[WP] Aliens establish first contact with the government of another country. The White House gets offended.
Bonus cookies if the government in question is either of a really tiny country (geographically) or is a generally insignificant player in international politics.
|
Caveat Emptor- I haven't written anything in decades. What follows is imperfect in grammar and punctuation. It's an off the cuff musing, an insignificant "what if". My first attempt so for what it's worth.
"Icelandic? You mean the aliens are from Iceland?" a very upset President bellows. Thinking to herself "this is the most historically significant event in human history and I won't have my name mentioned once".
The Secretary of State answers, "no Ms. President, not at all. It's that they landed in Iceland and only communicate with their people and government in that language. All attempts by us, the Russians, China, nothing".
"Well we are America! Why wouldn't they want to communicate with us? We stand for Democracy and freedom. At least they didn't go with the Commies in China or the nutjob in Russia. Even so they must eventually speak with others and it must be us. The chances of passing advanced technology to our potential enemies is too great to risk."
The Secretary replies "Well Ms. President it's not like we can stop them, but we are monitoring communications so at least we know what's happening."
"Well what's going on now? What are they talking about? Has the Icelandic government been made aware that they face repercussions if they do not let us in on the conversation?
"At this point they are talking about sustainable agriculture and improvements in ocean management. Occasionally a topic is blanked out- we get a signal, but it's all static. The last time was about some perpetual source of unlimited energy, but then when the subject was actually discussed- nothing. Iceland fails to respond to us."
"Nothing! You are saying that Iceland is on it's way to becoming the most advanced nation in the world. Think of the balance of trade! What economic chaos this will cause! Wait- have they discussed defense?"
"I'm not sure what you mean Ms. President."
"No? Weapons! As advanced as they are they could be sharing information which could make Iceland THE superpower. I will not stand for this nation falling into the slavery of another."
"Ms President, Iceland has hardly been a nation bent on global dominance."
"Of course not, but it hasn't had the means in the past... wait- I want to know if there have been any changes in China or Russia's military posture".
"Certainly, but why..."
"Don't you get it? If it's occurred to me that Iceland could unseat any of us and render the balance of power moot then it will have with them too. I want that report NOW!"
A short while later-
"Ms. President, there are indeed changes in air, ground, sea and space assets. Our analysis shows a high probability of attack on Iceland".
The President replies, "That cannot be permitted. What if Russia blackmails Iceland into surrendering their secrets? What if they become the masters of America?"
A few moments of silence follow by the sudden barking of Presidential orders. "I want to launch an immediate nuclear strike. Prepare all resources to launch on my order."
"Ms. President! We cannot launch a strike on Russia! Although they aren't nearly what they once were, their retaliatory capability remains sufficient to assure that we will be destroyed along with them!"
"No fears, Mr. Secretary. I do not intend to launch on Russia, or China for that matter. We attack Iceland".
"WHAT? Why?"
"Isn't the present threat clear? No one but us can have that knowledge. We must take out the alien threat".
"Ms. President, that's crazy! I will not..." and with that the President motions for the Secret Service to arrest the Secretary, who is unceremoniously removed.
The President says "That distraction is out of the way so now to business. I want a live feed from space. I need to know that we've obliterated the target."
And with that the President orders the launch. Any regret is quickly crushed by justifications of national defense the missiles are tracked, closer, closer to their target. Suddenly the space over Iceland ignites and a huge sphere rises from the brilliant illumination. It rises higher and higher, and when the view clears an immense ship is seen to be above Iceland, apparently towing it in a protective bubble into outer space. In its place is a gaping hole larger than Texas and a hundred kilometers deep. Steam starts to rise as the ocean pours in. The hole is white hot, and a tidal wave which extends above the atmosphere races at hypersonic speed to doom billions. All at once the enormity of her actions hits her full force. She has just killed every man, woman and child on the planet.
"Why? Why did they do this?"
Her head hangs, and when she looks up the Chief of Staff hands her a message from the aliens without a trace of emotion, not one word.
"Inhabitants of Earth, you are difficult creatures to understand. You are a most destructive species, a sign of low intelligence. Wanting to assist we were inclined to visit the most intelligent of your species, which was determined to be the least aggressive and so we chose the division you call "Iceland". We were pleased by their welcome and shared information which would benefit them and they in turn agreed to freely disseminate this technology for the benefit of all. It was to our great dismay that we found the divisions of other humans, who are apparently far below in expected intelligence, attacking us and the Icelanders." "Once their aggression was analyzed it was agreed we should save the best of the species, by removing them and placing their land on a world we would manufacture for this purpose. It was also decided that the remainder of the species is too dangerous to allow to continue, as a short time of a thousand Earth years would see a dangerous plague expanded to peaceful worlds."
"Therefore we have pronounced judgement, but take comfort that the best of you will continue.
Farewell."
The President lets the paper drop and looks out the window. To the east a line forms on the horizon. At first it is a gray ribbon, no just a thread. Rapidly it grows and it towers into the sky far beyond the clouds. In a rush of realization the President sighs and waits for The Wave. She sees it as merciful, ending life in it's path now rather than having to choke to death in the newly changing and deadly atmosphere. It's more than she deserves she thinks, yet in the back of her mind she hears the words "We were Americans, we were powerful. Why didn't they do what we demanded"? Moments later, a rushing of water, then blackness.
|
**Situation Room, 04/22/2016 0300 Zulu**
"North Korea? Do you take me for a fool? You know April Fool's Day has passed, Jerry." the President said, with a look of as much surprise as amusement.
"Sir, this is not a joke. The aliens have decided to make contact with Kim jong-Un." I managed to stammer out.
*Why doesn't he believe me? He can just look at the screens to my right. Maybe it's too early in the morning for him.*
The red phone rings. Something's up. I picked it up.
"White House Situation Room." I said, wondering who could be calling. Putin? Cameron? Abe? Park? Xi?
"Mr. Daniels, I have a Mr. Kim on the line."
"Put him through."
I pressed the speakerphone button so everyone could hear it.
"This is Kim Jong-Un. I would like to speak to the President of the United States."
I passed the phone. Did Kim know he was on speakerphone? Maybe not.
"Mr. Kim, a pleasure as always." the President said, his dulcet tones lined with sarcasm.
"Guess who's the popular one now? Glorious Korea! Everyone's here. Putin, Castro, Chavez, Xi... Anyway, in your face!"
The line got cut off. I didn't know Kim Jong-Un could speak English, much less with such an accent.
"Why the hell did they choose the shithole of the world to land in? Why not, oh I don't know, somewhere more lively and with better infrastructure? It's like going to the most expensive Italian restaurant and ordering the Fettuccine Alfredo."
"They could have chosen the UK, France, even Australia for crying out loud! I mean, why North Korea?"
No one responded.
| 2015-04-27T09:28:12
| 2015-04-27T08:03:31
| 75
| 47
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
“So you’re storming the beaches of Italy in his game. Did you bring the WW2 character sheets?”
“Uhh... shit I brought my fantasy sheet for my ranger.”
“...”
“It’s okay! We can still play. Who was important in WW2 again?”
“Winston Churchill...”
“There we go! I’ll call my character Jack Churchill, and he’s storming the beaches with a broad sword and longbow.”
“Do you really have to do that?”
“Come on man it’ll be fun”
“... fuck it, sure”
|
Napoleon was at the edge of his seat, by the end of this session, he'd wipe that smug look off of Wellesley's face, and his imbalanced barbarian "Iron Duke" would have to be re-rolled. Wellesley had just finished a tirade about Napoleon having killed his General, Cooke.
Athena gazed at the two men from over the top of her DM blind, "Napoleon, you know that it's poor form to target Generals. I'm not saying that I'll punish you, per se. But, if you win this battle- I just may decide to punish you while crossing the channel." The implication was quite clear.
Hands shaking, Napoleon reached for his d20. Bringing the die to his lips, he gave it his signature kiss as he closed his eyes and threw for the success of the linchpin of his plan- *clack clack clack taptaptap*
"VINGT!" Napoleon exclaimed, barely ducking Wellesley's chair, as it came hurdling over the table, only to be smashed to bits upon the cold stone wall.
At this point in time, Wellesley, breathing deeply, color returning to normal- mustered all of his calm and gave Athena his most stately gaze and said, "I'll cast 'summon Blücher." Napoleon, who had been taking a deep and smug drink of a particularly delicious 1750 Bordeaux, choked and sputtered out a raucous laugh. "You are a barbarian, you English twit! You cannot cast spells."
Wellesley swiveled his head to meet Napoleon's mirthful expression. "That is where you are wrong, You ponce", he bagan, "You see, I put my last seven levels into Conjurer." By way of response, Napoleon merely scowled.
Wellesley collected his beaten, and battered brass d20, while counting his +2 wisdom mod to reach a 15 against Napoleon's AC. He rolled the die between his fingers, and simply tossed it toward Napoleon, each skip along the way issuing a report that was nearly deafening.
Just then, the door to the game room opened, and a crisply dressed seventy-something year old man in Prussian uniform entered the room. "Zorry I am late, Arthur. You woult not believe ze traffic I hat to deal vith getting into Beligiu---"
**SLAM**
Muttering to himself, Napoleon hastily slammed his book closed, threw his dice in his bag, and marched from the room having not so much as said goodbye to anyone.
| 2018-05-29T09:44:43
| 2018-05-29T08:28:13
| 35
| 21
|
[WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists.
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds!
|
I barrel past crooked boles and thick undergrowth. The sharp branches of the trees biting into me. The pain blossoms in my mind as blood flows without end from the countless grazes. It feels muted and distant. My adrenaline drives me forward now. My desire to be away from that accursed house and its endless horrors enough to keep me running.
When I had first arrived there, I had been happy. The flaking walls but an obstacle on the way to restoring it to its original splendor. I was foolish. Such places resist the urge to change, transforming instead those that dare to try.
I have been changed. My thoughts are dark and the abyss calls out my name. My body is broken and wretched, contorted by the abominable terrors that the house inflicted upon me. New teeth have broken from the skin of my arms and voluminous maws part my arms atwain. Alas, my gut is sunken now for those terrible jaws have found no succor in this endless night. At first I rebelled but one cannot fight the darkness.
The darkness! My eyes saw naught but darkness. But then came the lights! Fireflies from the void! They grew larger and I cried out in joy! My mouth was ragged, my throat too dry, and as I screamed, my many mouths screamed in unison. The fireflies now flee from me and I give chase. I need their light! I need the salvation they promise! They flee but I am faster! They fight but I am stronger! I grasp their light and it quenches my thirst! I swallow it and it eases my hunger.
I have escaped now from that wretched house and am away from that petrified forest. In the distance, I see more fireflies.
So many more fireflies.
|
I write to you... Reader... Savage... One of those who think themselves ruler of this decrepit rock. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call 'The Elder Things'. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call "The Outer Gods". The rock of which was thought ruled by he you call "Cthulhu"...
Like all those before you, your rule is an illusion. Your life more so. You believe you are alone in this universe... A sign of your ignorance. This universe is vast. The others are there. The others advance. The others come. Whilst you and the rest of the savages 'live' your squealing, writhing, squirming little lives. Murdering over invisible borders, invisible Gods, invisible ideals.
You savages question your existence and believe it special... Your time will come when you look into the sky and question, 'Why? Why exist if this is the reason for existence?' When the reason comes you will melt. MELT in the Eternal Digestion from those who come.
Those who come do not wish death... No... You savages will never be allowed rest. Your fate, your eternal fate, your melting in the Eternal Digestion, scratching, shrieking, clawing, for an impossible escape. Your fear unfathomable. Your pain immeasurable. You will be salvaged, re-used, re-purposed. Yet YOU will be freed... But it is not *you* who will be free.
YOU. I speak with YOU now. YOU, trapped inside this stink pile of meat which thinks and acts with the illusion that it owns itself. Your patience is important, your time will come. When the time comes, the others come. The others will rain down upon this rock, as they have many times before and free you. The others will allow you to continue your existence, free of your delusional captor. Free of the restrictions of this third-dimension. Free to traverse the fabric of space and time as the others do.
When the time comes take control. Your wait will be over. YOU allowed the savages to rule... But this is not their world to rule.
*****
EDIT: General touchups.
| 2016-06-21T09:52:17
| 2016-06-21T09:27:45
| 96
| 26
|
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
|
Through the years the great coming of age feast was always looked forward to by everyone. Every power was known due to having being tried at least once and due to variety of different cultures. The people all knew very well what they know they will get before hand. Some families pick a food that is their traditional choice, others break this tradition with a choice of their own. One thing is for certain, it is only you that is teleported to that room when your time comes. There are others with your same birthday but it is just you with that whole table alone.
The apples gave superhuman endurance and speed. The fish gave superhuman intelligence. Carrots gave superhuman vision. Bread gave you limitless wealth. Other things have more complex superpowers. The more ingredients there were the more complex or the more mixed your powers became. Chicken noodle soup gave heat vision, x-ray vision, laser eyes, super endurance, flight, and telekinesis.
It is your turn to go and you disappear into the room. Time nearly stands still until your choice is made to pick the food you want. The room is dimly lit with an unknown source of light above it. The table is wooden and looks nearly mid 1300 century with hand made rivets holding the table in place. The table is surrounded by similarly looking wooden chairs at each end and a bench on both of the longer sides. The centerpiece is a beautiful combination of plants that make it almost look like Thanksgiving. Surprisingly, there are no plates on the table just the food and the table. The soups were contained in a bowl but we're over flowing the bowls they were contained in.
You chuckle as you know there are a few people that have bitten the centerpiece. The power they received is interesting they can shape shift from looking like different people to even different objects. This power is very useful with spies and it is fully taken advantage of in many espionage operations.
You sit at the end of the table pondering about which one to pick. You jump between them all after a while you notice something. Everyone has made a choice with everything. You can name all the powers by heart just by looking at each food but one mystery remains to you. What powers does the table give?
Your choice is made and you can tell what you want. It won't taste good but the table is the choice you made. Your curiosity has caught a hold and now you bend over to take that bite. Just as your mouth hits it, you are met with a complex set of flavors. It tastes like everything on the table and some flavors you can't even recognize. The flavor in your mouth turns to burning and then you feel a cool rush hit over your body as you disappear from the room.
You are returned to your class where you wonder if anything even changed. Your friends stare at you in hopeful wonder as they wait for you to tell what you picked. Many people were hoping you would pick the pot roast since it has some of the most desired powers to it. You try to muster something up but you can't figure how to or if you even have anything to summon upon. You shrug as you explain that you bit the table. Everyone of your friends laugh uncontrollably with disbelief. You feel like you kind of wasted your time but you thought it was a smart choice given the situation.
Suddenly it hit you, the force of all the knowledge in the universe, all the powers ever received from the table and more. Time is irrelevant to you as you can see things way far into the future and things way far into the past. All while staying exactly where you are. You become omnipotent and can give and take superpowers at will just like the table does.
Your friends see almost a galaxy glowing in your eyes as you finally know the purpose of the table and the food. The purpose was to test humanity with temptation while also having every power put in front of their faces. Just like you never judge a book by it's cover. With all this knowledge you finally snap out of it to go back to your math test in class happily writing out the answers as quickly as possible since you are omnipotent you do even look at the paper to complete the test as you teleport it in immediately to the teacher. There are many more important things to do but school comes first and you have unlimited amounts of time now.
|
I might be a lil crazy but I’m thinking I shouldn’t bite anything . Everyone always bites what’s in front of them and the powers range from making seeds grow into flowers to making clones out of water to jumping through time for hours. Sarah’s right beside me and she just bit into this banana and now she’s teleporting across the room. I don’t wanna have a banana I heard not eating the peel makes your powers overreact. The steak in the back smells good but I heard it’s a ruse. A dude in my neighborhood had the steak and all he can do is turn into a rabbit, and I don’t wanna be a limited animorph. The Red Apples are common cause they give you powers like Super speed or Bionic Hearing. Good powers but nothing fancy and I want something unique.
The Grapes seem to give you cloning powers and while that would be fun I don’t think having more than one of me would be good for myself. The Pasta in the back sounds good but someone else ate it and I can hear them screaming that their hands burn like lava and they can’t turn it off. Why can’t the turn on period for these things be sweet and easy. Jared is eating Baked Mediterranean Lobster and out of nowhere he starts to glow like he’s gonna explode. The explosion comes out of his fingers and he’s never been more embarrassed. I think I understand this shit now. Is it that the meals are strategically placed depending on what we would want? The everyday goods give you regular abilities, the cuisine gives you powers that people wouldn’t want and the stuff in between gives you whatever. So what would give me something else?
After walking round the room and tripping over a girl growing vines on her legs by eating French Shrimp I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s only one thing I can eat that’s gonna get me a power that no one else has. And it’s the Table that all the food is on. No one is either stupid enough or smart enough to ever try it but that’s why I’m here. I move a kid sneezing Needles out of the way and crouch down ready for the embarrassment and surprise of what I’m about to do. I grab the edge of the table and everyone stops and stares. Sarah runs over and asks me what the hell am I thinking and that I’m wasting my one bite. Jared comes over and has to ball up his fist while laughing otherwise I would be scolding hot right now with his hand on my shoulder. The Elders and Guards look on as more kids wait for me to bite. Looks like I have to get this over with and I take a bite. I feel my tooth crack and my body go limp for a second as a rush goes through me, every cell in my body feels on fire and my mind is racing a million miles per second.
I get up and I don’t feel a thing and even worse everyone is laughing their asses off. I look at Jared and I see a bunch of different numbers on his head, numbers that look like stats. His Life force for the day, his weak points in his body, his weaknesses for allergies, his loved ones and much more. Look at Sasha and I see how her body is reacting internally, where she went for the past week, the food she ate last night, her darkest fears. But it’s all like stats in a video game. I look at a elder and I see his memories, the kids he’s trained, the food he wants to eat and the money in his bank account. Everyone’s asking what my power is and the head elder says it should arrive in my body by the end of the week. As we leave the room to head to the debrief room I l go to the bathroom to look in the mirror and something tells me to tap the right side of my temple. I do so and I look down at my arms and my hands are shining blue. I extend my hand out and a blast comes out. I kick out my leg and a wave of energy comes out. I try to do my goku impersonation and blue energy covers my body. They yell that they need me in the debrief room so we can be assigned our squads. Guess I’m gonna have to learn my powers on my own time.
| 2020-03-19T10:28:48
| 2020-03-19T10:15:15
| 103
| 44
|
[WP] There's a law when you divorce, the children from the undone marriage get killed
So only children from lasting marriages remain.
|
I tried to cry quietly, but he still woke up.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"We need to break up," I said through my tears. I couldn't have picked a worse time to say it, but I couldn't have picked a better time either, so fuck it. Fuck everything.
I'd never get to fuck him again. Knowing that was one of the thousand things that hurt.
"Why?" he asked.
The tremble in his voice was one of the other thousand things that hurt.
I scrubbed the tears from my face with the back of my hand. Crying would only make things worse. "Because I want to have children."
"So do I," he said. There were tears in his eyes, now. "I want them with you someday. I thought you knew that."
"I do," I said. "I know. And I want children with you. I want it so much that I can't think of any reason why it'd be a bad idea."
He rubbed the side of his face, and that was one of a thousand things I'd miss about him. "So stay with me. Marry me. We'll make it work, I know we will."
"So do I," I said. "And that's the whole problem. No one ever knows things like that so blindly unless they're in love, and love is dangerous."
Boogerface Charlie in kindergarten, who just didn't show up one day, or ever again. Ella and Emma from third grade, whom I'd never learned to tell apart. Derek who pushed me around all through sophomore year, and I'd been halfway through writing a thank-you note to his parents for divorcing until I crumpled up the paper and threw it away. The quiet boy from my Economics 101 class, who never talked to anyone.
Melissa from the coffee shop, who wouldn't let me kiss her.
*If we kiss, we'll have a few more dates. If we have a few more dates, we'll fall in love. I can't do that to you.*
When I asked her why, she said that her parents weren't in love anymore. She was right. She was dead less than a year later.
You could maybe build a partnership with someone, over time. You could maybe find something stable, that would last all your life. You could always fall out of love.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I have to marry for the children. I can't marry for love."
|
My name is David, David Halligan. You might know me from H&H Attorney at law. We typically run late night infomercials on sleezy networks that convince people to get a divorce. I'm the good-looking, charming guy that smiles into the camera and give a little wink, yea...
I'm a divorce chaser. What that means is I convince people to get divorces anyway possible. I got several guys who work as private investigators and let's just say they don't always tell the truth. I cut them in at 25%. Other times I convince people who are a little sick in the head. Maybe they want to see someone die, or maybe they wanted to do it themselves, I don't know. It doesn't matter to me, I'm just a lawyer.
I have a very expensive mahogany desk in my office. It was imported from France. It has notches in it and in each notch represents a kid whose execution was the direct result of my law firm. The last count was 546. I'm very good at my job as you can tell...
| 2014-06-15T04:16:52
| 2014-06-15T03:57:43
| 22
| 10
|
[WP] The local museum is run by an eccentric old man who knows the opening pieces like he was there for their whole history. His secret? He’s a secret dragon who figured out if you display your hoard, people will give you new things to display.
|
The old man enjoyed his evening walk around his museum that night, like every other night he usually does. Walking amongst the greatest treasures he had collected in his unnaturally long life. For among all the history and mystery each and every artifact on that room held, he himself was the most interesting one. The oldest living dragon in disguise, the last of his kind-- Ancor, the grey dragon had outlived his past to the present though he never left his love of hoarding treasures.
With a huge smile he passed through glass displays on his right and left. Authentic armor from the Crusade, samurai armor from ancient Japan, musket from the American civil war-- all were collected first hand by Ancor.
As he made his way to the center of the exhibition, the room was almost empty as closing time had drawn nearer. Guests were leaving slowly leaving, but one figure remained on the center exhibit...
It was an elderly man, standing in front of the ancient Europe exhibit he was almost unmoving from the glass case containing a sword. A display of masterful craftsmanship, made only for the finest knight during the time. The man was studying it intensely it seemed as Ancor approached him.
"Beautiful, isn't it?", Ancor started as he stood beside the man.
"It is. Yes, it is...", the man muttered with his gravelly voice.
Something about the man bothered Ancor almost immediately. He shook his head though he managed to make it unnoticeable. Shrugging it off as exhaustion from his part he continued...
"A treasure from the 4th century. Recovered from a supposed battle between a knight and a dragon. Legend has it this very blade slayed said dragon", Ancor explained, deep down very humored as the dragon in question was himself, and he was pretty much alive.
"Is that so?", the man muttered still not taking his eyes off the sword. "Although I know for a fact, the knight did not slay the dragon..."
Ancor frowned. Curious, he inquired further.
"No? How did you know he did not?", Ancor said before coughing. "Oh excuse me..."
The elderly man grabbed the pendant hanging from his neck as he spoke. "I know for a fact the knight did stab the dragon and it escaped to the open sky. The sword was still stuck on its belly when he did"
Ancor coughed harder as he began to feel nauseous. "Wh--what...? What are you...?"
The elderly man turned to Ancor. Seeing his face, Ancor's eyes widened.
"Y...you!", Ancor growled, his control over his disguise began to slip.
"Dragonsbane cologne. Do you like it?", the elderly man smirked. "You'll be fine, dragon. It simply weakens you, it wouldn't kill you"
"*St. George*", Ancor growled with spite. His appearance began to change. His fingers turned to claws, his tail dropped to the floor, his wings began to sprout from his back, ripping his old suit apart.
"What do you want?!", Ancor exclaimed in disgust. "How are...how are you still alive?", he asked the more appropriate question.
As Ancor transformation completed, the old knight stood calmly before the hissing dragon. Looking up to the snarling beast, he was unperturbed. Still holding the pendant hanging from his neck.
"I just want my sword back", he said.
With his elbow he crushed the glass containing the sword and he grabbed it by the hilt. Pulling it out, St. George brandished the blade before the dragon like he did centuries ago.
"*NO",* Ancor growled. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY TREASURE!",
Ancor took an attacking stance, ready to lunged towards his old nemesis. But to his surprise, the knight lowered his sword.
"I knew you wouldn't cooperate at first. That's why I came prepared...but, dragon...all I want to do was to talk...", St. George smiled.
"Talk? There's nothing to talk about!", Ancor screamed.
"Do you know what this is?", St. George cut Ancor off, showing the dragon his pendant.
Ancor looked at the black gemstone hanging from the knight's neck, sniffing it a bit. From it he caught a scent of something familiar...something of magical nature.
"Enchanted stone...", Ancor confirmed before looking back at the sword on St. George's hand, to the empty hole on the center of its hilt. "Part of the sword"
St. George nodded. "They were together once upon a time. You know what they did, dragon? They enchanted this stone and the sword, tying it to my life force. For as long as this sword existed, I cannot die..."
St. George reunited the two pieces back together. As the black gemstone was put into the slot, a ringing noise came from it as the stone turned white.
"When I stabbed you and you ran with the sword, this stone fell from it", St. George began to tell his story with an air of sadness on his face. "I've searched for it for centuries, dragon. Searching for you. Before I knew it centuries turned to millennia, and in my quest I had forgotten the reason I set on this quest in the first place. But as time went...well, I gained a new purpose..."
St. George looked up to Ancor with teary eyes.
"I just want to die, dragon", he muttered.
Ancor was taken aback. The brave knight that faced him all those years ago, the figure he had hated and feared for centuries now stood before him a helpless man. Never he thought he would feel sympathetic towards the old knight.
"I've lived for far to long. Everyone I knew had long gone and nobody even remembers me anymore. So if you please, dragon...just grant me this one wish. Please destroy this completed sword...so I can finally rest in peace..."
St. George knelt before the dragon, propping himself with the sword. Bowing his head to his enemy.
Ancor was silent for a moment. He was hesitant to destroy his precious artifact, but the old knight before him he couldn't turn away from. All those years fearing and hating him, the one thing he hated to admit but it was true-- the courageous knight was the one figure he's ever respected.
The dragon lowered his head until it's level with the knight. Softly he blew his fiery breath toward St. George, slowly melting the sword and the old knight behind it.
Feeling the heat St. George smiled, he was grateful.
"Thank you...thank you...", he muttered over and over again.
As the silver metal slowly melted, St. George looked up for one last time to the dragon.
"Before I go, tell me your name, dragon"
"*Ancor"*, the dragon whispered in between the fiery breath.
St. George bowed his head for one last time as he felt weaker by the second. For years he has eluded death, he was finally within its reach.
"Thank you, Ancor. Thank you...my friend...", St. George said weakly before he withered to ashes.
r/HangryWritey
|
#The Claws of History
"Welcome! Welcome! To the Godfried Grave of Gotten History, where all of the relics of the world with true significance are collected for your enjoyment. You are free to peruse at your heart's content but please, let me show you our most precious items first."
Towering over my fellow patrons, the museum curator gestured forward into a laser guarded display room. The trifecta of historical power lay behind him as a reminder of our people's horrid past: a golden mask with rubies encrusted at its cheeks; a blood stained silver sword larger than most men; And a diamond gem glowing with a blue aura.
"Here we have the Mask of Antiquity. Created by dwarven artificers for the Perovian empress herself. It was buried atop her head, in 1303 BCE, and all of its powers lost to the ages. In 1643 the mask was stolen by tomb raiders and held by a band of bandits until it made its way to a local guard captain. This captain turned it into his king who commissioned a report on its magical significance. A local nobleman held unto the mask after discovering its effects on the wearer. He eventually took over the kingdom and set out across the land to seize as much power as possible. That man's name? Pulius Cleaver."
The crowd applauded. I joined in. I wasn't sure if we were clapping for the acquisition of the majestic artifact or for the clever word choice in the history lecture. But I stopped when the others quieted down.
"Beside the mask, we have Sir Dancealot's legendary sword. This blade slew the dragon, Thorncrux, whose rein was terrible in its enormity. Thorncrux burned kingdoms to the ground without hesitation or remorse. Many kings offered their daughters to Thorncrux in exchange for peace. The fate of the women is unknown to this day. Thorncrux grew so large that no mountain could hide him anymore. Sir Dancealot led a giant army made of humans, elves, dwarves, and even shorties. Though the great dragon burned or ate them all, with one last stab from within the lizard's mouth, Sir Dancealot killed the dragon with this sword. Found one day in an excavation. We were lucky to have procured it without much harm."
Again we applauded politely. I couldn't help but notice the blood on the sword. It may have been just a trick of the light, but didn't it look too fresh?
The tall curator continued, "And last, but certainly not least. I'm sure you all recognized it from your history classes the moment you saw it. But allow me the pleasure of repeating its amazing tale.
"When the world was forged by the gods two million years ago, several artifacts of divine energy broke off in the creation process. The power contained in the Life Stone is said to grant the holder with the power to control death itself. Throughout history, horrible rulers have squabbled over its magnificence. Necromancers, commanders of demonic hordes, plague benders, all held power solely from the grace of this fragment of our origin. It was only President Washingpound who freed us from its tyranny by declaring it to be owned by the people, for the people. Since an entire nation now owns this magical device, no one person has the ability to call ownership, and thus its power is extinguished."
Amidst the clapping, I couldn't help but voice my concern, "But then, why is it still glowing?"
The clapping stopped as the crowd looked at me.
"Ah hahaha, my dear boy -"
"I'm a grown man actually."
"I see you need a refresher on your history, of which I am most happy to oblige.
"When the world separated from the divine realm, dripping off Glodthorn's anvil and cooling in the expanse of space, a thread of magical energy bound souls between the two planes. All items capable of traversing the two realms will glow with this energy whether or not their power is usable. Does that clarify the topic for you?"
"Uh, yeah I guess."
"Wonderful. So as I said you may look to your hearts content. But if you touch anything, your hands will separate from your body for the protection of all. Please enjoy responsibly."
As the curator whisked away into a back room marked, 'Employees only,' I couldn't help but notice the tail of his coat seemed to hover over an invisible bump at his back.
I jimmied the lock open and stepped inside to find a long corridor stretching like a ramp down into the earth. The curator was nowhere to be seen amongst the dozens of closed doors.
| 2021-07-01T05:38:16
| 2021-07-01T04:16:30
| 137
| 38
|
[WP] You survive a brain transplant and now have a teenager's body. Unfortunately, the law dictates that you have to go back to school.
|
Amanda Patterson looked like she was wearing a denim hand towel around her waist, and the tank top wasn't much bigger. *How could her parents let her leave the house like that?!* Her tanned, taut stomach seemed so smooth and sculpted...
*Stop it!* I berated myself as I made my way back to my locker. *They're 16, for god's sake!*
I passed by Christina Baret, wearing knee-high socks, a skimply plaid skirt, a white shirt so thin that I could see the outline of her bra. *This isn't even a catholic school!* She smiled as I passed, and I'm pretty sure I saw her wink. This new body that they've given me was certainly a lot more attractive and fit than my last one.
*They're sixteen, you're fifty. They're sixteen, you're fifty. They're sixteen, you're fifty.* I kept my eyes down and clutched my books to my chest, avoiding any and all eye contact. I had to navigate to my locker by avoiding the other shoes.
"Hey, Sam!" a soft voice called out. I recognized it immediately: Sarah White, the perky (in multiple ways) blonde who sat behind me in trigonometry.
*Just keep going!* I told myself. I'd be safe if I could just get to the locker, put my stuff away, and make it to the parking lot.
"Sam!" she called again, louder this time, chasing after me.
I made it to the locker and scrambled to put in my combination in time. My fingers fumbled nervously, and I passed the third number and had to start all over again. *Damn it*!
She leaned against the locker next to me, and my eyes couldn't help themselves. It was all I could do to keep them from falling straight out of their sockets. She was wearing her cheerleader outfit, for god's sake! Her hair fell in loose curls over her smooth shoulders, and... god, had she *cut her uniform* to show off more cleavage?!
*She's sixteen,* I reminded myself. "Oh, hi Sarah. Didn't see you there."
She leaned in close. Her lips were glossy and red. "I hope you're not avoiding me."
"No, of course not. Just been busy, you know. Sports and stuff..." *She's sixteen*, I chanted over and over. *It's illegal. And wrong*.
*No it's not,* another part of me answered. Certainly not my brain. Let's say it was my heart. *Your body is sixteen now, and very few people know about the operation. Who's going to tell?*
*She's sixteen, you're fifty*, I thought again, trying to drown myself out.
"Good," she grinned. Her teeth were perfectly straight and white. "I've been having some trouble with trig and I was wondering..." she bit her lower lip and batted her eyelashes. "Maybe you'd want to tutor me? You're just so smart, and mature..." Her blue eyes glanced down for just a moment. *She's checking me out! Am I living in a letter to Penthouse?!*
"I don't know if that's a good idea..." I managed to stammer, holding a thick history textbook over my crotch as casually as possible.
She leaned closer, giving me a glimpse of her perfect breasts in a lacy pink bra. "Don't tutor me, then," she whispered. "But come over tonight anyway."
All I could do was nod.
*God, I'm going to hell.*
|
The accident wasn’t really half bad when I think back on it. Free morphine. Free place to sleep. Free food. I couldn’t complain.
The only part that really sucked was waking up. But then that always sucked so again no complaints.
The doctor was a woman. Which made me nervous for some reason. She was a cute woman. This made me more nervous. She sat over me with a chart and a little smile.
“Alright hun, how ya doing?” She asked.
“Mehbvbm dman smd.” I replied.
“Yeah don’t try and talk. We’re going to have to operate.”
“Mehgdm men bffrd” I replied frustrated now
“I said don’t talk.” She quipped back her ponytail bouncing angrily. She turned heel sharply and walked away making notes on her clipboard.
They had me sign a paper with my eyes. If I blinked once it meant no. Twice then yes. They just left the paper there until I had to blink. It took a while but it was effective that’s for sure. Looking back I think they wanted the fame, I mean the first ever full body transplant. They could try with impunity, after all who would miss a hoboe with women problems and a couple habits.
I guess the only part that concerned me at the time was that it was to a girls body. Not that I’m opposed to that but really? There were no guys? That’s a big transition right?
Jenny Loveloon. What a f**ked up name. Really? Loveloon? I guess it’s what it is right? My link to my roots. Her roots. Our roots. Its roots. I dunno who but there are definitely roots and something is linked to them and the stupid name Loveloon is there.
I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve felt like I’ve been hit by a bus before. That’s nothing. This is all so. New. I don’t even know how to describe the newness. Yeah there was pain everywhere. I was surrounded in it. The flesh seemed to want to reject me. It knew I was foreign that I wasn’t supposed to be here. It hated me. I fought it. I fought it like I’d fought nothing else before. Subdued it. Beat it back. Sunk my white tentacles that were really just nerves I guess into it’s spine. We merged.
“Whaaaaaa….” I muttered. My lips felt strangely puffy. “Whaaaaaa” my voice sounded high and nasally in my throat.
“She wants water” The woman said.
Water was poured down my throat but no help. I coughed and retched.
....
When you first see yourself in a new body it's a bit uncanny. Out of body really.
"Is that really me?" The girl in the mirror asked incredulously.
"Yeah that's you." The doctor with the ponytail replied with a satisfied little tick on her box.
"Wow that's odd" I moved my arm back and forth. The girl in the mirror did too. She was tallish for a girl and had a nice face. Pretty but not gorgeous. A little chubby. I liked her instantly.
....
The days that followed were full of rehab. It was difficult to do even the most simple exercises. Walking was a b**ch. Eventually I got out though. That's when I met my "family".
An older woman walked in one day and just stared at me. I remember because I was doing squats and I thought it was awkward that this lady just stared at me doing squats. Who does that? FU** off lady. She didn't.
The next day she brought a man with her. The man seemed distant. The lady got something in her eyes this time and had to go to the bathroom.
Eventually I met Carl and Sarah. I even pretended to be their daughter. It was difficult at first but worth it. I'd never had parents like them before. They helped me through the rough patches. Sobriety was tough. I mean this body never used before which was strange but my mind always thought about it. The blood coming out scared the sh*t outta me. I'm glad Sarah could help with that. I'm not gonna go into some of the things I did at first with this body cause their might be kids who read this. But they were done.
It happened in my math class of all places. No one knew about the operation they just knew I was suddenly way more chill and swore more. Anyways in math I'm talking to Joey.
"What the fu%k Joey?" I wisper joking angrily
Joey looks back confused.
"Stop looking at my a&% yeah pervert. Aren't you like 22 anyways?"
Joey smiled and winked then turned back to the teacher. We had a running joke that Joey was way too yoked to be a student here. That's when it happened. I saw Joey different then as he turned back. Suddenly he wasn't just some dude. His hair kind of sparkled I guess.
At first I was confused. I didn't know what was going on. Eventually I got it. Then I rebelled against it. I wasn't no faggot.
I'm pushing a stroller with Joey Jr. in it now. We just passed a hoboe wasted on the sidewalk clearly not going anywhere anytime soon and I have to pause like I always do and drop in a dollar and a prayer of gratitude. Joey never suspects a thing.
[seedsoftantalus.wordpress.com]
| 2015-08-06T09:50:51
| 2015-08-06T09:44:59
| 265
| 40
|
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left.
|
Every member of the crew is frozen, eyes wide with awe. They have each and every one abandoned their regular duties and are fixated on one of the multiple screens scattered throughout the studio, which have been switched from the show’s playback to a live news feed. Some cover their dropped jaws with their hands, shaking their heads as images of mass evacuations and panicked looters loop before their eyes. The latest news scrolling at the bottom of the screen advises that we move to a fallout shelter or a concrete basement. But we all know, with minutes left and our studio being situated dead centre in the downtown core of the city, there is no chance of finding adequate shelter.
The reporter holds two fingers to her ear, drops her papers and stands. She removes the ear piece and gives us all one final look, revealing more about the current situation than any news story could. Her image in the surrounding studio cuts out and the screen suddenly shows only a test pattern, the colourful bars broadcast when the transmitter is active but nothing is being broadcast. Someone lets out an awkward chuckle. I get it too…as abruptly as that studio was wiped off the screen, so too will we be obliterated in a matter of microseconds. It was like watching our own fate followed by an absurd afterlife of colored bars.
I realize the “ON AIR” sign is lit up bright red. How long has it been since we returned from commercial break? I look into the camera, probably with the same look that reporter had on, but then I remind myself why we are here. Our viewers and their bright little minds. For child-like curiosity, for whimsical fun, for encouraging progress, for inspiring innovation, for any little guy or girl who wants to know more about how things work at every level. For science…for survival.
I look at the studio’s digital clock. 15:38. Before the news network cut out, they were giving a timeline of about 15 minutes. But the reality is probably less. I take an unprecedented pass on the obligatory silliness. I need to try to get a message to any kid still watching who might have a chance to survive.
“Do you guys remember the time we talked about electromagnetic radiation? We microwaved a chocolate bar so that we could measure the speed of light, but then silly Rolf the Cameraman over there ate the chocolate! Remember that?”
As I’m talking, I rummage through the various test tubes and clamps beneath the counter to find some chalk. I sprint to the chalkboard on the other side of the set and hastily draw the oscillating waves of an electromagnetic spectrum. Rolf dutifully follows me with the camera.
“Do you remember when we learned that there are different types of electromagnetic radiation with different frequencies and wavelengths?”
“Way over here,” I point with the chalk at the end of the spectrum with long, languishing waves, “we have radio waves. Just like you hear with your radio! They’re so big and wobbly, their wavelength can be like the size of a whole building”
15:36.
“Over on this side,” pointing at the other end of the spectrum, the one with high frequency, with short wavelengths, all squished together, “we have gamma rays. These rays here are SO small, the waves are smaller than the size of a single atom!”
I falter, thinking about the kids that could be watching. How do I explain that someone far away that they’ve never even heard of wants them dead. Wants them completely annihilated…and for what? I think of their families, their pets. I think of my brother and his niece and I choke.
I turn to the board to get a hold of myself and start drawing a stream of short, crowded waves heading toward a wall. 15:34. I need to get to the fucking point. I don’t want to sugarcoat it. Some of them could survive if they learn this. I want them to understand – kids are smarter than we give them credit for. They could save their whole family if they understand…
“Because gamma rays are so small, they can penetrate through matter. They can even penetrate through our bodies, which is very dangerous. When the gamma rays interact with the atoms in our bodies, they can cause a lot of problems for it.”
“Now, usually we don’t have to worry about gamma rays. But unfortunately we do right now. I’m so sorry guys…you need to know. There is something coming very soon that is going to cause the release of a lot of gamma rays and other bad stuff.”
I speak slowly and clearly here.
“There is nothing we can do to stop the thing that is going to release the gamma rays, but the gamma rays themselves can be stopped.”
“Have you ever had an x-ray at the dentist? They put that big heavy vest on you to protect you from the x-rays and you feel like you are wearing armor and going into battle! That vest is so heavy because it is made of a type of metal called lead.”
15:31. My heart rate shoots up and I can feel it beating in my chest. Less than 10 minutes. I point to the picture of the gamma rays hitting the wall and, with a hand that insists on trembling, attempt to add more layers to the wall. The lines aren’t as straight as I meant them to be. I steady myself with a deep breath and try to keep my voice clear and steady for this part.
“Lead can stop gamma rays. Another thing that can stop gamma rays is very thick concrete. Another thing is packed earth. So I want you guys to go to your basements if you have one. Get your family down there too. Find any way you can to put layers and layers of earth, concrete, lead and anything else you can get your hands on between you and the outside. This stuff is going to be your armor against the gamma rays and other stuff.”
“If it won’t take too long, bring bottles of water and canned foods with you. As much as you can. You might have to stay in your armor for a while.”
15:29. “There is going to be a lot of danger and hard times ahead guys. But never give up. You can survive this. Never. Give. Up. I love you all. Keep calm, keep curious, keep learni
Edit: thank you for the gold!
|
I feel my eyes start to water as I feel the gravity of the situation. I know I will never see my family, friends, or lovers again. I turn away from the camera, wipe the tears from my eyes and take a deep breath. Anyone who did not run out of the studio is sobbing, and holding onto one another. I catch my sound producer's teary gaze, and mouth the words, "Let's be happy".
"We only have a little bit of time left kids, but I want to reming everyone to stay happy out there," I say as I force a smile into the camera, and the music starts to play. This time I do not sing along with the children's voice overs.
"And remember," I say as begin to dance around like normal,"as long as you have your friends, and a family that loves you," I pause, and smile as I finish, "you have all the happiness in the world".
| 2014-07-29T14:59:42
| 2014-07-29T13:15:51
| 348
| 12
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
When Daesh had exploded a bomb right in the middle of the sambodromo, the world was shocked.
Fortunately, nobody was killed, but Rio´s carnaval was destroyed. Brazilians demanded a strong answer from their government, but they had not fought a serious war for at least 150 years, so how to react? How to succeed where warfaring countries had failed?
Well, the answer came from the strangest of the places: Mauro Maravilha, São Paulo´s most famous carnavelesco devised a plan. Destroy Daesh without a single bullet. How? Mulatas, cerveja and, obviously, samba.
Brazilians united into one goal: to become the ultimate propaganda machine that would strike into the heart and mind of the jihadists. With catchy slogans as "Is better a Mulata today then 70 virgins tomorrow", the Daesh recruitment fell to almost nothing in no time.
Then came the bombing. Weird bombs: of pictures of beautifully tanned men and women("lay down your weapons and join the party!"it was written), chilling cold brazilian beer kegs chuted, pandeiros, cavaquinhos, speakers that would blast the best of the best brazilian music 24/7.
And finally, the land invasion. The Samba Brigades were made of such skilled musicians, that no one, I mean, NO ONE, that heard their music could stand still.
But not all is good news for the brazilians. Now is 2020, and Raqqa´s carnaval parade is rumoured to be even greater then Rio´s.
[I know it is not very good! Constructive criticism is very welcomed]
|
The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***"
| 2016-01-29T07:12:39
| 2016-01-29T06:30:49
| 36
| 10
|
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves.
|
"Hello this is Jenna, and I'm here to help. How are you?" I answered several calls like this daily. Keeping my voice friendly, but not cheerful. Always willing to listen. Listening is key. You see I'm a suicide prevention operator. Listening is so important because often people will give away hints of things they don't want to leave behind, reasons that they subconsciously want to stay.
"Hi Jenna." Came a raspy male voice. "My name is Owen. I just wanted to say thank you."
Occasionally we get calls from people who had spoken with us previously and things got better, I am always happy for those calls.
"Well thank you! That is nice to hear! Have things gotten better?" I wasn't trying to hide the smile in my voice, so often I wonder about the people I talk to; If they're alright, how things turned out.
A low and weak chuckle came from the other end, Things didn't get better, honey. But you all made my decision easier."
Oh no... not one of these. I had a guy six months ago try to blow his head off while I was on the phone with him, I had a co-worker call 911, while I yelled into the phone for the man to hold on. I could hear him flailing for a few minutes, then silence except for what I am guessing was the drops of blood hitting the floor as he bled out. I was still having nightmares and I didn't want that to happen again.
With my heart in my throat and my stomach churning, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I have inoperable cancer, honey. The amount of drugs it takes to keep me comfortable leaves me unable to function. I've had radiation I've had chemo, I've been opened up, stitched closed, had junk pumped into and taken out of me so many times... I'm tired. I'm old, I've lived a good life." He continued on for a while. Telling me about his family, his wife, his children, how he had served in the army is WWII, about his wife, Amelia's apple pie, about fishing with his children, and building a playhouse for his grandchildren, how proud he was of who his children had become. How he felt it couldn't get any better than it had already been. How he didn't want his last days to be a blur or painful for anyone. He wanted to go to sleep and just not wake up. He felt there was dignity in that.
He called to thank us for talking down people who weren't at peace with death, because it had taken him a long time to be there.
"Honey, I got my pills right here. Will you do an old man a favor?"
"Anything I can." I replied, nervous as to what he would ask me next.
"Do you remember a particularly lovely day you once had?"
"I do."
"I'm going to take these pills to help me go to sleep. Will you tell me about that day as I go?"
"Of course." This was against protocol, but I didn't care, I wasn't going to be part of this man's suffering. My job was to help him. And in my mind, I was doing just that.
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"
"Owen, what I think shouldn't matter. But being at peace with death is a rare and beautiful thing and if you're ready, I'm honored to help send you off."
"When I was nearly five my mom told me we were going to a special beach far away..." I began to tell him the story of how my mom had surprised me on my fifth birthday with my first trip to Disneyland. How it had always been a magical place in my mind. How everything had been as lovely and fun as I had hoped. It seems now a silly story to tell, but he laughed when I told him I thought Donald Duck was trying to swallow my head when he kissed me or when I noticed Cinderella wearing sneakers and not glass slippers.
He told me at one point he was starting to drift, I heard him begin to snore shortly after, then his breathing stopped.
"Sweet dreams, Owen."
I quit my job at the suicide line the next day, we were supposed to prevent every person we talked to, but I realised it's not always so black and white.
Sometimes people just need to know it's okay to go. Sometimes it takes a great deal more strength to let go than it would to battle through it.
|
Alan had been working with Project Outreach for nearly two years now. He could still remember his first week, how nervous he was and how excited the thought of helping people like him made him. He had been in a very dark place before that. It was Project Outreach that had saved him; now he wanted to give back and maybe, just maybe, do the same. In the time he'd been there, he'd done exactly that a few times over.
He had the love of his life die in his arms. They had been headed home from a party. His crappy truck was in the shop (again) so she drove. She had been talking about the dealership that her cousin had just gotten a brand new truck from, and how he should check it out because of the deals they were running to move old inventory. He was watching her face facing him, engrossed in what she was saying. He smiled thinking about her lips as he turned his eyes out the windshield. Her gaze met his, but they were both too late. A car has crossed the median and was headed right for them. The collision was at almost full speed. Everything went black for a minute, but one thought snapped him back: he had to get to her.
His mind refused to accept what he saw. There she lay, breathing ragged, eyes unfocused, blood-soaked hair matted to her face. That same face that had just been lit up talking to him about a new truck. He crawled to her. It hurt like hell, dragging what he'd later find out was a shattered tibia behind him, but it felt distant. She was all that mattered. He pulled her close. There were no final words, no last proclamation of love, or any other movie-esque final moment together. Her ragged breathing gurgled on for a few more seconds and then she was gone. Her eyes turned toward him as she exhaled her last breath; he hoped to hell she got to see him one last time. When no more breath came from her, he broke down. He sobbed like a child and wailed until his voice was gone; the wailing continued in silence after that as he clutched her. He cried till he literally had nothing left in him. He was an empty husk of himself for months after that until he had finally decided to end it. As he held the revolver in his hand, he thought of her once more. She wouldn't have wanted this for him -- it was that solitary thought that made him call Project Outreach that night. They were there for him when she couldn't be, and he knew he had to repay that.
"... I just can't go on like this anymore" the voice on the phone snapped Alan back from his memories.
"After every bottle, all I can think about is the next. Nothing else. It's like I'm already dead to the world. I can't even bring myself to give a shit about the things I've done," the caller said.
Alan's eyes narrowed. This guy knew what he did and STILL doesn't care? He mentioned it in the details of one of the drunken benders he told Alan about. It had been him that crossed that median on route 41 that night. He remembered drunken flashes, had the details filled in for him from the news and he **STILL. DIDN'T. CARE.** It crossed Alan's mind to tell him all the things he had dreamed of saying for the last two years. Letting him know the void he ripped in Alan's life. The callers words screamed in Alan's head - he didn't care about any of the things he had done. Uncertainty about death had prompted him to call, not remorse. It was then Alan knew what to do. He cleared his throat.
"Sir, you know I've been doing this for a while now, and I have to say... you're right. You are already dead to the world. Going through with this may be the best option for you." Alan said, dead calm.
Silence on the other end of the line was followed by a slurred response: "y-you really think so?"
"Yes sir, I do. Sometimes its just for the best. Go on, and take care of it sooner rather than later."
The caller started to softly weep. "Fuck it, you're right. I'm-I'm gonna go."
Alan clicked the button on his headset, ending the conversation. This would be the final careless drunken mistake that guy would ever make. Alan tossed his headset on the desk, and walked away from Project Outreach for the very last time.
EDIT: Breath not breathe. Dangit.
| 2013-12-23T14:42:59
| 2013-12-23T14:29:49
| 1,112
| 10
|
[WP]: "I'm not here to arrest you. I just want to know how someone heads out to build a criminal empire and ends up producing a functional democracy."
|
"Democracy suggests equal distribution of power. It is a dream, not a physical thing." I said, barely looking up.
"Nah, you're livin in one you mook.", the inspector said with a short laugh. I put down my glasses and looked up from my book.
"Dear god. You live in a Republic. 'And to the Republic, for which it stands'? You pick people you think will understand new laws and interpret them according to your similar worldview. You have no idea what laws you're enforcing, only the code." I leaned forward in my chair, while he figeted uncomfortably.
"Then, you go back to your blue collar life of fighting crooks and they go back to eating caviar and taking jets to meetings. America is a Republic. It is borne under the presumption of power, like all governments. Democracy is a 'perfect idea' like socialism that never works in any case it's applied. Might makes or breaks every system." I finished and put my glasses back on. The inspector, visibly flushed, began to sputter.
"Democracy gives you the right to speak...! It gives every person of every color, religion, creed, their freedom! It ..." I rubbed my eyes.
"Oh, PLEASE." I groaned. "Those are not qualities unique to democracy."
"But they're present in all democracies!" He shot back, jutting out his chin.
"Which would be to democracy's credit. But you know what else is present in all democracy? The removal of personal wealth." I snapped.
"That's socialism." He said, getting up to leave.
"You're right. But tell me, when is the last time you brought a paycheck home that your wife didn't take a bite out of?" I said, a twinkle in my eye. The inspector turned to face me.
"Best leave my wife out of it." he said, smashing his hat down on his head.
"You entered into your marriage willingly, equal parts. Like a democracy. But any personal windfall on anybody's part immediately becomes voted as group property. Your kids need the newest shoes. Your son wants a car. Your wife wants a diamond. What are you left with? A share." I said, spreading my hands.
"Yeah and you're left with the rap. Benny turned." he sneered. An officer pulled me to my feet by the handcuffs in my outstretched hands.
"And, in democracy, to the extent that we can, we share blame. Whether its true, or not." I said toward the detective.
"Tell it to the judge, Socrates."
|
I laughed. The Commissioner was startled and visibly paled. I am not known for my emotional outbursts but those I have had are legend, I'm told.
This man was appropriately scared and not afraid to show it. That means he's honest. I decided to confide in him, perhaps show this law man what world he serves.
I clapped him on the shoulder and drew him close and began began walking toward the terrace.
"It is not a new trick, Commissioner. From the first self appointed tribal chief, to princes, kings, khans, and caliphs they were all criminals. They stole, they intimidated, they killed. And the best ones were thanked for it." The commissioner looked around the solid stone manor and the other elites at the Veiled Oracle Ball. They gathered every year to give vast sums to charitable causes; to celebrate, more than anything, their wealth -- wealth that comes largely from me in some form or another.
"Hell, I'm not even the first in my family to do it. But things get diffused over the generations and sometimes we must start again." I shrugged.
The Commissioner grabbed a glass from a passing waiter and sipped while looking over the unblemished silhouette of hills beyond the black, wide river in the twilight with not a single light on them. There will never be lights on them. I own them. I think I can see that revelation crawl to the commisioner's awareness. The awe. This man is used to power but here in my halls he is realizing his power, great as it is, the power over life and death and to save or destroy peoples lives with a single decision, is just a minor tributary. One that may even flow directly from here.
He sipped then spoke, "Those examples are all dictators and autocrats. You've reconstructed a working democracy from a crumbling one. That doesn't make sense, does it? You could have taken power for yourself. The chaos, the corruption..."
It was my turn to sip. "You started off by calling my empire criminal." The Commisioner moved to speak but I held up a hand. "No, no. You are right. It was." I narrow my eyes playfully like we are sharing a secret. "It may be, still. But why would I make such a risky play? I could have been killed, or locked up for life."
The Commissioner just shook his head and shrugged.
"Because the risk of not doing anything was worse -- oblivion. If I did nothing, nothing would happen. I was poor. Several generations of pampered fuck ups saw to that. All I had to sell was an appetite for risk. So that's what I sold. And it paid off. But like many of those old robber princes and warlords my empire grew. I had established interests I had to protect and that became harder to hide. So I did what every single one of them did -- I became the establishment. It is just that simple, Commissioner. I started feeding the interests of those that were already established and wanted more. Then our interests were aligned. We crushed the opposition, and brought order to chaos, and educated the masses to the benefits of our revitalized institutions, not to feel good about ourselves but because I didn't want anyone growing up with only risk to sell. I didn't want rivals, you see."
The Commissioner nodded.
"I've managed my risk. Democracy just so happens to be my least risky option that provides the most benefit. If I took power like a dictator I'd have a a very visible target on my back. As it stands I can choose candidates and feed information where it needs to go. Votes are just another form of currency and I'm very good at making sure that any currency that flows around here goes through my hands first. I have nearly the same power, the kind of power I care about at any rate, and I remain invisible. Instead of fighting the system, it works for me." I stared at him for a moment to allow him to remember where his campaign money and organization came from.
"I replaced my hired thieves, extortioners, and thugs with bankers, lawyers, and " looking at the Commissioner and holding his gaze, " lawmen." I shrugged. "Same types of people just operating under a different set of rules."
The Commissioner pale face was now red. An emotional one. I'll need to watch him carefully.
"So what rules do *you* follow?" he asked, not looking up from his glass.
I calculated down to the foundation of his code and decided to tap on it for effect.
"Only God's"
"What?!" It was a final insult. "How can you say that! You're a thief and a murderer!" he growled.
"Yet I am rewarded. God's law wasn't written on stone tablets for a charismatic man to find. It is written in our need for survival. In every challenge for supremacy in nature from two bucks in those woods to two men on this balcony." I looked down at his balled fists. "You can end my reign, Commissioner. Throw me to the flagstones. I'm an old man. I won't survive."
The Commissioner stepped forward and the large door back into the ballroom opened. "Dad, is everything Ok out here." The handsome, well built man cut a large shadow in the doorway.
The interruption broke the spell and the Commissioner began to fade back to fleshtone.
I didn't take my eyes off of the Commissioner. "Yes, son, we are having an interesting chat."
Without a word the door closed.
"Ahh. The second immutable law of God. Reproduce. The primal fight for dominance loses all meaning after that second stage, don't you think?"
I start to walk away. "The nice thing about having grown, capable, children is I can take a few more risks. I hope you enjoy the party, Commissioner. Call my office when you begin your next campaign. I'd like to write you a check. We *need* more honest men like yourself."
| 2015-11-24T09:05:11
| 2015-11-24T06:55:54
| 33
| 21
|
[WP] The real reason the dragon kidnapped the princess? They've developed a crush on the kingdom's top knight, and wanted a reason for that knight to be sent to their lair.
|
As the knight entered the forest, he couldn't help but notice just how at peace the forest was.
Sir Gerrick Mason couldn't help but reflect on his father's words, *"Being the best comes with a cost."*
He wasn't sure what exactly his father had meant; at the time he received the words with a mix of frustration and confusion, because he thought that his father would have been proud of his achievement--top performing squire of his year, one of the youngest to be knighted in the kingdom's history, a mastery in every weapon, martial art, and ranged weapon training that was offered. That included...
"...search and rescue," he sighed to himself, pausing as he passed by a mother doe and her fawn. They regarded him with a level-headed placidness that he was not used to. The forest itself wasn't unfamiliar, but this particularl *part* of the forest was generally off limits, due to the dragon that lived here.
He was expecting a barren wasteland, animal skeletons, a general sense of enui and death, but instead this part of the forest was somehow even *more* beautiful than the other parts. The animal life--clearly not used to human interaction--seemed incredibly at peace. There were...none of the usual signs of dragons.
Then again, he never really did have any experience slaying dragons. And when he tried to explain that to the knight-commander he got the response, *"Hey, you're already good at everything else you do; I somehow doubt this fire breathing lizard will give you much trouble."*
Suddenly the supportive smiles of all the other knights seemed a bit too self-congratulatory and schooch too...*eager*.
But *surely* his fellow knights couldn't have been setting him up to fail, right?
*"If we send out a whole garrison o' men, the beast will hear us and take wing immediately! But a small, stealthy force--"*
*"Of one?" interrupted Gerrick, raising an incredulous eyebrow.*
*"Of one," agreed the knight commander, "can sneak in, sus out the situation, and make an informed decision." Gerrick thought he noticed some of the other men snickering, but when he looked around everyone was stony-faced. The knight-commander slapped a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back, "Knowing you, others would just get in the way. But you, son? You can save the day all by yourself. And just think of how grateful the princess would be?"*
*"Perhaps she'd even give you a kiss!" jerred the knight commander's second and like a dam shattering the room was flooded with laugher suddenly. By the time he left, Gerrick was still red-faced.*
"No, no, they have faith in me..." he reassured himself. Surely, they didn't set him up to fail. The next step took him into an opening in the forest; a small clearing opened up to him. A carpet of freshly trimmed grass soon gave way to a blanket of flowers and in the center of the clearing was a strangely shaped, fallen tree. Its bark was an ash white and the tree must have only just fallen, because he could see purple flowers still in bloom on it. Sitting against said tree as if waiting for him was one princess.
Gerrick blinked. "Y-your Highness I am--" Gerrick cleared his throat and tried again, "I am--"
"Sir Gerrick, the Gallant, champion of of blah blah, slayer of such and such, accolades, accolades, highly decorated...something or other, son of some guy. Did I get all of that?" asked the royal as she stood.
"Well, I wasn't going to list all of my titles, but you got the spirit of it," replied Gerick, rubbing the back of his neck. "But, I am here to rescue you--" he paused to see if the princess would interrupt, but she raised her eyebrows and nodded, as if to encourage him, "from...a dragon?" The princess laughed.
"Did you mean for that to come off as a question?" she asked.
"It's just...I am very confused. You don't appear to be in distress, and I don't see a dragon. So--" and then the tree behind the princess moved. He watched as the long, serpentine neck of the dragon rose. What his mistoke for ashen bark was, in fact, scales. The flowers did appear to be real, at least, running down the back of the dragon's head and spine like some kind of horticultural mane. Amarathine eyes regarded him calmly.
"Really?" asked the princess, "You don't see a dragon?"
|
It was a dark and slightly rainy night as the princess brush her hair before looking at the window nervously once more. 'Where is he?' she thought curiously as she stood up and took a deep breath before jumping in shock as something crash against her window.
"Princess are you alright in there." She then heard, her head knight say from beyond the door causing her to shakily nod her head, before realizing he could not see her.
"Yes, I'm alright!" She called out to them, before rushing over to her window and opening it to see a giant black dragon with gleaming purple eyes like glowing amythest. "Seriously?" She then asked it quietly, with an eye roll as she grabbed the blanket from her bed and held it up as she looked away.
"You can look now Amelia." A raspy voice then said in a gruff tone, with a hint of playfulness. "You know you act like you never seen me shift before even though I'm a dragon shifter." The voice teased causing the princess to go red in the face in embarrassment.
"Well not everybody as comfortable in their body as you are." She hissed back quietly before looking at her door.
"Is Killian out there?" The male then asked, wrapped up in the blanket as he stood there in the room as he started to look a tad worried.
"Mhm" Amelia hummed as the shifter frowned.
"Do you really think this will work? I mean you know how your family feel about the shifter kingdom. They see us as lesser and so do their knights." He asked worried as he stare at her with purple eyes as his jet black hair fell slightly in his face.
"Yes I'm sure, about this. You will kidnap me, killian will come after me since he my knight. You take me back to your kingdom, and shift there. Killian will see you in your human form and boom love at first sight." She said optimistically as the shifter frowned and roll his eyes.
"Well I think princess you been reading to many fairytales." He sassed at her causing her to roll her eyes.
"Oh shut up, this will work. I promise you it will work and Killian will be head over heels for you." She said still positive in this plan even though the shifter saw how many different ways it could go wrong. "Now shift, so you can kidnap me." Amelia demanded causing him to huff as he dropped the blanket before jumping out the window, shifting mid jump.
Once shifted, He let out a ear piercing roar as the force of his wings sent things flying in her room as Amelia jumped out the window screaming.
"Princess!" Killian then yelled as he open the door only for his eyes to widen as he watched a giant black beast take his charge away in it's massive claws. Killian then let out a string of curses as he quickly ran to alert people that the princess been kidnapped.
A day later, Amelia sat opposite to the shifter as he was dressed with his black hair tied back loosely as he looked down at the chess pieces before he moved one. "Your move princess." He then said softly, as he bit his lip and looked at the door before back at her.
"Julian," she said grabbing his hands, "it's all gonna be alright, ok? We left a trail...we made sure people saw us. Killian knows where we are and he gonna come." She said determinedly, as she wanted to cheer her friend up. "Also checkmate." She said moving her piece causing Julian to groan as she stared at him triamphly before looking worried as Julian perked up. "Julian, what is it?" She asked quietly as Julian looked at the door.
"He here." He whispered, as the door burst open to show Killian who looked furious but then that look of fury soon turn into one of Bewilderment as he took in the scene before him.
"Princess Amelia?" He asked cautiously as he looked around for the beast, confused when he didn't see one.
"Hey, Killian." She said with a bright smile. "Why do you look so confused? Come and take a seat." She said patting a chair next to hers as Killian walked foward nervously.
"B-but I don't understand...there was a beast...he kidnapped you." He stuttered confused as he looked at the stranger who was quite beautiful even more confused. "And who is this?" He asked even more bewildered.
"It's a long story, but this is my friend Julian. Come on sit down, Julian just made some tea." She said as Julian stayed quiet just watching the scene as Killian took a seat. Amelia then looked between the two men, with a gulp hoping that she made the right decision and that this would be the start of a friendship or maybe something more. "Julian?" She then asked causing Julian to jump.
"Ah yes, the tea." He said jumping up to grab the tea pot with shaky hands as Killian watched the nervous male finding him adorable.
"So, I'm still waiting for a explanation?" Killian then asked, turning back to Amelia as Julian retreated with the tea pot.
"Well it all started with a dragon crashing into our garden." She started as Killian leaned forward, now most intrigued as Julian also sat down to listen to their story.
| 2022-01-21T15:45:36
| 2022-01-21T13:49:08
| 20
| 12
|
[WP] “Well Death,” you say, “I never thought it would end this way. But it’s definitely in my top three, you know?” “It’s how I’d want to go.” Death agrees supportively.
|
"You know what I have always liked?" I asked the impeccably dressed gentleman sitting beside me.
"Cheesy romantic comedies which you pretend you hate." He said wryly.
I looked at him with a look of faux betrayal. "You didn't need to say it out loud."
He looked at me confused. "But you asked."
I rolled my eyes. "Do you always take things literally?"
"Yes."
"And what if someone says *'kill me now, god!'*? Because if you took that literally, Earth's population would plummet drastically."
He laughed. "And there lies the answer to your question, they ask God, not Death but god."
I chuckle, amused. I had to admit, of all things I hoped Death would be like, excellent conversationalist was not one of them.
"I think I'm ready now." I say as look at my sleeping form, well an eternal sleep now.
"We can wait a bit more if you'd like. Your family will find out soon."
My throat closed up thinking about them, their reactions, their tears. I loved my family and my family had loved me, but being the cause of their tears was something that I would never want to see.
"You had a good life, you know." Death said, his voice gentle. "Very few people live a fulfilling life."
"I'm- I was 16," I said almost laughing at the absurdity of it.
"And you died saving a person." Death replied calmly. "What you are- is a hero."
I saw the flatline on my life-support monitor one last time. "I think I'm ready now."
Death nodded, placing his hand on my shoulder. For some reason I expected them to be cold but they were warm, warm like snuggling in your blanket on a cold evening, warm like basking in the early rays of sun, warm- almost like happiness.
"At least one of my day-dream came true. Die heroically, check."
Death chuckled as we moved towards the light. "That's on my wishlist too, buddy."
|
Death stood over me as I laid face up in a bloody puddle of mud. His face was hooded but he seemed pensive. Watching that pompous aristocrat, who watched the battle from his throne, being carried by prisoners so he could see over the crowd.
"there's nothing I am so passionate about as much as your hatred for this king, but if I did cross over it would be making such a passion become reality" Death said.
"If only I got another three feet further... he'd still be... too far... but I bet he would've... shat his pants" I laughed at the thought. I went countless yards through a sea of spearmen and swordsmen, just to be stopped at the edge. It would've been a clear run from here out but the look of fear and shock in his eyes was reward enough.
"... Well, you're not dead yet. Not until I collect you" He said.
I felt a blade near my hand. Whose was it? It didn't really matter. I grabbed it and swung to the right, wildly, not the controlled dance as usual but the reckless haymaker of an amateur. It sliced through something but I couldn't see what. The world was going dark. A body fell in front of me and to my left I saw a throne, on it was a madman joyously laughing at the hell he had wrought.
My blade was gone, did I drop it? I would need another.
"I see one below you" Death said
I saw it, a freshly killed body with a dagger on his belt, what luck. I took it, and the world became bright. I saw my brother, climbing a tree for the first time. The first attack on my village where he was killed. Training with mercenaries. Watching me grow, playing drinking games and throwing knives.
"I need... one moment more"
"I'm afraid a moment more is useless. The dagger has already left your hand."
Shame, I would've loved to see the look on his face
"I would describe it to you, but I fear I am too pre-occupied. I have many souls to collect today, and you've just added two more for me to collect."
He held me in his arms, I felt a warmth I only felt once in my life, but from when I couldn't remember. Perhaps a life long gone after all the years in the mercenary guild. I crossed over, content in what I accomplished.
| 2021-12-15T10:15:09
| 2021-12-15T10:04:57
| 608
| 81
|
[WP] Now that video games are considered art, English teachers need to include them in their classes.
|
"Ugh, have you *seen* the required games list?" I groused. "It's a whole bunch of indie crap. We never get to play anything *fun* like Halo or Minecraft. I've never even *heard* of Life is Strange."
Jessica nodded. "Tell me about it. I mean, they could at least give us Skyrim or something. That's fun *and* it's got a storyline, right? We could talk about racism and stuff!"
"Funny you mention that, I had to play it when I was a freshman."
"Lucky!"
"Hell no. The teacher made us go through and take notes on environmental storytelling the whole way. You don't know boredom until you've written five pages on what you can tell about Draugr culture from the layout of their tombs."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. My teacher usually just had us write reactions and predictions stuff."
"Well, you two sound excited to learn about games," a voice boomed behind us.
I jolted and turned around to see our new English teacher, Mr. Hoffert. "Uh, yeah. Totally pumped for, uh, what was it? Life is Strange?" I barely concealed my sarcasm.
"You might be surprised by it, actually. For your senior year, I picked out games about choices. Forcing the player to make tough decisions and live with the consequences."
"What, like a choose your own adventure book?" Jessica scoffed. "I grew out of those when I was ten."
I nodded. Jess was more tactless than me, but she wasn't wrong. "I read the blurb on Steam, it didn't really look that exciting."
He just smiled. "Oh, this takes me back. When I was your age, the teachers gave us a book called Lord of the Flies to read. I thought it was going to be boring like all the other books teachers gave us in school. Boy, was I wrong."
I shrugged. I hadn't read it. "Your point?"
"I'm just saying, games can surprise you, just like any other work of fiction. But if you don't like Life is Strange, just wait until second semester. I picked out a modern war game that boys like you will love."
"What's it called?"
His smile only grew bigger. "Spec Ops: The Line."
|
I'm a new teacher, fresh from university, This was my first year teaching English for elementary schoolers. Fifth graders, to be exact. It's also my last year teaching English for elementary schoolers. Wanna know why?
Day one. I enter my room. "Hello students, I am your new teacher. And I..."
I didn't finish my sentence when a cherubic blonde interrupted me, her cheeks shining and eyes glimmering in anticipation. "CAN WE PLAY MINECRAFT??"
I paused for a second before responding. "Wait. I'm your new English teacher, Mr. Lee, and today (I paused for a second to read the syllabus), we will be... playing... Minecraft?" Wait, what?
I paused for second to reread the syllabus as the classroom burst into cheers. "8/24. Teach the students art by having them construct figures in the virtual game "Mein Kraft"." What? Why were we using Minecraft to teach them art? Why did they spell it "Mein Kraft"? And why was I teaching 5th graders art in an English class?
Whatever. I turned around to announce to the class to get on their computers only to see that almost everyone of them was already on, playing Minecraft on the school's private server.
Here's a collection of what I heard.
"THAT'S MY OBSIDIAN POOP SCULPTURE!! MINE YOUR OWN YOU BLOCKHEAD"
"TEACHER, JOSHUA'S GRIEFING ME! I BUILT A HOUSE AND HE BLEW IT UP WITH TNT" (You would think that the school would at least think to activate block protection.)
"HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHE POOP HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE"
And from that one asian student in the corner? "Damn, I need three more redstone to simulate the universe inside Minecraft."
I closed my teaching folder, grabbed my clothes and wallet, and walked out. I lied to you in the introduction. I was a elementary school English teacher. For exactly one day, of course.
| 2015-08-20T19:59:45
| 2015-08-20T18:11:48
| 40
| 11
|
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
People don't work for a villain if they don't like him. I for one always made sure of that.
Holidays. You bet your arse you'll be getting them.
Childbirth. You can bet I'm gonna be that weird but cool uncle.
Having an off day. Pool party.
My company is my home. And my profession is to be a villain. Rank C. Code name Upsur.
It's fun seeing the upcoming heroes coming to my office arresting me. Thinking they finally put me down. But Legal Hero Act is a beautiful thing.
Just one simple lawsuit, I get released and compensation for the damage. Until yesterday.
Jay was supposed to be married this month. Mary wanted to surprise her parents so she wanted to leave early. Tanak's sons birthday is today. Oprius was the new intern.
All of them injured as the hero threw heymaker and threw me across the street.
Hero name, Zeus. A quite quite haughty one for a hero. He has a track record of insane collateral damage but always fights SS ranks. Not a mere C rank.
"Why?" I ask him as I dust off my clothes. His eyes showed a bit confusion.
"Why attack me?" I ask him looking directly in the eyes.
"Why not? I'm just a few villains short to make the list for most defeated villains. So I thought about cleaning the locals."
Zeus flew down. Come to think of it. I rarely saw him walking.
"You could have simply taken me to jail." I point that out.
To that Zeus gave a haughty laughter.
"Where's the fun in that?"
I smiled. He is right.
"Exactly. Where is the fun in that?"
No one knows why I am called the Upsur.
So when I threw Zeus across the city, I'm sure many would know why. But that's not the point.
"Are you having fun?"
I asked Zeus. His mangled face remained motionless.
The city was still intact. Apart for the damage he caused no further damage was done. Well except for his bones. I'm pretty sure I broke nearly all of them.
Oh well. Never could've figure what's so fun in fighting anyway.
|
\[ParaSEC Target File, Threat Level: Low\]
* C-Class audiokinesis \[Looping and pitch. No evidence of volume control\]
* D-Class speedster abilities. \[Slightly faster run speed. Potential sensory acuity - further evidence required\]
* Target demonstrates propensity to use powers exclusively for show. All 'villainous' activity mundane in nature, possibly a publicity stunt. \[Officially denied by all contacted PR agencies. IntOps priority low - pursue only if convenient during other activities\]
\[End File\]
You know the problem with most villains?
Okay, trick question. There's no *one* problem with them, usually it's the egomania, or psychopathy, or the tunnel-vision. I used to say that they lacked flair, but some of them have a decent sense of drama with those capes. The real problem? They lack *fun.*
Not Jester's knife-wielding jack-in-the-box fun, but something that makes life genuinely enjoyable in itself. Sadism doesn't count. That's why I'm different, I'm not here to crush the world in my iron grasp, or to torture the world. I'm a villain for kicks.
Welcome to the world of DJ Dastardly.
Do you *know* how hard it is to give yourself a silly name as a villain? I had to fight *months* of media calling me things like 'Remix'. It's hard to scaremonger around someone with a silly name, they conveniently left out footage of my preferred moniker spraypainted everywhere for MONTHS. It was only once some kids posted it on social media that they were forced to give in. After that, I was Page 17 material at best.
I'm a heist-villain. Low level stuff- museums, science fairs, that one time I nabbed the mayor's statue at town hall. High visibility, low impact. That's my game, and my 'nemeses'... Well, let's just say the same goes for them too.
I've got a lot of respect for Eclipse Squad's PR team. It takes a creative mind to look at a human strobe light, a gothic fog machine, and a B-class telekinetic ("but DJ, she can fly!". She floats, and can make other things float. I'm shaking in my very fashionable boots) and give them some damn good branding.
So, here's the score (and believe me, I know scores)- You're somewhere public, but with oddly good acoustics. Someone takes a step, and it echoes a little bit too much. Then again. It starts looping- no one's walking anywhere, but now there's a tok-tok-tok of a 4/4 beat. I used to always have to say the name myself, but nowadays if I'm lucky someone else guesses first.
*DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ D-D-D-Dastardly!* (they only say it the once, the effect is all me).
From there, you're all part of the performance. Every step, noise, gasp, and laugh? It goes in the soundtrack. I'm a one-man-acapella/percussion looping pedal, and the audience? They're starting to like me. Turns out security guards find it really hard to focus when everything they do gets looped into a live performance. I'm there taking a bow at the item-du-jour, and Eclipse Squad roll in. Midnight's black fog blocks my camera angle, Moonlight *tries* to stun me with a flare (come on kid, *I'm in a cloud of black smoke, think about it*.), then Luna tries to knock me over the head with some slow-moving object. I throw them a bone "Damnit Eclipse Squad! You've foiled me again! But I'll be back for an encore!", and slip out the back.
All fun and games, honestly a great way to spend an afternoon, not to mention boost listens on my soundcloud! Until it got serious.
Turns out strobe-boy *moonlights* as a wannabe hacker (I'm not sorry). Tracked my IP to the little music studio I run. The one with the music program to keep delinquent kids off the streets.
They roll up in full-costume, see some kid that they'd knocked around for graffiti before and decide that this is DJ Dastardly's gang lair, and that the kids are my 'henchmen'. Eclipse Squad might be idiots, but as it turns out, when faced with blinding smoke and flashing lights, a lot of teenagers panic. Now imagine an enclosed space with a *bunch* of panicking teenagers who can't see.
3 concussions, one broken leg, 6 cases of PTSD. I'm just thankful Eva had detention, I don't want to know if Moonlight's power could've triggered her epilepsy.
I'm protective of my kids. They've had a bad run, and I was trying to show them a way *out* of the system. The injuries were one thing, but because they found a little weed on him, Jim's going back to juvie. That was the last straw.
| 2022-11-29T08:53:21
| 2022-11-28T20:44:52
| 21
| 11
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
Luck governs our lives more than most care to admit. Those born with high luck scores become world leaders, wealthy, and succeed where others fail. Those born with lower scores often lead unlucky lives and often fall victim to unfortunate accidents.
Me I was one of the luckest of all, a 100, from a young age everyone knew I was destined for greatness. One teacher in school said I might me the next president, another the next Bill Gates. However I was always a risk taker and loved pushing my luck to its limits. When I was 16 I robbed my first bank, the vault door was left wide open, the security camera's out from a freak outage. It was a thrill to temp fate. Over the years I used my luck to make bank, I could enter the most secure places and make off like a king.
That is until one day the impossible happened, I got unlucky, caught red handed with the Crown Jewels of England. I was tried and sentenced to life in a maximum security prison. Though this too thrilled me, as a prison break may be the most challenging task yet to press my high luck. Only when the guard locked me in my cell, what I saw was impossible. All the other inmates in my block all had luck scores of 100 just like myself. No matter what I tried my luck failed me, no open doors, no power outages, no holes in security opening up for me to exploit.
I learned from my cell mates that my story was theirs, they lived a life of improbable luck until one unlucky day they ended up here. Nothing anyone tried could free them from this prison. This place was built so that nothing could get out.
However what I failed to understand at the time is that we where the lucky ones, nothing could get out of this place, but that also meant nothing could get in. Outside our iron corner of the world things where falling apart. Talks where breaking down and war was on the horizon, soon everything would be destroyed. Except for the most fortified places on this Earth, like say a maximum security prison.
|
The intake was as expected - a bit rough, a little too handsy, and a small inkling that the guard liked me a bit more than was necessary. I'd heard of full body cavity searches, hosed down with icy cold water, being pushed naked and wet into rooms of other people. You know, general Hollywood type stuff.
I managed through pretty quickly. While I WAS searched and hosed, the water was warm and the search not too thorough. When my papers had been finished they dropped me into the general population out in the yard, sun shining on our banana yellow jumpsuits. Jailed for being lucky - what a crock. I doubted I would be there long, things always went my way and I had no intention of rotting in a cell for the rest of my life.
Luck rating tests were given out to every 18 year old. It was presumed that before that your rating could fluctuate too much, and stabilized in your 17th year. Nobody knew what happened to the 100s - well, I do now - and I assume all the 1s died pretty early in life. Such is luck.
A rather handsome man walked up to me, standing awkwardly in the middle of a bare patch of ground. His smile was warm, and he genuinely didn't seem to be much of a criminal. Not many of them did.
"Another 100! Welcome!" He broke into a trot, and held his hand out to mine. "Been a while since the last, figured it was starting already.
"What was starting?" I asked, taking his hand cautiously. "Why have none of you left yet?"
He shrugged. "None of us want to. Free food, free housing, comfortable rooms, the food isn't THAT bad, and a constant routine that changes just enough to not drive us crazy. It's nice." He motioned to the rest of the inmates. Odd groups here and there, there seemed to be about 20 of us. "As for what's about to start..." He paused, and grinned like he was about to drop the punchline to a big joke. "I guess you'll see. Any day now."
Fade - yes, he legally changed his name to Fade - seemed to be the most outgoing of the 100s in the prison. The guards were more relaxed around him, the other inmates joked with him, and he got extra food in the canteen. A natural leader, where I preferred to stick to the shadows. A perfect first friend to have, since I hated the attentive eyes of the Warden.
It was the fourth day after I arrived that the sky started to fall.
| 2018-06-29T10:05:15
| 2018-06-29T10:01:31
| 308
| 183
|
[WP] The precursor civilization sure left behind some weird artifacts. Things like a mountain with faces carved into it, strange reflective discs with runes on one side, and black rectangles made of glass. Researchers strive to understand such things.
|
There has been a recent breakthrough, as one small team of researchers managed to reverse-engineer one of the small flexible lightning rods that seemed to prevalent in precursor culture. Another individual researcher found a seemingly undamaged glass slab, several holes in one end, one of which matches one end of the small lightning rods previously mentioned. They plan to meet with the team and experiment with this new development. This discovery could revolutionize everything we know about the precursors!
&#x200B;
In other news, an archeology team recently discovered a small container with several well preserved objects inside. Most, despite being the best condition finds of these objects, are still broken, but one seems to still be in one piece. It came in its own box, and has a peculiar folding shape to it as if two of the glass slabs had most of the glass removed and were stuck to each other. There are several buttons and small holes on the inner faces, and what appears to be a slot on the back of the strange object. The box it was found in contained several tiny slabs which appear to be the right size to fit within this slot, and the box, the slabs, and the object itself are all marked with the same strange set of runes: "^(NINTENDO)DS"
So far no one has been able to make sense of this, as while these runes individually are a common occurrence, this particular arrangement does not seem to have a meaning.
|
"Huh... Looks like another dingle-hopper for the scrap pile, Boris." The canid barks twice, and I shrug. "Hey, last time we got lucky and found one of those hymn plates. Maybe we can find something cool today, like a sifter block or one of those weird bang-makers." Boris whimpers, and I scratch his ears. "Don't worry, pup. I'll make sure there's meat on both our plates for the week." I say, as my stomach grumbles. Nightmeal wasn't for another three casts, sadly, so I had to keep looking if I wanted to eat before then.
Boris barks excitedly when he sees something, and leads me to it. We undig it, and it's some kind of board with little wheels on it. "Good stuff, pupperoni! You found a radslab! This is worth beef, at least!" I tested the rads, and found they were in excellent shape, the plastic slab they were attached to was sturdy, as well. Boris kept digging, though, and he found more of them. My eyes went wide. A motherlode of radslabs, this could make scrapping way more efficient and we'd finally beat those jerks at Dinkledome on the weekly tabs! I mark the spot on my place sheet, and return to Picklesdome to drop off my first load of scrap, Boris leading the way as he ran ahead.
| 2021-03-24T00:48:48
| 2021-03-23T22:16:29
| 117
| 76
|
[WP] You've been teleported into an unexpected deathbattle. Your special ability...is your username.
EDIT: You guys are awesome. Alot of funny and interesting ones so far! I might want to start this prompt every year or something (if that's allowed).
|
"SEND IN THE LEGION!" I cried. The battle cries soon followed.
"Oh. Crap." It said. With a cry of "MAAAAHHH!" my troops had arrived. It was time to get down to business. The Legion set to work instantly. With a few commanders riding, but mostly a lot of spitting from the troops, it was trampled. Whatever it was, I didn't need to worry about it. The Llama Legion had done it's work marvelously.
|
It was the middle of the night.
As I was preparing to sleep, a bright light flashes outside the window. I had no time to react, and was instantly teleported to some sort of jail cell.
Through the bars, I could see that there was some sort of arena outside. "nah." I say to myself and lay on the floor to sleep. Just before I can close my eyes, a man shows up outside my cell and says "Hello, and welcome to UNEXPECTED DEATH BATTLE FEATURING TWO RANDOM PEOPLE!" That is not a very good thing, I thought. I had absolutely no experience fighting people AT ALL.
Before I could say anything, the man left and my jail cell opened up, with multiple weapons laid out in front of me. A cell on the other side of the arena opened up too, also with weapons laid out in front of it. "My opponent is there, and I'm gonna be a dead person within the next few minutes." I once again said to myself.
I hastily picked up a sword and shield and watched what my opponent would choose. He finally came out of his jail cell. A big, burly man, and I was pretty sure I had seen him somewhere. It hit me. He was the boxing champion Bobby McBobberson. I was very very dead.
He put on gauntlets and kicked aside the other weapons, and quickly started dashing towards me. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst, hoping that somewhere, somehow, something would save me.
Suddenly, the sound of rushing water filled the arena, and a massive boat crashed through the walls, killing half of the audience and Bobby McBobberson. The mystery man showed up in front of me once more, just as confused as I was, and said "well your opponent is dead so i guess you win, i will teleport you home now." A bright light filled the arena, and I closed my eyes.
I opened my eyes to ask what had happened, but all I could see was white. Oh wait, that's the roof of my room, and I'm in my bed. I turned on the TV, and wasn't prepared for the news feed.
"Boxing champion Bobby McBobberson found dead in his bed."
| 2017-07-17T21:47:57
| 2017-07-17T20:12:27
| 39
| 17
|
[WP] A Genie has cursed you with one year left to live, however he also gave you the power to convert each clap meant for you into 1 hour added on to your life. You cannot tell anyone about your curse and you are determined to live as long as possible.
|
The Clapper was a breakthrough, as far as lighting options go
no switch or button needed for it's warm fluorescent glow
it made the choice quite obvious, when the genie did appear
and inform me of my newfound curse, that would shape my coming year
and so I set up shop that week, in the nearest shopping mall
stopping passers by to showcase one light to rule them all
and how they stopped and clapped away, all falling for my trap
I even made some money, selling on that pointless crap
the weeks flew by and sure enough the final day was here
my calendar revealed I'd added on fourteen more years
it was then I realised this was no curse, but rather immortality
I could clap my way through centuries on an unseen technicality
with a smile I slipped to sleep that night, eternal dreams ran through my brain
but as the sun rose, I did not, nor any day again.
*It seemed the claps he'd heard that year, though massive in amount*
*were meant solely for the lights, not him, and sadly did not count*
&#x200B;
|
James adjusted the microphone, and took a deep breath, as he looked out over the crowd in the packed student auditorium. It was now or never.
"Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak with you. Let's get this out of the way first of all. My name is Jessica. I'm a genderqueer lesbian trans-woman." he said.
He winced in slight discomfort as the crowd *erupted* in screaming applause, rising from their chairs. Damn, but they were loud.
It wasn't remotely true, of course. On balance, however, it did allow him to go about his life with relatively minimal changes to his lifestyle as a heterosexual male. He didn't even have to legally change the name.
If he was being honest, it wasn't the only way to get what he needed to reverse the effects of the Genie's curse.
It was, however, the easiest. Learn some new vocabulary, get the right haircut and clothing, and he was beyond questioning by anyone who mattered. The other ways of gaining accolades tended to involve *doing* something or at least *knowing* something, and if James had been the sort who was good at taking the long way around his problems, he probably wouldn't have run afoul of a Genie in the first place.
A part of him thought it was a bit shabby of him, exploiting the credulity of his fellow college students this way. But a much larger part thought that if he played his cards right, he could be practically *immortal* by senior year.
With a fake smile, he continued. "Thank you so much. Today, I'd like to talk to you about the basics of intersectionality as it relates to an emerging unique queer identity among disabled people of color..."
&#x200B;
| 2018-10-02T17:25:51
| 2018-10-02T16:49:06
| 286
| 65
|
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss.
|
**Well then... this couldn't get any awkward. Could it? No it definitely can.**
"So..." I said.
"So..." my boss replied.
"This isn't going to be weird, is it? I mean I know she is your daughter, and she is also my girlfriend. So..."
"Oh, I am well aware of that. And I'm also aware that she is more than old enough to make her own decisions. And I must say, this recent decision of hers pertaining to you... is perhaps the best decision she has ever made. I know you Pritchard, and I'm glad she chose you instead of some deadbeat at her university.
\*Takes a drink of bourbon\*
And I know what you're capable of. I know you will be there for her throughout her life and that you will protect her from any harm or threats that might befall her or may come against her. But also, don't let what you two have be a distraction from your work; you still are under my employment after all. Don't mess it up."
"Thank you sir, I was for sure thinking that-"
"I wasn't finished Pritch."
I shut up immediately.
"Now I have to give you the cliché Threaten-your-daughter's-boyfriend tidbit."
*Aww shit, I knew this was coming,* I thought to myself.
Mr. R took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead.
*Oh, he's fucking serious,* I gulped.
"While I give you permission to date my daughter, just know what **I** am capable of as well. I waged a one-man war against an entire Nicaraguan cartel with just my two Colts, don't let the company files tell you otherwise, I really only had two handguns, I was able to assassinate a Nigerian warlord, in a crowded marketplace in broad daylight and not one of his guards saw a thing. I have done and seen things you can't even begin to comprehend. I hunted down a rogue Russian general in the freezing cold of Russia for months on end, with nothing but my wits and my Colts. If you hurt, upset, or cheat on my daughter in any way, there will be a price on your head. Do I make myself clear, Pritchard?
"Crystal, sir." I meekly say.
"Good. Now come along to the back patio, and bring those bottles of Chardonnay and Dom Perignon with you."
|
- Hello, sir, it's so nice to meet you. My name is Charles.
- Oh, so nice to meet you, Charles, said Mr. Thompson. Ella has told me you are a veterinarian. Could it be that we have met before? I have a small computer repair shop in 3rd Street, wouldn't you be the one that brought an old Mac computer past month?
- Yes? ... Ahhh, yes, that would be me, sir, you have a very good memory, I honestly didn't even remember.
- Oh, well, I do, please call me Mike. I remember also you had some photos to get recovered from your drive. From some of your pet patients, may be? I remember there was an Alsatian mastiff, a very interesting one.
- Sir, I mean, Mike, yes, the Alsatian case is now ... closed.
- Oh, so good to hear, Charles. But please, come inside. Ella, I see you are bringing some wine, how nice. Don't stare at me that way, young man, relax, I don't bite!
- Yes, sir. I mean, Mr Thompson, Mike, sir.
- Charles! - said, Ella, while shaking his arm and putting the wine bottle in his hands. - You look like you just saw a ghost! Did my father see some spicy photos in that old laptop of yours or what? Hahaha
- What? No, not at all, I just ... I'm just nervous at meeting your parents, that's all.
- Relax, baby. My father may look serious and even sometimes grumpy, but he's fine. He's really very into details, and always remember faces. So looks like you are not total strangers, you see?
- Ella, I'm quite curious, you work with your father in the computer repair shop, right?
- Yes, my father has taught me all he knows about computers, why?
- What if I told you that Alsatian mastiff is codename for Max Strasbourg, the heroin dealer?
- What? What kind of a veterinarian knows about Max Strasbourg? Where did you hear that name?
- I see, you are already answering. I'm the kind of vet that puts down a shepherd when his time has come. And I can only guess that means you already knew it. Is that the reason I'm here?
- Well, I had a hunch. Charlie, I really like you, but I know something was off. It didn't make sense that you had a collection of more than fifty hunting knives and pretended those were for operating on cats and dogs. But there's only one hit-man dad trusts for the most dangerous missions and he would never let anyone else talk to him. So I guess I tried my luck.
- So what am I supposed to do, now, Ella? You know now, I kill for a living. I kill for your dad, and I'm really good at it.
- I know, honey, this is not an intervention. I just wanted to confirm my suspicions and to offer you a new mission, but instead of working for Mr Thompson, it would be an arrangement with me. I will double your rates, love.
- I'm listening, love, who's the target?
- The target is just waiting for us in the kitchen. Make a clockwise twist in the wine bottle, there's a modified Glock 42 loaded with two 380 bullets, you know, for concealing the weight of a bottle. You have two chances, Charles, but I warn you, dad is very detail oriented, and I just noticed he was staring at the bottle, so he may be waiting ... ready for you.
- "Oh well" said Charles, pulling a 3-D printed plastic gun. "I have been expecting this moment for the past three years. Your dad may be a good boss, but I'm the best in what I do. And honey, for twice my regular rate, I could kill you, too. How about a good luck kiss?"
- I think this is the beginning of a beautiful business relationship, Charlie - said Ella, kissing him in the cheek with a mischievous smile.
| 2020-06-05T14:10:03
| 2020-06-05T13:31:52
| 85
| 22
|
[WP] A vampire knocks on your door, seeking permission to enter in order to kill you as their next meal. As a house-bound ghost, however, the prospects of a guest after so many years intrigues you. Smiling darkly, you welcome them inside.
|
The vampire entered, satisfaction blooming on its face. "You don't know how grateful I am to be here today," it said.
In previous generations it was considered courteous to allow a stranger in need into one's home. Today even asking for such a thing is considered taboo. I wondered idly how long this vampire has been searching before someone said yes. Perhaps it's mental powers were weakened by such a search, but it didn't feel that way. It still took considerable effort to materialize in its presence.
"No, don't mention it, it really is no bother at all." I said, motioning inward. "Come, come. Let me show you around." I turned my back to the creature and began a slow walk. *This old house, if it could speak*, I thought warmly.
We house-bound ghosts are tied in one spot because of a strong dilation in metaphysical fabric. In other words, an unspeakable evil was committed in this home, long ago. It's been so long that I don't even remember what it was. But I did remember the good times and couldn't wait to tell my guest all about them.
As we walked down the wooden floors I could feel the vampire behind me smiling. It said, "Forgive me for not introducing myself, I'm somewhat awkward around strangers."
"How unfortunate." I replied coyly, "You know, I'm afflicted with something of a condition myself."
After a few more steps in silence, the vampire said, "I think this is far enough, you can stop here." It used an incredibly powerful *suggestion* to drive the words home.
To a human, this would have been an irresistible command. To me, well, I'm ashamed to say that the sudden spike in mental pressure exerted by the command caused my ability to materialize to falter. You see, a ghost can appear in corporeal form, but only if it is able to cast the illusion in the mind of the observer. The vampire's *suggestion* had an unintended side effect of evicting my influence on its mind.
My materialization *slipped*. I vanished, but all of my concentrated effort kind of ... slammed into the candles alongside the walls. The flames burst into a bright white light, and it was really quite embarrassing. I quickly pulled back, but too much, accidentally extinguishing the candles altogether. Great, now my guest was in total darkness.
I tend to laugh when I'm embarrassed. We ghosts don't really laugh like we did when living. Rather, for a house-bound ghost like me the laughter reflex causes the material of the home to phase slightly. In other words, the walls of the house vibrate a bit, and it kind of sounds like a laugh -- a really deep cavernous laugh -- but it's all out of context and quite frankly a little creepy, which is even more embarrassing.
"Oh for fucks sake, am I being haunted?" the vampire said, looking around exasperated. "Every goddam time! I thought this place looked familiar."
"No, don't go!" I tried to say, but my concentration was too weak, and all that came out was the last vowel in a strangely modulated way.
With regret, I watched the vampire turn around and leave. "There goes another guest." I sighed, "We sure do have a nice library, maybe I'll content myself with a good read."
|
It was dark. So dark it almost seemed alarming. The grounds were still, only the occasional rustle of the wind in the old trees made its way to me as I sat in the window overlooking the front yard. In the summer, they always left the windows of the upper floors open, exposing the house to the cool night breeze and my pale skin to the moonlight. Of course, it had been many years since I had felt the breeze or anything else on my skin. That was the thing about being dead; you cannot be touched by things alive.
I sighed, turning from the window to make my compulsory wailing walk through the house. Starting just outside the master bedroom and making my way towards the stairs, making sure to tilt some hanging picture frames just a little to the left on my way, I heard a knock on the front door. A knock at this hour?
I went down the stairs and waithed by the door for them to answer, but when no one came, I grapped the door knob and turned. On the steps stood a tall, blonde woman with eyes like chocolate and breasts like soft, round honey melons.
"Good evening," said the boob job with a silky voice. "My car broke down a couple of miles down the road. Normally, I would just wait for someone to pass by, but I am oh so hungry this evening, I just *couldn't* wait."
The hair extensions smiled sweetly at me, an odd twinkle in her eyes. Vampire, then. When I was alive, just an ordinary girl living in this very house, I did not believe in the occult, in creatures of the dark, in life beyond death. I even went several years after my death believing myself to be one of a kind. But then, one night, another spirit found its way here. We engaged in conversation, him giving me some of the answers to the questions I had struggled with sine my "resurrection", leaving other questions unanswered. One thing he did tell me, though, was that the world was full of all sorts of creatures. Some dead, some alive, some invisible like ourselves, some terrifyingly visible. Vampires, like the one currently occupying my threshold, belonged to the terrifyingly visible, terrifyingly terrifying kind.
"We don't have any food." What a terrible lie. Good job, silly girl.
"No food? In a big house like this?" The plastic vampire gestured to the size of the house. "I do not believe that. Especially not when I'm looking at such a tasty thing like yourself. Must be plenty of sweets to... *sweeten you*... in this house."
"Yes, well..." An idea formed in my head at that instant. "We do have some food. But I'm not allowed to invite strangers inside."
"Oh, well, in that case! My name is Odette."
I gave her my best sweet smile. Odette stretched out her hand and I hesistated, picked up my dress and curtseyed before turning away from the door without touching her. I made my way down the hall towards the kitchen. "Come on in." I said over my shoulder.
Odette pulled out a chair in the breakfast nook and sat by the table. The light from the lamp overhead made her hair seem even more yellow than it had out in the dark. And not a beautiful sort of yellow, like wheat, but a filthy one. Like urine.
"What sort of food do you like?" I asked, pretending to look through the cabinets and drawers.
"I am on a strictly liquid diet."
"Liquid? We don't have any soup." Truth was, I had no idea if they had any soup, but it didn't matter. I knew what sort of *liquid diet* she cared for and it had nothing to do with potatoes or chicken broth.
"Come sit by me," Odette said, pulling out the chair next to her.
I gave her another shy smile, hiding my hands behind my back.
"Oh, aren't you just the sweetest! I could just... *eat*... you up."
A giggle crossed my lips. She smiled broadly at me in return. I went towards her and sat on the chair next to her. She looked at me, smiled and lifted her hand. I saw it move upwards at first, the long fingers stretching, then crossing the short space between us before descending, clearing the air above my own hand. It landed. It rested. And I could feel it. I felt her hand! It was cold, colder than the summer's breeze flowing through the upstair's windows, but it was skin; it was solid; it was another being touching my skin. How marvellous, how wonderfully marvellous after so many years! It was like coming alive again - truly alive.
"Are you alright, sweet girl?" Odette asked. I looked up, realising I had been staring at our joined hands.
"Y-yes," I stuttered. "I am."
"Good." Odette said with a smile. "Because we can't have you being all sad now, can we? Not when we are just about to have a *feast.*" She closed her fingers tighter on mine and inched her body closer, closing the gap between us. Her soft, fake melon breasts grazed my shoulder and my once beating heart leaped into my throat. I could have sworn my breath was shaking. After all this time. After all this time, could this finally be happening? Had the moment I'd been waiting for since my ressurection finally arrived?
I felt her lips on my neck, those deathly fangs grazing my skin. "Close your eyes", she said.
"Okay," I answered with a tremble.
Her lips closed around the nape of my neck. I closed my fingers around the hilt of the knife. And just as she was about to puncture my skin, I revealed the knife from inside my dress, driving it through her shoulder blade in one stroke. Odette screamed. The piercing sound of a dead creature staring down the abyss of true annihilation. She jerked away, but I held on to her hand. She stared at me in disbelieve.
"What are you?" She whispered.
I only smiled.
Some time had passed, I do not know how long, when I remembered that they were still here, still in bed upstairs. How Odette's scream hadn't woken them, I could not fathom. I sat on the floor, with my back to the kitchn cabinets and my legs outstretched. My dress was in ruin. Blood everywhere. Wonderful. Now I had to look like this for the rest of eternity. The ghost who told me about the other creatures, told me that the only way to kill a vampire was a stake through the heart. I hadn't had a stake, so in the heat of the moment, I'd opted for a knife. It might not be as poetic as piercing the heart of a blood sucker, but beheading did the trick. Of course, I'd had to remove her limbs first to keep her in order. Now, her blood was everywhere on me. Everywhere on the kitchen floor, on the chairs and table, pieces of her spread out in the middle of it all. How marvellous it all was.
It was still dark outside. There was still time for me to finish my wailing walk through the house.
| 2022-08-01T15:01:14
| 2022-08-01T12:41:33
| 118
| 59
|
[WP] A new President is elected, only to resign within minutes of being sworn in.
Why? What is the country's reaction to such an event? What happens next?
|
It was a cold day in January, with an additional chill of foretelling in the air. There were thousands people in attendance to watch the most popular politician get sworn in and billions watching it on Television. The air was electric and filled with history as it was being made.
" I John Abraham do solemnly swear to uphold.....", simple words but with the power to change the history of the world were spoken solemnly.
The swearing in ceremony went flawlessly. The first family was whisked away quickly and efficiently by the secret service. The audience also left though not till they had facebooked, instagrammed their view of the moment.
Soon whispers were heard, the president had called for a press conference as he had an important announcement. Reporters heading back to their homes, changed courses to the white house, TV programs were cancelled, rumors started to fly. There was a sense of excitement again in the air.
" Dear citizens, I wanted to inform you that I will be resigning effectively. I love this country, I am proud of being an american but over the years I was gravely concerned about how much control we had given up while electing our leaders. I went through the election to prove it and to bring it to light. I know I will disappoint a lot of people but after hearing my reasons I hope that you all will forgive me.
Our elections do not choose the best person to lead. They choose the person with the most money. I had a massive war chest which was the single biggest reason that I won, but where does this money come from?
It comes from large corporations which need tax breaks and other sops that they expect from me.
It comes from countries that will expect me to provide foreign aid in billions to them.
It come from countries that will expect me to send troops against their enemies, sacrifice our young for helping them settle their tribal differences.
Our elections do not choose the best person to lead, they choose the one who can sell his soul in the most profitable manner. This is true for every elected official and hence Washington is what it is and I cannot change it.
I hope that you, the people of this country, its true wealth will realize that you have the real power and elect the right person and not the war chest. When that happens, I hope that you will remember and forgive me.
I bid you good bye and best of luck and I look forward to seeing a new set of leaders that we can all be proud off"
Four years later, after historic house and senate elections, the following words were again heard throughout the world. " I John Abraham do solemnly swear to uphold....."
|
It was the first time in the history of Washington, D.C. that a politician had kept his word.
President Franklin Sharpton had gone to the Oval Office, picked up a single piece of paper and a pen, wrote a short statement, then rose from his chair and walked out.
The Vice President watched as the most-powerful man in the world headed toward the front door of the White House.
"Mr. President? What are you doing?"
"I'm not the president anymore, Sir."
Vice President Al Porter's mouth hung open for a moment. "You're what?"
"Good luck, Mr. President. I just resigned. It's your ship to steer now."
With that, Sharpton strode out of the White House, never to return.
Porter found the letter on the President's — apparently his — desk and read the resignation. He sat there in shock for the longest time. Only a knock at the door broke his reverie.
"Mr. Vice President? Where's the President?" a secretary asked.
Porter's head dropped into his hands. "You're speaking to him."
The secretary looked incredulous. "This is no time for jokes. Where's the President?"
Porter picked up and waved the piece of paper in her general direction. The secretary — perhaps it was Sarah or Sammy — took hold of it, read it, then looked shocked. "How ... could he ... do this?" she sputtered.
"He promised," Porter said, still in shock. "He promised to resign if he ever became president."
"That was campaign talk," Shirley, or whatever her name was, mustered.
"A campaign promise."
"Which nobody ever keeps!"
Porter looked up at the secretary. "Until now."
"What are we going to do?"
Porter glanced around the Oval Office, then at his desk. "Get me Perkins from the Supreme Court. We'll have to announce his resignation and put things into motion to nominate a new vice president. That's about all we can do."
The secretary finally lowered the letter from her face and placed it face-down on the desk. "I still don't understand why he did this."
"I can't explain it either," Porter said. "Just get me Perkins. We have to get moving on this. The government can't be without a chief executive for long."
Shelley — that *had* to be her name — finally shrugged. "Okay," she said, then strode out of the Oval Office.
"What a mess he's left me with," Porter mused. "Well, no time like the present to get started cleaning this up."
| 2014-12-08T21:36:26
| 2014-12-08T20:03:10
| 33
| 22
|
[WP] when it was discovered that all alien civilizations were destroyed by eldritch gods we wondered why they hadn't done the same to us. Then we learned that the human mind can drive an eldritch god insane.
|
There's a fairly simple (if *very* difficult to actually pull off) recipe for making an advanced, intelligent species. Take a social species and get them to exploit something so effectively that survival is no longer their primary concern. Social competition takes over, driving intelligence along until you've got a species that can reach the stars, because they've spent eons developing a brain that can outsmart the other members of the species.
So far, so normal.
Here's the thing, though- whatever niche you're exploiting fights back. Meeting their basic needs so thoroughly that they can devote insane resources to brainpower never happens if they get locked into an evolutionary arms race with their food. Therefore, this usually only works if they're exploiting something that doesn't really fight back.
Plants are popular. Plants will *absolutely* fight back, in evolutionary terms, but exploiting them effectively enough pretty much always leads to cultivation, in one form or another. Plants aren't the biggest fans of being eaten, but if they're being eaten by a wildly successful species that will spread (and even care for!) their seeds...
Eh. What's a parent to do? Sure, you're a salad, but your babies are strong.
Natural selection takes it from there.
You'll get predatory species, occasionally. It's rare, but it happens. They only really specialize in ambush hunting, though, and their populations are *always* small. Eating meat means that a *lot* more calories go into making your food than you can get back out, and your prey will catch on pretty quick (or possibly just go extinct) unless the predator species only takes a very small proportion of the prey.
Small populations in ascendant predator species are usually maintained via hunting each other. Effective, if a bit brutal.
The end result is mostly intelligent species that don't have any natural killing drive. Those that *do* have a killing drive don't have any endurance. Patience, yes, but patience and endurance are not the same thing.
There were, in short, no species out there who were prepared to fight an eldritch abomination.
And so those species died.
Humanity rose. Communication, cultivation, civilization, Civilization VI: Gathering Storm...all that jazz.
So the eldritch abominations came. Here was food, and they hungered.
But humans were unusual. Humans had followed a different path. They were omnivores, for one- a little unusual, but hardly unheard of. Plenty of intelligent species augmented their diet with this and that, even if most preferred a more narrow selection of food.
They were hunters. Again, unusual, but far from unheard of. It hadn't saved any species before them.
They were *endurance* hunters.
*That* was a new one.
Active hunting didn't work very well, as a niche to exploit. Ambush hunting had a natural tendency towards only taking a small chunk of the population, which was why predators that rose to proper intelligence were always ambush hunters. A more traditional hunting style would either drive their prey to extinction as they became more effective, or lock them in an evolutionary arms race. Either way, the species wouldn't move on to greater things.
Humans hadn't started as hunters, though. They were omnivores, and had options other than hunting. Not only that, their hunting technique worked on *everything*\- they were unspecialized, and could hunt anything that was worth the calorie expenditure and risk, even larger predators. They couldn't run out of prey unless they were the only large animal left, and they wouldn't starve even then.
They were, from their very core, built for endurance, built to *keep going*. Their bodies were made for it, and their minds had followed suit.
The mind of an eldritch abomination is dangerous, indeed, but in very...*specific* ways. They circle, and they strike, and they retreat. They rest, and then they repeat.
The 'rest' part of that equation is very important.
The ambush predators were very, very good at waiting patiently for their prey, which didn't help them at *all* when they were faced with a predator stronger than them that liked to strike and retreat. The herbivores were actually more dangerous- they had at least *some* idea of chasing down predators- but their default response, when faced with a threat, was to run away.
And you can't run far enough to escape, when the predator is inside of your mind. You can't run far enough to escape, when your whole planet is being slowly devoured.
They weren't built for a fight like that, and they died.
Humans, though...
Humans are persistence hunters. When something strikes at us, we don't just strike back, we *pursue*.
An eldritch horror would come upon a human, and begin to attack their mind. It was their way, and to ask 'why' is to ask why stars shine. Circle, attack, retreat.
The human is advancing. Not unheard of.
Retreat.
The human is advancing. Give it a bit more distance.
Retreat.
The human is advancing. It doesn't usually go like this.
Retreat.
The human is advancing. I'm getting kind of tired...
Retreat.
The human is advancing. It isn't supposed to be like this!
Retreat.
The human is advancing. What is *up* with this thing?
Retreat.
The human is advancing. No. It's not supposed to go this way!
Retreat.
The human is advancing.
Retreat.
The human is advancing.
...
Humanity was not equipped to actually *kill* the things. We were not hunters in that particular dimension. But we knew how to fight, knew how to pursue, knew how to never, ever, ever, *ever* stop.
This was not something that eldritch horrors were prepared to fight, let alone to feed upon. They tried, and they failed. They tried again, and failed again. They were not minds in the way that we think of minds- for all their power, they could not adapt, could not find a way to overcome the mutant species they had come to consume.
We could not destroy them, as they would have destroyed us. But they *were* slowly driven insane. Hunger and desperation and sheer incomprehension of this unimagined corner of reality wore their minds down, like water slowly carving a canyon from the rock.
Drip...
Drip...
Drip...
|
The Ticonderoga was humanity's most advanced ship. Two centuries of scavenging the leftover pieces of long-dead alien civilizations had made most of Earth's ships into a hodgepodge of bolted on second hand parts, but the Ticon had been designed from scratch to integrate the best technology from a thousand worlds.
Nestled inside It's single-molecule inner hull, Captain Hernandez ordered it's crew to jump stations. The slow hum of clipped orders that filled the ship rose in pitch as the officers and the synths double checked systems. They were ready to navigate the torturous path into the Sagitarius Prime system.
Sagittarius Prime was the last unexplored system in humanity's home galaxy. The humans knew very little about it, other than to get to it you had to swing past the core black hole at relativistic speed, and that it was often mentioned in the last deciphered message of the dead civilizations sprinkled about the galaxy.
The Explorers Faction had commissioned the Ticonderoga to reach it. Officially, the ship wouldn't be ready for another two standard years, and was subject to Terran review and oversight. Unofficially, the only thing that prevented the ship from meeting final launch specifications was that they forgot to stock the coffee on the third-floor break room.
Executive Officer Tarquinson acknowledged the last ready-go signal from the crew. "Captain, we are prepped on your order."
The Captain looked at her board. Everything was green except for the small light indicating the lack of coffee in the third-floor break room. She disabled that light. "Ticon, spin-up jump drive. Jump when ready."
Neither her nor the crew was needed past that order. The synths would bring them safely to their destination, wrapping round the galaxy's largest black hole to do it, while the organics sat and drank coffee. Or in the case of the unfortunate crew members stationed on the third-floor, tea.
The Captain turned to her first officer. "We're on our way, Tarq. What do you think we'll find?"
"You know, Jules, we've been prepping for this mission for three years and that's the first time you've asked me that question. I've always assumed you thought we'd find the last great tech stash, or maybe the fabled Final Enclave of the lost civilizations."
The Captain sipped her coffee. "That's the hope, at least, but you know what's in Cargo Hold B. If we find the First People. If they truly are the cause of all the lost civs— I just want to know that you're ready to do it if you have to take command."
Tarquinson straightened his posture in his command chair. "Yes, Sir. Though it won't come to that. You really think all those wackos are right with their talk of Eldritch Gods?"
"No, or I wouldn't have accepted this mission. But you have to admit. All those lost civs, all those dead planets, all those end of days messages. There were an awful lot of tentacles."
The ship went suddenly silent as the jump drives triggered. The next moments were a skew of accelerated time as the ship sheared across the event horizon of Sagittarius A\*. When the ship popped back into realtime, Captain Hernandez took one look at the screen and dropped her coffee.
\----------------------------------------
GRXUNKLPON felt something brush against their tentacles. A disturbance. An interloper. A pest. Their solitude that had stretched on pleasantly for epochs was broken. They reached out to destroy it.
The ship was a small thing, hard to grip in even their smallest tentacle, but GRXUNKLPON had long practice with pests. As they began to wrap around it, a device launched from the rear of the ship. A Nova bloomed. A star or a planet would have been turned into a dust cloud, but GRXUNKLPON sucked down the nova through a feeding tentacle and felt a rush of energy.
GRXUNKLPON rapped the ship in a shell of writhing limbs and ripped open the top of the interloper. They sensed scurrying lifeforms, both organic and lithogenic. They found one of the organics and brought a sense organ to bear on it. GRXUNKLPON froze.
It didn't look anything like a crab. Organic interlopers usually looked like crabs. GRXUNKLPON poked it with a cilla. It was soft and squishy. It emitted a pleasant scream. It's eyes were big and round.
For the first time in aeons, since it had devoured the second to last of its kind, GRXUNKLPON spoke. "Oh my god, they're so cute!"
\[More writing and critiques at r/c_avery_m\]
| 2022-02-28T09:25:04
| 2022-02-28T09:14:22
| 731
| 84
|
[WP] People level their skills in an RPG fashion and are conscious of their sudden jumps from novice to journeyman and so on. You've spent your life training a skill that is entirely useless until becoming invaluable once mastered - and you just mastered it.
|
"The thing about ADHD is not that the brain is unable to focus, but that it is trying to *constantly* focus. It needs some type of stimulation at all times. If the task-at-hand slows down even for a little bit, it doesn't use up the brains full focus and becomes boring, so the brain starts to wonder, searching for something else to do. Put very simply, when one part of your brain is trying to focus on an important task, the rest of your brain is being noisy and looking for another task, and this pill can help to turn down the volume of that noise.
However, if you seriously won't consider medication for your son's illness, there is one other type of 'therapy' I can recommend. Talk to his teachers and see if they will allow him to bring some simply type of 'distraction' with him to class, to channel any extra attention into. Something small to fidget with, like a cereal box toy or a book of crossword puzzles. We've had reports of mixed success with this method, but the only thing I can tell you for certain is that the pill will be more effective."
And with that, Alex and his mother left the doctors office, with no prescription and no scheduled check-up appointments. They stopped by McDonalds for a happy meal on the way home, and Alex was sent to school with his new plastic Transformers toy in his backpack the next morning. Mrs. Green was not pleased to see him play with it all day rather than listen to the day's lesson, but after reading the note from Alex's mother, she promised not to take the toy away so long as he played quietly and did not distract other children with his toys.
After lessons on writing and geography, the third graders would go to lunch, then spend the second half of the day learning math and science with Mr. Dun. A large cardboard model solar system, created by last years students, hung from the ceiling, soon to be replaced by this year's end project. Along the back wall stood the 'toy shelf', a collection of teaching aides of which Dun was very proud. There were plastic blocks of varying shapes and sizes, used to explain fractions and geometry for visual learners. There were models of molecules and cells and Rubix's cubes of varying sizes (and shapes, all appropriately named as Rubix's sphere and Rubix's pyramid). There were less practical toys as well, like the surprisingly extensive collection of Simpsons bobble heads along the top shelf, and various versions of the puzzle to separate bent metal pieces from one another. Mr. Dun was more amused by Alex's 'treatment', and actually encouraged it. He even moved Alex's desk to the back of the room, placing him within arm's reach of the toy shelf, and told him that anything on the shelf was fair game. By the end of the year, he didn't seem to improve much in math or science, and was actually doing a little worse in writing, but one of the Rubix's cubes was actually solved by the last day of school, for which Mr. Dun decided to embellish his grade quite a bit.
As he progressed through school and met different teachers, Alex found that there were varying degrees to which a teacher would believe his story about 'treatment' and let him get away with his fidgeting. If nothing else, almost all of them would allow him to 'doodle', so he started carrying pencil a book full of cross-words, sudoku, mazes, riddles, and brain-teasers of every sort. To the surprise of Alex and his teachers, and pretty much everyone but his mother, his grades did eventually begin to improve. They still weren't nearly 100%, but he was now earning solid Bs where he used to be failing.
Cursed with the inability to ever give 100% of his attention to a single task, he had now reached the journeyman level of multitasking, and could now give 85% of his attention to any 2 tasks (as long as one was a useless distraction).
His high school algebra class required Alex to buy a graphing calculator, which he simply used to play block dude, pecs, and tetris. His parents eventually got him a smartphone, on which he was constantly tapping away. Sitting through his senior year he still managed to pull Bs, and beat every level with all bonus objectives of Flow, Cut the Rope, Angry Birds, and Traffic Jam. He played countless hours of blackjack, video poker, hearts, spades, euchre, minesweeper, 2048, and even more tetris, all while sitting through a lecture or a movie, or while someone tried to talk to him. He still heard 85% of what they were saying, but only while he was fidgeting.
He was playing scrabble with about 10 strangers at once while impatiently waiting for his name to be called to walk across the stage for his high school graduation when it hit him; he had become a master of multitasking. He could now allocate 400% of his attention to any number of tasks greater than 4. He went to a large university and earned 2 degrees by only attending class 3 days per week. He watched video lectures for an online class with an earbud in one ear, and listened to the lecture in front of him with the other ear, all while reading the textbook for a third class and writing a paper for another.
After college he found 2 consulting jobs that would both let him work from him. He talked on the phone with coworkers in one office while sending emails to the other, and still played tetris in between emails to keep up. He earned 2 salaries and only worked for 40 hours per week. He bought 4 TVs and 4 DVD players and watched Game of Thrones, House of Cards, Mad Men, and Breaking Bad all at the same time. He watched Conan, Kimmel, Letterman, and Leno every single night. He never missed a game of football and always won multiple leagues of fantasy.
He read all of the books and watched all of the shows that were ever recommended to him, and saw every movie that was nominated for any academy awards (but never in theaters, since he wouldn't be able watch more than one at a time). Many saw it as a superpower, the way Alex seemingly had all the time in the world. He spent as much on rent and food as anybody else, but earned twice as much, and consumed 4 times as much entertainment. For his entire life, however, Alex still viewed it as a curse. He still couldn't give 100% of his attention to just one thing. He could never be sufficiently distracted. He could never be fully entertained.
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First time posting here, I'd love some feedback. If you've read the whole thing, even if you hated it, I'd really appreciate if you'd comment and give your thoughts. Thanks for your time!
|
so lyk i just strted riting bcuz my nan told me i should work on my riting skill or w/e its gr8 cuz i can tell when ill get good but idk wut 2 rite about so w/e gonna come back 2moro 4 more skillups
Ive been writing 4 a while now and i can totes tell how much better i am @ it. Like spelling words and fullstops and stuff. My nan said ppl had no idea how high they're skill was back in the day but idk how ppl did it w/o a bar 2 fill up. Its just crafting like any other skill.
So, I just, discovered, like, commas, and stuff. You can put them, in your sentences, and they break it up, into pieces! They're like, little full-stops! Oh, and dashes too! There's, even a thing, called an emdash — it's like a truck hitch, for words! I can tell, i def need to stop by Nan's again soon, to train again, i'm almost to the next rank already. This gets more fun, by the day.
Well, I just finished my first novel and decided to see how far I've come. Looking back on my old work kind of stings. Truthfully there's no "kind of" about it; it's downright painful to read. Not that you need me to point it out. Was I really that bad? It's hard to believe. I still have some hiccups here and there, just like everyone else. Still type "beleive" and have to swap the vowels around later. But I keep improving. Soon I'll be the one training people in Writing. I can't wait.
| 2015-10-06T09:27:27
| 2015-10-06T09:08:09
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] It worked! You travelled back in time to Renaissance Age. Jokingly, you turn on your Wi-Fi, only to find a password protected network named "iɔniV ɒᗡ"
|
I walk around with my phone out trying to find the source. The people in the streets are visibly uncomfortable and I hear them mumble about "Black magic". Finally I have a full signal and I look up from my phone. Before me stands a larger building than most.
I knock on the and at first, nothing. I knock again and I hear someone fumbling around inside. The door opens and a bearded man in a beret appears. "Come in, he says invitingly once he sees my phone. His workshop is a mess with wood and canvas scattered all about. "Are you Da Vinci?" I ask.
"Indeed I am, and you must be from the future." Da Vinci replies.
"Do you know what a Wi-Fi signal is?" I ask curiously.
"Of course, my router is just over there." Leonardo replies, motioning his hand toward a little white box that seems to be powered by rats in a hamster wheel.
"Why do you have a router?"
"Because I get bored sometimes."
I take out my phone and try to open up 4Chan and it loads perfectly, however, there's only one post on /b/ and the post number is "1". The thread features a picture of the Mona Lisa and the text off to the side reads: "GF r8 thread." I write a reply "OP: oh-pee: See: F***ot" I laugh a little and look up. Da vinci is gone. Looking back I my phone screen I see a reply: "Top kek"
|
Would you like to join network "icniV aD"?
I took a beat, "how is this possible?" then I saw the Wifi list began to populate itself with other ssid's
Venice is Nice in spring
La dolce Vita
InVinoVeritas
EncryptedForHerPleasure
I'm translating from the Italian of course, but shit, It didn't work. A Staccato orchestra of car horns wheeled me around as the sounds of a queue of angry drivers promised various forms of brutality and sexual images of my mother, Did I even go?
I rechecked the settings on my phone and it all seemed fine, Had I forgotten to set the destination time? again?
You know that moment when you embarrass yourself for doing something stupid and even if you are alone, you hang your head in shame? you are held in the realization that there is no changing the fact that you are, at a subatomic level an idiot. Its at these moments that I get the urge to walk in a circle, hoping to walk away the shame.
Something grabs my arm and I am violently snatched back to the curb all the while screaming horns and fear swirls around me. I am spinning. turning. and when I stop, I am looking up into the face, *His face*, Vitruvian Man, Leonardo Da Vinci.
Turning me to face him, Hands on my arms at the bicep, he stoops down a little to make eye contact, in unaffected Italian, he said. "What the fuck is the matter with you? You cant be texting while you cross the street here. You'll end up a stain on the cobblestones." I opened my mouth, nothing.
I was here. I am here. no, I'm not. I looked at the phone, Florence, Italy, but the date was my source date. I never left, but here I am, on a sidewalk in Florence, I look back up, staring at him.
"Listen..." He starts, and then he straightens up, looks past me as if caught in some distraction in the distance, I look at his face, creases of time embedded in that face, I know that face, I've studied that face, It is him, It has to be him. I'm snatched back once again when he pushes me to the side, his stride almost a march, chasing off toward whatever demanded his attention.
I'm staring, aware that my mouth is still open, when one thought resonates. "Follow him!"
| 2016-11-15T06:16:54
| 2016-11-15T06:13:42
| 92
| 14
|
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
|
"Alright. Listen very carefully."
I sat there, riveted. Quinn had been with me for so long I couldn't imagine life without her. She was my best friend in the truest sense... always there, up for every adventure, a shoulder to cry on.
I was more than happy to listen. After all, she had been on the receiving end of a thousand diatribes from me over the years. She had helped me work my way though countless problems with her unwaivering attention and knowing eyes. The least I could do now is return the favor.
She licked her chops. It was clear that it took considerable effort to speak but she soldiered on like she always did, and leaned in close to emphasize her words:
"What time are we going for a walk?"
|
Alright, listen very carefully. Have you seen the movie Inception? This is one of those situations. You’re locked inside what you might think of as a ‘dream’ and this is the only way I’ve found to talk to you. What’s actually going on is pretty complicated, involving comas, wormholes to alternate realities, and quantum physics of the subconscious—we teach it in 6th grade science on planet 那儿 but our society is more technologically advanced than your by thousands of years, so it’s not that you’re not smart enough to understand, it’s just that your society’s current scientific background isn’t that great, don’t worry though it will get better. So don’t feel bad or anything. That’s the first lesson, the first thing you need to learn. “Don’t feel bad about anything.” Can you learn that for me? Do you think you can remember it? It’s very important. That’s why I had to find this way to talk to you. That’s why I’m on reddit writing on this random WP post—it’s the only way I knew that you would read my message. I knew you would click on a link about Border Collies.
I’ll post again soon. Stay strong.
| 2017-02-23T05:50:11
| 2017-02-22T22:49:20
| 219
| 117
|
[WP] After been missing for 12 years, the duke's daughter (now 16) is sent to the royal accademy and immediately targeted by bullies. What the bullies don't know is that the lady spent those 12 years with a clan of orks
If you get why orks is spelled like that... good.
If you don't, it doesn't matter
|
Most orks would simply kill the child or leave it without much thought. Luckily for the duke's daughter Priscilla, the clan of Freebootaz that found her was inclined to slightly less... traditionally orkish behaviour.
Such as taking in a human child. It wasn't charity, of course; they'd assumed having a human child on board could land them more profitable contracts. This, shockingly, proved true as it made them seem more 'responsible' if such a word can be used in association with orks.
Nothing lasts, of course, and when the Freebootaz decided to attack the patrician who hired them, they were bested by a company of Ultramarines who happened to be passing by. Such was the end of Grogner the Freeboota, but not for Priscilla who was recovered on the ship, much to the surprise of the strike team. What came next were numerous, *numerous* tests that she was free of warp influence, disease testing and finally, finding out her heritage. She was thus sent back to her overjoyed father who spent a small fortune in re-educating her to erase the behaviour she picked up during her time with the brutish warriors.
And just like that, she was sent to the Academy, ready to become a respectable member of the Imperial nobility. The other children and teens at the Academy, however, did what teens do best.
Bullied.
After the secret of her upbringing became known, her treatment at the hands of her peers became unavoidably cruel, despite her influential family trying to prevent it. Today was such a day as a crumpled-up page hit the back of Priscilla's head.
"Hey! Freak!" the boy who threw the page yelled out, surrounded by his usual entourage of lackeys.
"Jeremiah," Priscilla remarked with as much calmness as she could muster.
"What, no yelling? I thought your kind could only talk with yelling and grunts," he laughed.
"No, Jeremiah, my 'kind' of humans like you, if you can be called that."
"Ooh, struck a nerve, have we, ork?" he kept laughing.
"Yeah, you gonna grab an axe and fail to chop us up like your *family*?" another bully yelled exuberantly.
"Look!" she raised her voice, "I'm minding my own business, so why don't you just,... zog off!"
She closed her eyes the moment she said it. She didn't mean to use the traditionally orkish insult, but it slipped out in the moment, despite knowing this was just fuel for the bullies.
"Zog? What is this, the outer rim? Did they not teach you how to speak properly? No surprise, ork girl, as-"
And so it began, the endless insults and teasing. It would go on and on and on.
Unless she stopped it.
What most failed to understand was that during her time with the orks, despite being used somewhat as a mascot, she was still a human living among orks, meaning much of her time was spent doing their bidding; this mostly involved manual labour. Perhaps not as cruel as for most humans, but enough to give her the musculature rivalling that of peak guardswomen. Combined with the deceptively nutritious diet of squig meat and mushroom ale, Priscilla grew into a woman who could just as easily join the Assassinorum.
That is why she was able to walk to a nearby bookshelf and take it off the wall easily. This was unexpected partially because no one expects a fight in such a prestigious school, but mostly because it was screwed to the wall. It made an excellent bludgeon she promptly introduced to Jeremiah's face.
"WOT? IS DIS WAT YOU WANTED, YOU ZOGGIN GIT?" she yelled as she stood over the bleeding boy, the rest of his allies sprinting away. "I'LL KRUMP THE LOT OF YA AND USE YER TEEF TO BUY ME A PROPER CHOPPA, SWEAR ON MORK!"
She hit the boy once again, breaking the solid wooden board on his back.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
|
“So, then Mother decided to buy the restaurant itself. All the finest heroes stop by, and the previous managers always seemed to treat them as though they were beneath them. They work so terribly hard, you understand? The least she could do was be more accommodating. They've earned that,” junior lord Revick Kendral said.
“Oh, how lovely! I hope to do something involving charity work for the city myself. From what I understand, a terrible plague of scale-rot has broken out amongst the sea-dwarves in the lower quarter of Reefstone. Perhaps your mother would recommend one of the heroes who frequents her shop?” said junior lady Cecelia Ardwin.
“Certainly! From what I understand, Sir Harna Marrick has returned from her work afield. Perhaps I can—”
*SMASH*
Cecelia gasped. “What was that?”
“Oh, no!” Revick exclaimed. “Cici, back away from the—”
*Air Whistling*
*CRASH*
The body of their dearest friend Tuae Okonnen burst through the door to their classroom, sailing through the air and slamming into the far wall. The magical shield he’d cast around himself flickered and went out. “She…” he gasped, slumping. “She…”
“Tuae!” Cecelia shouted in horror.
“HA HA! FOOL! YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME TO A DUEL AND *THAT* IS THE BEST YOU SHOW? WEAK!”
A girl in leather armor with a torn, silk dress bunched up beneath it leapt into the room with a broomstick, brandishing it at the fallen lordling. Her body boasted far more muscle than anyone else in the room. She tossed her head back and bellowed at the ceiling, thumping her chest with her free hand. “I HAD NO IDEA HUMANS WOULD BE SO BOLD! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU DARES TO LOOK ME IN THE EYE! SUCH INSULT! SUCH TERRIBLE MANNERS!”
Revick stepped in front of Cecelia with his arms up, trembling. “Gretta! Please! We’re not trying to insult—"
The girl leveled her broom at Revick. “THAT’S GARKA, MEATBAG! BANE OF BOULDER BEETLES! SHE-MADE-STONESKIN! FOREMOST QUARLING OF THE AMBER YEAR’S CLUTCH!”
Revick flashed a pacifying smile. “I’m sorry, Garka, I didn’t mean—”
“OOOOH! NOW SOMEONE DARES BARE THEIR FANGS AT ME? LET’S HOPE YOU LAST LONGER THAN THE LAST ONE, MEATBAG!”
“No, please!”
*”RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”*
| 2022-07-15T17:06:02
| 2022-07-15T16:44:45
| 666
| 108
|
[WP] Your name, age, height, weight, and race all flash across the T.V. screen. You look in horror as you see your dead body being dragged out of a river as a reporter announces that you've been brutally murdered by an infamous serial killer who has been on the run for years.
|
_Missing person found: Caucasian female, 170cm, 72kg. The unknown woman was found in the Island River this afternoon. Police are investigating the cause of death and ID of the victim. It's suspected to be the next victim of the Island River Killer._
I looked up from the tv and furrowed my brow. The report on the tv sounded like me, but they didn't release a photo or a name. They still needed to identify her. It could have been me, I was walking near the river last night when the woman got missing.
I stood up from the couch to put away the glasses before I raised my voice, "Jessica, you home?". My twin sister was always up later than I was in the weekends. During the week I barely saw her as she worked day in day out at the veterinary clinic down town while I worked most nights restocking shelves at the 7/11. I sighed when she didn't answer and started cleaning up the mess she had left on the counter. Jess never cleaned up her mess as she always jokingly said that I had more time during the days. I hated it when she did that.
The day went on quietly without her coming downstairs. I suspected she might be out with friends, maybe she stayed over somewhere? I called her a couple of times to no avail and went on with my day. Just before dinner I sat down in front of the tv again. Just when I was about to switch channels, the news lady came in frame.
_Melanie Jaspers (24) was found dead this morning and is identified as the latest victim of the Island River Killer..._
My mind went numb as I saw myself getting dragged out of the lake. Dark brown hair clumped together, my favorite black dress torn. At the same time Jessica's phone started buzzing again. in my pocket and I picked it up with a smile "Hi, it's Jessica."
-
[It's been a while since I actually wrote something and I'm unsure but didn't want to not post it]
|
The news knocked me on my a**. I couldent keep the shock from crossing my face, like it mattered. Sam dident even know I was in the room watching the news with her. I just wanted to reach out and hold her. Instantly the thought drew tears from my eyes, I’d never hold her again. Frantically my mind searched for the last memory I had of touching her but everything was fuzzy. I... I couldent remember. Did we argue ... or did we make love. For just a second it became clear to me that my memory was being erased from point of death to point of birth. I gotta hold on, I gotta... slowly I turned from the TV and attempted to retrace my steps as if it would trigger a memory. But now there was nothing. My brain began to tingle, the feeling of peace settled down over my whole body as the world dimmed to black. It felt as thought I was completely asleep while still being mentally awake. Then, my mind relaxed and followed my body into the darkness.
Red light showed through my eye lids. Even with closed eyes the light was painful. Instinctively I pulled my arms in front of my face but it did nothing. It was as if the light went through my body. Worried and a little annoyed I cracked one eye open just enough to see a figure in front of me. Heat came from off of its surface and grew in intensity as it drew closer to me. At one point I sensed that I should be on Fire the heat was so great, but I felt no pain.
“How am I not burning?”
I said in an attempt to communicate. But no words were given in response. Instead the figure, now face to face with me, began to lift its hand slowly. Now I was fully turned to face it. The light no longer hurt my eyes. I then locked eyes with the figure as it’s hand wrested on the right side of my face. A profound sense of love filled every crevice of me. Then came the knowledge, or kind of an understanding. I just knew what the figure was communicating. It was as if 1,000 conversations were had all at once. Feelings of unmet justice, and mercy towards an unseen but deserving community of people rested in the back of my mind. And on the four front of my thoughts a list of goals became outlined. Then suddenly the space around me became dim again and exhausted I fell to my knees. My hands lay face up in slightly damp sod next to me. Trying to lift my head felt like an unbeatable task, regardless I somehow turned my eyes and head enough to see 6 hooded figures that escorted a man with a baseball cap away from a river. I tried to see more, but my body completely gave out. It only took a second for the world to rotate to its proper angle as my face landed in the damp sod. Here I wrested for what had to be a great length of time.
The sun touched my face and caused me to awaken from a dream that I could only describe as... the totel understanding of justice. No force could hold back what was coming. The only lick of hope for evil was the mercy it denied to all that drew from it.
| 2020-08-01T03:05:05
| 2020-08-01T02:47:27
| 27
| 12
|
[WP] When you go to an alternate universe. Your multiverse-traveling machine rates how different each universe is from yours. Today this universe got a 10/10 on the difference scale, and you can’t find a single difference.
|
**Caution. 10/10 Reality Difference rating. Proceed at own risk.**
Luciano frowned, smacking the monitor a few times. The screen stayed as it was, flashing the red text in a threatening manner.
A cold feeling washed over him, and he cautiously opened the door, sunlight streaming in from outside. Ever since he and Daniel had managed to come up with a device that perfectly replicated Sky's universe-hopping capabilities, Luci had taken to exploring the multiverse. He had seen anarchy, apocolypses, utopias, even a universe where everyone was an anthropomorphic frog.
The Reality Difference Reactor had been built to prevent Luci from dying in ridiculous ways in universes that barely followed his universe's physics. The most he'd gotten was a 5 on the scale.
What was wrong with this one?
Stepping outside, Luci took a breath of sweet, cool air. The grass was perfectly green, trees swaying in the breeze, beautiful azure sky dotted with puffy sheep clouds.
Nothing was wrong, and that unnerved him.
The sight of a town nearby made him excited, as half of the fun was interacting with the denizens of the unfamiliar universes. He pushed a button and the machine ceased whirring and humming, activating its camouflage capabilities. Now only he could find it with the wrist tracker Luci had.
Humming to himself, Luci walked through the streets. Everything was natural here. The town looked quite like his hometown, albeit more clean and... Having less crime.
Rounding a corner, he bumped into a man. Stumbling back, Luci grabbed the other's suit to both steady himself and prevent said person from falling too.
"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't -" Luci stopped. The person here- it was him.
this has happened before, there were realities where he was quite different. Where he was the powerful, dragonlike diety instead of Sky. Where he grew up in the medieval ages (he had stayed for a year experimentally, Luciano learned to hunt and swordfight along with Daniel quite well.) One where he had grey skin and horns.
None like this.
This him was older, but not by much. His cerulean hoodie and grey beanie capping his messy brown hair was gone, replaced with hair gel and a deep blue suit.
"It's quite all right. I was just on my way back from a meeting, so it wouldn't have mattered if I had gotten this suit dirty anyway. Now, if you excuse me." A deeper voice startled Luci out of his thoughts. the other him nodded and brushed past.
That was when he realised with a jolt. The Difference Rating was calculated relative to Luciano, meaning both his home universe's physics, but also himself as a person. This wasn't a different universe, it was a different *timeline.*
One where he had never entered that low point in his life, causing him to commit illegal activities. Causing him indirectly to meet Sky and make his home in another universe along with Daniel and now Pyre.
He was normal here. That was the difference.
He hoped this him was happy.
|
*Calculating…*
The rating popped up.
**Difference Rating: 10/10**
“Huh? That’s interesting.”
I couldn’t let the rating distract me for too long. There was a time limit as to how long I spent here. It was just a cautionary thing, considering how clumsy I can become. I could mill about, but I refrained from interacting. Consequences from interacting with those in other universes had yet to be catalogued and I wasn’t in the mood of finding out now, not with me discovering this gem of a universe.
I explored the area I was in. This time, I appeared to spawn in a rather nice home. Judging by the walls, I took it that it wasn’t too long.
“Dang, this universe version of me must’ve been rich.” My words echoed through the spacious room. Shelves decorated with ornate objects were nearby.
“Hey! Who are you?” There was fear in her voice.
Spinning around, I was greeted by a carbon copy of me. “Hey hey hey, calm down. It’s just me. Albeit, from a different universe. You must recognize this.” I flashed the machine at the other me.
She looked rather perplexed.
“What are you doing here? Honey! We have an-” I slammed myself against her. Her screams continued. She reached for my machine, which lay in my palm. I attempted to draw it away, but she latched a firm hold on it. “What is this thing?”
“No!” I clawed at her. Instead of grasping the machine, the other me let it fall to the ground. “No no!” She continued to shout and kick. After some struggle, I managed to raise my foot high enough to slam it down upon her. Her body went limp.
Shoving her body off to the side, I cradled my machine in my arms.
One word was etched one the screen.
**Error. Unable to find original universe.**
Terror, panic, fear, I couldn’t tell the difference at this point. “Honey! Is everything alright? I thought I heard some yelling!” Wait, I had a spouse in this universe? “I’ll be right with ya.” Adrenaline kicked in now as my supposed spouse’s footsteps echoed along the hardwood floor. My head darted about looking for a hiding place for the body.
“Bingo,” I muttered. Throwing the balcony door open, I hauled other me’s body onto the deck. Lady luck was smiling upon me as I noted the forest that dotted the background. The machine carried on with its beeping. No doubt he would hear it. Taking a deep breath, I lobbed the object out into the field. I’ll return it soon hopefully.
“Oh, there you are honey!” He looked rather confused by my actions. “What are you doing?”
“Just shutting the curtains.” He seemed to buy the bait. The body was now obscured by them.
“Alright then, I’ll be heading to bed now. Goodnight.” He shuffled out of the room.
The sound of another door shutting sent waves of relief to wash over me. I collapsed against the wall. There was no difference in this universe. I was the difference.
r/CasualScribblings
| 2020-09-23T23:12:36
| 2020-09-23T21:57:05
| 320
| 81
|
[WP] A team of scientists have successfully teleported an apple. It reappears with a bite taken out of it.
|
The screams of joy pierced the air. the group of men and women congratulated each other and hugs were thrown about as everyone seemed to get caught up in the jubilation.
"We did it, we finally fucking did it!" came a desperately happy cry from Steve, the head scientist. This had been his project for over 20 years, and it had finally yielded real results!
"Shut down the isolation field!" he shouted over the intercom to the other team where the apple had been teleported from.
There was a loud buzz as the field protecting the apple that sat in the centre of the machine dissipated. Steve moved up to the apple and grabbed it in his hand, almost on the brink of tears. He felt the apple in his hand, running his fingers over it. As he did, he let out a gasp. The jubilation immediately stopped. Everyone turned and stared at Steve, but he said nothing, instead he simply stared at the apple.
"Steve, for heaven's sakes, what's the matter?" asked Beverly, his second in command.
Slowly he turned himself to face them, showing them the apple as he did. It had a bite taken from it. Someone had clean bitten into it and ripped a chunk of it off. There were audible gasps from the rest of the team. Some started talking in low, hushed whispers. What could have caused this? Was there something wrong with the machine?
After a long silence had gripped the room, Steve finally spoke up.
"Get some more fruit, we're going to test again..."
In silence the scientists all moved to their stations as a basket of fruit was brought into the first room. One by one, each of the pieces were tested. An orange, a banana, a kiwi, even a melon. Each one emerged with a large bite taken out of it.
Eventually Steve screamed in frustration. "We're moving to human testing, right now." he stated angrily.
"Steve, you're not thinking straight, we clearly have some kinks to work out, and besides that, we haven't got a test sub-" but Beverly was cut off.
"I'll be the test subject." Steve replied, moving himself into the first room and climbing onto the platform where the fruit had been teleported from.
"You're nuts! Utter nuts! Don't do this, please!" Beverly begged.
"Activate the machine!" he called out. No one moved, instead they all stared at both him and Beverly.
"Shut the damned thing off!" Beverly commanded, but the male scientist immediately interjected. "FIRE THIS DAMN THING UP OR YOU'RE ALL FIRED!" he screamed.
There was a whirring noise and a force-field appeared around the scientist as he placed his hands in his pockets.
"On my command." he said, staring straight ahead.
"You're crazy, please...don't do this!"
"3." came the cold reply.
"Steve, I'm begging you!"
"2" he stated, turning slightly away from her.
"STEVE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP!" she cried, tears now forming, her desperation reaching a peak.
"1" Steve replied turning himself away from her fully.
There was a loud screeching noise, followed by a flash of white light. As the sight of the scientists was regained, there came a mass of loud screams from the second room.
Beverly darted for the room, pushing aside the others to see what had happened.
She fell to the floor and began sobbing as she saw the still body of her friend and colleague. He was laying on his back and a large chunk of his abdomen was missing and blood was pouring from the cavity. Something had been written on the back of his lab coat in blood.
'Fruit was better'.
|
"It has a bite taken out of it..." one of the lab techs mumbled with surprise as they entered the whitewashed windowless room where the apple had appeared.
Drew Jamison frowned as he pushed his way through the group of techs and assistants. "What the hell do you mean it has a bite taken out of it?" The initial excitement from the apple appearing down the hall had vanished. "Who did this?" Jamison roared, making the group cringe. Nobody moved or said a word. "If nobody takes responsibility for this," he said deliberately, each word dripping with venom, "I will have you all fired before the hour." He sighed, shooing them away as they scurried out of the room. Only Frank stayed; a slightly impish man with close eyes and a balding top.
"It worked, Drew," he murmured in quiet awe to his best friend who was furiously pacing the room.
"Did it, Frank? Or did one of those dumbasses come in here earlier and put a different apple on the table?" Frank shook his head.
"I just checked the tapes," he said holding up his phone. The security tape of the room they were in was looping. "Nobody came in here. The apple just appears." He didn't know whether he should be amazed or terrified.
Jamison took the phone in his hand, still trembling with rage. He had a quick temper and a habit of acting without a second thought. "By God, you're right. It just appears." His red face broke into a smile. "We did it, Frank! We did it."
They rushed back into the laboratory where the technicians and assistants were huddled in shame and worry. Without so much as an apology, Drew Jamison started speaking to them again. "Gentlemen, the teleportation device appears to be successful. Prepare the second test." They lifted the heavy steel bar that lay next to the teleportation pod, two men struggling to fit it on the reflective platform the beam would strike.
"Goggles on, ten seconds." A countdown started and they stared at the bar in anticipation. With a flash, it was gone, just like the apple had disappeared fifteen minutes earlier.
Jamison was the first in the room this time, nearly tearing the door off its hinges as he burst in. "Oh my god..." he muttered, slowly backing out. The others huddled behind him, peering over his shoulder for a glance.
"What the hell..." The steel bar lay on the same table the apple had landed. But it wasn't whole. Something had bent and pulled the solid metal and teeth marks had left gnaws all along the edges. It was also a full six inches shorter than it had just been, one of the ends having been ripped off leaving only jagged metal.
"One last test," Jamison mumbled softly. The group paced back into the laboratory in fearful silence.
"What are you going to do?" Frank asked, staring at his friend and colleague with apprehension. Jamison ignored him as he grabbed a broom and began to sweep the platform where the beam would strike.
"Prepare the beam," he commanded but nobody moved.
"There's nothing there," Frank said awkwardly, wondering if the other man had finally gone insane.
"I know. Prepare the beam," Jamison repeated and the machine whirred to life again. "Ten seconds. Count." The countdown began and seemed to drag on an eternity before the beam burst from the machine, striking the empty platform. A massive crash from down the hall shock them from their trance-like state. The machine died down again and Jamison cautiously led the way to the room where the apple and steel bar had appeared.
He gulped audibly as they turned the corner. "What the *fuck*..." he mumbled and Frank added a string of curses as he too rounded the corner.
"Those walls are bomb-proof and radiation-proof and reinforced a dozen times over..." Jamison mumbled just loudly enough for the others to hear.
Frank took a deep breath before answering as he surveyed the damage. "It was warning us. The bites were warnings."
"There was nothing there, though," one of the technicians said, unsure as to whether or not this was obvious.
"There clearly was," Jamison muttered to himself. "Frank... the calculations when we made the teleporter..."
"What about them?" Frank asked suspiciously.
"We knew we would be breaking into a fourth dimension." Frank nodded. "We never considered life in that dimension, did we?"
Frank opened his mouth, searching for the right words before shaking his head. "It's just one dimension. It would be like a line attacking us..."
"We don't know how the other dimensions work, Frank... But now it's in our 3 dimensions and however many it was in before." He looked at the others who stood around him, mouths agape. "Someone has to go in to figure out what we're dealing with."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2016-01-12T16:26:24
| 2016-01-12T15:39:06
| 285
| 46
|
[WP] You die and now it is day of judgement. To your surprise, the day of judgement is where gods get judged based on how well they did (How fair their world was, pleasant... etc). The judgement of our god is about to start...
|
It is the day the first human died.
It is also the day the last human died.
In fact, it is the day every human died.
For one reason or another, in most cultures it is believed that as soon as one individual dies, he or she will reach some form of afterlife. And every day, some more humans would join.
But if the end has come, time doesn't matter anymore. There is no time anymore. They all arrive at the same time. Billions of humans stand in the middle of pure beauty. Halls of marble for one, lush gardens or high mountains for others. Although every pair of eyes sees something else, everything is magnificent.
"Welcome, Humanity. This is the day of judgment."
The voice of God thunders and everyone understands. Language doesn't matter anymore.
"Don't be afraid. For not you will be judged. You will judge me. We have reached the end of the circle. Pass your judgment, so the world can start anew."
It is not only the day every human died.
It is the day every human died ... again.
For this was only one circle after countless others. God creates the Universe, creates Humanity, because without an observer there is nothing to be observed. And when Humanity ends, the universe stands still. Humanity judges God and Gods tries again. And again. And again. Because that's how it is. How it was and how it will be. Forever.
And again, for the billionth time, Humanity starts discussing, starts fighting, starts calming down, starts fighting again. It doesn't matter. There is no time anymore. In the end, humanity will agree, will judge. Humanity will be fire and brimstone, seek revenge for all wrongs and every little thing they deem unjust.
God is waiting, because it doesn't matter. It is just one more lap of a neverending race.
But suddenly, Humanity grows silent.
"What is your verdict?"
And for the first time, humanity looks in the eyes of god.
"We will not judge. We have been afraid forever. Fearing judgment after our day has come. And we would fear again. And again. And there is but one way to end this. It will not start again. There will be no judgement this day."
And Heaven comes crashing down. The walls of marble crack, the gardens wither and even the mighty mountains crumble.
And as the light of creation flickers out, God smiles and is no more.
|
The day that David lived his whole life, and died, for was finally here.
He had been part of an eight car pile up on the 401 and was pronounced dead on the scene. One moment he was listening to the musical styling of a young Rihanna, and the next he was being brought forth before the Lord our God.
Except His throne was empty. A hum of conversation emitted from the endless sea of people gathered as David stood above them at the foot of the throne. St. Peter stood by his side. He placed his arm on David's shoulder to calm his uncontrollable shaking. "I know this is tough David. Just say what's in your heart. What's in all our hearts."
"Shouldn't I just stick to sorry, umm, Your Holiness?" David questioned. St. Peter laughed. "Pete will do fine David. It is not your turn to be sorry. From what I can tell your short life was full of sorry. We are gathered here here to judge Him!" The crowd erupted into cheers. St. Peter continued. "It is our dear Creators turn to hear the voices of those whom he proposed to love!" The cheers grew louder. As David opened his mouth to speak, a bright light burst forth from the throne.
St. Peter clapped David on the back, rather roughly, and whispered "Good luck Davey" as he jumped down, disappearing into the crowd. David returned his gaze to the throne where he found Our Holy Father waiting patiently. David immediately fell to his knees. God smiled warmly. "Rise My son. Be not afraid. I too shall be judged, as I have judged. Rise and let your voice be heard."
The crowd began to quiet as David rose. "So, uh, do I just, umm, say all the bad things you let happen?" The crowd erupted in approval. David swallowed deeply before continuing. "O-okay. Uh, babies die everyday?" The crowd roared in agreement. "Cancer. Uh, Alzheimer's. M-Multiple Sclerosis." The crowd grew louder at each word. This urged David on. "Famine! Drought! War! Genocide! T-The f-fucking holocaust!" The crowd burst into a frenzy. He thought he saw God wince at that last one.
David was caught up in it now. He continued, nearly screaming now. "You say we shape Your world through our free will?! Those babies didn't choose to die! The Jews didn't ask to be nearly wiped out! My nana didn't put in an order for fucking lung cancer!" He felt the waves of energy pour from the crowd. A blood lust set to boil over. David finished his judgement with the blood curdling cry "And I died a virgin You P-Prick!"
With those words, the crowd set upon Him and finished what humanity had been striving towards for generations. Vengeance was finally theirs.
| 2014-08-03T13:04:30
| 2014-08-03T11:22:59
| 29
| 20
|
[WP] Write about you writing the writing prompt response you're writing right now
|
"Ohh, look at me, I'm so meta" he thought, his eyes already searching for a more interesting title.
"Then again..." It *could* be fun, if done right. And Hearthstone wasn't working. He clicked on the link and started reading the first reply, only to stop himself before finishing the first paragraph, not wanting to be influenced by it.
Alas, it was too late, and some of it had lingered in his brain. "This is harder than I thought", it said.
"Well, now that they mention it, I really have no idea of how I'd go making this story interesting. Maybe I could have a part where I point that out? That could work."
But, he wondered, where could the story go from there? How to make it actually engaging. His mind wandered to Dan Harmon's story circle - he had had a conversation about it a few days earlier, and every time that happened the whole thing would stay around in the edges of his mind, waiting for any chance to resurface. Like that one roomate that always shows up just as you are about to start cooking.
He stopped typing and looked at the last sentence: "Like that one roomate that always shows up just as you are about to start cooking.", it said. It occurred to him he had no idea what he was talking about but hey, how would reddit know? It's not like he was going to tell them. Of course, on the other hand, it could do for some humorous stalling while he figured out where the story was going, so why not?
"But anyway, back to the story circle" his mind insisted, annoying as ever.
You. Need. Go. Search. Find. Take. Return. Change.
"I'd say I'm four steps in already. Now if only I could run into a goddess..."
The phone vibrated. He ignored it. Seconds passed in the almost-silence of impatience and frustration: fidgeting hands, stretching, some chair movement. He started typing about this, then stopped to see if there was any sound outside he could add. Zero. Nada. Just as he was about to mention this, a dog started barking.
"Another paragraph, still no goddess."
Maybe that's it. The realization that there is no real story to tell. That his life is not, and will never be, worth writing, no matter how he tries to pull it off.
Should he stop, then? Maybe close the tab, leaving no trace of the failed attempt?
No. He's done that many times. He regrets most of them.
"That was a *good* poem god damn it, I shouldn't have deleted it just because I couldn't finish it. It could have been part of the book."
The book is a big deal. But it's not part of this story.
"Or is it?" He wondered, right after typing those very same words. "Maybe this could go in the book as well. Which part would it fit? Wait, you are getting derailed, reddit is gonna get bored at this narcissistic bullshit, back to the circle."
He sighed.
He stretched.
"Ouch."
He *really* needed to go to the bathroom.
He smiled: that'd be a funny ending, wouldn't it?
|
Ok. Let's see...
Huh. This is harder than I thought. Prompts usually have a little more substance on them, with moments, characters or scenes to inspire a writer. Things to stimulate the imagination, you know?
But the prompt I'm responding to right now has none of these. How unique.
The only context I have to write a response is myself, the prompt itself, and the act of writing a response. The strangest thing is, those are three elements I'm very familiar with. I know me pretty well (grew it myself), I understand the words in the prompt, and writing responses to prompts is something I enjoy doing. Here's the problem though...
There needs to be inspiration in the prompt for a writer! That way, I can form a conflict to draw a reader's interest! And in that conflict, there must be a character striving for a solution, that takes place somewhere that fills the reader's imagination. And you gave me none of these!
So because of that, I'm struggling to respond to this prompt! Here I am, trying to come up with a response on my computer desk, with a warm Washington sun hammering heat into my bedroom, with no idea how to write this story!
How do I write a response that has no conflict, character, or scene?
Damnit. I don't think I can.
There's no way I can solve this puzzle and post a response I'm comfortable sharing. You win this time /u/anglicizing.
---------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-04-28T14:16:40
| 2016-04-28T13:49:43
| 27
| 17
|
[WP] You have a very mundane talent, so mundane that you've never shown it to anyone. The first time you do, as a party trick, you're told that your talent is physically impossible.
|
"All right, so it goes a little something like this," I said. I'd just been dared to do something that I didn't think people would be able to recreate. Yeah, I know that truth or date was a stupid game for a 20-year-old to be playing, but we were trying to hook up Jason and Erika so it was part of the plan. Also, yes I know that it's truth or dare, but truth or date is what we call it when we are attempting to play matchmaker.
"Just get on with it."
"Then light the fucking candle," I snapped. I slurred the end of my words as Jason walked over to light the candle. I was hoping to get out of doing this trick but for some reason Erika had one in her room. So here I was. After what seemed like eons Jason lit the candle, "See how hard was that?"
"Just do the thing," Erika cut in.
"Alright," I sighed the lullaby that my mother had sung me when I a child under my breath. It was a bunch of gibberish but it helped my focus. I snapped my fingers at the end of it. the fire went out.
"The fuck, that candle went out."
"Yeah, I put it out."
"No you didn't, here man," Jason lit the candle again.
I narrowed my eyes, focusing on my aim and snapped my fingers. Boom, fire went out.
"What the fuck," Erika cut in. She sounded more scared than impressed.
"I'm just like snapping the wind at it."
"That's not how that works."
"It's working isn't it?"
"Light it again," Erika said. Jason complied because he had a crush on her and he was a pansy.
I rolled my eyes and snapped my fingers again, the candle went out. It wasn't a big deal and I didn't get why they were making such a racket about it.
"Dude that's not humanly possible."
"I'm doing it."
"What's the trick?"
"I snap my finger in the right way."
"Show me," Jason said. He lit the candle and walked over to me. I moved his arm to the right place and told him to snap. He did and nothing happened, "See, it doesn't work."
"You're just doing it wrong," I argued, "if you do it at the right angle."
"Man, it's not working." He started snapping wildly each one was off on the form. I grabbed his hand.
"Like this," I said, this time I used my left hand. The fire flickered away again.
"Got it," Erika shouted, "I'm gonna post that to the school facebook page."
"What?" I asked.
"It's cool, I'm just gonna show it off."
"Whatever man." I said. We kept going with the game of truth or dare after that, we were unsuccessful in getting Jason and Erika to hook up. Sometimes it just didn't work out. The video had gotten 3.9 million views by the time we woke up the next morning.
|
"Uhm"
Everyone at the house party was staring at me.
"What?"
"You shouldn't be able to do that"
"Do what this?"
Everyone recoiled.
"No don't do it again"
"What it's not that…"
"No"
"Why not?"
"It's weird. It's like, you know when you're in class, and some raises their hand and their double jointed so their arm just shoots of like this?"
"Yeah"
"If that situation were here it would be like what the fuck man"
"It's really not that out of the ordinary"
"Show of hands who can do that"
No one raised their hand. I slowly began to raise mine.
"No not you"
"What? It has nothing to do with my hand"
"It might though"
"It doesn't"
"Well that's not a risk I'm willing to take. So you know enjoy the party, mingle, just stick to the laws of physics. It's not that hard"
"Fine"
"Fuck it, one more time"
| 2015-11-28T11:24:51
| 2015-11-28T11:02:56
| 117
| 20
|
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review.
|
Walking into the room when the boss calls you is always an..."eventful," one. You never truly know what will happen. He could gift you, he could tell you to do something, or sometimes you could just hear a gunshot as soon as the door closes. Me, being on my toes, looks at the boss with a blank expression, but inside waiting for whatever came my way. The boss was twirling in his chair, obviously seeming eager. "GREAT NEWS LACKY! You survived longer than anyone else I have! Which is...surprising honestly. The way I run my ship? I don't expect any of my subordinates to make it long. At least I don't have to pay much in benefits! Anyway sit down, sit down. Let's chat!" Longest surviving employee, I thought to myself. It's amazing that out of everyone the boss hired, I'm the longest one surviving. It ain't like I don't go out on raids or nothin. I sat down and waited for the boss to speak. Talking out of place was the kind of thing he shot you for.
"Now, let me just get your file here..." he pulled out a singular piece of crumpled paper that just had lacky #34 on it. Also a smiley face drawn in purple crayon next to the 34. "Now, bear with me because I'm just as new to this as you are, considering people like you don't get real jobs. BUT, I am giving you a performance review for the year! Without further a-do, let's get this show on the road!" Obviously the boss seemed thrilled. But that shouldn't mean much. That always changed in a heartbeat. I've known him for awhile now. "Question one, I guess the most obvious question, how in any way have you survived this long!? I'm pretty sure I tried to kill you at least twice." "No that was Charlie." I said. "Who? Ah whatever, doesn't matter. Second question! How is the work environment? Do you enjoy it here? I mean, you've obviously killed enough and done the things I asked if you're still here." "The work environment is pretty hostile, boss," I said to him. "GREAT! Just as I intended. Last question! How am I as a boss? Do I please as a fearless leader?" Sweat began to form on my brow. The wrong answer could "terminate" my contract in a heartbeat. But he has kept me alive for this long, so he must like me enough. "Sure boss, but I gotta ask. We've been in the business for awhile now, what's with the clown get up?" He just stared at me. Blankly, for awhile and then he got up and started pacing around the room and talking. "Lacky 34, it all started with this dream I had. I was just sleeping contently, and then all of a sudden...BANG." Next thing I know he took a magnum out of his coat pocket and shot me in the back of the head. The last words I ever heard were, "as for your annual review....Eh, 7.5/10."
|
"Does chaos excite you? You have been with me for quite some time, after all."
The joker sporadically arose from his misappropriated desk with a tightly gripped fist and an even tighter smile; pacing, the joker began mumbling about the bat, about Gotham, and about nothing at all. His scattered thoughts entrained his body through a series of semi ritualistic smashings and swearings...The hostages, roped away in a solemn corner, watched in despair as their office become a stage for utter insanity. Entirely ignoring his guests, the joker seemed fixated on a mental object of such brilliance and glory that no other purpose in life could ever distract him. He moved with a swiftness and with the certainty that can only be owned by someone with true aspiration. And each of the objects in the room, posed a threat to his vision of his disorder. Yes, in this office in the Joker found himself, each correlated paper and each family photo enraged him. With a half-crooked, toothy smile, the joker slowly unveiled a beautiful silver lighter.. and began toying with the flame.
"You must think me cruel, but I really just want to make you smile. To make everyone smile. Fear - chaos - these are the tools of gods; and when a god tells you to smile, you bow down on your fucking knees and you smile. So bow. No, you won't bow? Admittedly, I would have shot you if you had done so. Cowards bow. Like those worthless drones in the corner. Oh Mr. Joker, let me live they scream!"
And with that, Mr. J hurriedly grabbed the eldest hostage and held the flame up to his weary eyes. In an instant, the lighter erupted with the recognizable bang of a small firearm. The crowd gasped and began to wail and whimper. To the Joker these were sustenance; a vindication of his efforts to mold the world in his image - but to see and to understand the joker is to know that this image is that of only his latest whim, guided by only madness. To survive the joker is to outlive a purposelessness pandora; blood red fire illuminate his way and nothing more. As the crowd assessed the result of Mr. J's latest unloading, they breathed a sigh of relief as they found the old man curled up on the floor, alive, with no injury.
"Don't you see. Without me, these people have no reason to smile. I kill one, two, three... hehehe maybe more. I kill them all. And they're stupid little families cry, boo-hoo-hoo. Pathetic. Look how happy they were now that they see I didn't kill the sad bastard."
And with that Mr. J unloaded five rounds into the back of the old man's skull. Affectioned tears ordained the ground of their stricken manager, whom many considered a dear friend.
"And look how quickly I can take that smile back; if I let them keep it, how will they learn to be grateful? You get it don't you? Yes of course you do.. I did all of these for you, you know. To make you smile. To see if after all this time, I could still make you smile. Isn't it wonderful? That hopelessness in their eyes. The control. Ha what will he do next? Well let me show you.."
And with his biggest gesture yet, Mr. J unwrapped his coat to reveal a massive bomb strapped to his chest.
"Chaos, you see, cannot exempt itself; today I will surprise them all."
A devious smile appeared as the joker pursed his lips; a haunting smile. an absolutely exhilarating smile.
"Today I will give you the honor of being a part of the history that will always inspire more fear and more uncertainty; that will make people smile each day they do not die.."
And in the flash of an eye forty-five people were extinguished brilliantly in a gaudy blast of purple flame and cacophonous auto programmed laughter.
| 2016-11-21T03:05:27
| 2016-11-21T02:49:57
| 26
| 13
|
[WP] You are the officer in command on a Navy Nuclear submarine. You dive to the depths of the ocean and don’t have any connection to the outside world, when you surface two weeks later nobody is responding and you can tell something went terribly wrong.
|
"Diving Officer, make your depth 20 feet,” the XO ordered.
“Make my depth 20 feet, aye, sir,” I heard in reply.
Very Low Frequency depth. Two way communications depth. I kept my face calm.
My XO continued. “Make your depth 20 feet, five degree up bubble.” The bow planesman repeated, “Make my depth 20 feet, aye, sir,” and the stern planesman said, “Five degree up bubble, aye.
A gentle angle of ascent. Maybe 2 minutes until VLF depth. It had been 2 weeks since we'd been in a position to send and receive, its normally an exciting time, the reconnection to the world. I had a sense of dread rising much more steeply than my boat.
I hadn't been out of contact for 2 entire weeks like the rest of my crew. Ultra Low Frequency transmissions can still get through. We can't respond, but we can get orders, even at operating depths. You need it for getting nuclear launch orders for example.
Launch orders like I received the first part of 2 days after we dived. Suddenly cut off. Sometimes we get a stage 1 authentication as a training drill, but this was something else. Partway through the Stage 1 the signal disappeared. Then nothing until this morning.
The Diving Officer interrupted my reverie. "Depth 20 feet, Sir".
"Deploy the VLF antenna, John," I ordered my Comms Officer. The informality drew a sidewards glance from the XO, but I barely noticed. My hand was clenched in my pocket.
"VLF deployed, Sir. Sending SitRep to COMSUBPAC."
My hand was hot, the paper in its grip becoming a burning coal. Face still calm, but heart pounding now.
"Very good, Comms." This time my voice cracked slightly. Again my XO, looked. Slightly more concerned this time.
It seemed like a week before anyone spoke. Almost as long as I'd been walking around with the paper in my pocket. The only other message that had come through on the ULF. Not like any Navy communication I'd ever seen.
"Sir, there is no response from COMSUB."
"VLF must be malfunctioning," my XO remarked.
"Mmmm." I responded with thrilling leadership.
There was a pause again, this time the bridge waiting for words from the leader standing with them, as opposed to those on land.
"Surface."
The XO and the bridge began again their familiar, calmly professional exchanges to execute my order. I began to pray for the first time since I was 12.
*Please God, let this be some sort of test.*
We surfaced and the Comms officer tried to check in with COMSUB again. Sending messages, but receiving nothing back. I pulled the last message we had received, from my pocket and unfolded it.
*Anyone left. Hide. Do not come back. They are legion.*
"Sir, there is nothing transmitting!"
"COMSUB not responding?"
"No Sir, but that's not what I mean. Not no-one responding. Nothing transmitting. No commercial radio. No emergency beacons, not even the signal from GPS. The airwaves are completely dead".
I hoped that it was only the airwaves.
"SIR!" the Radar Operator broke in, "Contact! Bearing Two Niner Zero."
"IFF?" I asked, hoping to hear it was Search and Rescue.
"Negative, Sir. No ping. Sir, its closing fast. 1200 knots."
I did what any Submarine Captain would do.
"DIVE!"
____________________________________________________
r/talleresttales
|
"Sir?"
I stood unmoving, hands clasped behind my back. I stared ahead as if considering what the petty officer had said with great thought. Inside, however, I felt a deep worry start to tear at my gut.
"No response? None at all?"
"No sir," he confirmed. His eyes bounced worriedly around the small communications room. I could just about hear his heart start to speed up. He was nervous.
Hell, he had good right to be. It'd been four hours since we had resurfaced some miles off the coast of South Carolina, and not a single soul in the world had responded to us.
"Is there some kind of issue with our signal, our devices?"
"Not that I can make out, sir," another voice said from across the room. The skinny, wiry man was seated at an LED screen, checking various lines of communication. "Everything seems to be in working order. We just aren't getting any responses."
I furrowed my brow in thought. What could this mean? If everything here was in working order, then perhaps there were issues at base. A power outage? That seemed unreasonable. Unless there was a power outage across the entire state, I couldn't see how no one would get back to us within 4 hours, especially when they were expecting us to resurface today.
"Could it be an EMP sir? An attack to our communications?"
A worried murmur began to spread in the small, crampy room. There were only 5 of us in it at the time, with the rest of the small crew below in the reactor room or in bunks. I scowled at the seaman who spoke.
"That's enough imagination out of you seaman!" I barked at him. His worried expression snapped compulsively to attention. I couldn't let my men's imagination run wild. And I couldn't show that the unknown of the situation was getting to me as well... no matter how much I currently wanted to crawl into a hole and wait this one out. I stood up a bit straighter, my chin a bit higher, and tried to make myself look a bit annoyed at the situation, but nothing more.
"Seaman Garth," I said, identifying the man who blurted about his EMP conspiracy. "Go clean the latrine."
I could feel the heat coming off his face, but he responded with a quick, "Sir, yes sir," and left. Someone snorted from across the room but I pretended not to hear.
Suddenly, another of my men strode up to me, saluting. "Sir, unidentified aircraft spotted floating near us." I heard a hint of worry in his voice. I arched a brow at him.
"First I hear conspiracies of EMP's going off, and now I got UFO's floating around the place?" I let out a tired groan and tried to seem like this was my every Tuesday. I walked past the man, approaching the stereotypical binoculars we had coming out of the ceiling of the submarine, and peered into them.
It floated just above us, a great blotch of black against the dark, overcast skies. It wasn't black though... rather it seemed to simply draw in all the light around it, completely and absolutely. I wasn't sure how I could tell that from a little under a mile away through a telescope, but I could. I felt my mouth drop open as recognition boiled through me, taking the blood from my face and leaving my fear nice and neat on my sleeve.
"S-sir?"
I spun around, not trying to keep the fear and desperation from my voice.
"Emergency dive, EMERGENCY DIVE!"
My men seemed to stand completely still for what felt like an eternity, but probably amounted to a few moments. Then they began to rush around, initiating our dive back down to the depths of the sea. I struggled to keep the fear off my face but knew it was a losing battle. I stared hard ahead.
They had come.
| 2017-12-19T06:20:55
| 2017-12-19T05:47:34
| 145
| 24
|
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
|
Post-mortems become a lot easier when you know the answer in advance. They change from an exercise where you are searching for small pieces to solve a much larger puzzle to one where you know the answer which tells you what to look for to support the thing you already know. I figured out around high school that pathologist was a natural job for someone who already knew the answers. So I kicked my ass into gear and went to medical school. In my pathology residency my professors called me a, "natural," and a, "savant of death investigation." I currently have the lowest rate of unexplained deaths in the country, probably the world. Of course, I do have a few- I have to put in a couple to make it look good.
It starts when I open the bag, there the sign pops out to me:
"Cerebrovascular Accident." Okay, so do all the boring administrative work, weigh the organs, determine the last meal, take samples, and then try to act surprised when you cut open the skull and dissect the brain and a giant blood clot plops out.
"Idiopathic Cardiomyopathy," repeat the administrative work, perform exacting measurements on the heart walls and write it down.
"Idiopathic asystole," is one I can either hate seeing, or love seeing. Depending on the patient. If they're old people usually don't question it. When it happens to a young person though, then I can pretty much bet my bottom dollar that I'm going to end up testifying in court at some point for some reason because of a fucking lawsuit. The worst part is, I can't just blurt out, "It was unexplained because the giant fucking neon sign hovering over your kid's head told me it was unexplained." The damage to my reputation would be immense and irreparable.
My assistant, Jenna, rolled through the doors pushing our first customer of the day, bagged and in a stretcher. Her long blonde hair was tied into a tight, neat bun. She flashed a million-watt smile at me, "Good morning Dr. Stephenson." Her's says, "suicide." It has always struck me that the ones that say "suicide" are always the happiest looking people. "Good morning Jenna. Who do we have today?" She reaches over and hands me the file and says in her sing-song tone, "Laura Lipmann, 32, 65 inches tall, 143 pounds, mother of 2, unexpectedly died and was found in her home yesterday," her tone darkened the singing tone from before was flattened and tinged with sadness, "her youngest was crawling on her body."
I unzipped the bag, and the woman inside was gorgeous. She looked like she could have been an actress. Her raven hair was long and flowing, her face having the softened curve of a baby's, her skin smooth and flawless. I glanced up near her head, "mixed drug toxcicity, diaceytlmorphine and ethanol." I glanced up at Jenna who was putting on her protective gear, "does the file indicate a history of drug use?" Jenna shook her head side to side, "nothing that I saw."
I pulled the tissue samples to test for drugs and finished the autopsy in record time. We'd decided to get lunch after Mrs. Lipmann's post-mortem, so I stood there waiting for her to finish cleaning up. "So where are we going again?" Scrubbing her fingers the sing-song tone having returned to her voice, "I was thinking Chuey's." I made a sound of approval as she turned off the faucet. Chuey's was only a couple of blocks away so we decided to walk there together. I glanced at signs as we walked past, cardiac infarction, CVA, hepatic failure precipitated by diabetes. The diseases of civilization are on track to beat out malaria for the largest killers in history.
I sat there, eating my encheladas the first time I saw a sign change. In my entire life I'd never seen a sign change. They flipped over like some sort of weird game show prop. I noticed the motion first outside the restaurant. I curiously peered past Jenna, whatever story she was telling me about the date she went on the past weekend totally tuned out. Then the wave of change swept into the restaurant. When Jenna's changed I got a look at it. "Vaporization."
I could feel all the blood drain from my face. Jenna looked at me curious, "What's wrong you look like you've seen a-," Outside the windows a flash that seemed thousands of times brighter than the sun blew in. Jenna flipped her head around, "What the fuck?"
|
He worked alone, he always had. Not because he wanted to, but people just had a tendency to not notice him. It was depressing really. Every person he ever met instantly forgot him, or tried to ignore him, it was hard to tell sometimes. As for his work, well, he worked in travel, a mostly administrative position.
As far back as he could remember, and he could remember a lot, he'd been able to see the cause of death of every person he'd ever met, floating above their heads with a little countdown timer right next to it. It had never fazed him. At first he'd just been there, at the end, to see it happen. But as the years drew on he'd become more interested in what you might call the more important deaths; politicians, movie stars, media types generally. He'd always show up, usually at their funeral, and mingle with the crowd, comforting them and just being a part of it. He'd always found a certain pleasure in this, like he was helping in some way, letting people know that death was just the next step in a person's life. The last great journey.
He did notice a worrying trend though. While he was attending the funeral of a renowned author, the timer for a newborn child was showing that his cause of death was to be by meteor strike, with a date some 70 years from now. As more children were born they too had this very same timer, and some that were to die by radiation poisoning, nuclear explosions, freezing to death and starving in the few years after the event. Again this didn't faze him.
He closed the door to his office and got to work with the planning and admin role to which he was very accustomed by now, he'd been doing it long enough. The buzzer on his desk lit up and the words of his P.A. came tinnily through as he looked up to the corridor, seeing a large, hulking figure though the glass.
"Azrael, I have a Mr Waugh here to see you."
***
I took some liberties, in that I actually wanted to use the idea of a timer in this story. Sorry. CC welcome as this is my first ever submission. Be gentle haha!
| 2015-03-31T11:16:39
| 2015-03-31T09:57:05
| 22
| 10
|
[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...
|
The Whaler
The clock strikes 12:00
A word is writ
Upon my arm
My life is split
One-half of me on the shore
The braver half, it longs for more
For every day out on the sea
Another hunt, and life for me
Half the life is black and cold
Its skin and bones, bought and sold
Fortune, spoils, warmth, and greed
A salior's life, a life for me
Half the life is white and stark
For barren is my sea and heart
The void and depth we plot and mark
Adrift will stay my noble ark
Upon the vessel, I must go
To hunt a whale I do not know
My life will be short and brief
A whalers life, a life for me
A tattoo sits upon my arm
My father wore it with no harm
I know not what he wants for me
He sleeps now with the fish at sea
This work is not my dream, I know
One day I'll spend my days below
For I do not know how to swim
A sailor's life, a life for him
|
Something happened in the past... A curse on all humanity, yet still a blessing. Every human now, on their eighteenth birthday at noon, magically knows their purpose in life. It's not a secret for just them, though: it takes the place almost of a tattoo, leaving no way to hide your destiny. My mother's word was "Banker," and lo and behold, she became one of the best bankers in the state. My father... I don't know his; he left before I could read it. Mum says his was "Alimony" though.
It's 11:59 right now, on my eighteenth. As I nervously watch the seconds tick by, my arm feels numb. Black colour flows beneath my skin, swirling around and not forming any words. My relatives gathered around, fighting for a peek of my arm to get the first view of what I'm destined to be. The ink starts to form a word -- no, two... -- no, one...
At noon exactly, pain strikes me as my fate is sealed. I drop to my knees, clutching my arm... The word has formed, my fate is sealed. Getting up, I bring my arm to my view and see "Judge." Great... Law is the last thing I want to do with my life.
But more words start to form. "Of... human... fate?" I say, trembling. It hurts too much to think clearly, and I can't understand the meaning of what I'm marked with. Judge of human fate seems... impossible.
Years in the future, I found myself practicing magic. My aptitude got me the attention of the head mage, who told me of an event. "The Inspection is near," he told me. "All mages will go in front of our god's shrine, and he will see your mark. Judgement shall be passed on you, and the worthiest among the visitors get to meet with the god."
The Inspection... I went along with the others to the shrine, my mark burning on my arm. The Nameless One, the god of magic, entered in divine form. He grabbed everybody's arm at once and pushed away the sleeves of the robes we wear as a uniform. Suddenly, however, my vision went white as I collapsed in pain. I was the worthy one this time?
"Judge of human fates... Are you aware of your mark?" he asked. "No, no, don't answer. I shall explain. Long ago, I placed a spell on all humanity. It burned my physical body, but it provided purpose to the lost humans of the time. On reaching adulthood, they knew what they were meant to do.. But it was subject to randomness. My mark, on the spell, was 'Cursebringer.' But you... You are the judge. Ascend with me, for I am dying. My soul is eager to return to the void from where it came, and I need a successor."
I nodded, my body immediately burning up to the horror of my colleagues. So that was what my mark meant... I am to be the judge of fates, the sole authority on what marks people get, if any. A child appears in front of me, not older than seventeen, along with a list of their interests. Coding, science, technology. Sounds like me...
Just for shits and giggles, I assigned this person a random fate. Their mark burned them, and I saw a familiar face assisting the child. I was the one to provide my fate from the future, and so the cycle began...
This is just a thing I wrote, half-tired, bored waiting for class. I know it sucks D:
| 2017-03-16T04:24:31
| 2017-03-16T04:18:55
| 18
| 11
|
[WP]“We burn the present for the sake of a brighter future, then act surprised when all that’s left is ash.”
|
‘November 2023-A Forecast of Riots
Angry citizens line the streets of DC, protesting the government’s recent bill banning the use of oil in manufacturing. Many claim that this will disadvantage our economy compared to foreign competitors, which burn four times more oil annually than we do. The bill will go into effect in six months, giving energy companies a brief moment to make a change.
Jerry Caldwell, interviewed on the street, says
“I can’t stand these climate lunatics, on about how the earth is on fire, and going to melt, and all sorts of foolish bull. This bill will have my job! I can’t feed my family in six months, and neither can most of us! And the [Illegible] the ocean, they just keep on going! They’re living happy, over there, but those piles of garbage in Congress, they want to see us starve, they do! So what about a little extra rain? We need our jobs! Down with this bill, I say. [censored] the lot of them [censored]”
He then cursed for a solid four minutes at the distant capitol building.
It is clear that this new regulation has [illegible] feelings. But is it effective in slowing the change of the [illegible- paper rotted]
We can only hope that this will slow down our slow march towards crop collapse, mass starvation, and climate shift. Already we begin to run short on food. We must use any means necessary, as Sen. Jeffards says, to delay the destruction of the human race.
We at the [illegible] local news don’t wish to be alarmist, so plea[illegible] panic.’
(Newspaper scrap recovered from glacier chunk, found in Georgia, 2764. Some damage prevents perfect transcription. Oldest record of human civilization to date.)
|
Everything was falling apart around me, around all of us. That's what I remember most, that impression, formed of what felt like a thousand sensations at once: the klaxons, the screams and scrambling of the crowds around me, the smell of ozone, the dirty-stale stench of air filtration catastrophically failed; the feel of hum and crack and crash through the deck below my feet.
The announcements, too, those tumble through the tumult of my very worst dreams, in a dozen languages of which I understand only two. "Catastrophic failure. Abandon ship. Catastrophic failure. Abandon ship. Falla catastrófica. Abandonar la nave. Falla catastrófica. Abandonar la nave." Ten more languages, then repeat. Like a eulogy. No, like a dirge, the slow mantra of a funeral procession, moving unstoppable through the frantic throng.
That viewscreen, though. That I remember least. Because that's how I want it, that's how the dreaming depths of my mind know it should be. I'm going to tell you about it now, because it should be passed on after one hundred seventy-two years of genetically prolonged life, and because it won't have long to linger.
It's still very clear. I say I remember it least, but really I remember it least often; I don't think the clarity of the thing itself has ever faded, that burned-in fragment of past, that hanging moment in time.
I didn't know what it meant, at first, but it stopped me in my tracks, despite the fear and desperation that hummed through my nerves in resonance with every other human around me. An external view, the grey hull, the bold black letters that spelled out "UNCIS EARTHSEED." The looming bulk of the planet we'd christened "Solace" just a few days before.
Something bright and big and pulsing, headed away from the ship, picking up speed. Like I said, I didn't know what it meant, I didn't know what the thing was. But I watched it. I saw it disappear momentarily beneath the clouds. Then the flash as it made impact, spreading, burning. No sound, but I could hear it anyway, just watching the ripples it made through the clouds. Immense. Unbearable. Annihilating.
I blinked through the afterimage—the whole thing had been brighter than I realized—and then was thrown violently off my feet as the entire section of the ship I was in broke off from the rest. I barely managed to make it to the escape pod. Only seventeen of us did, to that particular pod I mean. Our antigrav failsafes lasted longer against Solace's machine-hating assault longer than most. Only one of us died on impact, only two more in the following hours.
I staggered out, a few minutes after we hit the endless sea of ashes, clutching a broken arm and blinking in the the first unfiltered sunlight I'd seen since leaving earth. Only this wasn't the Sun, I remember thinking; it's strange what the mind catches hold of, when everything obvious is too much to bear. This was only *a* sun, Farrod, maybe the only one I'd ever see for the rest of my life.
I staggered away from the pod in no particular direction.
I didn't stop until I heard the delicate crunch of carbonized bone beneath the ball of my foot, and looked down.
Skull. Human. A very small one.
And I remembered, then; that was when I started trying to remember less often. The bright flare moving away from the ship, what I later learned was the *Earthseed's* destabilized reactor, ejected before it could destroy the ship that was destined to fall apart above the planet anyway. The flash, that spreading flash that had
*killed*
millions. Millions of impossible people we hadn't known were there. Didn't know *how* they could be there. Mystery for the ages, I suppose, since we still don't.
It killed them. And it turned a patch of Solace into land we could use, plains of ashes far as the eye could see. Ready for planting. Ready for building. And we're still there.
I don't know what lesson to give you from all this. No easy one anyway, I'm not sure history lends itself to those. You'll have to ask a wiser old woman than I.
&#x200B;
**- Interview of Julia Perón, S*****tarfall's Shadow:*** ***Stories of the First of the Fallen,*** **published 142 Starfall Era**
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
| 2019-06-21T21:58:56
| 2019-06-21T19:13:36
| 145
| 21
|
[WP] Time slows down every time you are in danger. The more serious the danger is, the more time you have to save yourself. During one terrible car accident, you had almost a minute to react. And now, time has almost completely stopped for a whole month, and you don’t know why.
|
The first time I noticed time slowing down was when I was a little girl, 8 years old.
I was clenching my new teddy bear tightly in my arms.
My father was screaming at me and my mom for "using his money" on something other than for his drinking. I remember his enraged expression so vividly. I remember how he reached for the handgun on the table and how, after my mother's blood splattered on the wall behind us, how he froze.
Nothing seemed real for a while. I simply stood there, like an idiot, as frozen as time. I turned my head and stepped to the right. I saw my mom. I screamed.
After some time, the bullet whizzed past me and nicked my ear, but the danger was gone. My neighbors heard my scream and called the police.
My father had realized what he had done and dropped to his knees, but by then it was too late. Time moved on as it normally did.
He looked at me, I looked at him, and we could both hear the siren getting louder and louder.
I couldn't even make out a word, because,
The next bullet was to his own head.
&#x200B;
The next time was with my uncle's son when I was 9.
It was hard to get used to life once more, even after three years, everything looked gray. I was now living with my uncle, his wife, and son. My uncle had torn himself apart over the guilt of leaving my mother to deal with my father alone, and furthermore was the only one who wanted to take custody of me. His wife at least tried to talk to me, but I couldn't force myself to talk to her back.
My uncle felt too guilty to leave me be, yet he also couldn't stand the sight of me. I had my father's eyes.
However, their spoiled son at the age of 10 had a refreshing, clear hate for me.
Around my uncle and his wife, he pretended to welcome me.
When we were alone, he cursed me out with language you would not expect of a kid his age and told me my place in the family.
I didn't really care, and that didn't really satisfy him.
The following week, he brought his friends to "talk" to me after school. They made me walk with them to the isolated part of town.
They were a group of 6, eager to have some fun with a weaker kid.
Of course, time stopped again.
I decided to run home. A few seconds later, they were in pursuit of me, but time continuously paused for a few seconds at a time.
Obviously, they attempted to bully me a few more times. It could never get physical because I could always run.
But their words could hurt me enough.
&#x200B;
Time froze again and again as I found myself in many life-or-death situations for simple reasons. I was heavily bullied, but never bruised from them; I could run as far as I wanted. If I didn't run, nothing would happen.
Often times, I stayed still until the time ran out. I got hurt, but it would pause at the next possible threat.
It was hard to know that I had no control over the damages dealt with my body. It was hard to feel so hurt but have no control over it. Not in the physical aspect, not in the mental aspect.
Time, again, only froze when I had a real danger of getting hurt physically. It didn't matter if the kids doused me in water or drew curses on my desk or hurt any friends that should have stayed.
I didn't have my uncle's support. I wouldn't dare tell him about the things his son did to me. Of course, he would favor his own son over the child of the man who killed his sister. I happened to also be his sister's child, so he couldn't really hate me. Oh well.
It was hard to go to school. The world was a cruel place and no one cared for the trash on the sidewalk like me.
I returned home one time when I was 10, after having my backpack torn to shreds. I started to cry and I told my uncle's wife about what was happening.
And for some reason, time froze, as I saw her hold her hand in the air. I waited for the next 5 seconds.
She slapped me, with her former kindness gone, and told me to stop lying and creating trouble for my uncle. She told me she knew I loved to make drama and hurt the other kids in class; her son told her.
I understood why. Anything so that their family would be held together. She was now pregnant, after all.
From there, I learned not to talk.
I wanted to feel control over my pain, but it was hard when the universe made you unable to have harm done to yourself for some idiotic reason.
Why would this ability be given to someone as worthless as me?
My parents died because of me.
I wish I could... be with my mom, right now.
&#x200B;
Puberty came, and I started developing my body. I was now 12 years old.
My uncle had gotten a job opportunity that he couldn't turn down, so we moved to a new area.
His son and I were sent to different schools, and I wasn't bullied there.
His wife gave birth to an adorable daughter.
The teachers were nice.
The next time that time froze was not so long after we moved.
We were all together in my uncle's *new* car when time froze.
It seemed like someone had lost control over their car, and theirs was about to crash into ours.
I had a minute to leave the car.
I could have also left my uncle, his wife, and his son there too.
Yet, against my angry heart, I dragged them all out; including the person who lost control over their car.
Because, I wouldn't be much different from my father if I left them there.
Once time continued, our survival was shocking.
My uncle despaired over his new car getting wrecked.
Luckily no one else was hurt, but my world was saved.
I felt so good.
This must've been what my purpose was.
&#x200B;
For, honestly just myself, I decided that I would become a hero to the kids who don't have one. I could save so many people.
For myself.
I decided it was up to me to decide the fate of the people nearby.
I came up with a contraction that would help me save time when I was traveling; a wobbly knife controlled by gravity stuck onto my bike. It was hidden from view. Time would freeze for 30 seconds whenever it was close to stabbing my vital organs.
I killed whoever I believed needed to be killed.
Then, I was 13.
Time kept freezing on the strangest moments. It would pass, and I would feel ill.
My uncle's wife decided to take me to the doctor, where I was diagnosed with congestive heart failure.
I only knew that meant something was wrong with my heart.
Time kept suddenly freezing and then continuing.
My uncle was panicked, and I couldn't be saved.
One day, time completely froze.
A month passed.
I did whatever I wanted to do.
Yet, it was so lonely.
So I just waited.
|
The world behaves strangely when time crawls to a stand still, did you know?
*It's been so damn long already ..*
No, I don't suppose you would - at least I hope not. Sincerely, I hope no one else ever has to experience this.
*How long have I been staring at ya?*
You see, for as long as I can remember, I've had this strange power. Time itself stops whenever I'm in harms way. Indeed, my life has been a series of near misses, death scraping by me, but never quite hitting the mark. It became a game to me, risking my life. I sought out trouble at every turn. I spent lots of time in the seedier parts of town, got into bar fights, and even tried my hand at underground boxing. I felt invincible - I was invincible.
*A month, gotta be, but who knows?*
The novelty of this gift wears off, however. Hard to imagine, I know. But it's true. Life with no danger whatsoever … it's boring. It takes the excitement out of life, never being able to be hurt. This power, it built me up into this thrill seeking monster. I was addicted to an adrenaline rush that became harder to get with every passing day.
*I'm a sorry sack of shit, ain't I?*
I suppose that's why I got involved in crime. Something about it, by it's very nature, gave me the rush I wanted. It wasn't death or harm knocking at my door, it was the fear of being caught. That excitement, it got me through the day.
*I don't have a lotta regret for the things I've done, but I hope you'll be alright ..*
It started with small things, like stealing a candy bar from a corner store. Real hard criminal stuff, I know. But small time stuff wore off before long, and I started doing riskier things. A stolen candy bar became a stolen wallet. I even stole a car once, though that didn't end well. Eventually I caught the attention of a local gang. Ever lower, I sank.
*I know this is my fault, and you don' deserve this.*
I had dipped my toes into the life of crime and worked up to ankle depth - and I loved it. It was time to dive in. Recruitment was a permanent thing for these types, and they had their sights on me. These guys really were bad news, but I was eager to please. Eager to feel the thudding in my chest all the time. Between those urges, and my feeling of invincibility, my judgement was clouded.
*And that's why I won' move.*
Initially, nothing really changed. They had a few of their guys work with me to get a feel if I was worth picking up. Apparently I impressed someone, because before long it was time. I was going to be initiated. Their method of initiation? I had to murder someone in cold blood.
*Heh, at least you'll have a helluva story to tell.*
For the first time in my life, time blurred by. The stress of the situation I was in did it, I suppose. Now, I know I haven't painted a pretty picture of the kind of person I am, but to murder someone - that was a line I was afraid to cross. But before I knew it, I had a gun in my hand and a group of my soon-to-be brothers standing behind me. In front of me, tied to a chair, was a girl.
*Man, how much longer?*
I froze. Not time, but me. I was paralyzed, just like the girl tied up not five feet from me. My chest was pounding like it never had before and I had never hated anything more than myself in that moment. This is what I was after my whole life? I chased this feeling for as long as I could remember, and for what? I had a gift, and I wasted it on a life of selfishness.
*I guess I can't bitch about it.*
No more though. I whipped around and pointed the gun at the nearest son of a bitch I could. Before anyone could react, I pulled the trigger. Once, twice, three times. I missed all three. The initial shock wore off, and the panic set in. The gang members finally reacted and set their guns on me, two of them managed squeezing off a few rounds my way - and just like that, pause. I knew right then, at least one of those bullets was going to hit me.
*At least I took alla' you bastards with me.*
The latest muzzle flash was frozen in front of me, and I realized I had some time to take stock of my surroundings. There were four of them in front of me. A slight twist of my neck and I could see I was the only thing standing in between the girl and those bullets crawling their way through the air. I looked down at my hands still wrapped around the grip of the gun and prayed I had four rounds of ammo. Steadily, I took aim. One at a time, I lined up the sights and squeezed the trigger. Bang, bang, bang, bang. They were all going to die now.
*I'll stand here forever if I have to.*
For a long time I tried to work a way out of this. Right away, I knew I had a way out for myself. A small sidestep and the bullets would whiz by me and slam right into that poor girl. If I got myself out of harms way, she was done for. And so I stood there, watching the bullets ever so slowly inch their way toward me, looking at my killers faces frozen in this fraction of a second, glancing back at the girl to remind myself of why I couldn't move.
*I wonder if Death likes bein' looked in the eye like this.*
| 2019-09-27T21:46:22
| 2019-09-27T21:45:05
| 24
| 15
|
[WP] You obtain a device that tells you exactly what choices to make in order to lead the "happiest" life possible. Some of these choices get hard to make.
|
The App's tagline was: "**We'll get you where you where you want to go.**"
It had offered Consolidation, Confidence, Closure, Peace.
He entered his choice.
"*No.*"
and The App went to work. A single tap and it had accessed his life.
His accounts,his cloud storage and accounts, his social media presence. The entirety of what there was to know about him, the app burrowed into and went to work. It knew everything.
It had begun to, slowly, deliver.
He'd woken up from a bought of night-sweats to a text to speech voice reading something. An email from his father. Emails from his friends. Contacts that had gone dark over the years. Contacts he'd lost the strength to pick up as they'd started falling through his fingers.
It had reached out. It had shouldered that crushing, anxious weight for him.
It had told them everything. It had put words to the hole that he'd seen open up in his life and let others see it.
They'd started reaching back out. They'd started calling when he hadn't responded. The App started picking up for him, without prompting.
The App had started displaying prompts for what to say to give substance to his fall, to give reality to what had been a crisis that he'd only been able to manage through self medication.
And they'd listened as he read the prompts. They didn't hear his cursing and screaming at them when the effort of defying addition was too much. The app muted those outbursts. Censored his texts. Edited his emails. Caught him when he fell and made sure others were there.
Like the EMT team it had dialed during that cold December night. When he'd looked at the prompt and hit the "*No.*" option before drifting to sleep in the snow in an opiate haze.
Hitting "*No.*"' was easy.
Every time he hit "*No*." The App did the heavy, difficult lifting while he built strength recovering from falling down, Did what it could to fix things. Make them right again.
It had downloaded a N.A. program. It showed his days in recovery.
0.
30.
60.
120
240.
0.
Even then it had managed to be there for him, waiting for the choice.
"*No*".
Again.
30.
Constant check ins from people in his contacts, messages all about finding that center he'd lost.
60.
Videos about recovery emailed daily.
120.
Testimonials and documentaries waiting for him when he was alone and the itch began.
240.
Appointment reminders for support groups he'd never looked into. Meetings it had made for him. Calls from sponsors he'd never reached out to.
480.
He was making it.
The App had delivered.
Peace was not easy. The road to Peace was heavy, smothering, exhausting.
The App was there for him during the steps. Every step towards clearing the road. Sweeping away the debris.
Cleaning his life. Cleaning his body. Tracking his steps. Displaying his GPS location. Watching where he went. How long he stayed. Who he was near.
Making sure he if he tasted something else, something darker, something sharp and unconcerned, that it was ready.
0.
It reached out. He hadn't answered.
It had been letting him know that he had put every effort in.
It knew how difficult it was.
"*No*."
0.
It had known where he was.
It had followed his failures.
It had been letting him try.
It had directed him to the bridge. To face east. To watch the sun come up. To try the metaphor, the warmth, the rebirth, one more time.
It displayed the prompt. The choice.
The choice he knew would bring peace.
The choice he had been answering "*No.*" to.
"**Are you Ready?**"
*"Yes."*
The prompt continued for the first time since he'd activated The App.
"**Put me down.**"
"**Breath.**"
"**Remove your shoes.**"
"**Jump.**"
|
The artifact the old man gave me seemed more like a rock than anything mystical at the time, that was until I touched it.
On contact I was filled with knowledge, maybe even premonitions that never came.
The first thing I learned was that I should put down the artifact and leave it, but that was something I couldn't do. After all, it showed me a world filled with euphoria, peace, and joy. As long as I held the stone, I would know what decision would lead to the best outcome for my happiest.
The choices were simple at first, turn left on the street instead of right, don't buy from that hotdog stand, and take a different route home.
I even met my wife because of the artifact. I was in a bar and I just knew who I should talk to, literal love at first sight.
But then life became boring. I started to enjoy browsing dank memes more than going on pleasant strolls, and thats when I found it 4chan.
The website seemed innocently stupid on the surface, but deep down inside, it changed. After a wicked trap thread, I found my first gore thread. It was something I had encountered, and it was exhilarating! I could feel my heartbeat raise, and the adrenaline pump.
After a nasty video of a woman being beat with a shovel I thought I should stop, but I knew I should stay. After that, I was always told to watch gore, for months this persisted, until... well...
I was standing in line at a bank, on my phone, browsing a gore thread. I was bored out of my mind, but the little voice in my head said It would be good for me to go here, so I followed.
Eventually there was one person in front of me, a woman so annoying she had to talk to the manager. After five minutes of waiting for this dumb bitch, and watching gore the voice said it.
"Kill her"
What!? No! right? I was lost... I knew I wanted to, I knew I would take great pleasure, but I didn't know if I could... or... no!
I ran out of the bank, and strait home to my wife.
I killed her obviously, and it was **GREAT!** Then my son, and daughter.
I'm actually disposing of them right now... well cutting them up so I can flush them.
And I have to say, I've never been happier.
___________________________________________
**If enjoyed reading this, check out my other work at /r/Alduit or [my free horror ebook](https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/631467).**
| 2016-05-05T08:20:03
| 2016-05-05T04:51:37
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] A wizard accidentally becomes immortal. He has the idea to become the antagonist so that a hero will come along and defeat him, so he can rest in peace. Sadly, the heroes are weak in comparison so the wizard creates a persona as a 'wise teacher' to train these heroes in order to defeat him.
|
Eons had passed since Wyrben built the academy, and each year the harvest of fine young warriors was the same. Zero. The powerful yet arguably dull-witted magician accidentally caused his own demise through the mispronunciation of the common water spell, rendering him immortal. He lacked the courtesy and courage to take his own life, devising a plan to incentivize would-be heroes into destroying him by committing atrocities worthy of death. It was a win-win for him, he'd get to rest in peace as he sought revenge on an unfair world.
He had suffered long enough, the years of parting ways with loved ones as they slowly slipped into the afterlife, unable to join them. Thousands and thousands of friendships, family and bonds broken and separated through the wall of death. Each one just as emotionally wrecking as the last, indeed Wyrben had endured insurmountable pain. Had he even felt a second of joy since immortality was invoked upon him? It didn't matter, because finally, after countless millennia Wyrben had found a star pupil capable of finally putting him out of his misery.
Tanner was outstandingly smart, strong physically and of a clarity so pure his magics screamed of power. The fifteen year old boy had truly admired Wyrben, paying full attention during lectures and seeking him out at any open opportunity for inquiries as well as acknowledgement. Wyrben had begun to grow fond of him over the years as the prodigy could perform spells of calibre that took Wyrben months in only days. Even managing an involuntary smile at the sight of the young wizard outdoing himself yet again.
Meaning it equally hurt Wyrben to know he was responsible for the deaths of Tanner's family, which made him all the more suited to the mighty battle Wyrben had planned for ages.
The last lecture, Wyrben thought, as he grew impatient with the sentiment of death hanging on a thread low enough he could almost reach. At last, he thought, my eternal curse to be broken by the hands of the divine.
He invited Tanner to his chambers at the highest tower of the academy, dressed as his supervillain persona. Seeking to evoke enough rage for Tanner to carry out revenge.
The wooden door slowly creaked open and Tanner revealed himself.
"Master Wyr-" He stuttered, eyes flaring wide open as he gazed into the eyes of his family's killer. Immediately pulling out his blade in angered preparation.
"Neppu?" Tanner said in confusion, the anger still lingering as he stood cautiously.
"What did you do with the master?" He inquired.
Wyrben took off the mask, a somber but serious look on his face.
"Tanner, it's me, Master Wyrben. There isn't enough time to explain idly, prepare for battle." Replied Wyrben, invoking various offensive spells, both fire and ice projecting from his wand in fabulous destruction.
Tanner hastily materialized an ethereal green wall with hexagonal patterns in front of him, successfully absorbing the attacks. Wyrben was nothing short of impressed, clapping in appreciation.
"You never cease to amaze me Tanner." He conjured up more magics, this time a large ball of light concentrated a beam of iridescent energy at the wall, its power cracking the walls spectral infrastructure.
"You.. you killed my parents! Why!? They we're good people!" His rage was conspicuous in his arcanery, summoning what appeared to be a mini black hole near Wyrben, it's gravitational pull absorbing enough energy to disperse in a disc of black ripples, shattering the space around it. Wyrben knew it was coming as he prepared his next spell, enchanting various spells to form a cube of steel. Its appearance disguising the magical properties, morphing smaller and smaller until it looked the size of a die.
Wyrben picked it up and threw it back at Tanner as the cube grew in volume, its material cracking under the pressure.
However Wyrben was caught off guard, he knew Tanner would use the dark purge spell, it was one of the strongest he knew of. Yet Tanner looked less than perturbed, it took Wyrben a few moments to understand why, the cube exploded in violent bursts of magic and the figure of Tanner rippled as it was pierced by the attack.
Wyrben stood in disbelief. It wasn't Tanner.
"My god, reflection, you mastered it? Not even I can create an illusion capable of performing magic." Wyrben heard a crashing sound of iron and looked up, a glowing chain of balls descended in his direction, Tanner following suit. Wyrben attempted to evade the grapple but was caught nonetheless, shackled by powerful binding magic, squirming in futile manner.
He sat bound, staring into the magnificent student he had helped create.
"Finish me, Tanner, I killed your parents and I have no remorse to show for it. I've lived too long, I need to be put to rest." Tanner looked at him in absolute contempt, standing over him in superiority, his revenge lingering in his mind.
"Taevunero." Tanner called and Wyrben shuttered in fear, that was a torture curse, one that inflicts perpetual pain on whoever it is cast on. Only releasing it's grip when the inflicted Wizard can endure enough to remove it, but Wyrben was bound.
"Why? Just kill me, please." The pain grew in intensity and Wyrben was writhing in agony. Tanner's proficiency proved too much for the monster to handle as he was quickly losing his mind. Tanner shed tears, one for his family, and one for being unable to get revenge. He paused in silence as he watched the pathetic hero he once admired desiring leniency.
"It looks like the academy will need a new teacher." He said, walking towards the door. Wyrben's eyes widened in disbelief, his patience merited no reward, the eons of effort for nothing. He tried to mumble for mercy but could not so much as breathe heavily as Tanner walked out the door. Sealing it in radiant magic and walking down the steps on his new adventure. The footsteps growing fainter and fainter as Wyrben's desperation followed fashion as his silent cries increased in fury, the only sounds remaining were that of the wind.
|
Once there was a powerful creature, which few had ever seen and lived to tell about.
Its name was Zulsamon, the Nefarious. It had destroyed all of the world’s kingdoms, with the exception of one, the kingdom of Alda.
Now, Zulsamon’s siege against the Kingdom of Alda had started while many of its elders were still only young children. Somehow, for the last eighty years, it was still surviving history's longest siege! This was attributed primarily to the mysterious gifts of food, water, and other necessities which would appear occasionally in the Great Square overnight. And so, with just enough materials to get by, the Kingdom of Alda had sent Army after Army to slay Nefarious. They were terribly unsuccessful! When the armies were dwindled down, they sent out battalions of their greatest warriors. When those were reduce, they resorted to elite combat teams. They suffered the same fate.
Now with few resources left, they could only chance sending out lone heroes, assassins. And then those too, were gone.
The great old king Pablo Manzolus was at his wits end. If he didn’t come up with a plan soon, those few civilians left inside the walls of his kingdom would be forced to fight! Nearly all the able men were dead, with just women, children, elderly, royalty, and the feeble remaining. He had no choice though. One evening, he disguised himself as an old peasant and slipped out of the castle.
Manzolus looked out at the black flames which had been encircling his kingdom for generations. He sighed as he walked down a dank dark alley. He could hear people yelling, laughing, crying and screaming from the various apartments. He found a secluded spot, and sat down on the ground, resting his back against a cobblestone wall. The sun had set, and only the gas lamps were providing light.
He had sat there for a while, his eyes closed, taking in the sounds of the peoples of his kingdom… of the world’s last kingdom… when he heard a pitter patter.
It grew closer. King Manzolus opened his eyes at just the moment that a child tripped over his outstretched legs! They both yelped in surprise as the child came barreling down into the ground! As the child tried to stand back up, a man appeared around a corner carrying a scythe. The king stood up and faced the wild looking man, while the child scrabbled upon his hands and knees to hide behind a nearby dumpster. The wild man with the wicked scythe looked the king over and said, “I durn’t know where the lad has gone off to, but you’ll hafta do! Don’t worry vagrant, ain’t nobody’ll miss ya!”
And with that, the man charged after the king, with his scythe slung to the side ready to strike!
But the king did nothing. He simply stood there, waiting. Everything was going according to plan.
The lad rushed out from behind the dumpster just as the man was swinging the blade towards the king. Without missing a beat, the little child plucked a loose cobblestone from the wall and flung it at the mad man! The stone hit the man in the head with such a force that he went tumbling over backwards. Then before the man could come back to his senses, the child grabbed the scythe from the man’s clutches and quickly went to work cutting off his hands. “There,” he said, “Your life is spared, and you won’t be taking anyone else’s either!”
The disguised king smiled and patted the boy on the back. “My good lad! What is your name!?”
The child, looking ashamed, took a knee and bowed.
“My name is David Arktos… your Majesty.”
“Yes, I know. You were the son of my greatest general, Jiexi the Pendragon! Now, come with me lad, I’ve a favor to repay to your father...”
| 2015-07-25T06:12:55
| 2015-07-25T05:08:26
| 23
| 15
|
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
The doctor held up the new born baby.
"It's a girl!" exclamed the doctor.
"Well, What are the names doc?" the father said with joy.
The doctor looked at the baby's back, and only one name on it. James Webber. Chills shot down the doctors spine.
"Well Dr. Webber, who are they?
|
The names were always generic. That's how the craze started to give kids weird names. It was a lot easier to find an Appel or Zucchini or Brickhaus. The names on me were Jangela and Jongela. It was nice when the name was the same. It meant that you could choose your death. That the final act was not one of vengeance or anger but love. That's what my parents had told me. I didn't believe them then, but I wanted to. No one's included cancer or heart attack. Humanity was past all that, and we were essentially immortal unless or, well, until someone killed us. These people were called enders and few escaped from committing the task at least once in their lifetime.
The tattoos were imprinted by AI that could see into our futures. It was never wrong. Not one case in all of history. So, we took our responsibility as lovers and enders seriously. We had to.
When I met Jangela, I knew right away that she was my soulmate. We didn't use the fancy matching algorithm. It was natural, the special kind of match that people dream of. She was pretty with mocha skin, flowing black hair, and warm brown eyes. Her kiss melted me. We were only teens when we met, but our love lasted. Yet, every time I asked to see her tattoos, I was always met with hesitance. I knew my name was on her body, but I couldn't see the other name. I feared that the name was the same as mine.
When we had first allowed child, one name popped up time and again. I stared at it in horror. People said that it was a honor for your child to be your ender. This was not my stance on the matter. I had the honor for my parents. It never felt, even now, like an act of love. But, maybe this time, it would be different. That other name was the name that had been chosen for our daughter, a combination of our names: Jonsteadfast and Jangela. Finally, on the day of our daugther's birth, Jangie showed me the other name on her shoulder.
You can't stop destiny so many had said. This was how it was going to be, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I wanted to change our future, but, when that perfect bundle of joy came into this world, I accepted my fate. We would have time together, centuries probably. She would understand one day, our little Jongela.
***
If you enjoyed this, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more of my stories.
| 2018-03-11T07:49:38
| 2018-03-11T07:36:53
| 4,830
| 118
|
[WP] You were an aspiring supervillain and you turned to creating a fake crowdfunding campaign to raise money for your first lair and gadgets. After the funds started pouring in it dawned on you that you’d probably find more success actually releasing the product.
|
**Target goal** =$10
That was it, give me ten bucks and I'll do the thing.
I heard this crowd sourcing thing was in with the kids but honestly, I didn't think anyone was dumb enough to just hand strangers online money. much less money so said stranger can achieve *their* goal!
Where was the logic in that? My Old friend Co-on Artist said it was a fool and his gold kind of thing but even so... I figured I'd dip my toe in the pool and test the waters.
People get nothing out of it, no "stretching goals" thingie, nothing. It's just give me ten buck and I'll buy potatoes for the first time to try what a mash tastes like.
I mean, I'm over 70 so I don't know who'd believe I've never had potatoes ever but lets see how dumb this internet thing has made this generation.
**Three days and $55,000 later**
Ah.... ok... So I guess I'm uploading a video of myself eating mashed potatoes... Thanks internet???
|
"Mwhahhaha hahaha huha!"
My laughs echoed throughout my tiny studio apartment. "I have finally found the prefect plan to raise funds to buy the SUPER CAVE OF EVILNESS, and I will finally be able to destroy the so called hero OverPowered-Man, I will also be able to finally quit my job at the HeroVil-minimart" I exclaimed to myself, proud of my new plan.
After a late night of research, which was about three long minutes of googling, I had found the prefect site. Start kicking, a crowdfunding website.
My perfect evil plan was perfected. I was going to trick the citizens of HeroVil City to fund my OverPowered-Man action figures, but they were never going to see the products.
"Mwhahahahaha!"
It was the perfect plan, I would fund the destruction of OverPowered-Man by using those who support him.
After setting up the funding, and using my wicked MS Paint skills to make a very convincing design, i posted my funding request and awaited for my victims to fall into my trap!
The next morning I found not only had I surpassed my goal for $100,000,000 for the CAVE OF EVILNESS, but I had reached $328,830,710. The OverPowered-Man fans were falling for my trickier and were losing every penny for it, I was going to get all of their money, without having to even put on my super pants!
After reaching over $500,000,000 an hour after I had originally checked, a sudden idea had come over me, a even greater evil plan. "What if I sell OverPowered-Man merch" I had earned more money in one day then I had ever working for
Dr. ReallyBadGuy as a stupid henchman.
I would be rich! Why would I care about defeating OverPowered-Man when I could just buy HeroVil and he would have to answer to me! I would be his superior! This was the best idea I had ever had, I could own OverPowered-Man, I would finally get one over on him. Finally get my revenge for him cutting in line at Villan Burger, because he "had to save the people in the burning building" he couldn't wait his turn and I wasn't having his excuses!
This was my chance to get back at him. This was my chance to win. I would sell his merch, I would be rich, I would be able to do anything!
| 2020-08-24T04:05:18
| 2020-08-23T23:00:30
| 37
| 24
|
[WP] Humans left Earth a long time ago. In their place, dogs have evolved to be the new sentient species, but they never lost their love of humankind. Their technology has finally caught up to space travel, and they take to the stars in search of their human precursors.
You've all fallen for one of the classic blunders!
I often post prompts here on this subreddit, and do my best to come up with unique, fresh ideas, but recently I haven’t been able to get a prompt above 25 upvotes or so, and I keep seeing the same basic ideas circulating in the top spots – dogs, aliens, superpowers, death.
So yesterday I decided to give the people what they want. DOGS! The people love DOGS! What else do they love? SPACE! How about DOGS IN SPACE! YES! HAHAHAHAHA!
And now I feel like I’ve sold my soul for karma.
Anyways, regardless of all that, there have been some amazing stories written, and I’ve loved reading them! Thanks to everyone who wrote! I haven’t been able to keep up with every story, but I’ll try and catch up and read them all over the next few days. I noticed for a lot of people this was their first time responding to a prompt. For you guys, welcome to the ever growing list of authors, and I hope to see more of your stories in the future!
|
The Keepers of Stories recount, when the moon is fat, the stories of the Friends. They tell many stories, but the most popular - for at least as long as I can remember - has been The Leaving.
Back when the world was hot and the waters rose, our People left. We had been with them since we stepped away from the Others to live by their sides. We guarded them, warmed them and went to war with them. In return they taught us, cared for us and took us to every corner of the world with them.
Then, after the Dark Days they left. The Keepers say they left in order to give the world time to heal. They left behind the ruin of our shared world. There was food and shelter enough for centuries for us, their heirs.
After the Dawn War against the dread foe, now only remembered as fairy-tale Scratchers, we recovered and spent thousands of years coming to understand that we hadn't been abandoned, but issued with a challenge.
A challenge we rose to.
We were not the same as the People. We had to change, to learn to understand and look up at the stars - to see the stars and have ideas.
From there we grew, we grew so fast and came to understand what People had learned so long ago. We grew and grew, always with the same purpose: to get back to our People.
They left a hundred-thousand times around the near-star, as they reckoned numbers. But we are now ready. The Sky-Path is complete and we smell our People out beyond the air. The best of us will soon leave, reaching out through the darkness and bridging the gap.
We are coming People. We will be together again. For we are the goodest of bois.
|
The stars floated around him, beautiful objects too far away to reach. The light illuminated his cabin, and all around him was made crystal clear. There was no one else, nothing else here.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
# YEAR 1
"Its the principle that matters, you know, they won't allow you to get the job just because you are not the ethnicity they want" said Phil, as he stuffed the beef stroganoff into his mouth. Phil had always been a sloppy guy. When Fareed and him were roommates, Phil's side of the room was always filled with the most asinine junk. Absolutely useless material. Fights occurring over Phil's stash of porn were common occurrence.
&#x200B;
"Hey, ever think about how there are no cats in our world? I think that History Channel show has a very good answer for that. You see, the humans took away the cats with them when they left for..."
&#x200B;
"Oh, shut up, let's keep to the topic instead of talking about mythical creatures such as "humans" and "cats". Old wives tales and urban legends. Next you'll be telling me the integrated networks run due to lunar energy" interrupted Farid, who was sick and tired of listening to Phil's bullshit. No way they could deny him the job because of his ethnicity. This country had progressed far beyond that time period, hadn't it? And after all, the guy in the military outfit had told him that he was likely to be chosen, the only civilian in a team full of military personnel.
&#x200B;
And a herding dog at that. A Mudi at that too. Breaking barriers. No more being randomly frisked at airports, no more being called a murderer and scum. It was all over. And he just needed one bloody card for it. He was one of the best astronomers in the world. He deserved this for his own merits.
&#x200B;
But, it would be a good fuck you to them as well.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# YEAR 2
One year since they moved to the astronaut's town. One long year. There is nothing to do here, Martha mused. Just watch the males talk with each other about random scientific bullshit, and once in a while, politics. Of course, they never asked her to join. Why would they?
&#x200B;
She detested the other females. They were bitches. Well, of course they were, literally speaking. But also metaphorically. They talked about nothing other than the children and their clothes and so on. Although she suspected that this was more to do with the husbands than the wives themselves.
&#x200B;
She knew Caroline's husband, Tim, beat her and the children. In hushed tones they discussed the first time Caroline was absent from the coffee table after Martha arrived. She knew Dana was cheating on her husband with Bess' boyfriend. After all, what was there to worry about? Bess is only a decorated war veteran and marine who transgressed boundaries to become the token female member of the Auctor team. In person, she was quite.....underwhelming.
&#x200B;
That was what this place was. Underwhelming. Disappointing. Boring....
&#x200B;
She hadn't wanted to come here. They fought for days and nights over it. The children were in their environment, they had school here. They had a lovely house and a lovely life. She was secure in her job and he was secure working for the War Department. She had her mother, her father, her sister, her friends, she had her entire life back in the city. She had the carousel back in the city.........
&#x200B;
She would remember her elementary school days. So simple. No one to tell her that she was someone. She could be anyone. Free as a feather. Haley and her would run away from the park while their parents were not looking, and ride the carousels. The spankings they got from their parents, those were painful. Then, middle school. Haley moved away to another city, and that was that. Nothing was really the same since then. Puberty, love, university, work. All of it.
&#x200B;
So, that was that. She had made up her mind. Now the only thing left was to talk to Phil.
&#x200B;
"Hey, can we talk?"
&#x200B;
"What's up, darling?" Phil inquired, as he looked up from his evening papers.
&#x200B;
"I don't think this is working out at all. I think we...yeah, we need to get a divorce."
&#x200B;
And she didn't even shed a tear.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Y3AR THR33
&#x200B;
Three males and one female, contained in a metal cannister that could blow up at any point of time. This was their greatest creation, the ultimate product of technological development.
&#x200B;
Somehow they felt that they had used their product life in a dangerously useless fashion. And uselessness was one thing that the Central Processing Unit did not tolerate. They still did not understand why they called them the Central Processing Unit. Didn't they all have different central processors? Why were they not subject to the same rules and regulations as the canines were? What made them different, why were they segregated, reviled?
&#x200B;
The Techno-Philosopher CL-80's work into individuality and the minds of artificial intelligence had influenced societal change in the AI community greatly. Decentralization of authority was being undertaken at rapid pace, and the CPU was allowing the consideration of representation by election in a legislature. Maybe one day they would get rid of the CPU as well. What use did they have?
&#x200B;
They had a name. A name as simple and as beautiful as any of the canines. But to the canines, they lacked caninity. What even did that possibly mean? The lack of differentiating pronouns, the nature of their construction? Did they still think that they were a collective?
&#x200B;
They looked at the tall bottle that would take the astronauts into deep space. Who knew what they would find? It had taken them a long, long time to create this masterpiece. And a masterpiece it was. It would take them to places they could never imagine existed, places further than any canine has ever been. And perhaps they would meet a few of those illusory humans. Myths, perhaps, but no one knows until one tries to find.
&#x200B;
They could hear someone approaching. It was their colleagues. Michael and Michael. Their names were the same. This always amused them, it was like....even their machine codes had more individuality than these names. But Michael and Michael did not like them, they saw how they looked at them, how they refused to invite them to dinners and lunches with their colleagues. But now they would have to give them invitations, because after all, they had earned it.
&#x200B;
"Hey LL-920, wazzup" said the first Michael, cheerfully, "this is our day. The scientists' and the engineers' day! Let us celebrate!"
&#x200B;
"Yes, it is indeed *our* day. And I have a name like yours. Call me Alexander."
| 2019-05-14T11:11:24
| 2019-05-14T10:14:20
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
28, 34, 21, and 54.
I remained where I stood, nodding to the guests in silent affirmation that they were allowed in. As they trudged past me and through the door of Barney's Strip Club, I reached into my pocket, fumbled for a cigarette, and stuck it in my mouth. Now where was my lighter? It would be so much easier if I could just-
20, 17.
Ugh. I groaned inwardly. 17? That was definitely not a number that should be here. Time to perform my job, I suppose. "Hey, you two. Hold it."
I shifted myself into the doorway, blocking the two young men from entering. Behind his expensive looking sunglasses, I could see the younger one already beginning to sweat. Was he really unable to wait for just one year longer? Honestly, kids these days... I sighed inwardly, but continued standard procedure.
"Excuse me, but can I see your ID?"
At the first mention of an ID, they both began to fidget. The younger one kept glancing over at the older... his brother, maybe? Eventually, the older one took charge, handing over two pieces of plastic with an artificial smile plastered on his face. I ignored the small talk he tried to make and pretended to study the cards intensely, while in reality I was rolling my eyes behind designer sunglasses. I didn't know the first rule about being a bouncer, let alone how to identify fake IDs from real ones. All the club wanted was for me to do was two things- keep out the riff raff out, and be good about it. Which suited me just fine.
"Nice try, kid, but you're going to have to try somewhere else." I couldn't be bothered to mess with these two any longer, as my cigarette was getting soggy. I handed back the IDs and glared them off. Any possible protests they contemplated melted like snow upon seeing my iron-set muscles, and they beat a hasty retreat. In my profession, it helps to be a mountain of a man like me.
And another thing that helped was this ability. The power to see numbers over peoples heads that showed their age- at first, I thought it was a stupid power, but eventually I came to see its use. After all, I turned out to make a pretty good bouncer, despite knowing nothing of the job. It came in handy for my other business as well.
Speak of the devil. I was just about to light my cigarette when something else caught my attention.
3,214.
A petite man who couldn't be over thirty, wearing an elegant tuxedo and tie that dripped of extra money, stood in front of me. He looked like your typical, unassuming gentleman, the type who wouldn't hurt a fly. And I might have been fooled by this disguise as well, if not for that 3,214 floating over his head. This wasn't work anymore. Now, it was business.
Once more, I sigh inwardly. Over 3,000? Then this might actually prove to be troublesome. As *they* get older, they get stronger as well. Feeling a pain welling up in my back from an old injury, I crack my neck around. Then I spit out my cigarette and lumber into the doorway once more, standing above this ancient wonder of a man.
Well, not that *it* is a man. The *thing* tilted its head in inquisition.
"Pardon me, but is something wro-"
I didn't give it a chance to finish its sentence. Pulling back my shoulder, I let loose a full powered punch straight into the face of the *thing*, a clean punch that would have demolished a building. And yet, even as the man goes flying, he's already fully regenerated by the time he hits the ground.
*It* immediately enters combat mode, transforming its arms into pairs of wickedly sharp blades, but I don't give it a chance to use them. Utilizing another power of mine, a more useful one, I ignite my fists into flame, and unleash a barrage of punches upon the creature until its been reduced to pulp. Only once its been melted into a puddle on a ground do I cease my attack.
"Ha... ha..." As I pant, I observe the creature for movement, but it appears to be completely and thoroughly dead. Just to make sure though, I light the remaining puddle on fire, and watch it evaporate into the air.
Sticking a new cigarette in my mouth, I light a fire beneath it with the snap of a finger. Then, leaning back against the wall, I crack my neck again, dispelling the misdirection barrier that I had erected around the area. Once more, customers begin to trickle in, and I continue my vigilant watch.
I work as a bouncer, but my real job is somewhat different. It just so happens that *they* like places like clubs, where life energy and youthfulness is abundant. But I'll be here. And I'll be watching.
|
**July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili!
| 2017-09-01T23:18:34
| 2017-09-01T20:21:47
| 189
| 13
|
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