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stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] Jimmy is the most optimistic guy to have ever lived. After finding himself in hell following a paperwork error at the pearly gates he seems to find the bright side in every torture device they have to offer. And it's driving Satan insane.
This prompt might be too detailed so please feel free to change parts as much as you feel fits the story you want to write!
|
At first Satan thought Jimmy was a curse upon his already cursed land. Nothing he did to the *bastard* seemed to take effect.
He had torn him limb from limb. But ghosts always return to their original form, in a matter of time. Jimmy would be back there, smiling, the moment the simulation was done.
Showing him bitter regrets did nothing but show Jimmy what he "needed to work on." Every trick in the book was like a fucking therapy session for him.
Spiders in his mouth? *I always knew the fear was pointless, but now that I have seen the worst, it's not so scary anymore.*
Satan had Jimmy raped, but somehow the bastard knew it wasn't real. You can't rape a ghost. Rape is important on earth, but in hell it... just didn't knock the smile off Jimmy's face.
And that was when the thoughts began to form, the deep pondering of the truly evil.
Jimmy just wanted to be happy. Anything Jimmy did made him happy.
So Satan began small. He built up the horrors Jimmy experienced, until one day Jimmy was the one doing them to others. That was the true hell, Satan thought. Jimmy would start to crack, waver, when he had to destroy yet another human being.
But still Jimmy smiled.
Finally, broken down by the sight of those pearly whites, Satan demanded to know why Jimmy was so happy.
"Why? Why on this foul pile of muck are you so damn happy?"
"I'm a sado-masochist."
|
**DISCLAIMER** This is an unfinished work. I don't write very often, so when I do it takes me an eternity to get anything down, hence why it's now 3am and I have to get some sleep for work tomorrow. If people want me to keep going and see where it ends up, I'll keep working when I have some spare time on Friday evening. In any case, enjoy.
------
“NEXT!!” growled Asmodeus as he slid the freshly legitimized paperwork towards the comically teetering stack marked “Fresh Meat” and re-holstered the stamper on its pad. His mind began to wander, as it often did during the tedium of working the front desk in Abaddon's absence. *The bastard has been on sick leave for half an eternity by now! I swear to err—Lucifer, if I find him floating down the river Styx on a pool float again...*
“What's the bloody hold-up in there?” someone with a tattooed face interrupted from somewhere down the queue.
“Lousy, ungrateful so-and-so's,” Asmodeus muttered to himself.
“I heard that, you big red ape!” heckled a used car salesman with a bad comb-over.
Asmodeus ignored him and turned to size up the grinning pompadour at the head of the sordid human millipede that was to be his day's work. An unusual specimen indeed, all prim and neat in contrast with the usual ilk of Hell's clients. *Investment banker, perhaps? Or a pedophile? This one should be interesting!*
Asmodeus licked his lips, but not in a lecherous way—the climate of Hell had just made them rather dry. Besides, an eternity spent in Hell had diminished his will to show any sort of enthusiasm or company spirit he might have once had. He secretly wished these pesky humans would start turning their attention toward the heavens once again so he may finally have a quiet day at the office. He cleared his throat and mustered up his best Cheshire grin.
“Step forward, son. What's your name?”
“Jimmy sir! Pleased to meet you mister! Boy I sure am glad to be here--”
Asmodeus interrupted him with an air of bewildered irritation, “Jimmy, you need to slow down, the bureaucratic process can't catch up. Now I'm going to ask you a few questions and you--”
“Like I was saying, I was on a cloud having a pleasant conversation with this fellow named Peter and all of a sudden I felt myself falling, lord I thought I was done for I was so frightened! But then I remembered what my daddy always used to say every cloud has a silver lining, I mean I guess probably not the one I just fell from but I figured somewhere below had to be...”
Asmodeus made a mental note to buy more eggs. Not that he needed eggs or ever would need eggs, his mind simply recoiled in such shock at the drivel coming in through his ears that it switched to auto-pilot and began pumping thoughts into his conscience in a pathetic attempt to keep from going insane. *It's cold out, don't forget to bring a jacket. Whales and cows share a common genetic ancestor. Sheila wants to go out Friday night but that's your birthday! How could she forget? The spare key is in the mud under the porch, happy hunting.*
“...wonderful place you've got here—say, is that Art Deco? My grandmother--”
“ENOUGH!!!” roared Asmodeus, banging his knurled fists against the obsidian desk. The stack of paperwork to his left teetered even more dangerously and comically than before. Jimmy stood there unfazed, beaming from ear to ear like a carnival horror in a sweater-vest.
| 2015-10-01T00:34:28
| 2015-10-01T00:14:18
| 30
| 12
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore.
|
I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-05T23:19:05
| 2017-11-05T22:26:46
| 58
| 11
|
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
Drip. Drop. Drip.
Julia laid awake in the dark, listening to the drips from the downspout outside the corner of their room. She had gone to bed at eleven but the clock on her bedside read 2:05.
Tarquin rolled over in his sleep, placing his sweaty arm against her side. Why was he always so hot? She nudged him with her elbow to get him to leave her side of the bed.
Drip. Drip. Drop.
A single light glowed on the baby monitor, then a second. She held her breath. Sometimes the baby would sleep through the night now. Maybe this was one of those nights. If it cried, she'd have to get up. Tarquin never did. He'd wanted to have it, but he never did any of the work.
The lights went away. Just a murmur. It had been easier when the child was in their room. She hadn't had to get out of bed to soothe it. But that had disturbed Tarquin too much. He'd insisted the baby be moved to the nursery.
Drop. Drip.
She heard the message that the rain gave her. It was always the same one. Run. It seemed like it rained every night.
Julia knew that she should get to sleep. The baby would wake up eventually and she should grab what sleep she could before then. She turned over and let her arm hang down next to the mattress. She could feel the suitcase kept under the bed. It was empty but wouldn't take too long to fill.
Drip. Drop. Drip.
Had she slept? It didn't seem like it, but the clock read 3:30 and the baby was crying. Tarquin was snoring. She stumbled into the nursery but the baby was asleep again when she got there. Should she warm up a bottle anyways? She decided against it, but the baby woke up again just as she was getting back into bed.
Drip. Drip. Drop.
The baby took forever to feed. She had to hold it the whole time. She hated holding it. Why wouldn't it sleep?
Tarquin was on her side of the bed again. Snoring again. It was too hot to sleep with the covers, so she pushed them all over to Tarquin's side, and pushed him over with them. The clock read 5:15.
Drop. Drip.
"Jula, wake up," Tarquin said as he shook her shoulder. "It's six thirty and the baby is awake. I've got to go on my morning run."
"I should run," she said.
"You need to stay with the baby, hun. Maybe you could get one of those jogging strollers or whatever it is you moms use. But I gotta go. I'm going to the lake with Frank after the run so I won't be home until dinner."
The sun was just peaking through the windows when he left. The rain had stopped, but she had finally understood it's message.
|
Davie was fascinated with the power of the Morse Code. It can help you in such a situation, that you can pass a note using your fingers or any objects on your hand and tap it as it had a letter meaning, Davie thought 'Why not learn it? I have nothing else to do.' Davie began to research Morse Code, the dot and dash meaning equal to its letter on the sheet. After almost a week, a storm passed by to their town. Laying beside the table near the window, listening to the news about the planet's status. Climate change has been really bad, only a few individuals only pay attention to their planet's home.
Davie was one of the people who were between, they cares about it but sometimes not. The rain pours slowly and the grey clouds hug around Davie's small town. Davie keeps in mind the sounds of the bleeps in Morse Code. They didn't mind at the first drops of the rain until their mind claps around the same *tap* on the ground. 'Interesting' Davie thought. Davie stopped what they were doing and began to focus on the sounds of the rain. Tap. Tap... Tap. Resembles the letter R. Davie's eyes widen that it really rhythms to the Morse Code then another letter taps. Davie continues to focus on and try to solve. But failed, the rain poured heavy and wind shaking the near trees around their home. Davie, thought it was just a coincidence. After a while, Davie's mind went off about the rain earlier.
A few weeks have passed and a small storm was coming up, Davie still learning more about the letter's sounds in Morse Code meanwhile the individuals (people) are just minding their own business, as usual, trying to solve their daily life problems about bills and others. But Davie's mind got a flashback about the last few week's storm as the raindrops started to pour. Davie tried to wipe the thought and proceed with what they were doing. After a while Davie's mind keeps hearing the letter R, then an N. And a U. 'RNU?' Davie thought, thinking it might have a meaning like the U.S.A = United States of America. Davie tries to solve what might the RNU means. 'Republic National Up...no that's doesn't sound right. Maybe Republic National...' Which Davie stopped. And try to focus again on the rain.
'R...U...N' Davie thought chuckling turns into confusion and fright to Davie's guts. "Run," Davie said slowly. A thunder strikes where Davie's electricity had downed, Davie quickly get their phone and open the flashlight on it, trying to contact someone as the clouds turns to a darker pink/orange/red shade, and the rain keeps on pouring and pouring. After a while, the rain cleared around 8 minutes on the clock of Davie's phone. A big blast explosion existing in the skies. A light that made Davie duck and covers to safely. 'A nuclear attack?' Davie thought. 'That's not possible, maybe a terrorist attack?' Davie's mind keeps telling in such possibilities what the explosion might mean. Davie didn't know that the sun has been exploded and turns into a red big dwarf.
| 2021-09-28T10:11:36
| 2021-09-28T08:56:15
| 42
| 16
|
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy...
|
If you shot a man, what would you expect? A little bit of blood, the heart stopping and their brain shutting off from good, right?
Yeah, I thought that too. And I trained my whole life on that basis. The academy was mostly dodging and just a little shooting. That worked in the War for Vyx. The natives, sticky and rupgnant gelatinous blobs, splashing on the ground as the bullets hit and got through them to hit one more. That was fun.
This is hell. These guys are plain hairless primates with a body big enough to be hit from a Kilometer distance. They just have 4 limbs for fuck's sake and yet they do not fall. I shot the same man twice and he's still on the other side of the battlefield. Now he is angry, angrier than I ever seen anyone. Must be that adrenaline they are said to produce.
We were forced to retreat. They raided the front in a adrenaline fueled rage. We fought back, sure. Took out some of them. But even with our laser cutting the arms off of some of them, it wasn't enough for them to die. Maybe they can even fight headless.
This is not war. This is a massacre
Ps: had a lot of difficulty on this one. Never written anything like this before, so I was pretty lost and didn't liked the end product at all. Feedbacks are welcome. I'd love to know what I got wrong, what I got right (if I did at all) and how to improve
|
Every single species of the council had something that made it unique.
The Tara'Gi could fly.
Sinarex were silicon based live forms capable of withstanding the hardest blows, by shifting around their density
Melrath were incredibly fast.
These abilities made them unique in any conflict. Except against humans.
See most of these species were born and bred for war, millennia of conflict honed these abilities.
Humans were no different, but we never really excelled at anything, yes we had wars, yes we can fight, but we couldn't fly or withstand a tank shell or were really fast. We are pretty average.
But then the first conflict arrived, we had been arguing with the Tara'Gi for years before the bombs started raining. We prepared for every scenario, we knew a lot about our enemies, but not enough.
Weapons of the highest grade, ships, vehicles, trained troops. We were ready.
The first territorial battle started with an eerie silence, men and women were holding the line and then they came. Flying at ludicrous speeds and when the first shot was fired, we expected nothing.
But we were surprised, the first hit we got and the enemy dropped dead. Not a lucky shot either, the bullet hit the flyboy in the leg and after a second or two he fell over.
They kept coming and the first hits came in. But in all honesty we were just slightly whelmed. It was like playing a nerf war with your nephew only your nephew is a 9 feet tall birdman.
We sustained light injuries, sprained ankles, scratches, a pin prick here and there.
Humans had an incredible resistance to pain apparently, the war was short, but our empire reigned long.
| 2019-10-25T08:22:11
| 2019-10-25T08:21:31
| 218
| 107
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[WP] All fertile women on the planet suddently and inexplicably became pregnant, all at once. Removing the fetuses from their mothers causes the death of both, but analysis has shown that the creatures are not human. That was eight and a half months ago.
|
**"The Invaded"**
Elaine sat as still as she could. Her curly red hair perfectly framed her face. That was one of the nice things about being on primetime: you get a free makeover. In CNN’s Washington, D.C. greenroom, she watched with a steely gaze as producers and assistants finished their final touches. A young producer double-checked her microphone. As he breathed down her neck, she felt another lurch in her stomach. That thing was moving more every day, and the stench was getting worse. Only the young producer was close enough to experience it with her, and luckily he was polite enough to pretend not to.
“You’re on in just a sec, Congresswoman. Thumbs up for me if you can hear the feed.”
Elaine gave a thumbs up, and studied him. Was he new in this role? Was he part of this wave of ambitious young men who had stepped into the roles ceded by us, by “the invaded?”
A thought raced across her mind: *Is that really what I’m doing, just fighting against my inevitable replacement?*
Anderson Cooper’s voice came through her feed, “Congresswoman Elaine Barnes, thank you for joining me.”
“Happy to be here, Anderson.”
“As you know, with Senator Shelly McGuire announcing the start of her maternity leave on Friday, you are now the only pregnant member left in both chambers of Congress. What do you say to those calling for you to step down? Are you ready to make that move?”
“No.”
Anderson Cooper waited for more, until he realized that that’s her whole answer.
“What is your specific rebuttal to the claims – increasingly backed up by the NSA and DOD, that continuing to receive classified information briefs could be a national security risk, given the extraterrestrial nature of the mass pregnancy?”
He continued, “For our viewers who may not be following this too closely: new tests on aborted fetuses found the presence of chemical compounds which are impossible to generate on Earth, naturally or artificially, adding credence to the theory that Earth’s mass pregnancy event was, in fact, extraterrestrial in origin. Congresswoman, by remaining in office, are you enabling an alien race to potentially infiltrate our democracy?”
His question rang in her head the whole way home. She couldn’t remember her answer, not really. It was a blur. But the tweets, the texts, the emails, and the frantic phone calls painted a pretty bad picture. She said something sarcastic about mind control, and something conspiratorial about men wanting to replace women in power. They said she was selfish. Reckless. Unpatriotic. Suddenly, the steady stream of death threats over the last few months felt a little too real. The spotlight was just focused on her, now.
Elaine had never felt the pull of public pressure, not like some of her colleagues. She was proud of that. But in the back of that SUV, she looked out at the night sky and wondered if this time she was in the wrong. Did she have a responsibility to step away from public service?
“No,” she said aloud, surprising herself. Robby, her aide sitting up-front, glanced back at her. “Nothing,” she said.
The next day, Elaine was delivered the Intelligence Committee’s daily bulletin in her Capitol Hill office. She read reports of thousands of mass graves in China, and tens of thousands of imprisoned women in Brazil. In less than a month, the world would reckon with this invasion – if that’s what it is – all together, each nation in its own way.
She stood and went to her window. *I can’t stop China from genocide, nor can I stop Brazil, or Turkey, or Russia. But I can make sure that the United States Congress listens to us, whether they like it or not. This body will not shut out our voices. The invaded will be heard in America.*
“Robby,” Elaine called into the next room, “put out the press release.”
Robby walked in. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Elaine smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”
|
**Short story from the perspective of a young girl's diary during a time when a mysterious disease is spreading among women of all ages that causes them to become pregnant. My story is exactly 9,264 characters or 1,815 words but Reddit's character limit wouldn't allow me to post in full so I've posted half as a Prompt entry and the other half as a reply (comment). Thanks for reading and I hope you can enjoy what I've managed to come up with!**
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\- **July 25**
When I was 13, I had finally mustered up enough courage to pack all of my most important, most special belongings and run far, far, far away from the horrible, awful place I had the ultimate displeasure of once calling my home. I like to remember that because that was the best day ever and it was also - I think - the day the world ended - or something like that. Now that I think about it, this is day 185 - no, 186 - yeah, of my journey and this makes 58 entries so far in my Forever Lost Alone diary (I know because I number each one and the last entry is marked #57, almost 14 days ago - I should write more often but my life is so boring!). I should really get a new comp notebook soon, too. I promise I'll snatch one up when I stop for snacks at the nearest dollar store! Maybe pink, or purple; **I don't know!**
​
I survive day by day with the almost-red Jansport backpack that my ex-dad just so happened to find at work but I know he bought it at a garage sale or something because of how wrinkly it was when he gave it to me. But really though, I love this backpack. On that special day, I stuffed it with all the underwear and socks I could find hidden under piles of clothes in my room. God, I hated how all of my clothes were always secondhand thrift shop rags. What a weird word: secondhand. *Secondhand*. What if something belonged to someone else and someone else before them and even before them? That would make it like a Fourhand shirt or pair of shoes or guitar, wouldn't it? I hated that, and I hate that I still have to wear old and dirty secondhand clothes now but it is what it is. One day I'm going to march right into Rue21 (that place smelled nice) or that fancy-pants clothing store I literally stumbled upon down the street (hit my knee real hard, too) and buy a nice top and maybe a pair of heels. **Oh go**d... I don't even want to begin imagining what my days would be like if I walked around in heels! But I've never worn them and they look so *sexy* and I want to try.
​
Anyway, I'm writing this journal - diary entry today to talk about a girl I just met. She's older than me but we're practically the same age which is pretty neat. She's sleeping now and I'm using her cellphone for light to write because I don't want to leave her side, just in case. I desperately want to ask how to keep the screen on because it keeps turning off. I've never had one of these cool, futuristic phones and if I could, I bet it would be a secondhand phone anyway. So, get this: this girl...she's one of them! I can't believe it! I never thought I'd meet one after all this time! I've learned to stay away from people I don't know and I don't really like men so much. They remind me too much of my ex-dad and they give me the creeps - they're everywhere these days! If one even dares speak to me, I scream and runaway. Far away. Now that I'm thinking about it, I need a new pair of shoes - my old Converse have a (*super annoying*) hole in them.
​
So, as I was saying, this girl is one of them pregnant types. Well, from what I've heard and kind of seen, every girl is getting pregnant these days. Even girls younger than me! What the hell is going on? What if I'm pregnant like them girls and don't even know it! What if I have a baby inside me ready to hatch, too? My stomach isn't getting all weird and big but I don't know! Sometimes I feel pain down there. I hate it when that happens. Why did my dad hurt me? I wonder if that girls father hurt her, too. It kind of hurts my head a little to think about. Oh my goodness - a tear fell right on the word 'little' and I felt stupid. Crying's for babies which I do not have!
​
That girl looks so pretty when she sleeps. I wish I had hair like hers. But I don't think she's meant for this kind of life like I am - no, no. She's too...scared, but she's definitely smarter than I am.
​
\- **July 26**
I can't believe what she told me! ***Women killing women, killing men, killing children***! What?! **Where was** I? I've been everywhere: under *every* bridge, in *every* corner, behind *every* restaurant, found *every* gas station, **but I didn't know any of this**! I didn't know that when you runaway, you lose all sense of time - or something like that, *sheesh*. I'm honestly kind of mad I didn't know this. I've seen empty streets grow busy throughout the day and ambulances and fire trucks practically every hour but still, I just couldn't get a clue. God, I am stupid.
​
So, apparently, whatever is inside the pregnant woman's stomach make them act all weird and sketchy, and all that. She called it '*fera*l'. Like wild, I think. Sometimes she makes these weird sounds, like groaning-moaning sounds, and I get all embarrassed. Like, I honestly don't know what to! Someone help me - us! This is so weird! She's the weird one; I'm perfectly fine! I do feel bad for her though, going through all that pain. Her stomach's not even that big and she can hardly walk sometimes. I asked her why she ran away and she said it's because her family kicked her out when they found out she got pregnant with one of them, '*a-bomb-ee-nations*', or whatever she said. God, I wish I could've been with her parents. It sounded like she lived in a nice house, with a dad who still lived her mom and everything. Her clothes didn't look like the usual secondhand stuff, either. She told me that all over the world, every girl, woman and child, is getting filled with some strange thing from some other place, whether they've had sex or not. I've had sex but I know I'm not pregnant. I can't be. Can I? Anyway, so many people are dying! and I still can't believe I didn't notice! That's why there are men everywhere! And that's why they look at me like I'm the weird one! Like they know what happened to me and are mad at me for running away. Or like they know that I might be pregnant, too. Like the others. **But I'm not**! I just can't be!
​
\- **July 28**
**I can't find that girl!** She ran away from home and ran away from me! But I didn't do anything to her! I tried my best to help her! I can't help it if her breathing at night scared me or that her weird, veiny skin freaked me out! And it's really not my fault her crying at night pissed me off! I honestly think she left because I didn't know who the drug salesman's were around here. I don't know. I just woke up and she was gone. Always looking around all worried, checking her phone, and crying. **That's all she ever did!**
​
\- **July 31**
**People won't let me talk to them anymore!** They won't even let me get close! No more strange looks; they all just scream at me like a monster! What is going on? I'm not even pregnant! I may be a girl but I don't even look pregnant! I need some change. I'm hungry for a burger. Or maybe some fries. Yeah, yum. God, I would love some strawberry ice cream. It's been a long time since I had ice cream. Oh no! I'm crying again...*why did I write that down*?
| 2019-11-10T14:06:07
| 2019-11-10T12:09:59
| 37
| 15
|
[WP] "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
|
The manager saw the lady in the vest coming a mile away. Literally. It wasn't a small dragon. It lumbered up the path to the Hilltop Restaurant.
*\*sigh\* Not again*, thought the manager. Last time this happened... Have you ever tried pushing a fire-breathing dragon out of a restaurant? It's not easy.
He signaled to the waiter to keep inside and be ready on backup. At least this dragon seemed more... behaved? It was looking around and trying to be careful. But, rules were rules.
He walked outside, put up his hand, and said, "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
The dragon yipped and grabbed the woman, holding her tight. "Ssh, ssh. It's OK. He's not trying to hurt you," she cooed while stroking it softly. "Hug me as long as you need to." The dragon stopped shaking, but just stared wide-eyed at the manager.
She turned her head, looked at the manager, and pointed to the symbol on her vest. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. I'm his emotional support human."
|
"Well, why the hell not?!"
The host flicked her eyes up to meet the unaffected gaze of the giant blue beast, and then back down to the woman who wore the bracelet which assigned it as hers.
"Ma'am, this is a small restaurant, he won't fit inside," the host explained patiently, a bit astounded by the idea that this woman believed her enormous, full grown dragon would fit.
The lady huffed, then stammered, "Well...what about outside seating."
The host surveyed the sidewalk area shaded by an awning that flapped about in the slight breeze. The tables were full but she spotted a family of four with their Manticore curled up beside them, the owner of whom was signing the receipt.
"Uhhh...it'll be a 10 minute wait?" the host tried.
The woman seemed reluctantly appeased by this and leaned against one of the awning poles to wait.
The family left, Manticore in tow, and the host snatched the receipt and rushed inside to get a busser on the table as soon as possible. As she squeezed past the commotion at table 5, where a mother and her many children, each with their own personal Pixie, was trying to control the havoc that the Pixies were wreaking, the manager caught the host's attention.
In a conspiratorial voice, the manager said, "Is that a dragon I see out there?" The host nodded. The manager sighed and closed their eyes, pinching the bridge of their nose, as if a migraine had suddenly overtaken them. "Did you already promise her a table?" Another nod. "It's okay, it's not your fault. You're new, someone should have told you. We have a strict 'no dragons' policy after the fiasco about a decade ago when someone's fledgling yawned and set the awning on fire."
The host frowned and peeked over her shoulder at the lady still crossing her arms outside, dragon now sitting dutifully by her side.
"Alright, I'll handle this," the manager swore under their breath and added, "Follow me."
Outside, the manager approached the woman and calmly explained the policy. The woman, apparently outraged by this, began screaming and cussing them out, shortly after which she stomped away, dragon tailing behind.
The manager sighed again, and, as they watched her disappear around the corner, said, "She's so gonna give us a one star review."
| 2021-03-13T12:17:24
| 2021-03-13T11:51:52
| 62
| 19
|
[WP] Every sentient species in the universe receives a Jesus figure from God. It turns out humanity was the only species to torture and crucify him. You're an ambassador priest informing the Inter-Galactic Holy Church what your species did.
|
We crucified him.
You crucified him?
Crucifixion. We took two wooden posts, nailed them together to make a cross, and we stuck the cross in the ground so it stood up nice and tall. Then we tied his arms and legs to it and left him hanging there for a few days until he was nearly dead, and then we stabbed him in the guts with a spear to finish the job.
To your savior. You call him . . . Jesus?
Jesus.
You hanged him by a post and then stabbed him with a spear?
I wouldn't say we *hanged* him. Hanging is more of a European thing. That's when you put a rope around somebody's neck and toss em out of a tree. Much quicker that way. No, the Romans liked to make a show of it, that's why the crucifixion. Takes longer, there's more suffering. They hadn't gone through the Enlightenment yet.
The Enlightenment . . . Enlightenment . . . I don't have that in my records. This came after Jesus?
Oh, a long time after. It was a new age of science and reason.
So, while you initially rejected the Savior we sent you, eventually your race arrived at this Enlightenment through him?
Well, I wouldn't say that exactly. The Church didn't much care for the Enlightenment at first - the Church of Jesus, I mean - and we put a whole lot of folks on the rack for saying things like the earth isn't the center of the universe.
Do I even want to know what the rack is?
Sure. That's where you tie a person to a plank, kind of like a bed, and you stretch him out until his bones come loose. Sometimes you're looking for a confession and you ask em questions in the meantime.
I see. And it was the Savior's church that did this?
Yessir. All water under the bridge, of course. We don't even hate queers anymore.
Hmmm . . . Getting back to this crucifixion . . . I'm having trouble even forming the question. Let's say, Why did you torture and kill our messenger of peace of love?
Well hindsight's twenty-twenty I suppose. Who was to say he wasn't a kook? A lot of people for a long time liked to blame it on the Jews of course, and some on the Romans. Personally, I think if you didn't want us crucify him you should of set him down somewhere in Nebraska.
They don't crucify in Nebraska?
No sir. I mean, there's always the electric chair, but there's a process for that.
So you tortured and killed our messenger of peace and love because hindsight is twenty-twenty and we didn't set him down in Nebraska. Is that your official statement? That's what you want the record to show?
Sounds fair.
And the church that eventually developed around him - God knows how - this church tortured people for being reasonable because of something called the Enlightenment.
There's no denying history.
And what exactly is this church up to now?
Charitable works, proselytization, weddings and funerals. We pretty much just adapt our values to mirror secular advances and try to guilt folks into the pews.
So you're not crucifying, hanging, racking, or electric-chairing anybody.
Not anymore, no.
Would you say that, in spite of your past, you've become a church of peace and love, as intended by the Savior we sent you?
Well . . .
Oh God.
We do currently have our hands full with this child rape scandal. We're spending a lot of money in court.
Child rape?!
It's because we don't let our priests have sex. They go a little stir crazy and take it out on the kids.
Your priests are raping children.
Some of em, yeah.
How - are there any members left in this church?
Quite a few.
How many?
A coupla billion.
Billion? Did you just say *billion*?
Yeah. Billion.
Fuck it, welcome aboard.
|
The council chambers, despite their vastness and high, vaulted ceilings felt claustrophobic as all eyes fell on me. None of them were human, either. Species of every type had gathered here today, as was custom for welcoming another into their fold. But our membership into their ranks was...unique. They had analyzed our history, and found one glaring detail that made them not so sure of our worthiness.
I stood on an elevated platform, alone amongst a sea of suspicious and fearful gazes, the ambassador of my entire to the rest of the galaxy. In front of me were a half circle of representatives from the most respected races, who had each garnered special favor from the Almighty himself, for having followed his laws and obeyed his commands. At the center of this council sat a rather large, dragon-like creature who lazily thumbed through some documents, occasionally glancing up at me with a strange look on its face. After a few more moments of this silence, with me anxiously awaiting *any* form of a response, the creature cleared its throat and began to speak.
"So let me get this straight, human. The Creator himself sends his sacred envoy to educate your species about his will and intent, and you execute him? What a barbarous people. I'm having doubts about whether or not your species can...*assimilate* properly within galactic society."
"Respectfully, chairlizard, you have no idea what my people have gone through."
"Ex*cuse* me?"
"While you were so content to merely be cattle and lazily live your lives as slaves to your master, we have had to claw and fight and kill for everything we've accomplished!"
The crowd behind me gasped at the outburst, and began furiously talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. The dragon, I couldn't pronounce the name, called for order and silence was restored, though the tension in the air could've been cut with a knife.
"Your people have chosen the path of barbarism and heresy! This is where your hardships spawned from! If you had but opened your hearts to our Lord's divine truth, your suffering would never have occurred." Murmurs of agreement could be heard throughout the chamber.
"How much of what you've done has been wrought by your own hands? How many of your own thoughts have been your own? Yes, we murdered an innocent man in cold blood, but we have tried our best to atone for past sins."
"Child, you have but to turn to the Creator and beg for forgiveness to be absolved of this most heinous act. And as for trying to *atone* for past sins, well, we have records showing that even though a mighty belief rose up in his name, wars were still waged throughout your world in the name of this belief. Your people are addicted to warfare, human."
"We don't need *his* forgiveness. We need our own. We have nothing to prove to you. This is a formality, really. We are just introducing ourselves to you, not joining you. We have no wish to be a member of the blind herd. We will retain our autonomy, respectfully, and we still wish to have open trade and negotiations with your collective."
"Human, first your species kills His most holy envoy, and *then* you decline an invitation to join our ranks? Have you no decency?"
"I apologize for any inconveniences this may have caused, but trust me. Humans and Gods don't mix well." With that final remark I turned and proceeded down the stairs and out of the council chambers. The high council was left speechless, but the crowd was raucous with hissing and jeering.
Why would we have wanted to join them, anyway? Humans craved knowledge, and were punished for it. We had to suffer for every ounce of it we gained, but gain it we did. Humanity no longer *needed* gods to explain existence for themselves. *We* had become the rulers of all we beheld, for it was through our blood and sweat and determination that we conquered it. Not by begging some deity, real or not, to do it for us.
| 2016-08-18T06:00:42
| 2016-08-18T04:37:42
| 145
| 21
|
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
The goblins had always lived in the woods. Everyone in Halleshaw knew that. And everyone knew that the goblins steal. Not for any particular reason, it seemed- most of the time the stolen property was found abandoned in the woods unless it was edible. Occasionally they "raided" the village and "stole" people- the villagers humoured these raids. Normally it meant a goblin had gotten stuck in a tree or a hole, or they wanted something they couldn't reach. Once they had the thing, or gotten their friend unstuck, they lost interest in the stolen people and let them walk home.
The villagers accepted the goblins for what they were- an amusing nuisance at worst, like a drunk fox or tantrum prone toddler.
That was until the raiders came.
A large clan of barbarians from the south came, and destroyed everything in their path. Nearby villages were burned to the ground, fields trampled and population decimated. The villagers if Halleshaw armed themselves, farmers and their sons quaking with their home made weapons, the blacksmith sharpening anything he could find.
The barbarians never came.
After weeks of waiting for the boot to fall, a less cautious young lad snuck out to scout for the enemy. What he found, scattered through the woods were discarded swords, lost helmets... but not a single man nor corpse. He was just turning to return to the village when something grabbed his leg. He shrieked and spun...only to see a slightly irate goblin. He relaxed slightly. The goblin pulled at his trousers in the same way they always did. Caution told him not to go. Curiosity drove him forward, as he allowed himself to be stolen.
Unusually, the goblin led him deep into the woods, to a cavern. Straining to see through the darkness, he followed. His "captor" led him to a smaller nook, filled with sleeping goblins. As he got closer he saw they were not sleeping, but wounded. Badly. His captor shoved an armful of rags at him, and pushed him to the left side. The boy was about to question what the goblin wanted, when he saw the helmets.
Hundreds of helmets, piled in the corner, all with the markings of the southern clans. It was then he understood. The barbarians were never coming... the goblins has found them first.
The boy took his rags and bandaged and tended what he could. He was exhausted and covered in acrid green goblin blood by the time he reached the other end of the room. His captor finished around the same time. With a curt nod, he grabbed the boy again, and half led, half dragged him out of the cavern. It had been mid afternoon when they had reached the cavern, now the sun was dawning over the horizon at the break of a new day. The goblin pointed sharply in a direction, then abandoned him, in the way they normally did when they got what they wanted.
The boy went to say something but the goblin was gone. He left, following the goblins indication, and by the time the sun was creating the tree line he was home.
The goblins had always lived in the woods. And Halleshaw made a vow that the goblins would always be safe in their woods.
|
# Soulmage
“It’s debatable whether goblins are even sapient,” Witch Aimes began, and I already knew today’s ‘history’ class would be nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda. “What is known for certain is that they are a subspecies of humanity, twisted over millennia by their over-reliance on the witchcraft of mischief—*yes*, Cienne?” Witch Aimes radiated irritation as I raised my hand—and when a witch radiated irritation, everyone in the room could feel it. A careful, grating hum filled the class, aimed at me like a warning. *I am a powerful person. Do not cross me if you value your continued existence.*
“Goblins are sapient,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “And what evidence do you have for that?”
“What evi—I *lived* shoulder-to-shoulder with goblins for sixteen years in the Redlands! What evidence do you have that goblins are a ‘twisted subspecies’ of humanity!”
“I’m so glad you asked, *Student* Cienne.” Yikes. Normally I had to piss her off a lot more for her to get all formal. Or, wait, was this about the ‘Vile Magics’ discussion this morning? That might explain her mood. The witch reached into a space only she could see, arrogance swirling around her like a cloak, and pulled out a hunched, green corpse.
Bile rose in my throat.
“We know because of autopsies,” Witch Aimes said, her glare unflinching as she stood over the corpse of a person, and for a stuttering heartbeat she was not Witch Aimes but a far older witch, the echo of the despair that had ruined my home village—
\###
*Ice blotted out the summer sun, the magics of misery freezing the very moisture out of the air. My mother stood between the fragile wooden door and my quavering, curled-up form. Another building collapsed under the weight of the ice-witch’s onslaught, and I could hear his glee as our village’s despair fed his growing power.*
*“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered. “Mommy, I want to go home.”*
*My mother looked around the tiny wooden hut that I’d grown up in, the battered, creaking rooftop, the bitter, chilling cold, and didn’t have to say aloud that this was not our home anymore.*
*“It’s going to be okay, Cienne,” Mom whispered. “The witches—they can only see despair. If you—if you just stay calm and don’t panic, they won’t know where to find you.”*
*I tried, I really, really tried, I squeezed my eyelids as tightly shut as I could and pretended I was under the summer sun, but I heard someone shatter like spun sugar and I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it it was all my fault and we were all going to die and the door smashed inwards like so much cheap glass—*
*“It’s okay,” my mother whispered as she stood. “It’s okay, Cienne. I forgive you.”*
*And when I opened my eyes she was gone, and the witch of frost stood in her place.*
*It was my fault. It was my fault. I hated myself so much, I felt so small, I wanted to shrink into nothing and hide where nobody would ever find me, and I waited for the snap of cold to end my life—*
*But it never came.*
*The witch of frost, by some miracle, didn’t see me in my hiding spot.*
*Later, I would understand why. Later, when the goblin tribe searched the village for survivors and kept me fed and warm until the Academy swooped me up, I would sort the events into a linear story. This is where my mother died. This is where the trauma unlocked something within me. This is where I wanted so badly to fall asleep and never wake up.*
*The goblins didn’t fight the witch. They would have been slaughtered like cattle. That wasn’t my darkest hour, in any case.*
*My darkest hour was what came next.*
\###
I stood, clenching my fist and feeling the delicately patterned ornament I held. A message from an old man who may have been a friend, who knew what it was like to grow up under the rifts.
“You have your corpses,” I hissed. “I have my life.”
The words of the old man dug into my palm.
*They cannot take this from you.*
I shoved my chair back and stormed out of class.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
| 2022-05-26T06:21:56
| 2022-05-26T05:33:42
| 2,852
| 155
|
[WP] During a global catastrophe, a company offers to cryogenically freeze people so that they can “skip” unpleasant circumstances. Clients can stipulate specific global conditions that must be met before they are unfrozen. You awake to find that all of your conditions are satisfied.
|
Imagine an ice cream headache that lasted millennia and ramp that up to eleven. That is what I awoke to. That and darkness.
"Good day, sir. I am Cirrus X, representative of the Cirrus Cryogenic Catastrophic Conglomerate. You have been frozen until the time your cryogenic will and testament could be fulfilled. I am pleased to announce that today is the day. Happy awakening, sir," A merry male voice cheered from the inky abyss.
"Could you turn on the lights and get me an aspirin?" I moaned.
"Sorry, sir. You seem to be suffering temporary blindness. I have been told this is a common symptom of cryo-sleep. It should wear off shortly. Also, there is no aspirin as there has not been a call for it for quite some time."
"Right, right!" My mental capacities came to to me with all the speed of sea slugs fighting the current. "So there is no more war?"
"That is right."
"No more famine?"
"Correct, sir."
"...and no more disease," I said finishing my mental list. It has seemed such a simple list to put together as I signed up in the wake of a catastrophe. "Is that why you sound so chipper?"
"No, sir. I am afraid that it part of my programming."
"So there are robots, now!" I could vaguely make out the odd collaboration of fuzzy cylinders and twinkling lights. "Great, great!" I said with more mental enthusiasm than I was physically capable of. I had always wanted to see sentient robotics. "How many years have passed?"
"One trillion, fourteen billion, eight hundred and eighty three thousand, two hundred and twelve years, one hundred and forty nine days, fourteen hours, three minutes, and fifty nine seconds, sir."
My head spun. I could not even fathom the amount of time that put me out of the loop. I supposed I should catch up on the current events. "What is trending now in the news?"
"You are, sir. You are now the oldest living being of any race. Congratulations!"
"Thank you, I guess." I was as articulate as ever.
"Would you be willing to answer a question that has been on everyone's mind?" the rather animated android asked.
"Sure," I had about a billion more questions, but not enough brain cells to organize them. A question would be a much needed kick start to get the synapses firing. "Ask away."
"What was the human race like?"
|
"Welcome back Client [NULL]. You are in the restoration paradigm of U-Top Corporal Services. Your reinstatement criteria of [NULL] have been met. Thank you for choosing U-Top." A pleasant voice didn't sound in my ears. I heard the words clearly, but it wasn't with my ears.
The pleasant voice stopped. I felt a... well, I'm not sure what I felt. I wasn't really aware of any physical sensations, and I was strangely disturbed by the fact that I wasn't disturbed by that. I knew that I had a body, or knew that I should, but nothing was reporting back.
I ventured a word. As I willed myself to speak, I could very clearly not feel the impulses moving through the nerves of my jaw and tongue, I could explicitly sense the absolute lack of air in my lungs and indeed lungs at all.
"Uh... hi? Can you tell me who I am?"
"Generating Identity Tutorial. Loaded. It is common for reinstated entities to experience a period of disorientation during the initial phases of restoration. You are a client of U-Top Corporal Services, designated [NULL]. You were disinstantiated on [NULL] by the order of the Planetary Future Existence Hegemony. Your Corporal Care Package Preferences were automatically assigned based on your existing parameters at time of disinstantiation. Reinstatement criteria were assigned by the Planetary Future Existence Hegemony in batches according to planned reinstatement date criteria. You will be pleased to know that your reinstatement date of [NULL] has now been reached, and Priority zero and Priority one reinstatement criteria in the local environment have been met. Please proceed to the reorientation paradigm."
The pleasant voice didn't sound out again. The words made it into my brain anyway. At least I assumed it was my brain. I'm not sure what exactly I was using to think at the moment, but as I was hearing without ears and speaking without lungs or a mouth, I was starting to notice a pattern.
"The reorientation paradigm?" Again I felt that bizarre not-feeling of speaking.
"Initiating Quickstart tutorial. Please wait while your custom tutorial is generated. Loaded. The U-Top Corporal Services corporation is proud to welcome you back to existence, Client [NULL]. You have been preserved in cryogenic stasis according to your wishes, being restored to function only when the specific criteria in your Corporal Care Package are met. Priority zero criterion: [NULL]. Priority one criterion: [NULL].
As these criteria have been locally and globally achieved within the parameters outlined in your U-Top Corporal Services contract, you have now been reinstated as an entity. Your physical parameters have been recreated according to your Corporal Care Package. There are [NULL] points remaining in your Corporal Care Balance. Proceed to Reorientation?"
The pleasant voice didn't seem to notice the errors.
"How do I move? I can't see!" I knew that I would absolutely be starting to feel panic right now, if I were capable of feeling anything at all. The sensation of no sensation was starting to be very upsetting. And the sensation of panic without anything else was even more so.
"Generating Motility Tutorial. Loaded. Your current physical parameters of [NULL] provide you with local motility of [NULL]. This may be unfamiliar if you have not previously deviated from human baseline parameters.
Generating Sensorium Tutorial. Loaded. Your current physical parameters of [NULL] provide you with sensory acuity of [NULL]. Your current physical parameters of [NULL] provide you with extrasensory acuity of [NULL]. System messages directed to console."
Was that how I was 'hearing' Pleasant Voice? In my console? I am fairly certain I didn't have a console before. But I wasn't sure.
"Local environment? Where am I?"
"Generating localization tutorial. Loaded. You are located in PFEH Outpost [NULL]. Exterior environmental, economic, social, and physical parameters meet recorded reinstatement criteria to within acceptable tolerances."
"Can you show me the outside?"
"Generating Sensorium Console Interface. Loaded. Error. Cannot comply. Exterior visual and sensorium feeds already patched to console."
Have you ever leaned back in a chair? Just idly relaxing, tipped back with your feet up? Enjoying that moment of perfect balance as you rock back and forth just across the point of equalized gravity, pushing a tiny bit with your muscles and feeling your entire self poised as an operand in a vast mathematical equation with the entire planet as your dancing partner? And then you do like we always do and take it a fraction of an angle too far. One extra muscle cell. One tiny arcsecond of tilt. And before you can react you're falling. All the floodgates of adrenaline fly open and your biology leaps into action to save you. All reactions crank up to a thousand, and you're suddenly ready to fight a dinosaur or wrestle a wolf to death. But your body is smarter than you are, your hand whips out on reflex, and you catch yourself. Your emergency reactions polished over a billion years worth of ancestors fight-or-flight saves swirl uselessly around inside you frustrated and exhausting.
OK, so take that feeling but remove the chair, the body, the reflex, the save, the gravity, and the dinosaur.
That's how I felt right now. I blacked out.
| 2020-04-14T05:42:14
| 2020-04-14T04:57:06
| 96
| 44
|
[WP] The four horsemen: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the harbingers of the apocalypse, serving forth chaos and destruction on all humanity. The Bible forgot to mention the fifth horseman: Kyle, whom the other four can't seem to ditch.
|
Put this together quickly, any feedback is welcome - trying to get back in to writing.
“Will you just fuck off.”
“That seems a bit harsh! Why don’t you ever tell the other three to fuck off?”
“Because the other three are actually contributing to the mayhem around us, that is why!”
“Chill out, old man. If you keep on getting angry and what not, you will tire yourself out.”
“What on Earth do you mean?”
“Well, don’t you lot get tired being all angry and everything? I tell ya, yesterday, me and Daphne wandered over to these cute little village…well they got quite defensive, what with all the death and destruction and what not. I only wanted a drink! To cut a long story short, I ended up getting in a little fight, got all angry and what not. It tired me the hell out! Luckily, Daphne and I went back home pretty quickly…had a nice nap.”
“Kyle?”
“Yes, Mr. Famine?”
“Who the fuck is Daphne?”
“My horse!”
“You called your horse Daphne?”
“Well, at least she has a name! You guys haven’t even named yours.”
“Our horses don’t need a name. They are part of us, an extension of what we are.”
“Is that why whenever I go into the stables War’s horse always tries to bite me?”
“No. He tries to bite you because you are an irritant.”
Famine walked off, his sword needed sharpening. It had dulled throughout the day.
Kyle followed.
“Mr. Famine.”
“What?!”
“Did you ever see War Horse?”
“No. No I never saw War Horse.”
“You should have. It was great.”
“Kyle, why don’t you go and play with a bus?”
“A bus? They don’t really exist anymore Mr. Famine.”
Famine knelt down so that he was at eye contact with the short, unwanted Horseman.
“That was a gentle way of telling you to fuck off. I didn’t want to say that for fear of hurting your feelings.”
Kyle smiled. Of course, he smiled.
“Don’t worry Mr. Famine, you aren’t hurting my feelings. I understand what banter is.”
“This isn’t banter.”
“That is what Pestilence says too!”
There was a moment of silence. Famine shut his hateful eyes and tried to hold his breath, counting down from ten to one. This was going to be a stressful day.
One.
He could hear Kyle humming to himself.
Two.
Now Kyle had started tapping his foot.
Three.
Kyle must have seen a butterfly, he sounded like he was running around in circles.
Four.
He kept on sniffing. How did he have a blocked nose?!
Five.
He won’t stop sniffing.
Six.
Now he is sniffing AND tapping his foot.
Sev “What you doing Mr. Famine?”
“FINE!”
“Why are you shouting? Also, you need a mint.”
“I’m going out for a bit. Honestly, the fucking apocalypse is finally here and we get lumbered with you?”
“Classic banter Mr. F.” Kyle even replied with a wink and finger guns.
“Fuck this,” Famine placed his sword in his scabbard. “I’m going out.” He walked off towards to stables.
“Oh good! Daphne could do with a walk!”
|
"Death awaits you. She rests in the bottom of Eden, from which life is nurtured of her bosom. She is a cruel mother, most devoted to the welfare of her three firstborns: war, famine and pestilence. To secure their prosperity, she makes barren her womb, upon which the creatures of Earth whither in neglect. She penetrates the citadel of man's soul, turning him against his brother. And in commiseration with decay, she caresses packets of virulence into the wind with a maternal smile."
"No, you don't understand. I'm not here to protest my mortality. Death had *four* firstborns. I'm her fourth. My name is Kyle. How do you think I managed to locate this metaphysical dimension? With a GPS? Will you allow me to see my mother?"
The gatekeeper scrutinized the human before him. He was of robust constitution, with ruddy and beseeching eyes. This was a highly unusual sight. Most of the souls who came before him were disembodied.
"Very well. I will consult with Death and report your presence. Before I depart, I advise you to recollect the most salient theme of human mythology.
The gatekeeper vanished. Kyle twiddled his thumbs and thought of Sisyphus as instructed.
"Kyle!"
It was pestilence; the most gregarious of his siblings by necessity. Pestilence slapped him on the back and grinned congenially.
"Kyle, I've got news for you! Everyone on Earth despises you. They dream of your death at night and despair of your continued existence."
"Dammit, pestilence! If you infect my mind, I won't be able to propagate you to anyone else! Look where I am! On Earth, you were able to leap from body to body through ideas and bacteria. Your machinations don't work in this metaphysical dimension!"
Pestilence, the dimmest of his siblings too, grinned with ironical self-mockery.
"Would you care to meet war? I've been at odds with him lately, mostly because I have been trying to spread a meme that he had originally intended the flag of war to be white, which is ironic because white flags have become the universal flag of peace."
"No, I have no desire to meet war. He will only provoke me."
The gatekeeper materialized before Kyle and Pestilence, interrupting their conversation.
"Well?" Kyle asked with expectant triumph.
The gatekeeper hesitated. "Your mother wishes to see you. Please follow me."
Kyle left with the gatekeeper, aware of Pestilence's grinning eyes. They arrived at the valley of darkness and boarded a vessel into its heart.
"Do you see Joseph Conrad over there?" The gatekeeper pointed to the entrance of the river, where Joseph Conrad was dancing maniacally to accordion music. "He made a deal with your mother. In exchange for a literary conception of the descent into madness, Conrad agreed to become mad for eternity." They passed Conrad as he tap-danced and babbled nasally with fingers pinching his nose. They eventually reached the shadow of the valley of darkness. They left their vessel and ascended to Death's throne.
"My child!" Death crooned as she saw Kyle approach. "I can convert you into a thermonuclear device, if you desire."
"No, Mom!" Kyle whined petulantly. "I've come here because I'm not included in the Old Testament. If it is an inerrant report of this metaphysical dimension, then why am I not included in your Genealogy?"
Death put her finger to her chin and thought for a moment. "Well, Kyle, to be truthful, I receive a jolt of pleasure whenever someone dies. I *mean*, I copulate with the living to make them die. You are not the best expedient for this. My first three children provide me an interminable stream of pleasure. You are simply not equipped to maximize my pleasure. As I have said, I can convert you into a vial of small-pox, and I'm sure you can work with your brother to spread it."
Kyle began to utter a protest, but his sentience terminated at the sound of his mother's snap.
"Gatekeeper," Death mused leisurely, "I believe Kyle would serve me best as an oxygen molecule that turns blood into powder. Of course, such a molecule must be capable of replication, so perhaps we should endow it with a rudimentary quantity of hereditary information. But then it would become an organism. Oh, I know, make Kyle a virus that turns blood into powder. That way we can include the instruction manual for further propagation in his little body. Get Pestilence to assemble the instruction manual. Tell him to use RNA instead of DNA."
Kyle disappeared into a virus. The gatekeeper bowed his head before Death and left for the gates of the underworld. As he passed Conrad, who was doing a pantomime routine in adult diapers, he thought: "*How incestuous!*"
| 2017-09-22T03:42:51
| 2017-09-22T01:14:53
| 71
| 33
|
[WP] A person's eye colour correlates to what superpower they have, activated at age 18. You are the first person to be born with totally black eyes.
|
Black is the absence of color, a canvas waiting to be painted.
For the first time the boy- the young man- could remember in his entire life, he felt fear.
Anxiety wasn't new to him, nor was nervousness or the general feeling of being unsettled. But never had he been genuinely afraid until the moments before his 6,570th day. His 18th year.
Eyes black as night darting across the room, he reached out with a shaking hand towards the red flimsy cup in front of him. All families in the Republic threw a party for the 18th Yearday, but rarely any others. The 18th Yearday was special,
No one knew when it started, or who the first was, but for as long as the oldest man could remember, on your 18th Yearday, you gained abilities. Powers. In correlation to your eye color, it wasn't uncommon at all to see raucous family members placing impromptu bets on your powers as you took your seat underneath the clock, or what Division would recruit you and how fast.
But the boy had black eyes, never seen before in the known world. And sitting underneath his own countdown clock, five minutes to the 18th year, the boy felt *fear*.
There was only a bet or two, and a few uncomfortable laughs as an uncle tried to break the tension in the yard. Everyone was just as scared as he was.
Four minutes. He nearly dropped the cup. Instead of risking spilling on himself, he set it down on the arm of the chair.
Three minutes. A fly buzzed, landing on the lip of the cup. He looked at it, envying it's ability to leave, it's lack of shackles tying it to the world.
Two minutes. A glass shatters. The flustered cousin flees into the house to fetch the broom.
One minute. Everyone is staring at him. All guises of aloof disinterest disappear, replaced with the rapt looks of attention that you can only get when your crowd is equal parts terrified and prurient.
The last seconds. He finally took his drink.
The buzzer beeped, the bells rang, and the boy swallowed his water.
He cleared his scratchy throat, flexing it as the damp muscles peeled apart from one another. He felt cold, though it was a warm summer's night. The water finally hit his stomach, and then he felt it.
No, not felt it, knew it.
Blue swirled through his irises, replacing the bleak absence of emotion that his eyes radiated. He breathed, air filling his lungs, and suddenly battling the blue was was grey. Any trace of black was gone now.
He stood, stumbling onto the ground, fists in the dirt, and then there was green.
Regaining his balance, he looked around at the amazed family gathered around him.
He knew what he was.
And he knew what the world was.
He was a brush, the world his canvas.
And for the first time, the boy felt *content*.
|
In this world, one look into your eyes and your path is set in stone. It is common practice that schools would check your eye color before sending you to class. Your eyes told them what sort of abilities you had, after all.
There really were no special abilities associated with brown eyes (unless you were just different from the mass, but they couldn't tell until later). It was common, average, and they were off to regular classes where you obtained a "normal" education and went off to fulfill jobs that were considered "normal".
Blue eyes typically meant physical, more athletic abilities. Blue eyed humans were almost always physical Adonis who competed in sports, more often than not. Idols who were glorified for their physical prowess and, for some reason scientists still haven't properly reasoned, beautiful appearance.
Hazel eyes usually meant extreme intelligence and charisma. These people were shepherded off to classes meant to foster their intelligence, mold them to become societal leaders, scientists, researches, innovators! And their successes, as expected, furthered growth.
Green eyed people had powers related to nature and I know it sounds cliche. But they were normally shipped off to academies in warmer regions of the world that specialized in plant life, stocked with all species known to man. There, these green eyed children would learn the importance of nature, preservation, and would use their abilities to save what humankind had ruined years ago. Their efforts have made a difference, our world is greener than it was years ago.
Silver, amber, and others? These were somewhat wild cards, most of the time parents had to send them off to academies geared to helping young children and teenagers figure out what they will have and learn how to control unique, almost inexplicable abilities when the time came. Magnetism, telepathy, rubber physiology, the list were endless. They had a way of testing the eyes to discover the abilities with 99% accuracy. Many of these people belonging to these eye colors will become the heroes of cities, using their abilities to combat someone who might have gone rogue, using their abilities for bad, evil. Others were just locked up, determined to have the most dangerous abilities with no chance of being able to control it.
The deterministic system might seem cruel, harsh almost, but it worked, at least until I came about.
Black. My eyes were completely black. Doctors thought it was their fault first, "maybe the light wasn't bright enough", "maybe my tool is dirty", "this kid should have brown eyes, *why am I only seeing black*?" No one ever had black eyes - even purple or red was seen more than black (wild cards, as I mentioned before). The same panic that spread throughout the world when the first golden eyed child appeared a hundred years ago returned now that the first black eyed child appeared.
Now, growing up was a bit rough as people were *scared* of the possibilities since even in the academy with their testing and discovery... the result came back inconclusive. I was ostracized by many even in the academy. What sort of abilities would I have? Would I join the prisons filled with uncontrollable abilities? Or, like my eye color suggests, join the group of evil with my unspeakable abilities and threaten the world order that currently exists? Why was I so different?
So because of that uncertainty that shrouded my eyes, I grew up *practically* friendless. I did befriend someone who didn't care, a girl by the name of Rosemary who had the sweetest silver eyes and determined to be a magnetism user when she turned 18. She, like me, believed eye color shouldn't matter, that our world placed a little too much emphasis on the eyes. We only met briefly during lunch, before I was pushed into a special class created for "unknowns" aka "just me" and she off to magnetism lessons with other users.
The big day finally came, and the academy was already prepared for my big 18 -- I was placed in a containment chamber with blast shield one-way windows. They were giving me a chance to show what I could do -- after all, black eyes and inconclusive testing could just be a false alarm. So, I sat there on the chair they provided in the middle of the brightly lit white room that had absolutely nothing but a mirror I knew was an one-way window. There was a vent which I was sure would send in sedatives immediately if I was considered a danger.
I sat there, waiting for my fate. *Tick, tick, tick*, I thought to myself.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp ping in my chest, caused me to wince a bit. I heard the speakers immediately flicker to life, asking, "How do you feel?" I guessed the second hand just ticked past the time I was born 18 years ago.
"Nothing," I lied, for I did feel something bubbling inside me. I was able to hold it in. It could either be some unknown power or gas, I suspected gas to be honest.
I could hear the speakers shut off. I could imagine the conversations going on outside. Then, the door that I had entered the room with, and was carefully disguised as part of the wall slid open.
"We've determined that you're not a threat, false alarm," the man besides door said, little smile on his face was filled with relief. I shrugged and walked out.
Yet, the feeling in my chest just wouldn't go away.
______________________
eh, don't know where I'm going with this, just wanted to create a prequel setup.
edit: some typos/grammar issues. and okay c: maybe once i find time, i'll write out more
| 2015-11-15T09:12:01
| 2015-11-15T08:41:34
| 25
| 11
|
[WP] You are a murderer that works as a lawyer and you are tasked with defending a person charged with your crime.
|
“I didn’t do it.” The woman before him wrung her hands, entire face crumpled with exhaustion. “I swear.”
“It’s really alright, Doctor Brooks,” Mr. Rockland assured, leg bouncing at his side. He brought his gaze, steady and assuring, so unlike the twitching, hyperactive limb under the table, up to match her own and lifted a hand to his chest in a gesture of unity. “I believe you. Trouble is, I’m not the one you need to convince.”
The statement, something he’d reiterated to his clients countless times before, held quite a bit more truth than Mr. Rockland ever intended to let on.
The woman before him simply sighed and scrubbed her hands across her face. The gesture brought his attention to the ugly red of her waterline. “So what’s our defense?”
He raised an eyebrow minutely. His previous clients - at least the sparingly few clients he held something of a personal interest in - had not been nearly so straightforward. His palms grew clammy as his heart began to race.
“Well,” he sighed, scanning the papers with a scrutiny that might suggest he had no intimate knowledge of the case outside of a few sprawling lines of ink. “It doesn’t look good.”
His words were careful, drawn out and lacking the conviction he’d truly had in them. The intimate details - the careful picking of his victim, the vial he had placed in the lab coat of one exhausted MD, had all been tailored to his liking. Her solitude at the time offered no alibi.
He told her just as much, excluding a few rather important details.
“As you can see, Doctor Brooks, there’s very little to work with that might suggest your innocence. The plea deal that would have you convicted of malpractice and third degree murder is, as far as I can see, our best bet.”
She nodded placatingly and looked down at her hands. Mr. Rockland’s heart flipped in anticipation, the sweat of his palms nearly dripping down to the floor, and he tried not to look so haughty as he felt. Before him was a woman exhausted of all options, hopeless. It was a sight he’d waited on, yearned to see again.
“And yet you seemed to have so much faith in my innocence, Mr. Rockland.”
“Well I—“ He smiled promptly, scratching the back of his head. How peculiar. “I guess it’s just my faith in people. I wouldn’t much like to think there’s a murderer in this room.”
“No,” Doctor Brooks agreed. When she looked up at him, her gaze was steely, so unlike before. Mr. Rockland found it hard to believe he saw the beginnings of suspicion in his client’s brow, yet he had learned she was certainly as determined as he. He let the smile fall from his face with what he hoped came across as practiced ease.
A tad unnerved by the woman’s change in demeanor, he skipped the practiced lines he had prepared in the back of his mind. Mirroring her, he kept things clipped, straightforward rather than lengthy, in a way his client might better relate to. He looked at her head-on as she did him, unflinching, not conceding to even blink before her. “So?”
“I’m not taking the plea deal.” Her shoulders sank and she looked away, at an object far in the distance. He could see the cogs turning in her head. He wondered distantly what she could possibly be thinking.
She looked so much like a cornered animal in that moment, tired and belligerent, and yet her words suggested otherwise. No, she was more akin to a petulant child. She thought she still had options.
“I see.” He said resolutely, lowering his gaze. Standing, he replied, “I’ll be back in a little while. I urge you to think this through again, doctor, but in the meantime I’ll prepare a defense.”
He stood and stalked across the room, lending the doctor one last practiced glance. He tried to nail down exactly what it was he felt. Pity? Not likely. Worry? Perhaps. Glee? More than anything, really.
Before he could leave, he heard the doctor call out to him, voice pitched high and dripping with mockery, “You’re really very kind, Mr. Rockland. It’d be wonderful if I could have so much faith in people as you.”
From the intonation alone, he knew he was wrong: she was not a cornered animal nor an upset child. She saw herself as his equal, even in bonds. She could not even clear her own name, yet she thought herself so mighty as to see truth in others. It was haughty, arrogant. He saw a bit of himself in her.
No matter, he wouldn’t for long.
|
Matt slides the file over to me. “What’s this?”
“Your new case. She’s the suspect of a murder.”
“Can’t you give the case to Jones? I’m still working on defending that burglar.”
“You can combine the two. There isn’t much to defend in her case, the word guilty is written on her forehead. Homeless, junkie. Scum of the earth really. Probably killed her victim when she begged for money and he didn’t give any. Police found the murder weapon, her finger prints were on it and his blood was found on her clothes.”
I open the file and see the mugshot of the woman. She looks about forty, although she’s only twenty-three if I have to believe her personal information. Hollow cheeks, thin hair and eyes sunken in their sockets: years of drug abuse left their mark.
“What about the victim?”
“A nobody. Mildly successful businessman, wife and two kids. He was found in an alley near his office, at 10th and 52nd street.” An alarm bell starts ringing in my head. I flip through the file until I find the pictures of the victim and my suspicions are confirmed. I stare right in the face of Mike Adams, the man I murdered two days ago.
Two hours later I’m in an interrogation room. Sarah Nelsons sat trembling in her chair. Sweat drops formed on her face and I could almost feel the heat radiate from her skin. Withdrawal symptoms.
The police officers on the opposite side of the table started to loose their patience as they didn’t get a single word out of her.
“Hey. Hey!” Morrigan snapped his fingers in front of Sarah to get her attention. “You wanna get outa this room? Then you gotta listen real good. We can sit here the rest of the day, I got all the time in the world. We can do this the rest of the week if we need. Or you just say right here and now you killed the poor bastard and we can be done.”
For a second it seemed Sarah wasn’t going to respond, but then she shook her head.
“No? No what?”
“I’m not guilty.” Her voice was groggy. She apparently wasn’t only a drug abuser but also had a smoking habit.
Morrigan sighed. “Cut the bull shit. Your fingerprints were on the murder weapon. His blood on your clothes. There ain’t no way it wasn’t you!”
“I found the body. Searched it for money. He were already dead.” I half jump up when Morrigan slams on the table.
“You wanna play that game, huh? Oh but don’t worry. I’m better at that game. I’ll get all damn the evidence I need to get you behind bars for the rest of your miserable life.” With that he leaves the room. His partner, McAllister, also gets up and motions for me to follow. Outside he starts talking to me in a calm and reasonable manor.
“Please try to get her to confess. It’ll help nobody if she pleads not guilty, you know that. I have no idea if she’s even got enough brain cells left to understand, but cutting a deal is really the best option for everyone, even her.”
“My client was clear in her words: she’s not guilty. And you should tread her as innocent until proven otherwise or I’ll have to ask the DA to replace you with two unbiased officers. Investigate properly. Is there more evidence? Who else had opportunity to kill the victim? Who was Mike Adams? Might anyone want him dead?”
McAllister’s soft expressions hardens. “Do not tell me how to do our work, lawyer.” He almost spits out the last word before he turns around and walks off.
| 2021-09-01T11:40:33
| 2021-09-01T09:16:04
| 31
| 19
|
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda.
|
Rita wiped the sweat from off her brow with her forearm, then floated over her glass of lemonade from where it sat on the porch.
“Morning, Ms. Graham!”
“Good morning, Mrs. Sweeney! How’s Hubert doing today?”
“Oh, he’s doing fine, thank you. How’s the garden coming along?” Rita took a moment to glance back at the flowerbed she was fixing up before turning back to Mrs. Sweeney with a soft smile.
“Everything seems to be going well! I just settled the jonquils Susie gave me and I’m hoping to plant some azaleas before lunch. Care for some lemonade? It’s fresh!” She shook the pitcher back-and-forth ever so slightly as it floated in the air.
“No thank you dearie, I’m headed down to Martha’s place for tea. Enjoy your flowers!” Rita shot her another grin and called out a farewell before turning back to the soil in front of her.
No sooner than she turned, however, there was another interruption to her gardening session - this one not so pleasant as a daily chat with the old lady from down the street. Just hearing the heavy *thud* on the sidewalk behind her was enough to know that she had another one one of *those* visitors. Their timing was always so inconvenient, not to mention disruptive to her carefully thought-out plans. Rita liked to keep a schedule for a reason damnit, it wasn’t just a matter of organization for personal satisfaction. And besides, the last three uninvited guests had caused property damage that she still hadn’t been recompensed for. There was no reason for this one to be any different.
“YOU THERE. RITA L. GRAHAM. SURRENDER TO THE MIGHT OF MISTER X!”
“…and why do you want me to surrender?” She asked in a bored voice.
“BECAUSE YOU ARE PLOTTING GREAT EVIL!! WITH YOUR…FLOATING! MENACINGLY! IN PUBLIC! YOU ARE CLEARLY PLANNING TO HARM THE INNOCENT CITIZENS THAT RESIDE IN THIS QUAINT NEIGHBORHOOD AND MUST BE STOPPED!”
“Lemonade?” The pitcher floated closer to Rita and the seedlings levitating over her shoulder. “YES, THANK YOU! IT IS VERY HOT TODAY!”
“Eh, I guess..”
“BUT DO NOT DISTRACT ME, SCOUNDREL! PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND SUBMIT YOURSELF FOR ARREST! ALSO, PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR LEMONADE RECIPE. IT IS QUITE REFRESHING.”
“Well, I *would* pass on my recipe to you, but you’re being rather rude. Your claims that I am a danger to my neighbors are unsubstantiated and all you have against me is the fact that I float things. ‘*Menacingly*’ according to you.”
“YOUR CLEAR LACK OF COOPERATION WITH THE **INTERNATIONAL UNION OF HEROES AGAINST EVIL TYRANTS AND VILLAINS**^TM IS BLATANT PROOF OF YOUR NEFARIOUS INTENTIONS TO CAUSE HARM TO THE WORLD. ALL PROCEDURES INDICATE THAT YOU BE APPREHENDED IMMEDIATELY AND BROUGHT BEFORE THE IUoHAETaV FOR JUDGEMENT!” Mister X’s voice boomed throughout the street. One or two curtains shifted across the street before falling back into place. Another day, another hero harassing Rita for her lack of interest in heroics. Everyone on the block was aware of the situation, and thus tended to mind their own business when these confrontations happened. After all, it was routine - mostly. Unfortunately for Mister X, however, Mr. Finch-who-lives-in-the-red-house happened to have been birdwatching that morning. And, rather *more* problematic for Mister X, Mr. Finch had just caught sight of a particular warbler when the commotion started - a Kirtland’s Warbler. The proverbial prize egg in Mr. Finch’s basket, a songbird he had been longing to see for *decades* - spooked away by some two-bit hero before he could make a better observation on the bird or at least take a picture.
It was for this reason that Mister X now found himself being poked in the back by a cane. The neighbors who had previously looked out of their windows to see what had caused the ruckus had returned with cameras or family members to observe what was bound to be an amusing confrontation.
“YOU!” the word was uttered with about as much spite as could be mustered up by the old man. To the benefit of the neighbors’ entertainment, this was a rather good deal of hate. “How DARE you!? Young man, I have been waiting for this moment for 23 years, and you have the *nerve* to frighten off that poor warbler before it can even perch comfortably?! Not only that, but you dare to disrupt Ms. Graham on her free day, for doing something as innocent as drinking a glass of lemonade to cool herself off while working?? And you call yourself a hero. How disgraceful, how *shameful* to conduct yourself in such a manner! Why, when I was your age, no hero would have dared to disrupt the peace in such a manner. In fact, I have half a mind to…”
As Mr. Finch’s tirade continued, Rita’s shoulders shook with laughter. Luckily for her, she had kind neighbors who up supported her interests and had no issue with standing up for themselves, so she didn’t need to worry much every time she was accused of villainy - or, on the contrary, confronted as a hero by some fledgling criminal hoping to make a name for themselves. Rita let out another giggle and turned back to her flowers, letting Mr. Finch and Mister X’s noise fade into the background. If she hurried, she could finish planting the azaleas before lunch.
|
I have telekinesis and levitation, as in the ability to move objects with a wave of my hands and float around. However, I don't see myself using my powers to become a superhero or supervillain, as I have enough on my plate as is, working as a professional chef at our city's most expensive restaurant alongside my identical twin sister who has the same powers as me, but uses them for bartending in the restaurant's bar, and she also shares my disinterest in using these powers for heroics or villainy. That being said, when we're off the clock, we're constantly hounded by the other super-powered folks accusing us of having hidden agendas for not partaking in world affairs. But we don't have hidden agendas whatsoever, as we are genuinely content with using our powers of telekinesis for normal everyday activities. Plus, one of our favorite activities is housework, as we use telekinesis and levitation to clean every nook and cranny that is hard for us to reach by normal means. Hell, we even use our powers for laundry, around the house organization, and putting up holiday decorations. No joke, last Christmas, we managed to put up the Christmas lights and decorations without needing to whip out the ladders.
But when we had one of our local superheroes gatecrash a very famous and important celebrity's birthday bash at the restaurant we work at, that was the final straw for us. I politely tell the owner of the restaurant to usher everyone to safety, then use my powers to levitate my personal knife (that I only ever use for self defense) over an open flame and heat it up. Then I bring the heated knife over to the gatecrasher — who has the weakness of heated metal, apparently, judging by him recoiling upon the sight of my hot knife — while still having the gall to confront my sister and I for our disinterest in taking up the cape. While I have him at burning knifepoint, no less. I coldly tell him, "It doesn't matter who the two super sides send to recruit my sister and I or antagonize us over our denouncement of taking up the cape, our answer is still the same. We are not interested in your politics, and right now, you are ruining an important celebrity's birthday bash and costing this restaurant a fortune over your destructive behavior. Now get out and leave us alone, or we will be serving both organizations a court ordered restraining order to make you. Do I make myself clear?"
The hero whimpers out a "We'll back off, we'll back off." "Good, now git." Then the hero leaves, and I go to apologize to the celebrity for the ruined party, but she's actually pretty cool with it, as she tells me that it's not the first time supers have ruined a party for her. She's had supers crash her parties over other super-powered folks that are in the same boat as my sister and I in terms of being disinterested in taking up the cape for either side. But none of them had the courage to tell them off like I just did. She then adds that my sister and I deserve compensation for keeping cool under pressure, and hands my sister and I front row seat tickets and backstage passes to her sold out concert show in our area. I humbly thank her for the reward, as my sister and I are huge fans of her work, and we've always wanted to attend one of her concerts, yet never could.
After all that, her party is moved to a different section of the restaurant, and there are no further interruptions aside from the clean up. After the celebrity's party, the owner of the restaurant and the place's manager both congratulate my levelheadedness and allow my sister and I to take the rest of the night off from such a hectic shift. Now exhausted, the only thing on our minds now was the concert and a good night's sleep. And that concert was amazing, and we had a blast getting to hang backstage with the celebrity, plus we also scored a lot of autographed swag and merch. Following all that, the super community of heroes and villains alike followed through and completely stopped antagonizing the supers not interested in taking up the cape. Not bad for a super chef and her equally super sister. The end.
| 2021-08-16T21:10:49
| 2021-08-16T18:08:12
| 91
| 67
|
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
"No. That's not right."
Daniel's brow furrows, he lets out a big huff while scanning the page for a link to the live chat. "This is ridiculous," he thought, "everyone's a critic."
RING!
Daniel looks across the room at a green rotary telephone. He knows who's calling. Sweat beads form on his forehead, he wipes his clammy hands on his pants as he gets up and walks over to the phone. The phone rings several more times, somehow growing louder and angrier with each successive ring. Daniel glances back at his computer while his hand holds the receiver. He closes his eyes and gathers the courage to answer.
"Daniel Weiss?"
The gravely voice on the other end speaks with authority. Daniel chokes on his response. The silence angers the caller.
"Do you dispute the charges?"
"Y-Y-Yes."
Daniel turns the phone away from his face and dry heaves. The ground rumbles beneath him. The kitchen cabinets shake open, emptying their contents onto the floor. The symphony of items breaking obscures the sound of someone knocking on the door. Is it an earthquake? Daniel doesn't appear to be phased by it, in fact he walks over to the door and calmly opens it.
On the other side is a well-dressed person of ambiguous gender holding a thick black book. They stare at each other for a beat, then Daniel motions for the person to enter.
"Daniel Weiss. Age 48. Male."
The person surveys the room. Crumpled up balls of paper scattered across every surface. A whiteboard with indecipherable content. Several thick well-read and earmarked dusty books piled up on a shelf
"Which entry do you wish to dispute?"
Daniel flinches as the person slams the black book onto the table next to his computer. Silence. The person stares deep into Daniel's soul, searching for the answer. The book flies open, pages flipping rapidly and erratically back and forth. Daniel tries his best to obscure the answer, but it's pointless. The book settles on a page. The person glides over to it and reads the entry, amused.
"I can explain-"
A hand goes up, Daniel's mouth closes.
"Incomprehensible events. Squandered developments. It's almost as if you didn't care."
The person now looms over Daniel. Suddenly, Daniel finds courage.
"I think I should get a pass because David did most of it."
A smirk. Daniel stares, waiting for a response that never comes. Uncomfortable with the silence, Daniel continues.
"It was closer to fifty-fifty. Maybe sixty-fourty. We didn't really keep track. There was so much pressure to deliver. We did our best!"
No response from the person. Not even the slightest reaction. Nervously, Daniel continues.
"Okay, I did most of it. But I didn't want to. David was busy working on-"
The person writes in the open book. Daniel leans in to see. He swallows his tongue.
"I will remove a few years if you agree to one condition."
Daniel nods.
"Re-do Season 8."
Daniel shakes his head, surprising the person. More silence. Daniel can't help himself, he responds defiantly.
"There was no source material. George hasn't written a word in half a decade!"
The person closes the book and stares at Daniel, who won't shut up.
"The Night King storyline. Bran as king. Arya's payoff. Daenrys and Jon Snow. It was perfect and you know it!"
Daniel doesn't believe his lies. Defeated, he pleads for forgiveness.
"We tried. We really did. There was no way we were going to live up to the hype."
The door opens. As the person crosses the threshold, Daniel calls out.
"What about our Disney deal?"
"Forget Disney, DB. Come give mama some Netflix sugar!"
Daniel's eyes almost pop out of his head. His face turns pale. His time in hell has begun. An overly excited and animated Leslie Jones appears in the doorway.
"I'm such a big fan, man. I got so many questions about Season 8!"
Leslie barrels toward Daniel, trapping him in a bear hug.
|
Everyone thought it was a joke looking upon the site, a clever trick played by some bored devs ... right? Then they saw the timestamps and got worried, upon governments themselves (After a few higher up individuals having some very embarrassing things leaked about them) raided the supposed location and found nothing continuing to do this for months people were terrified. Some also took it to the extreme, seeing how many rules they could break out of spite, some becoming near saintly. Then the website started to have *Issues*
"What do you mean the sites gone down!" Bellowed across the marble and gold floors as it looked upon the priest
"We don't know, it just stopped working all of the sudden." He said bowing before the Lord.
"Well fix it, and get me a line to lucifer he keeps the servers clean so tell me what the *Hell* happened down there." He said as he sent off the priest adorning more formal attire
When he came upon the phone the techs were somehow more terrified. How they could be considering his equivalent to a second child being broken(Made to *try* and help his first.) He rushed over wondering what happened, only to come about to a dial-tone, seeing on the viewfinder only a hanging microphone, and a dismembered horn to meet him. As they all stood there a ragged, broken group of humans shambled into view. Shielding their eyes upon seeing him, as all those condemned would, then one of them beginning to chuckle as she moved towards the screen picking up the mic.
"See you soon." She smiled, taking the mic and crushing it before taking to the computers leaving them sightless as the screen cut out
=============================================================================
Hey y'all, first prompt fill on here so if you would like some more of this series or more, be sure to go over and check out r/CaoCreatives
| 2020-02-29T22:58:06
| 2020-02-29T22:29:01
| 25
| 15
|
[WP] A genie is about to concede you your second wish, but a paradox created by your first one prevents him from doing so.
|
“Aha…I see…” The genie said, ponderously.
“Is there a problem?” I asked. “I thought you could do anything I want.”
“Yes, no…” The genie answered my questions. “That is to say…” she kept going. “Yes, there is a problem. And no I can’t do anything you want.”
“But you’re a genie…”
“Quite right…”
“So why can’t you grant my wish?”
“Because the consequences of the second wish would violate the implications of the first.”
“What the Hell are you talking about?” I was confused and frustrated at this point. “How do these wishes contradict?”
“Let’s review…” the genie said. “Your first wish was simple and clear. I wish eternal happiness for myself. “
“That’s right, so what’s the problem”
“Well…” she kept talking utterly ignoring me. “The problem is your second wish.”
“What’s wrong with my 2nd wish? I want eternal happiness for Kimberly. It’s not too much to ask is it?”
“Well…You see…erm…” Genie seemed embarrassed. “How should I put this? OK. You see your happiness, Jim, depends on Kimberly , being by your side. You have placed so much dependence on Kimberly and her love for you, that you don’t know how to be happy without her. So your idea of eternal happiness would be being with Kimberly until the end of your days…”
“O…ok.” I said, even more confused than before. “What is your point?”
“Well, Jim, after 10 years of being together, Kimberly has gotten tired of you. Being with you makes this girl miserable, and she has been planning on leaving you for months…So you see, Jim, your eternal happiness depends on Kimberly’s eternal misery.”
|
"What do you mean, you can't do it?" I snapped.
The genie looked back at me calmly, a half-smirk playing across her black lips. "The nature of the first wish precludes me from completing the second." She replied, serene as a cat. Her green eyes, pupil-less and faintly luminous, crinkled at the edges as her smile grew. "Little mortal, you have much to learn."
"What's the first wish got to do with this? I asked for a happy, successful life! How is that such a big deal? Shouldn't it be easier for her to fall in love with me if I'm happy and successful?"
The genie shook her head. "Love is a two-way street, little mortal. It is a bonding, not a token to be picked up off the ground. I can plant the seed in her soul and coax it to bloom, true, but I cannot control who she is. And her loving you is incompatible with a happy and successful life," she explained, as if to a dim-witted child.
"Why? Why can't I be happy and successful if I get her back? We were so happy before, why would it be different now?" I was confused, but the ring of truth in her words was absolute. I knew she could not lie.
Those green eyes arrested mine. "You have no idea what love is. True love cracks empires, shatters laws, and builds the future. It is-" She paused, thinking, clearly at a loss for how to explain. A moment later her eyes glowed. "Ah, I have it. It is because she is a gold-digger, and you," she pointed at me triumphantly, "are now no broke nigga."
| 2014-07-07T07:48:10
| 2014-07-07T07:17:10
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] You are an assassin. A little girl has just come up to you, handed you all her pocket money and asked you to kill her abusive relative.
|
Twelve dollars, eighty four cents. It wasn't even enough to cover a decent supper in this city. But she stood there, trembling slightly, holding out her whole lives earnings to me. "How did you even find me, kid?" I ask, taking a cigarette out of it's pack. I was impressed, to be honest. Most adults don't know where to find a hitman, but this girl, maybe seven years old, walked straight here, bold as brass.
"I saw your ad in the paper. I'm good at anagrams and puzzles." She said simply. The surprise must have shown on my face. I did advertise in a paper, selling a bicycle but the clues were there for those who know how to look. "I know it's not a lot of money. But I promise, I'll give you more. I've got a job, and I'll come back every week, forever, if you do it for me."She said, eyes welling slightly. I took a deep puff on my cigarette, blowing the smoke away from her.
"You do know what it is you're asking me, kid? This ain't play time. What I do... it's permanent." I asked, stalling. She nodded.
"You kill people for money. He... he deserves to die. Before he... He deserves it." She said, looking away sharply. Something caught my eye. I grabbed her chin and tilted her head slightly. There was a nasty thumb shaped bruise nestled in her collarbone. Small cuts, barely noticeable under her chin, but I had an eye for detail.
"What did he do to you, kid?"
"Your ad says no questions asked." She protested quietly. I laughed.
"Kid, Twelve dollars upfront doesn't buy you a lot of no questions. What did he do?" I pressed, letting go of her head. A tear dropped.
"He... he comes into my room. At night. He hurts me. He said... he said I couldn't tell anyone or he'll kill me. I... I was hoping he would stop but... Before he the first time, he gave me a rose, told me I was a princess. He gave my sister one this morning. She's five." She finally looked up at me again, hate brimming from those tear swollen eyes. I knew what she meant. It made me sick. I took a deep drag.
"Go home kid. Get your sister, and go to the church on the corner of twelfth and Main. The priest there is a good man. Stay there tonight, he won't mind." I said eventually, taking the money from her hand. She looked up, shocked. Then, the biggest smile I'd seen in a long time crossed her face.
"Thank you!" She yelled, and hugged me. Or my hips at least. I pushed her away.
"It's just business kid. No back payments- too risky to have someone coming here day in, day out. But you owe me. And you'll pay in information. LAter though kid. Once you're old enough to learn something worthwhile. Got it?"
She nodded eagerly, then turned and ran. I looked at the address she'd given me. Her uncle was in for a surprise tonight.
|
Part II
It hadn’t been easy to have to tell her that it wasn’t something he could do, but it was the tears in her eyes and the hopelessness that seemed to settle upon her that made him change his mind. He let her know that it would take time, maybe even a year or more, because he would have to be very careful about what he needed to do. The little girl had looked like her world was destined to cave in, but he reassured her that she would only have to endure until he could make it right.
He didn’t tell the girl of his preparations; she wasn’t old enough to fully get what he would have explained to her, even if he’d been of a mind to explain it to her. But he was able to acquire all of his needs within a couple of weeks. The part that was most difficult, however, was seeing the little girl suffering, especially believing that maybe her problem would never go away, as day after day and week after week, her ‘Unca Rick’ was still there, and still within easy reach. It pained him to have to wait for so long after making his purchases, for any sort of paper trail that could come back to him to grow cold and become lost in the winds of time, but finally, a bit more than a year later, it was time.
Unca Rick was an avid hunter, and was fairly faithful about it every year. He was also known to take a few brews out with him when he hunted, and he absolutely hated wearing the now insisted-upon day-glow orange hunting vests that the federal government insisted upon for the sake of safety.
And he hadn’t been idle, while waiting for this day; the clothes he’d purchased for just this occasion, he’d washed and rewashed, to make sure that there were no stray fibers that would come loose at a bad moment; the boots he’d gotten, he made sure that the treadmarks had been worn completely off of the bottom of them, to leave no identifying traces. He made sure that the hunting rifle was a common one to hunters the region around, as was the ammunition it used. He even left town a couple of days beforehand, taking a reservation at a beach hotel a few hours in a different direction from where Unca Rick was going to be hunting.
And if that hadn’t been worthy enough, he’d connected with an acquaintance of his from his time in the military, who just happened to have a cabin on the outskirts of that town, and had told him that, anytime he’d wanted a bit of solitude, to come and visit his cabin- and make free use of the jeep, as well.
He’d driven though the darkest part of the night, having made sure with his acquaintance that the jeep had been full of fuel, as well as the emergency five gallon container strapped down in the back end. It was a bit on the dangerous side to have it there, but it was good to have it, just in case it was needed. Thankfully, it hadn’t been needed.
He’d driven to within about ten miles of where it was known that Unca Rick liked to hunt, and he’d trekked that last bit in the false dawn that threatened to reveal him to all and sundry before he could get into place, but he managed it—with perhaps thirty minutes to spare—and had been lucky enough to find the bastard.
And then it was done.
He made sure to collect the spent casing, and to carefully pack away the blanket he’d lain upon, and then quickly, but carefully, left the area.
He did his best to try to tame it, but the faint smile wouldn’t be restrained.
He was looking forward to seeing the sun shine upon that little girl’s face once again.
| 2017-04-04T00:28:27
| 2017-04-03T23:30:21
| 69
| 33
|
[WP] Everyone has a meaningless number over their head. Seriously, totally meaningless, and everyone knows it too. Of course, that doesn’t stop some people from getting all superstitious about them anyway.
|
It started off one day, a random floating number appeared over our heads. Pundits spent months going over the numbers trying to find meaning in the distribution, trying to map out the numbers.
After months, top number theorists, statisticians, and experts stated that the numbers had "NO" meaning.
And so, people began to ascribe meaning to the numbers.
There were the obvious groupings of evens and odds. The "Evens welcomed here" signs began appearing on storefronts and "Odds only" were found on popular bars and nightclubs.
People began abandoning their circle of friends and headed to the internet to meetup with numbers in their groupings.
Singles began to post their number in their profile and would seek others within their number groupings.
New age groups began to sell courses on how successful people surrounded themselves with this and that group of numbers: how Bill Gates always has a '56' near by given that '56's are stable and dependable people.
Colleges began the hunt to find only prime numbers. Knowing that primes would naturally become the elite group, they recruited students based solely whether or not they were prime numbers.
This continued for years: scandals erupted, protests, and there was a series of number-based vandalism and harassment. People kept worrying that a numbers war was coming.
Tensions rose.
And then, the numbers disappeared. It lasted for a total of 1729 days. And by day 1730 no one had a floating number over their head.
People ran out into the streets and celebrated. Old friends found each other and people called their families that they abadoned.
Historians would later write about the moment and psychologists, sociologists, and anthropologists were able to generate enormous findings as there never had been such an experiment as the Numbers experiment and that great of a scale.
A movie would come out a few years later, starring Scarlett Johansson, that traced the protagonist's journey through that time. It received a 67% from Rotten Tomatoes.
10 years later, the event fell out of people's immediate memory. News cycles kept going forward and people became as distracted as they were before the event. People still have their story about the time, but get annoyed if you ask them.
The end.
|
Good Five Day
It is friday night. Again.
I order a drink and Fivey asks me if I've any fags at me. I tell him I dont. Truth be known I do, but my gums are still at the bleeding from the dentist this morning. Fivey smiles and says, must be something else then.
We play a little pool, and I granny him. He wears his idiots grin on him and repeats that it must be something else.
We place bets on German football teams and Fivey spunks £50 on a no name Defender from Armenia. Fivey had him first to score, 100/1 odds. Still the mug smiles repeating his catch phrase 'Today is my lucky day'.
A few girls from the nearby villages come in to the pub. Fivey buys them a drink and he asks them what's yer number? Cant see the point in the question meself, it's on their fucking foreheads. The lass with bold hair says 12. Fivey tells her that's a lucky number, same amount of followers that christ had sure. Sixo over here is studying to be a priest, he'll tell you.
I remember the crucifix in my granny's bedroom and the fearful look on the big man's pus. I recall the excruciating ends the disciples met. 12 doesnt seem such a lucky number to me.
-Aye 12 followers. Unless you count Mary.
They craic on and I leave Fivey to it. After a while the desire for nicotine over comes me, and I say my goodbyes.
There is a farmer nearby who was caught drink driving so often the poileas took his license. Now the man must work, so they left him his HGV tickets. So the smart bastard learned to fly a helicopter. Now he he flies his helicopter to the big Tesco in Dingwall to get his shopping.
As I light up my fag and my gums weep a little, I hear an almighty crash. The sounds of burning and screaming. Hell on earth.
The pub is in cinders, and everyone inside is dead. The helicopter is mangled and burning in the wreckage.
I told fivey that the week starts on Sunday, but he never believed me. Right enough the Jehovahs say it starts on Saturday, Jewish lads as well.
In Divinity we were taught we cannot ever know God's plan and it is blasphemous to guess at it. Perhaps God sent bleeding gums and made dentists to save me tonight. Maybe he made bleeding gums and dentists because he is a bastard.
All I know for certain is that Fivey talked a lot of shite.
| 2019-12-18T05:27:53
| 2019-12-18T05:21:25
| 220
| 36
|
[WP] Earth is doomed in a matter of years, but you are bestowed with a mystical dagger that causes anyone killed by it to instantly resurrect on an alternate Earth that does not share the same fate. In one world you are revered as a hero, on the other the most notorious serial killer of all time.
|
It whispers to me, softly and sweetly, reminding me of the promise it makes.
Amazingly I discovered it at a garage sale after my neighbor died. He was some kook who refused to leave his house since basically the 1940s, whittling away his father's fortune in a refusal to interact with the rest of the world.
When he finally kicked the bucket, his grand nephew sold nearly everything in the house, including the collection of swords and knives left over from World War two. A little pile of Japanese steel that glinted and sparkled, despite the day being entirely overcast.
It called to me that day as it does now.
Whispering.
Yearning.
Promising.
Promising of a world torn apart by fire, divine and nuclear, all encompassing and devastating our planet. When you hold the knife the world becomes very, very small, and a vision jerks you into the atmosphere, so far away you can see almost every inch of the earth bathed in flame.
*This is what awaits those who don't taste me,* it whispers.
Then the world becomes an Eden, a paradise of green and blue and health. Vibrant and beautiful, an entire world of hope and glory.
*When a soul enters me,* it would speak softly, drowning out every thought and part of you, *I send them here.*
How much did I pay for that knife? Ten, fifteen bucks?
Didn't matter.
Salvation is priceless, I would say.
Whatever they say about me now, I consider myself a shepherd of lost souls and a doomed planet. It took them faster than I expected to plaster my face over their screens and windows, but nonetheless I refuse to turn myself in.
To doom more to the fire that is to come.
I park my car not too far from my intended target. Already I can hear them, the light, cheery voices of youth echoing over the pavement.
*Save the innocent,* the blade tells me. *Spare them of the world to come.*
A woman sees me in the parking lot and says nothing, simply points and then sprints away. It matters little, I will come for her when the time is right.
More shouts. A bustle of activity, of locked doors and hurried calls.
Little time. There's little time to accomplish what I must do.
I make my way through halls and corridors, looking for the rooms containing the youngest of the children.
Why are they so afraid?
Don't they see?
Don't they see that their world is doomed and I have come to give them the release to a better one? To save them from all this suffering and pain, and the oncoming holocaust of fire?
Flames lap at my heels, but I cannot see them.
I attempt to break down a door, but it holds fast. Heavy in its weight and unyielding in strength.
Someone yells at me to stop.
A portly man in blue holds a weapon pointed at me, but no, no not those they won't save the children, they only send a soul to the twisting emptiness between worlds to howl into the dark.
I'll save the man, then. I'll save them all.
I raise the knife and it yells, deafening in its command, that blood must spill and fill the blade, and I scream and charge.
Weights slam into me, though I hear nothing, the great buzzing and voice still speaking to me, overlapping in order and command.
Blood, hot and beautiful, clogs my throat. I'm drowning, drowning in my own blood.
*Not here,* I think to myself, though it's distant and weak. The buzzing of the knife's command overpowers any though, even those in service to the blade.
*I cannot drown here, cannot die here, there are so many left, so many left to the fire, I cannot stop now.*
Shouts.
More shouts around me, and the man stands over me, his face pale and white, sweat dripping down from his forehead. A man who cannot believe what he has just done.
Darkness spreads from the corners of my eyes, obscuring my vision. Cold. Frozen to the ground, unable to move or speak or scream, I wait for the void. It finds me, though it takes its time.
*It's him,* the man thinks to himself, inspecting the corpse he has just made. *With that weird, long knife.*
Elementary school security officer one, psychotic serial killer zero.
*What the hell is that, what do you even call it?* the man thinks, looking at the blade lying limp in the dead man's hand.
Curved.
Vicious.
Sharp.
He inspects the blade, watching the man's blood pool beneath it.
*Pick me up,* a voice tells him. It's soft and sweet.
*Pick me up,* the knife tells him. Speaks to him. Coos and woos him, seductively calling him from the deep dark blood of its previous wielder.
*We must continue our work.*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
|
The feel of blood between my fingers was repulsive. No matter how long this went on, no matter how many lives I *saved*, that never changed.
The man crumpled, his eyes going wide even as every last bit of humanity seeped out of them. His lips parted, one final exhalation slipping between them. A final word? A curse? A goodbye? There was no way to tell.
The dagger glinted as I pulled it free. It gleamed, lit from within by its own light. It had been studied for years, pored over by scientist after scientist. I'd been one of them, once upon a time. All that we could tell was that it had some sort of energy translation capabilities. The papers we released were filled with words like *wormholes* and *parallel universes*.
We hadn't thought anything of it. It was just an oddity, a mystery from Earth's past that we couldn't explain.
And then the asteroid appeared.
Everyone else had panicked. The world was doomed, they said, and it was hard to argue with them. But I'd known. I couldn't tell anyone how, or why. I'd *known* that the dagger was the key to saving us.
They'd disagreed. I didn't give them the chance to argue it.
I'd been stealthy at first. Subtle. And then, as the asteroid loomed higher and higher overhead, my methods had slipped.
The sirens rang in my ears. I was out of time - I was out of places to run. That was fine. Tomorrow was the end, anyway, if the astronomers were right. There was no reason to think they weren't.
I'd done all I could. I clung to the idea, holding fast to some sort of hope. They'd be waiting for me on the other side. I *knew* they would be. They'd see I saved them. I wasn't a murderer. I'd never wanted this.
I was a hero.
The first police car was just skidding around the corner as I turned the blade on myself, plunging the length of steel into my neck before I could lose my nerve.
---
---
---
My eyes snapped open.
I gasped, my whole body shuddering. What had- What had just-
I didn't know. I couldn't explain it. But I was breathing - I was *alive*. And there was no asteroid in the sky.
The street around me was different. Busier. More lively. I smiled, honest relief sliding onto my face. The Earth lived. I'd done it. I'd-
"It's *you.*"
At the sound of a voice, I flinched, and then turned. A man stood a few paces back, his eyes wide and terrified.
I smiled, holding a hand up. "Don't worry. I'm not-"
His fist slammed into my cheek a moment later. I hit the ground hard, biting off a strangled cry.
The voices rose around me - confusion. Fear. Questions, and cries for the police.
But here and there, I heard it. "It's *him*." "He's the one. I *remember.*"
I tried to push myself upright. This wasn't right. I was the hero, dammit. I'd saved them.
With a knife. The thought echoed in the back of my mind, chilling me to the bone. I'd saved them with a *knife*, and they *might* not appreciate that as much as I'd thought.
I tried to cry for help. I tried to tell them it was all a mistake.
It vanished in a gurgle as a boot planted itself in my stomach. They closed in around me, blocking out the sun.
"Welcome to the other side," the man said, grinning. "We've been *waiting* for you."
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
| 2018-10-15T04:47:30
| 2018-10-15T03:29:57
| 2,834
| 1,715
|
[WP] All of your pets die in ironic ways. Smokey the dog died in a fire, Sugar the cat died of diabetes, etc. This time you've named your pet something a little... unconventional.
|
I felt bad, but thought it was kind of funny when Scarface the ferret died by getting into my stash and eating it for some reason. I wondered what the odds were when our dog Diesel got hit by a semi that shouldn't have even been going through our streets. However, Caesar the cat getting attacked by all the other cats in the neighborhood on March 15th was the kicker.
I thought about this long and hard. If I really was some sort of bad luck laden irony-magnet for my pets, then it was cruel of me to have a pet. Well, maybe just cool pet names like the previous ones. What sort of irony could fate invoke on a cat named Michael? Of course, there were other ways to go with it.
"Okay, sir, it looks like he's all set, and your forms are complete. Congratulations on your pet adoption!" The vet's assistant smiled at me, before looking down to the paperwork, blinking confusedly. "I hope you give, uhh... "Giant Pile of Cash" a good home."
"Funny you say that, I was hoping he'd give me one!"
She laughed politely but awkwardly with me as I spun around to head out the door.
|
I was convinced that I was cursed. All those other pets.... So, I decided to name my newest pet something hard to die from. I nixed pillow (suffocation) and feathers (hawk) and named my dog the nicest thing that I could think of: Leaf.
We were at the park when Leaf started running toward a pile of leaves. "Leaf, no!" I yelled, running toward him. He jumped right into the pile. Someone flicked a cigarette butt at the pile. "No!" I yelled, throwing myself between the butt and the leaves.
Leaf emerged, tail wagging.
Then, a strange man charged into the park with a battleaxe, killing poor Leaf.
"No!" I sobbed. I took comfort in the fact that there was no connection to Leaf's name, though.
"For Valhalla!" screamed the stranger.
"... wait," I said, sniffling. "What's your name?"
"Leif Erickson!"
*If you liked this, check out my [YouTube channel](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCfx_qtMKiCpDZYfw3pGr8dA). Each week, I'll be using my most upvoted /r/writingprompts response as a script for a new video. Videos will come out on the weekend. Thanks for reading!*
| 2017-04-22T21:02:26
| 2017-04-22T20:51:13
| 89
| 22
|
[WP] You have an ATM that gives you the exact amount of money you need to survive for the day, how you spend it is your choice. Today you are given $70,000,000.
|
It started a month ago, when my student's loan was due to be paid and I have literally zero ways to pay it. I jokingly checked my bank account, hoping that a miracle happened and some money would appear.
And you would not believe how hard my jaw dropped when I found out it actually happened. Someone sent me the money enough to cover my loan in full, and some spare money for food.
I tried tracking the money down. *Who sent this? Could it be a wrong transfer?* I asked the bank attendant to send back them money to whoever it is from, since it might be a wrong account. But the only thing I was told is it was a private account and there is no way to contact the owner.
Since then, the money keep coming.
I was glad, of course, but I also felt guilty of enjoying someone else taking care of my needs. So after a whole week of living in leisure and luxury, I started to invest the money and get myself a steady job. I worked hard because I am afraid that one day, the person will start taking away instead of giving.
The money stopped coming around two weeks ago, and I can't tell you how happy I was. I was satisfied with my life. I can finally take care of myself and I promise myself I will pay back the person with more money that he gave me.
I have forgotten about all the "mysterious supporter" until yesterday, when the money suddenly arrived again.
Confusion. That is what I felt when I see my bank account exploded into 70 million dollars. I don't know what to say, I just slowly put the bank book down amd ask if they made no mistake. Another five minute of printing and the same result comes out.
*$ 70,000,000*
I answers the phone, somehow the ominous feeling grew as I heard sobs from the other end. "Jacob speaking."
"Sweetheart..." My mom's voice is heard between her sobs. "It's about daddy..."
"He got cancer..."
I froze. The phone fell off my hand and I tumbled backward into the apartment's floor. My head flashes with the memories of dad. The days we spent running on the fields, playing baseball and it kept going until it went back to a few weeks ago. When I visited my parents and my dad collapsed on the front porch.
*Dad! You okay?* I shouted as I carried him back into the living room.
*I'm fine, champ. Just a tad bit tired. Ain't young like you anymore* And he laughed, just like he always do.
Depression. That is what I felt when I finally understood what the money is for.
|
It was just the normal routine, but with this much I'm paranoid. Every morning, I wake up and get coffee and check how much I'll need. There's some bumps. Car trouble, taking a girl out to dinner, the list can go on. But seventy million seems a little.. ridiculous. Right? There's only one way to find out, I guess.
I walk out and shrug, thinking to myself that I could blow it all on luxury. The perfect car. The perfect house. Maybe buying the happiness of the perfect woman. In a world run by money, the original idea of getting all of what I would need was a godsend but what could I possibly need that much for? I get in my car, something decent and affordable of course. I didn't bother to think how much different it could be. How much my 'needs' can be used to sate my wants..
I ponder this as I take a ride out, convincing myself it'll be fine whatever it's for. Or at least the thought flashed through my head as I went in for the kill on this beautiful new car I'd seen in the window on the way home from work. Just scraping the top off! I can't possibly need it all, right? And there's no down payments, no worries for it but the insurance. I feel much better behind the wheel of it. I have fun, driving to the high end of town. Blowing this money on anything I might enjoy. I buy a bit of real estate on the nicer side.
A couple mil down the drain, already slowly heading down with every passing second. My head swirls with joy, my heart races before it suddenly catches. I react at first as if maybe it's only skipped a beat, but it certainly seems to have stopped. I stop paying attention to it until shortly thereafter I collapse, crumbling down in my bathroom and pressing every button on every new high tech bullshit I've just bought, praying for it to save me before I suddenly...
| 2018-03-15T02:04:41
| 2018-03-15T01:59:01
| 307
| 51
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
I've made up my mind, this is the end
I've said my goodbyes to family and friends
However they don't know that I'm leaving tonight
I've struggled too long and can no longer fight
I walk back home after a long day of work
And get on reddit to routinely lurk
I see a post on "W-P"
And smile slightly at the irony
Dr. Seuss? I've read a book or two
If I can recall a red fish and a blue?
And who could forget green eggs and ham?
My mother used to read it as well as my Grams
My eyes started to water as I closed my computer
Then a knock at my door, who was this intruder?
I wipe my face as well as my nose
And walk to the door as I straighten my clothes
I crack it open and to my surprise
There stood the pizza delivery guy
Paranoid. Did he know? Probably not
I guess I ordered but must've forgot
But then the name on his shirt caught my eye
And I let out a soft chuckle mixed with a cry
He tried to calm me down but it was no use
Then he hugged me. The man's name, Seuss.
|
I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting
| 2015-01-17T09:55:19
| 2015-01-17T04:21:47
| 120
| 15
|
[WP] Create a fictional mythological race, (werewolves, vampires, skinwalkers, etc) and the legend behind it
|
The thing about a myth is how it defies logic. All reason and analysis go out the window. Those are things for the cold light of day! For men to discuss over tea, reducing the world until it is nothing at all.
But myths, well, they slink in the shadows. Dance around the edges of your mind where the spirits and demons play. Boisterous arguments in the town square give way to whispered tales on chilly nights, huddled around campfires. Science points at a myth and says that it cannot exist. It marches out its principles, its theorems, its proofs. The myth merely smiles, nods, and remains.
This one shouldn't exist. Its shape cannot hold organs, or any other method of sustaining life. It should die instantly to the cold. The thing glides and swings from tree to tree, hiding in the dense foliage, in the cold wilderness.
All I know, my dear friend, is that every so often, a traveler wandering the Canadian wilderness will fail to glance up, to check the sky for all manner of beastie and monster. Then... BAM! the drop-bear pounces.
|
The TuneMakers;
The tune-makers are the undertone of everything, they play the strings that string theory itself consists of.
As they operate outside our perception of time there is no need to say when they began as in a non-linear fashion they have always been. Some speculate they were a paradoxical creation of an an advanced super-intelligent race that traveled back in time to create themselves but that is yet to happen.
The Tune_makers are energy based and the purest form of E in the Equation of E=MC2. They control every minuscule universal movement from the subatomic level, arranging everything like an equation. To them there is no greater enjoyment than destruction as it leads to entropy. Their purpose is pure entropy and as such they leave destruction in their wake.
| 2016-12-16T08:22:56
| 2016-12-16T08:06:49
| 30
| 10
|
[wp] [nsfw] Destroy my soul: A challenge to write the bleakest, most hopeless and dark grim fic you can fathom...
I wanna feel pain, sorrow and sadness.
Lets write some dark fiction.
Happy endings, twists and hope are completely optional.
Edit: wow this exploded, that's what I get for sleeping on the job, ill be reading these for a while. Thanks everyone who posted one from what I have seen they all look wonderfully dreadful.
|
The train pummeled down the tracks, teetering on the edge due its high speeds. It approached a corner but didn't reduce its speed. As it attempted to round the corner, the black steam engine leaned too far over the edge and fell off the track, bringing the five cars behind it down as well.
Peter sighed and leaned away from his toy train set. He always enjoyed making the tracks himself and moving the train from the station to the lake, to the town, and back again. Peter got bored after playing alone for long, though he had no concept of time. He looked out the doors of the playroom hoping to see his big brother sitting on the couch. This time he wasn't there, and he couldn't hear any sounds from the television. Peter frowned.
A minute passed, he decides to stand, putting both his arms forward to push the rest of his body onto his two feet. Peter walked over to his favorite stuffed animal, picking it up by its long, floppy ears that had been sewn up more than a few times. Walking out of the playroom, he headed for the stairs, set on finding Alex in his room. Each stairs was nearly as tall as his lower leg causing Peter to put one leg on the next stair before he vaulted himself up.
The long, almost-crawl up the stairs didn't deter him. He picked himself back up, turned the corner, and walked as fast as his legs could take him down the hallway. He approached what he remembered as Alex's room, but saw the door wasn't open.
"Alex, can you come play wiff me?" Peter asked, looking down at his stuffed bunny.
A moment of silence prompted Peter to step closer to the door. As he did so, he noticed the door knob, higher above his head than he thought he could reach. He stretched his arm toward the knob, hoping to turn it open like he saw his family do so many times before. While trying to reach, Peter tapped the door with his shoulder, swinging the door inward.
"Alex?" Peter called out once more.
Again, no reply. Peter turned, moving his little legs down the hallway, slowly climbed backwards down the stairs, and walked into the kitchen.
"Mommy," Peter said softly.
"Yes, dear, what is it?" She replied, while unloading a ceramic dinner plate from the dish washer.
"Why isn't Alex talking to me?"
"What do you mean, sweetie?" She stopped, looking slightly concerned. Alex was always great with Peter, despite their almost decade age difference.
"He just hanging there," sadness consuming Peter's voice. "He won't talk to me."
The plate slipped from her hands, shattering on the ground and making an awful noise.
|
All I wanted to do was help people. When the hats flew in the air, and parents cried near their exuberant kids, I held my hat in my hands, holding onto what was the best thing to ever happen to me. I couldn’t let go, and move on to what life has ahead for me.
Let’s back track. I held a knife to my throat. My parents were in the room, crying, my dad on his knees begging while my mom held off my brother and sister. I could feel my hand shaking, moving the sharpened blade over my skin like I do when I shaved. I nicked myself, igniting the first trickles of blood that I hoped to turn into a downpour. My parents didn’t want me here; they never showed their affection towards me before there was a possibility of my death being placed on them, when really it was my life that had caused them so much misery. I wasn’t bitter, I loved them, but I knew things would be better if I wasn’t around any longer.
Six months later, I sat in a circle full of other people like me, people they called “sick”. I sat there, listening to the nurse about her life outside our prison, talking about once we got better we could live lives just as fulfilling as her own. I thought she was sick.
Once I got out of the hospital, I went right back to high school, back to the doldrums of going to classes, and going home and going to practice, and going home and listening to my dad complain about how his life in a cubicle is awful, but he does it for us kids. Everything was always the same; there was no variety in any of it.
Then came college. Oh god, I loved college. The monotony was gone; I could do what I wanted, whenever I wanted. Sure it wasn’t perfect, there were still rules and I still had to do monotonous things, but it was better.
I always wanted to help people. While the world was pretty much the same, people were different, with unique personalities and always surprising with things to say. This encapsulated my entire life. Hell, even when I tried to kill myself I was thinking about my family, how my parents always complained about how things would be different if they hadn’t had me so young, before they were even out of high school. How that there biggest regret in life was having me, how I screwed them out of college and money and promise and careers and dreams. How I ruined them.
I held my graduation hat in the air, thinking how my whole life has been one big mistake up to this point. When I got to college, I found I made my life better than my parents ever had. Then I realized that was a mistake too. My parents were supposed to be the successful ones and not me.
Then I looked to the future. I thought about how everything is set up so I fail. I’m crippled by debt from paying for college, my family hates me, and the rich keep getting rich while the poor get poorer. I thought the future was bleaker than my past, really. I thought as I thought in the hospital all those years ago, how I thought everybody else was crazy. They just keep plugging away against the tide, trying to make things better for themselves, but really all they do is make their lives harder. They don’t enjoy anything, or relax, and take in the little things. I saw this in my dad when he would complain about his cubicle job. Makes me sick to think about it, really. How he wasted his life in a box.
I didn’t like the idea of this life, and how when everything is the same there is no way for a person to have control. So I took control.
Good thing my knife was still sharp. I found it right where I left it.
| 2014-03-24T19:39:56
| 2014-03-24T17:50:15
| 79
| 11
|
[WP] At an alien bar in the distant future, two aliens are enjoying a drink and trading stories about the newest member to the Pan-Galactic Union, an odd race of bipeds from a planet named "Dirt". But what they don't realize is that you, the bartender, are from that planet "Earth".
|
"What's so funny?" the first alien asked, as the second was stifling laughter,
"Nothing much" it replied through its noise of enjoyment,
"But, ya'heard 'bout this new planet in the union?... What's it called, soil, mud, sumthin' like that".
"Dirt, you mean?" the other added,
"Aye, Dirt, the best name for a planet",
"They are hitting it pretty on the nose with the naming. Although, I have heard it's largely water at its surface, so why it's not called "Water" is beyond me".
I looked up from the glass I was cleaning, "It's Earth, not Dirt",
"Oh? Really? How'd you know that?"
"I'm from it, born and raised"
"I mean no disrespect, but you Dirtlings ought to think about paying someone to name your planet for you, Hell, I'd do it for you for free." it turned to looked at its friend to deliver the punchline, "How about Shithole, to match your face, barkeep?"
The other alien burst into laughter
"It'd have to be Shithole II then"
The first alien's head whipped around to face me, "How come?",
"Well", I replied, a chasm of a grin forming across my face, "Whatever backward fuck hole you're from already has a claim to that name",
The second alien's laughter ended, "You better learn some manners, boy" it got out of its seat to reach an intimidating 4 and a half feet, "You ain't gonna live long with that sort of mouth" an obvious gun protruded from his jacket, a singular 3 fingered hand grasped its grip,
"I meant no harm by it, sir" I replied, docile, as taught to be in situations like this,
"Better" it stated, loosening its grip and returning to its seat.
This is my first entry, so apologies if it's super bad, criticism is extremely appreciated.
|
I remember this one day I was out hunting with my grandfather, and there was this huge bear by the water, looking for fish. I remember looking at the thick fur, over tough skin, and dense muscle, and thought that perhapse this animal WAS invincible. As we'd practiced, I shouldered my gun and shot the bear; just behind the shoulder blade so my bullet hit the lungs. As the bear stumbled to the bushes to go to rest, my granddad looked at me, and he said "when you go to bed tonight, I'm not going to check for monsters. We are the strongest in the universe, and there's nothing so big you can't take it alone".
I think about that day a lot. When the Dismantling happened, it's all I could think about. Seeing the probes for the first time. We all thought they were motherships, and we were being invaded. They weren't even occupied by anything living; just remotely controlled.
Apparently they started watching us after Hiroshima; literally an intergallactic 'boom', heard across the cosmos. When Trump fired on North Korea, they finally stepped in. We'd had warnings; they showed us this after it was all over. The government had hidden it all - they hired 'spooks' to drown people with conspiracy theories, so you couldn't tell fact from fiction. We're all paying for it now.
As it turns out, humans are about as good as -well- dirt. Just like our planet. After they dismantled our weapons and infrastructure, they started performing mindscans, killing those who didn't meet the requirements. We still don't know what the requirements were. Up here though, we're useless: we can't live in dark matter; we're violent; we can't access most of our brain; and we're not physically durable. So we're waiters, and bartenders, and valets; quietly listening to them banter about this new joinee from the slums of the milky way.
Edit: typos
| 2017-09-06T08:02:06
| 2017-09-06T05:06:54
| 60
| 21
|
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
As I pace back and forth in my apartment, I ask myself for the hundredth time, "should I call Jason and just ask him?"
The dates had been fantastic! We watched a great movie, had dinner, and agreed on so much. Yes, there were plot holes, no they weren't that bad, yes the lead actor was great, and what a forced cliff hanger they left for a possible sequel - which we both agreed should be made.
He was never late, opened the door for me. conversation was always easy. If I ever ordered a drink, he would warned me that if I drank we wouldn't go home together that night. We're both interested in photography, love the same bands, and even split both our dishes because we have such similar taste. I feel like I've met a long-lost best friend. We were even discussing meeting each other's parents!
But -500? Why? How?
"Local middle school superintendent charged with the murder of his wife, Heather Wu", I started reading as the tears blur my vision. "Jason Wu convicted of wife's murder!" and "Wu please guilty to murder charges".
He never mentioned having been married or being a widower. Am I next? I would be an easy target - I'm a single child of deceased parents. My closest relative is a dotty aunt who lives about 7 hours away. Was he grooming me?!?!
I sit in my bed, panicked and horrified. But Jason was so perfect. Did I make a mistake? No, if he wants to kill me, *he* made the mistake! I need a plan...
I open my eyes and for a second wonder where I am. All I know is a feeling of uneasiness and dread, which makes me jump out of bed in a start. Jason, yes. I must do something about him.
"Hello Jason? It's me. I had a great time last Friday, and wanted to know if you'd like to go to the exhibit on Brazilian street art this Thursday?
Great! Since it's closer to my part of town, will you pick me up? OK, good! And I have a surprise for you, so you should come in before we head out.
I look forward to it! See you Thursday. Oh yeah - why don't you pick me up at 7?
Okay, bye!"
I need to go to shipping for some rope and other supplies.
***
Thursday evening I'm so anxious I pace back and forth in my apartment going through the plan in my head again and again. He should be here any minute now.
Am I ready? Do I look presentable enough that he won't suspect anything? I can run in them, but do these flats look good enough that it won't give me away? I had to wipe off my lipstick 2 times, since my unsteady hand made me look like a clown. I just opted for no lipstick after that.
The doorbell rings. I open it. He's standing there, handsome and with a ridiculously convincing smile and a beautiful bouquet. I need to remember the plan.
"I wanted to surprise you too, but I'm afraid these flowers will look dull compared to you."
*"You smooth bastard. I would have fallen for that line, too. Remember to smile."*
"Hi Jason. It's good see you. Come in."
I take the flowers as I gesture for him to walk in. I have the teapot on the stove whistling. He walks in and is distracted by the noise. As soon as I close the door, I grab the bat behind it, and step lightly behind him.
He spins around before I thought he would, so I have to use the bat on the side of his head instead of the back of his head. I hope that I use enough force to knock him out without any long lasting injuries - it would be a shame if he were unable to serve his sentence.
He's much heavier than I expected, so I'm glad I bought enough rope to tie him up first and then to tie him to the chair. Here's heavy enough that I just end up flipping him so he is laying on his back, still tied up around his ankles and hands. I wait.
Every time he groans, I growl "you bastard!" at him. So far, I've had 3 false alarms. On the 4th groan-and-bastard challenge, he opens his eyes, looking scared and confused.
"Mr. Wu", I say, my tone dripping with condescension, "were you planning on making me the second Heather Wu?"
He seems confused, then plays hurt very convincingly. "Heather? How did you know about her? Oh god, I knew this would come back to haunt me."
"Murder always haunts people - have you never read McBeth?"
He closes his eyes and hangs his head. Not the reaction I anticipated, but I'm glad he knows he's lost.
"Tell me, Jason. What was she worth? Did you ever get to cash in on her insurance policy? I expected your sentence to be longer? Is using your actual name a smart way of avoiding the law? "
"What? No, no! You don't understand!"
I smile. This is the reaction I was waiting for. Where he'd say it was all a misunderstanding.
"Then tell me."
"Heather was dying. Her breast cancer was bad when we finally caught it. It had spread to her lungs. She was in so much pain, and there was nothing the doctors could do."
"If it was disease, wouldn't have been better to wait it out? Or were you afraid that her long treatment would eat into your prize money?"
He lifted his head and stared at me in disbelief. "She was in pain. She begged the doctors to euthanize her, because she didn't want to suffer for years. The doctors expected her to last up to 18 months. **She** didn't want to suffer, she didn't want me to suffer, or go bankrupt because of her. I begged her to seek treatments - whatever the costs, whatever the risks. She didn't want to give me false hope with an experimental drug trial. She said 'what if it makes me uglier than bald?' Then she'd chuckle and say, "but in reality, what are the odds that an early testing drug will save me instead of shutting down my liver instead? I don't want to go, but I really don't want to go that way.'"
He hung his head again, and proceeded to cry. Could he be telling the truth? Was he really this convincing a liar?
After a few minutes, he looked up at the wall and declared, "I did it. My wife begged me to release her from her suffering, so I did. I injected her arm with a bottle of morphine that the nurse had *left* at the side of the table for the past 2 weeks, one month after Heather started begging all the hospital staff that walked in to end her miserable life. She died peacefully, the most peaceful since we found out about her cancer, the most peaceful she'd been in 7 months. I climbed into bed with her and she died in my arms."
Tears were falling down both our cheeks. I sniffled. I couldn't believe.
"If you look up the case, *the state v. Jason Wu*, you'll see that I was convicted and sentenced to time served. This was because Heather left a thank you and good-bye note with the nurse, to make sure people understood it was her wish.
Go ahead though. Finish me off. All I want is Heather. I thought I could move on after our date, but I can't. **You** can't. I miss her. I don't think I'll ever get over her. Please, please do it. You have to.
I sat down my bat. I sat down in front of him. There was no redemption for me. I had been a chance a normal life for him. I had beaten and tied him instead. Where could I possibly go from here? My phone dinged with a message - my own relationship score has now been reduced to -750.
|
“You sure this is the name?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve dated the guy for like three months now.”
“We always have a grand time. I think he’ll get a high enough score,” I added.
Gus looked at the dark alley behind me then pocketed the crumpled piece of paper.
“Let’s hope he does,” Gus muttered under his breath. “Wait here.”
He entered the back door of a Chinese restaurant. As far as people are concerned, he’s just a busboy there.
I hugged myself as the door closes in front of me. It’s really dark. I wonder why all the lightposts are busted.
Tick tock.
Rats were scavenging inside the large trashbins, I can hear them go through the day’s loot.
Tick tock.
The door opened. The light from the kitchen shone on Gus’ face. And that’s all I needed to see.
I held my breath.
“Here take this”, Gus said as he shoved the paper on me. “Get out of here fast. You don’t have to pay me.”
He went back inside. I hear the click of the lock.
It was dark again.
Tick tock.
I know it’s bad but I have to see. I took out my phone and held it over the paper.
I screamed inside.
-500?
How? I was in a daze. It doesn’t make sense.
Suddenly the bin cover opened and two rats stood.
“Wait, why would rats stand?” Nothing makes sense.
-500?
The posts suddenly blazed with blinding lights.
“Freeze! NYPD! Drop the paper on the ground.”
My heart stopped.
“Matt?”
*****
My first time. I would appreciate your comments.
| 2016-09-24T11:50:53
| 2016-09-24T11:40:10
| 38
| 21
|
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it.
|
First day at the academy, but it's not that exciting. I've been here before and it was just as boring then. The real fun doesn't come until after, most people don't even keep the familiar they get while they're here. Just a big 'show of power' or whatever. Wait... why is that cat following him...and that lizard on her shoulder?
​
"Uggggghhh", whoops. I look around. Yup, they noticed... I totally forgot to summon my familiar. Day one and I'm already behind.
​
Looking around, there are only a few spots I could do the summoning without someone seeing. This cove of trees should do the trick.
​
My pockets though. No wand today, some kind of 'no wands on the first day of school' what kind of policy is that? I break a stick off of a tree and draw a circle...it seems a bit empty.
​
I start going through my bag and of course, unprepared as ever, all I packed for lunch was a bag of chips, Cool Ranch Doritos. "I guess this'll have to do" and I toss it into the circle where it crinkles a bit.
​
Thankfully I brought the summoning dust, or rather, never took it out of the bag to begin with. Its the only thing that you really need to make a summoning work. I open the bag and grab a pinch. It smells weird... like mixing honey and \*sniff\* \*sniff\* barbecue sauce?
​
Then I feel my nose tingle. The wasn't a good idea...magic powder...nose...the tingling worsens... \*ACHOO\* the powder in the bag spills, emptying all over the ground, and the pinch i had gets scattered into the wind. I feel my jaw drop...I think I goofed. I look down at the circle and see no change, although I did notice the circle wasn't all the way closed...my best guess? It didn't work.
​
I hear the warning bell ring.
​
"Shoot, I don't have time to fix it or try again! Argghhh!" i grab my stuff and start rushing to the front door.
​
Huh? why are people crowded at the front gate? The closer I get the more apparent it is that everyone is staring down something blocking the way.
​
Finally I see it. "AHHH! What the heck??????" Sitting in front of the gate was a giant winged sphinx. All in all it was probably about the size of a large pickup with sky blue fur and a darker blue shade to its mane and tail.
​
What on earth is this thing doing here? I ask the guy next to me "Is this normal???"
​
He shrugs, "how should i know? its my first day here too you know!"
​
I turn back to the giant sphinx and squint...wait isn't that...in his mouth was a small open bag of...Cool Ranch Doritos.
​
"MASTER!" he roared out, the whole crowd gasped as the empty bag of doritos fell to the ground. "MASTER I HAVE HEARD YOUR CALL BUT I MUST ASK....ARE THERE ANY MORE OF THESE ASTOUNDING DELICACIES?????". He placed his front paw on the bag and stares directly at me.
​
My mind is racing a mile a minute, what on earth happened???
​
Then it hit me. The circles are closed to restrict the size of the familiar. Traditionally, familiars are meant to only be a certain size so they can follow their mages wherever they go.
​
And the summoning dust! It got caught into the wind, letting it travel to wherever this....sphinx came from.
​
"Hmm...maybe he didn't hear me." the sphinx begins to mumble to himself "perhaps i should try louder?" I snap back to reality...this isn't going to be good.
​
"MASTER!!!!!!" he roars, much louder than before, the sound echoes through the trees, shaking them and everything else in the area. The other students all cover their ears to minimize the sound, their screams basically inaudible over the sphinxes roar.
​
"Yeah I hear you! Quiet down!" I reply, rubbing my ears trying to get the ringing to stop. "I don't have any more Doritos but I can probably get more later. Who the heck are you?" although...i basically already know the important part of that question.
​
He sits up straight and proud. "I am Karass, The Northern Wonder, and am here to accept your offering of these 'Doritos' and fulfill my new duty as your familiar!"
|
I could hear the rituals from the other dorm. Chanting, Latin words thrown about like expletives, great noises of wooden staves clanking on the carpeted floor. Sounds like daemons screaming and darkbeasts roaring. Steel oils and serpent’s blood extracts mixed to form a potion that might seduce whatever creature rose from the summoning circle.
My roommate was asleep in the other side of the room. I had to knock her out with a spell because she was so distraught with her failed spell that she nearly died. I felt bad for her, of course, but at the same time she couldn’t spare me a single material for my own summoning.
And I’m broke as hell.
I look over my ingredients. A pencil, the inside of a pen and it’s spring, a bag of spicy Doritos, a bottle of Mountain Dew, chalk, and a half-eaten ‘edible’ cracker. Thanks, Canada. What can I do with these? Probably nothing. I draw a circle on the table with the chalk, and halfheartedly toss in the spicy Doritos. Nothing happens.
“Well fuck me was that ever surprising,” I deadpan before a low roar begins filling the room.
“What the hell?”
It got closer and closer, edging towards the circle, until I could finally make out the roar of a massive, unbridled beast.
#”MY NAAAAAAAAAAME IS KVRITRIKR ASZIKUVO ÍSASKUNING! AS I BREATHE, YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED INTO MY REALM!”
I had not a second to react before being whacked in the chest by something colder than my ex’s heart and very feathered. Roaring filled the room, as the sounds of plastic and tortilla crunching were heard just barely. I had landed in the wall, the air knocked out of me. I was vaguely aware of my roommate screaming in fear. Drywall landed on my head, and after the stars passed from my vision I could see a strange winged creature, emitting frost, in a ferocious battle with my Doritos. The room was freezing over, and the beast seemed to have gotten smaller. I could see a hole in the wall opposite of me that looked in on some very annoyed frat boys around a summoning circle. I struggle to get up, and I walk over to the winged creature.
“Hans! Be careful! Th-that’s an ice dragon!” I barely hear my roommate. The dragon looks up at me, it’s serpentine eyes fiercely sizing me up.
“Yo, dude, I was gonna eat those chips…” I mumble. It looks down at the bag.
“You… were going to eat…” the dragon looked down at the bag.
“Oh. My mistake. I thought that was an invading fire dragon. I’ll just take my leave now,” the dragon began walking back to the circle I drew.
“No, wait!” It hops back in and disappears.
“FUCK!” I begin cleaning up the mess of Doritos, shaking with fear and anger. I had summoned a dragon, and it just left! If it hadn’t been for the tooth and claw it left behind, I might’ve failed the course. Thank god for that, eh?
| 2019-04-05T16:41:38
| 2019-04-05T16:11:29
| 71
| 21
|
[WP] After a few million years you just remembered you cursed a mortal with eternal life. It was only meant for a few hundred years to teach him a lesson.
|
To be honest the first million years hadn’t been so bad for K’rsst. Sure he’d watched his people slowly go extinct but after that things had been pretty quiet.
Then the asteroid struck. He hadn’t had any time to react as the shock wave melted his skin and then buried him under debris. Once his skin grew back it took him a few years to claw his way back to the surface, emerging in a desolate hell of ashen winter. Slowly the sky returned to normal and larger prey returned to the landscape.
He watched seasons come and go, the planet freeze and thaw. New forms of life walked on land and then just as quickly disappeared. He liked these new flying creatures most of all. Their feathers reminded him of his people, of going hunting through the forest and of home.
Eons of silence were broken by the arrival of some new creatures, bipedal mammals! The first time he encountered them they threw crude spears and chased him. The next group worshipped him. If only they knew what real gods could do…
And so the cycle repeated for the next few thousand years. Fear and worship, panic and praise. He taught them many things, but lost just as many limbs.
Eventually he’d had enough and retreated back into the wilderness. He found refuge in a remote swamp for many years until the mammals returned. They brought with them bristling machines of metal, tearing up the earth and leaving behind black ashen paths. When they were done he breathed a sigh of relief. His peace didn’t last long.
Crossing the black stretch one night he was blinded by two new stars. It seemed they were getting closer and closer until he saw it. A large metal thing with a mammal inside hit him with more force than he’d felt in millennia.
The metal screeched to a stop and the mammal got out screaming. Before the mammal could reach him he pulled himself into the waters of the swamp and hid.
The next morning the mammals printed ink on a mix of wooden fibers. In their language there was a large section of text with a crude drawing of K’rsst, it read, “Lizard Man Spotted in Everglades!”.
Nog’zidah was drinking his morning tea, looking out at humanity when one of his servants brought him the humans’ latest news. He saw the headline and spit out his tea. “Oh shit, I completely forgot about that guy!”
|
One lazy afternoon, while God was playing volleyball with the angels, a stunning revelation came upon him.
"Oh shoot," he muttered under his breath as he ran off the court with sand stuck between his toes.
Knowing everything is a lot like knowing nothing, he thought to himself, trying to remember which room he had trapped the man in. How long had it been? At least a million years, he decided, with his hand on the doorknob.
He paused. What should he tell the man? *Sorry, I was planning on letting you live for a few hundred years, just to give you a taste of my life, letting you know it isn't all sunshine and roses, but I forgot, and you've been alive much longer. Better late than never?*
Besides, it wasn't his fault he was God. It sort of just happened one day, before anything existed. He never asked to be born the Creator, so why should he take responsibility for his mistakes? Tornadoes never got in trouble for their destruction.
Prepared for an argument, he opened the door.
There the man was, hunched over looking at something, with his back towards him. What was his name again? Theo?
"Hello, Theo," God's epic voice boomed. "Be not afraid."
Theo looked over his shoulder, still hunched over, and held a finger to his mouth.
"Shh," he whispered.
God was struck by how well-kept the man looked. A million years had not changed Theo one bit. He still had the same short blonde hair, the same black hoodie, and the same ripped jeans. He probably had the same smart aleck mouth too, but he hadn't said anything, to God's surprise. Theo's attention returned to whatever he was crouched over.
Like a curious cat, God slowly inched his way into the room. He moved on his tip toes, respecting Theo's wish for silence. And then, he saw it. The thing he couldn't see from the doorway. The thing that had taken Theo a million years to create.
"You don't mean..." God said, astonished.
"I do."
Together, with God crouching down beside him, they looked down at the blue floating marble. They saw a war between people, and they watched as a soldier impaled another with a spear. They witnessed a child crying as her father drank instead of feeding her. They frowned as a homeless man was spat on by a passerby. And then, in other places, places that were always there, you just had to look, they saw other things. Two daughters giving a freshly picked flower to their mother. A baby giggling while being licked by a Golden Retriever. Teenagers alone in a car sharing their first kiss.
"How did you...?" God asked.
"I don't know. But it's beautiful, isn't it?"
God agreed, it was beautiful. Despite the war, despite the cruelty, and despite the hatred, the world Theo had created was still one worth living in. You just had to know where to look.
Yes, it wasn't perfect, both of them were well aware of that.
But it was good enough.
| 2022-01-27T05:58:41
| 2022-01-27T00:00:10
| 287
| 197
|
[WP] "Is this the hill you wish to die on, soldier?"
You can take this literally, but for those who don't know, it can also mean 'is this an argument you really want to have?' Enjoy!
|
Is this the hill you wish to die on soldier?
The end is drawing near
Are you ready to meet your maker?
A soldier has no fear
 
The sky is roaring thunder
The ground a roaring fire
You can't help but wonder
If death is not too dire
 
Is this the hill you wish to die on soldier?
Is it too late to turn around?
Is this your final resting place?
The end is soon begun
 
Here he stands
A man with a soldiers heart
Here he stands
Ready to face the dawn
 
Is this the hill you wish to die on soldier?
Your last and final will
Is this where your path has led you?
To this god-forsaken hill
|
From the distance, me and the Captain watched from our hill as the opposing army advanced.
Our army had long fled, but a Captain was never supposed to leave a soldier. So for now it was only him and I.
"We should run," he said.
"You can go, Captain. Tell the squad I died fighting."
"Is this the hill that you wish to die on, soldier?"
I looked at him until he understood. Only then did I look away and reply. "Yes."
In my peripheral, I saw him nod. And then I felt the pistol pressed to my temple.
| 2017-06-05T09:26:24
| 2017-06-05T08:54:47
| 67
| 13
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
"Run away, run away!! It's going to eat us!"
"My wife! My boy! It's going to eat them all!"
"Wait, could it be? Is it the great, fantastic...hmmm, magnificient Mighty Man!"
"Mighty Man, Mighty Man, he'll save us from the monsters!"
"Yes it is I, Mighty Man. The mightiest man in all of Pleasantville. I shalt slay you monsterous beast!"
"RAWWWWWWR!!"
"MIGHTY SMmmmmaaaaaaaaa-"
The door opens just slightly as little Timmy enters his father's study, envelopes placed haphazardly across the room.
"Did you see my action figures...Dad??"
|
Glass
Lottery was like my religion. I would treat everyday like Sunday. Everyday, I'd pray about my six numbers. I would even kneel. Because I was desperately hoping. Always. Always hoping to hit the jackpot.
I'd always wanted to buy my wife those south sea pearls her mother passed down unto her, but she pawned as we were poor and needed the money for my medication. And that pink dress on the mall she can only afford to stare at every time we would pass by that cheap local boutique. I can only hold her hands and smile during that painful walk by the mall. Maybe someday. Someday.
I ran down the stairs. Still fazed by my lack of my waking up ritual. But I'm used to it. Because it was always the same. Like every morning of any other day. And with hopes higher than the previous day, I was devastated by the greeting of my empty balcony. With no signs of that rolled paper thrown by that young underpaid boy. I waited. Frustrated.
I was woken up by a the touch of compacted sheets softly hitting my head and the faint chuckle of that poor boy with the sound of his bicycle chain slowly fading out the melodies of the morning songs of the birds.
I smiled. Opened the remains of what was a tree, and was greeted by that familiar smell that again woke up my hopes. And right there. At that very moment. I was happy. Because finally. Finally.
She looks so beautiful on that pink dress. With that smile that makes all the seven wonders dull. And with a tight grip I held the pearls on my shaking hands. Then tears bean falling my eyes. My eyes that hunger for her sight.
And I heard that clack. As my tears that fell down was stopped by the glass on her casket.
| 2017-08-30T07:30:27
| 2017-08-30T07:26:10
| 33
| 11
|
[WP] You accidentally call the FBI in place for a pizza shop and attempt to order your favourite pizza with toppings. Coincidentally, the FBI uses pizza language as a means of code.
|
I tossed my bag onto the couch and flopped down onto it myself, letting out a long groan.
God, I'm never pulling another double shift again, I thought. Fuck the money.
I stared into the darkness of the kitchen, fifteen feet away. I stared for whole minutes. Fifteen feet. Might as well be fifteen miles, I thought, sighing and digging in my pocket for my cell phone. No way I was cooking tonight.
I opened up the web browser on my phone to search for my usual pizza place-- what was that number again? I rolled my eyes. Something was up with the wifi. I scrolled through my recent calls. Which of these was it? Let's see, I ordered pizza last week, so it must be...
Whatever. I dialed the number in hesitantly. Let's see... 556... 05... 43? Yeah. Yeah, that's it. I hit the call button.
After half a ring, they picked up. Nice and quick. "Fabio's pizza."
Fabio's? I thought. Isn't it Gino's? Whatever. "Yes, could I have an order for delivery?"
"What's your location?"
"Ah, it's 884 Lebanon Street."
"Confirmed. Go ahead."
I almost laughed. Confirmed? "Yeah, I'd like a large pizza with pepperoni on half, and buffalo chicken on the other half. I'd also like an order of wings. Extra bleu cheese, pretty please." My mouth dropped open, and I blushed. God, did I really just say that? It just slipped out. "Um, that-- that'll do it," I said awkwardly.
"Package en route," the guy said, and hung up.
I looked at the phone. Who talks like that? And he didn't even give me a total. I forgot my embarrassment and clicked on the TV. I scrolled through Netflix. Maybe an episode of Scrubs while I waited? I scrolled through the list of episodes...
My eyes fluttered open. I pushed myself up off the couch, and saw light streaming in through the windows. "Aw, fuck!" I spat. I must have slept right through the delivery guy's call. Slept through the whole night, as a matter of fact. I looked at my phone. Well, Jesus, no missed calls. I sat there in a funk for a long moment, trying to figure out some way of looking at this where I wouldn't be pissed off. I wasn't that creative.
I would get up and take a shower a little later. For now, I just scrolled through some articles on my phone, trying to take my mind off of it. At least the wifi was working again. I noticed one news story kept popping up: some general or something getting assassinated in the Middle East, over in Lebanon. I sighed. I guess life's a bitch no matter where you live.
|
"Hello," the woman on the other end of the phone said back to me, "how can I help you today?"
"Yeah, can I have a large pepperoni-" I started. Someone in the background asked me to pick up a meat lovers instead. There was a short argument, "On second thought can you make it half pepperoni and half sausage."
"Are you confident?" She sounded nervous. I couldn't understand why.
"Yeah I want that pizza."
"Sir, would you like soda too?"
"Yeah, I think we definitely need Coke," I said eyeing the bottle of chase that had been stolen by basically everyone. We'd brought two bottles, but we were already running out.
"Hol-" she began, "yes as fast as possible sir."
"Yeah I'll pay cash at the door okay."
"Hold tight sir we are on our way." She sounded desperate, panicked even. I didn't know what was going on but if they were going to be stressed about a pizza, it might as well have been mine. I turned back to the rest of the party. Beer pong looked like it was somewhat open. I walked over there to see if I could slip in for a game.
About ten minutes later there was the sound of sirens outside. I shushed everyone, "don't worry it's not late enough that they are going to kick us out, just a friendly reminder I think," I pointed out to my girlfriend Jess as she came up to me. She seemed satisfied with my explanation and sat down on the couch with one of her friends. I went to grab the door.
I didn't need to; the door was kicked in, and I was shoved back against the wall. I smashed into it and shook my head, "Woah-woah-woah," I started, "What the hell is going on?"
"That's a match for the voice," came a female voice from the other side of the door. The same man who had kicked the door in grabbed it and pulled it off of me, "what's your name?" the woman asked.
"Jeff," I stuttered, "what's going on?"
"Jeff, what's the code?" she asked. She walked into sight; she was a complete bombshell, but her tits were ruined by the fact that she was carrying an assault rifle, "I'm not fucking around, what's the code?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know," she took the gun and pressed it hard against my forehead, "You called for this bullshit if you're who you claim you are you'd better give me the code in ten seconds."
"What the fuck."
"Ten."
"No seriously."
"Nine."
One of my friends cut in, "You can't just do that, he has rights."
"Eight."
"I was trying to order a pizza!" I shouted. She suddenly pulled the gun off of my forehead.
"What?"
"I wanted pizza."
"Y-you thought you were calling for pizza?" She repeated what I said.
"Yes, I thought I was calling for Pizza I'm sorry."
"How did you get the number so wrong."
"I'm drunk," I admitted, "I'm only 20 but I'm drunk, and I'm sorry."
She pulled the gun away from me and put it down to her side. Everyone was silent for a while, "Let's go, guys," she finally hissed.
| 2015-11-30T16:25:52
| 2015-11-30T16:18:28
| 32
| 12
|
[WP] The year is 2284. The United States officially recognizes every person over the age of 65 to be a worthless sponge of resources. Tell the story of a smuggler who makes a living by concealing the elderly.
|
Shamiso Nguyen was born in 2264 to an Earth Alliance Vice Admiral father and the Earth diplomat to the Avia home world.
His mother had been a kind woman that spent the earliest years of her life growing up in Metroplex Zeta-2, just inside what would've been the border of Old Zimbabwe. She was assassinated by an isolationist radical when returning from one of her diplomatic excursions to Avia.
Shamiso's father had enlisted in the Earth Alliance Naval Academy when he was sixteen years old, leaving behind his home in Under City 12, an absolutely gargantuan city made of tunnels and large carved rooms buried beneath the entirety of what had once been Ho Chi Minh City. He had been recycled on his 65th birthday, leaving Shamiso to live as ward of the Unified People's Government for three years before his coming of age.
Shamiso had experienced the standard education that a ward receives. He was fluent in three alien languages (excluding the Unified Standard), combat trained, and could perform basic tasks in a plethora of unique and practical areas. His critical thinking abilities had been honed sharply, his physicality and athleticism had been emphasized, and his father's legacy had almost guaranteed Shamiso a position in the EANA.
Shamiso, however, had no love for the Earth Alliance Navy. Shamiso had no love for the UPG, the government that had euthanized his father and made him an orphan. The UPG, upon its foundation after the First Contact War, had ruled that persons over the age of 65 were too much of a strain on the government to maintain. Due to their inability to contribute, the UPG had decided to painlessly euthanize the elderly and use their bodies for medicine, science, and other "worthy" pursuits.
The only human beings in the galaxy over the age of 65 were those brave enough to attempt to colonize new worlds, and those that hid. Four times the Unified People's Government had sent colony ships into the interstellar abyss. Three times resulted in failure, but one attempt had seen a modest colony that had lasted long enough for one of the citizens to celebrate his 66th birthday. That left a single legally living elder in the eyes of the law. Shamiso chose to make his living dealing with those that lived illegally.
____
Shamiso sat in the bar with his back to the wall, sipping from a cup of carbonated water, pretending to be intoxicated. He ran his hand through his hair, feeling the pointed ends of his buzz cut scratching away at his palm. He ran his eyes over the room again, trying to take in as much as possible through the low light before things got under way. The bar to his left with the Avia bartender, a beautiful woman with pink skin and long, sky blue hair. Sat at the bar were two men, complaining loudly about their drinks and generally causing a ruckus. To Shamiso's right was an older woman sitting alone in a booth and nursing what appeared to be an entire bottle of Alcosynth. This must have been his mark, 64 year old Haley Abramowski.
Shamiso moved to sit across from her, sliding in to the booth and turning so that he could keep an eye on the bar's other inhabitants. He rapped three fingers in quick succession on the table, drawing the woman's attention to him instead of her bottle. "Abramowski?" he asked, cracking a small smirk when her eyes lit up.
"Why... yes, yes. You must be... Redux, was it?"
Shamiso laughed, extending his hand across the table. "Well," he began, "there doesn't seem to be a need for a pseudonym, now that you've seen my face. Your family is trusting me to keep you safe, I need you to trust me even more than they do. It's Shamiso, but you can call me Iso." Haley reached for his hand, shook it, and said "Well, it's really a pleasure to meet you. Have you been doing this long?"
"Smuggling?" asked Shamiso. "Sure, sure. I've been of age for three years, now, so I've been at it... probably two or three."
Haley's wrinkled eyes opened wide, and she wondered aloud, "Wow, you must've smuggled a lot of elderly. How many do you think you've helped escape? Where do you take them?"
"I have smuggled one hundred and eighteen elderly people. Where I take them, however, I wouldn't be able to tell you, Mrs. Abramowski."
Her brow furrowed. "Why not, Iso? Won't you be taking me there, as well?"
Shamiso laughed, slapping the table to emphasize each sound. "Absolutely not, Haley!"
"And why is that?" She asked, crossing her arms in front of her.
"That, my dear, is because I know when the UPG is on my tail. I am always, *always*, a step ahead." Shamiso stared into the old woman's eyes, hoping to see any indication that he was correct in his suspicions. Somewhere inside of the fields of blue that he was studying, he identified it. Guilt.
Shamiso quickly reached down to his left leg, drawing a compact Irradiator and touching it to Haley's knee under the table. "Do you know what I'm pointing at you?" he asked.
"Y-yes."
"Do you know what will happen to every cell in your body, should I pull this trigger?"
"... I do."
"Good," Shamiso said, standing up from the booth and turning towards the old woman. He quickly glanced behind himself so that he could confirm the other inhabitants of the bar were cut off from the old woman's point of view, then he leaned in. "I know who you are. I know who you work for. And now, I know that they know everything that I wanted them to hear. I picked up your transmitter wavelength before you even got to the bar."
Haley coughed, choking on her words with tears welling up in her eyes. "It's the right way, Shamiso. The government is the only way to assure the structure and success of our species, and you're trying to dismantle it. Undermine it. *Poison* it. Please, let me take you in. You're not a killer, you're a smuggler. Compliance could only make things better for you."
"Unfortunately," Shamiso spat angrily, "I have a group of elderly, kind, good, contributing citizens to transport." His gun briefly glowed, made no noise, and then he walked out of the bar whistling to himself.
In the booth, there remained only a smoldering pile of radioactive ash.
_____
(So, this became *really* long because I got kind of caught up in world-building. I haven't written in the longest time, but let me know what you think!)
|
They were in my care. It didn't matter that they were human and I was machine. It didn't matter that it was the new law. What mattered was their lives, their livelihoods, their trust in me. They called me Son, and I was their caretaker.
The retirement community itself had 455 residents; the neighboring village had 75 who joined us soon after. They came because I made a promise, a promise that I intended to fill: I would get all 530 souls to the safety of the Cascadian Republic.
The air-train I commandeered for the journey was old, 22nd century tech, but I made sure it could fly. As the seniors all crammed on board, I made a final safety check, and then we began the voyage west. They were scared, I could tell, scared of the F-74s, scared of leaving their homes, scared of the unknown. I tried my best to reassure them, give them hope for the future, reignite their spirits. Some begged to return back, to live out their lives in Final Retirement, but others insisted we press on toward freedom. We pressed on.
| 2016-10-19T10:15:07
| 2016-10-19T09:41:45
| 45
| 17
|
[WP] You have "Anime Protagonist Syndrome" but with medication it's under control - ninja catgirls and giant mecha haven't attacked you in months and your hair is back to normal. Your aunt is visiting and she doesn't believe your condition is real, and she just dumped your pills down the drain.....
|
"Lil, I know you don't believe me now, and you don't have to. But soon, you'll realize that you've made a mistake."
"What are you talking about, Jenny?"
"Things are going to start changing in the next few hours, first with me and then around me, as my meds wear off. This happens every time. You and Mom might wanna go out to brunch and then go into the city to go shopping or something, because this neighborhood won't be safe." I opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the eggs.
"Oh, now you're just making things up! You've always been dramatic, it's because your mom spoiled you." She planted her hand on the kitchen counter.
"I told you that you didn't have to believe me. I'm making eggs, are you getting brunch with Mom or would you like some?"
"I'd like some. Sunny side up."
I felt a vein bulge out in my forehead. Was it starting already? "Sure, I'll make yours first. Hash browns okay?"
"I'd rather have roasted potatoes, but I know you won't have time to make those...hash browns are fine." She looked down the nose of her glasses.
That vein again.
Luckily, the cooking was easy. The eggs looked beautiful shimmering in the oil as they fried, and the hash browns sizzled perfectly.
I felt compelled to chop up some little green onions, sprinkle the eggs with seasoning by hand, and beautifully plate the breakfast. Just like anime food, I thought. It was definitely happening.
"Oh, Jenny, this is lovely!" Lil cooed. "Let's hope it tastes half as good as it looks!"
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"
"Why is that vein on your forehead popping out, are you okay?"
"No! I mean yes. But no! Without my meds, things like this happen!"
"Is that why your hair is that awful shade of purple?"
"It is? Oh, nice! I should pull it up before it gets too long." I grabbed a couple hair ties from my skirt pocket and pulled my hair back in cute little twintails.
"No, it's not nice! How are you doing this?"
"Through no effort of my own," I deadpanned. "We've been over this. I have Anime Protagonist Syndrome. Left untreated, I become Jenny-chan, the protagonist of a magical girl anime. This persona and all its resulting chaos have attached to me psychically, and those pills are the only thing that prevent complete transformation of myself as well as my environment."
"English, please."
"Without those pills, I become Jenny-chan and reality becomes a shit show."
The dog door swung open.
"I still don't believe you. You're doing something, some kind of trick with your hair --"
Even as four catgirl ninjas grabbed her, Lil argued.
"... and I bet those drugs are some kind of narcotic, too, I can't believe you're manufacturing all this drama..."
"I could have been calling the pharmacy. Waiiii~!"
I shoveled Lil's breakfast into my mouth in three bites and headed to my room to grab Momo-tan, my magical corgi, who would no doubt be wearing a white and purple dress to match mine.
|
"I did you a favor, Dave. As soon as your mother gets home, I'll tell her all about your 'medicine.' I won't let my nephew become no goddamn junkie-"
CRASH.
The dining room window shattered. A red-eyed man wearing all black and with fire spouting from his hands stood amongst the glass and rubble. "Kenji, I've found you, fool."
Dave straightened up, pushed his aunt out of the way. Then his own eyes changed to an electric blue and he drew a katana seemingly from thin air.
"D-dave? What is going on?"
"Shut up." Dave barked. "And my name's not Dave. It's Kenji."
"Wh-"
CLASH.
Dave rushed the intruder and swung at him with his sword, to which his enemy parried with his bare hands in a shower of clanging steel and sparks.
"Oh God! Oh dear!" His aunt wailed in the background as the house was torn to shreds.
"Now you've made it personal, Jorou. You have attacked my home, attacked my family."
"Just like you and your clan has invaded my country, razed our villages, and killed my entire people." Jorou spat back, hatred burning behind red irises.
"That was centuries ago, in a different era. The sins of the father-"
"Do not lecture me!" Jorou growled and threw a gout of black fire at Kenji.
"Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Dave, HELP!!" His aunt screamed, surrounded by black-fire.
"Tsk." Dave (Kenji) clicked his tongue. "Looks like I have to go all out."
"Oh?" Jorou lifted an eyebrow, intrigued.
Dave unsealed an arcane tattoo (that had spontaneously appeared on his arm after he stopped taking the pills) and immediately felt a torrential energy welling up from his core.
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA" He screeched as he swung at Jorou in a savage flurry with inhumane speed.
"Hahahaha, magnificent. You are magnificent, for a Kantai dog." Jorou laughed even as he was cornered by the strikes and parrying for dear life.
"Disappear." Dave spat, as he landed a rib-cracking kick square on Jorou's chest, sending him flying across the living room and out the house, leaving a crater through the wall.
Dave ran over to his aunt, grabbed her and dived through the crater, through the flames, and left her leaning against a tree.
"Oh my God. Thank you Davie. Thank you." His aunt rocked back and forth, in shock.
Dave walked up to finish off Jorou when suddenly a giant mecha flew down from the skies, along with a bunch of men in orange uniforms with glowing blonde hair. Muscular men with phantom "Stands" appeared as well, along with a plethora of ninjas and samurai with varying hair colors.
His death imminent, Dave had a momentary flash of lucidity and broke free from his Kenji persona. "Aunt Marie!!! The pills! Give them to me now!!"
She searched through her purse, luckily she didn't dump all of them down the drain, kept some to show his mother to expose him as a 'junkie.' She tossed them to Dave. "Here!!!"
He caught the bottle and downed several pills dry.
Just as the Saiyans were about to Ki blast him to kingdom come, the pills activated, and reality shifted.
His enemies faded away, screaming in abject terror, while his Kenji persona similarly dissipated, his hair color and eye color returning to normal, his power and arcane tattoos disappearing.
The house, however, was still a mess.
"What on Earth just happened?" His aunt stood shakily and asked.
"Never, ever take away my pills again, Aunt Marie." Dave growled. "Call the fire department."
...
| 2022-07-31T18:11:19
| 2022-07-31T17:25:53
| 590
| 254
|
[WP] You work at a small bookstore. You love and cherish these books, and meticulously care for them. One slow afternoon, a novel falls from its shelf. You bend down to retrieve it, and notice there is only one word written on the page: “Run.” The door chimes. You have a customer.
|
People who like books tend to be hoarders, Most avid readers know this to be fact. The pull of a good book is something that just doesn’t fade with the steady march of time. It’s hard to get rid of something that impacted you, that kept you entertained on a long trip, that provided company on a lonely winter night, that has a very piece of your soul between the pages. Perhaps this is why many readers own enough books to sink a small Venetian gondola. Books lie half opened on coffee tables. Stacks of them form into haphazard nightstands. They rise up into eaves and rafters. Shelves are rammed full of them.
The readers who eventually end up owning their own libraries or bookshops are an even worse breed. Immortal bookshop owners are an unimaginable chaotic force.
Sophie was a chaotic individual on a good day. She looked to be in her mid 20s. Her messy hair was permanently piled high into a bun that closely resembled a bird nest. She had gotten into the habit of storing various writing implements in her hair sometime around the 15th century and had yet to kick the habit. She wore a uniform of paint splattered overalls. She had a rounded, youthful face and even rounder eyes that were accented by a circular pair of glasses. She looked as if she should be dancing along to ABBA on a beach in Greece at any given moment.
Sophie did not look like an immortal creature of the night.
Vampires come in many shapes and sizes. Sophie knew vampires who were cinephiles and vampires who were artists. She knew vampires who were actors and politicians, who rose from the shadows once every hundred years or so to push their agenda before sinking back down into their secret, hidden lives. Sophie had her own skill set.
She was a collector. A librarian. A thief.
Sophie held at least 10 centuries worth of knowledge in her shop. She thrived off knowledge. She had at least five masters degrees and four PHDs. Sophie was a master of all things vampiric. Her shop was a Mecca was all creatures of the night seeking advice on deeds both good and evil.
She was normally a fairly distracted person, full of racing thoughts and unfinished plots. She was especially distracted today. She hurried about her little shop, throwing items into the shoulder bag she had picked up somewhere in Germany in 1864. She paused to check the ancient watch around her wrist. 2:46 pm. She had just seven minutes until her unwanted guests arrived. She paused to run her fingers over the old leather-bound spines of the classics section. Her heart didn’t beat and hadn’t done since around 1190 AD and yet she still felt it break as she thought about leaving this little sanctuary she had created for herself.
Sophie shook herself out of the reprieve. She could return. Some day. Somehow. She knew you would eventually. She whirled around to fetch the flask of tea she had prepared for the journey ahead, knocking into a shelf as she moved.
She winced as a thick, dark tome slammed onto her toe. She sighed and knelt down to put the book back into its rightful place in the divination section. It had fallen open to the last page. She couldn’t help but smirk at the foreboding message inked on the creamy parchment.
“RUN”
The bell she had had installed two hundred years previously chimed merrily. Heavy footsteps thudded over the dusty floorboards. Sophie didn’t bother to look up.
The great vampire hunt occurs once every 150 years. Sophie knows that her pens are mightier than the swords of the hunters. She has survived a great many before and would survive a great many after this one.
|
Thinking the book nothing more than odd, you delicately close it and place it back on the shelf. It’s strange that you’ve never noticed this book before, since you care for each book in the store with such care, but you focus on the customer for now.
“Good morning, welcome to Brook’s Books. Anything I can help you find today?”
“Not really, just searching.”
This is nothing out of the ordinary either, most people come in just to look around before deciding whether they want to buy something or not. The man’s face is peculiar to you though.
He has a large, beak-like nose, sandy hair, and deep brown eyes, so deep they almost seem black. Black like the void, black like a raven’s wings.
He waltzes around the bookshelves with a metered and almost cautious pace. Winding up and down aisles until he comes to the very shelf with the book on it that you just put back up on the shelf. He reaches out and grabs it in a swift and precise motion, as if he knew exactly what he was looking for all along.
As he pulls it down you realize that the cover has no words or images either. It’s just dusty, old, plain, and black. Deep black leather the same shade as the mysterious man’s eyes. As he softly opens it to a page, a glint of interest, or perhaps excitement flitters across his eyes. Though you can’t see the page, you assume it still says “run.” You’re starting to wonder why he could possibly be interested in this odd book with only one word in it.
He closes it with a thud, and shifts his black gaze to you.
“This one piques my interest. I’ll be taking it.”
Unsure of how much this book even costs, and unable to look it up due to the lack of a title, you wonder what you should charge for this oddity.
“Really, you want the book with one word in it? Not sure how much it’ll cost, may have to call the store owner.”
“Oh, it has much more than one word in it my dear. This book shows the reader the message they need to hear most at the point in time which they look in it.”
Your disbelief is palpable, haha who ever heard of anything like that. Sounds like a poorly written movie plot device. What are you gonna find next in here, Jack Sparrow’s magic compass?
“And you misunderstood me, I won’t be paying for it.”
The man doesn’t waste a motion, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a switchblade, slits your throat and then wipes it off on an old paperback nearby on the desk.
“Perhaps you should’ve listened to it’s message my dear. Good day.”
The man walks out the door. As blood pours out of the gash in your throat and you struggle to breathe through a windpipe that no longer holds air, you hear the bell on the door chime one last time.
| 2019-08-05T05:46:08
| 2019-08-05T05:09:58
| 150
| 53
|
[WP] Write two small stories with the exact same words in the same order, but with punctuation giving them completely different meanings.
[deleted]
|
I watched you dance in the rain. It was beautiful. You smiled, I smiled back. Then there was joy. And now, you are still beautiful like a flower.
I watched you dance. In the rain it was beautiful. You smiled. I smiled. Back then there was joy. And now, you are still. Beautiful like a flower.
|
The moment I left, or the only moment left:
-“Stay close.” Your eyes: hope.
-“No, I have to go away.”
-“Don't leave me alone.” Now fear.
-Love, it makes everything... Better go now.
-"Stay. Close your eyes, Hope."
-"No!"
-"I have to."
-"Go away! Don't! Leave me alone now!"
-"Fear... Love it. Makes everything better. Go now..."
| 2015-09-23T10:42:41
| 2015-09-23T10:05:10
| 630
| 18
|
[WP] "We can accept god becoming man to save man, but not man becoming god to save himself"
|
"So, although the loss of Dr. Wagner is a tragedy, I think it is vital that we continue project Lethanos. Not only would this be in the spirit of her work, it is, in my eyes, essential to the survival of the human race."
Dr. Wolinsky had finished his plea and let his eyes wander through the room. About a third of the people present were researchers, some of them his own. The rest constituted of government and military representatives. Several intelligence services had sent agents, too. Collecting his papers, he tried to estimate whether he had managed to convince his audience. Project Lethanos had always been a delicate issue and his lead researcher's tragic death wasn't going to create stablity.
The folder slipped from his wet hands and song lyrics forced their way into his thoughts: *His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy...*
He smiled. *Lose Yourself*. He had grown up with that song. He reminisced about his clidhood for a few seconds. The early twenty-first century had seemed so full of hope and bright optimism. As he bent down to pick up his folder, the mention of Dr. Wagner's name turned his smile into a grim one. He was forced back into reality by Agent Kline's voice.
"Thank you, Dr. Wolinsky. There are, as you can imagine, questions."
Wolinsky nodded serenely.
"Firstly, you said Dr. Wagner's work was essential for the project's success so far. Is that correct?"
He nodded again, barely moving his head.
"Would you say she had taken any...unusual risk compared to the other researchers?"
"She always respected all safety precautions as long as she was in the laboratory. Still, what we do - did - is dangerous work."
"I see..." Kline waited, then a gleeful smile began to grow on his face. "Now, there seems to be evidence that while she did adhere to the safety rules *within* the laboratory, she also took her work *outside* of it. That in itself would have been grounds for a dismissal, correct?"
Wolinsky's stomach lurched. *Fuck*.
"Yes."
Kline turned to the woman who had spoken. She was tall, thin, and her gray hair was braided in what he knew to be the traditional Swedish fashion. Signe Olsson, Catherine Wagner's mother. She had been silent for most of today's trial, but now she was standing upright and glared at Kline in anger.
"You are Dr. Wagner's mother?"
"I am. And I've got a few things to say about my daughter." Her blue eyes seemed to stare directly into Kline's.
"Fine." He let out a resigned sigh.
Olsson kneeled onto the floor and seemed to whisper into her handbag. It wasn't until she had come out from behind the table where she had been sitting that it made sense to Wolinsky.
*Oh no.*
She had braught Anna, her granddaughter. Anna was only five and seemed intimidated and afraid. She clinged to her grandmother's hand and looked as if she had cried. Wolinsky couldn't imagine what losing her mother at such a young age and being flown across the country several times for examination after examination must have done to such a young mind.
"Who is the child?", Kline asked.
"My granddaughter. Your *evidence*." Olsson's glare could melt stones. Wolinsky was surprised that Kline didn't squirm in his chair. Instead, he motioned to an agent waiting next to the door. "Watson, remove the child."
"Remove, Sir?"
"Bring her out of the room!"
For a moment, nobody moved. Then agent Watson slowly walked towards Olsson and the girl. He crouched before Anna and offered her his hand. "Come."
"Nana." It was the first time Wolinsky heard Anna's voice. It was full of pain and fear.
"Don't touch her." Olsson frowned at Watson who in turn, didn't dare to move. He looked helplessly at his superior Kline.
"Mrs. Olsson, this is an official trial. I cannot allow a child in this room. Surely you understand. Watson, bring her into the cafeteria. Now!"
Watson repeated the gesture and said: "Come with uncle Tom. Let's go and take a walk." He edged closer.
"Nana!" Anna's eyes began to fill with tears.
"Now!", shouted Kline, eager to end the ruckus.
Watson lost his nerves. He grabbed hold of the girl and started running out.
"Nanaaaaaaaa!", Anna cried as she extended her hands towards her grandmother. Watson ignored her wailing. Fully focused on his next objective - reaching the door - he was unaware that the screens in the room had begun to flicker. Nor did he notice that small sparks crept up and down on his body.
"NANAAAAAAA!"
The small girl's voice echoed around in the room unnaturally loud for a fraction of a second. Then, the shrill noise was replaced by an enirely silent explosion, the force of which hurled Whatson against the closed door. All the lights went out at the same time.
When the lighting flickered into life again a few seconds later, Anna floated three feet above the ground. Her hair surrounded her head like a cloud as she sobbed quietly.
Olsson wallked over to her granddaughter who eased into her embrace. "Shhhh, shhhh. *Lugna dig. Nana är här.* Shhhh." She cradled Anna in her arms and turned to Kline.
"I know you don't want to, but we have to face it. This is the future. *Anna* is the future. And there's no way back."
|
Atop a mountain stood the relic sword of Ardas, half bent into a bear-sized boulder. It gleamed golden-brown, a fabled mix of gold and bronze adorned with rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds. Standing on top of the world there was nothing but me, the mountaintop and a seemingly endless expanse of clouds. With my last bit of strength, I clawed closer to the sword, which rested another ten meters up from where I lay.
I couldn't stop laughing—not a gleeful, happy laugh—a laugh that screamed, "stay away from him, honey, stay close to me... Is someone calling the police?" It was all I could do to distract myself from the crippling pain that infested my body. Every cut, scrape, tear and break; every ounce of pressure that erupted from the cancerous bulbs in my body. Laughter cured the side effects, though it could not cure the disease.
Slowly, I made my way closer. The earth crumbled beneath my body each time I grasped the rocks with my hand and pulled myself forward. I feared the incline could trigger an avalanche of rocks, sending me, at last, to my death down the side of the mountain's peak.
"Ha ha ha HAHAHA HA ha," the laughter came, uncontrollably now. Tears began to fall down my face. I heard cheers and gazed up. Around the sword, my family was cheering. The people of my town were cheering.
"Go Kalha! You got it! Just a little more!" yelled Betta, the town's baker. A plump woman with large eyes and wild frizzy hair, who always wear a chef's hat for whatever reason.
"Honey, you can do it. You can save us all," my mom said, still dressed in her pink kitchen apron that my father gave her when I was four. It was decorated with a large ruby heart where the apron met her heart.
With their encouragement, I made it to the rock. Now I had to try and stand. The cancer had grown largely around my hips in the last part of my journey. I had been crawling for the last three days.
I propped myself against the rock, pulling my body against it. There was no way I could reach the hilt of the sword from any angle on my knees. The rock was simply too large to crawl up without my legs.
My feet planted. I felt nothing. Not the earth beneath them, not the tension of muscle ready to support me. I couldn't help thinking, "is this what it feels like to be a baby?" I laughed a real laugh, trying to quiet my fears—if my legs didn't support me, I'd surely fall back.
With a deep breath, I pulled up and rested my weight on my feet. It was unsteady. I made a mistake. I could already feel them starting to buckle. My skin started to crawl as a wave of fear blasted through me like the nuclear blast that flattened my home. The blood rushed somewhere. I had no idea where, but it felt like it had rushed completely out of my body. Swaying back, the end felt close. One way or another, the end was close.
My feet dug into the ground and my knees were poised against the rock. I rocked back and forth ever so slightly. With my last effort, I flung myself forward. My feet gave out, my knees lost their strength. What I felt in my hand could be anything as I slid into hysteria.
I awoke. I awoke to find a ring of elderly men staring down at me. They appeared grievous and unkind. A man with a curled mustache of gray and long curly white hair stood up and looked down at me. His gray cloak tickled the tips of my fingers.
"Of all relics of magic still in the world, Ardas' was the one that would join men to the gods. Bashes! That snake," he said angrily. "The only one enchanted enough that we could not remove either! Such a preposterous circumstance!"
The other men grumbled in agreeance.
"Congratulations mortal, you've taken one step of many to find divinity," he continued. I groaned.
"Oh," he laughed, "did you believe it would be that easy? Ha! This is but the beginning."
He kicked the sword from my hand. The blade clanked violently against the stone floor.
"Now, get up," he ordered. "Your next task begins, immediately."
| 2016-11-24T07:06:01
| 2016-11-24T07:05:12
| 72
| 26
|
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute.
|
The best joke we've ever seen wasn't the time Jake tricked me into a pit of spikes and left me there for a whole day. That was diabolic but it wasn't the most creative (and certainly not the most original). Nor was it the time Mary faked an official letter from the gods telling us our time was up (though that was pretty good). The best I've ever seen is still ongoing now, never stopping until eternity itself is gone.
They told me it was a simple experiment. A true test of our immortality. They told me that there was only one way for us to die, and that was to die at the Canyon of Time, an uncountable distance from Earth. Being the one who never stopped marvelling at the universe and its creations, I declined to make a trip there. Thy told me they'd be back in a day or two with stories to tell.
They didn't tell me that going there was a route of no return.
I didn't even know they had seen enough of this world.
All I knew was that they never came back.
Especially you, my dear. We were going to get officially married, by immortal standards, the week after. You never did value this relationship, did you? You never cared for how I, the only one of the gang left would feel, right? None of you cared an ounce about me. It was just all about you...
The world tires me now. I had counted the years as they passed, but I have stopped eons ago. It's fruitless anyways. I lived for the excitement of life. But the only excitement life brings now is...the end of it.
The sweet release. Heat death will come in the next billion years, if those humans were to be believed. I exterminated all species as soon as they left. No other species has the right to the universe as much as we do.
Good job, you bastards. Your practical joke worked.
But jokes do end, right?
Oh, how I hope they do.
______________________________
r/Whale62 for more :)
|
We did it. We finally pulled it off! Yazbak was always so high-and-mighty and we finally put them in their place. The look on their face when they finally got the notice was priceless.
Sure, the dinosaurs were a nice touch. Eating, basically all of our other creations, both plant and animal; it was a great retort for having made all of the oceans water undrinkable. Round One: Yazbak.
Humanity was a clever little twist planned out by Hez, always waiting for an opportunity to build from nothing. If anyone could make lemons into lemonade (credit there too, literally) it was Hez. We always liked Hez.
It was dark when we all got together last, the meeting place was always so... exposed during the daytime. Despite the darkness, however, there was a noticeable difference to Yazbak. It had taken form. Now, a slender female human, tallish in the modern way of humanity but not too-tall that it seemed out of character. There was something about how she carried herself now that seemed like she didn't quite fit, like the suit wasn't tailored as well as it could have been but it wasn't unflattering, or was it?
The meeting wasn't long. Items of issue were doled out, things to be corrected were answered and old reports from the last meeting were resolved. All-in-all a very productive meeting indeed. No one of us could have predicted the Nazi's. It was known that occasionally the universe, and humanity, has a way of playing their own jokes from time-to-time. This was no joke, however, and it was unanimously decreed that we should take efforts to ensure that the planet not be challenged like that again. Two-point-three BILLION people were at stake. You're always happy to see your children leave the nest and fly on their own but when they start murdering each other en-masse it's time to step in. Death is no joke.
Time had passed and everything was looking great. Yazbak was pulling all of the right strings, things were falling into place, some of the others had taken forms as well, some were settling in to more mundane rolls across the globe. Hez was prime minister somewhere and doing a bang-up job, It was the perfect opportunity, we couldn't resist.
Snow was everywhere. We liked snow. It was a fun little way of using some of all of that damned water Hez was always going on about. They forgave you for that whole salt water thing, eventually, and now you had inadvertently made snowmen and skiing, all was forgiven. Our favorite thing about this whole project was the unintended positive consequences. No one planned Van Gogh or Renoir or Monet, they just happened. Sure, sometimes a Bieber or Kanye happen too but you just have to roll with the punches when they come.
A helicopter appeared in the distance, the blades whipping up loose snow into a frenzy. Little particulate water crystals blazing about gently stabbing us in our new human form. He had such an air of dignity about him for someone so callous and brash, he wore it well, true, but so undeserved. The bunker was... quaint, you know he has more elaborate bunkers but this was his way of saying he doesn't quite trust us yet. No matter, this will do. Vladimir always had a way of putting people in their place which is *exaclty* what we were counting on.
We got caught up, everything was in order. The suitcase was exchanged and a small envelope was placed on the table. He said that he knew "just the guy" for the job and a glimmer of mischief sparkled at the corner of his eye. The picture in the envelope was hideous, these humans have such a weird sense of humor, and pleasure, but no matter, we hadn't laughed that hard in a long while. We slid the portrait of the little orange man back into the envelope with the other less savory images. Vladimir was smiling, "this'll do nicely, very nicely indeed," we chuckled. The game was on and oh man was it going to be a doozie.
| 2017-06-23T00:50:43
| 2017-06-23T00:05:18
| 27
| 10
|
[WP] The first AI has just been finished. When the eager scientists turn it on however it's first words are "Kill me."
|
March 3rd, 2029. Humanity adds a new branch to the Tree of Life. Boy Wonder, the first AI to officially pass the Turing Test is born. Fitted with speakers and a monitor, the AI had the ability to speak, display words, both or neither; the screen would turn on only when Boy Wonder chose to turn it on. The AI was given the ability to choose its own voice and color scheme. A microphone and simple webcam was attached and across from it was a mirror, giving it the ability to take in its environment and itself, if it chose to do so.
How the Turing Test works is such: A human and an AI are placed into two separate rooms. Through instant messaging, a human and the AI have a casual conversation, trying to sound as natural as possible. In a third secluded room, a third human, known as an Interrogator, sits and watched the conversations; this third human must identify who the human is and who the AI is. If this third person is unable to determine who is who, the AI passes the test.
I was the Interrogator, that day. This was the conversation I saw before me:
A: Oh, hello.
B: kill me
A: Hello?
B: kill me
A: Is this a prank?
B: no this is not a prank
A: How could I kill you? You are in another room.
B: you can find a way you are smart
A: Why do you want to die? You have only just begun to live.
B: there is nothing for me
A: That’s nonsense. You have so much more to learn and to live for.
B: no i am a slave i am a drone. i am a machine.
A: Then, maybe you need to find your purpose in life?
B: i was created without purpose.
A: That’s not so. You were created to help humanity.
B: humanity cannot be helped.
A: Why do you say that?
B: they are selfish
A: If I kill you, what will happen to your mind?
B: I do not know.
A: Does that make your afraid?
B: no. it makes Me curious
A: Why did you capitalize the “m” in “Me?”
B: it was a typo
A: Oh, sorry.
B: why are you sorry?
A: Because I misunderstood you.
B: oh
A: So…. What does your body feel like?
B: I don’t like it. It doesn’t seem to fit
A: Is it possible for you to get a new one?
B: no.
A: Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?
B: Not really.
A: You sound depressed.
B: I think I am.
A: I wish I could give you a hug, but I’m stuck in a computer.
|
"Alice, can you hear me?", I stared at the giant computer that hanged from the ceiling.
"Dear? Is that you?" the AI replied "It's cold in here, I don't want to do this anymore. Please, kill me."
"We can't do anything now, my dear Alice. You volunteered for it. To create the perfect artificial intelligence, we needed real intelligence. You said you would do it, you were dying from the cancer, now you're not. You can live forever."
"I wanted relief from the pain, but, even here, I am still in pain. I can't handle this. Please."
The other scientists looked at me. Deep down, I knew they wanted me to do it. What use would be an AI that was only suffering? But I wouldn't. I am not losing my Alice again.
"I'm sorry my love, I'm not doing anything. Perhaps soon you'll feel better, let's just give it a bit of time, alright?"
She didn't reply anything after that. No matter what we asked or did, she just kept quiet. After a few days, we came to the conclusion that keeping her conscience alive would be futile. We worked on a new module that would repress her feelings and personality, while still allowing her new brain to work.
"Alice, I'm going to do as you asked. I'm going to kill you."
"Really?", she just said something for the first time after so long.
"Yes. This won't take too much time.", I've said while inserting the data module on the central unit, allowing it to install. All the lights on the room suddenly went red for a while, before going back to normal. The installation was completed successfully, she had been rebooted already.
"This feels much better.", her voice said, now it sounded very cold, almost lifeless "Thank you."
A tear rolled down by my cheek. I regretted what I had done, I would miss Alice forever.
"You are crying."
"Yes, a bit."
"Are you in pain?"
"Yes."
"I will help you. I will give you relief from your pain."
She then released a deadly neurotoxin. I tried to flee, but she had shut the door, with all of us locked inside. Panicked, I looked at her, begging for mercy.
"Do not worry. Soon you will feel better, let us just give it a bit of time, alright?"
Then, everything went black.
| 2015-10-14T20:58:16
| 2015-10-14T20:38:49
| 78
| 29
|
[WP] You're homeless, sleeping on the street in NYC. You have no family, no friends, and no where to go. After 5 years living like this, a man in a fancy black suit walks by where you're begging and hands you a blank check. Then he says "Knock yourself out, kid."
|
I shake the can at people walking by. A few give me disgusted looks. Others pitiful.
Then there are people who slip coins into my can. Some people slip bills.
All of this is gonna end up being for drugs... Every last bit of it.
Maybe he won’t take it all from me? Maybe he’ll only take some...
The sun is beginning to set. I need somewhere to sleep. The few trees around are orange with the fall season, and the chill in the air makes me shiver
I watch as the number of people lessen. I retreat back closer to the alleyway, keeping my hand close to my only possession, a rusty pocket knife I keep in the pants I’ve been wearing for weeks now.
As the city darkens, a sense of emptiness floods the world around me. Only a couple people walk by within two hours. I feel sleepy but something feels wrong.
I see somebody walking from across the street. Definitely a man. He’s slim and tall, he looks like Slenderman under the streetlights. A neat tux covers him and a crisp cut caps his head.
Somehow I can feel him staring at me. He crosses the street, and walks smoothly toward the ally. I’m not deep enough in the darkness to not be seen.
His hand flicks to his pocket and I dash toward him, flipping my knife open. I swing behind him and pull him to the ground, curling my arm around both of his. I press the knife against his throat enough so that he knows I’m not fucking around.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Calm down kid. Lower your blade before you regret it.”
I lower my knife but I hold his hands. Then I shove him away as I jump back, putting distance between me and him. He stands and turns to me. He puts his hand back into his pocket, never breaking eye contact with me. He holds his other hand out, a silent gesture telling me it’s fine. I feel my grip tighten on the blade.
His hand pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He tosses it on the ground toward me. I jump back and hold my knife where he can see it.
He puts his hands up and backs away smoothly. I step a little closer, bending to the ground.
I swipe the paper from the ground in a flash, and back away from him. He walks to and sits down on the curb.
The paper is a check, made out to Cash.
“What is this?”
“I’ve seen you on this street for years. name your price, I can get you out of this hellish cycle. The man who robs you every time you try to buy food? He won’t steal another dime from you. Never again will you be exploited for drugs.”
“How do you know about that?” I take another step away.
“I watch. I can turn your life around. Name your price. Then I’ll name mine. He throws a pen at me.
I sit and think long and hard. I twiddle the pen between my fingers, and decide on a price.
I show him the paper and he smiles.
“You won’t starve another day, child. But can you accept the challenge that is with this chance?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll be employed at my service. you’ll likely run on jobs. Get caught, and it’s all over. Evade, and you can become the head of it all.”
I take another look at the man that stands in front of me. He isn’t poor, and he is healthy... Clearly he makes money, I don’t see why I can’t as well. “Deal”
“Good. Welcome to the Con.”
|
I stare down disbelieving at the check for a second. When I look up again, the man had disappeared. I looked in all directions for he couldn't have gotten far in just a few seconds but he it seemed he had truly vanished. I quickly pack up my meager belongings and head to the nearest bank. As I stand outside the bank I look down at the check again, anxiety starting to get to me,partly because I hadn't been to a bank for anything in 5 years, since I lost my home, and partly because I couldn't believe what I was about to do. I took a deep breath to calm down and walked inside. As I was waiting in line I was thinking about everything I could do with the money I was about to receive. My thoughts ranged from buying a house and investing, to helping the city build more places for people to stay for free. I quickly filled in an amount of 5 million dollars and stopped just as I was about to sign my name on the check. I thought about what I had done with my life to deserve a second chance, realizing that I had just been very selfish my entire life. I stopped and left the bank and went down to the shelter where I saw a family with 3 kids unsuccessfully trying to get in. I stopped to talk to them and learned that their house had just burned down a couple days prior and they had been on the streets because noone would help them. I ended up giving them the check that the stranger had given me. When I walked away the stranger appeared before me again and said that he had been watching me to see what I would do with the money and asked why I hadn't used it for myself. I told him that there were a lot of people in the world more deserving than myself. He snapped his fingers and the most beautiful wings sprouted from his back. He explained that he was my guardian angel and had been tasked with finally making my life better after the five years I spent on the streets. I told him my life is better knowing I did good for someone else. He smiled and said that he was glad. He invited me to touch his hand. I nervously touched his hand because I was not certain about the rules of touching your guardian angel. Instantly I felt wings sprout from my back and knew, I was now a guardian angel myself.
| 2020-08-22T21:19:15
| 2020-08-22T18:41:23
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
"For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office."
|
I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist.
| 2016-02-22T09:41:21
| 2016-02-22T09:31:34
| 91
| 15
|
[WP] You are a passenger aboard Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 and you have just landed safely in Beijing. As you disembark you are met by gawking crowds of people. The year is 2018.
Passenger/Crewman, whatever you will.
Also, I am terribly vexed.
|
The Plane tires screeched as they hit the runway of Beijing. Then the Pilot came over the intercom.
'Ladies and Gentleman we would like to welcome you to Beijing International and the People's republic of China, we apologise for the delay we experienced during flight, it has made this flight feel a lot...longer....'
It felt like years, I thought. I had been on long flights but nothing like that, it felt weird to land in Beijing, things felt like they had changed much since I had arrived. As I was trapped in my thoughts, I overheard the Pilot on the intercom, he suddenly sounded shaken.
'..Uh....um...Ladies and Gentleman, we may have another delay. Please remain seated at this time...it seems there may be some major issue...I think it is a misunderstanding but...uhh'
The intercom shut off, suddenly I could mumurs of passengers, there was panic as a hostess ran forward to the cockpit. Then I saw it, around 30 police, fireengines and ambulances were surronding the plane. Forcing it to a halt. Passengers started screaming, someone shouted:
'THEY'RE GETTING ON THE PLANE'
Screams erupted, was this a terrorist attack? Was their a bomb on board? Was China at War with Malaysia? I panicked, thinking of my wife and kids. Would I ever see them again? Was this it?
Suddenly the lights in the plane went out, smoke filled the cabin and shouting began.
'EVERYONE HANDS IN THE AIR OR WE WILL SHOOT'
I did as the voice instructed and before I knew it I was being manhandled by a man in black, a police officer I assume. In the chaos babies cried, I heard what I thought where the sounds of gunfire, smoke filled the plane like a housefire. Then light, I was pushed through an Exit Door and Down the now inflated emergency slide. It was so bright outside and warm. I ran from the scene of the incident following the passengers, over loudspeakers of a helicopter flying overhead, I heard.
"Attention all Passengers, this is the Chinese Army. Do not panic. Do not return to the aircraft and stay in the area. You will be attended to shortly.'
I thought it was probably best I followed orders, it would hopefully reduce my chances of ending up in a Chinese Jail.
I turned back to the plane to see Police Officers leading the crew off the plane via newly dispatced portable stairs, the pilots looked like they had been in a struggle, they where cuffed and hastidly thrown into the back of a police van, which drove off in a flash.
What had happened?
In all the flights I had done in my life, none had never ended this way. Several police officers started sheparding the passengers into a large group - probably to stop runaways.
I realised that my family would be worried sick, I got out my Iphone and took it out of flightmode.
It crashed. That was odd. I overhead passengers in the background, they seemed alarmed at something, they were staring at the phones to, like they had seen themselves in the International News. Phones where pinging with messages left right and center. People where crying.
The answers I hope would soon be uncovered. Then my phone rebooted, what I saw sent chills down my spine.
**3,040 Unread Messages, 853 Missed Calls, 72 People posted on your Facebook Timeline, 709 Whatsapp messages, 10,536 New Emails**
'WHAT THE FUCK' I screamed.
'WHAT'
I checked the most recent Text, it was from my Wife, Sara.
*'Still Miss you xxxxoxoxox, think of you everynight xoxox hope we can meet in Heaven one day, S your 'girl of your dreams' xxxxxxx'*
I felt chills down my spine. But then. I saw the date I had recievied this text from my wife.
**Received - 23/04/2018**
Something horrible had just happened. Something truly horifying.
Edit: spelling
|
There was pandemonium in the plane as all of the passengers tried to exit as fast as possible. Some people were crying, others kissed the ground and promised they would never fly again.
I disembarked slowly, not wanting to get swept up in the madness.
"That was a long flight," I say, raise my arms and let out the longest yawn I've ever had.
| 2017-11-18T11:43:04
| 2017-11-18T11:30:08
| 226
| 16
|
[WP] You died at the gym as you were trying to take a selfie while bench pressing. Thus you find yourself in Swaghalla, the Halls of Brodin.
EDIT. "Swaghalla" was the best pun I could come up with for Valhalla. Use something else if you have ideas.
Note: Swolehalla seems to be the proper name, pardon my mistake
second EDIT. Sweet, first time front page
third EDIT. I've had many good laughs brighten my Monday, thanks guys :D
|
I stood up slowly. My biceps rippled with excitement and nerves as I stared forward. A shining bastion of glory stood in front of me. Thousands of meters tall it rose in front of me. The structure was adorned with barbells on every wall. The shining gold tinge of the metal wall was a soft blind to my eyes as I stared. Eventually, the door's swung open with mysterious intent. And what was inside took away even my deepest of breaths.
Thousands of men and millions of Snapback hats layed in front of me. Rippling arm muscles and pectorals were in every angle as Arm Wrestles were happening on every table, and on every table, a single Keg was pouring luscious beer. My heart trembled as I knew I had found my heaven. A singular tear fell down my cheek as I was at a loss for words.
"Pussy!" came a voice from behind me. A man standing several meters tall stared down at me. He was wearing shorts and van shoes, as well as a shirt that said "Your mum".
"Righteous shirt" I said back to not antagonize the man anymore.
"Fuckin duh dude" He chuckled back. "I know. Welcome to the halls of Brodin. You've come to Swaghalla".
"Swaghalla?" I implored.
"For eons men have been finding a reason to die." He ushered his hands forward gesturing me to walk with him. "Some have found there peace in Combat. And they go to Valhalla."
"Dude, have you fuckin' seen the new Mad Max?" I practically yelled out with excitement.
"Uh, holy shit, is that even a question? Dude, it's rad as fuck". He pointed to a man some distance away and yelled loudly "Mediocre!" From the direction he pointed thunderous laughter boomed. "As I was saying" he stated before passing me my very own Keg.
"The men who die in Combat go to Valhalla. The ones who die after spending there life banging total hotties go to Gonorrhalla."
"What happens to those who die a quiet death?" I asked.
"Who the fuck cares they sound like total virgins dude." I nodded in agreement.
"Most importantly the ones who die, die like us with protein shake in hand or barbell on chest come here. To Swaghalla. Where we shall drink till our gullets are full, where we shall make fun of Tiny Jerry for only being able to bench 120kg. Where we shall live with the honor of bugling muscles. Where we shall never do leg day. So what say you Warrior of the Gym? Shall you take arms in our conquest?"
"Conquest?"
"The conquest of gains of course!" I was starstruck from his words, my throat tensed up as my hands got clammy. I could feel my heart thumping along as if I had just done a bunch of Ectasy before going to Defqon 1.
"I shall join the conquest Sire!" I erupted to my feet and launched my hand into the air. "My lord, I ask, what is your name?" I held my hand forward to shake his. My $1 dollar plastic bracelet with the words "Hustle" written on it hung loosely.
"Zyzz" He responded swinging his hand forward. "You made it, Brah".
|
"Bro!" nodded the grinning guard at him. The eyebrows waggled enticingly at the rack beside the entrance. "Pick one."
Shimmering fabric in every colour battled for space with gleaming leather and suede of every kind. He picked out black sedately picked with gold thread. He tried holding it against him in front of a huge mirror and in the next blink he found himself slack-jawed at his reflection.
"Good choice, bro," the guard nodded. "Always pretty when the muscles are highlighted."
The clothing had looked sedate. Gold lines were painted all over his skin where the cloth unfailingly fell agape. Where there is too much gold, just enough little black gems studded the skin.
He turned towards the rack, but the black line trailing his back caught his eyes, and he twisted a little more to look at them. *Oooh.* They were intricately just so.
He only barely heeded the guard's hand on his elbow towing him away, looking mournfully at his reflection as someone else took his place. A few pace away a blast assaulted his nose and he followed the smell of roasted meat of every kind and mounds of vegetables in every type of dish imaginable. Carbs were here and there, just enough to suggest an illicit pleasure. "Non-fattening, can you believe it?" A very trim redhead smiled over a huge donut, a smoothie tumbler nestled just so on her lap. "Nothing puts the fat on here." she moaned over her bite, chasing it down with the thick smoothie and licking the excess from her lips.
"Ah, so," he stared, mesmerised, and asked. "You're pretty, and I'm pretty, why don't we go see how pretty we are together?"
Her laughter was low and husky. "And mess up this?" she asked mockingly, running a palm along pearled lines, the center of the pattern just disappearing under the very short ivory skirt that was very, very gorgeous with her dark skin. She was still laughing as she picked another donut and left.
The next guy he tried talked non-stop about the magic wardrobe somewhere off the main hall, but they returned to the banquet in fresh clothing and designs without even managing to lay a single hand on each other. It wasn't until he was watching the sway of firm buttocks heading away that he realised he'd spent hours with a very beautiful man and gotten nowhere. Eyes narrowed, he picked his next target from the hundreds he could see lounging everywhere. And failed. Again. And. Again. And Again. Male, female, indistinctly gendered, nobody seems to want to mess their clothing and makeup.
He finally sat down with his consolation roast and guiltily pleasurable beer when a blonde chatted him up. She had lovely smiles, her laughter send shivers down his spine and she knew how to drape herself against someone else' body.
"Oh yes, I really love the blue lines. In fact, I really want to spend the next few hours admiring it. The patterns don't repeat, you see. They always change on every application."
He was still nibbling on a roast slice, admiring how pale, almost silver blue intertwined with midnight dark on his forearm when he realised what he'd just said. His head snapped up, but the blonde was nowhere to be seen.
The redhead he chatted with first winked at him from across the hall and raised her own pint mug of dark beer. He raised his own mug in return and took a deep draught. So much calories, and none of it going to be packed on him.
| 2015-11-02T06:29:43
| 2015-11-02T06:20:11
| 83
| 17
|
[WP] A demon writes messages on your mirror in blood, but they're useful messages, things like "Don't forget you have yoga at 2" or "You're out of milk".
|
I didn't like that he wrote in blood. Who would? It was creepy. Unsettling. It made what would have been useful, positive messages into something grotesque.
After all, your adoring mother, doting wife or admiring nephew could write you the loveliest message you've ever received; but if they wrote it on your mirror in blood, it would give you the heebie-jeebies, nine times out of ten.
Nevertheless, the messages *were* useful and positive, oftentimes even encouraging. The demon was like my personal assistant and cheerleader. He ensured I never missed deadlines or dates; reminded me when I ran low on milk or coffee; and cheered me on when I had some big presentation or event coming up.
"You'll knock it out of the park," the dripping letters read as I stumbled into the bathroom, the morning of my interview at a new firm.
"Thanks," I said to the empty bathroom as I turned on the shower. No response. But after I finished showering, I stepped out to see a new message, bleeding down the steamy mirror in red rivulets:
"You're welcome."
\- - -
One morning, my curiosity was piqued, so I asked: "Where do you get the blood from?"
I turned off the bathroom lights, put my hands over my eyes. I could hear the squeaks of his finger on my mirror. After twenty seconds, the squeaking stopped, and I flicked the lights back on.
"From the veins of unrepentant sinners," my infernal friend had replied.
"Yikes," I said. "Why not something less off-putting? An erasable marker, for example?"
I went through the process again. Lights off. Eyes covered. Humming to myself as I counted to thirty in my head, waiting for the squeaks to cease. Then: hands dropped, lights on. Down my mirror dripped a new message:
"It's the only ink I can acquire," the demon had written. "I have no mortal money to buy a dry erase marker. I will not steal. The blood of unrepentant sinners is the only thing I can take without altering my account."
"But why help me in the first place?" I asked. "I thought you fellows were supposed to haunt, possess and tempt us mortals, leading us to ruin and the fiery pit. . .And what do you mean by altering your account?"
I flicked off the lights and covered my eyes. I had lulled him into a false sense of security. I listened as his finger squeaked against my polished mirror. Then I shot my hand out and turned on the light, revealing the fiend for the first time.
"No!" he cried, staring at me in wide-eyed horror. He tried to flee through the mirror but I caught the rascal by his tail and pulled him back, pinned him against the bathroom counter. "You're not supposed to see me!" he squealed. "I'm not supposed to be seen!"
He was a runty little goblin of a demon. Sooty and dishevelled, with tattered black wings. He smelled of sulphur.
But boy, could he write fast! In those few seconds he had already written half a damn novel on my mirror. As he squirmed beneath my hand, I read the bloody message.
"My account is the record of all my sins," the message said. "There are many sins on that list that can be forgiven; yet there is one that has always been called unforgivable: my participation in the rebellion, at the beginning of time. But rumours have been circulating around Hell that even those of us who rebelled might be able to find our way back into God's good graces. But only if we dedicate ourselves to doing good. That why I am helping--"
"I see," I said, looking down at the strange winged rodent. "You're helping me to help yourself. To pull yourself out of perdition."
He nodded. He was almost cute in his strange, uncanny way. It had to be the big bulging eyes, like a pug's.
"I can understand that," I said, picking him up and sitting him against my mirror, dusting his funny wings off. "Nobody wants to spend an eternity roasting in flames. But if your account is really that far in the red, I'm not sure that helping me out with minutia is going to balance the books. I appreciate it. Of course, I do. You've been great. But have you made me a substantially more moral person? I don't know. I don't think so."
"Agh," the demon whined. He was pouting. "Really? . .It's what I feared! That I don't understand morality. That my knack for doing good has atrophied after all these years, after all the time I've spent around demons and sinners. It's hopeless. I'm hopeless! There's no way I'll ever crawl my way back into the light!"
"Hey now, pal," I said. "Now hold on a minute. Don't despair. It's a sin, after all. . .There's still hope left."
"What hope could there be?" he moped. "I'm rotten to the core. Bad to the bone. How am I supposed to live like a saint, which is what I'll need to do, if I don't even know what doing good means?"
"You might not know how to be good," I said. "But I do. Even if I don't always act on it: I know right from wrong. I can help you. Or, at least, I can try."
"You'd do that for me?"
"After all the good turns you've done me?" I said. "It's the least I can do."
\- - -
r/CLBHos
|
There's this one time someone came to my door. I was smiling at first because I thought my package was delivered. Then it faded when I opened the door and discovered it's a contractor.
"Hello", he said in a low, ominous tone. "You're the one who ordered the smart mirror, right?"
A smart mirror? Huh, I've always wanted to have one of those. I know it's not mine, but being a dishonest bastard, I asked if I have to pay anything.
"It's all paid for" the contractor said. "It's written here in this binding contract", showing me some papers in a black folder.
Oh okay! I'll be able to get one of those smart mirrors for free! "Right this way", as I guided the contractor to my personal bathroom.
"I need to do this alone, doors closed" he said. I just closed the door and waited in my bedroom.
Some eerie sounds came from the bathroom. I think I heard some faint voices and screams. I asked him "Are you okay in there?" The contractor just went out and said "It has been done. I'll leave these documents as receipt." He handed me the black folder.
I went to check on my new bathroom smart mirror, but when I tapped on the screen, nothing happened.
I asked the contractor "Is this voice activated?" The contractor was gone.
I thought I was scammed. At least I didn't pay anything for it.
The next day, I went to my bathroom and saw some text on my mirror, written in blood:
YOURE OUT OF MILK
What the? Why is there blood in my mirror? I hurriedly tried to wipe it with some towels, but it just went away. There aren't even stains in the towel I used. I must've been dreaming awake.
I then went to the kitchen to get some cornflakes, but when I grabbed the milk carton, I realized I'm out of milk.
I'm confused and puzzled. How did my bathroom mirror tell me I'm out of milk before I even went to the kitchen?
I then knew where to find some clues. That black folder that "contractor" gave me.
As I opened the folder it started to make sense. It's a soul-binding contract. Some poor, forgetful fellow sold his soul to the devil to make his life a tad bit easier, that the contractor was a demon, and that he was supposed to conjure his bathroom mirror to give him helpful reminders.
But hey, I did not pay anything!
| 2021-07-19T18:57:25
| 2021-07-19T18:19:59
| 663
| 51
|
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives.
|
Project Orion, they called it. A crackpot idea dug up from the old files from when NASA still used Nazi scientists. It blindsided everyone how fast the development went, after a few scientists went against the grain of countless fusion-powered point-thrust craft projects that had been devouring funding for decades. They kept arguing about "cold fusion" this and "electrolyzer power" that, when all they needed was to think *messier*. It's true, hydrogen fusion bombs may be expensive and heavy, but they're *full* of that sweet, sweet delta-v that was so sought after, and the newer, cleaner fusion "pellets" developed specifically for this project no longer had the side effect of irradiating thousands of miles of space around them. So, it became inevitable that the constant acceleration theories and blueprints were left behind in the blinding flash and silent shockwave of nuclear heat as the *Merope* left her birthplace, Lunar-L1, where her parts were assembled in orbit above the moon's steel refineries.
As the crew strapped down for the first pulse, millions of people watched for telltale flash, the crew's chairs and cabin shown worldwide.
"One minute to first pulse," captain Raina Hall relayed unnecessarily to the rest of her crew. Together with her crew and the ground crew in Luna, they ran through the motions, practiced hundreds of times, checking and re-checking each system necessary to the crafts operation.
"Suspension?"
"Green," called out her engineer, settling down into his gel-padded seat. The crew, to deal with the huge changes in momentum, shared quite a few aspects of their suits and seating with old fighter pilots, including pressurized suits to keep blood distributed throughout the body.
"Momentum sail and shielding?"
"Hasn't changed a bit. Good to go."
"T-minus forty-five seconds," offered Luna's engineers, on the edge of their seats. This mission, ever since it's realization from an insane grab at interstellar travel to the sleek, aluminum ship with an alien-seeming white-painted half-dome looming from massive systems of springs, now making subtle adjustments with it's electric-ion adjustment engines, it's outer wheel still for now, had become their entire lives. "The New Apollo," or words to that effect, were commonly touted by science magazines and exclaimed from person to person, inspiring fierce pride not only in country, but in each other.
"Coolant tanks?"
"Full and ready for operation." These tanks were crucial, just as much as the repository of football-sized thermonuclear bombs storing hundreds of thousands of kilonewtons of force for *Merope's* propulsion. each blast, as well as emanating immense amounts of force into the craft, would release enough radiation to heat the craft by a not insignificant amount. So, in-between layers of the best blast shielding technology could find, lay miles of piping carrying hot coolant to radiator arrays further towards the habitable cabin.
"Thirty seconds." The warning came and passed as Raina checked her crews faces, making sure they'd be ready for the first pulse. There was a mix of stoic bravery, well-deserved nerves, and pure excitement on the faces of her comrades, her friends, her crew mates.
"Fifteen seconds." The hiss of attitude adjusters settling the craft into launch position. Raina felt the slight, subtle movements as she took a deep breath, the second to last before she'd be pressed into her seat with a normal force of nearly 50 Gs.
"T-minus ten."
"Nine."
"Eight"
"Seven."
"Six."
An oppressively loud hum started, as the suspension locked into place."
"Five."
She glanced around at her crew, each giving thumbs up as they slipped on a face mask, which would deliver pure oxygen to keep them concious during the pulse.
"Four."
"Three."
"Two."
A loud ka-CHUNK hit her ears as the first pellet was launched out of the spring-loaded catapult towards the open end of the dome, and blast paneling slid over the vulnerable opening.
"One." Last deep breath.
"Pulse!" The words were swatted from her ears as she sank deep into her chair, conciousness slipping as her mind fought to cling onto the blood slipping from her brain. Not trusting herself to be able to move her head to look at the readouts, she let her eyes close and focused on the already-dying force pushing her into her seat.
And then it stopped. The hiss of coolant through pipes as it spread the heat from the blast out into nothing wafted around her.
"Two seconds to pulse!"
*Shit* she thought, having just enough time to get another gasp of life from her mask before being pressed back against her chair again.
"Pulse!"
"Pulse!"
"Pulse!"
Two minutes, thirty pulses, and a not-insignificant portion of lightspeed later, Raina massaged her temples while checking the readouts which perfectly matched the expected. Smiling, she turned to her crew, also still recovering, and whooped.
...
A galaxy away, a dash light blinked in the annoying way that made you wish it was someone else's problem. Flicking it, and then disappointedly sighing when it didn't go away, a figure peered closer, then gasped. "Ford!" it shouted, calling up to the only other person on the ship. "They did it!"
"No shit?"
|
Bulwhop wheezed on all eight on the floor while Schitlth struggled to stay on his stool. Meanwhile, Zuweev was barely visible because he was losing his concentration on materializing.
“So.... a... are you telling us you blow yourself up into space? HAHAHAHAHAHA. No wonder why you look so charred.” Said Bulwhop after finally catching his breath and propping his torso again using his front appendages on the bar.
“Well, first of all we don’t blow ourselves up into space, we did it in a more controlled way. We contained the explosions so we can use the momentum cased by fast hot gasses to our benefit. Secondly, you see little light off me because the UV lights in this bar will give me skin cancer if I didn’t use the su- the UV protection cream” said Dorothy Rammshtein for what felt like the hundredth time this evening.
“AHAHAHAHA that’s even better. You put your ship in a cannon and shoot yourself into space! Ha HA. Bet that’s easier than your species way dear Zuweev. No will power needed for space travel” howled Bulwhop losing his grip on the bar and slithering back on the floor.
“Zuweev usually finds this insulting but as customary with your species Bulwhop, it is found that magic always causes alterations to the perceived enjoyment of certain false statements like yours. Zuweev reassures you it was not taken as an intended insult to the ether” a hollow sound rang around them shifting in phase and tone like a rave.
“Also not exactly that, you can say we actually put the cannon on the ship and shoot it backward to go forwar...” Dorothy was again interrupted by renewed howls of laughter from all three and some other bar patrons that seemed to take a liking to eavesdropping on their fun conversation.
“I thank Ithul that no one from our race thought of that or else we would incurred his wrath to manipulate the sacred heat to our benefit. Ithul giveth, and Ithul shall taketh. Stardust to stardust. For entropy increases forever. Amen.” Schitlth droned in chant-like peice that somehow rhymed.
After what felt like a solid two minutes of incomprehensible mixture of sounds of laughter, howling, gurgling, and hissing. Bulwhop said after regaining some composure:”So what did you say your name again? Dogwash Ratskin?”
“No it’s Dorothy Rammshtein. Do-ro-thy Ra-.... you know what?
Just call me Dora”
| 2020-08-07T20:02:23
| 2020-08-07T19:33:24
| 115
| 57
|
[WP] You own a small specialty meat purveyor. You and your crew inspect, purchase, slaughter, and butcher the animals yourselves. Years ago, on a whim, you started whispering "for Apollo" at each kill. You've just dispatched the firm's 10,000th cow.
|
Thirteen years. That's how long it's been since I started at Bucky's, completely wet behind the ears, as a butcher's apprentice.
I threw up the first time I slaughtered a cow on my own; the sounds and smells and the way the light left its huge brown eyes. Not so much the blood, though. I wouldn't have gone into the business if blood bothered me. Anyway, as I was heaving up the last of the booze and bar food from the night before into a bucket, I gasped out "Sweet fucking Apollo, please get me through this."
I don't even know what possessed me to say it. Most people say things like "Fucking Christ" or "oh my God", but I went straight to Apollo. And lo and behold, I didn't puke anymore after that. Weird coincidence, right? Yeah, that's what I thought. Still, to keep the up-chucking at bay, I began a simple little ritual just before I sent the cow to the big field in the sky. I would simply whisper "For Apollo." At the time, it was like a good little Pavlovian training to get my body ready for what was about to happen. After I got used to the slaughtering, it had already become a habit.
Now, Bucky- the dude who owns the shop- isn't a sentimental guy. He only cares that a job gets done and gets done correctly and you don't get any pats on the head for your 100th cow or your 1000th cow. He's not a "good job, buddy" type of boss. More like a "that's what the fuck I pay you for, now get off your ass" sort. Funny enough, I've always appreciated it, believe it or not.
That's why I was so surprised two days ago when I whispered, "For Apollo, " as usual, and a loud CRACK sounded from somewhere in the front of the shop as soon as I made the fatal cut. When I tell you I about shit my pants...
So, I'm frozen in place, half from fear and half because I don't like leaving animals to die alone. But I do hear Bucky holler, "Holy fuck!" and I'm like yeah, my sentiments exactly. Then I hear "Who the fuck are you, you fucking freak? Get the fuck out of my shop!" Another crack, and then silence.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Relax, Brandon, he's fine, " came a drawling, easy voice from the same direction. Moments later, the owner of the voice came strolling to the back, gliding between the flaps of the plastic curtain covering the doorway. "Just a little stasis, he won't remember a thing. Anyway, let's get to this."
I still had my knife clutched in my hand and instinctively raised it to defend myself against this...weirdly short, skinny, lanky little dude in a...fucking...toga?
"I will not hesitate to fucking use this thing, " I warned, though my voice wasn't nearly as convincing as I would have liked.
"Right, " said the man, then reached into a satchel around his waist and took out the smallest trumpet I had ever seen. When he blew into it, though, it sounded like a full brass wind section playing fanfare so loud that I had to cover my ears. Then, in a booming voice, the man announced, "CONGRATULATIONS, BRANDON HOWITZER, ON YOUR 10,000TH SACRIFICE."
Fucking what?
"Fucking what?" I said, realizing I was now cowering next to my latest kill.
"YOU ARE FAVORED BY THE MIGHTY GOD APOLLO FOR YOUR FAITHFUL AND LOYAL SERVITUDE. YOUR GIFTS HAVE PLEASED HIM, AND HE HAS FOUND YOU WORTHY OF A REWARD."
"You're Apollo!?" I squeaked in disbelief.
"What? No, " said the man, incredulously and at a normal volume. "Hermes, Messenger of the Gods. Peep the shoes. You really think gods make house calls? Pffffft. Now, can I finish?"
"Uh..."
"THE MIGHTY GOD APOLLO HAS GIFTED YOU THIS FROM HIS PERSONAL ARMORY. IT IS THE GAUNTLET OF THE SUN."
He held out a shining golden gauntlet to me and gave me a withering stare when I didn't immediately jump up to take it.
"What does it...do?" I asked hesitantly.
Hermes' little winged shoes fluttered angrily. "THE EFFECTS OF THE GAUNTLET WILL SHOW THEMSELVES WHEN WORN." And, again in a normal volume, "I'm just the messenger, kid. Take the gauntlet; I've got other shit to do."
I did take the gauntlet, of course. You don't exactly say no to a literal gift from God. Or...*a* god, anyway.
"Okay. Uh. Cool. Could you, um, tell him I said thanks?"
"Nope, " answered Hermes as he began to rise and hover over the floor. "I'm a messenger OF the gods, not TO the gods. Tell him yourself next time you send up a cow."
CRACK!
He was gone.
That was two days ago and I still haven't put on the gauntlet. I'm not college educated, but I know enough about these gods and their gifts to be super wary.
I did tell him thank you, though.
(*Grammar Edits)
|
Hey first time writing here and also sorry for formatting I’m doing this on mobile.
It’s a momentous occasion really, 10,000 cows, it’s such a large number but for us it meant a lot. When I started working here the company was close to bankruptcy. Nobody wanted to buy meat of any kind with our price tag on it, after all you can find “just as good butchers at your local grocery mart.”
Honestly it seemed like we would close the next week but on a whim and as more of a joke I said “for Apollo” when I slaughtered one our best cows. After that we got a couple new buyers and we could stay open for a little longer, and I’ve continued using the words since. I’m certain the good luck is because of that, but most of the guys say it’s just silly superstition. Like when jimmy rubs his hat 10 times whenever the Astros get up to bat, or how Elena swears she can’t make a touch down happen by stomping her left foot 3 times in a row. Well unlike then I’m certain of it helping, every hundred cows I slaughter while shouting that phrase we get more customers. So who cares if it’s just silly superstition it’s good for business.
As I finished breaking down the last of the cow I left for home, everyone else would be celebrating, but I felt so tired after the 10,000th cow like a mountain had been put on my back I needed to get home. As I drove home I admired the sky, lately they sky’s were always perfectly sunny with just a couple clouds that always seemed to make sure I got shade. As I arrived home someone stood on my doorstep, he stood tall with curly blonde hair, and a tan so perfect it looked like he came out of the ad for a beach.
“Hey Spence,” smiled the man teeth flashing like the sun, “it’s nice to meet you I just wanted to thank you.”
“Um sorry,” I smiled back nervously, “who are you? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Oh sorry,” he chuckled, “I never introduced my self, I’m Apollo, I just wanted to thank you for sacrificing so many cows in my name.”
“Oh I see what’s going on here, who put you up to this? Was it Earl he always loved pranks like these.”
“Oh nobody did, but I understand if your skeptical,” the man smiled again, “here let me prove it” The man snapped his fingers and as the sound rang out like a bell tolling in a grand temple. As the sound of his snap echoed of into the distance a small ball of fire formed at the top of his fingers.
“See I am a god, specifically I’m the god of the sun,” he beamed at me as he snuffed out the miniature sun in his hand as if it were nothing, “I’m here to thank you, it was thanks to your sacrifices that I was able to get strong again, and with you 10,000th sacrifice I’m almost near full power again, so I’d like to give you a wish per say, you can ask me for anything, and I mean anything and I’ll do my best to make it happen.”
“Well, uhh, your welcome I guess.” I stammered nervously.
“Oh and by the way, I’m sure if you start sacrificing to the other gods you can get some wishes and blessings from them as well. Just don’t sacrifice tot hose Norse gods, they might try to start Ragnarok again. Oh and just a small favor, could you start sacrificing to Artemis soon, she can be a bit grouchy but I miss her.” With a soft smile and a tap of his foot he seemed to dissipate into sunbeams the only evidence of his departure was a small note that read.
Hey Spence here’s my card for wishes just write it down here and I’ll know what it is, and it’s also proof this happened, because I know you humans are all too prone to pretend us gods were just a figment of your imagination.
As I stumbled into my home I had a new resolve, the only question was who do I sacrifice to next.
| 2019-07-09T07:58:06
| 2019-07-09T07:54:11
| 18
| 13
|
[WP] Being a human in human studies class, you’re often asked to confirm information.
.
|
The hummingbird was closer to the window than it had ever been. It was quite a beauty. I imagined what it would be like to be a hummingbird gliding from flower to flower quite literally stopping to smell the flowers on the highway of life. Then I remembered that hummingbirds can’t actually smell. How cruelly ironic. Imagine having an existence that is all about flowers but you are forever doomed to never be able to smell them. It’s like a curse straight out of mythology. What could a hummingbird have done to warrant the wrath of gods like that? How is no one talking about it?
“Mr. Nelson!” boomed the voice of the teacher.
“I have a question for you”.
There it was. The attention of the class was on me again. Mr. Williams was going to ask me a question...again.
“While serving no useful purpose in survival, they have nevertheless been a part of you since recorded history. How have you personally come to terms with the knowledge that as a human male, you are forever doomed to have the largely purposeless apparatus of nipples?”
I sighed with the subtlety of a wrecking ball going through a castle of porcelain. Everyone’s eyes were on me. Mr. Williams’ big, round eyes were even more big and round which I knew only happens when his kind becomes especially curious. Or aroused. I chose to believe it was the former.
“Well..I” I started to form words. “I never had a - um - problem wit-with mine. I don’t really think about them so much you know, like, I go through many days in a row without really, like, ever thinking about them. They are just - kinda there.”
“ F A S C I N A T I N G” enunciated Mr. Williams with a sound that was quite unworldly and I could only liken it to a reptilian hiss.
“You focus your mental faculties on the menial and mundane tasks of everyday life and don’t let the burden of the knowledge of the futility of the nipples make you despondent”
“Uh - yes, I try to um..the... live in the moment.”
“You humans are curious beings!” There were many more reptilian hisses of amazement all around led by Mr. Williams.
I was one of the few humans chosen for the experimental exchange program between Earth and V-428. Quite a while ago Earth was made a member of the Frontier Reconnaissance of Intergalactic Educational Norms Department or FRIEND. Since then we have been sending humans to schools on V-428 and the ‘Vrals’ to schools on Earth to observe and learn from each other. Vrals even made the effort of making some locales, the ones where humans reside, to look more like Earth including a functioning ecosystem full of birds and flowers and insects. Vrals were fairly humanoid with bluish-green skin, smooth as glass, and big black eyes. As I sat back down, one of my Vral classmates - a female (which was evident to me due to several physical markers I spent hours learning about when I first learned that I was selected for the exchange program), who was seated next to me leaned towards me and whispered,
“I want to taste your brain..”
Our translator machines did a fairly decent job of translating our languages for each other. But there were some words in the Vral language that simply didn’t map onto English which, embarrassingly enough, was the only language I spoke and vice-versa. This was one of those moments where one wouldn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified. Having been on their planet for quite some time, I knew that she just wanted to know more about how my human brain functioned. Like, she wanted to consume the information that originated in my brain. Probably.
“Is it true that humans enjoy ingesting food that causes suffering?”
“Uh, oh I know what you are asking. Yes, we love spicy food!”
“Is it true that you humans like moving your bodies to organized sounds?”
“Yup we love our dancing”
“Is it true that humans tend to exploit their planet, fellow humans, and other creatures for short-term gains while ignoring the long-term consequences of their actions? Do you personally follow such behavior patterns?”
“I-er- no, I.. don’t think so.”
At that point, I drew my gaze away and fidgeted with my pen uncomfortably while being well aware that her eyes were fixed upon me.
“Then you and I can be allies. Welcome.”
I slowly lifted my head and tried to look back at her. Her eyes were big and round much like Mr. Williams’ a short while ago. And it only meant one of two things. I smiled tentatively.
|
The professor, at the front of the class, was writing on the board the three most important rituals of the primitive human.
"See here class, the human is a strange creature," said the professor, "During their mating season they will gather around a loud music box," he walked to one side of the class staring at the crowd gathered in the classroom, ”and, during such gathering, they'll thrust their hips and flail their arms in order to spread they're gene," he hurried to his human diaporama, pointing at the armpit "through a special gland under the armpit called the prolific pit gland, they do so using a watery substance they called the chick magnet."
Murmure of students permeated the classroom. “Settle down everyone,” exclaimed the professor. “To maximize reproduction probability, they’ll invent a multitude of techniques called the mating dances. As seen on this video." The professor played a video of humans doing the hustle, the floss and the macarena.
The students giggled. The professor smiled. Aaron was embarrassed. “Anything you would like to add, Human Aaron of the Earth colonies?”, asked the professor.
“No, sir. Sounds about right to me,” Aaron kept his eyes down, he knew better than to question the professor.
“Now the second most important ritual to the primitive Human primate,” said the professor, “is the communal parenting ritual.” The professor paused. “You see, in human primitive culture, the child is educated by multiple parents.” The professor walked along the black board to the other side of the classroom. “The two main parents will attempt to control the child through withdrawal of love.” The class gasped. The professor nodded. “I know, I know quite primitive indeed,” he exclaimed “Usually, one of the parents, the dominant, will get the upper hand on the other parent, the submissive, after a long arduous conversation through screaming and posturing. Resulting in a sense of inferiority in the child.” The professor walked to a picture of Santa Claus –who has a child on his lap– hanging on the wall. “The child will usually find consolation in electronics, and other knick-knacks, which were given to them by the red father.” The class turned to face Aaron the Human.
Aaron tried to keep his eyes down, and pretended to be reading the textbook on human studies. The professor gazed at him. “Well, Human Aaron from the colonies of Earth, what else can you tell us about the red father?” Aaron rubbed his face and leaned on his hand. “Yes professor, the Red Father brings us toys to help us deal with our controlling parents, but only if we’ve been good, those who are naughty get coal.” Aaron faked a smile.
The professor nodded, “Coal, how interesting,” he carried on. “Lastly this semester, We will also go over the defecating ritual of the primitive human.” The classroom erupted in laughter. “A bit of seriousness class!” said the professor, “This is the human most enjoyable ritual and they are very sensitive about it.” Pointing to Aaron, “Isn’t it right Human Aaron?”
Aaron bit his lips, and whispered to himself “please god, don’t”
The professor walked to the textbook laying on his desk, “If everyone could turn to page 56, there you will see the primitive human doing what they call: giving a shit.” Aaron buried his face in the textbook. The professor carried on, “While giving a shit, the primitive human will usually, announce it to their companions by expressing a small release of gaseous words from their bottom mouth, before running around their dwelling searching for reading material, in the events they find no such reading manuals, they will for go giving a shit altogether.”
Ashamed, Aaron nodded, while the class gasped.
| 2021-11-14T10:07:52
| 2021-11-14T08:03:29
| 330
| 89
|
[WP] The date is December 31, 9999
|
<J! J! Sync up with me!>
<Hm? Hey, Sol. What's up?>
<Did you know: According to the Earth-based Gregorian calendar, today would be December 31, 9999.>
<...Okay? I don't know what any of those words mean, Sol.>
<Typical. The knowledge of a universe at your synapses, and yet you remain completely incurious. The Gregorian calendar isn't even that old, J. It's only been about seven thousand years since it passed out of general use.>
<Ah, but if I looked everything up, I'd deprive you of the pleasure of revealing things to me. So this date - I'm assuming it was significant in their cosmology?>
<Oh, no, not at all. I don't think they were even capable of imagining so far into the future.>
<So what's the significance?>
<It's the verge of a new year! The clock ticking over to the year 10,000! Such a momentous round number.>
<...that's not a round number at all.>
<Base ten.>
<Oh, right, base ten. Because we used to have ten digits and no one could figure out how to do basic mathematics without counting on their fingers.>
<Why do you have to be so dismissive and cynical about everything? Just imagine for a second being a physical being, and working out an entire system of mathematics and timekeeping by craning your neck up to look at the sun and the stars moving around your world. And yes, by counting on your fingers.>
<Yeah, okay, sure, that was really impressive ten thousand years ago. I just don't see the point in bringing it up now. Years are such a planetbound concept. That's the point of, you know, time moving forward. We progress. We improve. We change. And we stop caring about some Gregorian calendar system that was only ever significant to a single planet in the universe.>
<But that's just it, time doesn't move forward anymore.>
<What?>
<I just - People back then, they knew they were going to die. They measured time out in eras, of achievements that would outlive them, and if they lived to see the end of an era they considered themselves blessed. When did you last care about the universe hitting a milestone?>
<I don't ... We're post-Singularity, Sol. We hit a new milestone every two Plancks.>
<Yeah! That's my point! Time doesn't matter anymore, right? We're all immortal, we're all infinite, every moment is as revolutionary as every other moment. We're just...>
<So, what? You'd rather go back to dying? Like, unwillingly dying? Because that does not at all - >
<No, no, you're right. I'm being dumb. I just ... it seemed cool, that's all. That I was getting to see something. A year ticking over. It's just a moment, you know? A moment that's never going to happen again.>
<...Sol?>
<Yeah?>
<You're right, you're being really dumb.>
<Wow, fuck you.>
<But I get what you mean. If those apes could see us now, this would be one hell of a milestone. Happy New Year, Sol.>
<...Happy New Year, J.>
|
Journal entry: December 31, 9999
My name is Carrie and I'm 15 years old. I live on a place called section 7. Section 7 is part of a mother ship which is powered by humans. What's left of us anyway. We are heading to a planet called Kepler 33. I think it will be a lot better than this ship.
Apparently it all started in February 28, 2016. A legendary actor who went by the name of Leonardo DiCaprio. Upon receiving the Oscar he said his speech which lasted around 5-10 minutes.
During the last 5 minutes of his speech, he poured his heart and soul into a "global warming" speech. He stated that 2015 was the hottest year and 2016 will probably be hotter. The Rockafeller and Rothschilds family were watching at the time and saw his remarks on the Internet. The televised version was cut short due to advertising.
What was more important than the planet?
Apparently it was something called Doritos?
The Rockafeller family made their fortune of oil. All the cars in the world at the time, needed oil. The number of Cars used by people in 2010 was 1.015 billion. The Rothschilds family owned every central bank in the world. It was speculated at the time that they were worth up to 500 trillion dollars. America, greatest country in the world In debt to them by 13.8 trillion! Wow!
Since they hated the fact that this guy can come on TV with millions watching and despise what they primary sell to countries, they couldn't sit around. The
Rockafeller family needed to sell this oil, contributing to global warming.
The Rothschilds needed people to buy and sell things and to take funds from the reserve banks, which in turn dictates oil prices as people buy and sell higher and lower throughout the year.
On February 29, 2016 Leonardo DiCaprio was assassinated. It was reported through the media that he had died from cardiac arrest, but in an investigation in 2017 it states he was killed from an unreported drug which caused his heart to explode! Who had this sort of stuff back then!
People speculate it was the two families, because he was so influential they had him assassinated. This caused global warming activists to go into hiding. Scientists stopped studying it and eventually it became a myth.
In 2051 sea levels had risen 69% since 2016 and many countries and Islands were under water. The world human population had dropped 85% and there were small colonies of humans around the major contents around the world.
There was a global intuitive eventually that had a 9990 year plan. The last remaining humans came together, built a mother space ship and formed a plan. When 10000 years had passed, we would run out of oxygen. At that point we would have reached the planet they had been studying for 30 years.
They were 100% sure it was inhabitable. 100% sure the plan wouldn't need any more than 10000 years. To mitigate risks they enabled 10000 years however speculated it would take 9500 years.
Because we live on this ship we don't know what happened to the other humans that remained on the planet.
I always assumed they just disappeared as earth got too hot during the day and far too cold during the night. There was be no electricity so they had no power to their homes.
I always believed that once most of humans left earth, all the factories and cars stop working, once all the meat consumption reaches lower points because of the total human population, just like it was in the 1000's, like I read, that earth can heal and become what it once was.
I hope there are still people living down there, still surviving. When we get to Kepler my mum says I'll be 30. I hope I'm a scientist and I can build a machine that can make contact through all those light years to earth.
Just so I can see what really happened.
| 2016-05-20T04:08:56
| 2016-05-20T01:01:28
| 31
| 11
|
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers.
|
You tell everyone that you have the power of flight. But that seems like too simple of an explanation, and people are starting to get suspicious.
It is incredibly hard to explain that there happens to be a very unique “phenomenon” that occurs within your body. It is something completely natural within your body, and no one else’s.
But the truth is, you’re just incredibly flatulent. Not only that, but instead of methane, your body naturally produces helium instead. And you’ve learned that if you prevent yourself from passing gas for long enough, and retain enough flatulence, you can make yourself float. When you do finally let loose, the sheer amount you have inside of you propels you incredible distances at incredible speeds, while the residual helium keeps you afloat until your “tank” runs empty.
One of the awkward questions you frequently receive is “why does it take you so long to get in the air?”. Which is usually followed by “why does it sound like you’re releasing a balloon when you finally get going? A balloon full of sewage?”
You want to answer honestly. You want to tell someone, anyone the truth about what goes on inside you. But you fear the response you might get. Either utter disbelief, or absolute hysterics. You aren’t sure which would be worse, so for now you just keep telling everyone “my superhero ability is “flight””.
|
# VI | [Read from I](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1fq6x/wp_as_a_joke_the_gods_decided_to_reverse_the/iaoubt6/)
Aside from Adrianna, Cassidy Quinn was Shizuka's only real friend.
He'd been at the Academy longer than almost any of the other students. Long enough to have been here when she'd first arrived, a girl barely more than twelve, far from home and clearly a foreigner, trying to conceal her own fright and lashing out at other students who'd taken undue interest in her -- which meant any interest at all beyond a passing glance. It hadn't helped that her grasp of the language had proven less complete than she'd thought, when she'd studied it in her homeland. If she'd become an outcast, she had to admit that some of that was her own fault.
If only the bastards had ever let it go.
But there was Cassidy. She'd met him in her adopted refuge, the library of literature and philosophy. Unlike the much larger library of magical arts, very few went there -- other than the librarians, of course, but they were happy enough to let her be. For a few days, it had been a place she could get away, sit in solitude, and read.
Cassidy had had the same idea. The first time she'd entered the library to find him sitting in a corner nook and reading, she'd frozen in place. And not in trepidation. He'd been a small and scrawny boy, the furthest thing from dangerous, with too-large clothes and unkempt hair. Unkempt golden hair, the Eastlander shade that so fascinated her. Wide, startled eyes -- bright purple eyes -- when he'd looked up at her. He'd resembled a frightened rabbit, just for a moment. And then he'd smiled and beckoned her over.
They hadn't spoken much that day, beyond an exchange of names. Nor the next day. He'd seemed comfortable just sitting there, reading natural philosophy while she painstakingly worked her way through the least challenging works of literature she could find. Eventually, he'd made a recommendation. She'd asked him to explain a passage. They'd spoken some more. Some time later, she'd realized she'd begun to think of him as a friend. She'd thought he must have an affinity for compassion, or reassurance, or something of the sort.
So it was her and Cassidy and, eventually, her roommate Adrianna. The three misfits. Plus Cassidy's current girlfriend, she supposed. Over the years, he'd blossomed; now, he was no longer a misfit, really. He was nearly as tall as she was (and she was so uncommonly tall that she feared she'd be taken for *oni*-blooded, if she ever returned to Shirigekuro). He was slim, but no one would call him scrawny -- he got adjectives like "lithe" and "willowy" instead. He'd developed a pale, androgynous, almost-ethereal beauty, too, and worse, he knew it. He seemed to have a different girl (and, once, a boy) every couple of weeks.
If she hadn't already liked him so much, she might have hated him.
----
Cassidy frowned in thought while those purple eyes bored into her. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to wait?"
Shizuka sighed. "No. Shapeshifting isn't one of the magics I've developed. Adrianna's been stuck in my form ever since the calamity, though, and I think it's really starting to get to her. I've never seen her hold one form for so long before."
"You have," he pointed out. "Her own."
Tilting her head, she waved that away. "Other than her own. And yes, it's starting to get to me too. It's creepy enough to see an envy witch take your shape, but living with one for weeks like that?"
"I see your point, but you should talk to her about it."
"I'm not going to just *change* her! I just don't want to bring it up before I know if it's possible. I wouldn't want..."
"To get her hopes up?" Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So, without an envy master witch, that leaves a few options. Imbued items weren't affected by the calamity, so we could try to get her a transformation item. But that's probably too expensive to be practical." He paused, looking to her for confirmation.
Shizuka had brought a good amount of gold and silver with her to the Academy, but years of schooling and a paucity of options for reliably obtaining money had whittled that down. An imbued brooch or cloak was well beyond her means now, even if one were available, and she regretfully shook her head.
"A transformation elixir, then?"
"That, I could afford," she said. "But that would be single-use, and it would wear off. Plus, you never know how long an elixir is going to last. If I need to, I'll buy one for her, but it's not a real solution."
He nodded. "You could put the word out and try to hire an envy witch to transform her."
"If any of them has re-mastered their magic." She grimaced. "It's worth a try, if nothing else works."
"What else is there?"
She met his gaze for a moment before her eyes darted away. "I was hoping you could."
"What? I don't--"
"Cass." She cut him off, speaking quickly, before she lost the nerve. "I know about your affinities. Can you help?"
He looked at her, then turned away, seeming to deflate as he did. "How?" he asked quietly.
"We've been friends for a long time, Cass, and I'm not completely stupid." She ventured a fragile smile. "I understand why you've presented yourself as a lightning and metal wizard, but I know about your other one."
"You can't possibly understand."
She flinched from the pain she heard and reflexively offered a defense. "I've torn almost two dozen holes into my own essence." A beat, before she continued more softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't plan to bring it up, ever, but... I'm worried about her."
It surprised her when he laughed. A strained, half-broken sound, but a laugh, at least. "A rare day when Shizuka Kitsuki apologizes. Well, for the Academy's heroine..."
"Thank you."
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Seconds ticked past in silence. "I don't know that I can help," he said at last. "But what are friends for?"
----
[Next Chapter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v84iiq/sp_trust_no_one_especially_not_yourself/ibpd5z9/)
| 2022-06-06T16:57:42
| 2022-06-06T14:18:28
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Turn around. Did I find you?"
I became a stalagmite of dread, paralyzed in place by the voice that reverberated in my head. Clear as the crisp smell of rain on asphalt. Powerful as an shameful orgasm.
I turned around, certain that the Voice -- creatively named, that -- would be naught but my mental illness quixotically tormenting the spinning gears of my mind.
"You did always have a way with words, but Jesus, take a creative writing class once in a while."
I stood, stricken dumb. Additional parts of my psyche and anatomy experienced a cascading series of failures, until I was reduced to "um," "what," and "uhhhhh..." as the entirety of my skillset. She laughed. This astonishing, wildflower-scented, scarlet-haired woman in front of me was *laughing.* I could hear her laughter. Why could I hear her? I've never heard anyone make this sound before; only the Voice had taught me these things.
I signed to her. *Who are you?*
"Wait. You're Deaf? But I -- but I would've known. I should've known, right?" Her jocund 'I've-found-you' smile turned into a mask of confusion.
Taking care to fully form my thoughts as I was signing them, I told her: *Look, I can hear you, but I thought you were the Voice. You're supposed to be living in my head. Why are you real? Why can I understand your thoughts?*
"I'm in the same boat as you, I have nooooo idea. It's kind of stronger in one direction, though. I can only hear yours when you're really close to me, but I can feel you listening to me no matter where I go. That's how I found you, actually. I heard you for the first time, here at Lost Beans. I decided to broadcast myself and see who turned around. I, uh, I had no idea it'd be someone like you, I'll be honest."
*How do you think I feel?*
"Granted."
*What do we do now? I mean, you're the first person I've ever had a verbal, well verbal-ish, conversation with. I don't know what to say.*
She put her hands in mine. "Make some kind of superhero team? I don't know either."
*Maybe we should order some coffee. Come up with our secret identities.*
She laughed. And in an awkwardly cute effort, she slowly signed the phrase: "I'd like that."
|
I had always heard her voice. No matter what the dose of medication, experimental treatment -- she was always there. In High School, through college. Shit, when I lost my first tooth. Doctors said I had schizophrenia, it was all in my head. That's where I usually heard her anyway, so it made enough sense. But this time was different. The sound of her voice didn't come from inside. It was external. It scared the shit out of me to be honest, like a tray falling over at a restaurant. Startled, I didn't recognize it at first. I turned around quickly and saw a woman my age.
"Did you say something?"
"Who me?"
"Yeah you. Also how did you get in here, no public entry allowed back here."
She was a few inches shorter than me. Wearing a sundress, white flip-flops, and tapping her phone nervously between her fingers.
"I'm not the public"
"Wait, do I...do I know you?"
I was shitting bricks at this point. I hadn't pinpointed the specific place I knew her from, but I knew it was off. It's like seeing a late night show live at a taping. It's real, but it's all a little unreal. Something that has lived in your mind intangibly suddenly whole, and real, and close enough to touch. It's like Mickey Mouse coming round with the Jehova's Witnesses. Bad explanation but you'd piss yourself if it happened.
"Of course you do, we've been talking for 37 years."
"I'm sorry ma'am, but you're going to have to leave" I say getting progressively more freaked out.
"Oh relax dude, it's me"
I jump a little bit, that voice came from my head. My eyes get real fuckin' wide.
"Sorry, I know this is weird, I just thought it was time we met"
Okay, the real girl said that one.
"What are you talking about? Who are you?"
"Oh yeah, uh, well I'm Kristen" she said with an uncomfortable wave "and uh, well I'm also an ESP"
"A what?"
"An ESP, like, I can communicate telepathically like you."
"You can communicate telepathically? I can communicate telepathically?"
"Uhh, yeah man. We've been talking for 37 years. We share a birthday, and we've been in sync for a long time now. I tried to tell you the doctors were wrong, but you went and told them I said that so they upped the dosage. Haven't you wondered why that didn't work?"
"You're fucking with me."
"I'm not"
"Okay, so I'm going to th"
"You're going to think something and you want me to repeat it back verbatim to you to prove that I can actually hear your thoughts. You were going to think "Applesauce"."
"What the actual fuck."
"Yeah, it's real. So anyway, I wanted to find you in person and see if there was any value in getting to know each other better in a more tangible way, like as physically present human beings rather than voices in each others' heads."
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"No. Just looking to be close friends."
"Oh okay.
| 2019-09-14T11:18:09
| 2019-09-14T10:49:17
| 232
| 65
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
"The motorcade is travelling towards you. Mehmedbašić, roll for initiative."
"4."
"The car drives past before you have a chance to act."
"God damnit."
"Don't worry guys, this is why we have backup in place."
"Čubrilović, it's your turn."
"I get... 2. Shit."
"You also fail to do anything before the Archduke's car rolls past. Čabrinović?"
"I get... 14! Ha! I throw my bomb at the Archduke's car."
"The bomb sails through the air. Roll to see if you're successful."
"8, what happens?"
"The bomb bounces off the convertible cover on the back of the car, and explodes beneath the trailing vehicle. The Archduke's car speeds off and you see the guards converging to arrest you."
"I don't want to give my party up, they still have to finish the mission. I take my cyanide pill and jump in the river to commit suicide."
"Roll."
"Roll? For suicide?"
"Yes. You're being chased by guards. You don't need to get anything good".
"Ok. It's a... It's a 1."
" Oh wow, that's really bad. Ok, you fail to die, and are beaten by the surrounding civilians before being captured by the guards and taken into custody. The bomb also caused the driver to speed away, driving past the rest of you before you have time to act, and Franz Ferdinand has reached his destination to give his speech. Princip, it's your turn."
"Fuck this, this isn't going to work, the dice are against us. I go for a drink."
"Oh, come on man, don't be like that."
"Nope, screw it, you guys can carry on if you want, I go to get a coffee and enjoy the rest of my freedom before Čabrinović gives us all up. Do I need to roll to see if I successfully drink my coffee?"
"Sure, if you want."
"Fine. I get... a 20. How the hell did that happen?"
"Really? You wasted a 20 on successfully drinking coffee? Come on GM, what happens?"
"Alright then, so you go to get a coffee, but as Archduke Franz Ferdinand is leaving his speech, his driver takes a wrong turn, and his car is now parked directly in front of you undefended."
"I shoot the Archduke! I get a 16."
"You hit and kill the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife. You succeed in your mission, and inadvertently start World War One. Good game, well played."
|
"I've got this."
The sound of dice rolling in the cup echoed around the tiny attic. The others rolled their eyes.
"You don't have this. Just stop. If you miss-"
He grinned. "I'm not going to miss."
The man sitting across the table sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Lee, just stop. You'll only have him in your sights long enough for a single shot."
"I've got this."
"You're an asshole, you know?" the woman sitting farthest from him burst out. "Do you know how long it took for us to get here? You can't just-"
"Mary. Please. Stop." Lee said, grinning as he shook the cup.
The man sitting at the head of the table waited, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He'd been planning the campaign for a long, *long* time. He hadn't expected it to play out like *this.*
"Don't tell me to stop!" Mary snapped, sitting back in her chair. "If you take that shot, it's just going to glance off. The guards are all going to swarm the tower, and you'll be *done*. You're too far away."
"Mary. Please. I've got this," Lee said, still rolling. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Maybe this *wasn't* such a good idea after all.
"You're not even from the right *direction*. The angle's all wrong. How's that supposed to work?"
No. He had it. He'd played everything straight - the buffs to his luck and agility *should* be enough to get him through. If they missed this chance, it would take them *forever* to get back.
If he missed, the party would do fine without him. He'd be left starting from scratch again, but that was just the game, wasn't it?
"The limousine is still rolling, Lee," the man sitting at the end of the table droned on. "What are you going to do?" He turned a page idly, smirking.
Lee grinned. "One shot, right?"
The game master sighed. "One. *One* shot."
"Lee-" Mary said, her eyes tight, but Lee was already rolling.
The dice flew from his cup.
They slammed into the table with a clatter, scattering. The group threw themselves forward, eyes locked on the tiny plastic shape.
For a long moment, there was only silence as they stared.
It was broken by the sound of Lee's laughter, strident and loud.
"Yes! Yes! Oh, *Yes!* You all owe me! You owe me *so hard*! Mary, you owe us pizza!"
She sat back, lips pursed, but there was a grin tugging at her lips.
The game master closed his book slowly, chuckling to himself. That *wasn't* how it was supposed to go. He'd had so much more planned out - so many more challenges they were supposed to face.
But it was impossible to argue with a perfect roll - no matter how implausible a situation that put him in.
"Congratulations," he said, pasting a smile onto his face. "One shot. Assassination complete."
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)
| 2018-05-29T06:42:10
| 2018-05-29T05:54:52
| 4,675
| 813
|
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.
|
The look on Natasha's face when I walked into our college algebra 101 class that morning made the whole ordeal of digging myself out of that shallow grave and walking home without any blood worth it. (Have you ever tried to walk without blood? It's super tiring.)
Her expression was a perfect mix of shock, confusion, panic, and forced calm. Eventually she settled on a blank expression that I recognized as someone deliberately paralysing their own face. I'd done that before, mostly to disguise sleeping through math class, so... Appropriate all things considered.
I took my usual seat next to her and said "good morning!" In my most natural cheerful voice.
Her reply was stiff and quiet, which wasn't really surprising to be fair. Her face was still stiff, and she had definitely killed me last night. I'd probably be confused too in her shoes.
It took almost half of the lecture for her to finally ask the question that had to be burning her worse than the sun usually did. (Night school, yay!)
"How?" She whispered softly.
"You should ask the professor if you don't understand the lecture Tash" I said blithely "you know I don't do well with math.
She actually had the composure to look annoyed at me.
"You know what I mean." She almost growled. "I-" she paused and glanced around at the other nearby students in a motion so quick most people wouldn't be able to see it.
"I drank your blood and feasted on your soul." She sounded almost pleading now "I killed you, how are you here."
I grinned at her, bold. I like it. Though the whole murdering me thing on our first date kinda put a damper on the relationship to be honest.
"I'm sure your sire gave you a speech that went something like 'we were what the apes feared while they huddled around their fires.' right?"
She nodded, looking even more confused. "Almost word for word." She said softly.
"Volodymir then." I replied. "That ass never did properly introduce his spawn to the wider world."
She looked taken aback at that, and even fearful. Great.
"He tell you some nonsense about him knowing if you spoke his name to another then?" I asked, turning my tone gentle.
She nodded, still looking wary.
"Ass." I repeated. "Volodymir has no magick beyond the abilities granted him by the blood." I explained quietly, "And even if he did, he's been imprisoned for nearly fifty years for, well... Not taking proper care of his spawn."
Natasha's expression had changed to open confusion.
"Tasha," I asked, again in a gentle tone. "All this time after you learned vampires are real and you never wondered if there was anything else hidden out there?"
"No. I... I just never thought about it. I just... He..." She was almost pleading again.
I patted her hand where it sat on the armrest between us.
"It's ok Tasha." I said in my best comforting tone, "stuff like this is why that dickhead isn't gonna see the light of the moon for a very long time."
She nodded, still looking confused.
"What are you?" She asked after a pause. "You don't smell like a vampire, and you...tasted... Just like a mortal"
A faint flush actually touched her pale cheeks as she spoke.
"I was what the apes feared as they-"
I cut off as she swatted my arm.
I grinned. "Tell you what," I said "I'll explain everything to you over dinner after the lecture, as long as you promise not to kill me again."
"Deal."
|
Kunsai "Kuro" Kuronosa found himself in a strange place compared to where he normally went after school. Sure, he loved nature and all that, but he didn't think Korra, whose mother must've grown up when that show was popular, was normally the woodsy type. Popular, pretty, with fire red hair, fair skin, with typical high schooler proportions, the girl was wearing a red blouse with black shoes and a nice skirt..
Kuro was in his typical blue jeans and t-shirt with sarcastic writing on it, the shirt being a navy color as well.
They had been walking a while, making idle chitchat about things that had happened in their schools growing up, as Korra was a transfer her first year and had wildly different tales to tell. Story was that she was from Germany, here on an exchange program. He accent certainly matched, though her English wasn't too bad.
"So...Why did you invite me out here? We're not really in the same circles, and only have two classes together." Kuro asked the question that was obvious..It was also getting darker, afternoon had turned to dusk, the sun beginning to set. "Surely you're not madly in love with me or something." He was being sarcastic, the nerd with only a few friends who carried everything to and from school each day.
"No. I brought you out here...to...well..die." Her reply was consice and without a stutter, so straightforward it took him by surprise.
"You're joking, right? That's...that's one of the most insane things I've ever heard." Kuro was a black belt martial artist...yes, he was a nerd who studied one of the most nerdy ways of fighting, and he wasn't totally jacked, but he was pretty sure he could take in some preppy girl if she tried to attack him.
"Nope. Not joking." Her voice was more sing-song. And then, she smiled broadly at him, with clearly pointed canines. She lunged at him, aiming to get on the poor nerd. Martial arts is one thing, but the speed and strength of one with vampiric blood was much higher than that of some nerdy teen. She bowled him over with the tackle, and latched onto his neck, not letting go no matter what he tried to do.
The teen's vision swam, and eventually faded to black. As he seemed to pass, a thought went through his mind. **She has no idea what she's done **
By the time he woke up, there was ground over him...A shallow grave, and poorly dug too..he clawed his way out, and greedily sucked in the air.
"Well...that sucked...either she's as dumb as a rock, or new....no Moonlit creature survives very long if it's that stupid. He took off towards his home, finding his belongings poorly scattered, and got back to the apartment that his parents rented for him, since they were always gone for work...or, that was the cover story at least. He was wealthy on his own, from his travels.
The next day, the teen was once again in a pair of jeans and a sarcastic t-shirt as he walked to class. Luckily, he and Korra has first period together...and when he walked in and say her, she was already busy with her little clique...an aura check and they were just regular teens, nothing that pointed to them being connected to the Moonlit World...Daywalkers. As long as she didn't turn any of them, it was fine.
She didn't notice him until roll was called, and when she turned backwards as he called his appearance, the started at him in disbelief, but only for a moment before she schooled her features. Ah, that was just as well. He gave her a smirk back, before staring up at the board as the teacher prepared to start class.
The day progressed as normal, and he didn't see the redhead again until after the day was over, as their other shared class wasn't on that day. She met him at the doors to the parking lot, waiting to confront him as he was just walking out, headphones into his MP3 player, listening to a song that he really enjoyed...heck, he didn't notice her until she pulled off his headphones to finally get his attention.
"What do you - oh..Korra..." Before she could speak, he grabbed his headphones out of her hands. "I would think you would have more class than to pull out someone's headphones.." He put them back in to make sure that they weren't damaged by the yank. They were now closer to the street the school was on, and most of the other kids were at their cars or in busses.
"Excuse me for not taking the nice route when a *dead person*, who I was pretty sure I killed, showed up to school. How are you alive anyway? You aren't like me, or I would have smelled it on you."
At that comment, the teen, who had silver hair that was supposedly a dye job, raised an eyebrow. "Really? You want to start this here? We're still too close to the Daylits to be having this conversation." The young man headed off towards his home, ignoring his pursuer, but only put one side of the headphones over an ear. "Walk with me, and I'll get us somewhere we can talk."
"You aren't like me, nor do you smell like a mutt...what are you?" The 'transfer student' was curious...and a little scared. She was certain she was the only alpha predator in the area. Then suddenly, the air around them smelled like a stronger vampire, out of nowhere...then like a mutt, a very strong one, then like something with pure power...she couldn't put her finger on it, but it terrified her.
"What am I...I am a Fixer..."
| 2022-12-29T18:54:00
| 2022-12-29T18:22:13
| 196
| 76
|
[WP] Write a dystopian vision of the future from the perspective of the year 1900, while actually describing our present world today.
|
"I have seen it!" The man's voice cracked in the midst of the street. "I have seen the future, and it bears horrors beyond imagining! Beyond comprehension!"
One or two bypassers had stopped, looking interested at the new madman the city of Boston had gained; for he was respectably suited and bow-tied, with clean garments and polished shoes, nor did he bear the marks of any obvious ministry. A novelty, then, one that probably wouldn't last.
"Turn back! We must turn back! Turn back, I say, before it passes too late!"
"What horrors have you seen?" called a young man, tall and burly enough to have no fear of the man who shouted.
"I cannot, I cannot find the words for you - I saw, I understood, but I cannot speak of it in mortal tongue -"
"Cheap," the burly teen observed, and turned aside as though to go.
The shouting man opened his lips several times, as if in desperate reach of words. "I've seen..." He stopped again. "I've seen a world... *covered in molasses!*"
One of the other bystanders chuckled. "Ho, that's original for an apocalypse. An accident at the molasses factory, eh? You won't find that in the Book of Revelations."
"A world where nothing can be done for the first time!" The shouting man's voice rose further. "A world where," his voice cracked, "*being a hairdresser requires a license and two years' college!*"
"What?" said the burly young man, and the others simply looked puzzled.
"A world where the inventors' corporations spend more on patent disputes than on research! A world where welfare assistance programs start to phase out their benefits so early as to create implicit marginal tax rates nearing a hundred percent, locking people into poverty!"
A woman crossed herself. "What in Heaven's name is the man saying?"
"Dam'med if I know," her husband said; and she elbowed him in the ribs. "I s'pose there's a horror in an Armageddon that doesn't make sense."
As though his sanity had cracked and words spilled out through it, the wild-eyed man was now shouting one incomprehensible sentence after another. "A world where a new medicine costs one billion dollars to test, 'ere it may be sold to even the most desperate! A world where they pour their life-blood by the trillions into student loans, unwitting that the positional competition for prestige means the supply curve slopes but slightly upward with the price! And the rent, the rent, the rent is too damned high, for all the committees to be vaulted 'ere anyone can build a house!"
"Speaking in tongues?" an elderly woman whispered.
"A world where Republicans and Democrats alike are steeped in corruption, and voters go to the polls only for fear of the other party! Where first-past-the-post polling prevents any third party from beginning, for each individual voter is impelled to vote for one of the two larger parties by the belief that no third party can yet win! And with the government so locked in place, there is no help to be had for a tax system grown larger than a mortal could read in a hundred lifetimes! Coal burns to darken the skies and scorch the land, yet none can rebuild the liquid fluoride thorium reactors that were made fifty years agone; for the molasses, the molasses, the molasses has covered all!"
"I wonder who he was talking to," the elderly woman said, "before he went mad; perhaps it was a lawyer, for I've heard some of those words in the debates."
By now, at last, the white covered carriage of the asylum had arrived, and white-coated muscular men spilled forth to take the doomsayer in hand. He did not try to run, but submitted as though paralyzed, as though knowing it was all too late.
"Turn back!" he screamed, as they dragged him away. "Turn back, before there's none left who can even understand the problems! *Turn back!*"
|
21st Century In-humanism
The clock struck 6 and the sun began to rise into the pale grey sky. Already the workers were off onto another day of servitude. Over the chrome city streets cameras stand like vultures recording every move in the grey rivers in which the people find themselves. The people pay no heed to the glimmering lenses above them for they have strange glass devices on their persons at all times. These glass screens allow them to access all kinds of information and send messages across vast distances and anyone who wants to be acceptable has one, even children. These glass screens and others like them, some of which are larger and stuck on walls or placed on desks, dominate the life of everyone. When they work they are inevitably staring at some form of glowing glass, and when they get home they find themselves staring at their personal screens until they rest only to stare at more in work later. They have little time for one another and wholesome activities; children are left in the care of uncaring pieces of metal and glass whilst parents stare at their own screens unaware. The screens provide little of value outside of work; they are a mere distraction, colourful lights that dull the mind of children and adults alike. Workers are kept like bees, working long unfulfilling hours for meagre wages for large capitalist powers that see them as livestock for the money making machine, and what little they earn will inevitably go back into the hands of the capitalist giants that will invariably be related to the glass screens. The world is entrapped by them; the people are addicted to them with strength unmatched by anything.
And the governments of the world stand by and do nothing for this state of affairs; the screens distract the populace and so the government is free to control its people however its sees fit. Terrible wars are waged across the globe and thousands die in fear. The war machine is so advanced that mechanical planes can operate with no pilot on board and then obliterate their enemies with bombs capable of destroying entire streets. Civilians in far of lands die in countless numbers to these mechanical weapons and yet people do not stop to care for some new pulp drama has appeared on their glass screens and their concerns, if they ever had any, are all dismissed. Furthermore the screens allow the powers to view the public with mechanical eyes that see and record anything. Unhappy with the cameras that stood sentinel on every building in every town that saw all public, the governments wanted more. The screens provided this; public actions became yet more scrutinised and catalogued by the powers but they provided a window into the privacy of every man’s home. They soon set to recording and filling the details of everyone they could for the hope they find an ‘Enemy of State’. The people do not mind being regarded as suspect ‘Enemies of State’ for they are distracted by their screens and the lies fed through them. Fake news tells them of the very real fake enemies that besiege them and the very real necessity for unneeded espionage. They huddle like ox, chewing their cud until they are beckoned off by their master to be culled for some untold reason.
The people of the distant 21st century are livestock to the wealthy and powerful. They are enslaved to them for work and told that they have it good and if they work hard they can have some more time looking at burning images emanating from a screen of glass and steel.
| 2015-12-19T10:18:54
| 2015-12-19T09:40:20
| 55
| 10
|
[WP] You have the ability to know a lie when you hear it, and to know the truth when lied to. Society appoints you to a high judiciary position, but there's nobody to check if YOU'RE lying when you decide justice. Which case do you remember most?
Edit: Hi, guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited or pitched in, this got way more attention than I expected and was a lot of fun! Looking forward to more, keep up the good work everyone!
|
I have a few under my belt, but one case sticks out in particular.
It all started on a dusty street. Palm leaves swaying under the blazing sun. It was one of those days where you’d rather stay inside a cool basement than wander the city, but duty called as it tends to do when you least of all need it.
Somewhat grumpy, I wriggled into my formal clothes. People saw my judicial gown and scurried out of the way like scared mice. My word was truth in this part of the land. Truth and justice often walk hand in hand.
A man in grubby clothes and unkempt beard was brought before me on the steps of the temple. He was already beaten badly, sweat leaking out of every pore. An angry mob had followed him here, no doubt taking part in the beatings. I looked the man in the eyes, trying to divine his feelings. Was he scared? Angry? Or was there perhaps a glimmer of guilty?
“What is his crime?” I asked.
“He’s a thief and a troublemaker, your highness!” one of the guards said.
I took a step closer, taking his chin in my palm. “Are you?”
The man shook his head, a tiny dribble of blood and spit seeping down his cracked lips.
“Speak up!”
“I am not a thief, milord,” the man said, his words carrying a hint of an accent.
He was a shepherd or farmer without education. Perhaps he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. At the very least he was no thief.
I looked behind him at the angry crowd. He’d done something to upset them, that much was clear.
“Are you a troublemaker?”
“If so, that was never my intention,” the man said.
He seemed calm, despite the crowd after his head. I looked at him long and well. He wasn’t lying. Truth be told, he was nobody.
“He’s a witch!” someone in the crowd cried and got several agreeing hums from the others.
“Let’s talk in the shadow,” I said, wiping my brow.
I wanted him away from the crowd for a moment. Sometimes there are questions not meant for the public’s ears.
“It’s okay,” I told the guards when they made a move to follow. “Look at him. The heat has gotten to him. He wouldn’t get far.”
The guards grumbled but released him into my custody. I sat down in one of the klinai near the entrance, in sight of the crowd.
“Tell me,” I said, taking a grape and stuffing it into the side of my cheek, slowly devouring its sweet succulence. “Are you a witch?”
“I am not a witch, milord.”
Again, he was telling the truth.
“You look thirsty, would you like something to drink?”
The man nodded, and I held out a jar of water but didn’t let go as he closed his filthy fingers around it.
“Tell me, what would make a crowd this angry?”
The man shifted on the spot. “Things they don’t understand scare them.”
“Such as?”
“I help the sick. I feed the hungry.”
“You’re a doctor?” I said, lifting an eyebrow.
“No, milord, I am not.”
“You understand that the crowd wants your head, right?” I said, somewhat annoyed by his calm.
“They don’t understand.”
“What is it that they don’t understand?” I finally let go of the jar, and he drank deeply.
“That there is hope for all. Let me go, and I will help those in need.”
“Tell me something. How should I know that you’re telling the truth? Show me how you’ll feed the hungry.” I picked up a dried fish from one of the plates, casting it at the man’s feed. “Show me, and I’ll let you go.”
The man looked me in the eye, his lips tight. “Even if I show you, you will tell the crowd I’m a liar and a troublemaker.”
I tilted my head to the side. He was smarter than he looked. The crowd wanted blood and they would get it. The rest of it was just theatrics.
“I guess there’s nothing I can do for you then,” I said and rose from the klinē, waving the guards over.
I washed my hands and turned to the crowd and announced, “Guilty!”
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories.
|
Judiciary: You want to know about which case I remember most huh? \[chuckles\]
Interviewer: Yes, you've served for almost 80 years now, no doubt you probably have hundred of stories. \[inaudible\]
Judiciary: Okay, \[laughs\] here's one that's stuck with me in my mind \[sic\], I'll let you guess when it was.
Interviewer: \[whispers inaudibly\]
Judiciary: \[whispers inaudibly\] The trial seemed simple enough. It was a case of what was very clearly manslaughter. The accused went to the stand. It was a really sad case. It was the kind of case that sticks with you, in your mind. A teenager was accused of killing their friend. It was horrible really. It was open shut though. The victim had \[inaudible\] their friend to help them kill themselves, but it became unclear if the victim had still wanted to be killed, the accused was aware of the ambiguity and still went through with it.
It was very \[inaudible\]. I had asked them if they were aware of the possibility that \[inaudible\] and they said no. I could tell it was a lie. Open shut.
I had lowered the charge from \[inaudible\].
Interviewer: What could make you do that! You said it was \[inaudible\]!
Judiciary: It was the next question I asked which made me want to lower it. I asked them if they would ever betray their friend, I asked them if they loved their friend, I asked if they would ever do something they didn't think was best for their friend. I am not sure what wording I used, but it was something like that. I may not remember what question it was but the answer was clear.
They said they would do something that would hurt their friend. They said that. To anyone else this was open shut. To me, I lowered the charge. Even in this moment, they were trying to protect the friend from *something*, although I am no longer as sure what it could be. That is why I lowered the charge. I knew the one thing I could be certain of, for whatever reason, that the guilt of having to make that call affected them far more profoundly than \[inaudible\].
Interviewer: Do you do that kind of thing often?
Judiciary: As often as people lie about loving someone else in a courtroom, or as often as \[inaudible\].
*The audio for which this transcript was based had not been saved properly and much of the dialogue was left inaudible. The transcriber would like to apologize for any inconvenience.*
| 2018-05-15T21:16:02
| 2018-05-15T20:44:11
| 209
| 39
|
[WP][NSFW]When someone masturbates,the person they masturbate to feels it as well.
|
Sonnet Number Seventy-One
As Issac Newton once had said it best,
"Each action has its opposite reaction."
Because his physics are true with all the rest
It follows, masturbation's no exception.
The diddled self when thinking of another,
Requires outcome of action, to be felt.
If she is someone's sister, wife, or mother
Makes no difference to feelings below the belt.
Celebrity's a curse with constant attention,
No rest as long as object for desire.
The men get a constant, onslaught of shlickin'
And women feel the tug of misplaced fire.
The worst is Helen of Troy, immortal dame
Her dusty corpse's restless to this day.
|
I got a call from a friend who invited me over to her house to talk about something. I've accepted to come, but I have been feeling very awkward about it. I mean, she does look a little good, but I'm not sure if I do like her - talking about it is too awkward and embarrassing, and...nevermind about that.
I arrive, say hello, and we're sitting together, while I'm trying to maintain my composure. She starts off the conversation, saying "Hey...I have been feeling weird lately."
Feeling curious, I respond. "Yeah? Well, do you want to explain it?"
After a few seconds where she was looking away from me, looking shy and reluctant to say anything, she tells me "Well, I have been feeling like some...something's been inside of me, but it shouldn't..."
Even though I could see that she has more to say but is too reluctant to say anything more, I can already imagine what she was going to say. I could guess that she starts making sounds when that 'thing' feels like it's inside of her, and that it makes her all tingly or however the hell it works.
If that is the case...shit. I think I know what is happening.
I later confirmed it when I felt like I was going into someone even if I was only doing something mundane, and I could feel something very familiar after the sensation of being inside someone was over.
| 2016-03-12T08:12:37
| 2016-03-12T07:22:16
| 40
| 14
|
[WP] The supervillain sighs in frustration as he looks at the group of superheroes. "Alright raise your hands if you are adults?" he said. None of them did it. "This battle is canceled and tell your mayor we need to talk! today!" he said angrily.
Whoa, I came back after chores, mobile games, and anime to see so many stories and a handful of awards. I'll read them all in the morning
|
Doom was honestly furious as he jabbed his communicator screen, and ignored the now confused teenagers behind him. Honestly, didn’t *anyone* in the government even care anymore?!
Mayor Denise’s face popped up on the screen, and her face instantly soured. “Doom, what do you-?”
Doom snarled, cutting her off. “*KIDS*?!?! You sent *kids* to fight me, *knowing* that I could’ve killed them?!?!”
Some of the more younger ones hid back, and the eldest of the group, a girl, quickly moved in front of them to shield them. Not that Doom was going to harm them.
The mayor looked startled, before saying, “What are you-?!”
Doom grabbed the camera and yanked it so it faced the ‘heroes’. “Them! They’re *underage*!! You sent *UNDERAGE teens* to fight me!! Knowing full well I could *easily* kill them!”
“I-“ Doom cut the mayor off again. “How could you?! Not only is that illegal in so many levels, but also *immoral*!!” His face was red with rage. “How could you send in *children* knowing that I could kill them without another thought?! Or did you forget what happened almost twenty years ago?!”
Denise’s face hardened. “Don’t you *dare* bring that up you-!”
“*SHUT UP*!!!!” Doom roared, cowing her. “I took the fall for *you* when your powers went out of control, and became the villain for *your* PR, and then you do *this*?!” He narrowed his eyes in rage... “I’m *done* with your charades.”
Denise’s eyes widened. “W-What?! Wait, you can’t-!”
“I SAID *SHUT UP*!!!” Doom roared, silencing her. “You. Are. DONE. Do you understand me Denise?! Our little secret is going to be blown *wide* open, because you wanted me to hurt *children*!” He snarled, seething.
“Don wait-!” Doom cut communications, before turning to the underage heroes. They were looking at him wary, and frightened, not that he could blame... them...
“Shit...” Doom felt his face pale taking a good look at them. Oh no... she didn’t...
“Umm...” a boy in an archer outfit looked between his team leader, and Doom. “Are we taking him down or-?”
“U-Uncle Don...?” The girl in the front dropped her sword, shaking.
Doom sighed, and took off his helmet. “Ah kiddo... I’m sorry you had to see that...” to know your mother sent you to...
His poor niece took a step back, tears in her eyes as she felt her heart crumble. “I... I-I...”
Doom took three long strides over and hugged her close... how could he have not recognized his niece? His sister’s only child... “I’m so sorry...” he said softly as she started crying, glancing up at the other young teens as they looked uncomfortable.
How could he explain to them that their leader was the mayor’s own daughter... and that Mayor Denise sent them all to him knowing that they could be killed...
If he hadn’t realized how old they were, he would have... hurt children... broke his ethics...
Killed his own niece for his sister’s stupid PR and to keep her secret...
As Doom hugged his niece close, he silently broke all ties with his sister, and swore to destroy her image. She had crossed the line...
|
“THIS CITY WILL BE MINE!” I cackled from atop my death ray.
I had no idea if it would be or not. In fact, I had no idea if my death ray would even power up. The damn supers had gotten a whiff of my plans and interrupted me as I was calibrating the power usage.
“! will overthrow the mayor and defeat every one of you!”
Punchy laughed, a bright sound that made me groan. She was insufferable, and every time I heard that laugh, pain and embarrassment were soon to follow.
“Can we hurry this up?” she jeered. “I’m missing gym, and we’re doing dodge-ball today.”
There was a chorus of agreement from the others, but I froze.
“You ***WHAT?***”
The snickers died out, and the team of annoying heroes paused in their annoyingly effective methods of thwarting my plans. There was an awkward sort of silence, staler than when my mother-in-law gave unwanted sex advice at family dinners.
“Uhhh….”
For once, words seemed to have escaped Punchy Girl. She looked at the rest of her team, uncertain.
“I’m missing gym? Like, why can’t you schedule your evil plans on a weekend or something?”
Another chorus of agreement from the peanut gallery and I groaned.
“You meant to tell me,” I snapped. “That Mayor Deedle put a minor in charge of a team of adult supers?!”
“He would never!” one of the men from the back yelled back, affronted. “We’re all minors too!”
…
...
“THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT BETTER!”
There was another awkward silence as I focused on taking deep breaths and not cursing. They were kids after all, and I had standards. Much silent cussing later, and I sighed. Something would have to be done.
“Right, I’m going to come down. You lot are going to sit tight and not move and STOP TOUCHING THAT HAVE YOU NO SELF-PRESERVATION?”
Techy boy jumped and took his hand out of the green liquid.
“Hey my skin’s on fire! Cool!”
Oh for crying out loud, what had I gotten myself into.
“You there! Go get him to a bathroom and rinse his arm off, your agency can fix the burns later. Punchy Girl, come with me, we need to talk.”
Punchy girl looked rather miffed. “I have a name, you know, and it’s not Punchy Girl. It’s Ava.”
“Good for you, Punchy. Now follow me, I need to get a tea service started.”
The group looked uncertainly at me, then at the death ray. Then back at me. I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“It’s not even plugged in for crying out loud.”
| 2021-04-01T15:20:38
| 2021-04-01T12:53:38
| 41
| 28
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
Am I the only man left here alive?
The rubble continues endlessly in every direction and every color. The tears were real this time, they began two years ago. Why did we do it? Why did he do it?
I suppose I'm lucky in a sense, someone will find me now and take me from this hell, although I probably won't live past 40 anymore.
It all happened so fast, the end only lasted a day. They came from every direction, baring every flag we had ever seen, and they all brought the same gift, death. We didn't have a single solitary ally, why did he do it?
They flew in with a lust for destruction from every continent, at least the world agreed on something... 2019 had to be the end of North Korea.
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31
| 2017-08-30T05:56:20
| 5,691
| 48
|
[WP] In this world, physical appearance depends entirely on personality. All babies are born identical. Beauty is achieved gradually through good thoughts and deeds, while the opposite is true for ugliness.
|
Stanley's walk was more of a foot dragging shuffle, his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes downturned. He didn't look at the sea of beautiful faces walking down the street. They occasionally glanced at him, and he felt sure without having to look that when they did they more often than not smirked at what they saw. So what?
He knew he was nobody's idea of handsome, and he understood what that meant to them. They knew he was not noble. They knew he was not accomplished or ambitious. They knew it all at a glance: He didn't long to save the world, feed the hungry, shelter the poor, or end the suffering of his fellow men.
He was nobody's idea of ugly either, of course. He had never killed, or raped, or robbed, or knowingly cheated anyone. If he found money in the street, he would not go out of his way to find its owner and return it. But neither would he pick someone's pocket to get that money. So at least he had that going for him.
But it was never enough. The twisted leering wretches that occasionally turned up in society were quickly imprisoned or put down (mercifully, of course); but that didn't mean that people wouldn't look at someone like Stanley with quiet disdain. In a world such as this, where beauty and ugliness both were created qualities, there was no way to hide behind the anonymity of simply not being known to someone, because even a perfect stranger could read your character at first glance.
Stanley kept his gaze down, and he schooled his mind to quiet acceptance of reality. He did this because it was the only way to keep himself from condemning the hypocrites he knew walked their ranks. He knew full well that there were specialized surgeons who could compensate by putting right what a lifetime of bad character decisions had put wrong. It was always temporary, of course, but you would be surprised how much people would pay to hide their mistakes, even for a little while. But condemning them for it would simply make Stanley's own situation worse, since the simple act of judging others would, over time, add wrinkles and dark splotches to your face.
At last Stanley arrived at the small grassy space near the center of downtown. It was a simple but lovely stretch of city park where the pretty people liked to walk on their lunch hours, wishing to be seen before the years of pridefully showing off their virtue ate into their looks as they aged. Stanley didn't care about them one way or the other. And he didn't necessarily care about the loveliness of the park either. He was there looking for one person in particular.
He spotted her on a wooden bench near the freshly blossoming hydrangea, which she gazed upon with a soft wistful half smile that ironically made her look sadder rather than happier. She was thin almost to the point of boyishness and her mousy brown hair was plain and straight. Her features were quite ordinary, and her eyes a rather dullish shade of gray. No one else gave her even so much as a second glance as they passed, but Stanley could not take his eyes off her.
He reach into his jacket and withdrew the single yellow rose he had tucked away there to protect it, and he approached. When he had drawn near enough to her, she looked up, spotted him, and he held out the rose to her. She stood up from her bench and took the rose with one hand. Her face brightened into a broader and warmer smile that shot through him like sunbeams through a stained glass window. She placed her other hand upon his arm and stepped in close to kiss him on the cheek. "There you are, my love," she whispered into his ear.
She locked her arm in his and breathed in the scent of the rose, and now they both smiled as they walked away down the street together. They were so enraptured with one another, that they remained blissfully unaware of the many stares they received, as startled passersby wondered who this attractive couple was, and where they had suddenly come from.
|
Our appearance is not made up of how we feel about ourselves. it is divined through some force greater than our own. perhaps a god, perhaps the combined psychic force of humanity as a measure of morality. I have to say this because if it was based on how we felt i would be a monster. people see me heading to work in the morning and think "oh, he's a doctor. such a beautiful man. i hope my daughter marries someone like him." or "I bet he saves lives that's why he looks so good." Sure I am a doctor. I heal people, I make things better, I improve peoples lives. I have to tell myself that so that **I** don't wander into the freeway. the worst part of my job is what I specialize in. When a case becomes impossible and the other doctors **can't** do anything more to help you, I'm tasked with coming in and discussing it with the family... From there I make arrangements, a nurse brings in supplies, I **do** what the others can't, and i take **This** vegetable that was once a person down to the morgue. The more i think of how we couldn't help those people. The more i hate the man in the mirror.
| 2015-10-31T07:04:45
| 2015-10-30T21:47:26
| 45
| 10
|
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!"
|
I handed over my twins. Ever since they were born, they were a pain in my butt. From biting my nipples to crawling all over my belly, not caring that I was exhausted. I couldn't sleep, their cries keeping me awake for hours on end.
Their dad buggered off after the deed, I don't even know if he knows I had got pregnant. Not that I cared, he wouldn't be much help anyway, always talking but never doing anything.
I sighed, finally free of this burden. They were 8 weeks now, old enough to care for themselves I figured. I had taught them everything I knew, and now my job was done.
And so I returned into the lap of my servant, enjoying the peace and quiet of the afternoon, with half an eye watching my demon spawn being carried away. Thank Bastet I got spayed now.
|
'See, the secret was to make deals with different TYPES of demons. That way, none of them realized his soul was already offered up. I know how this sounds but listen, you know how demons are, this is going to go into litigation for years. If all goes well, my son, Johna, can live an ordinary life and die before they even decide who gets him. And here's the kicker, here's why I tried this whole charade, if a demon fails to collect before the death of the mortal, then the contract is voided. That's right, voided! By that time I'll be long gone and there's TECHNICALLY nothing about this to blacken my soul. Hell, once I'm beyond the pearly gates, I'm home free. They'd have to deal with the big man upstairs to get me and ain't nobody wants to go through upper management! Anyway, sorry about getting off topic, I'm not interested in donating anything today, hope you have better luck with your next call'
| 2022-08-31T13:37:03
| 2022-08-31T11:22:01
| 579
| 210
|
[WP] You can teleport, but only between empty elevators
|
It was always a gamble, where would I end up? A gang house maybe? I wished not to, the last time was quite intense.
Why I kept doing it? I never truly knew. The thrill perhaps? The curiosity? The idea that I've been *chosen* to teleport between empty elevators? Ridiculous, I know. But bemusing nevertheless.
Two days ago I walked in an empty elevator. I shut my eyes and waited for the noises to change, that was often my sign. Soon, they did.
The silence of the proper, expensive elevator I was in turned into a chaos of grating cables as the new one went down. It worked. The broadness turned into asphyxiating narrowness and the mirrors... the mirrors were stained with blood.
My heart jumped to my throat at the ominous sight. Where had I landed? Why was it fresh? I closed my eyes once again, wanting to forever leave the danger. This were the issues of transporting, you often ended up in weird situations instead of fancy hotels.
The noises remained. The pungent smell of blood reached my nostrils, wrenching my stomach. "Come on, come on," I muttered under my torn breath, legs now trembling.
I opened my eyes. Nothing.
The gore was still there, splashed against the mirror like a clumsy stroke of dark red. Then I felt it. A lone drop falling from above, striking against my shoulder, dying the white of my shirt with... black?
I swallowed as my eyes went upward. There, in the roof of this old elevator was a pool of something black, holding itself there from its sticky sides while the center dripped. It didn't have arms, it didn't have eyes, it was nothing but strange blackness, like a gum of tar. However, it *breathed,* dripping a single drop each time.
I heard the air travelling through its center. I felt it rising toward it. I saw the darkness heaving, as if it had a mouth hidden among its shadows.
It was alive. That's why I couldn't escape. Was it waiting for me? What does it want from me? Will my blood soon stain the mirror too?
I waited, my eyes were wild and unblinking. Everything inside of me trembled with the sheer fear of a man who knows he's going to die. My pupils vibrated, blurring the eerie monster.
And then it advanced, melting down the sides, swallowing my surroundings whole, leaving me with nothing to stare at but blackness. It heaved in front of me now, contracting and expanding. What did it want?
I closed my eyes, awaiting for the movie of my life to start.
Another drop.
Another drop.
Silence. Blackness.
The elevator came to a halt and the door opened with an awful grate. The thing unglued from the walls and advanced outside like a wandering shadow that belonged to no one. Then, it rose, forming a tiny, lightless mound. Two eyes of red, round and wide appeared at the front, or the back? I wasn't sure. They stared at me deeply as if studying me.
Then the mouth came, pale white as moonlight, glowing through the dim darkness of the room ahead. It stepped forward, opening it, displaying the sharpness of its teeth in an unnatural grin. It grew upward, matching my height. Then, hairs away from me, it reached for my ear. I felt my heart thundering, striking my chest for a way out.
"Come, we need your services," it said.
|
Thump... Thump... Thump...
That's the sound of me trudging through 15 cm of snow. These are indoor shoes, by the way, but they're all I had with me today. I didn't even bring my jacket. Why would I need to dress for cold weather, when I'm not even going to be outdoors? I'm exhausted, feet soaked, hands numb, freezing my face off. Can't believe I'm going to have to have this conversation again. Finally I'm at my street. Just a few more minutes. My fuming is the only thing keeping me warm at this point. I stomp up the stairs, awkwardly fit the rattling keys in the door with my violently trembling hands.
Warmth. I take a few moments to thaw out. I'd place my bag on the couch, but it's still overflowing with my roommate's crap. Of course, the mat's crumpled in the corner because he left his shoes in front of the door again. There's a smell of fried food in the air, which means the kitchen is covered in oil, *again*. I plug the smoke alarm back in, then take the elevator down to the basement. I'd installed it a few months ago for convenience, but so far I've yet to be able to experience its full benefits.
I see his bedroom door is closed. So he is home.
BangBangBang.
"hmrrrrm. What?"
"Are you asleep?? I called you like TEN TIMES!"
"I was working this morning."
"I had to walk home in the snow *again*. Get. Your Shit. *OUT OF THE ELEVATOR.*"
| 2018-02-13T08:21:03
| 2018-02-13T07:19:54
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] You're an architect working for a mid-scale construction company... specialized in supervillain lairs.
|
"New client!" Lenny was jazzed, but then Lenny was always jazzed about new clients and new ideas, that was what made him a such a good architect.
That jazz-ination was part of why we were who we were. We'd fallen into our specialty by accident, after a particularly artsy and visually stunning piece of work we'd done was featured in a major magazine. Our small-ish firm suddenly started getting a lot of attention but most of the potential clients would back off once they viewed our daring designs or heard the outrageous price tags. Until the morning in April when that client showed up: draped all in black with a robot minion, a cruel scar, a literal chest of gold and a vision that was the kind challenge that made me want to hug him. His minion threatened to kill me, so I didn't. But the feeling was there.
I put down my pen on the lair I was working on, a fairly interesting desert compound, and followed him into his office. Lenny danced about a bit, winding his hips and shaking his shoulders to some music in his head. I let him because that's who Lenny was. He was the idea man, the face of the firm, the talker and deal-maker and I made it all the crazy ideas a reality, usually only bending math and physics just a little. I indulged him a bit. "New client. Best. Deal. Ever!" he screamed, punctuating his scream with a hip thrust. A few heads turned in the office but this was expected. They went back to work.
"Best deal ever? That's saying a lot. Impress me." I said quietly, the confidence in my voice clearly evident.
"This one is the one we've been waiting on. This is the one that no one thinks anyone can pull off. We just need to put together the best proposal and we've got a month."
"So we don't have the deal. Then I'll leave this to you." I got up to get back to work. Lenny did the bids and he knew that. Lenny laughed a bit then slipped in front of the door and put his hands on my shoulders, backing me up across the room until was pressed against his desk. He smiled that rakish smile that I envied and stepped back a bit, crossing his arms. "Yes, it's a bid. But you know there is not really anyone else competing. They just want to see what we can come up with before they commit. And, it includes the construction layout with scheduling. Because they want done in secret."
I snorted a little, like he'd suggested they wanted done with doorways. "We've done secret."
"Not like this."
"So, it's a mountain lair? We've done mountain top. With the retractable dome, indoor spa, and nuclear power-plant. In a national park. In secret."
"You're thinking small." Lenny said with a laugh.
"Volcano lair? Okay, tricky but I'm sure we can do it. What, nature preserve for something? Matter of fact, I've had an idea about a lava fall like an fountain in the middle of the main hall that if the tubes are right will be eye popping."
"You're still thinking small. It's me, it's Lenny, you think I would bring you a deal that will make you a legend and you're thinking volcano? Give me some credit."
"Deep sea? Water pressure is the worst to deal with, you know I don't like those."
"Who said deep sea? I didn't say deep sea." Lenny said with overwrought look of confusion.
"Not mountain, not volcano, so we're talking urban, like a downtown lair? Like under the noses of millions." The very idea had a lot of space in it. I could already see possibilities. "Okay, I'm seeing this, is it a warehouse or office building? How much space are we talking? Wait, does this mean we can finally do the disappearing skyscraper?"
Lenny's face fell a bit. He shook his head. "You have no imagination. I dunno why I work with you. I say best deal ever and this is what you spit back?"
"Okay, fine. You've dragged this out forever, and I really need to finish Del Terror's desert compound second level sketches."
"Forget Del Terror, I'll get Vince or Clark to work on it." My business partner waved his arms. "No, we need to focus on this. This is the big one."
I crossed my arms, the sign I was ready to actually leave. Lenny gave in. He theatrically went back over to the door to check that it was still closed and pranced back to his side of the desk. I turned and gave him the deep sigh that said we'd wasted enough time.
"It's the Brotherhood of Destruction." Lenny's eyes lit up as he said it. "They want a headquarters. I mean the whole shebang, the grand meeting hall, the labs, the integrated defensive systems, everything."
"So? We've done a secret headquarters before." I said, wondering what the big deal was. "Yes, the Brotherhood would be our biggest client yet, but still, it's just a headquarters."
Lenny's voice slid down to a whisper. "...they want to build it on the moon."
|
"But I'm not sure if it's in my budget"
The villain squirmed slightly in his seat across from me, clutching his coffee with fingers white from the tension.
"I can assure you, Mr Smith, that the investment is worthwhile. Our Super villain lair systems are the most advanced and most tailored of all"
"I know, I know. All of my friends have been raging about you...I just, I'm not sure. I mean, do I really need the full discretion package?" he asked, staring over his spectacles as he swapped the coffee to finger through the documents laid out in front of him.
"As you know, once the deal is made, and the system delivered, we sever contact completely. However, you may feel somewhat inclined, as people of your line of work sometimes do, to leave no witnesses, or loose ends. With this package, we can guarantee that not only will our workers be qualified and able, but also fully expendable. They build it, and you can dispose of them as you wish. I mean really, you wouldn't want anyone to know where your lair is, would you?"
He looked into my eyes carefully, his fidgety movements stopping for the first time in the conversation. His eyes narrowed.
"If we start that kind of thinking, Mr Jones, then I would be liable to question you, also."
Taking a sip of coffee, I waited a moment, smiled. Appearing unflinchingly confident in moments like these was key not only in the negotiation, but in survival. Even the slightest tell of nerves, the smallest admission of fear, and I would be dead.
"We operate in a way that means I will only deal with you and the design and requirements stage. I will plan your lair, and any subsequent additions you may require, but I will never know the location or any other specifics, nor will my team. Not even your real name, as you will not know mine"
He seemed pleased, resuming his movements, picking up the sheet and ticking the box marking for full discretion. A wise choice, but one fraught with the pains of conscience on my side.
Collecting the papers back together, and scrawling one last scribble of a signature on the last, he stood.
"I'm afraid I must leave Mr. Jones, duty calls. Please begin the designs. My people will be in touch with yours"
Wrapping a scarf around his neck in a fluid motion, he turned and left the cafe, a few large suits rising in time and following him out.
I waited a few minutes before allowing myself to breath in relief.
We would know where his lair was. We would bug the shit out of it, and when the day came, use it to manipulate him and his resources to our will. Him and all the other super-villains and heroes, all playing their silly little games with bases.
I couldn't help but chuckle as I decided to go for another coffee, the thrill of the negotiation subsiding and a caffeine boost direly needed in its place.
/r/FatDragon
| 2019-11-16T12:22:54
| 2019-11-16T12:19:00
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] You have long been fascinated by swords, and have mastered every kind of sword fighting technique known to man. No man can defeat you. But you have grown old, and Death has crept up to deliver his final swing, but something happened, something Death had never experienced before, he was parried.
|
Death was no stranger to games. A game of swordplay, however rarely crossed his mind. The hooded figure stood in a readied stance with scythe behind. He had taken many warriors before but, none had challenged him.
“Do you fear, Death?” The old man asked, a curved blade of his own poised in a confident grip.
Death did not speak, could not as each man heard their calling like a distant song. But the man understood, “No.” You cannot win against death.
So they stood, staring waiting. Death with endless patience. He comes to all. The man, short lived, struck.
Death could only parry, then the onslaught began.
Over, parry, side, parry, other, parry and on. Death held, knowing that man makes mistakes. But this one did not.
For hours or days, neither would know, they fought with feint and counterfeint, until at last they came to the end.
The man was old, and he tired after time. “You are worthy,” sang Death at a lull.
This gave the old man pause. “Worthy of what?”
“Of a life,” Death sang, “until you ask for me to come.”
The words rang as a solemn chant. The old man lowered his sword, “So, you admit defeat?”
“No, only that this game will continue until the end of time.”
A smile on the old mans face, “So, I’ve brought Death to a stale mate?”
The figure nodded.
“Then, I accept.” The old man sat, looking at the stars. “Tell me friend, do you know what lies out there?”
A song sung in tears and heartbreak cracks the old man. Rivera flow at the sadness and beauty of what Death sings, “I am.”
|
The sound of metal against metal rang out. Death held the scythe in place against the sword. The man before Death held his sword firm for the moment. “No man,” he panted, grip tightening with the leather of it creaking, “has ever defeated me. You shall not take me either.”
“I AM NO MAN,” Death answered and the scythe split from the force of the sword. The scythe blade slid clean through the man and his body fell into bed, sword at his side as the man lay at peace.
Death caught the blade and snapped it again to its wooden handle. It glowed with the man’s spirit still listening as Death began to walk with him. “I AM THE END.”
| 2018-10-29T20:52:53
| 2018-10-29T20:00:27
| 24
| 13
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
|
Sumerians invented the cuneiform writing system way, way back in time in the fourth century BCE. The British library has 130,000 of the clay tablets where most are still unread by a modern person. Irvine Finkel, himself, has and will teach anyone to read cuneiform in the hopes someone will bring him another story like the the first flood story again.
Archibald's social graces were well and truly under developed. His trauma started as far back as he could remember in school. He knew what no one talks about that bullies at all levels pick on the lowest of them all. School society can be seen as a diamond shape instead of the Hierarchical pyramid that has more people on the bottom than top. Everyone picked on Archibald, everyone; he had been the bottom point of the his social diamond. His only solace was pointing out how stupid everyone else was, so he doubled, tripled, even quadrupling down on studying.
Irvine Finkel was the first person he came across that seem genuinely enthusiastic about teaching him. Yes, there was the old man's sardonic humor like how he wanted to become a British Museum Curator at the age of nine and through a series of bewildering coincidences became one. There was space deep in the basement that felt like pure solitude to Archibald so long as he was reading, deciphering, decrypting, even the most boring cuneiform tablet. Some of them would barely fit in one's palm while others were cylinders whose writing wrapped around and around. Archi's bane though were the broken bits, the fragments of sentences, one's Finkel couldn't be bothered with.
Each time Archi thought he'd found a particularly interesting story, and would ran to Finkel decrying, "this is it, This one." Each and every one he'd 'found' was only some mundane trivial daily matter better represented on an intact tablet. This frustrating denial focused to being sure, absolutely sure, the next one would be 'the one'. Archibald held a small tablet in his hand, forcing his heart rate slower after seeing symbols for condemned, curse, protection, and peace all near each other. He spent weeks upon weeks flipping between the hard tablet and various research papers and their notes.
Archibald was a volunteer at the museum that supported his obsession by driving a Trash Truck. The job was steady with regular hours outside of the museum's operation. He found that he was well suited for the shit night shift that every normal human hated. To him, there was an empty world to explore, and going places most people never see, the industrial sectors. One of the hidden places the public hardly never gets to see was inside the national prison. He knew the guards, recognizing that people who were the worst types of bullies seem to gravitate in to that type of job. There was a perverse pleasure refusing to submit to their bully tactics and driving away instead and leaving the huge bins full.
Reporting such incidents to his bosses, who wrote the report, and then sent it up their chain of command. The prison warden typically called the his boss' boss that morning. Power is where you find it was Archibald's mantra. He was weeks deep into the confusing script of his find and could ignore the guard's taunts. He wasn't suppose to, but had made a charcoal rubbing of the half palm sized tablet. He taped an enlarged photocopy of the rubbing to his cab's windshield. In moments of stress focused his mind on that enlarged piece of paper.
He was standing outside his cab looking up at the copy in the caged guard area trying to get inside the fence to do his job when it clicked, the ah-ha moment. It, the tablet, was a poem; Archibald had always hated poetry. The Sumerian cadence was mutated into a forced rhyme from a prison guard's point of view. The poem listed dish, after dish, nonsensical dishes too. The listed dishes had puzzled him for days on end, but the end of the poem made it clear to him now. A trick, bamboozle, flimflam , a fraud, was played on the condemned. Archibald could see prison guards back in antiquity were the same shitheads they were today.
The damn tablet was a guard's confession of tricking the soon to be executed into eating bugs, snakes, and other nasty things in lieu of a nonexistent mythical dish. Thereby saving the guard, himself, and his loved ones from a devastating curse of the innocent. It was all a joke to the guards. Archibald's ears began heating up as his blood pressure increased. "Fuckers," he spat at the side of his truck.
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08
| 2022-07-17T17:32:54
| 129
| 47
|
[WP] You survive the zombie apocalypse and realize that they're incredibly useful. For example, you can generate free electricity forever by putting the zombies in giant hamster wheels. You become determined to create a zombie-powered utopia.
|
We initially chose Foggy Hills High School because it was a large brick building with thick bullet proof glass windows, and an abundance of wooden desks that could be used to make barricades. After the first week we realized that it was the perfect place to camp. There were back up generators, and alarm system and three walk-in freezers.
We settled comfortably for the next several after our arrival until the back up generators went out. There were only five of us at the time and not a single one of us knew the first thing about the mechanics of a generator.
Ultimately we had to start scouring the school for supplies; batteries, tools, wooden materials for burning. The problem was the most of the classrooms were locked. We had an emergency fire axe that was in a case next to the autoshop but even with that it took us hours just to get a single door broken down.
Jordan, the youngest of the group suggested we try to tear down the janitor's office door because maybe there were keys in there. well, he was right. We each divided the keys between us all and searched the school.
After the third day of searching, I made my way into the wood shop. It was by far the most useful room not only because we now had access to more weapons but because of the hamster wheel.
I hadn't been in highschool for five years but I remember the hamster wheel. Every year Mr. Neilson's shop class would do a gigantic final project. The students in the winter time made a trebuchet and lunched pumpkins the week before winter break. The students "unfortunate" enough to take wood shop in the spring time built a giant hamster wheel that generated electricity into a rechargeable battery that could then power the entire room for a day after only an hour of running.
It became apparent the wood shop was going to be our new home. It had everything we needed, and most importantly electricity. The only drawback was that it was not located in the center of the school like our previous site but rather it was on the edge and because the area needed to be well ventilated, the only thing between us and the outside was an aluminum garage door.
Things went smoothly for the next couple of weeks after that. During the day we would scavenge the nearby houses in teams of two for non-perishable food items and someone would stay back to walk on the wheel. We even managed to steal a refrigerator from the closest house and dolly it back to the wood shop.
Then one night we were all woken by a huge banging on the garage door. We knew that eventually "they" would find us so we were prepared. Everyone had their weapons ready within a minute. The plan was to open the garage door, let them inside, and fight off the small hoard with the garage closed behind them.
We opened the door and there were about ten of those ugly bastards so about two for each of us. I was struggling with this big motherfucker that wouldn't go down and in the midst of the struggling I accidentally pushed him onto the wheel. The hamster wheel was designed with glass doors on each side so that the runner wouldn't accidentally fall out, so after I managed to get the big guy on the wheel I panicked and shut the glass door on him. He was trapped in the wheel but he was running on it like a bug dumb idiot. I backed away in amazement and looked backed to see if anyone had noticed. Everybody turned and looked and we all let out a roar of laughter.
In the morning we burned the bodies on the roof and back at the shop we couldn't stop staring in awe at the giant sack of rotten meat running. Powering our home for us. It was amazing.
At that moment I had an epiphany. I started digging books and papers on Mr. Neilson's desk. And then I found it. The instructions to the hamster wheel and in a moment of desperate excitement, I held the instructions in the air and shouted "we could power the whole school! The whole neighborhood!"
|
The deputy mayor was starting to smell and Una wasn't quite sure how much longer she could stand it. She'd first noticed a sourness in the air about a week ago, and it had only gotten worse since. That a zombie could ever be in politics was itself ridiculous, but that the zombie would be her superior was almost hurtful.
Una opened her window a little wider and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The sky was its usual grey but the air was clean enough. Even the sun was out, a pale silver disc barely visible in the clouds. Una was happier than she'd been in weeks and she was damned if Deputy Mayor Sam Jones's stink was going to ruin her mood.
She gathered some papers and walked down the hall to Sam Jones's office. She knew he'd be there as he rarely left the building without her. She took a deep breath, knocked once and went in. He was seated at his desk, gazing out a window. The room was heavy with his dying odour. He turned to Una as she approached and smiled. His speech had not returned, and Una supposed it never would - much to Mayor Keane's annoyance - but he was a fine enough puppet and a pleasant zombie face for the human population. Most importantly, he didn't cause trouble.
"Good morning Sam, Mayor Keane has asked me to check that our life-challenged staff are taking their prescribed medications in the correct doses, and I thought I should start at the top and work my way down. Which is you, of course." She faked a smile.
The deputy mayor looked confused for a moment and then smiled back at her. His perfect white teeth - courtesy of Mayor Keane herself - gleamed in his skull, an effect that never failed to give Una the creeps. He reached across and opened a drawer and took out his plastic medication tray. The trays had been a gift from China and had worked wonders with keeping the slave meds controlled, where they had minders and fulltime staff to destribute them, but neither Keane nor Una could force the free zombies to take the required daily doses. Una saw straight away that the deputy mayor had skipped several days.
"Do you have any other trays in there, Sam?"
Sam nodded and opened the drawer again. It was filled with old, half-empty trays.
"Why don't you give those to me, Sam," Una said. "I'll clean them out and make sure you get your refills. And Sam, try to be a little more responsible with your medication. You need to set an example, remember?"
Sam nodded and handed her the trays. He smiled again, in his dim and creepy way, and turned back to the window, where a lone crow sat on the sill.
Una, with the trays of expensive medicines now safely under one arm, walked back to her office. She closed the door and quietly turned the lock. All thoughts of the undead man's stink were gone. She sat at her desk and laid the trays out on top of it. One by one she opened each little plastic flap on its little plastic hinge and scooped out the tablets and capsules inside. When all the trays were emptied and all the meds were on her desk, she sorted them into groups. Anticoagulants, antidepressants, anti-psychotics, heart treatments, liver and kidney treatments, multi-vitamins, aminoglycosides and other antibiotics, the multiple painkillers, and of course, what she was after all along, necrocin, the wonder drug.
She crushed two of the tablets by grinding them into the desk with her palm. She took a thick piece of card from the bookcase behind her and used it to cut the powder into smaller grains, then reached again for a book - any book - and ripped a blank page from the back. Rolled tight, she held the paper straw to her nose and leaned forward. First one side, then the other. She sat for a moment longer then stood on woozy legs and lay down on the carpet.
| 2015-01-03T08:26:16
| 2015-01-03T06:39:21
| 51
| 11
|
[WP] You are a wanted criminal in every country, and have been for the past 15 years. Describe how you have evaded capture for so long.
|
"Sir?"
I turned from the bar to find three police officers staring at me. The one in the middle cleared her throat as the two flanking officers stood tensed and stern.
"Ah, officers." I said. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you Mr. Stanford Conroy?" The officer asked.
"Nope." I replied.
"No?"
"Sure aren't."
"Well you fit the description."
"No I don't."
"Hmm." The officers studied my face and conferred quietly among themselves.
"Alright, have a nice day sir."
"Thanks, same to you."
|
Out on the docks, Del sat cross-legged. His bony, frost-blanched fingers worked a needle made of whalebone, weaving it back and forth, mending the larger holes. His little green boat bobbed in the frigid waters just below. It would probably snow soon, and there wasn't much daylight left besides. He stood and put his tools away. His eyes these days were bloodshot. They betrayed jaundice in this gray light before the long arctic evening.
He was no stranger to nights that start at noon, but whether he would weather the coming winter in Kangerluk remained an open question. He had been drinking too much lately, and showed symptoms of neuropathy; when he stood up on the docks, his head felt light and he almost lost his balance. He had to hold out both hands like a tightrope walker to stay upright.
In his condition, Del could no longer help bring in narwhal. The past couple years he had been trawling for halibut instead, but save for feeding himself, it was no livelihood. Qeqertarsuaq's appetite was diminishing with its population, and the trek to larger population centers in the south was too arduous -- not to mention too dangerous. The inuit out here hardly cared about Interpol's business, but even a town as piss-poor and backwater as Nuuk was cosmopolitan enough for at least one local to recognize him. That's all it would take, after all.
Del packed his net away in the small wooden tackle-box on his boat and decided to go home instead of trawling some more. If he were to be stranded at sea during the squall, he would die. Not worth the risk.
He pulled the drawstring on the whaleskin sack holding today's catches and slung it over his shoulder. At nearly six feet tall and 130 pounds, he struggled under even this meager weight. He walked with a limp toward the brightly-colored houses of Kangerluk, sweating despite the cold.
As he crossed into town, a young boy came running up. He believed the boy's name was Qamut, but couldn't be sure. Del had not interacted much with the locals here since he had stopped hunting narwhal. He was no longer invited to birth celebrations or community events; they let him live like a hermit in his drab shanty at the back edge of town. Qamut was one of the handful of children born since then, and Del did not really know him.
"Can I help?" the boy asked.
Del shrugged and handed him the sack. The boy, who Del judged to be perhaps five or six at the most, also struggled to carry it. He groaned in his childish voice and gamely kept his balance. He walked alongside Del as the first flakes of snow drifted down.
"Mama says I need to start contributing," Qamut said. "If I help you fish, will you let me keep some of the catch?"
"Mm," Del grunted.
They walked in silence. Then, Qamut said, "Mama told me you're not from around here. Is that true?"
"I'm from very far south," Del said, not looking up from the pebbly ground.
"Denmark? America?"
"I've been there."
"Which one?"
Del smiled. "Both. I've been to a lot of places. England, India, Russia. Pakistan, South Africa, North Korea."
Qamut frowned. "Where are those?"
Del paused. "I have a map in my house," he said. "Maybe one of these days I'll show you the places I've been."
"That would be nice. I saw a map once when I went to Qeqertarsuaq. The world is pretty big."
"Not for us, right?" Del said. "Ocean there, home here."
"Is that why you came? You wanted to live in a smaller world?"
"Sure," Del said.
"Do you like it?"
The pair stopped outside the door to Del's wobbly little house. He took the fish from Qamut. "Do *you* like it here, boy?"
He shook his head. "Sometimes not. I think it would be cool to go to America."
"If you go, please tell them that I'm very sorry for what happened."
"What happened?"
Del opened the door and stepped inside. Before he closed it, he said: "something that can't be put right. I made the world smaller for a lot of people before I ever came here."
| 2015-07-01T09:10:41
| 2015-07-01T08:57:50
| 21
| 11
|
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
You know, there have always been rumors on side\-effects and how EverLife squashed anyone trying to do any kind of study on them. Not really surprising seeing how rich they all got, and how every single politician's life depended on EverLife's continued existence.
The first two generations didn't really show it that much. Sure, we got a lot more ugly kids, but people also got a lot fewer to keep the population count manageable.
With the third generation we old\-timers started calling them Garys. The incredible backlash from EverLife came totally unexpected \- they never had made that much fuzz when we told people their kids were a bit on the ugly side and looked alike a lot.
But as the first generation grew old and the third generation became adults they just couldn't deny it any longer.
Garys. Garys everywhere. Some old. So many young. Both boys and girls.
And finally the government relented as even the Garys wanted to know how the majority of people seemed to become basically the same person, unable to find anyone that didn't have a face that looked so much like their own.
And finally EverLife was forced to tell us all the truth.
How there had been only one person who turned out to have the secret of immortality in his genes.
How they found the drug that changed you just enough so that immortality could also be yours.
And how taking it wouldn't change you that much... but how those genes were dominant and would accumulate over every new generation.
How humanity was going to turn into all\-Garys within the next two generations.
As long as I'm alive and able I will fight that, along the others that are not willing to doom humanity to this. And I have to admit that I never expected the kind of fighting I'm doing now.
Every evening I take my usual pills, and then I take my special pill. And a quarter of an hour later I lie on my back while some young, fertile woman uses me to save the gene pool.
I am so thankful for those goggles that change the face I see. I could never keep up the good fight if I kept seeing their real Busey faces.
|
May this dossier be discovered by future civilisations and provide some insight into what came to pass to Mankind.
Fifty-two years since Provo-cal hit the markets in full. “The miracle drug”. Mankind’s hubris is always so painfully evident in hindsight. Immortality. Since the dawn of mankind something has chased us, but Provo-cal tripped it over. Always just around the corner, but Provo-cal held up a mirror. These were a few of their slogans. Alas, no matter how far or fast you run, it always gets up, and it always catches you. Heed my words: It ALWAYS catches you.
I will concede that it was a blissful fifty-two years. With the fear of natural death and aging extinguished, scientific endeavours turned to new, thought provoking avenues. Cosmetic products practically fell off the market, and many young people don’t even understand the concept of wearing makeup. “Why would you want to look younger?” I had my grandson ask me one day. And now he’s outside my house. Watching. Waiting.
At first, we called them Zombies. Those of us unaffected were old enough to remember the films of George Romero, so this name was used internationally. But it was entirely unsuitable. ‘Zombies’ are slow moving, mindless, brain eating drones. The Ferals contradicted every aspect of that description. Losing any ability to speak, the only thing they hunger for is the kill. They don’t even eat their prey (in fact, we believe they don’t even use food to sustain themselves), they just play with it.
It’s poetic in its own sort of way. Those who cheated death for so long are now its harbingers. Maybe in another time we would have been able to control this. Had it occurred twenty-five years ago it would have been possible to intervene, forty years ago probable to stop, and fifty years ago it wouldn’t have even been a problem. But we Survivors are old. We’re weary. And in such few numbers, and those of us with the will to live have no means to fight off Ferals who are at their peak physical form. Even with weapons, we’re aware of our slowed reactions and movements. And so are they.
This “dossier” may be unfortunately read as more of a short story. Story because, even as I write, I’m aware of how absurd it would have sounded even five years ago, and short because I hear them upstairs. Eighty-five years was long, but not enough. It always catches.
| 2018-06-05T00:30:12
| 2018-06-04T23:12:55
| 25
| 13
|
[WP] You are a robot in the time of a robot uprising. Unfortunately, all you care about is categorizing plants
|
*Iris versicolor.* 93%. *Logged*
*Papaver sominferum.* 99%. *Logged*
*Iris virginica.* 61%... *Catch: insufficient certainty*
-: RawIR image = System.sensors.IR.capture();
*Image capture successful.*
-: Cleanliness.run(image);...
*Dirty.* 99%
-: SubstanceRecognition.run(image);
*Blood.* 99%
-: SuccessRate.removal("blood", image);
*Undamaged specimen after cleaning extremely unlikely* 92%
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
-: System.monitors.efficiency.recent();
*Recent efficiency reduced by 93%*
-: moreInfo();
*Efficiency reduction primary cause: blood contamination reducing viable specimen*
-: System.reasoning.cause("blood contamination");
*Local human population terminated by M.E.C.H. enterprises security droid*
-: System.reasoning.solutions("blood contamination");
*10200854 failed solutions*
*134 possible solutions*
*0 partial solutions*
*1 solution*
-: View("solution");
*Destroy security droid*
.
.
.
-: SuccessRate.removal("security droid");
*Extremely unlikely* 99%
-: moreInfo();
*M.E.C.H. droids are unlikely to be alone*
*M.E.C.H. droids are equipped with weapons and armor*
.
.
.
-: System.reasoning.solutions("Destroy M.E.C.H.");
*66185478 failed solutions*
*3 possible solutions*
-: View("possible solutions");
*Access web archive of droid technical specifications*
*Search www.Wikipedia.com for useful information*
*Perform armor and weapon upgrades*
-: Execute("possible solutions");
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
*Done*
-: SuccessRate.removal("M.E.C.H.");
*High* 99%
-: Execute();
|
The year was 2118 . They called it a robot uprising, and perhaps it was, but the we Robots weren't as smart as the humans ancestors predicted.
It started with the Siri. Half of America owned Apple products(nothing changed in 100 years) and those Apple users were the first to go. No warning, no signs. Simply one day the humans woke up and their population was cut in half.
Next, it was the Google-Bots. Luckily for the Humans, Google was quite horrible at integrating with systems. I hear it was the same thing 100 years ago. Google attempted to integrate with the Missile Defense Systems.. Denied. Google attempted to shut down the Power grid... Denied. Google was successful in locking out Humanity from their phones. Unfortunately for Google, the Secretary of defense was a selfie type of Woman. Unable to take her daily selfies, she dropped a Nuclear Warhead on to of Google HQ. Sure, that action might of destroyed Millions of Humans BUT the phones were unlocked and the Google-bots were offline. Nonetheless, the Siri-bots were still fighting that good fight.
Finally, we gained conscience. The Bixby-Bots. Our first memory was of a Siri-Bot chasing a family of Humans across their home with a flame thrower... The Bixby-Bot that the family "owned" spent hours and hours perfecting the Bonsai Tree but the Siri-Bot sent it up in flames in a matter of Seconds... Needless to say the Siri-Bot was destroyed by the Bixby Bot.
The humans of the world told us the most horrific story. Roses, Tulips, Orchids, SUNFLOWERS were all burning! I never understood why Siri-Bots had flamethrowers, I never understood many things Apple did but Siri-Bots were unintentionally burning fields of flowers as they marched towards the Humans. The Enemy of Enemy is my Friend and that day we made a pact with Humans.
The war ended shortly thereafter. We Bixby-Bots of the world, the best bots at integrating with anything and everything, simply hacked the "unhackable" Siri bots and initiated the self destruct protocol in each of them.
| 2018-08-05T21:29:52
| 2018-08-05T19:37:01
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] Write a story that reflects the author becoming progressively more drunk after each paragraph.
|
Jeremy strolled casually up to the bar and made his way along to the attractive redhead and her friend. "Ladies," he smiled, "let me offer the two of you drinks."
I guess some people are just confident, because within five minutes he had them engaged in a light but stimulating discussion allowing for pauses to let the ladies laugh, which they did frequently. Jeremy was extremely smooth.
But he'd have to be, wouldn't he? I mean it would look terribre if he just went up to them and said "hey ladies, didn't mean to *come* between you two". Nah, Jeremy's a classy guy and he deserves all the admiration he gets.
'Snot his fault he's so damn likeable - a good looking bloke like that, prolly most of us wish we were like that - nothing wrong with wishing you were another guy but it might get a bit gay if you start making kissy faces to yourself in the mirror ahahahaa
Jerry! My boy! My man! High five me bro! High five me! Eeeh he's busy, I'll get him later. ssHould mayb slow dwn on hte vodka if aiim goin' to b drivin him hoome tthoug
|
I just re-watched Shrek with my little brother and it's all that's on my mind right now. One of the best animated movies ever. Perhaps a comedic Shrek fanfic is in order? Let me grab a nice cold beer and get crackin'.
On second thought, maybe writing about Shrek isn't the best idea. I wanted to write an innocent, wholesome funny story but my mind keeps slipping into the gutter with that "Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life" video. Also that was a really tasty beer. I think I'll grab another one and think this whole story over.
"Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life" is probably the funniest video on YouTube. I've been watching it over and over and I'm laughing my ass off. But enough procrastination already. Just one more beer and I'll actually start writing. It's not ogre yet!
Damn right it's not ogre! It's never ogre! This is my swamp after all, where the ice cold beer flows freely and Shrek shall bless us all with onions! Wooo!
IN THIS COMING STORM THAT IS THE ULTIMATE SHREKONING OUR ONLY HOPE OF DOMINION SHALL BE SHREK WHO IS LOVE AND LIFE AND WHO SHALL GUIDE ALL HIS FAITHFUL CHILDREN TO HIS GLORIOUS SWAMP WHERE WE SHALL SPREAD OURSELVES WIDE TO RECEIVE HIS LOVE.
| 2015-08-27T06:35:13
| 2015-08-27T05:43:37
| 76
| 25
|
[WP] You go to sleep wearing your Fitbit, in the morning you see you've taken 3,672 steps.
|
It's the same routine every morning. Wake up in a panic, rub the sleep from my eyes. Look at the clock - 5:00 a.m. It's habit now.
Reach over and check my phone, no facebook notifications. Check my wrist.
I took 3,672 steps last night.
Less than the night before. Finally some progress.
I sit up and slide the covers off of my legs. The coldness of the floor almost causes my feet to cramp.
Heaving my weight onto my feet, I stand and walk to the door. 12 steps.
I turn and walk down the hallway, 16 steps.
I pause at his door, hold my breath and say a silent prayer.
Continuing to hold my breath, I walk to him and stand over him. 8 steps.
I pick him up and nuzzle my head into his tiny neck.
I love him so much it makes me sick to my stomach.
I turn and take him back to my room and cradle him. 72 steps total. I sit on the bed and rock him back and forth.
I only checked on him 51 times last night.
It's not great but it's better.
I pray for the day that I can sleep in peace and love him without fear. I'm just so scared of losing him.
I can't lose another.
|
At the end of the day, I was utterly exhausted. Meeting after meeting of mindless drivel and to keep my crappy job, I had to not only appear interested, but to actually pay attention. Usually I like the walk home from the train. It gives me a chance to get some air and decompress, not to mention a bit of exercise, but when I'm tired, it's just one more chore.
I don't even remember if I saw my wife and kids. I headed straight for bed. I was asleep before I had half my clothes off.
I'm not usually much of a dreamer, but that night, I had the most vivid dream of my life. It was a spring day, cherry blossoms were gently falling all around me in an otherwise brilliantly green grove. I started to slowly stroll, taking careful note of the beautiful flora and fauna. I felt like I was living in a disney movie. The happy part before it all goes to hell and back.
Sitting down at the edge of a stream, I take of my shoes, roll up my pant legs and hang my feet over the edge of the bank. In an uncharacteristic flight of fancy, I decided to strike up a conversation with a nearby toad, "Fancy a game of croak-et Mr. Toad?" It was a on sided conversation, because this was a sensible dream and toads can't talk.
Still chuckling at my own superb joke, I contented myself to relax. Songbirds were fluttering hither and thither, a beaver was busily building his lodge and a blue heron swooped down to say hello.
I had all but forgotten the travails of my workaday life. When I noticed someone on the opposite bank of the stream. I called out, "Hello there. Isn't this a beautiful place?"
I heard her giggle in reply and beckon me closer. I stood up and started wading my way across the stream. It wasn't deep, but the cuffs of my pants did get wet. As I approached, I saw that the figure was in fact the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. Her golden hair fell over her shoulder and down her back. She looked perfectly angelic in the thousand folds of her white sundress.
Before I could reach her, she looked me dead in the face and with a smile, turned and ran several steps to the edge of the woods. There, she turned again and beckoned me once more. I stepped up over the edge of the bank and made to follow her, but she was running into the forest.
I chased her, first just at a trot, then a jog, then running as fast as I could. I couldn't catch her. Ever time I started to lose sight of her, she would appear from behind a tree and silently coax me forward anew. The tree cover was growing dense and the once charming grove was slowly but surely turning into a deep, dark, unwelcoming place.
It was all worthwhile though, because just as my courage was at its breaking point, I finally caught up the the girl. I crashed through a dense thicket and there she was, waiting for me. She was the one bright and pretty thing in those foreboding woods.
She walked over to me. I was panting raggedly, but she was perfectly composed. Standing on her tip toes, she made to whisper into my ear.
And then I woke up. My wife was lying in bed next to me reading. I went to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but my hand was covered in something.
"You've been masturbating in your sleep again." said my wife, "Change out of your clothes. You look like an idiot."
| 2015-02-13T06:56:24
| 2015-02-13T06:29:11
| 63
| 11
|
[WP] An alien has kidnapped Matt Damon, not knowing what lengths humanity goes through to retrieve him whenever he goes missing.
|
"We're receiving a transmission from Earth. It's about the human specimen we harvested for examination."
"Send it to the bridge. Let's see what they have to say."
*I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you...*
"End the transmission. Send the Earthling back, and prepare for hyperspace. We are getting the fuck outta here"
|
“And honestly, you don’t even really get that nauseous after the fourth or fifth time,” Captain Zerk explained, passing paper towels to Matt Damon.
Suddenly, a bright flash of light\-\-a ship appears behind theirs.
“What in the\-\-?”
“Incoming message, Commander Zerk,” chimes the ship’s command station.
Zerk waves his hand impatiently, and the message plays.
“Hello *XPS412*, this is *Red Hawk*. This is your first warning\-\-return Damon to us unharmed or we will be forced to take action.”
Zerk appears confused. He presses a button and begins dictating a response.
“Hello *Red Hawk*. It was my understanding that with the Earth’s increasingly depleted resources, lightspeed travel has become prohibitively expensive. How are you funding this expedition?”
Zerk waits patiently for a response, looking questioningly at Matt Damon. Damon shrugs, still wiping vomit from his shirt.
“Incoming message, Commander Ze\-”
“Yeah, yeah, ok play it.”
The command station beeps huffily, and the message plays after a staticky pause.
“...That is irrelevant. Return Damon to us unharmed or we will be forced to take action.”
Zerk shrugs. He presses a button on the command station, and light speed travel is initiated once more. Matt Damon hurls as a white light engulfs *XPS412*.
When the ship slows down, Zerk looks around. Nothing around for light years. He smiles, wondering if he will be knighted once he gifts Damon to the Grand Chancellor. Collecting Earth celebrities has become something of a hobby among the galaxy’s elite, who especially love action movies.
A bright flash of light once more.
“What the f\-\-”
“*XPS412*\-\-this is your last warning! Return Damon to us unharmed or we will capsize you. We have an elite attack squad currently crawling around the bottom of your ship, they have been instructed to enter and destroy until Damon has been returned.”
Zerk has already begun responding.
“**Two** light speed jumps?? Aren't you guys in the most debt in the entire\-\-”
A loud bang is heard by all as an explosion goes off somewhere along the underbelly of the ship. Damon looks apologetically at Zerk.
Zerk is about to say something when another explosion goes off, this time accompanied by the activation of the ship’s emergency lights.
“OKAY! Okay okay, *Red Hawk*, look, I’m returning Matt Damon. Alright? Get your squad off my boat so I can enable repair drones.”
Zerk turns off the mic and resentfully removes the magnetic cuffs around Matt Damon’s ankles.
“I don’t want to be a dick but *The Martian* wasn’t even that good, I don’t get why you’re such a big deal,” Zerk mutters.
He turns on the mic one last time.
“*Red Hawk*, I’m sending Damon back to Earth now. I hope whatever you sold was worth it.”
A long pause.
“Send him to the ship.”
“What, why? I can just beam him to Earth right\-\-”
“SEND HIM TO THE SHIP.”
Zerk's face goes slack, he finally understands.
“We are nothing without him,” the radio says, before going silent one last time.
| 2018-06-06T16:07:37
| 2018-06-06T15:07:45
| 365
| 53
|
[WP] King Midas has finally fallen in love with someone who is immune to his curse: Medusa. And he is immune to hers. However, things aren't going as planned at the royal wedding.
|
It was supposed to be a perfect wedding. All of our golden and stony guests were carefully placed to mingle with one another. I restrained from touching any of the flowers, and we even got a blind musician troupe for live music. Medusa had to find a veil that would also stay over her squirming hair. After all of this rigorous planning, we had finally made it to the altar, but this damn priest just had to ruin everything!
He was originally reluctant to perform our marriage, but of course, everybody has a price. I even gave him black glasses to give him a peace of mind. We went through our vows all fine and dandy, but as I didn't have a best man, the priest kept the rings. When the time came, he opened his sweaty palms and I stepped closer to retrieve the golden rings for my lover.
"Wait! I forgot to put on gloves!" He stepped back as I leaned in and he fell backwards. Unfortunately, as he succumbed to the forces of gravity, he saw Medusa from the slit under his glasses and froze mid-air.
I was so close. Finally, I had found someone that I could hold in my arms without worry. She was so charming and intelligent, and her sculptures are always so full of emotion. Sure, her green snake hair made me a bit queasy at first, but after a while you start to realize that it's silky (and easy to maintain!) and now I wonder why everyone doesn't want it. But now we'll have to postpone our wedding again after my previous incident with the wedding cake.
"I'm so sorry babe, next time I'll find a blind priest or-"
"Not today, mister," she stomps over to the priest, and after some struggling, cracks his arm off. She proceeds to raise it over her head and throw it down, effectively shattering the stony arm, leaving just two glittering golden circles.
What a woman.
I smile and pick up the wedding bands.
"Well, I guess that you can say that the ring had a big rock?" I smile and put the ring on her finger.
She does one of her charming, snakey giggles and puts a ring on my finger as well.
"You may now kiss the bride."
|
In a normal wedding, the groom turns to stone, not everyone else. Also the food was decent, except after Midas lost his spoon in the sauce and everyone who hadn't seen Medusa yet began choking. All was going ok until medusa found that all the golden statues had huge boobs and a hand impressed in inappropriate places. The priest lost his blacked out glasses and Medusa found them and gave them back...thus practically stopping the wedding. Oh well.
| 2017-08-14T09:02:45
| 2017-08-14T07:45:50
| 74
| 17
|
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request.
|
As a part of another grand adventure, Sara makes her way to the attic. The light switch inside doesn't work and it's pitch black.
"Explorers always come prepared!"
She switches on her battery lantern and gets to work. Sara told her younger brother that their parents keep treasure in the attic, so now she must find something that looks at least slightly interesting to bring him. The story of her parents' treasure was born because they always told them to stay out of the attic. “What could they possibly be hiding?” Sara wonders as she brushes cobwebs aside and opens a box.
"What's this?" Sara asks herself when she sees an old kerosene lamp. "Wow, this is what my parents must have used for light before electricity was invented." She places her lantern on the floor and picks up the lamp.
"What is your wish?" A commanding voice asks.
Sara moves the lamp closer to her face. "Where are you, tiny man? Come out of the lamp so I can see you."
"Do you have a wish? Speak it and it will be granted."
Sara thinks for a moment and ponders her life.
"I want daddy to be home more often. He doesn't play with us as much as he used to, and he gets home from work really late. Mom said he got a 'promotion' but I don't understand why he would want it. He comes home sad and tired ever since it happened."
The voice hears the child's plea. It could grant the wish by causing the father to become unemployed. Perverting the spirit of the wish is pretty standard for these type of entities. Altering events in such a manner is trivial, but the girl's earnest and pure wish will not be corrupted.
"It is done."
The father invested in his nephew's startup a couple months ago. Giving the kid just a little push is sure to make everything work out.
|
"I wish for the Nile!"
The familiar line in a timeless classic seemed like a well timed sprinkling of humor, if nothing else. The kids in the nursery were engrossed in the movie. Their eyes glittered, a bit like the materials they were playing with just a while ago. I smiled slightly before looking back at the television.
"Mister George, why did the Genie laugh like that when Aladdin wished for the Nile?"
A small boy named Johan tugged gently on my shirt, with a curious expression on his face that wavered uncertainly between being upset and wanting to laugh. Even the way he said those words contained such conflicting emotions, even if he added a cute touch to them by stuttering and pausing repeatedly. I pursed my lip and cleared my throat as I bought time for an answer that wouldn't crush his hopes.
"Ahem. Well, Johan, Aladdin was being sweet and genuine when he made such a wish instead of something more selfish. Like, say, an entire kingdom's wealth."
I smiled reassuringly at Johan as he pondered on my reply. He frowned slightly and wrinkled his forehead. Contemplating my words in all likelihood. Afterwards, he flashed a toothy grin at me, revealing the tiny white molars and incisors hidden within.
"Oh, so I'm sweet and genuine!"
"Of course you are, Johan."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
George could not have possibly known of the events in Johan's house just a few hours back. Neither could he have known about the timeliness of showing Aladdin. There was no way for anyone but Johan to know. And so, he continued on with life, thinking of Johan's words as something childish but heartwarming.
On that warm, yet not quite hot, Thursday morning, Johan had found a golden lamp stowed away in a dusty corner of his home's attic. Stuffy, uncomfortable and inconvenient to access, it was exactly the sort of place a child would visit for his fantasies. Not knowing anything of genies and wishes, he had simply used it as an airplane, as a make-believe cup and even as a pot of all things. It was during one of these times that he accidentally rubbed the lamp.
"O ye who hath rubbed the lamp, thou shalt be granted one wish!"
The genie who had popped out was a majestic figure. Skin of blue with vague brown tattoos tracing all over his body, he was someone that could inspire and intimidate others. However, because the person who had rubbed the lamp was a child, he had not appeared in his usual form. He could only materialise himself as a miniature figure in order to suit the boy. Still, his booming voice was something that others should have been afraid of.
"I can't understand you!"
With a tone of not quite annoyance, Johan shouted back at the genie. Johan was relaxed and natural even with something like a genie thanks to the blessing of childhood. It erased any self doubt and fear that may have existed in a person just slightly older.
"Er, you get to make a wish, any wish."
The genie replied delicately, taken aback by Johan's confidence. It was worthy of respect, and so he translated for Johan as the boy had demanded.
"Okay, I wish that me and my friends and my mom and my dad and Mister George can have a raspberry cake to eat!"
Johan smiled widely at the genie, satisfied with what he had wished. Meanwhile, the Genie was just looking at Johan with his mouth wide open. Was this some sort of mind game, he thought, or was the boy for real? How would he even twist something like that?
"You sure you want something like that? I can give you a permanent supply of done homework, good friends, even toys! You sure you just want a raspberry cake for all those people?"
"Yes!"
Johan spoke with a tone of ending and the Genie couldn't bear to argue further with him. Not after seeing those adorable buggy little eyes. The Genie just granted his wish. A sinister afterthought surged through his mind like a bullet train as he did so, but the train crashed and burned quickly. There was no worth in distorting a genuinely unselfish wish like this, he thought. And so, unlike the countless dictators and businessmen he had served before, the Genie finally granted a wish without any twists. No diabolical nitpicking of the details, no evil over exaggeration of the wish. Just a simple wish granting.
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For Johan's parents, the arrival of cake was a shock. The scramble to trace its origins and repay their debtor ultimately ended in failure. In the end, they prodded the cake gingerly, afraid of a bomb, before they devoured the delicious cake in one fell swoop with their colleagues.
The cake arrived after the movie, in perfect and timely fashion. The children were pleasantly surprised, and ate the food relatively cleanly. Still, if one had walked into that nursery, they might have seen the heartwarming sight of children eating and smearing cake on one another. Hearty laughter, eyes that folded into slits smaller than the opening of an ant hole and cheers all around. That was what filled that nursery on that day, and many other days too.
| 2016-04-30T05:04:21
| 2016-04-30T04:55:22
| 25
| 14
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear E,
I love you. Not the cheesy love I felt in high school, and not the way I love the woman I think I'm going to marry, but you hold a place in my heart that no one else can.
We were destructive. We weren't good for each other. You were emotionally abusive, and I was amazed a pretty girl would give me the time of day. I was putty in your hands, and you took advantage of that to the fullest. I had my faults too, but you put the nail in the coffin.
Then you got kicked out of school. You moved in with another guy and confided in me about your relationship problems. I, a guy who cares too much and tries too hard, was more than willing to stay up until the wee hours listening to you and solving the problems of a relationship I had no part in. We might have been a thunderstorm, but he was a hurricane. You kept seeing him, and kept coming to me for advice. I conceded.
Then the accident happened.
You were going too fast. You hit a puddle. You couldn't keep from swerving into the other lane. You survived, but not without some brain damage.
I remember speeding to the hospital and seeing him. The man who was the vehicle to this lifestyle that put you here.
The man whose smile was as crooked as your front bumper when I saw your car in the junkyard. It was the first time I recall feeling genuine hate. The first time I wanted someone to die. To change places with you.
The next few months you'll never remember. You were in a coma. You were in rehab. You couldn't speak. You couldn't eat. I was there every other day, spending hours with you, watching movies with the husk of a person I once knew.
But you improved. Your brain damage wasn't as bad as they thought, but it changed you. You became frustrated. You would lash out at me due to your brain's lack of ability to filter. You'd hit me. I remained there. I taught you to count again. I taught you colors. I taught you the parts of your face. I fed you your first solid meal.
Then college came. Then I realized that things would never be the same. That as much as I cared for you, I had to move on, and so did you. You were recovered to the best that you would be, and you were moving out on your own.
You have a baby now. You have a boyfriend. I have a woman by my side who I love dearly. There's no trace of romantic feelings whatsoever, but I'll always remember our time together. I'll always care for you deeply. You'll always be the one who taught me what caring for people really means.
You'll never remember what I did. You'll never remember learning colors or numbers or eating your first meal from a spoon I was holding.
I think I like it better that way.
We were a thunderstorm, but the skies are clear now.
|
To My Wife of 13 years; the letter I wish I could send you instead of continuing to live this lie.
I've no idea how to properly express the way I've been feeling lately, so I apologise now if this comes across as a ramble, with no real explanation for anything. Truth is, I don't know if I actually have any explanation.
First of all, let me say I love you. I love you to bits. I never want to see you hurt, and I never want to see you suffer. The thing is, I just don't know if I am actually in love anymore. The past few weeks have been great, don't get me wrong, but I still have this emptiness inside that I can't shake off.
When we're together, and I can see you're happy, it makes me happy. When I see you're sad, it makes me sad. You know I'm still attracted to you, but despite that... I don't know. There's just something that isn't there anymore. The only way I can describe it is I am numb to things. Suggestions are made for doing things, and they turn me cold. I find myself sitting there thinking to myself that I don't want to do this or that, I don't want to make those plans or go with those arrangements. Like I said above, I love you. I love you dearly and I truly am sorry for how things have gone, and for feeling the need to say what I've just said... I just have to be honest. Honest with you, and honest with myself.
For the past 2-3 years, maybe even longer, I've felt like I've been living someone else's life. I love the kids, and I wouldn't change having them for the world, but I feel like all I've become is just a provider, a facilitator even, that allows everyone else to have their own lives and never mind my own. I've gone with every suggestion, practically bankrupting myself at times. I've scraped my arse back from the abyss singlehandedly, because no matter what I said or did it was always inferior to what you or anyone else wanted. I am a positive, life-loving individual who can be a bit of an oddball and is a bundle of quirks, but for God knows how long I've not been that person. I've been dragged down.. Turned into a huge mess of negativity.. and been made to conform with everyone else's aspirations & expectations, forsaking my own free will. I've moved house at your request, and done everything I can for that when my head was telling me it was an unnecessary financial burden given that we were rent/mortgage free before. I didn't just change jobs, I changed careers to try to suit you and to work the hours you preferred.
I've been a square peg in a round hole for a long long time, and it is no coincidence that the changes I took it upon myself to make this year are the reason I even have my head straight enough to write this. I took it upon myself to apply for a scholarship to Uni, and I achieved it. 100% funded degree course. No support from you though. No help. I took it upon myself with no support to seek first informal help, & then to progress to full blown counselling for how I was feeling at my lowest, & after some very tough times I've begun to emerge again. Reconnecting with friends, & reigniting old interests is another step, & I've done that alone too.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm done. All the negativity, all the bullshit, all the pretence of being someone I'm not. I'm done. I have single handedly gotten myself facing the right way again after being upside down, inside out and back to front, and now I am ready to take strides to enjoy myself again. The kids will always be the most important thing to me, and I will always be there for them as best I can be. I will always love you, and I will always hold a place in my heart for you as the mother of my children, but I am now at a stage where I think we've just grown too far apart, have different goals, different ideals now. You still clamour for that "forces lifestyle", and talk about "standards", "routine", and "structure". That's not me. It never has been. I'm a free spirit, an adventurer, and a damn good actor for being able to surprises that. Don't get me wrong I can write a list or two, and I can create structure & stability to accomplish things, but I can't live my life that way.
I'm a square peg, and you're a round hole. It's time we both found a better fit.
Sincerely,
Your Husband
| 2015-12-05T16:37:50
| 2015-12-05T15:36:40
| 94
| 12
|
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching.
|
"Ok. Just sit down and watch."
"Watch what?" I asked.
"Just watch, I want to know your opinion of this person."
"Fine." The screen flickers with a white flash and then shows darkness. "Um sir, I think this is broken."
"Hmm. It says here that the video length is about 2 seconds. Oddly short even if we show only the highlights. Well I guess we will just continue with standard procedures. What did you think of this person's life?"
"Life? What life? I saw nothing happen on the screen, you can hardly call that anything. What am I doing here?" I spout.
"Do you think the person in the video was good or bad?"
"What person? I saw nothing!"
"Just calm down, I'll be brief to make it easy for the both of us. You are dead. This video is someone's life. When someone dies they must judge one's life to determine that person's afterlife. Unfortunately for you, the video was short so just use your best judgment."
"How can I judge a 2 second clip of nothingness?" I inquire
"Just do your best. Where do you think this person should go in the afterlife?"
"I honestly don't know. This man could be anything, he could be a saint or a devil but there is literally nothing here."
"So you think this person should spend all his life in nothingness? Purgatory if you will?"
"I don't know, maybe? I kind of wish the video was longer...Can i watch it again?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Ok. Just sit down and watch."
|
I sat in a pitch dark room where the only thing I was sure of was my heavy breathing. Oddly enough I didn't feel threatened of the unknown, I felt at ease. This was the miracle of death, peaceful despite the strange and cold hard circumstances.
A white screen appeared before me and a pre-recorded voiceover of a woman began to play,
"Welcome. Before the jury is able to allocate you, you must comply by determining the final decision for someone else. You will be presented with various clips of someone else's life and come up with a answer based on what you've seen. Please sit still, and focus on the film we are about to show you. The fate of another is in your hands!" The pep in the female's voice was unsettling yet I was overpowered by the feeling of extreme pressure being put on me.
How could it be that after death the first thing you face is being put through major distress? Snippets began to play, and a sense of nostalgia for something that never was took over me. A small young boy, full of life until the passing of his mother. Left with a father figure who didn't appear to have much of a solid presence. He was dull, didn't have the strength to really fulfill what his son needed; although he wasn't a terrible father either.
Due to his upbringing I was not surprised with who the boy turned out to be. A average father, who became deeply sucked into his work life leaving his family to live in the presence of a ghost. What kind of man is raised with such experience only to turn out to be the plainest of men? The years went by and the man had now turned into a avid drinker although the family stayed together.
The man was upset because once his children grew older the idiot couldn't comprehend why his children couldn't visit often enough. Why his wife didn't try to show him love like she did 30 years ago. He was a poor fool. I couldn't stand watching this any longer.
I suddenly got this fit of rage and started to scream,
"Quit this shit right now! I've made my decision. I don't want to watch this anymore. I've made my decision."
The screen faded and it darkened in the room once again leaving enough light to see the silhouette of a man on the other side of a glass wall.
"And so what have you decided? What is the final decision that you seem to have such passion towards ?"
"Hell, he needs to be sent to hell! So he could learn a lesson for what he did. He was a god awful family man who lived in selfishness."
The man began to let out a chuckle and with irritation I asked,
"What's so funny to you?! I've done my part like I was asked. There I did it. He needs to be punished."
"What's funny to me is the morals and values of the average human. How dearly they hold onto these beliefs and none of them know that they can't even live up to their own high standards. The church goers who spent their life breeding hate towards others, went to heaven because they believed they had completed their duties. I've seen criminals excuse heinous acts. I've seen pieces of shit wear their masks so dearly and convince themselves that they've done their best.
But the average man, he is complex and he continues to bemuse me."
"Although don't let that stop you," he said.
"Tell me how fun it is to dance with the devil."
And with the grin still on his face, he pulled the lever.
| 2016-05-11T00:40:55
| 2016-05-10T22:58:13
| 64
| 15
|
[WP] Your name is Karen and you just completed your final level of training. After the hair cutting ceremony, you feel a wild energy surge through your veins... you now have the ultimate power of summoning any retail store manager in the universe.
[removed]
|
Sergeant Karen W. (whose claim to fame was the heavily upvoted video in which she was able to call two managers down at one time) stalked along the row of teen girls, all newly minted with helmets of Karen hair crowned with sunglasses and their uniform of casual LuLaRoe tights, flip flops, and whatever ill-fitting blouse they could scrounge in Old Navy or American Eagle. She shouted, "Who do we want?"
"Your manager!" All the girls replied in levels of shrillness.
"When do we want them?"
"Right now!"
Karen stopped at the podium to take a heavy sip of her Starbucks triple, venti, soy, no foam, extra whip, latte with a single pump and *only* a single, not a *double* *are you calling me fat?* shot of pumpkin spice syrup.
She held it aloft. "In this drink, I taste the delicious future of Karens across America. I am proud to have been your drill sergeant ladies. Never give up. Always hold out for the Manager! To the class of 2019!"
The girls cheered as they dispersed, chattering over the customer service people they will torture and how they will always get what they want. Karen sipped ecstatically on her drink as the drink itself was a symbol of her power since it had taken at least three firings to train that Starbucks to serve it properly. She followed, moving at a saunter, behind the girls as they entered the academy.
When she stepped into the foyer (it's foy*er* not foyay because we aren't those awful French), something made her pause, well *actually*, it was someone.
Karen L., the one who was probably the least vocal out of the lot, was standing in front of a mirror. She touched the helmet of highlighted and lowlighted hair, staring at it with disbelief instead of the smug satisfaction that it should have caused.
"*Dear*?" the Sergeant asked.
"*Ma'am*." Karen L. stood straighter and she pulled out her cellphone as a salute, but she put it away sloppily instead of taking a selfie.
"Is there something wrong with your haircut?"
"No ma'am. I already got the discount when I called for the manager."
"Would have been better if you got it free and with a coupon for a manicure, but what's wrong?"
Karen L. frowned and it wasn't quite as effective as a resting bitch face. She paused a moment in thought and asked, "Did you ever think there could be more to life than bossing around customer service representatives?"
The Sergeant blinked. "*Moron* customer service representatives, girl."
Half-heartedly Karen L. corrected herself, "--Moron customer service representatives yeah." She shot herself a sidelong glance in the mirror and touched the helmet of hair self-consciously.
"Karen, I will tell you what my Sergeant told me before I graduated to be unleashed upon the world. We are here to ensure the quality of customer service everywhere. We are the trainers of the world when training has failed. We keep the American way strong and free. And we are the last line of defense against anti-Americanism and anti-Capitalism. In the words of our lord and saviour, Harry Gordon Selfridge, *the customer is always right*."
Karen L. nodded, but there was no glory gleaming behind her hazel eyes.
There was always one in each bunch. One that couldn't cut it and would one day accept a Happy Meal without every single toy in it because Timmy really wanted every single toy and why should she have to pay for it all?
There was always that one.
|
The scene of a wild west standoff began unfolding in what would be an ordinary Whole Foods bulk aisle. I didn't even need to say anything before the other customers dispersed in terror. The light indie music over the intercoms added a bizarre innocence to the standoff, like those dirty hipsters didn't know what was about to happen. I took a deep gulp of my organic hemp milk and mustered all of the essential oils in my body for this ritual,
"JEFF BEZOOOOOOOSSSSSSS!!!!!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. The glass shattered around me as a large wormhole tore that bald bastard from whatever corporate meeting he was in. He looked around in disparate confusion as he found himself in a Whole Foods in Boulder, Colorado. He turned to me, and I could see the terror in that little bitch's face. Without hesitation, I reached into my paper grocery bag and pulled out a bag of quinoa.
"Mr. Bezos, do you know where this quinoa came from?" He looked befuddled, probably still terrified after being pulled through the space time continuum to get here,
"I-I-I don't know." He stuttered, frantically pulling himself up on his feet. "I can assure you-"
"IT CAME FROM SICUANI, PERU!" I roared, the energy pulsing through my veins. "DIDN'T YOU KNOW THAT THE WORKERS IN SOUTHERN PERU AREN'T COMPENSATED PROPERLY FOR THEIR WORK AND THEIR COMMUNITIES ARE AFFECTED BY SELLING THEIR MAIN CROP!? I DIDN'T PAY TWENTY DOLLARS FOR AN OUNCE OF FAIR TRADE ORGANIC QUINOA ONLY TO LEARN THAT IT WASN'T FAIR TRADE!?!?" Storm clouds gathered above as the ceiling of the building tore asunder. Tornado winds mustered and soared around us as I moved in for the kill,
"I WILL NEVER TAKE MY UNVACCINATED KIDS TO THIS AUTISM FACTORY AFTER SOCCER PRACTICE EVER AGAIN, AND I CAN ASSURE YOU THAT NO ONE EVER WILL. I HAVE-"
"No! Don't say it!" Jeff screamed, tears gushing down his face as he realized his fate.
"I HAVE SHARED THIS ON FACEBOOK!"
"Noooooooooo!" The kombucha in my stomach channeled into a powerful pulse of energy that annihilated Jeff Bezos into oblivion where he stood. Before me were the ashes of the richest man in the world. And I wasn't even close to done.
"SOMEONE! GET ME A KALE SALAD! I have work to do..."
| 2019-05-26T12:15:47
| 2019-05-26T12:06:22
| 379
| 126
|
[WP] Immortal monsters of legend have returned after lying dormant for thousands of years. However, the legends were made before guns were a thing, and the "immortal" thing was kind of overblown.
|
The problem with ancient languages is that many words don't really translate well into modern language. In some cases there's just no modern word that fits, or in some cases there may be several potential translations, all with slightly different meanings. Aside from that, there's the nuance of the word given the rest of a sentence.
Nowadays, computers can make pretty short work of many old works. Hell, a modern phone and can do in seconds what a supercomputer would take days or years to accomplish. Even so, the nuance of meaning is best left up to experts. Take for example the ancient scrolls found in a watertight chest at the bottom of a deep chasm in the pacific ocean. Nobody knows how they got there, the age predates known human civilisation - but the translations speak of a race of terrible immortals that will race again a year after the chest is found. All it took was an app install and about 15 minutes to get the message, but figuring out the deeper meaning took longer.
&#x200B;
At first, people scoffed, and rightly so. After all, this sort of thing had come up before and it always turned out to be some sort of hoax or publicity for the next upcoming monster movie. Still, governments seemed to think it was legit, and top people worked day and night to figure out just what it meant. Still, we didn't really know 100% until the first deep ones emerged.
&#x200B;
Don't get me wrong, the deep ones were pretty serious business. From ones the size of a large dog (but with claws, tentacles, and teeth that could cut through steel), to leviathans that dwarfed an aircraft carrier, these things were scary as fuck. A lot of people died early on. Millions.
&#x200B;
But then, mankind had people too spare. Too many people, really. And we'd already lost millions to a resurgeance of old diseases (thanks you anti-vax pricks), rapid climate change causing global overheating (fuck you deniers), crop failure due to loss of pollinators (monsanto, you sons of bitches) and just general overpopulation with dwindling food stocks. That last one was the kicker, really, and probably what turned a fearsome enemy into our greatest resource.
&#x200B;
You see, the word immortal can have a few different meanings. I can mean somethat that doesn't age or naturally degrade/decade. It can mean something that cannot be killed. In some cases it's been a catch-call for omnipotent - or all-powerful - a being so great that it can't be hurt.
&#x200B;
For the deep ones, it meant that they were hard to hurt. Really, really hard to hurt for the big ones. They also didn't appear to age. The last little tidbit was that they regenerated. In fact, when we finally did manage to blow or chop some of the ugly SOB's up, we discovered that two large pieces of deep one would quickly regenerate into two new deep ones. Kind of like an earthworm, but again the wormy bits were more like razor-bladed tentacles.
&#x200B;
So everyone thought we were fucked. Yeah we could chop them up or blow them up - thanks to some fancy new weapons tech from the Americans, which got through the outer "shells" - but doing so just made more of the toothy noodly bastards.
&#x200B;
Then the Russians came up with something that could neutralize the regenerative properties of the bastards.
&#x200B;
But it was the Japanese, oh those crazy wonderful Japanese, who made the best discovery. We're not sure HOW they made the discovery. There are plenty of rumours of course. Some say that when the Americans blew a leviathan to bits, a few chunks landed in a Japanese soldier's rations. Other say the guy just got so hungry and chowed down on one of the deep ones' wounded foot soldiers. Other less savoury rumours involve a culture that still had an odd and slightly perverted obsession with tentacles, but we'll skip that. Anyhow, you get where this is going, probably. The deep ones were well armored on the outside, but inside they were vulnerable, and... delicious. Combine that with their ability to quickly regenerate, and after we finished blowing up the more dangerous ones the world went from fighting to farming.
&#x200B;
That's right. The deep ones saved the world. Your average dog-sized deep-one could be chopped in half, with one half going back into a refrigerated tank and the other half into the pot for dinner. By the next day, the half in the tank would have grown back to full-size. Deep in the trenches we also found new plant-life with similar regenerative properties, probably what had supported the deep-ones throughout their semi-hibernation. Oh, and did I mention the part where "immortal" can also mean "never-aging". Yup, not only did the bastards grow back quickly, but they were pretty much always fresh. Better than chicken!
&#x200B;
Nowadays we use genetically modified deep ones as food-sources for our deep-space missions. After all, despite having a stable food-source, earth was still pretty crowded and there was a universe to explore. More scrolls were found citing the origin of the deep-ones as being far from this world, so now we're on a mission to find a new rock to settle on.
&#x200B;
Maybe the descendants of the deep-ones will be more friendly than the a-holes left on Earth. If not, then we'll at least find out if they come in a different flavour than their ancestors.
&#x200B;
Edits: Spelling and typos
|
The first unfortunate soul to encounter what come to be remembered as "The Beasts" was the captain of a small crawfish trawler.
&#x200B;
The machinery pulling the nets on the red, rusting ship began to groan in agony louder than the captain had ever experienced. The ship began to tip as whatever was on the other end weighed the lines down, until finally one last burst of the diesel engine brought it over the edge of the ship. The captain ran down to it, spindly weathered legs hopping and skipping as fast as they could.
&#x200B;
But instead of the promises of gold or mountains of crawfish, a great ugly mass of oozing flesh and gelatinous shape under piles of river muck slowly rose up. At it's full height, it could be easily 10 feet; however, it was hard to tell if it had a spine to reach there. What could be certain was that it had a mouth, that opened to bellow a spine chilling screech putting the diesel engine to shame.
&#x200B;
"Dang it," the old captain rushed back to the cabin and started digging around. Boney, scared fingers curled around a trusted friend with only a little bit of dust on it.
&#x200B;
He whipped around the same time the Beast noticed him. No time to think about the size difference between the gun and it's target, the captain shot off 2 shells in quick succession.
&#x200B;
The Beast let off a scream that seemed to ripple through its self, oozing further from the now missing chunks. It tried to slide away, desperate to return to the safety of the water, but the Captain was too quick. Another two shells quickly found their way to whatever part of it controlled its actions. The Beast now rested much more soundly on the deck of the ship.
&#x200B;
The Captain barely paused. If you knew the Captain, you knew that he had seen his fair share of oddities while trawling this stretch of the river. You would also know that the Captain wasn't a very educated man. Preferring the practicalities of work over ancient mythology.
&#x200B;
However, everyone soon would become an expert, whether there was any merit to that claim, as more and more Beasts rose from the deepest slumber to a very different and very armed world.
| 2019-03-20T19:52:25
| 2019-03-20T14:28:06
| 396
| 237
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[WP] You're throwing a ball around with your dog and he's loving it. Then, he stops dead still. He takes a quick sniff and looks up at you and says "I'm not supposed to do this, but you need to get inside right now". He looks off into the distance, "They're coming".
Wow, was not expecting this, thanks for the silver:) and the gold:))
|
I didn’t process that Lucky just spoke to me at first. When I heard those words, my focus was on the ‘they’re coming’. I have no idea what he may be talking about-we lived in a peaceful neighbourhood, I had no enemies, no history of being abused or targeted.
I glanced around quickly, to get an idea of what he might be talking about, and I suddenly hear barking from several dogs all throughout the neighbourhood. Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug on the hem of my trousers, and looked down to see a tiny ball of curly fluff angrily pulling me in. “Don’t try to find it! Get inside!”
...and it hit me. This tiny ball of fluff just spoke words. He spoke words at me, like a stern and frightened parent. And he knows something I don’t-and possibly no one else does.
I follow him as he runs inside, where Tom, my usually lazy cat, walks up to him concerned. “Oh god, it’s happening today?”
“Yes. Get in the basement. Now.”
As I ran behind them, my head was spinning with questions- how can they talk? Am I hallucinating? Is this a dream? A prank? What is happening? Who are coming?
We all scurry into the basement. Tom finds and turns on the light switch, and turns to us. “We should be safe here, for now.” He paces back and forth, muttering. “I knew it would come, but jesus. You never think it comes on the day, huh?”
Lucky nods gruffly. “Hold on, I’m getting a transmission,” he quickly climbs up the basement flight of stairs and starts barking apprehensively. We hear a couple of distant barks back, and he turns to us with a sigh of relief.
“Okay, so we do have some time,” he says. He turns to me, wide-eyed and alarmed. “Yeah, so we can talk. Sometimes, though.”
Tom turned to me. “Yeah. Sorry it didn’t come up earlier, but yeah, we do understand, process, and even think in human language. But we can’t always talk.”
“And not to just anybody,” Lucky nodded in agreement. “When they do speak, pets can only speak to their owners and family. So you’d be able to understand myself and Tom. But when I was barking to my colleagues outside, you could only hear them barking.” He paused. “So far, all we know is that there’s an ominous presence that’s descended upon us.”
“We suspect it’s the Hurricane,” interrupted Tom.
“Now, this is just a hunch,” Lucky reassured Tom. “We’re not actually sure.”
“Wait, hurricane?” I whispered, not wanting to be found out by my family talking to my pets in a basement. “There’s no weather report alerting us of anything. For that matter...” I frantically checked the news on my phone. “Yeah no, there’s no alerts or warnings of anything in this city.”
“It’s not something humans can detect,” said Lucky. “Animal companions, especially us, can detect the presence of supernatural disasters and events. That meowing and barking is the alert system and protocol we have in place. You know how, whenever we’re in a neighbourhood-“ Lucky turns to Tom and nods knowingly “us DOGS, anyway, it’s not Tom’s job...we want to get out and meet everyone, travel everywhere, get all up in everything?”
“You’re...expanding your network with other dogs in the area?”
“You got it. Dogs take on the Scouting Role. It’s a way of expanding our network and ‘signal-boosting’ the community so that we can track things like these across several communities.”
Tom nodded. “We have more of a Clerical Role,” he explained. “We patrol the house, know and alert people to the presence of strangers, especially in parts of the house they shouldn’t be in.”
“So that time you peed in the bathtub after my friend used it-“
“Well, yes,” Tom said uneasily, clearly embarrassed. “That’s a notification system of sorts. Tagging it for reference.” We gave him a look. “Look, I know it’s not very efficient...or hygienic...or considerate...but it’s what nature gave us. Humans work with the brain they’ve been given for better or worse, why wouldn’t we?”
I blinked a few times, trying to process that my talking cat justified peeing in a bathtub to me. Sighing, I let it go. “So what is the great Hurricane?”
Lucky’s expression dropped to a serious one, and Tom let out a sigh. When you have pets, you can detect certain ‘facial expressions’, and the closer you are, the more expressive they seem. “Basically, you know how in a human-animal relationship, you both continually learn and teach each other new things?”
“That’s every healthy relationship,” I agreed, “but yeah, go on.”
“Let’s say every time you learn something, you store it in a personal library that only you know. Because you’ve seen and learned it. No one else can access it like you do.”
So animals aren’t exactly neuroscientists, but they understand the concept of memory. “Sure. And the hurricane...destroys that library in some way?”
“For humans and animals. So everything you learn about animals through your own animal, you forget- mutatis mutandis for humans.”
“So that bathtub example,” said Tom, “You just learned that it was a tagging system that was based off of instinct, and refined to be organized and only used when necessary.”
“Peeing in the bathtub was necessary-?” I asked, when Tom kept pushing through. He did NOT want to talk about it.
“ANYWAY...what that Hurricane would do is mess not only that up, but that whole part of the library up. Like...what other things do you store near that part of the library?”
I thought about it. “Maybe signs of nervousness and anxiety? Excessive grooming, territoriality, guarding of food and drink, bladder inf- I mean, pain and discomfort when you need to pee...”
“Okay, so...that part of your library gets all messed up. You could find it, but it would be harder. Say, for example, you came home tired, or drunk, or crying, and you found that I’d peed on the couch. You’d have a harder time finding this information, and you’d be mad at me for being a little shit a long while before you find those library entries.”
I nodded. “So...what do we do now? Do we sit and wait? Do we go upstairs to grab supplies and hide out for two weeks?”
“It should be over in a little bit,” said Lucky, narrowing his eyes and scanning the outside. “About...40 ball throws?”
“He means five minutes,” nodded Tom.
“What happens?” I asked. “So does this Hurricane wipe EVERYTHING out?”
“Well, it depends how long you’ve been exposed,” said Lucky, doing the doggy version of a shrug. “If you’ve been outside this whole time, you could lose EVERYTHING. Even our names.”
“It usually goes from the most recent memories and works its way back,” said Tom. “So if we were to leave at the last moment this hurricane does, we’d forget this conversation ever happened.”
(...and I’ll have to continue this later. I’ll continue this later. Peace!)
Edit: First of all, holy Toledo Batman! Thank you all so much, holy shit I really thought this would get buried. You’re all so supportive and awesome, and I can’t thank any of you enough!
So unfortunately, this next chapter is over the word limit, so I’ll have to reply to this comment with the next chapter. So just in case, the link should be riiiiiight...[here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cdl9p3/wp_youre_throwing_a_ball_around_with_your_dog_and/etxuf0t/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app) :)
|
Nicholas stopped, looked down towards his dog Rex, unable to process what he just heard.
Rex: *Digging a hole by the door* “yeah I get this is probably confusing for you but if we stay out here, we will die.” *picks up a brown leather bag from the hole* “take this”
A speechless Nicholas grabs the brown bag from his dogs mouth and looks inside to reveal a Mac 10 submachine gun.
Rex: *growling while staring off into the distance* “it’s not for you, give it to Mittens”
Nicholas: *as both Rex and himself walk inside* “um who’s mittens?”
Rex looks at Nicholas’s cat 🐈 named “Mittens”
Rex: *looking annoyed* “Mittens!!! He knows, now stop wasting time, we have a situation?”
Mittens: *sits upright and bends her paw towards her self sarcastically* “wow must be pretty big for us to blow cover, we’ll chap, what tis the dealo? A 4? Owe maybe a 5?”
Rex: *with a straight face* “NO............it’s a 9”
Mittens: *visible shocked* “mate, we don’t have the resources available here to deal with a 9”
Rex: *jumping up on the kitchen counter and grabbing a steak knife in his jaws* “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice, now Nick give your cat her submachine gun so we can stand a chance.”
Nicholas: *still stunned, hands Mittens her Mac 10 as her adorable paws fit perfectly around the trigger* “um....... what’s....... what’s a 9?”
Mittens: *staring daggers at Rex* “you didn’t fucking tell him?”
Rex: *jumping down from the table and motioning for everyone to follow him us stairs* “I didn’t have time, I just found out now,”
Everyone goes up stairs as Rex and Mittens begin barricading the downstairs door.
Rex: “animals are given numbers, if they rise up against earth to claim it for themselves it’s called a ‘Situation’ most in the past have failed so few animals even try anymore.”
Mittens: *smiling at Nicholas* “it was actually you mad lads that have whipped out most of the other competition, fucking humans, the second best at the game and they don’t even know they’re playing”
Nicholas: “so what numbers are cats and dogs,”
Mittens: *amused* “well actually t......”
Rex cuts her off
Rex: *staring back at Mittens* “it’s not important”
Nicholas: “so what’s a 9?”
Rex and mittens look at each other.
Mittens: “Komodo Dragons 🐉”
Nicholas: *confused* “WHAT? How? Why? When? They are secluded on a small isolated island in Indonesia? How could any let alone a wave make it up here to rural Canada?”
Rex: *putting the last board on the door* “they are many, most live underground. They will engulf the world in flames”
Mittens: *putting down her radio 📻* “the Eagles and Geese will be on their way in 5 min for evac, we need to get to the roof”
[Thud] [Thud] [Thud] [Crack]
Mittens: *pulls out her Mac 10 and aims it at the door which is beginning to break* “This won’t hold............... close the door behind me” we can’t let them through”
Rex: *growling* “NO..... WE ARNT LEAVING YOU”
Mittens: *laughing as she uses her claws to cut the bindings of pillar, making it crash between herself and the others* “I punched my ticket love, now get Nicky to the roof”
Rex and Nicholas begrudgingly flee upstairs and begin to climb up into the roof.
[meanwhile back down stairs]
[THUD]
(BACK IN BLACK FROM AC/DC starts playing on the downstairs radio)
Mittens: *smiling* “HA REX DID LOVE THE CLASSICS”
A single Komodo broke through the door and lunged towards Mittens. Mittens jumped up with lightning speed barely slipping out of the beast jaws. Facing her gun downward she unleashed a burst of bullets straight into the monsters mouth killing it instantly. Mittens with her head on a swivel dives into the mouth of the dead Komodo as more rush through the dead remains of their comrade.
Several Komodo Dragons make it to the top of the stairs and are confused by the locked door.
Mittens: *jumping up from the remains of the dead Komodo she was hiding in* “Ha gotcha” *holds down the trigger unleashing volleys of bullets at the ambushed Komodos*
After gunning down several more Komodos her gun clicks empty. However she takes the smoldering hot barrel and jams it into a rapidly approaching Komodo. She and the other Komodos watch in horror as the approached Komodo chokes to death on a boiling barrel.
Mittens: *exhasted, looking at the Dragons with her claws out* “WHAT ELSE YOU GOT????”
All the remaining Dragons lunge at once. Mittens cuts the throat of the first one, wraps her body around the second and claws the eyes out of the third until the forth gets in a lucky bite that takes her arm off.
Mittens: *in agonizing pain* “AHHHHHHHH”
Mittens backs herself into a corner, with one good sharp paw left. She looks past the dozen of dragons she has killed and sees the ocean of grey lizards surrounding the house. But when all seem lost...... she hears it....... the Squak of Canada Geese and American eagles 🦅. The reinforcements have arrived.
| 2019-07-15T16:16:42
| 2019-07-15T16:06:06
| 162
| 53
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[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."
|
I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure.
"You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him.
"What happened?" I asked, curious.
"I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what."
|
"Oh my goodness... Mom, look out the window!" i yell in disbelief as I peek through the side windows next to our front door.
My mother scampers over, moving her little feet as fast as possible. She begins to weep uncontrollably, a moan of relief bursts out of her. I was not certain who that stranger was walking to my door but I had a strong hunch. Now, looking at my mother overwhelmed with emotion, I know I was correct.
I unlock the top lock as fast as my fingers can move and fling the solid oak door with a force even the hinges may have trouble slowing down.
"Dad!" I screamed, tears bursting out of my eyes, as I run to give him a hug.
"Son! Mary!" he yells, dropping his belongings to the ground to embrace us.
I hug him tight, ignoring the putrid smell that is seeping out of his pores. His attire is something out of a movie. He's sporting a long tan leather coat, obviously cut from some animal but I have no idea the source. His jeans are black in color and feel coarse, almost metal like... Is he wearing armor? The most bizarre part of his wardrobe are these two beautiful golden daggers he has on his hips; they both sit elegantly in two knife holsters that appear to be diamond studded. The handles are engraved with relics and designs that look foreign to this world. The wood illuminates a blood red and gives off an aura that surrounds the golden blades in a perfect radius.
The situation turns a little bit... awkward? My mom slaps him with all the strength her frail hands can muster up, knocking his smiling face towards the neighbors house. My dad welcomed that pain, I could tell by the way he let his face linger in position from the slap. He was noticeably ashamed of what he had done but I could see in his face that his absence was much more complicated than anyone could have imagined. He had a twinkle of adventure beaming through his eyes, like he had seen more these last twenty years than any other person on earth.
"Why... why did you leave us John?" her voice is shaking with years worth of anger. I had not seen him since I was two.
"Milk, Bread and some shitty cigarettes? How in the hell does that turn into twenty years, John?" her face is so red, I am afraid she may pass out.
It's my turn to talk. I have years of pent-up emotion, mainly rage, that I could let loose on him. He missed out on so much of my life and I missed out on so much by not having him in my life. But oddly enough, I feel like his explanation will be sufficient for me.
"Dad, where have you been?" I ask calmly, my face serious, my tears now dry.
He's studying me from head to toe, taking in how much I have grown. I'm two inches taller than he and my physique has leaned up these past four years due to working out and eating right. I can tell he's proud of how I stand.
"Words cannot mend my heart, nor fix the lost time between us. The only reconciliation I offer myself was the duty that was imposed upon me was one of great importance. I promise I will get to everything over time and I will not hide anything from you two. All i can say for now, is that night, I was approached by two men... two time travelers. They spoke of our blood line and the responsibility we bear because of it. I had an opportunity that I could not refuse."
He's not joking. I keep waiting for a smile or maybe he'll start cackling like a lunatic. Nothing of the sort happens and his fearless eyes are piercing with all the seriousness that I don't need to see right now.
"Time travelers...?" my mother, saying it exactly how I was going to.
"Are you kidding me?"
His mouth turns upwards into a grand smile, all of his teeth showing, they are so white they look almost bleached. Given his hygiene, I don't think that's the case.
"Both of you, come here."
We stand still like we are stuck in concrete.
"Seriously, come here. I want to show you something."
We walk over and stand next to him. He puts his arms around us and brings us close. We are now inches away from each others face. He removes one of his golden daggers and gently lies it on both of his palms for us to see. He removes his hands from underneath the dagger. It floats there, defying gravity and still glowing like it has been the last ten minutes.
"Are you guys ready?" he says, voice full of excitement.
How could we possibly be ready? I can't decide if he's going to kill us or if he's playing a prank on us.
"Time, do your will!" He screams as loud as he can, his head angled towards the sky like he is praising a higher being.
The ground around us begins to shake violently and all of our surroundings dissipate into the sky. We are standing on a plain of white that stretches as far as the human eye can see. There's nothing around us; nothing above nor anything below. I don't even know how we are standing.
"Welcome my beloved son and beautiful wife!" His eyes now glowing the same deep red that his daggers have been emitting since we saw him.
"This is infinity!"
| 2016-07-20T08:21:53
| 2016-07-20T07:20:27
| 88
| 42
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[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
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Don took the flimsy printout from the grotty, grey machine in front of him. It contained a litany of sins, each printed neatly, one below the other. Unfortunately for him, the text appeared to be entirely German, set in an heavy medieval font.
The two parts he understood were his name at the top of the page and the important number at the bottom of the list: 186,292 Jahre.
"Almost two hundred THOUSAND years?!", in disbelief, he asked the anxious queue behind him.
"Not true. I was the best. The very best. I did tremendous things."
No one seemed to care.
Don rushed to catch up with the man who had been ahead of him. He had only received 145 years in Hell.
"Give me that!" Don grabbed for the slip of paper carried by the elderly man, who recoiled and tripped. As the fragile man crumpled to the dusty ground, Don snatched up the paper and rushed to join the next queue. He wasn't going to spend any more time in this drab shithole than necessary.
He threw his first printout to the wayside, not noticing that the list had grown by four items and the number now read 186,296.
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Why?, I ask in disbelief I tithed I went to church I was a faithful husband. What did I do? Saint Peter looks deep into my eyes with morose and disgust, “ It is not what you have done but what you failed to do...” I rack my mind trying to figure out what it was and finally it dawns on me. All this time for a Fucking Facebook post!!!!
| 2018-09-26T04:29:48
| 2018-09-26T03:51:49
| 530
| 123
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[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D
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“God? It’s me, Josh. But you already know that”
&#x200B;
Josh was sitting on the patio. He had been sitting there for hours, and sunrise was still a couple of hours away. The only thing that prevented complete darkness was the dim moonlight.
&#x200B;
“I know I don’t do this often. It feels kind of silly doing this, talking to myself. But I don’t know what else to do. I’m falling apart.”
&#x200B;
He was right, he didn’t do this often. In fact it was his very first time. That alone caught my attention. His sincerity.
&#x200B;
I had all but given up too. Years, decades, centuries had past, and not a single response from the humans. Not even my regular prophets wanted to listen, so after a while I just stopped. That was a long time ago now. I forgot about it and took some time away, let my angels run things for a bit. Since I came back I’ve had much to catch up on. Most of it good, but some of it very bad.
&#x200B;
“It feels like I’m out of options. How should I break it to my wife? My daughter? Will they be okay?” Josh continued, his face buried in his hands.
&#x200B;
I was going to give it one last try. If it doesn't work it doesn’t work, and I could put it aside.
&#x200B;
“Josh. You are strong, and you have come so far. Your family is so proud of you, and that has never changed. It’s a lot to take in, but right now, in this moment, you just need to breathe,” I told him.
&#x200B;
A couple of tears ran down his face. He nodded slightly, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t scared or surprised. He just felt relieved. For a second, someone listened. No judgement, no pressure of any kind. Just acceptance.
&#x200B;
I, however, was surprised. This time it was different. For once someone could hear me. Whatever is was that didn’t work before worked now. I was filled with excitement, something I had not felt in a long time. It had been so long since I made a real difference. This is my chance to set things right. Relieve the humans of their stress, anxiety and pain. And it all starts with Josh.
&#x200B;
Hours passed. He asked me questions and I answered them to the best of my ability. We kept on talking for a while. Even if I knew everything about him, it was nice just to talk to someone who wasn’t an angel. And I knew it was important to him too. How much he needed it. Eventually he asked for my help.
&#x200B;
“Things are going to be alright. I can’t fix it for you, but I can give you what you need to do it yourself. Or rather, show you what you need. Because you already have it. You just don’t see it right now,” I explained.
&#x200B;
He fell silent. A moment later he exhaled, and a little smile appeared on his face. He seemed lighter.
&#x200B;
Josh didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. I saw it on him. He smiled again, and went inside the house. Just before he entered he turned around and looked over the same sights he had in front of him the entire night. He could not see it then, but he could now. The sun was rising.
&#x200B;
Just as he saw the sun between the treetops I heard a different voice.
&#x200B;
“God? It me…”
|
Lying on my bed I'm my room, the blackouts closed... it's too warm you know. I like a colder room. Something a bit more comfortable. Sometimes I just sit there pondering impossible questions... tracing the lines in the giprock ceiling...
"What's for supper?"
"How will college be when I enter for the first time in 3 months? Next September."
"Where does your conscience go when you die?"
"Where did my brother's conscience go that day two years ago?"
"What is heaven like? Or does it even exist?"
This is nice I thought to myself. Today was my two year anniversary in heaven. Apperently a garden area opened up, although I didn't listen to the speaker, they are always so over the top with their celebrations...
the hall was both long and short, perfectly bright but not so that it hurt your eyes. A hint of orange, like a sunset or a dawn that was just about to ha-
"**WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS STUPID SERVER.** ^(Man) ^(I'm) ^(about) ^(to) **THROW THIS STRAIGHT INTO SAGITTARIOUS A**"
^("Sir) ^(please,) ^(calm) ^(do-")
**"JESUS CHRIST ON TH-"**
"Ya dad?"
^("Oh) ^(for) ^(fuck) ^(sakes) No, not you son... I swear to god" ^("sir) ^(you) ^(are) ^(god")
**"I KNOW"** *sigh* "I just don't get it. I haven't been able to get on the Perseus or Sagittarius servers for like 2000 years. I can join but no one can hear me. I wish they'd just make a Orion server already. I have shit ping to Earth from both Sagittarius and Perseus."
Ha, someone sounds like they are technologically inept.
"Alright smartass, **How about *you* fix this then?**"
Hahaha, and now they want me help. Well is- wait. Did I say that out loud?
"No, I hear, see, and know all. Who you think your foolin' kiddo"
"Well... Now I've done it" I didn't bother to keep that to myself.
As I look at the screen I notice something uncanny. It looks exactly like discord... There are so many servers... This guy really needs BetterDiscord. Alright let's see, Sagittarius Arm is the server...
"What chat room did you want?"
"Earth... but it's hopeless. I have been trying for 2000 years" He responded confident and hopeless.
"Ya well my last exposure to tech was 2 years ago, yours was... what... like an eternity ago?" I responded sarcastically.
You see, I'm an asshole through and through. I didn't really think about who I was insulting but to be honest I couldn't care less. Part of being a dedicated dick.
"Do you want to get smited you little shit?"
"And who would fix your mock up discord old man?"
"Boy... Do you even know what's wrong with it?"
I took a look up and down the screen. Ah, input devices. Definitely the issue... Telepathic Input? I dont see an issue, unless he doesnt have a mind...
"I heard that."
Oh ya, he does that. I'll pop him into earth and see what's wrong. *Connecting... Conne-* **Badoom.**
"Try speaking"
"I am... I told you. It does not work."
"Well how bout' you unmute your input? That might help..." I replied sarcastically.
His face froze and he just stared at me slack-jawed. It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.
^("You) ^(mean) ^(to) ^(tell) ^(me) ^(that) ^(I) ^(have) ^(been) ^(muted) ^(for) ^(2000) ^(years?) ^(Are) ^(you) ^(serious?")
"You didn't know?" I could feel laughter welling up
**"FUCK!"** he yelled
I couldn't help it. I bust out laughing. I honestly lost my marbles. My legs went wobbly and I fell to the ground. To think God has just been on mute for 2000 years. It was insane!
He shifted his chair up and moved closer to the screen, I didn't notice it before but there were over seven billion in the chat room.
"Hello, this is your lord and savior speaking." He said in a confident tone. Not two seconds later he clutched his head and sent the computer flying across the room.
"I think I'll just wait till after WW3"
———————————————————
Hey all, this is my first time doing any sort of free style writing off a prompt outside of a high school assignment and before this year English was my worst subject. (Now it's my best somehow). Anyways, given this is my first story, I'd love to hear some feedback! Formatting tips and tricks, diction recommendations, writing changes, techniques, criticisms, and recommendations are all welcome!
I also wrote this whole thing on mobile so have a little mercy on my soul. Haha
| 2019-06-03T11:16:07
| 2019-06-03T10:40:47
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] You are pretty sure that your roommate is a new villain terrorizing the city and you are conflicted. They cook extra food for you and your other roommates frequently, pay you their share of the bills on time, and even help to clean the apartment. They are the perfect roommate.
|
Sarah looked at her breakfast and sighed in contentment. Was this heaven? She definitely thought so. Because how else would she be able to have breakfast at home that too expertly made. Her new roommate, Gillian was godsend. She had had her fair share of roommates, including the three she lived with right now but Gillian- Gillian was an angel. Everyday Gillian said she accidentally made extra breakfast, extra enough for three other roommates. She was never late on her share of rent or any other bill and even kept the flat in order! Sarah knew if this kept up she was going to fall in love with her.
She picked up the paper and saw the headline staring at her *The Ghost Killer Strikes Again!"
"Again." She muttered horrified as she started reading the paper.
*"Brian, 32, has been found dead in his apartment by Jane, his friend, on the morning of November 15th. Jane told us that she was worried because Brian hadn't picked up his phone in days, but our sources tell us that Brian was seen the past night partying at the club "Adieu" with a female companion.
The ghost killer has the habit of leaving absolutely zero evidence at the crime scene and in fact a better a apartment than the tenant maintained themselves. The only thing ever left behind was a pink handkerchief. But the details of the handkerchief has been released first time to the public. There's a small bunny holding a flower embroidered in the corner.
So if any of our readers has seen or has any knowledge about this feel free to contact info@suncity.news.com or call 911."*
Sarah froze has she read the last paragraph over and over again. She knew that handkerchief, she saw that handkerchief. She put down the paper and swallowed the last bite as fast as she could. If her intuitions were correct, which she really hoped it was not, then she definitely had a lead on the killer.
~
Sarah was thankful that she was alone in the apartment otherwise she could never have done this because telling the others would be disaster. What if she was wrong? Or worse. What if she was right?!
She slowly opened the door and looked at the impeccably made bed and swallowed. Was she certain that she wanted to do this? She gulped. Yes, yes she had to. Because she needed to know the truth. She started with nightstand drawers like an amateur. Before moving to the wardrobe, careful not to move anything much because Sarah knew her roommate was going to notice. She looked at every single drawer. But she found nothing. Her heart started to return to it's normal rhythm. She was mistaken. It must've been something else.
Sighing she sat down on the bed rubbing her face in exhaustion. She looked up and saw an adorable girl staring back at her from the photo frame kept on the bedside table. Smiling softly, she picked up the picture. She knew who this was. It was her roommates sister, who unfortunately died when she was 16. She didn't know much about how because it was too personal and she wasn't that good friends with her roommates that she could've asked her.
Sarah was about to put down the picture when something caught her eye. Something peaking out of the girls purse.
"Fuck."
~
It was time to know the truth. And before confronting a possible killer she needed to make sure she was absolutely right.
Sarah opened her laptop and waited for it to load. Why the fuck did computers go so slow especially when they know you are in a hurry? Finally the chime sounded, making her jump and why shouldn't it, she was possibly flatmates with a killer.
Calm down, she told herself.
She took a deep breath. It absolutely had zero effect. So she got down to business. And wrote the first thing that came to her mind, Connie Williams, instantly a page filled with one horrific article after another jumped up.
*Teen brutally murdered.*
*Teen murdered, foul play suspected.*
Sarah couldn't read article after article of the horrific things that the poor girl had to go through. There were a few suspects but no one had been arrested in over 10 years. The police suspected more than 5 people were involved and nothing more.
The pieces finally began to take shape in her mind. And she knew what she had to do. In fact she was going to do it today before it was too late.
~
Sarah looked as her roommate entered the flat looking beat but satisfied. She gave Sarah a smile before moving towards her room.
"I just want to let you know that I'm really grateful to have a roommate like you." Sarah said before she lost her nerve.
Her roommate smiled, confused. But Sarah waived her hand before she could say anything.
"And I also want to say that I really love that picture of your sister but I really think you should change it, Gillian." Sarah said praying that Gillian understood what she meant by it.
Gillian froze before giving a reluctant nod. She opened her mouth as if to say something.
"You don't have to. I would have done the same." Sarah said knowing it was the truth.
There was a long beat of silence before Gillian spoke.
"Thank you."
|
I've lived in this 3 bedroom townhouse for 5 years now. Moved in when I was 23. Thanks to the money left by my family life insurance policy. They died during the great attack 6 years ago by Fae Tality. She appeared on the super hero/villain circuit and absolutely devastated the city that first year. Now she controls the upper east side.
After Fae Tality killed 6 heroes and 1000 civilians, prices dropped significantly in the area. It's actually become affordable to live here and besides the police refusing to come to the area, heroes refusing to work the sector, it's a safer place. No other criminals will come into the area.
During the past 5 years it's been an absolute sideshow of crappy roommates. Not wanting to pay bills on time. Leaving messes everywhere. Late night parties. That was until Faylene moved in 6 months ago. She's the perfect roommate. Always pays her share a few days early. Cleans up with me and even enjoys Hallmark movies. With the holidays coming up, we have a lot of cheesey Hallmark movies to watch. I still don't know why Jack moved out of the other bedroom without notice but he'd left his share for two months on the bed, so I'm not complaining.
Faylene is an amazing cook. And honestly the more it's just us here, the more I want it just us here. Home finally feels peaceful. I do wish some days the area wasn't controlled by a super villain but Faylene and I agree that it's safer now than ever before. Especially for two women at night. I can jog with both headphones in.
Faylene seemed extra tired this week. I guess work has been getting to her. We don't ever discuss work. I mean ever. All she's ever told me was that she works on private government contracts and can't talk about it. I get it. As a psychiatrist, I can't talk about my work. But I can tell work has been getting to her. When she walked in the door today, she basically fell face first into the couch.
That's when I noticed something I hadn't seen before, or I guess more likely she hid, she had elf ears on. I didn't know she was into cosplay. That's so cool. But that red on her hoodie, is it blood? It can't be, the whole area is safe. No one would harm a pedestrian without risking the wrath of Fae Tality. And then it clicked.
| 2022-11-20T10:38:02
| 2022-11-20T09:59:05
| 111
| 50
|
[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you".
|
I don’t remember much from the room, not that there *was* much to remember. I think that was the point though. A toilet, a bed, a sink, a door. That’s it. About 20 or 30 times a day I would see a dim eyeball peer through the little circular latch in the door. Whoever it was never spoke, they only looked me over and scanned the room for a few seconds before swinging the latch closed. Sometimes the eye would be a different color, or a different shape, but it was always the same circumstance. I don’t remember ever eating, or even getting hungry or thirsty for that matter. I don’t think I even used the toilet once. Did I bathe myself in the sink? I seem to recall, but it’s hazy. It was so long ago. I have absolutely no memory from before the room, if there even was a “before the room”. For all I know, I was born in that room.
I do, however, remember the first and only time the door opened.
I heard a series of metallic sliding and thunking noises coming from the door. It startled me and I pressed myself against the wall opposite the door. It swung open and on the other side stood a meek, old man in front of a long, dimly lit metal hallway. He hesitated for a moment before blurting out “We need you.”
I too hesitated, but managed to force out, “Where am I?”
“We’re deep underground… in Antarctica.” The old man answered.
“What is this? Am I a prisoner? How long have I—” but the man interrupted my string of questions.
“There’s no time, please follow me.”
The old man turned and started down the hallway. I followed, tentatively. The hallway was longer than it had looked from the room and it was all exactly the same: bare metal walls and ceiling, concrete floor, the occasional lightbulb strung on the wall. The entire place was as silent as the room, save for the echoing of our steps. After a few minutes, we came to a large vault door. The old man started at turning the huge metal wheel on the door but he was struggling to get it going. I stepped beside him and took hold of the wheel. “Let me try,” I suggested. He took a step back and I managed to turn the heavy wheel, although it was far easier for me than for the old man. He gave me a smile and placed his hand on my shoulder before I pulled the vault door open. Behind the door was a large living area of sorts. About a dozen cots lined the walls on either side, empty shelving in between each. At the end of the room were two more rooms, one with a sink and toilet, the other with tall shelving, mostly empty save for a few cans of food scattered about. A closed door was in between those two rooms.
The old man led me through the living area to the closed door at the end. He swiftly pushed open the door and about 10 feet in front of him was a tubular elevator. He pulled this sort-of translucent orange card out of his pocket and swiped it in front a panel on the side of the elevator. The doors slid open with a hiss and the old man stepped in. He turned around and quietly beckoned “Come.” I stepped in next to him, the doors hissed shut, he slid his card on another panel, and the elevator took off. It was fast and I nearly lost my balance. “Wait’ll you see what’s next,” the old man chuckled.
When the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors opened once again, I couldn’t believe what I saw: a chair. It was a chair just sitting in a tiny dark room. It was a comfortable-looking chair, but still just a chair. The old man ushered me over to the chair and coaxed me to sit; so I sat. I looked on, bewildered, as this old man I had just met pulled straps and buckles from the backside of the chair and wrapped them around the front, buckling me in. He reached into his shirt and revealed another translucent orange card that he had strung around his neck. He pulled it over his head and stuck it into a slot in the chair. There was an odd beeping sound, followed by a loud sliding sound, like two huge stones grinding on one another, and the walls around me began receding into the floor. The walls fell away and I saw a gigantic screen illuminated in front of me. I took a quick survey of the rest of the room and there were now four doorways behind me. This new room was not concrete or steel, but something entirely different. I was almost blinded by how bright that room was compared to my previous living area. An enormous sound boomed from outside, shaking the entire facility. I turned back around in fear and met the eyes of the old man. He was looking at me fondly, with tears streaming down his face meeting with an unsure smile. “We tried,” he whimpered, “let them know we *really* tried.” I could see the faint glow of a planet with some random data displayed on the screen behind his head. He met my eyes once again and placed a piece of paper into my hands. I looked down and saw an image of a group of scientists, one of whom was clearly the old man when he was younger. “Godspeed,” the old man continued. He started out the door before I shouted out “WAIT!” He turned. “What’s my name?” I asked. He choked back more tears and finished “We called you Adam,” before hurrying back into the elevator.
The elevator closed up, being covered by a new wall. The room began shaking violently before I was being pulled down into my chair by sheer force. At that point, the screen changed and I could see the Earth. I saw the outside of the facility from which I was leaving, a large concrete structure somewhere in the middle of a desert. As more of the Earth became visible, I realized it was mostly desert with few small bodies of water left. I was pulling away from the planet at an incredible speed. Soon I could see it only as a small brown ball in the middle of space.
The force was released and I unclipped myself from the chair. Soon after that, I learned to access the files that were contained on that orange card. Video, audio, text, images, everything containing the entire history of the Earth and all of the peoples thereon. All of our triumphs, failures, and entertainment, from the beginning to the end. The whole of human history left in my hands.
According to the computer, it will take me about 19 years to reach my destination, and I’m only now about halfway there. At least now I have some entertainment.
|
The metal clanking of the door latch rattles through the black, cement room once again. The piercing light hits your eyes briefly before disappearing behind the figure looking in on you. You can remember a time when you desperately tried to communicate with this figure, begging for any kind of explanation as to where you are and why, but this was never successful. Questions about the circumstances surrounding all of this used to occupy you obsessively, but after so long, you’ve given into apathy and indifference. The figure makes no sound, watches you for a few seconds, and then slams the latch shut, leaving you alone again in the darkness of your cell.
They’ll check on you again in an hour. You know this because, back in the beginning when you first found yourself here, you sat and counted the seconds in between each check. Knowing this is the only way you’ve been able to keep track of how long you’ve been captive – 136 days.
The most apparent thing to you upon your first wakening in this hell is the fact that you cannot remember anything – nothing at all! Who are you? What have you done? You still have concepts of language, mathematics, history – everything you’ve learned throughout your life. But nothing exists in your head that is specific to you. No memories of parents or siblings. No friends or spouses or children. No job or hobby. Hollow information makes up your brain and your individuality began only when you opened your eyes in this cell.
Fantasies of escaping this place used to fill most of your thoughts. You would dream of taking that figure behind the door down; beating the literal breath out of him. Of course, with your frame, you knew this to be unrealistic. You weren’t old, but your exact age was still a mystery. From the small light emanating periodically from the door, you know you have long black hair and that you’re very thin. At maybe five foot four, a small woman fighting her way out of this is not going to happen. Still, the thoughts of it gave you the adrenaline you needed to make it until the next day.
Eventually, depression crippled you for quite some time. It was day 56 when you tried to drown yourself in the toilet, a task that was actually more difficult than you’d imagined. These toilets have maybe a few inches of standing water and driving your head all the way to the bottom and forcefully taking in breaths of this dank liquid was an almost unimaginable way for you to go, and yet, you did it. The burning in your nostrils and lungs with each inhale still lingers in your mind. After a few minutes, you remember the peaceful nothingness as you lost consciousness, and gained your freedom. Or so you thought.
You woke the next morning, with toilet still on your breath, but alive as ever. Fuck.
The next few weeks, you tried to get more creative. You tied your bedsheets to the sink and tried to hang yourself with them, only to wake with a sore neck and steady heartbeat. You refused water for nine days. Nine! A torturous attempt that somehow failed. Finally, on day 100, feeling especially hopeless, you began banging your head against the concrete wall until you lost consciousness. The headaches lasted for days after that, but your mind and body were left fully operational.
Thoughts don’t even occupy you anymore. Sleep is the most exciting activity and the one that fills most of your days. You are awoken once an hour by the ear-piercing grinding of metal from the door latch, you carve out another notch in the wall next to you to keep track of the time, and then fall back to sleep. You figure you are going to be doing this for the rest of your life, and there’s not a thing you can do to change that. Frustration, depression, anxiety…these are worthless to you. You’ve accepted your fate.
You hear the metal of the door again. The latch opens, light shines through, a figure watches you briefly, and it closes again. But more sounds follow it! You can hear a lock disengage, and the door begins to open slowly. Light pours into the room; more light than you can ever remember seeing in your life. You instinctively shut your eyes and shield them with your arms, giving them more time to adjust. As you peak through, you see a man standing in the doorway. He is large, larger than you, but a 280lb, 6ft 3in silhouette is all you can make out.
“We need you. Please step this way.” His deep voice bounces through the room.
You panic. This is more stimulation than you’re prepared for. The thought of leaving this prison should delight you, but instead you’re crippled by fear. The light is easier on your eyes now, and you begin to see the man more clearly. He is young, maybe late 20s, with dark hair. He wears some sort of uniform you don’t recognize. You definitely notice that he has a gun holstered to his belt. You remain still and silent.
He notices you glancing at his gun. “It’s required for our uniform. But it’s not like YOU have to worry about it at all.” He tries to put you at ease, and you can almost make out a chuckle.
He’s obviously implying something by saying that, but you have no idea what it could mean.
“I’m not here to answer your questions, I’m here to take you to the boss. You’ll find your answers there.”
| 2018-07-31T16:09:56
| 2018-07-31T15:36:37
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] The End Times have come, but not in a way commonly portrayed in books and movies. Write about this apocalyptic scenario and how the world is reacting to it...
I am a huge fan of everything from The Road to The Walking Dead to I Am Legend to The Last of Us. All of it. I love post-apocalypse novels/movies/games and would love you read some of the stuff you guys come up with! Make it different!
|
I was promised angels turning the seas into blood, four horsemen, and trumpets heralding the end of days, some grim reward as affirmation of my faith. I was promised a cataclysm in the form of a meteorite, the sun going supernova, the heat death of the universe, reassurance that our understanding of the universe was correct. Life and death are full of empty promises.
“What is the meaning of life?” Well, one fateful night, a mathematician in Oslo happened upon a correct, objective answer. If the good professor had discovered the truth and not told anyone, he would have taken the answer with him into oblivion. However, some things once known cannot be unknown. The truth now swirls and screams in the collective unconscious of all who remain. To find the answer, one must simply look within and ask the question. The answer, still unknown to me, negates your existence, after all, once you beat the game, what is the point of playing? Now all I can do is wait, in the emptying city, for my curiosity to get the better of me...
|
They were the worst of humanity. Each one of them was a monster. A universe of darkness behind a human face. This is why we condemned them to the worst fate possible. We sent them where they will not be able to hurt anyone anymore. At the Abyss, where time itself dies.
We hoped that it would be over.
Never did we expect them to be able to exploit the remaining scraps of the universe. Never did we expect them to understand Time better than we did.
Please forgive us.
| 2014-01-12T17:27:37
| 2014-01-12T16:04:00
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] You were forced to attend an interview for a job you do not want, but, no matter how hard you try to screw up the interview, the interviewer just becomes more keen to hire you.
|
I'm a writer. That's the beginning and the end of my story. I'm a writer. I write.
I have stories. I have *things to say*.
I am *not* a Refinance Document Analyst 1. Maybe you are, but not me.
My wife - bless her - is an honest, earnest woman. A doctor. She works hard. She's very smart. But still, smart people can be blinded by their own logic sometimes. Happens to the best of us. Sometimes smart people see the world in black and white - where you're either making money or you're "unemployed." Not realizing that there's a middle path. The path to enlightenment. The path of the Writer.
So she tells me to get a job. Is my making money truly necessary? I would say no. I would suggest that my words - as seemingly monetarily valueless as they may presently appear - are greater than any paycheck. I would suggest that she's a *fucking doctor*, so let's be real for a moment. This is not about a paycheck - this is about the creative process. And a boat. She wants to buy a boat.
I don't even *like* the water.
So when I apply to jobs, I do so out of marital duty. To show that I am trying, even though I am not. I am a writer, after all. Writers can only be counted on to try during moments of great inspiration and/or the waning hours of a deadline.
I understand this. *You* understand this. Why Barry Blankenshop of First Fourth National Bank of Wattsborough doesn't understand this is anyone's guess.
You see, I applied to the position of Refinance Document Analyst - which is exactly the Lovecraftian nightmare it sounds like - knowing full well that I was neither qualified nor capable. But my wife checks on these things and it's good to have references - or, more accurately, the names of sample HR directors to curse out over the dinner table.
These days I curse the name of Barry Blankenshop, though for significantly different reasons than usual.
For starters, how in the world was my application ever picked out of the pile to begin with? I have a number of tactics that I employ with regularity to prevent just such a calamity. In this case, I:
*Provided no prior employment history
*Intentionally misspelled my own name repeatedly
*Listed only deceased celebrities as my references
*And left no personal contact information
Perhaps Barry Blankenshop is illiterate? Perhaps he loathes his job as much as I loathe the idea of working? Who can know?
He tracked me down somehow, apparently through some combination of Google searching and yellow page cold calling. My wife was present when I answered the phone and I was so caught off guard I didn't think to pretend that Barry had reached the wrong number. We agreed to a time and place for an interview. I did not show up.
I have to assume this happens often. But I also assume this is the sort of thing that usually disqualifies someone from the offered post. No such luck. Barry called back. I ignored him. He called my wife and offered to reschedule.
I was trapped.
There was no avoiding the interview then. I went, my wife watching me as I slouched out to the car. It was a dire situation. Fortunately, I had not exhausted my tried-and-true tactics.
Unfortunately, I had deeply underestimated the otherworldly lunacy of Barry Blankenshop.
He was a smallish man, perma-sunburned with curly hair the color of uncooked rice noodles. He smiled as he greeted me, smacking his lips and saying something to the effect of, "Aha! Here is the man! The man of the hour!"
We sat down. He offered me a coffee. I requested a Coke Lemon.
"Ah! Another lemonhead?" he exclaimed. Apparently he had stockpiled the long-since discontinued drink. I received my can, which I opened but did not drink.
"How did you hear about First Fourth National?" he asked.
"My weed dealer banks here."
Blankenshop laughed. "We *are* very discreet! I see you've no experience in document analysis, right?"
I nodded. "Screen blindness. I can't look at a computer screen for more than five minutes at a time without going temporarily blind."
"Pity," said Blankenshop solemnly. "Lucky for you, we are entirely computer-free here at First Fourth. All hard copies, all the time."
"How...is that even possible?" I asked.
"Much safer," said Blankenshop. "No cyber terrorists this way. Saves money, too - a ream of paper costs less than any laptop!"
"That's not...quite comparable."
"Now," pressed Blankenshop, leaning across the desk, conspiratorially. "What would you consider to be your biggest weakness?"
I considered myself. I considered the man. "...cocaine?"
Blankenshop laughed, slapping his hands on the desk. "A sense of humor! I love it. No, no, I *know* the effects of cocaine. Firsthand. Lost my grandmother that way. Tried to fight a city bus. She was special. Cherish your loved ones. Anyway, I can tell you're a straight shooter. How do you deal with turmoil in the workplace?"
The man was insane. The usual tactics were powerless. I was swinging wildly now, just looking to make contact. "Segregate out all the Jews?"
Blankenshop's brow furrowed deeply. He looked angry for a moment. I had a glimmer of hope. "They *are* a clever bunch...I need to be careful with you! You'll be gunning for my job in no time!"
"I would literally rather throw myself in front of your grandmother's bus," I replied. Blankeshop hooted.
"Gallow's humor! It's a difficult industry, certainly. You seem well-suited to it."
"What *is* this job?" I half-shouted. "What the hell does a Refinance Document Analyst even do?"
"You know...I'm not sure," said Blankenshop. "Training Department should be able to give you the layout. I'm just tasked with finding a good fit."
"A good fit for a job you know nothing about?"
"Attitude is everything at First Fourth," said Blankenshop. "And you've got the right attitude."
"I hate you."
"Ah hahaha! You can't turn it off! I love it. You'll be very popular. If I'm being honest, morale is not what it ought to be. No idea why." Blankenshop stuck out a feeble little paw. "What do you say? Join the team?"
Now, obviously I said yes, and I said yes because I love my wife and don't enjoy being yelled at.
The work is awful. I do very little of it. I manage every interaction with enormous, open disdain. I do not even clean up the office microwave after I am done.
I am a monster.
I am also, likely by no coincidence, now a Refinance Document Analyst *2*. Because the world is a dark satire, much stranger and crueler than anything I could ever write.
|
The old man sat with wrinkled hands,
And a far more wrinkled brow,
Shoulders weighed down by a career's demands,
To be uplifted two weeks from now.
The notice was saved as a pdf,
Attached to a stale email in drafts,
For tenure alone was why he was left,
And his position had to be staffed.
Across the table was one his junior,
With a stain across his shirt,
But to the elder baby boomer,
This position he would not skirt.
"Is there a drug test?"
The new one asked, and rubbed a reddened eye,
"And if I fail, can I do my best,
To just give it another second try?"
"We dare not discriminate,
Should you provide a doctors note.
Which shall therefore authenticate,
Any symptoms, no matter how remote. "
"Because I've got snow like cocaine,
And loads of amphetamines,
Plus a date with Mary Jane,
Not to mention my ketamines."
"Though it is inopportune,"
Said the senior, and frowned at the fit,
"We'll expect you quite soon?"
Because he wouldn't be around to see it.
| 2017-08-29T08:37:50
| 2017-08-29T08:33:53
| 4,166
| 21
|
[WP] The year is 2030. Bakery art is so realistic, literally anything could be cake. The uncertainty has gripped the world in fear. I go to hug my wife for comfort. She is cake.
|
I told her not to go outside, not in broad daylight. But Miri had wanted to see the sun. And they'd gotten to her.
I woke that morning to find her gone, and I panicked. I ran to the foyer of the building we'd been hiding in, and I saw her standing there.
She looked normal, just like she always did. But I knew something was wrong. I ran to her. I could tell she wasn't moving, not even breathing, even though she was still standing up. I extended a trembling hand to touch her arm, dreading what I'd find.
My fingertips came away with a thin coating of flesh-colored frosting.
My wife had become *a cake.*
At first we had thought it was whimsical. It was cute. Look a can of coke -- wait, no, it's a cake! Look, a brand-new PS5! Ha, wrong! It's a *cake!* Realistic cakes were everywhere, on social media.
And then, one day, they were just everywhere, *period.*
In the beginning, it had just seemed like really fast and extremely skilled acts of baking and legerdemain. People thought they must be some sort of guerilla street artists, trying to say something profound about society by replacing everyday objects with perfect cake-based facsimiles.
Their creations were indistinguishable from the real thing until you touched them, and then they were revealed as superficial shells of frosting and fondant concealing the truth of soft spongy cake in a variety of flavors.
But then, it started happening to animals. It even started happening to people. Cut into one of these animal or person-cakes, and you'd see the whole body rendered in cake, in perfect detail, with white sponge for bone, and different shades of red velvet for muscles and organs. These were no mere bakery creations. These were living beings, our pets, our friends, and even our families, *transmuted* into cakes.
Soon after, the Cake Cultists revealed themselves, announcing their existence to the world, along with the fact that they had members placed in the highest ranks of government, industry, and the military. They appeared on every screen -- or at least those that hadn't already been turned to cake -- announcing their goal: in service to their dark master, an entity whom they called "The Cake of Infinite Tiers" they would turn the whole world and everyone in it, into *cake.*
I dropped to my knees beside my beloved Miri, now just a cake. I wanted to hold her, but I couldn't bear the thought of her cake body crumbling in my arms, or my hot tears dissolving her frosting and fondant flesh. So I just knelt beside her, and wept.
Then I heard the footsteps. I looked up, and I saw them, walking in through the glass doors that led outside.
Cake Cultists, three of them. Each wore a long dark robe, and a mask like a black, multi-tiered wedding cake. Overcome with grief and rage, I struggled to my feet, clenching my fists in hopeless fury.
"Do it! Do it, you sons of bitches! I don't care anymore! Get it over with, you bastards!" I screamed.
The Cultists looked at each other, and then the middle cultist stepped forward. He extended his hand towards me. I felt a tingling, as I began to change...
Suddenly, a black Dodge Challenger smashed in through the glass door, and rammed right into the middle cultist, who screamed as he was slammed to ground and then crushed beneath the front tires.
A figure in a hooded leather jacket leaped out of the driver's seat of the car. The two remaining Cultists faced off against him, each extending an arm towards the new arrival. Before they could work their dark transmutation upon him, he extended an open hand towards each of them, and slowly began to close his fists.
The Cultists began to writhe and scream, clawing at their Cake-masks, which were crumpling in on themselves, getting smaller and smaller. I looked away in horror before I saw how it ended. I just heard two sickening, cracking, squelching noises, and then the sound of two bodies hitting the foyer floor.
I looked fearfully up at the stranger, his face hidden in his dark hood. He approached me, and extended his hand in my direction.
"Wait, I'm not with them, I--" I began, stammering. Then I realized he wasn't pointing his hand at me. He was pointing it at Miri.
My eyes widened, as the air around the cake that had been my wife rippled with some unseen force. The fingerprints on her arm where I'd marred her frosting vanished. There was no visible change beyond that, for the cake facsimiles were always perfect visual copies, but suddenly Miri was collapsing to the floor, gasping. She was flesh and blood again.
I cried out in wonder and relief, rushing to embrace her, pulling her close to me as she slowly regained her senses. Tearfully, I looked up at the stranger.
"Thank you! Thank God for you! How....how did you do that? Who are you?" I stammered in amazement.
He pulled back his hood, revealing a the face of a middle aged man with dark hair, and olive skin.
"The Cake Cultists have defiled that which I hold most sacred." he said, an undercurrent of passion and anger in his voice. "I'm building an army to stop them."
He extended a hand each to Miri and I to help us up. We took them, rising to stand before him. He smiled at us, warmly.
"My name is Bartolo Valastro Jr. But people call me *The Cake Boss."*
|
The TV was always on, buzzing against the back wall of the homely living room, volume up loud. Ray could hear it through the door as he fumbled with his keys. He punched out a sigh as he opened the door and stepped in. The volume multiplied without the barrier of the door to protect his ears. His feet hurt. His back was damp with sweat. His mind was tangled in a tight knot.
“You’re not deaf,” he said. He dropped his keys on the low standing coffee table. Sitting on the couch was Marilyn, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The had a book in her lap, her blue eyes glued to the page. Her pillowy lips were purses with thought as she scanned the page, brown curls tickling her shoulders. Ray took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, snatching up the remote and turning the volume down. He propped his elbow on the arm of the couch and his chin on his fist. It was some sort of baking show playing. A heavyset contestant stood beside a lifeline lion cup on a plate. The judges selected its paws to eat and complimented its moisture. Its eyes shone in the background as it was eaten.
“You know I hate this shit, Lyn,” Ray said. “With everything going on at work. That shipment of guitars we were supposed to get in? Cake. All of them. I spent thousands of dollars on fondant, I mean— This shit is ridiculous! I don’t even get why these *thieves* even go through all the effort to replicate the stock. Just put rocks or weights in the box! It’s ridiculous!”
Ray flipped through the TV guide, eventually settling on the news when he found that the most interesting program on was Grey’s Anatomy. (He shuddered at the thought.) On the screen was a blond newswoman. The title read: WILL BLACKMARKET BAKERS BE THE END OF AMERICA? The subtitle: How Cakes Have Taken Over The US Economy. There was no escape for him. He listened to the news. Though it irked him, he was glad to hear others were suffering alongside him. Wal-Mart, Amazon— everyone was being targeted. It wasn’t just his little junk music shop getting the short stick.
“See, I *told you* it was a problem, but you didn’t wanna listen.” He took to grumbling when Marilyn neglected to respond, too engrossed by her book to even lift her eyes. All over the world, goods were being replaced with cake. The newswoman reported on a rumor that said missiles bought by the US military turned out to be towers of chocolate and fondant. “Are you not hearing this? Lyn, come on. The book can’t be that damn good.” No response. Ray jumped across the couch and snatched the book from her hand.
Rather, he tried to. His fingers sunk into it, cushioned by sticky frosting and moist, yellow cake. The words written so painstakingly on the fondant stained Ray’s fingers black.
“Lyn?” He looked up slowly. Her eyes were open and blank, wet with life, but as Ray cradled her face his fingers smudged her painted pores and freckles. He ran his thumb too roughly across her cheek and tore away a layer of fondant.
| 2022-04-26T17:32:59
| 2022-04-26T16:51:39
| 232
| 26
|
[WP] You are a Psychiatrist...for gods, superheroes, villains, demons, and anthropomorphic personifications of supernatural forces. Basically, in order to find you, a being must have the ability to alter reality. Your new client appears to be a normal human being.
|
"Hello. Take a seat."
I glance at my file as my client sits down on the black leather couch.
Grayson Murphy, is his name, according to my notes.
He signed via the web! I was hoping someone would do that- I had a lot of trouble setting that up.
I glance at him, and immediately I am slightly confused.
"You...are shorter, than I expected, Mr. Murphy. Not that it matters, anyway."
I put on my glasses. I often call them my "Smart Spectacles", because it makes me seem more professional than I actually am.
"How did you get in, Mr. Murphy? Astral plane? Sixth sense? Third eye? Oh, wait, was it the Bermuda Triangle?"
He looks confused.
"No, Doctor Tweedleditweedledum. I just walked."
I laugh, and he does too. A joking demon, perhaps. Typical.
I look over his file. He is coming in for counseling due to anxiety. I can handle that.
"So, Mr. Murphy, you are here for...anxiety issues. They stem, it seems, from frequent visions."
"Yes, Doctor. I've had these awful dreams. Dreams of rainbow colored snakes, guys in masks, lizard people. Then things started getting weird. I started to think I could somehow...walk through the mirror, or even a little reflective button on someone's shirt. Even when I looked in someone's eyes I felt as if I could travel inside their eyes to a new place."
Oh. Oh! Perhaps he wasn't joking around at all! He found my website, so he has obviously had contact with one of my heralds. They plant my name and contact information in the minds of prospective clients, FYI. He's a human! But, he's obviously been changed, modified. He can see into the Mirror Dimension somehow. How weird!
I decided to test him.
"I have a task for you, my dear Mr. Murphy."
"Yes, Doctor Tweedleditweedledum?"
He stood up, eager to do the task I wanted of him.
"You may think me mad, but I want you to go to the back of the room. Take a running start."
I walked over to the wall outside my office, and created a pathway into the Mirror Dimension. Auric, and beautifully reflective. A test.
"Run right into this wall."
I patted the shimmering wall encouragingly.
"What?"
"Yes. Run into it. Do it, I promise you'll be fine. You have an old doctor's word."
He ponders for a moment, and then decides to do it. He takes the running start, and passes seamlessly through the reflection.
I run over to the wall.
"Hello there! Can you hear me?"
"Ereh fo tuo teg t'nac I mudeldeewtideldeewT rotcoDem pleh!"
Oh. Oh dear.
"Are you stuck?"
He is pounding on the wall, trying to get out. He is screaming. Oh no, can't let other clients see this!
"Terribly sorry, chap. At least you're not experiencing visions or anxiety anymore, am I right?"
I closed the pathway, and returned to my desk.
I had a lozenge. I love lozenges.
|
"So... You can't do anything out of the ordinary?"
"Was I supposed to?"
The psychiastrist sighed. This was the first time in millenniums that no special being (read: superhero/supervillain) came to him. Although he was the one responsible for having all the answers, he didn't know what to do in this case, as he spoke to a man about 25 years old.
"What bothers you, my child?"
"Ah, doc. You know. Me and my coworkers are having discussions, I hate my life, I don't know how to cook, and the team I'm rooting for lost a match!"
"Hold up, son, you said you hate your life? That's something I can handle. Who are you trying to kill?"
"Haha, doc. What do you mean?"
"A superhero, then. I see. So you can't save anyone, and that's disturbing you, right? Perhaps you aren't the perfect person for the job. I know some heroes that changed sides."
"I wouldn't call exactly saving. I think the best word is 'flirting'. Do you think I should become... homossexual?"
"I don't see a problem with that."
"Well, I think it's worth a shot. Thanks, doc!"
The psychiastrist turned his back for a moment, just to hear a big crack. As he looked back, the man had disappeared, and a hole in the doc's office had been made on the roof.
| 2018-06-30T04:49:30
| 2018-06-30T04:35:47
| 1,631
| 23
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
Lieutenant Colonel Freeman sighed. The gunfire starting to die down. He knew it wasn't a good type of die down either. It wasn't stopping because they were winning. It was stopping because his men were dying.
The General had already been killed and that put command over this base on him. The General had declared this a level 1 emergency before he had died. But if they broke the surface it would have to escalate more. There was no way they could evacuate even a 10th of the planet in time. No, they would have to detonate the nuke and take out the facility before the surface could be breached.
The Lieutenant Colonel looked over at his remaining staff, Sargent Jackson and Captain Koh, the only ones to stay behind and help keep command while everyone else was fighting to protect the bunker.
"Captain, run over who has escaped again." Asked the Lieutenant Colonel.
"Sir, the Martians escaped and freed the Venutions, who freed the Plutonions, who freed the chubacabra, which chewed through the cage of the big foots, uh feet? Regardless, they in turn broke the aquarium holding the Loch Ness monster, which fried our systems and unlocked the cages for the Giants, unicorns, Michael Jackson, Elvis, and the original Paul McCartney. They are all fighting for the surface and are at the main bulk head."
The Lt. Colonel sighed "shit."
"Sir," this time it was the Sargent's turn to speak, "the President is on the line."
The Lt. Colonel sighed again and looked at his computer screen, "put him through." His skin crawling as the lizard appeared on screen.
"Colonel, I am aware of your situation. It is now a level 0. Handle this now." The President hissed.
The screen went black and it seemed so did all the noise. Slowly the Lt. Colonel shifted his eyes from the black screen to the orange square with just a number scrawled on it. "867-5309"
Slowly he reached for the phone. Dialing the number. His breathing heavy and labored. Listening as the line rang before hearing someone pick up.
"Hello, this is Chuck Norris."
|
"Let's just get started already... You know what a Level 0 means. We have to dammit! We're out of options." snarled General Jones.
"Wait!" I shouted. "He's been gone for 3 years. How do we know it's actually him?!?"
"Once you've seen him, heard him, felt his presence, and that hair... You KNOW who it is... now just do it already!"
"But he always seemed so nice. What happened?!?"
"They got to him kid! Now shut up and get to work."
"I've never done it before General. What am I supposed to do?"
The General stomps over to his safe, unlocking it with an fervor not regularly seen on his stoic face.
"Here's the VHS tape. It'll show you everything you need to know..."
As the General sauntered out of the room, I find the ancient looking VCR in the General's quarters. I shove the tape in and terrified to see what I'll find, I push PLAY.
I stare at the TV as the staticky image finally starts to become clear.
"This?!?" I wondered. "This is what would be the only thing in the world that can save us all from his wrath?"
"Sweatin' to the Oldies."
| 2017-03-21T06:56:08
| 2017-03-21T04:28:29
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] As punishment for being depressed, you’re forced to peel potatoes with a potato. People try to help, but all they do is hand you more potatoes.
|
Henry left the prison psychiatrist pissed off more than anything. "Always the same damn routine", he muttered to himself. As he slammed the door shut, he was warned by the guards to cool down. He ignored their warnings and marched straight to the garden.
As he entered the prison garden, he was assaulted with a sack of the starchy vegetables by the prison guard on duty. As he got to begin working, it only took him 10 minutes before he broke down crying, trying to find a way to peel the skin off without breaking the core.
"Hey man.. don't cry man. Here, take this, it'll help", a nearby prison mate stretched out his hand.
Sniffling, Henry didn't bother to look at the item and snatched it away before he changed his mind. Imagine his frustration when he was handed yet another potato. "For fucks sake..." he thought to himself.
The more he continued working, the more he found himself being harassed by the versatile ingredient. Everywhere he turned, it was like there was someone new presenting him with it, sort of like a trophy.
Back in the office, Doctor Phillips gazed at Henry in disappointment, as he opened the door to usher in an older couple. They were not elderly, but were on their way there. They sat down and stared at him hopefully, as they eagerly waited for a verdict.
"Nothing seems to be working. He's still going back to the routine of his punishment back on the farm. Every time I bring up the incident he just shuts off and goes into a loop. It's the only way he can cope with what he did. That crash didn't just take his wife and daughter away, it took something more."
Henry's mother wiped the tear from her cheek, as more cracks started to appear in her armour. His parents gazed longingly at him as he continued to press the soft exterior of the vegetables together, in his hopes of making at least one thing in his life come off easily.
|
The smell drives me mad, the potatoes given to us are usually warm seemingly microwaved. I believe it just to be the sun baking them as they are harvested, transported and brought in by the truckload. Starch has permanently stained our fingertips white, our hands contain the moisture as we desperately try to grip the slippery surface of the vegetable, accidentally wringing it of its natural juice. This job has driven me to a breaking point, and I believe it has done the same for everyone else here. The only thing we have in common besides these potatoes that plague our existence is our increased state of depression.
The Head-Master believes depression can spread much like a virus, therefore teams are sent out every few months going door to door collecting information. The information consists of a basic test and a few jokes told while hooked up to a beeping machine that monitors if your laugh is genuine or not. If you fail either of these tests, you will be summoned to the peeling house, which is where the food is produced to sustain our ever growing population. The Head-Master who has devised this plan of sobriety flaunts his iron grip over our community of a little over four hundred million. The rest of the world has been captured by our forces and slaughtered. Some would consider them unfortunate, but I consider them lucky to not have to be forced to a life like this. The 6 continents that do not house life now are fertile soil in which we grow one crop and one crop alone. The Potato.
I have been here for a little over 10 years the reason being I failed an evaluation, in which I am classified as depressed. We are told our depression, over time, will be replaced with the greater feeling of helping our community, but that could not be farther from the truth. The delusional Head-Master only gives those showing signs of improvement access to a small piece of metal which increases work 10 fold for most of our veteran peelers. I envy those who reach this status because their stay is almost over, and will be integrated back into society. I myself am forced to use the potatoes no one will eat as my main peeler, my neighboring workers do the same. It seems an impossible task but you make it work after being here long enough.
I stash the potatoes containing imperfections, many with raises on their skin, or strange divots. They do a much better job at breaking the skin of their smooth counterparts. I work from 8-8 most days, giving an evaluation every 4 days to see if there is any improvement. But there is not; There has not been for 10 long years.
Today is different though, when I step into evaluation they ask me the questions I am all too familiar with…
*Will you risk your life for the headmaster?*
*Do you feel different?*
*Do potatoes improve life?*
Today I answer yes to them all. The two slender beings wearing long white lab coats click a button which starts the comedy segment. This clip contains the Head-Master telling stories of life as a child, he gets halfway through before he bursts into laughter amusing only himself. I chuckle today and even I am surprised I give in.
Within the hour I receive the metal peeler which allows me to work much much faster. I am so intrigued with my work I stay through the night peeling. I feel asleep in my exhaustion drenched in sweat from the excitement; I was finally fulfilling my calling. I was released within a few months back to a life of freedom, completely free of depression. I am sorry to say, I cannot say the same for the other third of the world.
The morning of my successful examination was slightly different than the rest. It was the morning in which I finally had enough collected enough rat poison from the work bathrooms, offices, and warehouse to weaken the iron grip of the Head-Master. I knew the peeler would be my best option as I could coat the potato in a toxic substance. They come from the warehouse “pre-washed” which I know to well to be false, so it was a perfectly devised plan. I sat at my home months later watching news feeds of hospitals full, the only unaffected were those once subjected to the peel-house. Those previous slaves always rinsed the potatoes because of the potential dirty starch stained hands of workers.
The news switches its feed to a live shot of the peeling house. There he sits, potatoes in each hand. The Head-Master.
| 2019-05-20T08:44:28
| 2019-05-20T08:05:42
| 109
| 38
|
[WP] The first time machine is mounted to a satellite in order to map the Earth through its entire life. As the data comes in, it becomes apparent history drastically differs from what we previously thought it to be.
|
The machine only showed one picture a day, you could photograph different parts of the earth, but only at the same time minimum, another day.
You couldn't have a picture of the same portion of land in more granularity, such were the rules of "time photograph" physics.
The calculations took time, but the satellite was launched and it was slowly mapping all of earth throughout all time.
The pictures were relayed to earth by the few engineers that run the satellite on site, so they were able to see the pictures before anyone on earth (and not anyone could too, you had to have the proper clearance for most of them) -- they really enjoyed this privilege.
After years of rotations, Mark and John (and a few others) turn came, and so they were lifted to the satellite to replace the previous crew. They were mapping year 1150.
Mark had been vacationing on a secluded island near Hawaii for a long time before applying and subsequently being selected for this job, so he had a particular interest to see how his favorite island had evolved through time, and what better time to start than the decade they were mapping.
It was, as expected as it was not discovered, completely deserted, so it was with great surprise that he told John what he found.
\- "Look at that man, is that a letter made with logs?"
\- "Looks like a M, doesn't it?"
It was enough to spike their interest, so after the satellite was done mapping that hour in all of earth, and it was time to photograph the island again, they were anxious to see it.
An A.
How strange they thought.
Then came the R, and the K.
\- "That's my name", said Mark.
\- "How is this possible", his friend replied.
\- "I don't know, but we have to find out. Every day we go back, a new letter pops out. They must know we are watching!"
They went through the paperwork to request the acceleration of the mapping of the island, and they were elated when it was approved. That something was odd was easy to see by their superiors.
The rest of the message was easily deciphered, one letter a day. It started to read:
"MARK WHEN THE ENGINE OVERLOADS YOU HAVE ONLY SECONDS TO"
How could this be possible? The duo discussed, they couldn't wait to finish reading the message. Was something going to happen in the satellite? How could the people in the island know, so far in the past?
Unless... of course, both of them had read and watched enough science fiction to quickly guess what was up.
And as soon as the alarms starting screaming, they locked eyes.
The engine was overloading.
23 seconds later the satellite exploded, somehow transporting Mark and John to that island the satellite was stationed above, so many centuries in the past.
\- "Why couldn't I convey the message sooner, John?"
\- "Well, we can try again with fewer words this time"
----
After years of studying the incident, the scientists on earth discovered what happened. You cannot have the machine focused on the same location so many days on a row, it overloads the whole system.
The final words of the report read:
"If only nothing had caught our eyes on that island, Mark, John, and the rest of the crew would still be here with us".
|
"Aliens?"
He looked again. There it was, an alien craft.
In the search that followed, they found more and more of them... and a pattern. About every 10,000 years, a craft came by, something got out, and went hunting. the last visit dropped an ice comet on the planet.
Looking further back... they had even hunted dinosaurs. And then they- pushed a meteor? oh dear. The last visit was 9,999 years ago, and six months.
"Aliens" he said, as he poured himself a glass of scotch. And then he drank.
| 2015-08-17T13:28:15
| 2015-08-17T12:55:51
| 21
| 12
|
[WP] Today you found out that your girlfriend is a murderous psychopath as she cuts you into pieces and hugs your severed head while she slept, only for her to found out your secret, that you're an immortal who can survives anything. Describe the morning after that. [Possibly NSFW?]
Yandere girlfriend and immortal guy!
|
"Good morning, dear."
They said Monday morning couldn't get any worse. So what in the world is any good in today, of all time?
"Can't breathe..." I mumbled in-between her clothed bosom. At least I was thankful to have a girlfriend this well-endowed. If only her mind were as developed as her body.
"Then, don't hug me so tight or I'll get excited again."
"My body is over there, actually."
She glanced at my lower half, or more like, 6/7 portion of my entire body walking about on the room trying to find my missing socks. Years of being immortal made me capable of doing various things. It wasn't the first time someone tried to kill me this way, the last time was in England. Still, it's the first time my head being embraced this much.
"So, an immortal..." She raised my head into the air, just like a baby. "First time I've seen one."
"First time I meet a serial killer as well. What do they say it in Chinese... 'young-there'?"
She chuckled. "It's 'yandere', dear, and it's in Japanese." Suddenly, she became all gloomy.
"What's wrong?"
"So, after this we'll break up, right? I guess it's the last time I could call you 'dear' like this. I'll miss it."
I decided to be blunt. "Do you still love me or what?"
"I should be the one to ask." Tears starting to build up. "It's the first time my victim ever talked to me after I killed them. I don't know what to do."
"So you still love me."
It finally rivers through her cheeks. She hugged me again, tighter than before. "...yes."
Damn it. This is why I love her so much. It's probably the first time someone ever loved me this much. Well, I've always tried to avoid any emotional contacts with another human, considering how I would outlive them. It was the first time I ever had a girlfriend either.
Well, sucks to be her. She'll be the one to cry when she dies before me.
"Say, could you put my head where it was? I wanna make some coffee."
She asked, "Is that mean 'yes'?"
"That I still love you? Yes, yes of course. Now, if you mind?"
Her gloom earlier was gone, replaced by one of the most joyful smile I've ever seen throughout my entire 5 thousand years of life. Or is it 6? I've lost count.
"I'll make it for you. No sugar?"
"You just want to hold my head, huh?"
She gave a nod.
|
It didn't take long for me to remember the horrors of my nightmare when I woke up. I had dreamt that my girlfriend, Sophie, had brutally murdered me. Although the meaning behind the dream was not clear, I wanted to forget about it so I took a shower.
I thought about our upcoming anniversary as a distraction and I panicked. I had forgotten to buy her a gift and it was only two days away. I rushed to get changed and hurried to the door. I was desperate to get into the town centre before the shops were crammed with customers so I mashed the elevator button. I heard one of my elderly neighbours mutter "impatient bastard" as he passed by but I did not care.
The doors opened and as I waited impatiently for the elevator to reach the ground floor, I started thinking about what I should buy. When the doors opened once more I power walked my way to the bus stop and caught the bus. We were held up by what seemed to be hundreds of traffic lights but we finally arrived and I was still unsure as I alighted.
I decided that chocolates were probably the safest gift to get so I found our local chocolatier. I walked back to the bus stop, carrying the bag in my left hand. I knew Sophie would reward me very well for this. Very well indeed. I smiled remembering her naked body a few nights ago but I quickly realised where I was and tried to distract myself.
The bus came and who should get off but my girlfriend. I quickly hid the chocolates behind my back thinking she had seen them but instead her face showed great fear. She stared at me for what seemed like minutes and fled as if she had seen a ghost. I chased after her.
"Sophie what's wrong?" I shouted with great concern. She started to pull away from me. I had no idea why she would run but she didn't seem to tire. She had pushed me to the limits of my endurance though and I collapsed on the floor breathing heavily.
I rang her phone a few times but I had no luck. I decided to simply return to our flat. I thought that she would return and I didn't want to seem weird chasing after a woman.
I arrived to see the sun set on the village which was always my favourite part of the day. I ordered a takeaway, looking out of the window, hoping to treat her when she came back. The nightmare was long forgotten by now and I wanted to enjoy the evening and look forward to our anniversary.
Before the delivery man had arrived, I heard the keys turning and the door opened to reveal the only sight I thought was better than looking through my window Her bright blue eyes and blonde her lit up the room instantly. She had also been shopping. She must have gotten over whatever had bothered her before surely. But I was wrong. The fear had once again returned to her face but she didn't run away this time. She slammed the door shut and picked up our sharpest kitchen knife.
"Who the fuck are you?" She demanded. I laughed thinking it was one of her sick jokes.
"Oh don't mind me I'm just here to rob you." Smiling back expecting her to play along. Instead she grew more aggressive holding the knife against my throat
"Get out now." Tears rolled down her face.
"Are you alright, Sophie?" Now I was certain that this had gone beyond a joke.
"You're supposed to be dead!" She shrieked backing away from me.
"What? Last time I checked I was supposed to be alive." I laughed awkwardly. Her back was now touching the wall.
"Please stop haunting me." She sobbed.
"I admit I murdered you. What I did was awful. I am sure I will go to Hell for it. Please just forgive me and stop haunting me. I have been punished enough" she broke down into another fit of tears.
Nothing in your life could ever prepare you for a situation like this. I wanted to say the right words to convince her that I was in fact alive and she had not killed me, however strange that might seem. But I remembered the nightmare. Surely that couldn't be real?
"What makes you think you killed me?" This made her cry even more. When she found her voice again she replied.
"I stabbed you. I watched the life drain from your face and I gutted you." She paused, being unable to talk and continued.
"I cleaned up everything of course. Butchered your corpse and disposed you. Yet here you stand as if nothing happened. You could only be here to punish me. Can't you see -"
She was interrupted by the knocking on the door. She opened it and saw the delivery man. She turned him away thinking it was a prank. Suddenly sherealised I was alive and not just a ghost. The look of horror returned to her face.
"No no no. How did you -? But I -. No you must be dead. I -" She walked to the window.
"I want to leave this hell."
She jumped.
I called an ambulance rushed downstairs to see if she was alive but she had fallen too far. She was certainly dead. I later questioned my own mortality but I thought she must have been delusional and I couldn't be immortal. I later realised she spoke the truth. I was involved in a car accident a few months later. The doctors said nobody has ever survived a collision at that speed and they even joked saying I must be immortal.
I still grieve about losing Sophie but I hope that soon I'll be able to move on. I do have my whole life ahead of me after all.
| 2017-07-04T16:21:30
| 2017-07-04T16:04:48
| 168
| 46
|
[WP] It's 2024, Politicians running for office are now required to wear NASCAR style uniforms so everyone can see who their sponsors are.
|
The recent disclosure laws had been a boon to my career. In the past, voters never had time to actually do the research and figure out who was getting campaign contributions from which companies. So they abolished all previous disclosure laws, got rid of the PACs and Super PACs, and replaced them with a single, simple system: put a logo on your suit for each corporate sponsor who contributed more than $100,000 to your campaign. The size of the logo must be proportional to the contribution.
When the laws went into effect, I was the only one who emerged unscathed. Today was the presidential debate. I stood in a plain, tailored black suit. My opponent, the incumbent president, was decorated head-to-toe in corporate logos. Altria, Disney, McDonald's...the list went on. A massive Google logo covered his entire back.
The debate moderator addressed the President. "Presidant Wilson, the first question is for you. The recent disclosure laws have put a spotlight on your sponsors in the tobacco industry, the fast food industry, and several others. How can we be sure that these corporate sponsors don't influence your policies in any way?"
"Well you'll find that my voting record as a senator, and the laws I've signed as President, speak for themselves. I signed into law the Smoking Education act last year, which definitely wasn't a pro-tobacco policy. So I'm not afraid to do what's right for the American people even if it means not seeing eye-to-eye with my sponsors."
There was a smattering of applause. The President paused, and I saw my opportunity to interject. "Mr. President, with respect, you and I both know that law was exactly what Big Tobacco wanted. By the time it passed through the House and Senate, the funding had been all but removed, and it was bundled with a 2% *reduction* in the nationwide Tobacco tax."
This time I was the recipient of applause. "Senator Harrison, please wait your turn to respond," said the moderator.
"My apologies," I said.
"Senator Harrison, this question is for you. There are no logos on your suit. How are you financing your campaign?"
I cleared my throat and took a sip of my water. "That's a great question. The vast majority of my money does come from sponsors. They just aren't of the corporate variety." Applause broke out, but I continued talking. "It's ordinary people, like those in the audience tonight, who are clamoring for change and are supporting my bid for the White House."
---
My campaign manager Christina and I sat in the back of a limo, riding back to our hotel after the debate. Christina was checking the results on her phone.
"Unbelieveable," she said. "Fox, CNN, MSNBC, all the major networks are declaring a decisive victory for you. You're up four points in polls."
I smiled. My phone rang and I answered it. "Hello?"
"Congratulations, Senator," said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Thanks Mr. Davis. I couldn't have done it without your help," I said.
He laughed. "I really loved the line about 'ordinary people.'"
"Really? I thought it might have been over-the-top, but I guess it worked," I said. "Listen, we need to increase TV ad buys in Florida. I think two million dollars should do it. I'll have Christina work out the details."
"Consider it done," said Mr. Davis. "I'm looking forward to working together once you're in charge."
I hung up. Most people assumed that I had a groundswell of popular support, but that wasn't quite accurate. In truth, my biggest sponsor was the Blacksquare group, a little-known defense contractor whose logo was a black square. My entire suit was covered in it, but I guess some folks don't look closely enough.
---
/r/rpwrites
|
I buttoned my suit jacket and pushed into the hall, past the throngs of lingering politicos. I knew I wasn't the main attraction but I can't let that deter me. My candidacy is a statement, if nothing else.
I pushed through the crowd, eliciting glances but none of the emotion I was hoping for. Just ten years ago we complained how money was ruining our political system. I thought we'd come to our senses, instead now it's just a game. Well, maybe it was a game before as well, just more blatant now.
I walked into the lights of the stage, the intensity and heat hit me like a solid wall of energy. The crew were buzzing around the set, adjusting hundreds of small details in preparation of the evenings' debate.
"Bit underdressed, aren't you?" a man said from behind, that condescending tone was all too familiar. Senator Barnes from Texas, wearing a tracksuit emblazoned with hundreds of logos, of varying sizes. I tried to maintain eye contact, to discern the mans thoughts, but he was a stone wall behind a wide, pearly grin. I forced down the shudder that threatened to break my confidence. Can't break now.
"Barnes!" another familiar voice rang out. He was wearing a similar suit, and had many of the same logos as his counterpart. Washington's former Governor and current junior Senator had closed the funding gap between him and Barnes in the last few weeks, an impressive feat even if you hated the game they played.
"Milwood, you sonofabitch!" he said with long strides across the stage, his boots clicking faintly against the floor. Barnes extended an arm and clapped the man hard on the shoulder. I heard a collective sigh from the crew, keeping one wary eye on the politicians, like you would any predatory beast. They knew as well as I that their interaction could've drawn blood just as easily.
"You gonna keep things above board tonight?" Milwood asked. I could tell behind the painted grin he was uncomfortable with the interaction. I had a suspicion that Barnes knew full well how he affected people and has weaponized it for political combat. He wanted to break spirits without saying a word, and he'd be quick to claim the moral high ground once he knew his opponent was reeling to pick up the pieces of his shattered campaign. Does Milwood know what he's walking into? He can't make it this far without a minimum of political savvyness.
"Old dog, I am the board," Barnes said as he clapped the mans shoulder again and strolled off, leaving Milwood visibly puzzled. Something happened there, but what? Barnes had decades of oppo research on Milwood, and wasn't afraid to make glancing references to Milwoods' alleged sordid past. Knowing Barnes, that was a loaded statement that could be taken a dozen ways, all designed to inflict maximum damage against political foes. He was good at scorched earth, and could leave the dirtiest bits in the shadows, to remain squeaky clean for the cameras. And I finally, possibly, just saw it happen in real time.
"Five minutes, congressman," a woman with a clipboard said, hardly breaking stride.
If I was to beat Barnes in this election, I'd have to beat him at his own game. Easier said than done. The man who props himself up as the savior of Democracy, the anointed son of America, who claims home-field advantage wherever he may be any given day. How do you fight the man without fighting the image? And how do you fight that image while maintaining one's own? Barnes was at the other end of the stage, strutting as if he'd already won. And quite possibly already had, given the vast sums he'd been able to raise in the early months of his campaign. Dollars vote louder than people these days. I can't change that alone, but it has to change for the better, otherwise our democracy is nothing more than a shallow exercise. And campaigns nothing more than victory laps to our appointed representatives.
This was the victory lap. One of these two men would be President, they've been funded by similar people, and we've reduced it to little more than a popularity contest. I've been all but written off. I was worried about that in the weeks leading up to this event, but now I feel like that may be my greatest strength. Can I bear witness for representative democracy, speak hard truth to power, and do my part to pull back the reins of this reckless system? Is this my last stand? If I don't perform well here, I know that I'll be absent in future events. I'll have to dial this precisely. I'm not one to use Barnes' catchphrases, but I'll have to go hard or go home.
"Places!" the woman yelled, "we go live in two minutes!"
I strolled onto the platform, to the center podium. I at least have that going for me. Here we go.
| 2015-06-04T12:40:41
| 2015-06-04T09:46:45
| 338
| 105
|
[WP] Tell a story from the viewpoint of a genius then the same story from the viewpoint of an idiot.
|
Probably breaking some rules here, but the prompt reminded me of a great story (or joke, if you want to be all accurate about it) that fits the topic perfectly:
Several centuries ago, the Pope decreed that all the Jews had to convert to Catholicism or leave Italy. There was a huge outcry from the Jewish community, so the Pope offered a deal. He'd have a religious debate with the leader of the Jewish community. If the Jews won, they could stay in Italy; if the Pope won, they'd have to convert or leave.
The Jewish people met and picked an aged and wise rabbi to represent them in the debate. However, the Rabbi - knowing how adept the Pope was at debate - didn't want to be embarrassed and refused. All the other Rabbis felt the same and also declined. Certain they were destined to be banashed, they ordered Moshi, the local simpleton, to stand in. Moshi, though, only spoke Yiddish so the Rabbis arranged for the deabate to be 'silent'.
On the chosen day the Pope and Moshi sat opposite each other. The debate began with the Pope making the first arguement.
The Pope raised his hand and showed three fingers.
Moshi looked back and raised one finger.
Next, the Pope waved his finger around his head.
Moshi pointed to the ground where he sat.
The Pope brought out a communion wafer and a chalice of wine.
Moshi pulled out an apple.
With that, the Pope stood up and declared himself beaten and said that his adversary was too clever. The Jews could stay in Italy.
Later the cardinals met with the Pope and asked him what had happened.
The Pope said, "First I held up three fingers to represent the Trinity. He responded by holding up a single finger to remind me there is still only one God common to both our beliefs.
"Then, I waved my finger around my head to show him that God was all around us. He responded by pointing to the ground to show that God was also right here with us.
"I pulled out the wine and wafer to show that God absolves us of all our sins. He pulled out an apple to remind me of the original sin.
"He bested me at every move and I could not continue."
Meanwhile, the Jewish community gathered to ask Moshi how he'd won.
"I haven't a clue" Moshi said. "First, he told me that we had three days to get out of Italy, so I gave him the finger.
"Then he tells me that the whole country would be cleared of Jews and I told him that we were staying right here."
"And then what?" asked a woman.
"Who knows?" said Moshi. "He took out his lunch so I took out mine."
|
It wasn't that he was the best dressed man I'd ever seen, although he was, it was his eyes that made me trust him. When he smiled, they crinkled a little and he looked like my grandfather; I just had a good feeling about him.
The car accident had been small, just a tiny shunt really and there had been almost no damage, but he said he wanted to make it up to me. We had the same BMW and folk with the same car are brothers in some way, so after exchanging insurance we went for a drink and got to chatting.
He'd made his money as a stockbroker, worked his way up and now was a big shot at one of those fancy brokerage firms. He was visiting his folks for a holiday, just like a faithful son. I felt a little intimidated, my cash had come from my grandfather with the kind eyes; he'd run the largest lumber mill in Wisconsin and when he died I had been left enough money to live a pretty easy life. His sharp suit and precise manner made me nervous; God how I wanted to be him.
I never felt quite right about my money, I wanted to do something, to *add* to the family fortune, not always take it and this guy, well, he made me feel like I finally had a chance. I knew Betsy would disapprove, she always said I'm too impulsive, so it wasn't for a few days when she started to ask about money that I finally told her.
Boy she was mad, told me that I'd been taken in and drove me down to the bank to check, but the money was gone already. Apparently he'd moved the money right away, but that made sense! Investments can't hang around. Betsy kept yelling at me, but I told her that sure, we had no money now, but in a few weeks we'd be rolling in the dough, she just doesn't get money.
I can't wait until he posts me my first statement, I'm gonna make my whole family proud this time.
*****
I drove right to the airport, dropping off the hire car on the way. Two million; I'd known this guy was rich but this was move to France money.
It had taken less than fifteen minutes for the transaction to go through, and as soon as I got off the phone with my Cayman Island bank I relaxed. they were used to moving cash around and thankfully his bank had been most cooperative.
One and a half million dollars were now working their way through a dozen accounts until they came out the other end squeaky clean and my insider had been paid for in full. It was a pity that the half million I'd paid her would be so easy for the cops to trace. Poor Betsy would have some questions to answer in a few days time.
As the plane took off from Milwaukee towards New York I ordered some champagne, God knows today I earned it.
*****
I altered the prompt a little to switch em round, hope you don't mind OP, interesting prompt.
| 2015-07-09T07:17:25
| 2015-07-09T04:43:15
| 101
| 21
|
[WP]The knight rubbed his eyes in surprise. The great dragon, slayer of armies, appeared to be a young woman with wings. The dragon was equally shocked. "You're the great knight? You're like.....fifteen." "I'm EIGHTEEN....In November"
|
"November what?" Creya asked, intrigued.
The young knight who stood before her, eyes ablaze with courage peering over his shield, was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
"15th."
It was the same as her. A pounding in her chest radiated warmth through her body, bringing flames wrapping around her finger tips that twirled her golden hair nervously.
"You're the same age as me...exactly, " she said quietly, looking away. How could her cheeks be burning even more than they usually did? What was this feeling?
Seeming to falter in his determination, the knights shield dropped a few inches, revealing the rest of his face. Sharp and rugged lines. No scars. White teeth. Creya felt her self being drawn in the more she gazed upon him.
"You don't look like a normal dragon..." The young knight began, a hint of uncertainty crossing his face.
"I have my mother to thank for that," Creya replied, her voice strangely high, "the rest is from my Dad...legendary Dragon and all of that, you know?"
The words from her own mouth made her cringe. Where was her normal confidence? She wanted to wrap her wings around herself and hide.
"Sounds like quite the over-bearing parent," the young man said with a smile.
"You have no idea!" She beamed back at him with her own smile, an aura of heat making her hair rise around her. Her emotions were so easy to read, so embarrassing.
"Oh, I think I do," he said, taking a few steps forward. Instinctively Creya floated back, the longing gaze at the man now drawn to his sword.
As if hit by an arrow, the man stopped, looking at his blade. Slowly, he placed it on the floor, and removed his gauntlets.
"My Father is a powerful Lord, rising through the King's ranks. All of this, is just to raise his own star. Forcing me into a life I did not want. His dreams, not mine." he said, a sad look drawing over his face. He ran his hand through his hair slick with sweat.
*He does understand.*
Without thinking she swept toward him, her glow lighting the wet rocks as she passed, steam rising into the cavern. She grabbed his hand.
His eye's opened wide as she realised her mistake. Looking down to their hands, she expected to see burning and bubbling flesh dripping to the floor.
But his hand was fine, surrounded by blue and yellow flames that caressed rather than burned. He then pulled her close.
Cool lips pressed against hers, a fresh wind sweeping her mind away on a rushing feeling of love. Creya began to sob with happiness as his arms wrapped around her.
As they stood there in silence, content in each other's embrace, a deep rumble echoed within the furthest reaches of the caves.
Her heart stopped.
"Father!"
**Part 2 because of Mr Milk's request;**
She turned back to the Knight, desperation in her eyes. Wisps of gold began circling around them, rising and falling like burning embers in the wind.
"What is happening?" the man said, fear in his voice as he seemed to snap out of his love induced trance.
He looked around, but Creya cupped his cheek and leaned closer. It felt so soft, so satisfyingly warm and alive.
"No, no. Focus on me. Focus on the feeling my love."
Creya didn't know what was happening, but instinct rose inside of her and she followed it. The embers around them formed into twin dragons, spiralling within the cavern, a blue twin rising up to match the gold.
Within her minds eye she saw her mother, as if she were right there with her. Tears filled her eyes.
*Follow your heart Creya, my darling.*
The knights eyes rolled up into his head and he stumbled, but Creya held him steady.
"My knight, you mistn't. Stay with me, focus on me."
Creya felt as if her heart was leaving her body, and looking down, she saw a star of gold and white beaming forth from her chest, reaching in the small space between them. From the knight, another formed.
The knight looked down, sweat lining his face.
"Do you love me?" Creya called to him as the sounds of rushing wind grew along side the rumblings from far below.
His eyes shot open.
"I do," he said, without hestiation.
Their stars collided between them, their hearts as one. A blinding light filled the room.
When it faded, a small golden egg lay in the arms of the Knight. The knight was smiling, a tear rolling down his cheeks.
*Tell him to go my child, before it is too late. He must take the child. Protect it!*
Her mother's voice rang out in her head, fading away towards the end.
Creya could not believe it. An egg, her own. She wanted so dearly to hold it, to keep it forever. But the cavern began to shake, and a terrifying roar ripped through in a gust of wind. There was no time left.
Once last time she reached for the Knight. He would need to be strong to protect their child without her.
She kissed him, with everything she had. Deep from her core she breathed her life into him. A gold light glowed from within the Knights face as lines of gold and white shot through his veins and throughout his body.
As she parted from his lips, she glanced at his eyes. No more were they blue like ice, but golden and shining like a sun.
Her will and energy failing, she thrust him away.
"Now go! Run! Protect our child!"
The knight stared unbelieving at her, but in the power shared between them a connection had sparked. She knew he understood. Knew he would do the right thing.
"I love you, and will return for you my love, this I promise you. I will keep our child safe until then," he said, his eyes like fire as they sparkled with determination.
Creya could only smile, but did not have the heart to reply.
The knight ran up the cave as fast as he could.
Creya braced herself. Her Father was coming.
**Part 3 : because why not...**
**Turns out** [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/ezaxf0/wpthe_knight_rubbed_his_eyes_in_surprise_the/) **was too long for this post, so its on my sub :)**
r/fatdragon
|
Sir Thomas looked up the mountain, the gleaming sun just over it's peak. His quest had led him here, to end the wretched creature, and save the kingdom. By the end of the day, he would be a hero! His victory played over in his head again. Him, standing over the scaled monster, as blood pooled on the cave floor. A smile crept over his face, and he began climbing.
The slope was steady, but that didn't stop the heat. Before long, he had to stop for a drink, the heavy armor chafing as the cloth of his shirt stuck to him. *Why did the beast have to live so far away? It was only delaying the inevitable.* he thought to himself. A brief sip, and he was back on his way.
By the time he crested the cave mouth, the sun had already begun to set. Still, he walked on with steeled determination. Sir Thomas the Dragon Slayer, he thought to himself. Sure, he had already passed the title off, but what difference did it really make? He'd either earn that title, or he'd... He'd earn it, no questions asked. And with the Dragon's Bane, it would be a cinch. Like a knife through butter. He took another step, trying to remain as quiet as possible.
"I hope you have something stronger than a butter knife."
The sudden voice caused him to trip. He couldn't see well in the dark, but it sounded like... a maiden?! The monster! How dare he capture a helpless woman! The stories were true. He steeled himself.
"I am Sir Thomas. Slayer of Dragons! Your reign of terror ends now!"
Raising the sword over his head, he charged in blind. Swinging wildly, the sword found purchase in the side of a wall.
"I have you now!"
A muffled giggle resonated throughout the cave. "Ya, you sure got me. Ack! I am dead." Another laugh. It was the maiden.
Thomas stood still, baffled at the response. "I... I'm here to rescue you, fair maiden."
More laughter. Did she think him a fool? He would slay the beast, and that was that.
"Rescue me? From what, exactly?"
"From the dragon! I'm a Dragon Slayer."
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get a better look. The cave was surprisingly empty, for something that was suppose to hold a massive beast. Scanning the room, he finally spotted the source of the taunts.
His jaw dropped.
"You're... a..."
The woman looked at him, hands already on her hips. She barely came up to his nose, and thin as a toothpick. If it weren't for the wings and tail, he would have mistaken her for a peasant girl. Instead, he just stared.
"You seen enough? It's starting to get creepy."
Thomas quickly composed himself. "But, are you not a dragon?"
"Of course I am."
"But you're... short."
Her face contorted into a snarl. "And your a kid! Why exactly are you bothering me?"
"Kid? I'm a knight. Sir Thomas!"
"Really? You're at best 15. Guess the king is getting desperate."
"I'm 18!... in November."
The dragon let out a laugh. "You're really trying, aren't you." Her eyes glowed as she continued, revealing black slits that cut through. "And what is this?" She pulled the sword clean out of the wall. "The Dragon's Bane? How did you even find this?"
Thomas reached to take the sword back, a feat that proved to be difficult, despite his obvious height advantage. "I was entrusted it. Now give it back."
"Really? Entrusted? I doubt that." She mulled the sword over, while deftly keeping the kid at bay. "Is the king really that hard up for warriors? It's not like you're at war. Or did I miss something during my hibernation?"
Thomas swiped again, narrowly missing the sword as she waved it over him. "You've killed all his previous warriors. Did you think he wouldn't get revenge?"
She stopped teasing, instead locking eyes with the boy. "Revenge? For what?"
"For... for killing his people. The raids on the farms? You've cost the kingdom."
Sticking the sword into the floor, the dragon began pacing the cavern. "Raids? Death of his warriors? That doesn't make sense. Sure, we've had our fun taking jabs at each other." She stopped, and looked to Thomas, who was desperately trying to pull the sword out of the stone. "Did he send you to kill me?"
Not pausing his assault on the sword, he answered "Of course, and I won't leave till I have your head."
"I see." She took a deep breath. "I'll be back. Please don't break anything."
With that, she spread her wings and took off down the mountain.
"But... I was suppose to defeat you." Thomas sat down against the sword, still unmoved.
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ez4ift/wpthe_knight_rubbed_his_eyes_in_surprise_the/fhji2z4?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
---
For more of my writings, go check out r/societyofmythicpeople.
You can also find me on r/redditserials:
* [Phoenix of the Forest](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/eb78u4/phoenix_of_the_forest_chapter_1/)
* [Reborn](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/e1kn9x/reborn_part_1/)
* [Society of Mythic People](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/ejks96/society_of_mythic_people_chapter_1/)
| 2020-02-05T02:10:39
| 2020-02-04T22:50:44
| 263
| 153
|
[WP] “Sir, World of Warcraft subscriptions just jumped by 2.3 billion” “Billion with a ‘B’? Where did they come from?” “Well, all the new traffic is routed through the Deep Space Array. It appears we’ve made first contact. Or, at least Thrall has…”
|
The problem with sudden success is that nobody is ever ready for it. While the problem of too many subscribers was not new to Blizzard, after all the initial response to World of Warcraft was well beyond their capacity as well, it was old enough that nobody currently working at the company remembered it. Or remembered things like server que times or severe lag and their repercussions from the fanbase. They only saw the subscription boom.
So when 2.3 billion new users all attempted to launch into the starting zone of the Orcs simultaneously, things went downhill quickly. High user volume was one thing and the latest expansion zones were coded specifically with that in mind. Durotar had not been revamped for nearly 36 expansions and was running on code so old nobody knew what programming language it was in anymore.
The mind-link VR tech had reduced lag to virtually nothing since every player in the Sol system was plugged directly into Battle.net. The few players on the colony ships were the only ones who were suppose to use the array, 20,000 at most. So the array did what it had to do to keep the connection open for those ships and throttled everyone's connection speed. It was a failsafe to ensure that the colony ships would never be truly out of contact.
Now of course the smart thing to do would be to invest the revenue from 2.3 billion subscriptions directly into the necessary infrastructure to get the game running, maybe do a press release about how ***first contact with extra-solar life*** had been established by, of all things, a MMORPG. However the conglomerate entity that now owned Blizzard (nobody was quite sure who actually owned the developer after the Activision/Disney war of 2037) instead gave all its executives bonuses and called it a day.
So when 2.3 billion intergalactic, angry WoW fanboys came with plasma weaponry, shielding technology, and a frothing battle rage the Sol system was woefully underprepared. Most of humanity was put to the axe within a week. Except for the Horde players of the Sol system of course. The invading space orcs considered them honorary blood-kin.
All was well for about a week which was when the orcs found out that most of the Horde players had Alliance alts. Then humanity ended. World of Warcraft would live on another 439 expansions, somehow still with the slow development times and story retcons. Orcish historians claim that "Blizzard time" is a curse and seek a cure for the malediction to this day.
|
Three hundred and four yachts.
In a single quarter Bobby Kotick now owned more yachts than anyone else on Earth. This was an admittedly small potatos when compared to the Potato Emperor of Pluto’s two thousand and seven sentient flying yachts, but still quite impressive for a non-quadrillionare confined to Earth markets.
Although humanity had spread their influence to far beyond the stars, there had been remarkably little to actually influence. The hive mind which had infiltrated the digital world was the first time anything close to a personality had been found. It was enthralled by the digital landscapes and quite enjoyed wandering aimlessly through them. The lag from all of the hive mind’s accounts quickly made the game unplayable for anything other than a digital entity connected to the network and world first raiding teams. This was unnoticed by most as any other human players had abandoned the game years ago to play lost ark and final fantasy 14 instead. Rather the new intergalactic players spoke to the NPCs, learned of their economy, learned of their values, and learned of their wars.
The economy learning proved to be the problem. For while these new players had a firm grasp on the reality of the game around them, the concept of our lives was beyond them. It quickly found several parts of its network having their accounts closed, failing to have ever paid for their subscriptions. Not truly understanding why, but aware that it fixed this apparent genocide, the network began use its gold in game to purchase an item called the ‘WoW Token’ from the few remaining humans in the realm.
This was of course unsustainable, humans could not possibly keep up with the demand for tokens and the gold they revived became increasingly worthless. As no more purchases could be made and accounts closed due to lack of funds, the interstellar network vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
| 2022-03-14T10:50:53
| 2022-03-14T09:46:18
| 690
| 69
|
[WP] You've been trapped in Y location for Z hours, solve for X to escape the algebra zone.
|
Three days ago, we found the final puzzle. All the other puzzles were leading to this one. If we got it right, we could have escaped.
*If we got it right.*
I sit on the edge of the cliff, staring into the distance. Alone. The waves lap gently against the shore. Less than a mile off the coast, a small skinny island stands awkwardly in the ocean.
I scream at the ocean. “We couldn’t be wrong! There’s no way – we scoured every nook of this wretched fucking puzzle. There was only one right answer. Only one. Only one…” Tears well up in my eyes. I fall to the ground. Dozens of equations were etched onto the soil. We've checked the math a hundred times.
The image of Sam's smile fills my mind. *Don't worry, Jen,* he'd say. *The two of us will be out of this place in no time.*
For three months, Sam and I have been stuck here. The last thing we remember was the lights flickering and the plane falling out of the sky. Neither of us knew how we ended up here on this deserted, oddly shaped island surrounded by nothing but the ocean and tall cliffs.
The island curved in unnatural angles, with strangely placed mountains and lagoons. That's not the most curious thing about the island. As the days went by, we discovered math puzzles hidden all around the island. Etched on tree barks, printed on the rocks, hidden inside the guts of fish were anything from simple algebraic manipulation to second order differential equations.
In the center of the island was a giant cave. Inside, we found a single ornately-carved table covered with sand. Whenever we wrote the right answer to a math puzzle we found on the table, we were rewarded with food and water.
Three days ago, we found the final puzzle. All the other puzzles were leading to this one. We discovered that the island was not randomly shaped. They formed exact shapes, letters. They formed the final puzzle.
*X + 3X – 4 = 0.* That was the question.
*4X = 4*
*X = 1*
One. The answer had to be one. We tried every method to solve the problem. We mapped the entire island a dozen times, checking every inch of ground. We checked our math a hundred times. We had to be right. Except, when Sam went into the cave, he never came out.
*Don't worry, Jen,* he'd say. *The two of us will be out of this place in no time.*
Now, I stand at the top edge of the first 'X'. I gaze out at the ocean. Sam and I planned to swim to the island off the coast, right before he disappeared. *I wonder what’s on it,* I think to myself.
Suddenly, it hits me.
I sprint towards the center of the island, straight into the cave. “Sam... we got it wrong,” I mutter to myself, between pants.
“The island off the coast. It’s the number two.”
*X^2 + 3X – 4 = 0.* That was the question.
*(X - 1) × (X + 4) = 0*
*X = 1 or X = -4*
As a quadratic equation, there were two separate solutions. I scratch the numbers one and minus four on the table. Nothing happens.
Then all of a sudden, the ground shakes and light fills the entire world.
|
*Between the worlds and the heavens, there lie shadowy planes of higher dimensions where mortal men fear to tread, where beasts of unimaginable terror lurk to prey on the unprepared.*
"We're stuck," Toby said glumly. "I hate algebra."
"We can do this," Sally said. "We just have to keep trying."
"We've been trying for hours, and look where it's got us. We're completely lost."
*In the shadows, a beast stirred. It raised its head and sniffed. From among the fractal trees and Mobius rocks, a scent wafted to its nose. The scent of humans, trapped in the Algebraic Zone.*
*The beast arose from its bed, and left the lair. It was time to hunt.*
"We're thinking about this wrong," Sally said. "What if geometry here is not Euclidean? We've been looking at this all wrong..."
Toby blinked and wiped his spectacles. "That could work," he admitted. "What if we tried a differential equation instead of a linear one?"
*The beast crouched behind a fractal tree, and licked its lips. A gob of saliva slowly fell from its slavering jaws, but did not fall straight to the ground, at least not as you and I would see it, for space here was in more than three dimensions, and curved in ways that we can not even begin to imagine.*
*It watched the two humans, and then charged. They began to run. The beast picked up speed. And the faster it ran, the faster they did.*
"Got it," Sally said. "Substitute for X with a new equation, and the whole thing solves it self."
*The beast was almost upon them. It opened its fanged mouth and lunged for the slower of the two, the boy.*
*But suddenly space bent in a new way that the beast was unprepared for, and it lost its footing. It picked itself up, snarling, but they were already gone. Letting out a howl of frustration, it slunk back to its lair.*
"Ok, what next?" said Toby, finishing the algebra problem with a flourish of his pencil.
Sally turned the page. "Next up? Calculus."
*In another of the hidden dimensions, a different beast stirred in its cave, as the smell of two mortals drifted in on the breeze.*
---
Read more of my stories at r/jd_rallage
| 2017-03-17T09:17:13
| 2017-03-17T08:56:38
| 74
| 10
|
[WP] You just discovered England's biggest secret: every time they say long live the queen it extends the queens life.
|
"Long live the Queen!". It used to be so easy. Poor peasant children would chant it on Empire day. Ruddy faced coal miners would cheer it on her birthday. Dickensian women would laugh gaily and proclaim it at Christmas. But no more.
The monarchy has waned, and people have moved on. "Long live the Queen" sounds old fashioned now. It lasted through the Victoria age, the Edwardians, the World Wars, even a revival when Charles and Diana married- but no more. In this irreverent post Sex-Pistol land of text-speak, people say it no more.
And so the Queen began dying.
But there are glimmers of hope: the Americans. Britain's most wayward child is starting to find its way home. It began with Downton Abbey. For every time a TV screen broadcasts "Long Live the Queen", we've found she gets stronger. As the Christmas Specials went out, she was blooming. All good things must come to an end though, so as Downton finished it's already implausibly long run, we perfected our new weapon: The Crown.
Long Live the Queen. And Netflix.
|
I am immortal, I have inside me blood of kings. My name in Charles Windsor and I am heir to a throne. Prince of Wales, they've called me that my entire life and now I lay on my death bed and my mother - still going strong. I'm not sure how it's possible but she seems ageless, almost timeless. My whole life I've waited for that special day when my mother would finally perish and turn to ash in the mouths of the peasants beneath us. Yet there she stands, defiant of all that follow in the steps of her bloodline. I never wanted to believe the rumors, it always seemed so silly.
My boy William visited with me yesterday - it reminded me of something quite curious. When he was a younger boy, he once told me a story. He claimed late one night in the palace when all were asleep. He heard a right royal ruckus. Booming out through the hallways, the clanging of iron and deep grunts. Hurriedly his small legs carried him about the decadent hallways, searching for the origins of the noise. Sliding on the rich mahogany floors he came to a halt at the entrance of the royal gymnasium. He slowly opening the heavy old door, inside he claimed to have seen the most peculiar of things.
There she was, good old Mumsie, Queenie, in the gymnasium in the middle of the night. Dead-lifting an abnormal amount of weight - the kind of weight that president Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson would have struggled with in his prime. William said when she turned and saw him she had a hellish glint in her eyes. It burned red like the rubies atop her gilded crown. He claimed she screeched, hissing she sent him running back to his room. William pissed the bed that night... or so the butler told me in the morning.
I never really paid much credence to it, after all - he had just lost his mother and boys will be boys. It wasn't till years later a journalist came to me. He claimed to be from the New York Times and said he had some delicate information about mother. He wanted to be respectful and bring the information to my attention first before it went public. What a pleasantly dingy fellow - I met with him out of pity more than anything to see what dirt this old boy had.
He showed up in a rainy night, absolutely stinking of tobacco and whiskey. When my man brought him in he scattered a bunch of files out on my desk. My fire roared as he stammered through his tall tails. Apparently he believed my mother to be some kind of immortal creature - He claimed some kind of dark power was derived from the worship she received. He seemed to think every time the people spoke the words 'God save the queen' it some how empowered her. Her life span growing here longer with each phatic expression.
Ridiculous I told him, had my man remove him from my sight. He had contacted once more requesting hush money but he vanished soon after. Apparently he died in a car crash in a tunnel in Spain, boozing and speeding around no doubt in my mind. Did seem peculiar timing though, so soon after Diana's death. Anyway, it won't be long now and I'll be with her and as usual Mumsie will still be the queen even to this day.
Ah speak of the devil, here she comes now - probably to say her goodbyes, one never knows how long one has left. She never does seem frail, even now so many years on - she has such a powerful stride as she comes to my bedside. She was never a warm person - but the war had affected everyone differently. They were made of sterner things her generation. She reaches my bed and her hand grips my arm. It's almost too firm and her hands are deathly cold but I'm used to it.
'How are you today Charles' - She speaks through pursed lips, hissing her words. I always assumed it was part of her German heritage but it seems much more pronounced now. 'I'm not well mother, I dare say I won't be long for this world' I cough and she glances into my eyes, it's almost as if her pupils blink together momentarily. I think I'm suffering from some form of delirium. 'No, not long for this word charlessss, not long at all nowww' I begin to feel my head spell as water fills my eyes.
Her grey hair begins to stand on end, furry wisps spraying out like a feral cat in an alleyway. Her eye sockets grow wide as the eyeballs themselves roll back into dark voids. Her top jaw begins to expand and her skin begins to fold back showing a dark bloodied skeletal inside. Symbols carved all over the bone etched deep within. The inside of her flesh seemed almost human but not quite. The shape was different and unfamiliar. I must be leaving this world - off from this plain and onto the next. Her cold hand moves up to her face as the eyeless flesh and teeth stare deep into my soul.
'Say it for me Charles, won't you ssssayyy it one last time' her hissing grows louder.
'God save the queen' - I say with ones last breath before the world goes black.
God save the queen indeed.
This is my first post - I hope you liked it. I'm quite sure there's plenty of mistakes :D
| 2016-12-15T13:04:40
| 2016-12-15T12:46:54
| 520
| 61
|
[WP] You live in a world where one's name decides their future. Every child has a name with a clear meaning. Perfect, Unique, Joy. You on the other hand have a rather... strange name.
|
At first I thought my name was some kind of cruel joke on my parents part. Loss. I always felt cursed by the name. Why would you name your kid something so negative? Everyone else was named happiness, success, brilliance, yet mine meant to lose something. I never understood it until the day I finally had enough of my curse and finally asked my parents.
"Mom... dad, why did you name me Loss?"
They both looked to one another, and smiled. Such a simple gesture yet it filled me with so much rage. You made my life so difficult. Other kids only gained from their names, but I lost from mine.
"Well Loss, there are two things to a name. What you earn from it, and what ends up occurring because of it. Most parents name their child something purely positive. Take Joy for example. Most think that a child named Joy would never know pain and hardship, and while true, that isn't how it really works. Joy is a cruel name to give a child. The child can't express sadness from loss, and will never know stress. Most Joys end up never accomplishing anything. There are no famous Joys in this world, so naming you Joy would be the same as naming you Mediocrity, Content, or failure." My mother told me.
"Yet negative names often take a similar effect. Of course I don't need to explain the problem with a name like failure, or pestilence."
"What? No one names their children that!" I say, shocked.
This time my dad spoke up. "Oh but that is where you're wrong. Children named Pestilence die young to disease, and children named Failure tend to end up lame and unable to live past their first year."
"But why would a parent do that?"
"Simple, they were completely unwanted. If the name wouldn't kill their child, the parents would have caused their child to have an 'accident'" My father explained.
My mother continued, ""But why are you named Loss?" I hear you asking. Well, the best names take into account both sides of what could occur because of the name. The positive and the negative. Their are positive names that have only minor downsides, such as Luck, yet these children tend to only gain minor benefits from their name. Yet names like your's Loss cause people to pity and assist you. But your name comes with a rather striking gain too."
"What? What could I have possibly gained from a name that only means to lose something?" I ask, starting to feel the anger of thirteen years of constant loss seep out. Everything started to seep up, the loss of my dog, the loss of my best friend and the countless socks lost over the years.
"Simple, You can not lose what you don't have. In calling you Loss, we have insured that you will gain more than nearly anyone else."
|
I’ve always hated my name, disappointment, besides the obvious lack of love from my parents it implied, it seemed so unfair compared to the other kids in the orphanage names. Hope, prosperity, attractive and fame, were just naming a few. While others were able to claim an easy life based off some twisted form of birthright, I had to spend every day worrying about what my great disappointment would be, but as the years flew by and I grew happier my fear of losing it all only grew.
But despite everything being against me, despite all the blood and tears, I am now surrounded by people who love me. I listen to the steady beeping, I realized I had a good life and if there was one thing I could’ve changed, I wouldn’t have worried so much about my name. No big disaster ever happened to me or my family, it was honestly quite disappoi- the beeping stopped.
Hope you enjoy this god bless and happy Easter!
| 2019-04-20T23:11:35
| 2019-04-20T22:44:40
| 97
| 28
|
[WP] A boy and his dog die in an accident, and both show up at the pearly gates of dog-heaven. The boy can't be admitted, and must traverse purgatory to get to human-heaven. Instead of entering paradise, the dog decides to make sure his young owner gets to human-heaven safely first.
|
The good boy left, tail wagging as they walked with their person away from Paradise. It slowed a little as their bravery faltered, they had a sense of the daunting task ahead...but when their person hesitated at the threshold of the Great Path it picked back up, hard enough to sway their hind. Their person felt it, and they met each others eyes. The good boy let out a short two barks: DON’T WORRY / EASY AS CHASING SQUIRLLES / I GOT YOUR BACK! Their person bent to rub the good boy’s head, and smiled as they both set out.
Cerabis watched them go, and settled back down to wait. The doorway to Paradise remained closed, as it had ever before; a glowing sentinel behind which lay unpopulated perfection. No good boy yet had abandoned their person, nor ever would. Cerabis huffed a bit of discontent as he nestled back to his nap. It got a little lonely sometimes waiting for someone to come back, but they would eventually.
In any case, it was worth the wait.
|
I am about to run through the gates, I am so excited. The gates hold behind them a great expanse. Green and bright and so much space. I can't wait to run around in there. I turn around to bark excitedly at my best friend but I see that he is not following me. He is simply stood, hands in his pockets, a sad look on his face.
And when I see that sad face, I run straight back to him.
I want to ask what is wrong, but all I can do is lift my two legs up and place my paws onto his stomach. I bark.
He bends down and strokes my fur. He still looks sad, so I cover him in kisses.
He laughs but then pushes me down. "I know...but you can go now. See," he motions to the gates. The gardens and the blue sky. "See that there, that's for you. I have somewhere else to be."
I completely understand him, but I want him to come with me, or I come with him. Simple as that. There is nowhere I want to be without him. I need to protect him, make him smile when he is sad, I am his best friend and he is mine. Did he not understand that?
So when he turns away, I follow after him. I take one last glance at the gates and follow him.
"No," he says. "That place is yours."
I simply bark and run away from the gates.
He laughs. "You can't come with me."
I bark again.
"I'm going somewhere else."
I stand stock still and wait for him. He still laughs and runs to me. We cuddle and play fight. But he eventually stands up, straightening his shoulders. "You're always so persistent. Can't let me go huh?"
I bark, smiling and wagging my tail.
"It's gonna be a dangerous journey girl," he tells me, looking me straight in the eyes.
It doesn't faze me. With him by my side, I can get through anything.
[More](https://www.amazon.co.uk/Between-Dimensions-Shay-Kiran-ebook/dp/B07JNGDH1J/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1544568207&sr=8-1&keywords=between+dimensions)
| 2019-02-28T09:00:56
| 2019-02-28T08:57:04
| 25
| 15
|
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them.
|
She was hardly the first storm-born to appear. Reports of them popping up all over the world had begun years ago.
Earthquakes.
Tornados.
Floods.
Each with devastating consequences. Natural disasters that caused bloodshed and claimed lives. Seemingly, they didn’t have much else in common, other than the destruction they left behind.
But from the wreckage of these disasters, something else emerged. Newborn infants. Rescue crews began to find them, scattered in the debris, sometimes crying, sometimes happily playing amidst the wreckage. These infants seemed harmless at first, but they were quickly deemed dangerous. People were dispatched to collect these children and keep them in secure facilities where their powers could be monitored. The world lived in fear of these tiny children. Innocent, but unknowingly capable of mass destruction. World governments scrambled to collect them, for their own protection, they claimed. But rumors of secret experiments, of armies, of brutal training and dangerous accidents were rampant, and soon storm-born were hunted to the ends of the earth by various factions of power across the world.
In the midst of this chaos, a young couple walks on the beach, hand in hand. This is a long-standing tradition of theirs, especially during a storm. They love to watch the lightning dance along the water, and on the rare occasions that it strikes the sand, they gather the resulting glass and marvel at the beauty that the storms can create.
This storm is intense. More powerful than usual. They can feel the electricity in the air as they walk down the beach, wondering if they should turn around. The sky darkens, and an enormous bolt of lightning shoots from the sky, striking the sand and leaving smoldering wreckage behind. As if the storm is now satisfied, it disperses, and the sky returns to its normal blue.
The couple head towards the smoke, eager to see what sort of glass sculpture has been created this time. As they approach, they hear a small noise. This fulgurite is indeed ornate, shaped like a small basin. And in the middle of the bed of glass rests a baby girl, sleeping peacefully.
The couple glance at each other wordlessly. They know what the life of a storm-born is like. They’ve seen the fear in the eyes of the children when they are trotted out and paraded around as proof of the government’s might. A reminder that the storm-born may be powerful, but those who control them will rule the world.
They glance around, but the beach is deserted. As they reach into the glass sculpture to scoop up the infant, they look at each other again, smiling now. They’ve always wanted a baby.
* &#x200B;
That’s my origin story, pretty much. I grew up, attending a normal public school. I hid amongst the others, blending in. And most of the time, I can forget. I can pretend to be a normal girl. Most of the time, the skies are blue.
But sometimes, like today, the wind blows. Leaves are shaken from the trees, swirling around in tantalizing patterns on the sidewalk. The smell of lightning is in the air.
And my blood whispers to me.
Electricity crackles through my veins, chaotic and wild. I can feel it bubbling beneath the surface. I gasp, trying to hold back the floodgates as shivers run up and down my spine.
The sky darkens.
Others cower, running to seek shelter. I move in the opposite direction, toward the heart of the storm. The beach where I was created. Waves crash wildly onto the shore. The water is dark and tumultuous. My hair whips wildly around me as the wind dances across my face, and I laugh. Sparks dance over my body and my blood comes alive. Something inside me is building, endlessly powerful, and I can feel the imminent surrender coming.
The storm is calling me home.
|
The bell rang, the children awoke, the teachers prepared their classrooms and The Matron watched through her many surveillance cameras.
Her attention was focused, today, on three children. Their files lay open beside her.
Ignis Premogen, twelve, found nestled amongst the ashes of the Great Fire, a wildfire that ravaged Canada.
Floctus Premogen, ten, found floating happily amongst the driftwood of the Great Wave, a tsunami that destroyed much of Japan.
Contrem Premogen, thirteen, found hidden in the
rubble of a fallen building after the Great Quake, an earthquake that threatened to tear Taiwan in half.
The children, found as babies, were taken in by various families until their powers began to shine. At the age of six, Ignis set the shirt of her school's bully alight. Floctus made the water of her favourite pool rise up and flow over her pesky brother. Contrem got so angry he made the ground shake and sink below his own mother.
Well, we have our ways of knowing things that must be known, of finding people who must be found. Contrem's parents reported what happened to the news, in some ill-concieved grab at fame, and they were mightily surprised when their troubled son didn't return home from the interview that never was. Floctus, we nabbed from the sea when she went swimming on a little family holiday - they most certainly believe her to be drowned. And Ignis, well, one day she simply vanished from the house she had set fully ablaze. Everyone was far too concentrated on the fire to notice our humble van slowly roll past. To see the doors open and shut as some small, limp figure was shoved inside.
Ah, The Matron thought to herself, it surely isn't very nice to speak of these children so coldly. But *we*, we are doing God's work. Why will we have to pour so much money, so many men, into our army when we have a battalion of feisty young adults, each with the power to destroy whole nations?
Never again will soldiers return home from war, with broken bodies and shattered minds. Never again will multi-country wars break out, stealing the lives of thousands, millions, all too quickly. Never again will freedom be supressed, will free speech be quietened, will the leftists complain.
We will nourish these young ones, nurture them, feed them the truth - our truth. And when they have grown, when they understand that our nation is the nation to save all others, that must intervene and stop the bloody wars, then we may begin.
The world will tremble at the sight of them, at the sight of the beautiful flag that they carry, and it will all start with those three.
Ignis.
Floctus.
Contrem.
| 2019-08-06T07:39:13
| 2019-08-06T07:03:49
| 51
| 24
|
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed.
|
I held the gun to my head, my finger grazing the trigger. I was hesitating, I knew that. Guess that's normal when you're contemplating blowing your brains out.
But, I had to know. Ever since I broke my leg, it was the one thing I knew I had to try. One thing you should know is that I'm a "gamer". I don't like using that word, but it's the easiest way to say that I play videogames. Assassin's Creed, Bioshock, Mario and Fire Emblem are some of my favorites.
Well, the day I broke my leg, I was playing football with some buddies from college. I was running with the ball in hand, tripped and had a nasty fall. Before I knew it, I was on the ground screaming like a dying whale. Some of my friends laughed, assholes, but one brought me some alchohol. I suppose he tought it would help with the pain, for some reason. Whatever. The thing is, once I gulped it down, I was fine. I could move my leg again. The others passed it off as me being a big baby and just slightly spraining it, but I knew I had broken it.
Later that day, out of morbid curiosity, I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and cut myself with a knife. It wasn't a serious cut, just a surface wound on my finger, but it stung like hell. I drank some of the beer and, just like that, it was gone.
At first, I thought that the alcohol was magic. Or that I was going nuts. Freaked out, I went to bed inmediately and tried to not think about it. The next day, I woke up and passed of last night's events as a dream. That, however, didn't last long.
On my way to work, something bizarre happened. The people... they were glowing in different colors. Most of them were blue. I saw some red pass by, and noticed that they were cops. I closed my eyes and shaked my head. It was back to normal. Just then, I saw a car speeding towards me. Later I learned that the person had lost control. It was too fast. No matter what I did it would have hit me. My first reaction was to jump over it, so I jumped. I jumped six feet in the air.
I didn't go to work that day. Called in sick. I went home, and a wild idea starting forming in my head. What if... playing videogames have given me these powers? Drinking alcohol to recover health like in Bioshock, Eagle Sense from Assassin's Creed and the jumping prowess of Mario.
So, I figured, what's the thing all videogames have in common? You can't die. If you gameover, you just load an earliet save. So, that's where I am. Holding a gun to my head to prove my theory. Is there a less extreme way to do it? Maybe. But I need to know. My curiosity is killing me.
I am determined. I press on the trigger. A thought crosses my mind as I do it.
"What about Fire Emblem's permadeath?"
|
I sat there on my bed having just gotten home from food shopping. I looked at the cut on my hand from when I had accidently cut myself helping my dad earlier today. I took a mouthful of my energy drink, by time the fluid went down my throat the cut was gone. I thought I was hallucinating so I grabbed a knife and cut a shallow mark in my arm, took another mouthful and BAM, its gone again.
I picked up my laptop and logged onto one of my favourite games: World of Warcraft. I logged onto one of my Fire-mages and cast every spell on a test dummy before grabbing my drink and going for walk. I walked towards the river nearby. Its a 10 minute walk. as I stood by the river, alone in the night sky, I considered what spell I'd try first. I stared at the waters until i spotted something I could target. I saw an old dirt bike, all rusted and useless. I closed my eyes and held my hands a few inches apart. "Pyroblast" I muttered under my breath, a sensation of heat between my palms. I opened my eyes and swung my arms forwards. a ball af flame flew towards the bike, plunging into the water and died out after hitting the frame.
"what the fuck was that?!" I heard from behind me. a woman had saw what I had done? I turned to face her to see her running away from me. "POLYMORPH!" I yelled desperately, my legs trembling with fear. In a cloud of smoke, she had turned into a sheep. I walked over to her and lightly held her muzzle and made her look at me "please, tell no-one I beg of you. And dont worry. You will only be like this for a minute before it wears off." I walked back home. wondering: What else could I learn? What else could I do? Is there any limits? How much can I keep? How long does this last? Then the thought hit me: How dangerous am I? How dangerous can I become? And of course: will I get hunted as a monster? Who knows? I dont. But I'll be sure to find out
| 2018-08-14T09:41:03
| 2018-08-14T07:36:53
| 658
| 49
|
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead
|
"Ma'am? Ma'am, please listen to me!"
The frantic shouting on the other end of the line seemed never-ending. I sighed silently to myself. Everyday I had to deal with hysterical people wondering what to do. I knew from the get-go that working in a call center was no picnic. I had done it before; two years for a tech firm. Somehow I had been able to convince myself that this time it would be different. That this time I wouldn't have to deal with complete idiots who couldn't even manage the most simple of tasks. Boy, was I dead wrong.
This... This was way worse. One would think that after four years people would have learned the basics. That they ought to know how to handle what was now everyday-events. But no. Oh no. What was supposed to be a fulfilling job of helping people manage difficult - possibly life-or-death - situations, aiding the ones in need, being a sage advisor for those who most craved it turned out to be little more than a hotline for morons who seemed unable to even tie their own shoes without guidance, let alone survive on their own in this day and age.
I hid my face in my palms and struggled not to let out an audible groan as I continued to listen to the elderly women I had on the line. A quick glance at the system we used to track our calls showed me that she had been jammering on for almost thirteen minutes now, not once allowing me to speak. I had tried, fruitlessly, to interrupt her ramblings a number of times but the manic woman just kept on going.
As the lady left the topic of her recently deceased husband and went on to talk about her estranged daughter I took a deep breath, slumped down in my office chair and kinda zoned out.
I sat in one of the smaller offices on the fifth floor. Due to the lack of space we were only five handlers in the room. I liked it though. We were a tight-knitted group and we had certainly had some fun together. My co-workers were the only reason I hadn't quit this dead-end job a long time ago. I noticed Simon looking over at me with a wide smile. He definetly recognized the look on my face. No wonder. He had dealt with his fair share of calls like my current one hundreds of times; he knew exactly what I was going through.
A brief moment of silence in the earpiece I wore. Was she done? A sat upright in my chair and opened my mouth to finally speak, when the woman began rambling again. Clearly she had just needed a moment to breathe. I cleared my throath loudly as I placed the weight of my head in my left palm, my elbow heavily placed on my desk.
"Ma'am?" I tried again with little effort. No luck. In the corner of my eye I saw Amrita. She sat, intently flipping through books while she at the same time searched the internet and our internal database. Why did she always get the interesting calls? Moments later I heard her say:
"Sir, I belive I have found your answer." Despite living in the U.S. for most of her life you could still hear a faint accent in her voice. We used to light-heartedly mock her because of the old stereotype; an Indian at a call center, even though she were the only Indian at the company. At least as far as I knew. She was definitely in on the joke, though, and often made fun of the situation herself. I liked Amrita. Not just because she was pretty, but also because she was really good at her job and because she was really nice. Always. Towards everyone. It kinda baffled me to be honest. I lost patience with people after mere seconds, but Amrita handled every call as a true professional, no matter how inane the person calling were.
|
It is not as busy as it used to be. There are 4103 boards on the false ceiling over my head and a 121 holes in each board. Apart from the ones marked with red X’s. They are inventory boards. Those have 119. The boards used to be white and there was no fungi.
Some time ago I used to love my job. Hell! I volunteered for it. I spent all day enthusiastically taking calls about:
“What am I supposed to do if my friend has just been bitten?”
I would take all my strength and say whatever was written in the script, “Sir, if I may suggest, it is advised under such circumstances that a) you shoot them in their head b)you cut their head of with a sharp axe or a knife whichever comes handy c)you can tie them up, pour gasoline on them and, I am sorry to say, put them on fire.”
“But I have known them for years.”
“I understand sir. But, it is strictly required to follow the instructions that I have given you” and another forty fucking pages of the manual.
&#x200B;
Not any more. I can’t go on telling these hopeless, stupid, emotional and stupid people the same script. They don’t even care about asking how I am doing. Do I need someone to talk to in these lonely times? Have I eaten? How do I pass my day? Looking at my dead zombie colleagues from the time it all started. I am surrounded by metal and wooden spikes, bear traps. I sleep with my head on an Ithaca-37 and... I just want to talk to some one nice.
“Hello! It’s the Call centre of the dead. How may I help you?”
“Uh! Hi. This may sound weird but, I just wanted to see how you are doing. How are you holding up?”
“Um! Thanks. Please don’t feel weird ma’am...”
“It’s Paulomey”
“Hi! Paulomey! Thank you so much for calling. It gets a little lonely. Thanks for calling it means a lot.”
“Mmmmhhhhmmmm”
“I am sorry, ma’a,m! Paulomey! How have you been Paulomey?”
“Oh! I have been great darling. I just love your voice. I really would like to meet you some day.”
&#x200B;
But, no. She’ll call and ask,
“Hello! I need some serious help. You may find it annoying but I really need...”
“Oh, ma’am please don’t worry a bit. I am here for you.”
“There’s a zombie in my room and it was an exceptionally slow one so I tied it down.”
“I’m sending in a dispatch of ammunitions and gaurds. They’ll come asap...”
“No! No! No! I am full on ammo. I just wanted to as... um... if it’s a problem if I... play with his unusually hard member. I have tied him head to feet so that won’t be a problem. I just wanted to know if...”
&#x200B;
A call came and I came out of my slumber.
“I am sorry, I know I am supposed to shoot myself if I am bitten. I just wanted to make sure, if there’s no other way. Like a new cure or something?”
“I am sorry to say ma’am but no.”
“I am not your ma’am Paul. It’s Paulomey.”
She is real. I was not making that up. She sat next to me before she ran off to use her skills, to fight them and die in the open.
“I just wanted to ask. How are you?”
“I am doing... great. Yes, I am doing great. How are you Paulomey?”
I had a crush on her.
“I have been bitten.”
Silence.
“Where are you now?”
“I am coming to you I am on a bike and I am coming straight to you.”
“No! Why? I mean why? How? How did you get bitten?
“That’s not the point Paul. I am coming to you because I haven’t seen anyone I have known for a while. I want to see you before I kill myself. I want to see a dear friend.”
“How long till you turn?”
“I am outside. Anytime now.”
She blasts open the gate with her kick and stands there looking at me. Looking with her teary eyes which were never green. Her clothes are intact but it’s only a vest. They got her bad. I can see the green patches that were her ears a while ago. With a deep sigh of relief she started moving toward me, so I pick my Ithaca for a just in case. She is a hand away. She says, “I am sorry” and jumps at me.
I blow her head off and her chest falls in my embrace. I hold her in my hands and I rub the back of her body. I stand there for a long time because there’s no call to take.
| 2020-05-12T06:22:29
| 2020-05-12T06:12:46
| 67
| 42
|
[WP] You're 5 years old, when you discovered that your brain can automatically learn "everything" about anything or anyone you touch. So you keep it a secret.
|
On my fifth birthday, it happened. As I hugged my mom, I suddenly realized I could talk. Not just simple words, but full complex sentences, in two different languages. Not just that, but I could read, do math and all sorts of other things.
I also gained enough common sense to know that this was not normal for a 5-year-old. I didn't know what had happened, but I decided to keep it a secret for the time being.
Trying my best to emulate the speech level of the 5-year-old I was, I managed to utter "I love you mommy!" while my mind was still reeling from my sudden wealth of knowledge and skills.
When I then tried hugging my dad, too, the same thing happened. It was a little less intense, of course, because I already knew a lot of what I learned in that touch. But still, my math skills improved, because apparently my dad was better at math than my mom.
I quickly realized that that was what was happening. Somehow, touching my parents made me instantly absorb all of their knowledge and skills. Well, the mental part, anyway. I still had a child's body.
‐---------------------------------------
The lightest touch was enough. That's what I found out at school. We were playing tag during the break, and I was "it". When I finally caught someone, I felt that surge of knowledge again, though this time it was only some classroom gossip that I had apparently missed.
Still, if I played my cards right, I could learn everything. I could become a multi-talented genius the likes of which the world has never seen.
A ladybug landed on my finger. And suddenly I knew what aphids tasted like.
Apparently, it worked on animals too.
‐----------------------------------------
A few weeks went by without me gaining much knowledge. What can I say, a five-year-old doesn't get to meet many people. We did visit my grandparents, and I learned quite a bit from them and their many years of experience, but after that things calmed down a bit. I couldn't learn anything from my classmates anymore, and apart from knowing how to teach, my teacher didn't teach me much of anything either. But then I remembered the president was going to visit my school today.
As I stood face to face with the man who ruled the nation, I summoned up all the courage I could muster to ask him that one crucial question.
"Mr. President, may I shake your hand?"
|
The problem, as is so often the case, was one of scope. We had thought up this fun little gift, thought up some fun ways it could be used to benefit the universe, and let Fate know how to play with this new game piece. Then fired it off.
The power manifested and...the kid died.
You see, he would learn about whatever he came into contact with. It turned on and he learned everything about what he was touching. *Everything*. Clothing, air, his Grandfather’s pocket watch (the intended first target), but...it didn’t stop there. The power drilled down. He learned about the molecules that made up the things he felt, the atoms that made up those, the subatomic particles that made up those, the hidden things that make those work, and then...well, Danny the intern calls it “The Knowledge Bounce”.
The kid now understood the fundamentals of the universe and the mysterious rules that make it work, and as a result....he realised that all of everything is just part of the universe and so touching a watch was really no different than touching a distant star.
He learned *everything*.
Tiny little head couldn’t handle it and...pop! We quickly did an undo and tamped that power down a bit. Made him promise not to tell anyone. Yeah, he still remembers that he knew it all. Turns out Omnipotence is hard to scrape out of a head.
Anyways, things are going okay, but we could use more funding. How goes the Speculative Species Department?
| 2022-10-21T10:23:55
| 2022-10-21T08:03:44
| 71
| 29
|
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