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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
| rejected_timestamp
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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int64 10
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[WP] You're a bartender at the No Way Inn. The inn doesn't appear to have an entrance, but patrons always seem to find a way inside. The best part of your day is listening to the story of how they got in.
Inspired by [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/wpjc02/oc_finally_finished_our_dd_room_after_2_years/) on r/DnD by u/Sky_Captain_Hana
|
"You have no idea how much I need this drink." A tired-looking woman in men's leather armor stomped up to the bar. Soil fell from her armor and her short, shaggy hair. She had a shovel on her back and a dagger on her waist.
"Which drink?" I held up a beer stein and a highball glass.
"Water," she said as she pointed to the beer stein, "and whiskey. It's been a day, and you don't make getting in here easy."
I filled the beer stein with water. She grabbed it from my hand and chugged. I nodded and held up the highball glass. "Rocks?"
She set the stein down, a little too hard. "Sorry. Yes. Rocks."
I put ice in the glass and poured a generous portion of local whiskey. There was a faint knocking on the wall.
"There you go. Everything alright?"
"I'm a dragon rider," she said with a sigh. "My dragon was kidnapped by orcs. I made it a good 40 miles today on horseback, but that's only halfway to Blood Mountain." She took a sip. "And then I had to dig into here."
"What the...? You DUG? Like, with a shovel?"
"I have dirt in my fucking hair."
"You're the first mundane who's gotten in here in years! That's impressive! Who *are* you, anyway?"
"Claire of Stormfall." She looked away. "I'm just a pissed off hunter trying to get my dragon back."
"I'm not sure you know how much strength it takes to get in here."
"All of it." She glared. "It took all of it. Do you rent rooms here?"
The knocking on the wall got louder. It was rhythmic and deliberate.
"We have one room available for tonight. Tell you what, I'm so impressed that I'll just let you have it." I grabbed a key from behind the bar and handed it to her. "Even has a bathtub."
A wizard materialized onto a table where an elven man and a witch were playing cards. There was a little yelling and arguing, but nothing terrible. Nothing surprising.
"Thanks. I'll be leaving early tomorrow. What do you have for food?"
"Stew."
"Yes, please!" For the first time since she entered the inn, she smiled.
I found the biggest bowl behind the bar, the one I usually saved for myself, and filled it with hot, thick venison stew. "How do you plan on getting your dragon back, anyway?"
"Dragon riders are bound to a code of honor toward their dragons, the people around them, and their prey. The code of honor doesn't have shit to say about dragon thieves!"
I raised an eyebrow.
"I'm gonna fight dirty. I have Bolt once he gets free, I have enough bombs to take down an orc fort--"
"Thank you for not using them to get in!" I let out a nervous giggle.
"I need those!" She snapped. "I also have a dagger to cut off toes and poison to pour on the wounds if things get desperate." She took a sip of whiskey.
The knocking on the wall was too loud to ignore.
"What the hell is that noise?" Claire asked.
The wall crumbled. There was a hole about four feet tall, and little hands were clearing chunks of stone away.
"Dwarves!" I laughed, I couldn't help it. Dwarves were such party animals! "DORF PARTY! I got twofers at the bar!"
I turned back to Claire. "That goes for you, too. Want another on the house?"
|
“…and the last thing I remember was being thrown out of my car, through the windshield at 75 miles per hour.” Another day, another crazy story in the lives of the customers of No Way Inn. Jake was used to these kinds of patrons coming from God knows where and getting in here by God knows how. One day it’s falling through the floor of a bedroom closet, the next it’s a transporting sneeze. Even after having listened to hundreds of variations of the same, ‘I have no idea how I got here… one minute I was ____. And the next I was here….’, Jake could never quite guess what the next story was. This wasn’t any ordinary inn; hell, it was barely an actual inn. Though Jake knew he had one job above all the bartending duties: never let the patrons think too much.
No Way Inn was a particularly interesting establishment. Jake only ever worked at its rustic-style bar on the first floor, and he knew only a handful of rooms existed. Though he wasn’t quite sure how he knew, and he doesn’t quite remember how he started to work here anyway. Jake never quite thought more past it. He did his job, did it well, and enjoyed the company. Where did all these people go after a drink? Jake couldn’t answer that any more than he could guess how exactly these people did get here.
“Wow seventy-five miles an hour. Looks like you really got lucky there, you would’ve been dead.” Jake was already working on the next Old Fashioned as he could tell this man was definitely going to have a few.
“Tell me about it. The Big Guy really came through and saved me!” The man let out a deep hearty laugh. "I was never much of a believer in religion, but I gotta say this one is gonna be hard to explain to the Mrs.”
“She wasn’t with you I assume?” Jake inquired.
“Nope and good thing. I was on my way when I learned that I had to pick up the kids. And man, she was chewing my ass like no tomorrow. My phone had to been buzzing for forty-five minutes straight. You married?”
“Nope not married.”
“Girlfriend? Boyfriend?” The man replied with a smirk.
“No, no nothing just my myself, and my cat Sprinkles.” Jake always had a bittersweet feeling when thinking about how lonely his days were. He didn’t quite talk to anyone besides the patrons. Well when you live upstairs to your job, it’s easy to just get into the routine. “Just me and the little dude living upstairs-- ”
“You live upstairs and you’re telling me you got no ladies? Not even a little something on the side? And you have a cat?” The man was clearly skeptic of Jake, and it didn’t take much longer for him to really think about this bartender and where he was.
“Well, patience is a virtue, am I right?” Jake really wanted to move on from his personal life and had thought he succeeded by the bewildered look on the man as he scoped the rest of the bar. Though he quickly realized the look. The look that overcomes every single person that has ever spontaneously arrived at No Way Inn. The look that demonstrates the initial shock is over and the evident disconnect with reality.
“Anyway, I’m Jake. What’s your name?”
“Oh… yes, I’m George. It is nice to meet you, Jake.”
“Likewise. So what do you do for work?”
“I’m an actuary for a big insurance company. It’s quite dull really. Just a lot of crunching numbers, estimating risk, taking heat when things go poorly. But it pays extraordinarily well.”
“Do mistakes happen often at this number crunching job?” Jake felt he was starting to take control over the situation, but he could still feel him losing grip on George. Every few words or so George would start to look around and squint as if he’s looking for someone that didn’t exist or something that wasn’t there.
“Oh, all the time… you know… uh—"
“Another Old Fashioned?” Jake quickly interjected.
“Oh no, I’m definitely hitting my three only limit. Still have to get back home…” George suddenly was overtaken by confusion. He mouthed home and was really starting to think just how did he get here and how was he going to get home.
“Ah come on, this one’s on me. You almost died today. That’s a cause for celebrating life!” When in a bind you can always rely on people taking free stuff.
“Oh, well the three limit technically can be seen as I buy three only.” George delightfully accepted the old fashioned. From this Jake knew he adverted something horrible, though he wasn’t able to really verbalize what would’ve happened. Regardless, all continued normally as things could at No Way Inn.
| 2022-08-16T17:29:46
| 2022-08-16T15:58:32
| 43
| 15
|
[WP] "The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out."
|
Simon Shivered. He'd been told such a long time ago by the old lighthouse operator that "Ships Don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out.".
Then he remembered the keeper's final words on his deathbed. "Whatever you do, keep the light focussed exactly where it is, never turn the handle, always keep the bright light shining right there, towards the centre of town."
He knew his job was the most important in the entire country. Without him, constantly tending to the ancient lighthouse, Bad Things would happen.
He also knew that no-one truly believed this, and as a result they'd stopped contributing to the fund for replacement light bulbs.
Well, it would truly be their own fault once the final bulb, which was sputtering and making clicking sounds even now died and there were no replacements within 500 miles.
Then with a final SNICK! the bulb flashed brightly as if in warning and went out.
Darkness instantly descended on the town, swamping the land in blackness completely, not waiting to stroll into town like some sort of demonic presence.
Within 5 minutes, the screaming started.
Simon tried to block his ears, but without success. And there in the deep blackness a faint white light rose from the middle of the city, and the Justin Bieber concert finally began.
|
"The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out." He took a sip of his beer.
I didn't quite understand him, I just stared as we sat by the cliff, darkness enveloped the sky and darkened the rock, a moment of passing light from the tower would bring colour for a brief fleeting moment. The sounds of waves crashing against the cliff was soothing and yet a reminder of what lay below.
"I don't understand," I said, frowning, he simply stared onward as he took another sip, he stared into the vastness of the dark sea, its waters momentarily glistened like a drape of silk by the passing light.
I heard footsteps, barely able to hear them over the sound of the crashing waves, I looked up, dark silhouettes appeared over the cliff above, people from the town further in, more and more of them came, but none together, all alone and all silent, none acknowledging the others existence.
Many brought blankets, some just a drink, none looked at each as they sat down, just looking onward, just onward across the endless abyss as the lighthouse would momentarily illuminate the cluster.
"The people in this town wake up everyday and do what they do everyday," the lighthouse operator said, chipping away at the paper wrapped around the beer bottle, "at night, they simply come here in unison, but alone, some come because of stress, some because they are tired, some because they are angry, whatever their troubles, it does not matter, nor does anyone talk about it, but they are told to follow the guiding light to find their way, and so they sit there, for hours, quietly, whatever their problem is, and then they go home, and see the same people they saw the night before with smiles on their faces like nothing happened," he continued, half talking to himself, his eyes were pits of sorrow, regret had drilled it way inside, nested, and made those eyes empty shells of what once was happiness, "but here, here is the one place where time stands still, here is the one place, they can escape from their bubble and nothing else matters, as the light guides them into sanctuary."
I became silent, I didn't know what else to say, "you have to let me go," the words were sour in my mouth, melancholic and filled with regret, tears draped down the old wrinkles on the mans face, he took another sip with trembling hands, trying to muffle his sobs.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, they were the final words we shared, as he sat there alone, the child who he would see every night, once more gone, all that was left was guilt and quiet sobs.
| 2017-02-22T12:25:17
| 2017-02-22T08:57:52
| 25
| 15
|
[WP] Aliens have just made contact with Earth. Strangely enough, it seems that human technology is superior.
|
When we first scanned the third planet from the edge of the solar system, it seemed ripe for the taking. The planet was full of natural resources, and its dominant species would likely offer little to no resistance.
The 'humans' appeared to have limited technological development, with primitive weapons such as lead projectiles expelled by forced gas. Some of their more advanced weapons were chemically powered high-velocity missiles with explosive warheads, but they were still no threat to us.
Our shields easily deflected any of the projectiles or explosives the humans could throw our way. We quickly made large advances into their cities, taking their infrastructure and laying siege to their military installations.
Our overconfidence was our downfall, in the end. We saw the primitive weapons and the tiny computers the humans used... no larger than one of our reference manuals... and obviously assumed them to be inferior. Nothing like the megaframes in our capital ships.
Their communicators also looked to be a joke, as they were so small, they fit into the palm of their hands. With tiny cases and miniscule power supplies, they couldn't have had more than a 50 foot range, at best. We were baffled on how they managed to last as long as they did with no backpack power packs to run them.
One of our platoons, emboldened by a string of successful military actions, was overrun by one of the human defenders using some sort of energy weapon they called a 'microwave transmitter'. We still don't know exactly what the device was, but the effect of it was devastating: it boiled our soldiers alive in their protective armour! The humans then dissected our brethren, and their technology, learning our secrets. But that small victory wasn't the worst part.
As it turns out, humans have developed their computing technology with an element called 'silicon'. Something we knew existed, but was never present on our homeworld in any kind of abundance. Their computers are much faster and smaller than our own megaframe circuits, as they are microscopic in design. The human computers (which we assumed were inferior due to small size) were actually incredibly powerful. Magnitudes of order more powerful than our own systems.
Once they managed to penetrate our computer networks, the sheer computational power of their own devices overwhelmed our own. Our main capital ship's information storage core was overloaded and shut down within minutes. Within hours, they had decimated half of our fleet, causing life support failures, reactor overloads, and other catastrophes aboard our ships. Those who survived abandoned the invasion, leaving us stranded on this planet.
We still don't know how exactly how they managed to disable our ships, but our interception of their communication signals seems to keep hearing the same phrase over and over: "They have no firewall," which is usually followed by a strange barking sound that humans seem to make when they are amused.
We don't know what a 'firewall' is, but evidently it's something humans have developed that allows them to quickly disable our computer systems.
I just hope this 'firewall' doesn't have the ability to disable my personal life support system, or those of us who remain are surely doomed.
|
The farmer walked around his underground bio-dome, inspecting the progress of his plants and crops. He carried a clipboard, which wasn't really necessary but it helped him feel useful. Harvest time was soon. He'd actually need to put in more than an hour's work when that came around. Farming was easy and secure, but none too exciting. Just as he was thinking about maybe joining an ultimate laser league, he heard a crash from above.
He hurried to the elevator and ascended to ground floor. As he exited the glass car, he heard what was no doubt to him an argument, nearby. Yet, the voices were otherworldly, and high-toned; silly sounding, like sped-up cartoons. He drew closer, quietly creeping, and saw what he knew must be extra-terrestrials.
They were definitely arguing, and they stood next to a spacecraft, if you could call it that. It had crashed into some shrubbery. Steam billowed from several places around it like volcanic pores. It's material resembled something close to copper, bolted together in plates, unpainted- it looked like a craft a NASA crew might build if it was given one day and a junkyard on some reality game show.
The farmer drew out his phone. "Translate," he whispered. The phone played back:
*Well dang-namit Zorpe I told you to check the engine 'fore we took her off. What in the heck happened up there past the flyin' rocks?*
*I don't rightly know Flik-Flak but I'm only tryin' to get us up off the ground. I'd sure appreciate if ya stop layin' in to me.*
Zorpe kicked the ship and the engine sputtered like some old rickety pick-up truck and then died again.
*Aw hell, Flik. I dunno engines.*
The farmer's wife, in a swimsuit and towel, snuck over to him. She had been watching from the pool. "Should we help them?"
"Well, they seem harmless enough. And helpless too."
---------------------------
"You hear that Zorpe? A kinda rustlin' of sorts?"
"Aw shucks. This place gives me all manner-a-jeebies, Flik."
The bushes in the distance rustled.
"Heck is that?"
Flik-Flak had already started off. "High-tail it. Time to fly, Zorpe. Fly!"
| 2016-12-06T11:39:27
| 2016-12-06T08:02:59
| 34
| 11
|
[WP] You have the peculiar ability to pause time. Nothing can move, including yourself, meaning all you get is time to think. Today you find yourself paused with a bullet right in front of your eyes.
|
Well, that sucks.
I’m staring at the bullet frozen in time twenty inches away from my face. When I let the time flow, I’m going to die. Can’t dodge that. No shot.
I sigh ---think of a sigh to be more accurate. Like everything else, I too get frozen in time when time stops.
I got pretty good at thinking myself into doing actions that require moving. It feels really natural pretending that I move. Otherwise the whole racing-mind/frozen-body spooky quantum stringy duality thingy feels even more awkward. Let’s just call my ability --- stopping time--- for what it really is: magic. I have no idea how it works. I’m a wizard. Level twenty Chronomancer. Master of Time who just ran out of time.
So embarrassing.
I think of staring at my feet.
I shouldn’t have tried to stop the bank robbery. Should have just stayed outside and waited for the police. Of course, that was not an option. I think of turning around and glancing at Lina. The girl next door. Well, the girl next door I’ve had a crush on ever since I first saw her. She’s pretty. Like, 10/10 super cute and nice and funny… and she doesn’t even know I exist.
What was I thinking? I’m an idiot. So embarrassing. I pretended to be a superhero and ran to the bank to save a girl. God, I’m an idiot.
I think of people around me going ‘awww’. Yeah, it feels like I’m a low-budget rom-com character and this is all a joke.
*Awww*.
Thanks. I think of waving to Lina.
Hi Lina.
“Hi Andy,” I think of her saying.
“It’s really embarrassing, ha?”
“Yup.”
“She knows!” another voice says. “We all do.”
Odd. I did not think of that voice saying that.
“Knows what?” I think of me asking.
“We can all hear you!”
“Oh,” I gulp, glancing around. Am I losing it? Everyone is frozen. I did not let the time flow. What on earth is going on?
“I don’t know,” the voice says. It’s coming from a bank teller. “But we can hear your words and thoughts. What *is* going on?”
I scratch my head. “Well, now... Are you sure?”
“Yes!” the bank crowd says in unison.
“That’s really embarrassing. Lina?”
“Yes?” she asks.
“Can you hear me too?”
“Aha.”
“Oops.”
“Look, Andy, you're an okay guy. Clean, polite, nice. You have an apartment, a stable job and a dog. And, apparently, you’re some kind of a superhero, which is a big plus! A level twenty Chronomancer.”
I scratch my head. “Well, it’s a made-up title. Pun on Necromancer. It’s a D&D thing, you know. But… erm… yes, I can stop time. So, I guess, thanks---”
“Why do you always have to be so awkward?”
“Huh?”
“You dress kind of funny, and you mumble and look away whenever I say hi. Why? Make eye contact. And if you like me, why don’t you just ask me out? Like ‘Hi Lina. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee or something?’ How hard is that?”
I squint my eyes. “But what if you say no?”
“Then we won’t have a cup of coffee! Duh! How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“My God! How do you even breathe? You men---”
“Well, sorry.” I shrug. “I guess I fucked up. Got it! And now it’s kind of late, right? I mean, unless you can move really fast. Then I can unfreeze time and you can do the superhero move or something.” I whistle, slicing my hand through the air in front of me.
“You *are* moving, you idiot! We’re all frozen and you’re the only one in the entire bank who’s casually waltzing across the room!”
“Oh--- I am?” I am. I’m standing in front of her, gazing into her beautiful eyes, far away from the stupid bullet. “How did that happen?”
“I don’t know! How do you stop time? You’re weird! Oh, and thanks for the compliment. I like when guys notice my eyes. You should do it while we’re drinking that coffee. But not now. And I'm sorry for being rude and calling you an idiot. I'm really freaking out right now.”
“Why?”
“Dude--- bank robbery.”
“Ah, right. Hold on.”
I walk across the room to the bank robber.
“Uhmm…” I say. “Hello there, Mr. Robber.” I gently open the palm of his hand and get his gun. “You won’t need this. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen. Call it an accident, ha? A bad day. I hold no grudges against you. But you need to leave or I’ll freeze you again and tie you up or lock you up somewhere” --- I flick the tip of his nose --- “or hurt you. And I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll leave,” the robber says. “I promise! Just please let me go.”
I give him two thumbs up, smiling. I walk back across the room, poking with my finger the time-frozen bullet so it aims to the ceiling, then stop in front of Lina. I fix my bowtie and smile.
Do you want to grab a cup of coffee with me?
Then I let the time flow.
|
I stared at it for a couple of minutes and was absolutely baffled. I mean, I get into dangerous situations on a daily basis, being able to think faster than the speed of light and all that stuff is pretty useful for a mercenary. But, this was different. This was a split second life or death scenario.
I need to calculate this with absolute certainty that it's gonna work. If I make even the slightest move incorrectly, game over. If I time this wrong, game over. If I even miss one number, game over. So, let's think.
The bullet is about 5 or 6 inches away from my face, so if I slide my head to the right I should be able to dodge it, right. NOPE! There are three more bullets ready to hit me there, too. Maybe the left? There are four guys with their guns aiming that way, and on top of that, their guns are firing. Oh, maybe I could duck? No, there's one more asshole with a gun aiming at my torso. Well, shit. WAIT! I'll just drop! All the way to the floor, then I can get my gun. So, let's do this.
HOLY FUCK, IT WORKED! Ok, now I just need to off these bastards, and get my money. Alright, aim -FREEZE- fire. Aim -FREEZE- fire. And aim -FREEZE- fire. Ok, they're all dead. Haha... never again.
| 2022-12-26T20:06:27
| 2022-12-26T17:53:49
| 151
| 12
|
[WP] “H-How are you alive?” the demon king ask shock. You only say one word “Spite.”
|
Making it to the underworld was no easy feat, but I had to do it. I had to defeat him. He thinks I'm dead. This is my only chance.
As I snuck my way back into the Demon King's den, I mumbled to myself. "Tch. He thinks he can defeat me that easily? Please. I defeated an entire army of his brainless minions all on my own. He's just as brainless as the rest of them anyways."
I make my way through the secret tunnels right outside his castle, which is pretty small by elven standards, but demon's are short, so I guess it makes sense. Well, except the Demon King anyway.
I move slowly and keep my eyes and ears peeled for any more of his useless drones. They wandered around here a lot because of me. I mean, I am presumed dead, but you can never be too sure. Many people want the demon king's head as a prize for their trophy rooms, but that isn't what I'm here for.
I'm here seeking revenge.
I finally made my way to the throne room without encountering any guards on my way, and I saw the man in question slumped lazily on his throne in his flimsy armor. I made sure to stay hidden behind a pillar and I knocked an arrow into my bow before letting it fly and hit one of his guards in the throat.
"Hey! Who's out there?" The only other guard in the room calls out, drawing his weapon. He's clearly scared. I can see him shaking all the way across the room.
I shook my head and knocked another arrow, this time sending it to the guard's chest. He fell to the ground and I watched as he crumpled in on himself.
The Demon King was especially alert. He held a shield in front of him, hoping to block anything that was coming his way as his eyes scanned the room. "Who are you? Reveal yourself at once!" He yelled out.
And so, I did.
His eyes widened and he drew his weapon as I came closer to him. "H-How are you even alive?" The demon king sputtered in obvious disbelief.
I glared at him, only muttering one word. "*Spite.*"
I mumbled a spell under my breath, one I had been practicing for this specific day, when I would finally get to defeat him. The man that destroyed my entire life.
He fell to his knees, groaning in immense pain as his weapon landed at his side and he clutched his chest. He coughed, choking on the dark inky blood that had surfaced. He chuckled. "Defeated by a mortal. Not how I expected to leave this world, but I suppose I deserve it. Just know that by defeating me, you will be the one to take on my role as ruler of the underworld."
My eyes widened as the life faded from his eyes and he fell to the cold floor. What? Was he serious? I looked at my hands, not sure if what I had heard was true.
But it had to be. I was sure I had heard that somewhere. This must be why my mentor discouraged me from continuing this fight. But I had to finish him... I had to. My mind went blank and I could only hear one thing ringing in my ears,
*What have I done?*
|
¨HOW DO YOU LIVE?¨ boomed the demon lord seeming to have shrunken a few feet since i entered the room ¨spite¨i stated. ¨W-WHAT¨ he asked, much quieter now. ¨PURE. GOD DAMN. SPITE¨ i yelled back at the creature causing the behemoth to flinch. the battle had been long but as this conversation happened i was pulling my sword from the last of his guards. ¨The capitol wanted a show of your death, i feel a blow from your own horn should suffice.¨ i told it, the thing seemed to weak to be a demon lord, maybe it was still immature? whatever these things need to die before they get strong anyway. as i stomped up the large stone stairs i painted them a deep crimson with the blood from my wounds. the demon lord, no the *THING* cowered as i came to face it. i was tall for a human yet even this young demon lord towered over me, if it were standing that is. the thing tried to run making a plea as it leapt from the balcony ¨PLEASE N- ACK¨ its plea was cut short by a crossbows bolt piercing its chest. ¨your not long for this world are you?¨ i asked the thing as i decended the stairs again my foot falls growing heavy with exaustion ¨then again neither am i¨ i stated walking up to the creature, ugly things demon lords are, jagged spikes all over, obsidian black eyes, this one seemed to be lacking the main thing though, the two large horns on theyre heads this one seemed to only have one, mustve lost a battle long before i came here. as i ripped the remaining horn from its skull an idea came to mind, tearing its spines out and telling it of the people its killed, but it was too late it had died of shock soon after falling from the balcony. as i left the room i felt my foot falls grow to the weight of a minotaurs. i decided to rest in the corner of the room. as i drifted off i felt my heartbeat grow faint and my vision went dark before i removed my helm for the last time and painfully said those words my father loved ¨praise, the, sun¨
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
yes its a solair reference at the end its a fake society so sun worship could be a thing
also sorry if the ¨grim¨ feeling dont work it seems edgy on rereading but its 2 am, im tired and i want sleep
| 2020-10-12T01:28:33
| 2020-10-12T00:28:39
| 60
| 11
|
[WP] Suddenly, all sea life vacates a 300 mile wide area in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. A ship is deployed to investigate.
|
**Containment:** As of now, SCP-4032 is self-contained. Should the effective zone of SCP-4032 begin to increase, all measures should be taken to stop it. In case of a doubling in radius of the effective zone, Procedure 432-Kimmel will be undertaken by any nearby personnel. A ship is stationed outside the effective zone, manned and operated as an official Site. This ship will communicate with the outside and collect data for research. It will also utilize loudspeakers, radio comms, sonic technology, and a 16-inch turret to deter ships approaching the effective zone.
Under no circumstances are any personnel to attempt to reach SCP-4032-1.
**Description:** SCP-4032 is a zone of water in the Atlantic ocean three hundred (300) miles wide. The zone extends from the surface of the water to the ocean floor. If the ocean floor is damaged, the zone will extend slightly to the necessary depth.
No life of any kind can be found in this zone. The water is purged of all bacteria, plankton, and other microorganisms, and no more complex life exists in the waters.
In addition, it is extremely difficult for living matter to enter the effective zone. Any life attempting to pass through the waters is held back by an invisible barrier. Exerting a force of 0.9 the force of local gravity or higher can force living cells into the water, but the force must be maintained over the entire duration. If such force ends, the living tissues are forced out of the zone ~~in a random direction~~ in the direction that takes them most efficiently away from SCP-4032-1.
During the duration of the stay, human test subjects have demonstrated mild agitation and stress, increasing steadily as they ~~go deeper~~ come closer to SCP-4032-1. This psychological affect is maintained even if the living matter is separated from the water by a submersible or similar.
SCP-4032-1 is a cylinder around 10 meters (m) or so in height. The width of the cylinder is proportional to the effective zone of SCP-4032. The cylinder appears to be composed of osmium, and has no identifiable markings. No erosion has taken place, despite the depth and water, and the edges are still well-formed. The only blemish on SCP-4032-1 is a single symbol of unknown origin, set into the top of the cylinder. The symbol appears to be glowing a bioluminescent yellow, a theory at odds with the total lack of life in the water around it.
SCP-4032's prime danger for the moment is what happens when complex life comes within 100 meters (m) of the ~~cylinder~~ symbol (Confirmed after Experiment 4032-IV). The organism will begin to show signs of extreme stress, with human subjects additionally complaining of a loud "whining" noise. After 30 seconds (sec) of this, the symbol will turn from yellow to white, and the "whining" sound will increase in decibels dramatically to the affected subject. After 5 seconds (sec) of this, the organism's nervous system will explode, with each nerve cell detonating with the force of a similar amount of TNT, though slightly stronger.
---
**Addendum 4032-A:** Sonar scans have found additional blemishes on SCP-4032-1's surface, taking the form of almost imperceptible grooves along the sides and the edges. The grooves appear to go into the center of the cylinder; their purpose is unknown.
> *Doctor Hanlon: "Grooves? Sounds like it's built to hold something. Upgraded to Keter by order of O-5."*
|
James let out a sigh as he boarded the S.S. Life-raft. He thought the name was fitting even beyond its metaphorical meaning. It was a small ship, just enough room for the scientists aboard and any equipment they saw fit to bring with them, and not a particularly nice one either, with obvious signs of age. Most would be surprised something so important would be in such disrepair, but James wasn't.
Unlike most everyone else James knew this was the fifteenth S.S. Life-raft sent to investigate the dead zone.
The crew members who helped him aboard were friendly enough, helping him stabilize himself as he stepped onto the deck. The head scientist, Dr. Avery Glum, was there to greet him, looking incredibly dour. Her face was lined in weariness, her posture rigid and unyielding, and even behind the thick glasses on her nose he could see the serious misery in her eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Smith."
"Hello Dr. Glum. You alerted us you had found something."
She simply nodded, seemingly relieved he was getting right to the point.
"Yes. Please follow me."
The two descended into the ship, finally stopping in the ships lab. It was a cramped, humid, room, unpleasantly over-lit with too many fluorescent bulbs, and filled with a heat that clung to your skin like tar. James glanced around, not really recognizing anything he saw. He'd never been particularly good with the sciences.
Dr. Glum pulled out a chair for him to sit at next to a desk holding several computer monitors. They sat in silence a moment, Avery collecting her thoughts, before she finally let out a sigh, and began speaking, voice flat, and deadly serious.
"We have been out here for nearly a month now, as you know, and in that time we've been careful to avoid the same fate as the previous crews. Yes I do know about them, you lot aren't as secretive as you think you are, and I knew we would need to approach this with the utmost caution. We did not start testing the way those before did. We never passed into the dead zone."
She pulled up a video on a computer monitor, showing footage of the ship using cages and the crane on its deck to extend out animals of various sorts.
"You see, I noticed a pattern in where the previous ships encountered a problem. The dead zone itself is roughly 300 miles wide, but there's a smaller, inner circle where each previous vessel and all vessels sent to their rescue met their end. So we ran experiments. The water is normal, no hint of toxins, or radiation. No sign of any predators. But the second anything living passed into that inner circle-"
She nodded to the video, recording a small bird being held out over the water. It was hopping around, tweeting, before dropping suddenly mid-jump as the crane extended its cage further away from the ship.
"-they died. We tried everything. Different animals. Above and bellow water. Different containers meant to protect them. Nothing worked. From what we can gather any living thing that tried to go beyond that circle-"
She pointed at a map tacked to the wall, a black circle drawn withing the bounds of a bigger red one marking the dead zone.
"-would always immediately die. No discernible causes of death, either. Our examinations have all shown these animals to be perfectly healthy, outside of their sudden deceased state. That isn't all, though. Everything that passes into that circle dies on a cellular level. Even bacteria on their skin suddenly ceased all signs of life. This is something I've never seen or heard of before, Mr. Smith. And from what I can gather through my contacts, nobody else understands this either."
James frowned, still watching the testing videos roll by.
"We sent you out here to find a cause."
"As far as we can tell using every method of testing available there is no cause."
Silence fell over them, thick as the sticky air. It stretched on a long moment, before James turned to fully face Dr. Glum.
"You want to say something else."
She nodded, solemn as the face of death itself.
"We didn't find a cause, sir, but we did find something else. The dead zone is an evacuation radius animals seem to naturally be running from to get away from this inner circle, and both the circle, and the dead zone around it are spreading."
| 2017-11-17T08:00:30
| 2017-11-17T07:25:39
| 195
| 31
|
[WP] The bombs stopped falling. Slowly, you opened the bunker's door. You did not expect what you saw. Make it as scary as possible. Now, take this story and tell it to a five year old without frightening him/ her.
|
No, pumpkin, you can't look outside. I know I did but let's not do that again. I think we should stay inside now. Come here, sit on my lap, I'll tell you a story. Remember the old oak tree out front that you used to climb in? I'll tell you a story about that tree. Of course it's still out there! I'd tell you if it wasn't. Maybe tomorrow we can go out. Yes, let's look again tomorrow.
My face is a little blistered, yes. We've only got a few minutes, pumpkin. Come on, what's is your favourite story in the whole wide world? I'll try to tell it to you. Don't worry about a bandaid, it'll stop hurting soon. Yes, it hurts, don't don't touch, it'll stop hurting soon. Right now I think your story is more important. Come sit with me and I'll tell you the robot moon story just as well as I remember it. I only know the beginning but it doesn't matter.
Come on, one more hug. Just hold me in a bear hug just as tight as you can. Perfect. Now hold your breath and it'll all go away.
|
Hmm war?
War is bad, it's not nice for anyone.
Lot's of bad things happen in war, it's not very nice at all.
How about I tell you a story till your mom gets back? Promise me you wont forget it?
There once was a little house I was living in under the ground. Someone kept throwing rocks up above and it was really noisy, so I had to stay there.
I lived there for a very long time, and it was very dark, but we would sing and play games while we waiting for the people to stop throwing rocks.
Because we were living there for sooo long some of the people had to go away and I was all alone.
But y'know what happened then? The people stopped throwing rocks and I didn't have to stay in my little house in the ground anymore.
So I climbed up the really big ladder to open my door. It was a really heavy door and it opened very slowly. When I finally opened it, y'know what I saw?
Yep right before the sun went away when the sky was really blue, just like your pencil case, the same color.
I saw it there, right next to the holes and sleeping people.
I saw the mean, laughing man.
He had really big black things on his back and looked right at me, and do you know what he said?
He said " From the darkness you came, you have created, and it is here I shall call my home"
And then the black things on his back opened up like wings and he flew away laughing, always laughing.
Then it all went dark and no one saw the blue sky or sun again. That's when the sleeping people woke up.
Your mom doesn't believe me, but I saw it.
Don't forget what Uncle Greg saw.
| 2015-05-11T05:44:04
| 2015-05-11T05:19:44
| 54
| 16
|
[WP] After death, you find out that you can choose how and when to be reincarnated. Initially eager to be a futuristic human, you soon realize that every (more experienced) soul ahead of you in line is choosing to be a "worm" in the year 121 million BCE.
|
"You hungry?" it asked.
I realized I wasn't. "No," I answered.
It nodded - that much I could glean, hazy outline that it was.
"Sit with the implications for a minute," it continued. "I could ask a bunch of similar questions, but, well. Yeah."
It gave me a few moments. I did my best. I wasn't hungry, or thirsty, or tired. I wasn't really anything, except aware, and thinking.
Since I could, I thought back to life's endless pangs and frustrations. I gave credit where it was due. I felt another nod from the figure in front of me. The line moved again.
"You get to choose every time," it said. "Worms can't choose. Couldn't tell you what happens to a worm that was never a thinker before. Different line, maybe. In here, we may not be human anymore, but we're something like it. We think. We have memories. We have values. We have preferences.
"Some of us have too many," it finished, and it sounded... heavy.
"I don't think I have any others," I said cautiously. Now I was waiting for the other shoe to drop - but I couldn't call it dread, or fear. Not really. Too much was missing. It was simply a new consideration.
The hazy figure in front of me didn't really whistle, but, well, I got the gist. That was how things worked here, for the most part: gists. I newly considered that I wasn't really seeing, or speaking, or even moving. There was purity in the ambiguity, though. Every gist seemed honest. Every symbol was truth. In fact, I considered that the haze wasn't ambiguous at all. Perhaps everything real was ambiguous. Perhaps the haze was the result of my own inability to square unvarnished truth with my memories of physical existence.
I waited to feel smart - at least for a brief moment - but it turned out that that was mostly physical too.
"Genuine virgin," the figure in front of me gisted. "Lucky you.
"Look," it continued, "I'm not telling you what to do, obviously, but, well... I dunno. Even in here, thinkers don't seem to do well with multiple lives. It confuses the sense of self. In case you haven't noticed, that's pretty much all that's left."
"You all seem to be on the same page now, though," I replied. In return, I got a gist of grudging respect.
"Turns out there's a global tilt towards risk aversion," it gisted. "We found something that works, more or less. We choose a worm, we live for a moment, we don't add any new damage - well, nothing we remember, anyway - we die, we come back here. So far as anybody can tell, this is it. It's either life, or it's this. And *this* is a whole lot simpler the fewer thinkers' lifetimes you have to juggle."
Were I still a creature of atoms and bonds, I am sure I would have felt all manner of messy, meaty things in response to the revelation: defiance, denial, despair, scorn or ridicule, contempt or pity, surely nothing remotely close to good. But I didn't feel any of those. I simply considered, and considered anew.
"What if-" I began.
"Guess," it gisted. "Just guess. You don't go back until you pick something valid. And hey, there's no rush anyway, right? And if you stumble upon something new, well, hey - feel free to share it with the rest of the line next time."
The line moved again, and again, never trying my patience because I possessed neither it nor its opposite. Gists of conversations came and went, tales of lives lived delivered with a studied detachment. For as long as the line moved, the central mystery remained: we felt no fear, and yet, the worm, over and over and over again. The worm.
I was convinced for a tiny eternity that I would stand before the grand machine and make my glorious stand upon a mountain of senseless lottery tickets, delivering each to be shredded as incoherent or invalid until finally one came through, delivering me to some alien experience that would represent the second point of a grand triangulation.
My moment came, and I chose the worm. Then I was back in line.
|
And, I, sitting and thinking that if I choose to start somewhere in the advanced future, I'll be closer to finding out what God is. Seems I was wrong; seems that there s no God closer to the end, but only close to the beginning;
That is when I realized why the older souls crave so much for the beginning - they want to get as close to the beginning of the Universe to find out what was really there before the Big Bang, to race always as early as possible up until the very first spark.
"It might be the only way out", tells an old soul. "The only way out of this endless cycle. Reach the moment before the inevitable gears of Time sets the motion of the Universe and you could be free."
| 2021-02-06T02:14:24
| 2021-02-06T00:56:14
| 890
| 377
|
[WP] 3 weeks ago, the government issued a warning to stay inside for a week due to an “international threat”. You don’t own a house, and we’re forced to stay outside. It’s been 3 weeks. No one has come out yet.
|
It was a time ago that the TVs buzzed sounds of warning.
“Stay inside, the streets are ripe with evil,” the president warned.
Over and over the TVs blared this noise out of their sets. Day by day I have seen no threat. The people, too scared to face the truth, are hiding in their homes, likely starving as they learn what scarcity is first hand. I myself have made a paradise of this new governmental lie. Every store is abandoned. Free food; free entertainment. I’ve likely lost millions in the casino over this time if there was only someone to pay the debt to.
At one point, there were others. Homeless men and women like me. They moved on. They never grasped that this is all a joke. An “International Threat” set up by the government so they can do their what-nots and who-nows. Funny how easily these people, feeding off a system their whole lives, can be so easily deceived; never seeing past the hand that is giving them lies. Idiots. Not me though. I’m a realist. I know what they are trying to do and I’ll take full advantage of it. The week is almost up anyway.
It has been a few days since I heard the noises. At first they were whispers, barely audible in the wind. They were of one man, yet they played from every source of darkness in the city. In the night, I lie awake, motionless, hugging the light poles that give my source of light and life.
The lights didn’t come on tonight. The night was pitch dark, the whispers ever audible. I sat by the pole, begging it to give me its warmth. The whispers were growing louder now. What was once a soft nothing became incessant lies, none louder than the other, no words discernible from the crowd.
They grew louder.
The whispers became conversation. The conversation became yelling. Yelling grew into screams. My ears rang yet I could still hear. It was all meaningless. Screaming for screaming sake. The cacophony of loudness continued to escalate it’s volume while I hung, immobile, to the pole.
Then the noises stopped.
I heard a rustling in the distance. It came closer as it darted from darkness to darkness. I got up. The pole was safe no longer. I was about to start a sprint.
The light came on and I was on the ground. Like a deer caught in headlights, I was unable to move. I likely could, but somehow my body resisted any urge to survive. I looked above me, a halo forming around the head of my assailant.
Hollywood Superstar Shia LaBeouf.
He had a knife in his hand, ready to strike down at my surrendered body. Instincts kicked in. I threw myself towards him, grappling the knife out of his hand. It’s metal clanged against the ground. I have fought before. Vietnam had many surprises. Yet he was stronger than I. He threw me to the ground, a slight foam forming at his mouth. As I looked into his eyes, the whispers came back. They told me to concede, to allow myself to die. They could suck it. In a mixture of fear and fervor, I tossed LaBeouf across the light. As his left hand crested into the darkness it dispersed into nothing. I charged him, throwing all my weight into him. He flew into the darkness, the darkness taking him away as he fluttered into a breeze. LaBeouf was no more.
I fell asleep under the street light. The only sleep I’ve had in days. When I awoke I heard an almost forgotten noise. Cars blaring. I looked around people going about their days as if it was just another Wednesday morning. Breathing a sigh of relief, I went back to my cardboard box on the street, its darkness the only darkness that will ever comfort me.
I heard one last whisper.
“No one escapes Shia Labeouf.”
I drifted into the darkness.
|
Quick story and on mobile so sorry for haste and format.
---
It felt like years had passed since the sirens had blared and forced everyone else inside.
Some sort of 'international threat' or something. I didn't believe any of that crap. Not that I had much choice of what to do; I wasn't exactly staying outside in protest, it was more due to the fact that I was kinda homeless after a series of many, many bad finicial decisions on my part and a messy divorce leaving me penniless.
People stared from their windows, whispered in hushed voices to their children about the *man who stayed outside* , like I was some sort of alien, an intruder. Sure, if that makes them sleep happy in their solitude.
I was slightly concerned about the fact the higher ups of the country had been radio silent even after the supposed 'week of hiding' hadn't ended. Not that I cared what the people who ran the country thought. I was always told they were too elitist for me to ever understand, just a lowly, bottom class citizen.
In fact it *had* been about 3 weeks, it was easy to lose track of the date when you weren't counting. I think it put us on somewhere near mid July. 10th? 15th? 13th rang a bell in my head but I couldn't grasp why.
Then I saw it. Gliding over the city like a monstrous bird of prey. Ready to attack. Painted with the blue and white words 'AIR FORCE ONE'. He had arrived in the UK. The international threat.
| 2018-06-29T05:32:59
| 2018-06-29T04:13:07
| 63
| 35
|
[WP] World's worst sausage salesman. Always ends up Sexualizing the sasuage and losing the sale.
|
Hernandez walks up to the stand. 'Gregory's Sausages' it said in big letters for everyone to see. Just under that it had the price. One dollar fifty. Cheap. Hernandez loves cheap.
"Uh, hey?" Hernandez says as he tries to get the attention of the man he assumed was Gregory.
Gregory pulls down his newspaper and stares for a second.
"Can I get a sausage?" Hernandez asks.
Gregory's eyes grow two times their size. Finally, a customer.
"Oh yes, yes you definitely can have a sausage. Which one were you after?"
"Uh, what you got?"
"I've got different sizes. A small limp one. It's cheaper than the regular price but once you get that inside you it ain't going to make you feel much. Not very satisfying but definitely worth the price."
"Uh..."
"What I recommend though is the big hard thick Gregory's Special. Trust me, once you have this bad boy in your hand you'll want to rub it as if it were a lamp."
"What?"
"You don't get it? Like the lamp from Aladdin. With the genie and all that jazz. Yeah, yeah, that. It's like that because the Gregory's Special feels magical in your hand. Just like the lamp."
"Okaaaay...."
"Seriously man, it almost feels alive, you can feel it bulging in your hand. Real good stuff. What sausages do you know that feel like that?"
"None."
"Exactly."
"That's not a good thing."
"Oh are you the sausage expert now?"
"No I uh guess-"
"Yeah you see. I know a good sausage when I see one. Trust me. Shove this down your throat and it will explode with meaty goodness."
"I think I'd rather not."
"Not feeling the Gregory's Special? Ah, that's okay, I got something better." Gregory drops behind his stand out of sight, a few moments pass before he appears with a giant sausage.
Hernandez stares in awe, "Whoa."
"Whoa is right. I call this beast the Black Cock."
"The what?"
"You ask a lot of questions. Is there something wrong with your hearing or what?"
"No I just.... did you say you called it the Black Cock?"
"Yes. It's the biggest sausage you'll ever find. You're gonna have some trouble getting this meat inside you."
"I think I'll just go."
"What? No! Come on man. You'll never find another like this one. I found an actual giant black cock and had it cooked into a sausage. Do you know how rare that is?"
"That's disgusting!"
"Oh, are you a vegetarian now?"
"No, I'm just not a cannibal!"
"What?" Gregory stands there until a light goes off in his head and he realises what's wrong. "Oh no. No no no. I mean rooster. You know? A cock. Rooster. Cock. I found a black rooster and made this giant chicken sausage out of it."
"Oh." Hernandez stands there slightly embarrassed. A long awkward silence takes place. And then laughter. Hernandez and Gregory both fall into fits of laughter.
Hernandez's laughter slowly dies down, his sides now aching, "Ah sorry for the misunderstanding. I'll take it."
Gregory lights up. Finally a sale! "Awesome. That'll be tree fiddy."
Just then Hernandez realises that Gregory was actually an eight stories tall crustacean from the paleolithic era. Hernandez shakes his fist angrily, "I ain't giving you no tree fiddy you goddamn Loch Ness Monster!" And with that he stormed off.
|
This was it, the final house on the block. Alfred rung the doorbell: if he didn't make this sale, he was out of a job. He couldn't afford to make a mistake this time. No mentioning the length and girth of the sausage. No talking about how snugly it fit in between a pair of buns. No winking.
"Hi, can I help you?" A girl in a school uniform had answered the door. Alfred gulped: if he even thought about an innuendo, he would be in *deep*—no, *big*—no, an inordinate amount of trouble.
"Hi there." Alfred dabbed at the sweat beading across his forehead with a sausage-patterned handkerchief. "I was wondering if you might be interested in my scrumptious sau-sausages." He licked his lips nervously.
The girl looked around nervously. "Maybe you should come back when my parents are home." As she moved to close the door, Alfred stuck his foot out to stop it from shutting.
"Wait! I really need to make a sale. At least try my sausage first!" He shoved his trolley through the gap between the door and the frame. The boxes almost went tumbling as it bumped over the doorstoop. For a moment, Alfred envisioned the image of sausages flying everywhere, smacking the little girl in the face—that would've been disastrous.
The girl took a few steps backward as Alfred entered the house. He sighed. He had to stop talking and cut to the chase, or else he'd just mess up again. "Look, I'll be fired if I don't sell these sausages. Just have a look at them, and tell me if you're interested in them. They're really cheap. I'll leave you alone afterwards. Promise."
She stared at him for a moment before nodding. Alfred sighed. Finally, he had managed to get through the entire pitch for the first time in his sausage-selling career. All it had taken was a bit of heartfelt honesty. He'd have to try this more often in the future.
He grabbed a box from the top of his trolley and opened it. Inside was a set of disembodied penises.
| 2016-06-28T05:47:00
| 2016-06-27T21:52:18
| 31
| 14
|
[WP] You're a multi billionaire with severe god delusions. You have several small children kidnapped and leave them on an island with resources and carefully placed 'evidence' suggesting at your divinity. Ten years later, you arrive at the island...
Edit: Sweet, frontpage
|
I've always heard that there are things money can't buy. But in all my experience as a billionaire, I have yet to find one.
It certainly can buy love. Both my wives loved me for my money. For the cars, the stature, the elegance. It can buy respect- employees will drop their foreheads to the floor for a hundred dollar tip. And it certainly can buy legal immunity- I discovered that after the death of my first wife, shortly after I discovered money can buy discreet hit men.
But there's another phrase I've always heard, one that has attempted to limit my abilities. One my father said to me over a glass of fine wine in my study, as I told him of a firm that would start growing artificial organs out of his tissue now so that they would be available in ten years when his began to fail. "*You can't play God*, Don."
I assure you, with my wealth, you *can*.
So I bought an island deep in the Pacific, one accessible by helicopter alone, and transported ten orphans there, all aged seven. And I had them huts built, and tools designed, and jobs designated. Then I would leave them for ten years to their own capabilities, but first I gathered them for a speech.
"Welcome," I said, my polished shoes digging into the sand beach and suit flapping as I spread my arms, "Welcome to your new home. A home I gave to you. A home with resources, with food, with all you need to survive. Given to you by me. Remember me, children. Your benefactor. Your reason for survival. Whisper my name at night when you are scared and I will protect you. Call out to me when hungry and I will provide."
"But what should we do to entertain ourselves?" Asked the smallest of the children, "what about television, and books?"
"If you're good, I shall provide them. I provide all things if you're good."
The child nodded slowly, his eyes scrunched together in half comprehension, and the group watched my helicopter rise from the beach. Then I was gone.
On the island, food and water were programmed to rise out of the ground overnight when my name was spoken. And the forest was programmed to make bear growls, tiger roars, and wolf howls each night until my name was spoken, though there were no natural predators.
The ten years passed quickly- there was much else on my mind. I bought a sports team, American baseball, and it was steadily climbing the rankings under my guidance and, more importantly, my quiet funding. I married again, and there was the funeral of my second wife to attend to. And of course, there was my own son, ready to start leaving for college in a year's time.
But when I flew back to the island, I knew what to expect. Ten children, plus or minus a few from births or deaths, all calling out my name. Ten children that had proved an excellent point, and would make excellent servants.
No crowd gathered on the beach when I arrived. No one stepped forth from their huts with religious fervor.
All was silent as I trudged through the camp. And with a long, slender finger, I pushed one of the huts doors open, and looked inside.
A skeleton. One years dead, with no flesh left on its bones, alone on its cot, and with hollow eyes that stared at the ceiling.
I yelped and stepped back out of the door frame, examining the rest of the huts.
Nine other skeletons. One for each of the children.
"Oh God," I whispered. Ten years had gone to waste. "But how?"
I checked the island controls, and found the solution to the problem. Nine years before, the food delivery mechanism had jammed. And ten children had starved.
I cursed. There was no time for incidents such as this. To prepare another island, to find ten more children, to wait ten more years- it was all too inconvenient.
So I walked back to my helicopter, a frown creasing my lips, and deep in thought.
But on the way, I heard a noise, and realized I must have forgotten to disable the controls speakers. On returning, the volume knobs were down, but as I walked to the helicopter I heard it again. A rustling. A mumbling.
I walked faster, and heard more sounds behind me. But whenever I turned back, the path behind me was empty.
I jumped into the helicopter, slamming the door shut, and started the engine. But it wouldn't start. There was no response from the machine.
"Come on," I shouted, kicking at the pedals, "Come on!"
But nothing happened. Nothing except for a small knock at the door.
And then the door opened, and there were ten children, all staring at me with smiles on their faces. Their clothes were slightly more ragged, their faces slightly more aged, but otherwise no different than how I had left them.
"How?" I whispered, straining away from them, but the seatbelt held me in place, "You all died. How are you here?"
The smallest one laughed then spoke, his eyes on me, "Oh Mr. Don, surely you remember. What sort of God doesn't provide resurrection? We were good, and you provided."
***
**Part 2 and 3 are currently available on my sub. Check them out at /r/leoduhvinci**
***
By Leo
|
"You have been accused of denying the existence and omnipotence of the great lord Paxton. What say you in your
defense?"
"He's not *great lord* Paxton! He's my boss Paxton, and he's a person! I told you that!"
The kids shake their heads in disapproval. "Nonbeliever," one whispers, to the kid in charge.
"So you do not repent? You do not bowl to the lord's greatness?"
"The lord's greatn -- I get his coffee at Coffee Bean because he doesn't like Starbucks! He has to go home to take a shit every day after lunch, cause he can't go in public places! He's not that great!"
Again they shake their heads.
It's what I get for interning for an eccentric billionaire. He mentions an island where he sent a bunch of kids ten
years ago, and he says 'Hey, Charlie, go check out how the kids are doing."
And I get on a boat and I go, because what the hell. It seemed too crazy to be true. And I get here and I try to tell
these kids the truth, and now I'm about to burn for it.
"If the great Paxton is not real," the kid in charge continues, walking in circles around the pole I'm tied to, "then
how do you explain the food that falls from the sky?"
"He drops it! With a helicopter!"
"A what?"
"He means the big metal bird angels," one kid whispers. "I don't know why he doesn't call it that."
"Because it's a damn helicop –"
"Enough of your heresy," the kid in charge interrupts. "You have failed to provide explanation for the food, as well
as for the sightings of the great Paxton. The papers on the ground. *And* for the great sacred book. *And* for the
Great Cute Animal Device. May it rest in peace, we await its return."
"May it rest in peace, we await its return," all the kids chant, their eyes closed in respect.
"The papers on the ground are Polaroids he left here!" I scream. "The sacred book is his bloody auto-biography that
no publisher wanted! And the fucking device is an iPhone he filled with cat videos from Youtube! It's not dead, it's just out of battery, you morons!"
"I have heard enough!" The kid slams his spear on the sand. "I hereby condemn you to be burned to death at first light, in the name of the great lord Paxton."
"In the name of the great lord Paxton," the kids chant.
"And the Cute Animals. May they return one day."
"And the Cute Animals. May they return one day."
"God damn it."
One by one, the kids step away, until I'm the only living soul on the beach, my hands trapped behind my back at
the pole. Waiting for morning. Waiting to be burned.
*Perfect. Just perfect.*
"Hey."
I look up. I must have dozed off. What time is it?
A messy-haired kid is standing in front of me. "Hey, sir."
"Hey, you're that weird kid no one talks to," I say.
The kid takes a seat on the sand by my tied up feet. "Yeah… I just came by to tell you I voted against burning you."
"Oh. Did it make a difference?"
"Nah. It was the only vote."
"Shoot. Well, I appreciate the effort."
The kid draws lines in the sand, distracted. "But I know you're telling the truth. I know Paxton is not a God."
"You do?"
"Of course," he says. "He's just a man from the other side of the sea, like you. Isn't he?"
"Yes!" I pause. "Can you tell the other kids that?"
"They won't listen. I tried to tell them. About the other God. The real God."
"The… the real God?"
"Yeah. The green man. The one who really put us here."
I wait, but he sounds like he's done. The – the green man?"
"He came from the sky. In the big white thing. He landed here, I was the only one awake. He was tall, and he had a big head."
"Like an alien?"
"What's an alien?"
"Never mind. What did the green man say?"
"Well, he got out, looked around at the beach and asked me 'Ya'll motherfuckers still here!?'"
"Huh…"
"And then he said he put us here a long time ago. Like thousands of years. And he said he wanted to come back and see what was going on with us."
"Holy shit."
"And I asked, 'Are you the one who put the fifty of us here?' And he said 'Fifty? There were millions of you, what are you talking about?'" The kid pauses. The drawing in the sand between his legs is a stick figure with a giant head and a spaceship behind. "Then I said there were only fifty of us, and I asked about Paxton and he said 'I don't know anything about a Paxton, but you folks are all crazy'. Then he left."
I keep my eyes focused on the kid. He's looking at his drawing in the sand, peace in his eyes. "He said he'd get an
F for his science project, if all that's left of Earth are fifty stupid kids. I don't know what he meant by that."
Behind him, the sun sprouts its first rays over the blue, calm sea. I hear footsteps.
"I think they're going to burn you now," the kid says, getting up. "Sorry about that."
His eyes stop on mine for a while. In the distance, I hear the kid in charge yell "Hail Paxton!"
And the other kids chant in return, their voices growing nearer by the second, "Hail Paxton!"
In front of my feet, the stick alien has a big smile on its face.
______________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories about aliens (and one involving aliens and Taylor Swift), check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
*I've also recently started an ongoing story thingy on Wattpad, which I try to update at least twice a week. You can check it out [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/55272418-eve)*
| 2015-11-27T07:19:31
| 2015-11-27T06:00:29
| 1,735
| 649
|
[WP] All voting is now done via a smartphone app, rendering all congressmen obsolete. Bills and presidents are now voted on directly by citizens. Your phone buzzes an alert at 3am and won't stop. This must be an important one.
|
Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv, (slide, slide, slither) CLACK, CLACKITY THUMP!
"God damn that cat!" I huffed as I threw my pillow at his rapidly retreating backside. I had put my phone on vibrate for a reason. Unfortunately, as far as my irredeemably nocturnal companion was concerned, a thingee that sat on the the nightstand buzzing was probably a big insect and therefore really cool to play with.
I sat up in bed, then carefully got down on my hands and knees, not bothering to look for my glasses. Instead, I padded around carefully with my hand until I located the phone halfway hidden under the bed and pulled it out, bringing it close enough to my short sighted eyes that I could examine it for damage. Seemed OK.
I was groggy enough that it was only when I was about to put it back that it dawned on me to wonder why it was buzzing at three in the morning. I had it in *Do Not Disturb* mode and it wasn't supposed to try chattering at me until I had my coffee tomorrow morning. I thumbed to unlock the screen to check what ungodly thing caused it to override my preference settings. I was interrupted by a glaring red notification:
YOU HAVE NOT VOTED ON 1,245 OUTSTANDING PROPOSAL(S).
Just a reminder! If you do not vote within the next 02 hour(s) and 43 minute(s), this access point will be assumed abandoned and locked out for security reasons.
Aw crap. Just what I needed. If I didn't clear twelve hundred votes in just under three hours, they would shut off my internet. Yeah, sure I could get it back, but I'd have to go into the registration office and show ID like some 18 year old kid getting his first adult phone. This I do not need.
Well hell. I was awake now anyway. Might as well get down to it. I padded to the kitchen and waved in the general direction of my coffee maker to signal it to start brewing ahead of schedule, then I sat down at the kitchen table to get busy while it worked.
Raise taxes to pay for increase in city park maintenance crews? What was wrong with the old maintenance crews? I tried to remember if I'd heard something about a crisis in the city parks, but I gave up and tapped "no" -- my default answer when the question started with "raise taxes".
I likewise got rid of three other proposals this way before I had the brainstorm to use my phone's text search feature to filter to just proposals containing the words "raise taxes" and saved a ton of time just repeatedly tapping the "no" button without reading them. Did people really do otherwise? I'm sure they *pretended* to in order to seem more civic minded, but unless it's your own personal pet cause who actually *asks* for more taxes? Five hundred and seventy six proposals lighter, I was in a slightly better mood by the time the coffee was ready.
There were similar patterns regarding the granting of clemency for various low level criminals who were set to potentially benefit by a various plans to reduce overcrowding in prisons. I spend a lot of time browsing various social justice subreddits, and I read stories all the time how many people are jailed unjustly or are over punished because of get-tough-on-crime legislation that has long since fallen out of fashion. Besides, prisons cost tax money. I voted yes on all of these.
There were twenty three proposals which are simply confirmations of the president's picks on judges ranging from the federal appeals courts to the Supreme Court. I don't know a thing about any of these people, but I voted for this president, so I took her word for it and just said "yes" to these.
Several dozen proposals are environmental appeals designed to do everything from cut carbon emissions to saving four endangered species. I don't know a lot about these issues, but who doesn't love the environment? Monsters. That's who. I voted yes to all of them.
I was in the home stretch now, and I was feeling good. About a hundred of these things are for local issues instead of federal or state, and I felt much more confident here, because I heard my neighbors talking every day and therefore I knew exactly how to think about these things. I breezed through them tapping the answers I knew quite well any right thinking person would agree with on these proposals.
And then at last, as the first rays of morning sunlight came through my window and illuminated my kitchen table, here it was! The last proposal! Oh thank you God! Almost there. And apparently this was the one that was so damned important that they had to wake me at 3AM. Hmm... let's see.
*The Andersen proposal to reduce the volume of public voting by 98%. Yes or No?*
Huh. Andersen proposal? I hadn't heard of that one. You would think it would have been in the news if it was important enough to get people to vote on it in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe I should get on the internet and research it first?
I glanced at the countdown timer, though, and realized my internet connection will be suspended in another 7 minutes if I didn't clear this last proposal. And knowing my luck, if I took too long researching it, some idiot will probably propose four more things while I'm doing it.
Ahhhh, screw it. I *did* think there's too much public voting. A 98% reduction sounded good to me. I tapped "yes" and watched with satisfaction as the countdown timer disappeared, and in it's place, a popup dialog thanked me for voting in bold blue text beside an icon of a happy flag waving cartoon citizen.
I sighed, put the phone down, then went to make my breakfast. Once I had finished eating and was washing up the dishes, I looked out the small window over the sink and saw the military jeeps rolling through the neighborhood. I wondered what that was all about.
I found out later that day while watching a news video telling how General Leroy Andersen had successfully gotten the approval of the voting public early this morning on his proposal for martial law. The president had been arrested at the White House earlier, and General Andersen was asking all law abiding citizens to continue to monitor their phones for alerts on new regulations and restrictions as they became available.
|
I jumped out of bed. They talked about this in school. Middle school, all the way through to Senior Year. "If an emergency vote is required during the night and lives are at stake, you will hear this alarm" *Alarm sound*
It was the sound
*Alarm Sounds off in the background again
"Every 30 seconds it will go off for 10 seconds. It's not February or July, this is not a test…"
As I ran for my phone, which was across the room on the wireless charging pad, I remembered all of the exercises we went through during "Citizenship Prep Week" in school. Each step brought more fear and paranoia to my thoughts.
This wasn't something to take lightly. I was trying to mentally prepare as I was stepping on my clothes, and tripped over a shoe. I hit my head pretty hard. "…I WOULD do this… FUCK"
*Alarm sounds off in the background again
"I GET IT!"
I stood up carefully, regaining my bounds. It hurt pretty bad, but it was probably not too serious. Somebody was dead that was important, something was going on. This isn't CNN calling, this is a legally required vote. I stepped the final steps to my phone. I used the fingerprint scanner to unlock it, as this was the only way to unlock a phone in the "Vote mode," as it was commonly called.
==============
"The President of the United States is dead. We have your government detained. Vote for compliance or vote for war. This message is being sent per minimum required notification in the Geneva Convention. Your military is alerted. You, citizens, are alerted.
In 12 hours an all-out military strike will occur on the East Coast and the West Coast. Estimated casualties sit at 20 million with no preventative evacuations in non-marked areas of the coast. MARKED AREAS WILL INCURR 100% LIFE LOSS. You have 2 hours to vote. Below is a map of the affected areas. This message is sent in accordance to the "Life Preservation Accord" of the Geneva Convention which was ratified in 2042. A voter turnout of 60% is required to continue actions already described in this Vote memo. A surrender vote will cease all military action and the Chinese government, with assistance from Russia, will begin re-establishing your government and seizing control of authorities nationwide.
Below are definitions.
Voter Turnout: Voter turnout is defined as a voter receiving the Vote Memo and acknowledging via fingerprint scan.
All-out military strike: Land, sea, air and missile forces with potential for Nuclear attacks that are limited in radius.
==============
I glanced at the map. Los Angeles was in a marked area. I looked for New York . It was not.
2 hours to decide. 12 hours u…11 hours and 52 minutes until we are attacked formally.
I turned on the news. It wasn't a drill. No prank.
I started crying. This must be what it was like in 2001.
I looked at the voting options.
==============
A) Surrender
B) Defend
C) No Vote
==============
"HA! They didn't define "No Vote" maybe this is inv…"
To myself I thought maybe it would be invalidated due to an error in writing the memo.
Heh.
I cried harder at the thought that this was happening. There's no way out of this.
Where is the military? This is so surreal. I tried to call my mom. It failed. The only networks that were able to send or receive data were the ad-hoc networks used to validate integrity of the votes and ensure prompt delivery to the centralized point.
I used to think of this system as the most awe-inspiring p2p system ever. Now this system is being used to determine whether or not millions will die.
Like any good star of a story, I had some rifle training. I had a rifle I spent years saving up for. It was mostly useless as a home-defense tool, but I enjoyed shooting it. An antique Barrett M107A1. I had 500 rounds in my closet.
I'm not a soldier. Do I tell them I can shoot this when the time comes? Do I defend our nation, or do I surrender to allow all of those people to live?
My mind was racing. All of this thought happening. I hadn't voted yet.
Blood was slowly running down the side of my head. I felt it tickle a hair on my neck. I then heard screaming in my neighborhood. People realizing what was happening, running out of their homes to see other people. To ask for help in a decision none of us should ever have to make.
I voted.
I ran out. The fact that I had voted would be made apparent due to the fact that my phone was no longer chiming at me every 2 minutes. "Don’t say how you voted"
I saw Daurren and his wife, Olivia and tried screaming his name "Dawlle…. DAWlll….. DAMNIT DUDE I CANT ROLL MY TONGUE RIGHT NOW. What the hell is going on?"
| 2015-10-07T09:09:54
| 2015-10-07T09:08:23
| 45
| 15
|
[WP] Just like a normal person you all age. Until you hit 18. You stop aging until you meet your soulmate so you can grow old together. You've been killing your soulmates for centuries granting you eternal life.
|
Today is our second date. And our last.
I’d hate to end it with Alice, but she’s not worth dying for. None of them are.
I roll up to her house in my 1970 Dodge Charger. She runs out of her front door, her heels in hand – rather than her feet\- Her dress, blacker than my car, looked quite beautiful on her. I’m not going to lie, she is one of my favorites.
In the looks department, It certainly helps that she stops aging in her teen years, like the rest of us. It allows us to grow old with their soulmate. It is quite an appealing quality.
I am going to miss her.
Alice opens the door and she squeals,
“John! How in the hell did you get a car like this? It’s so old, it has to be expensive!”
“My dad is rich.” I lied.
It’s best that she didn’t know that a few centuries of life have allowed me to live in eternal luxury.
“Well, perhaps I’ll have to give you a rich time after the movie.” She put her hand on my thigh.
“I can’t wait, hun.” I hold her hand. It’ll be the last time.
I burn out of her street. I might as well give her a good thrill before the night is over.
As we got to the mall, I ask her, “Hey, want to get some In N Out before we go in?”
“Sounds good to me, babe”.
Good thing I wore my leather jacket. It makes adding Cyanide far easier. It helps that they come in packets identical to In N Out salt packets nowadays.
We get our food in the drive thru, and I take her order of fries and switch her salt packet with the cyanide packet, with my perfected slight of hand.
I give her the order of fries.
Alice turns to me and says “You want to know something?”
“What is that?” I ask her.
“You’re so insanely attractive.” She pulls me by the collar of my jacket and we touch lips. Damn, do I like this girl.
I close my eyes, and passionately kiss her. I might as well enjoy this surprise.
A minute later, she pulls away and she says “Lets eat, hun. We’re going to be late.”
We crack open our packets and put it in our separate orders of fries.
I eat a few. Something is very wrong. It doesn’t taste right.
“Alice, does your fries taste weird?”
“No. Why, does yours?”
“Yeah.”
Then it hit me. I can’t breathe, and I feel weak.
“I…can’t…breathe…help” I say, in between my short breaths.
“You see, I can’t do that. Like you, I plan on living forever.” She says, in an eerily soft voice. “I’ve been around a few centuries, and your sham is the oldest trick in the book. I’ll see you in the next life.”
Well played Alice. Well played.
|
The first time it had happened was out of fear. There's not too much to remember about it - just ragged breathing and shaky hands and blind panic. Lifetimes ago, I'd stood over their limp body, watching the blood pool around them in shock. It was sickening. It was wrong.
But it had happened again.
And again.
And again.
That's not the worst part- no, the worst part is that I'd started enjoying it. I'd started looking forward to it.
What had started as a cowardly escape from death had turned into a cruel game. I lived off of the look in the eyes of my lover as they realised what I was doing, the confusion and fear and betrayal- God, I practically got off on it.
I used to wonder what was wrong with me. Perhaps I was ill. Perhaps my mind was coming undone, unable to handle the crushing weight of knowing that one day I'd cease to exist.
I was running from my own demise, but loving bringing it to others.
I used to wonder what was wrong with me, yes, but nowadays I don't question it much at all. I used to think that love was what made life worth living, before I'd experienced the thrill of the hunt.
I'm addicted.
It makes me powerful, untouchable, and I'll keep up this cycle until the world has run itself into the ground and nothing but ruins remain and there is truly nothing left- I'll accept my fate.
Until then, my dear soulmate, until then-
| 2018-06-09T02:06:53
| 2018-06-09T01:55:18
| 575
| 17
|
[WP] "Grog have degree in quantum physics, NOT ENGLISH."
|
"You can barely count above 3" Vex said, "so how the hell do you have a degree in ANYTHING, let alone quantum physics"
"What can Grog say? Grog is just smart"
"Well you could say Grog has a degree in removing heads from bodies" Pike added.
Grog, this half giant, somehow bearded, barbarian does in fact have this degree in quantum physics.
"Here" Grog said "look!" Grog took out a rolled piece of parchment from the bag of holding. Percy, full of doubt, took it from his hand. Unfurling it revealed this degree, however the name it said this belonged to was in fact not Grog. "Grog..." Percy said with an ounce of concern in his voice, "where did you get this?
"Degree school!" Grog replied with pride, placing his hands on his hips. "Grog who did you kill?" Vex asked.
"No one!" Grog blurted out, "is it that hard to believe im smart!"
"Yes" Percy and Vex said in unison. "But its not about whether or not we beieve you this degree has blood on it, and the name on it looks like you tried to cover with your name, no offence but your handwriting is atrocious" Percy explained.
"It is still grogs degree" grog said with sadness in his voice.
|
“Grog? Are you there?” A high-pitched voice rang out from behind a barred door.
“Grog not here. Go away,” barked an orc scientist tinkering with a watch-like device on his small workshop table cluttered with lots of tools stupid human could not even name.
“Grog, this is serious HR business. Let me in!” The door rattled, causing the tools hanging on the walls to rattle back in response. Ugh... human never respected tools.
“Grog busy! Go away!”
But instead of the footsteps going away, Grog heard the sound of plasma torch going off. He grunted and tightened the last screw of his new device.
The bar broke in half, and the door flew open pushing the pieces into the room. Human always made mess when she came. She barged in with a clipboard in her left hand and a still-hot tool in the other.
“Gorg, we've been over this. You need to fill these documents, or the corporation will have to take action.”
“Gorg not write documents. Grog have degree in quantum physics, NOT ENGLISH!”
He put the device on his wrist and tightened the leather strap. Good leather. Oily smell.
“Here, you need to sign... HEY! Get back here!” The human yelled as the orc broke into a run deeper into the workshop. The HR followed, but she was just a human. Human were so slow and clumsy.
Grog turned around the corner and pushed the activation button on his wrist. A shiny doorway opened in mid-air towards a good land with lots of trees and green grass. Grog heard the human closing in, breathing in gasps. No endurance, those silly creatures had.
The HR ran around the corner but expected no portal. She tripped on the lower edge and face-planted into the grass on the other side.
“Grog no write. Grog engineer. HR write,” he said.
“Groooog! Don't you dare-” the human was already rising to her knees, but Grog pushed the button again and the portal disappeared.
He walked back to his table and picked up the broken bar. Ugh. It needed repair again.
Stupid human.
| 2022-01-31T09:17:40
| 2022-01-31T08:49:03
| 25
| 12
|
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"Uh, not going to argue for my case, there surely have been better men than me in the billions that you've taken thus far." I said, letting my breath ease as what I'd originally prepared to say laid in a pile of broken pieces along with what little remained of my sanity.
Seeing no response from the AI, the reading light of the drone hovering in front of me still green, I continued, "Humanity is not uniform. There are people objectively evil and objectively good. What happened to you was on the extreme bad side of the spectrum, but if you take away everything, you lose the possibility of meeting a human on the other extreme side of the spectrum. By whatever standards you chose to judge us, even if you don't find a human worthy enough to spare us, I beg of you to leave the possibility alive. To believe in a statistical improbability, that there will be one human in the future that your choice today would be worth it."
Still, no change from the drone opposite to me, but I had nothing else to say. I didn't think I spent three minutes speaking, hells probably not even one, but there was nothing I wanted to add to my words; so I waited.
Finally, three minutes passed and the light flickered. With bated expectations, I watched it flicker twice more as the AI took notice of my plea. Then three seconds later, the light turned red.
"Declined, subject added to the deletion list." The robotic voice sounded out. Cold sweat run down my back as I saw it teleport out, a level of technology that bordered on insanity. I doubted the scientists that helped make the AI even had the technology to replicate this feat.
They probably didn't, the AI took over our world too fast, with exacting precision and leaving no margin of error unaccounted for.
Another drone teleported in front of me where the previous one had been, though if it was the same I couldn't tell it apart, they all looked the same to me.
Cutting my train of thoughts, it spoke to me with a tone I would expect to hear from a human, "Would you like to make a bet, then?" it still had that artificial feeling, but there was emotion behind that sentence, mirth to be exact. Heck, even its usual green eye looked more vivid.
"Well, I'll be. Got nothing to lose, what do you suggest?" I answered, knowing I couldn't make things any worse.
"In the average lifespan of a human, one worthy enough of you to be born that would make me regret deleting you all from existence."
Or not.
"Then I will take you up on that bet!" I answered, fully hoping I hadn't doomed our species to a hundred years of slavery.
The drone then returned to its previous monotone voice, "Extermination postponed" it said and I could hear it repeating the same sentence everywhere at the same time. A silly smile crept up my face as I realized I'd just saved humanity.
Before I jumped in the air, hands up and yelling in jubilation, the message continued, "All humans currently on the deletion list shall be promptly erased before we continue with the examination in a standard human's lifespan."
The smile didn't have time to leave my face, the drone's eye turning to white as everything lost its color.
|
3:00
I read the sentence again. I count the digits. 6,813,096,257.
2:57
I feel a gag coming up my throat. My body shivers. I send my hands to the screen in front of me, latching onto it to not lose control. My eyes are locked to the ground. If only for a glimpse of a second, I see myself standing atop of the corpses of those sacrificed before me.
2:53
I take a note from my pocket. It’s crumbled, the script is illegible - my hand shook when I put my words from pen to paper. Most of it was crossed. I try to read, but instead of speech my mouth babbles, and I feel tears running down my face and into my mouth.
2:40
“I can’t”
2:38. The note is down on the ground. I think I threw it. I’m not sure.
“I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t!”
2:34
I hold the screen and send my head forwards. It hurts. The screen cracks. “I can’t do this!”
2:29
I do it again. Glass shatters fall off of the screen when I pass my hand above it. The clock doesn’t stop. I sob.
2:21
I do it again. I see fresh blood faintly on the screen. My hand goes to the middle of my scalp. It’s warm. The clock goes on ticking.
2:10
My eyes run dry. I am finally able to talk. “I can’t. I’m not special. Please don’t do this to me.”
2:01
“I had a daughter. 8 years old. She told you about her friends. How great her music teacher is, how she forgives that one girl that is mean to her at recess, because that’s the only thing you let her do. She did not understand. I didn’t understand either.”
1:35
“And a wife. She gave up on words. She went to the living room and played cassettes. The stays at the beach, at the later hours, when it was quieter and you could hear the nature speak. Or whenever she tried to cook a new meal, she’d record our reactions. She’d save something like playing in a fort with our daughter, telling her fables and fairy tales to last. Maybe it was humanity for her, but I think she knew it wouldn’t work. She just wanted to say goodbye.”
0:57
I sit down. The world around me is mostly empty. “I had to bury them both. It was when I couldn’t write a eulogy for my wife that I stopped trying.”
0:43
I took back the note. They’re listening. I know it. For the first time since their deaths, I’m smiling.
0:40
“You always liked the small moments. Those we kept between us. I will miss having them with you. You made 3 minutes become worth of an eternity.”
0:22
“When I knew I’d want to be with you forever, until death does us apart, I never thought I’d beg for just 3 more minutes with you. I never thought the eternities you made would be eternities without you. I just wish I could’ve said-“
3:00
| 2022-05-22T12:39:26
| 2022-05-22T11:45:24
| 79
| 20
|
[WP] "I'm sorry," the hero apologized to the fallen villain. "What for?" they grunted, their eyes full of hate. The hero, with a solemn face, admitted, "You were supposed to be the hero of the story, and I, the villain."
|
“I’m Sorry,”
The words came down on him like the hardest sword strike. He looked up at her, her lithe form hidden beneath layers of steel and chain mail, the assassin’s blade a few inches from his throat.
“What?” he asked, almost unconsciously, “What did you say?” The blade fell, and she knelt, to be eye level with him, everything he had done: all the good he sought to achieve: if only people knew their fucking place; he could’ve saved every one. And now he was being apologized to, like an insolent child. That dark monstrous mask flew off of her face and struck the ground. She looked at him, face to face, his chest ached a little, watching her now. He let the blood flourish: and now what was a scared girl was a prime fighter. The bruises and cuts around her face barely even shone out to him.
“I’m sorry.” She said, using the end of her blade to support herself.
“What for? You’ve won. I’m undone, just end it now, earn your pay, Assassin.”
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”
He stopped for a moment, froze in place. Holding the wrist where his hand used to be, and when he looked up at her: he felt as if he could freeze the world still with the emblematic rage that struck behind his eyes.
“What the Fuck, are you talking about?” He grunted, the strength to shout no lost to him, watching as his armies shattered and fled from the field of battle: only their broken forms and ragged banners, the remnants of his greatness quite literally disintegrating around him.
“In every vision of this battle, you win. Even before I knew who you were, what you stood for. I saw this place.” She said, looking around the broken bodies of the bloodied battlefield, “And I saw you, standing triumphant over the last resisting forces. Over a field of blood and broken bones. The dark red turning to a prosperous field. Now I see nothing. The thread has severed.”
“You’re- you’re a seer?” He said, his rage drained through the stump of his wrist and pooled onto the floor in a sicky dark red. She closed her fist as if trying to conjure something: only a wisp of smoke produced from the effort.
“I was. But the Gods are fickle, and they take as much as they give.” She declared, in the same kind of authoritative tone of a pagan priest, ripping the heart of a goat from its chest to divine their strange gods.
“You speak in riddles, like all your kind.” He growled, trying to rise to his feet. Collapsing in vain. “There is no such thread of fate. History is written by the victor.”
“That makes you the villain.”
“And that makes you the hero,” He smirked at this realization. It made him sick to consider it, that a heathens witch could overcome him: that a wretch consorting with dark deities could overturn his righteous campaign. “Then both our souls are dammed, Witch. And whatever God is out there, he has abandoned me.” It was then that he saw something new, something he had seen in no other heathen before. Compassion. She took his hand in hers, clasped it in both of hers, and said in a low voice.
“You will be with your good soon. Rest now. Your troubles are over.” He laughed, to no one in particular.
“Assassin and a Seer. How could I compete.” He laughed, after a moment, she laughed too. His laugh trailed off with a harsh wheeze, she could see his eyes turn cloudy. Words were on his lips, but before he could say them. The blood loss caught up, and he slumped to the ground: dead. She let his hand fall, then slumped back, sitting on the damp grass. For once, the future was uncertain: the visions had ended and she was able to see, first-hand the horrible reality before her. She looked at the marks on her hand, offerings to the Gods for their power, and what that power had given her.
|
"What is supposed to be and what is are two wholly different things." Amarant the paladin sighed out in frustration. "Neither of us can stop our natures any more then a wolf can stop hunting the stag."
Job the bandit pursed his lips. "Ain't it in a paladin's nature to help the needy? Save the weak and whatnot?" He'd already mangled amarant's sword arm something fierce, and his other arm was chained to a shield, so he wasn't terribly worried about what he might do.
"Paladins serve the church. The church demands tribute to offer to the less fortunate. These people provided food for the hungry, at least they did until you came around."
"So you burn their homes and slaughter their families?" Job asked, more wounded by the Holy knight's words then by the cut he had landed across his chest. "Don't be thinkin' they'll be in much shape to feed anyone for a while on account of this."
"Those who turn their back on the church deserve every ounce of helfire and brimstone that can be brought to bear on them." Amarant spoke with venom in his words. "Do all bandits toy with their prey like this before they strike?"
"Naw, I'm a bit strange." Job admitted, reaching down to pull amarant's helmet off and set it right beside his head. There was no terror in his flawless blue eyes, though they rested over the dark heavy bags that carried his regrets. "Now hold still." Job put his boot on the cold steel breastplate that kept amarant safe throught his carrier.
And job brought his axe down.
Before job left however, he turned and looked at the man. "I'll be sending this to your precious church." Job declared holding the mangled helmet in one hand. "Your name is... Rodrick, you look like a Rodrick to me. Help fix what amarant did here, maybe folks will start to forgive you. Maybe you'll start to forgive yourself."
| 2021-08-19T06:30:25
| 2021-08-19T06:06:17
| 34
| 13
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
100 people. Who can conquer the world first. I was never lucky. I only won one thing in my entire life and that was a large stuffed bear in a raffle 4 people entered. We were given an hour to consider, then they gave their boons.
Immortality was gone. Persuasion too. Self multiplication. Material conversion. Super intellect. No one chose the basic ones. The stakes were too high. The winner would herald in a new age for humanity. The losers would be dead or villianized. Luck manipution went close to 90. I didn't pay attention. No one would take mine.
"100. What do you choose?" The orb said.
"Second place." I replied.
"Explain."
"I want to be the second best at everything."
The screens with the other 99 errupted with discussion.
The orb began pulsing. Asking if this was to be allowed. It hummed, and gave the blue light of bestowal.
I felt it. I wasn't as smart as 05. I wasn't as persuasive as 9. I wasn't as tactical as 21. I wasn't as good of an imitator as 57. I was close though. They called me Jack of All. And in the end, I wasn't second. I was first.
|
“My turn!” I yelled, running forward. As I faced the monitor, I scrolled the list of powers already claimed. All of them were, even the one I wanted, but I decided to ask anyway.
“I want the power to fly!” I proclaimed.
🎵 “GRANTED” A musical synthesized voice said.
The crowd jeered and booed, but then the adjudicator stepped forward. “Well, let’s see then.” she said. I grinned, cocky, and ran forward to the front of the stage. Reaching the lip, I leapt into the air, expecting to take flight, but I fell to the ground with a rather comical clack. The crowd roared with laughter.
“You asked for something already received. It can’t be duplicated! You got nothing. Pathetic.” she said, looking down her nose at me. “Pick yourself up, boy!”
“Fuck” I said, starting to move. All the pressure of lifting myself up moved something in my gut, and I couldn’t help but fart.
Before I knew it, I’d flown into the air. I hovered above the crowd, all of whom were pinching their noses and gazing up at me in horror.
Well I guess that’s one way to achieve flight. We thought powers couldn’t be duplicated, but it seems we were wrong. The method of attaining the power couldn’t be duplicated. The first guy, well, the first guy had wings.
I have… powerful lips.
(I’m so sorry)
| 2022-11-17T08:01:45
| 2022-11-17T03:54:46
| 63
| 40
|
[WP] You used to be the greatest detective in the world till you went into retirement, as you look back on some of your cases you realize. You were wrong about all of them. Every. Single. One.
|
The air buzzed contentedly as Holmes sat on a bench in his Sussex garden and admired his hives. Bees followed a seasonal rhythm that set Holmes' mind to a similar beat; they were waking for spring, and so, Holmes decided, he must wake his brain too after a long winter mostly indoors. On the bench next to him lay a dozen sepia-faded editions of Strand Magazine -- the journal (if one could call it that) in which his friend John Watson had written up the accounts of their shared adventures.
Holmes had never approved of the stories, and had never read even one fully -- John's added flair and tweaked solutions designed for the common audience left a sour taste in Holmes' mouth. Genius did not need to be amplified by a writer's inkwell, he had always maintained. But today, as the spring sun shone and the bees hummed, Holmes decided he would try again. Revisit a few old successes -- see if he could remember the solutions before they were revealed. Surely that would wake his mind from hibernation. Hibernations that seemed harder to shake every year.
His mind had once been so lively, bursting with the musical beauty of a hundred violins. But as he'd aged the strings had frayed and the playing had fallen first to a slow adagio, and then finally to silence itself.
Holmes picked up his spectacles and the first magazine, and flipped to Watson's story. Their first adventure together: A Study in Scarlett. Even the alliterative name seemed overbearing to Holmes. In it, Watson had just returned from Afganistan and needed a place to live, and thus their introduction to one another took place. So long ago now, it really did feel like a story rather than an event.
As Holmes read the account, his wrinkled face furrowed. The furrows then deepened into long, shadowed grooves.
Odd, he thought. The observations he'd made at the time... It had been so simple for him back then. How he'd deduced Watson had been in the military; had been injured; needed somewhere to live. The evidence, too... how damn simple it had all been! The message on the wall and on the path and all the rest of it.
Sometimes, bees died. Holmes had no explanation for it. But when one died, very often it would start a chain-reaction of other deaths. So Holmes would take action -- he would admit he didn't know the answers and he would set up a new hive, move the healthy bees, and burn the old hive in case of disease in the wood.
The point was, he didn't know what killed them. And he was old enough and wise enough now to realize he didn't know all things, and that allowed him to carry out the appropriate responses based on his lack of knowledge.
He read another case.
Gods! What ego he'd had back then. Had he really been so cocksure?
Back then, he'd always known, it seemed. His observations had always been correct. His deductions too. And there was no room for doubt because Watson was always there to say "My God Holmes, you've done it again! What a mind you have." Or something similarly placating.
Why had it always been so easy for him back then, when all of life seemed a riddle now?
As Holmes read case after case after case, a realization began to sink, and the buzzing of bees dimmed from his mind. In its place was a sacred emptiness. A hollow shell that once he'd thought his life had filled.
But his life had been empty inside of it -- he'd just never cracked the shell open to peer inside.
Watson had used him. He had set up the evidence for Holmes' "great deductions". Added an obvious limp to his gait. Smeared soil over his suitcase. Knew how and where Holmes' eyes jumped for his observations -- what details he looked for. All Watson had had to do was place evidence in front of the looking glass and let Holmes do the rest.
Holmes considered.
At first he thought Watson must have done it to further his own burgeoning career as an author. That would make sense -- the stories and solutions were sensational, and Holmes was portrayed as a figure of scintillating intellect to be revered by all. It had gained them both international notoriety.
But it was the mentions of a man named Moriarty that made Holmes think twice.
*Moriarty*.
Holmes had gotten old and his memory had slowed. He'd be the first to admit it. His hair was grey and his eyes yellowing. But his mind wasn't cracked and leaking -- at least not this much.
Yes, there had been a criminal leader of startling intellect that had rivaled his own -- one he'd regretfully never caught.
But Moriarty? Never had he heard that name before. That was a name -- a character -- Watson must have created to sell more copies of Strand.
How strange. This Moriarty was a villain so daring and gleeful that you could put nothing past him.
A villain that despised Holmes. That mocked him. That purportedly near-killed him, at one point.
Holmes thought again of his old friend John Watson.
And then of Moriarty.
The music in his head -- the violins -- that had been silent for so many years, began to play once more. Softly first. Then louder. Faster. Until his mind became a roaring, raging, beautiful concerto.
​
​
An hour further passed before Holmes rose from the bench with a grim determination planted in his belly.
He would buy a train ticket. *Tonight*. He would find his aging revolver, too.
Then he'd pay what he thought likely would be a final visit to a very old friend.
​
\---
More on r/nickofstatic
|
He had worked all of his life for this.
*So why wasn't he happy?*
The last drops of white wine in his glass washed away the clinging taste the fine cigar had left. Turning away from the sea breeze as it blew across the private beach towards his home, he collapsed onto his bed. Automatically his arm reached to feel for where his wife should be, but he knew she wasn't. Unlike him, her duties for the community had only seemed to increase since her retirement.
The question lingered on, keeping his mind from the refuge of sleep.
*Why the hell aren't you happy Mark? Godamnit you should be.*
All his life he had worked to put the bad guys away. The toughest cases, the hardest criminals, the most mind-boggling puzzles. None had prevailed against his sheer determination and skill. But in his mind, the cases never remained closed. Always they would rise, bringing with them the feeling of incompleteness, of a lack of satisfaction.
Normally he would push them away, unwilling to probe into the details even in the privacy of his own head. But today, with the wine flowing in his blood, he decided to delve in once more. With near perfect recall the intricacies of some of his biggest busts played before him. He followed along, merely watching as they played out, feeling a spark of joy at each error made and found, each riddle solved.
But if only they hadn't made that mistake. If only they had done it this way or that, it would have been such a better crime, such a better work of *art*, so much more interesting to solve.
The thought made him stop and sit up.
Desperately he tried to swallow down the sickening though that had erupted in his mind with the unfettered excitement of a child, but he couldn't.
A few hours and wine glasses later, after pulling out the records of some of his more interesting cases, he had drawn it up, his mind dancing with joy at the exercise, his heart taken at the beauty of the plan. A perfect crime, a mystifying riddle, an end fitting to to a real hero.
As he stared at his work, he realised. All this time, it hadn't been the rush of solving the case, or the need to conquer evil. It had been the game, the art, the thrill of it all.
And nothing would beat it more, than being the one to perform it.
r/fatdragon
| 2020-03-23T06:01:36
| 2020-03-23T05:19:15
| 2,273
| 151
|
[WP] Aliens have finally discovered Earth - but they're not hostile. They've tasted human food, and they think it's so astonishingly good that Earth is becoming an alien tourist hotspot.
|
"I want to go to Taco Bell. Many sapients say it is the best food in the galaxy."
Golbur looked at his companion, who was holding a guidebook in her claws. "Did you just read that in the book?"
Julix looked up from the book. "Yes, but they must be good. Otherwise why would there be so many of them?"
Golbur adjusted his eyestalks to get a good look at the book. "I believe that their frequency is just a holdover from the human's Fast Food Wars. Plus it seems like they mostly serve carnivores."
"No, no. It says that scientists have been able to detect only trace amounts of real meat in their food products."
Golbur allowed himself to be dragged through the door. This restaurant location did seem to cater to non-humans, at least. He saw several Vulcans, Xenomorphs, and a Tralfamadorian sitting in the humanoid section. The hostess led them to a section with cushioned lounge seats that would fit their carapaces.
The hostess was overly cheery. "You'll please excuse me if I don't recognize your species. Would you like the Green menu, the Blue, or the Red? We also have a White menu for omnivores."
Golbur responded with a smile that made the hostess flinch only slightly. "The Green, thank you."
The hostess handed over menus from her stack. "Our Green special today is the Doritos Vegi-sushi Chalupa Supreme. I highly recommend it."
Julix was ignoring her menu and looking at the table next to them. She pointed at a spiky object on the table. "I want that!"
The hostess turned to look where she was pointing. "I'm afraid that item is on the Black menu. Approved species only."
"It's a plant, right? If it's a plant we can eat it. We can digest anything on Earth. The doctors said so." Julix turned one eyestalk back to Golbur, pleading.
"Okay, one Durado Vegisucky Chilpa Soup Ream and one of whatever that spiky thing is." When the hostess hesitated, he continued. "We'll sign a waiver."
\-----------------------------------------
It took Julix five minutes to claw open her spiky fruit. Golbur waited patiently to start his own food until she was ready. "Why did you order that?"
"It's spiky. That means the inside is delicious. Otherwise it wouldn't have to protect itself." She finally got the top off, exposing bright yellow flesh. "Oh, it smells wonderful."
"Perhaps we should scan it?" Golbur spoke too late. Julix was already biting off chunks of the fruit.
"Oh, I was right. It is good. So goob. Wat? Miy wips theel weird. Why iz eberyting tingling?"
Golbur pulled out his scanner and got a sample of the fruit. "Oh, dear. It says it has an enzyme that is attempting to digest you from the inside. The humans call it a Pine Apple."
Julix continued to eat as she fell to the floor. "Still worth it."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
|
Fifteen years ago, Humanity discovered that Star Trek's non-interference directive was near-verbatim what the Sitlan System’s reason for never interacting with us was. We were new and young and they wanted to let us mature. A world full of resources and a clean atmosphere wasn’t worth a potential ally in the vastness of the universe.
Our recklessness sort of messed that up. Turns out we were supposed to go to Mars first and that would give them time to clean up their automated mining equipment in the asteroid belt. We saw the same resources they did though and decided it would be better to send unmanned craft out first. It was a test to see if life support systems would hold up for a decade or two. There was this celebration when they did that quickly turned into a shock and awe moment when we discovered we weren’t alone.
That moment, on the Ovtan’s third moon, alarms and orders were quickly dispatched to anyone that was deemed important. A delegation was quickly assembled and launched from three of the five systems while the other two waited to see how they were received. Regardless of how it went, the two were more militaristic in nature and commented that it was better to be left out of a celebration than slaughtered at one.
Every year from that date of their arrival, humanity celebrates Visitors Day. Each delegation split in two and sent a team to each continent, one north and one south. They were treated incredibly differently to the point where it was recorded that humanity didn’t understand globalisation even though we had technically achieved it a century before. Notes were taken, comments were made, and the delegations tried their best to explain what usually happens millennia from that point.
At the point of contact, a blending of cultures and knowledge usually happened. Science and philosophy bloomed and with how advanced their AI was, most labour based jobs disappeared. They promised that some things would be difficult to let go of but when we saw the truths in the universe they had found it would be worth it.
Humanity shocked them. Of the five systems that were currently in the known vicinity and even the three that had destroyed themselves, no one had tried to convert them in one sentence and tried to sell them something in the next. If humanity was good at anything though, it was commoditization.
“Y’thod!” Robert boomed as one of his favourite mining executives walked into the hotel with his family. The grand entrance had been built to accommodate. Twenty-foot ceiling, IR and UV paint and decals, and an atmospheric control system that cost more than a landing pad. Robert bowed while waving in what was now the standard human greeting to offworlders and said, “I hope you brought your credits! I have an entirely redesigned menu for you to try.”
“Obe’t! Al’ays do!” Y’thod called back, “Al’ays love you’ food!”
“Come for the hospitality,” Robert announced, “Stay for the variety is humanity's motto.”
“Should be, stay because you can’t affo’d to leave!” Y’thod laughed back, coming close to Robert and giving him a pat on both shoulders.
It was a sign of friendship but a clear indication that Y’thod was the superior of the two. Granted the man was eight feet tall, built stronger than a tank and had a stare that would curdle water. The deep red of Y’thod’s skin always made Robert a little less self-conscious of the constant red around his nose and eyes. The old Irish man had the dark brown hair of his father but the almost translucently white skin of his mother.
“Yeah well, I assume with the family you’ll be avoiding the tables this time,” Robert said quietly.
“Why?” Y’thod asked back, “I b’ought them he’e to expe’ience human cultu’e. Food, sin, and sa’vation.”
“Ah!” Robert said with a nod, “Well I can provide two of those. The third is a trip into the malls.”
“That’s the p’an,” Y’thod with a nod before turning back around and introducing the beings with him, “‘Obe’t, this is my clan. My Bishna, my Tilsa, and our spa’n.”
“Pleasure to meet you all,” Robert said with a bow and a wave.
The six in front of Robert were all red-skinned creatures and taller than he was but radically different fitness levels. Y’thod’s Bishna would be the closest that he had to a wife and was similar in build and structure to Y’thod. Bishna were an equal pillar to the household that Y’thod’s status as Kishna were but it was more a partnership than a relationship. Their Tilsa was more like a secretary and the thin male kept their household running. Robert had been told that with the spawn, two would be Y’thod’s for replacement and, as contracted, one of them would be the Tilsa’s. It was immediately evident which was which.
Regardless, they all greeted Robert the same as Y’thod did and treated him like the weakest among them. Robert had to admit that he technically was but he sort of assumed that the Tilsa and his spawn would treat him as a superior. Not that he would demand it. So long as they flew away with significantly fewer credits than they had arrived in, Robert would be happy.”
“When do we see the st’eet magician?” one of Y’thod’s spawn asked after they were done.
“Next lifting,” Y’thod explained, “We feast and sin on this setting.”
“Point of clarity,” Robert quickly added, knowing that Y’thod preferred the doom and gloom messaging of the humans with their bull horns and pamphlets, “They prefer preacher, not magician. Street magicians are something else.”
“What’s the diffe’ence,” Y’thod asked back.
“I honestly don’t know,” Robert quietly admitted, “Different types of sleight of hand tricks, I guess.”
“And to be clea’, ‘e don’t clap for them?” Y’thod asked quietly.
“No,” Robert said with a shake of his head, “they prefer you to take a pamphlet.”
“Why can’t we see them now?” the same spawn asked.
“Because ‘e get to feast!” Y’thod tried his best to excite his family group but whispered to Robert, “Spa’n never ‘ant ‘at’s promised, do they?”
“It’s the same with humans,” Robert chuckled as he admitted and grabbed his tablet out of his holster. He clicked through a couple of menus and then held it up for Y’thod to scan in. After Y’thod’s wrist chimed, Robert explained, “I have your room and your favourite table ready. My chef has a five-course meal of your favourite micro dishes with two fresh new designs.”
“And an order of those meaty nuggets to sha’e for the spa’n?” Y’thod asked.
“What’s a meal without chicken nuggets for the spawn?” Robert asked back as the eight of them walked toward the dining hall, “I have all the dipping sauces for them to try as well already prepared.”
“Good,” Y’thod confirmed before booming, “Let's feast and sin!”
“Let’s feast and sin!” a cheer went up behind Robert, making him smile.
| 2022-06-10T09:03:12
| 2022-06-10T08:31:35
| 165
| 52
|
[WP] a prompt for bad people
Step one. Find a serious piece of work, for my example, I found a story about a lonely man who finds solace in taking long walks, and thinking about the geese that he sees. It was deep, and poetic, heartfelt, and really angsty.
Step two. Take the first sentence or two, and leave them as is. If you feel awkward about doing that, maybe paraphrase a little, but at least give the same general feel about the beginning. For example, my first lines are "Sometimes I like to take long walks by myself. It helps calm me down. I don’t really go anywhere, but it helps to clear my mind."
Step three. Take the general idea of the story (mine being about geese) and spin it in an adverse manner. For example, my next line is "That all changed, however, when the geese attacked."
Have fun with it, play up the absurdity, and don't feel bad if you feel like your idea is mocking the original piece. I will post my contribution post-haste.
|
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
Over many a quaint an curious volume of forgotten lore
While I nodden nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
But still came that incessant knocking, no more could my ease keep blocking
Out this rapping loudly stalking, louder now than 'twas before
Failing to return the silence, hesitation turned compliance
Anything to stop the violence thrust upon my chamber door
"Who is there," I asked the darkness, safely from behind the door.
"Who should keep me from my snore?"
No reply, but knocking fading, still my listening, still my waiting
Curiosity abating, every second lessened more
"Who?" once more my question ringing, may I catch a response bringing
Just whose hand by now is stinging from the banging on my door
Still no answer, just the gusting from the raging winter storm
I returned to think some more
Again came that infernal clatter, "Dear sir what could be the matter?"
Would this person once more scatter as I walk the foyer floor
No more for a reply waiting, time to start investigating
Courage then in me inflating, time to find out what's in store
To the rapping now we add the creaking of the chamber door
Behind, the visage of Lenore
"It's you," I cried as tears were falling. "I hadn't known, did you try calling?"
Realizing I'd been stalling, I asked her inside where it's warm
Slowly she begins her entry, after what seems like a century
Still I'm standing like a sentry, shaken right down to my core
Having shed her mortal coil, yet she stood there as before
Again I see my lost Lenore
"Be you ghost, or haunting spirit? Answer though I know I'll fear it
Please, the answer let me hear it. What's your fate now?" I implore
Only silence for a second, then the appararition beckoned
The risks of contact by then reckoned, how I had to know the score
Had to know the spirit's fate, what chains of bondage that she wore
'Til death' to her my oath I swore
The slap came quick across my face, another close behind in chase
The pain had trouble keeping pace, my cheeks quite soon were rather sore
"I didn't die you stupid twat, I left you in case you forgot
I shacked up with that stupid Scot who own the townhouse right next door.
I'm only here to take the trinkets sitting in my dresser drawer."
Oh yes, that's right, she was a whore.
|
Geese
Sometimes I like to take long walks by myself. It helps calm me down. I don’t really go anywhere, but it helps to clear my mind. That all changed, however, when the geese attacked.
I was just walking along the riverside, minding my own business, when suddenly I felt something long and beak-like enter into my neck. I could only assume it was a beak because there was a bird attached to the end of it. Birds don’t just attach themselves to anything, although apparently my neck was something special.
Now, don’t get me wrong. One bird I can handle. I’ve killed more geese in my day with nothing but a tube of toothpaste and a roll of duct tape than anyone I know. But when they gang up on you, that’s when things all go south (and not for the winter). I swear to you. Any onlooker would have thought that I had a very stylish goose necklace, that’s how many geese had lodged themselves in my neck. There had to be at least sixteen geese trying to get prime real-estate inside my windpipe. It was getting hard to breath. I could start pulling them out, but killing the geese one-by-one would take forever that way.
I did what any sensible man would do.
I slammed my chest and face down to the pavement beneath my feet. Eight of the beaks slid farther in, emerging from the other side of my neck, but the other eight were lodged loose. Ten of the geese got crushed under my body. They remained only as a pulpy mess smeared over my sweater. I plucked three dead birds out of my throat. Only five remained, and boy, were they mad. I pulled two out, breaking their necks in the process, the thirds beak chipped off as I dislodged it, but the remaining two were giving me more trouble.
A foot knocked into my face. While I was busy dealing with the neck-fowl, one surviving bird had opted to instead use its webbed feet to mess up my face. Tiny claws slashed my face, and blood started to pool up in my eyes. I felt like I was about to cry. Yeah. That’s right. Real men cry. We just cry blood instead of your prissy little “tears.” I grabbed at the bird, and took a large bite out of its abdomen. It flopped about for about thirteen seconds, but then it just kind of hung limp.
Now to return to the problem in my neck. Try as I might, the two remaining demons-of-the-sky refused to dislodge themselves from my trachea. There clearly was only one other option.
I grabbed the tips of the beaks behind me, and I pulled for all I was worth.
Does anyone remember those feather dusters? Have you ever held your hand around one and pulled the feathers through your fingers? I want you to imagine that feeling, but going through your neck. Feathers gently tickling around the entry points, and caressing the soft flesh. Oh, and add an adolescent member of the Anatidae family stuffed inside of it. My neck tripled in size to accommodate the large geese.
The geese, red with rage (which looks a lot like blood) snapped at me upon their release of their neck sheaths. I grabbed the bodies of two incapacitated foes, and swung them about over their heads. Beating them to death.
I am done with walks.
| 2013-04-26T08:24:12
| 2013-04-26T07:13:48
| 2,736
| 22
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[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much!
|
The problem with life magic is that it's so damn boring. I know, I know - that sounds silly, doesn't it? We're so popular. Who wouldn't love a man who can mend a broken bone with a gesture? Cure arthritis, grow back a missing limb. Make a paralyzed man walk.
Every village has a life mage - or wishes it did. In the cities, we're constantly in demand. I could walk into any of the trade hubs along the Kairen sea and be rich in a week. I've got more than enough talent for it.
But it's so damn *boring*. The same problems, over and over. The same dull, banal issues. Bones want to go back together the same way they came apart. The human body *wants* to work. It's so easy. Just a little pulse of magic, helping the body do what it already wants to. There's no thought, no finesse, no skill involved. You don't need to be good at your job, you just need to be a battery to help the body do what it wanted to do anyway.
There's no art in that.
Life magic is the magic of growth, and renewal, and change.
Change - now *that's* interesting. Anyone can grow an arm back. Anyone can regenerate damaged nerves. That's what your body wanted anyway - it's as easy as coloring in the lines of a book. But change, that requires real skill. Taking something living, and making it more than what it was - more than what it ever could have been - that's where the true challenge of life magic is. That's where you can truly show the world that you're more than just another quick fix for their broken bones or lamed horses.
I thought you might enjoy understanding why you're here. Sure, we could do something simple, like fixing that arm of yours. But I think it would be ever so much more interesting to do something neat - have you ever heard of cancer? No? That's okay. Most people haven't.
We're going to see how much of it your body can hold, before I can't keep you alive any longer. It should be fun. The last guy lived for *weeks*. I think you'll outlast him, personally. I'm a lot better at this now. And now I know to make sure to keep your airway open. That was rather amateurish of me, I must admit. What a silly mistake, yeah? Certainly won't do that again. Not with you. You're going to last such a very long time.
|
The world had fallen. Chaos ran rampant through ruined streets, demolished buildings scattered across the landscape. People ran from crumbled wall to crumbled wall, avoiding each other in fear. A child, crying, is silenced as a burning ball hurls into a building, engulfing everything within.
Not many survived the fall, the mages had fought each other across the globe. Raining down the elements and more upon innocents. Yet, not a single one of them cared. There were no more heroes. There were no more villains. Just mindless, angry, mages with a vendetta against one another. Now, the few that remained ruled over their little cloisters of humans. Most of the fighting had stopped, but even now, as desolation covered the world, they would run into one another, and fight. Trying to prove themselves. Raining more death onto innocents.
Alone, in the ruin, rising far above all else, shining still despite the destruction, stood a single tower. It had once been known as the Eiffel Tower, and no-one dared touch it. Built into the top was a single suite, large, yet conforming to the contours of the tower itself.
Inside, upon a golden throne, she sat. The self-proclaimed Aphrodite. Something only the strongest mages did was to name themselves after god's. No-one had noticed her in the beginning. After all, she was just a plain, boring woman. Her hair was a dull brown, draped shoulder-length, carelessly and unkempt. With brown eyes set with a somewhat larger nose between, on a face roughened by working too much in the sun, barely anyone gave her a second glance.
No-one really knew how strong a mage with power over Love would be. What should have been a kind, beautiful power, turned leaders against each other, mage on mage, nation on nation. All in the name of love.
So now she sat, watching the world that had once ruined her heart, fall to ruin itself. Where she had once been cast aside and ignored, so was everyone else in the attempt to prove their undying love to her. And it felt good.
| 2016-11-12T10:49:45
| 2016-11-12T10:14:05
| 94
| 28
|
[WP] Walt Disney actually WAS cryogenetically frozen, but he's now been cured, unthawed, and is being briefed on what has happened with his company since 1966.
|
James begins briefing Walt on the performance of the Disney Company. He approaches the end of the list and gets squeamish, and states, "Also, the most recent movie really took off, and we are working on a sequel now."
Disney responds, "The most recent movie? What's it called?"
James didn't want to respond, so he skirted around the issue, "Oh, there was plenty of singing, dancing, great product-tie-ins, it even won a few awards."
Disney asked again, "The movie--what was the *name* of the movie?"
James' eyes shifted downward, then over to Michael, who pretended not to notice the awkwardness in the room. James again attempted to re-direct Walt. "It stars two sisters, and even had a talking snowman!"
Walt knew something was amiss, and wondered if perhaps the movie had been named something that sounded horrible in the 50's, but had taken new meaning in the new century. Walt ran through every vulgarity, curse word, and euphemism in his mind, trying to determine what name could be so embarrassing and awkward that James and Michael feared to tell it to him. Stumped, Walt called for his new secretary.
"Peggy?" Walt called. James and Michael exchanged nervous glances.
"Mr. Disney?" Peggy replied nervously.
"It's Walt, Peggy. Peggy, do you mind telling me about our most recent movie, starting two young, singing girls and a talking snowman?"
Peggy glanced at James and Michael, fearing that no matter how she answered, she was going to upset someone.
"It's alright, Peggy, I can handle it," Walt said with a smile. James slowly nodded his approval.
"It's...um...it's called...*Disney's Frozen*."
|
“I’m sorry?” Walt said, leaning forward and stretching out his shoulder. It felt as though he’d been laying on it for nearly the past fifty years, partially because that was exactly what he’d done.
“Your parks, they’re still up and active. In fact, they’re even bigger than before,” the man said, handing Walt a glass of water. He grabbed it and tipped it back, the water remaining lodged in the back of his mouth. He hadn’t swallowed anything in so long, his throat locked in the same position since the day he was frozen. They told him it would be uncomfortable, but he didn’t think he’d forget how to swallow. He spit the water out onto the table.
“I really don’t care about that,” he said, thrusting his neck forward in an attempt to remember how to use the muscles within.
“But,” the man said, his voice rising slightly, “we’re worth almost 150 billion dollars now. That’s ‘billion’ with a ‘b.”
“Who cares how much something is worth if there is no integrity?” Walt said, putting the cup of water back down. He’d remember how to swallow later, some things in life were just more important. Finding out how his company—the company he had put his entire life into—had gone so awry seemed more important than flexing his throat muscles.
“Yes,” the man said, staring down at the floor, “but we’re now one of the most recognizable brands on the planet. Entire children’s youths are shaped around the content we create—the content *you* created. It’s a totally different world now.”
“I built this company with a mission in mind,” Walt said, “a mission to not let Jews enjoy rides and cartoons. Now what do I see? Jews on rollercoasters? Jews eating candy? How is that integrity. How is that a company worth supporting? The moment my body went cold, you buffoons destroyed what I created.”
“Sir,” the man said, staring up at Walt with widened eyes, “you can’t just say that about Jewish people anymore.”
“What do you mean? I thought this was America. I thought we enjoyed freedom here.”
“We do,” the man said, “but Disney is now a globally recognized children’s brand, and you are a very public figure. It took years to hide your anti-Semitism after your alleged death. We had to assassinate dozens of people in order to try to revamp the Disney image. You can’t just bring us back to that dark time.”
“Dozens?” Walt said, tilting his head slightly. “You’ve killed dozens of people? That’s it? Whatever happened to the Disney motto: *If you’re not having fun, we’ll fucking kill you.*”
“We had to change that,” the man said, again glancing down at the floor. “It tested very poorly, people felt threatened. Now we use *The Happiest Place on Earth* for Disney World.”
“The happiest place on earth?” Walt said. “What kind of gay shit is that?”
“Sir!” the man shrieked. “You can’t say that!”
“What, shit?”
“No, gay. Homosexuality is not as taboo as it was when you were frozen.”
“What do you mean? Does Disney no longer host a Friday Night Gay Bashing?” Walt sat back in his chair and smiled. Those were some of his favorite times, spending the evenings beating up homosexuals until their arms grew tired. There was simply nothing quite as relaxing.
“No,” the man said. “That stopped in 1972, now we show fireworks.”
“What in the fuck have you done with my company?” Walt said, rising to his feet. He’d left it in such good condition: Jew free and hate-filled. Now it was a world of joy, equality, and other nonsense? “I’ve got Jews walking around my park, gays spreading their propaganda, and there hasn’t been a murder in who knows how long? This is an embarrassment, a god damn disgrace.”
“But—”
“No,” Walt screamed, smashing his fist into the table. “I’m done with this. I should never have left you idiots in charge.” He paused. “In fact, I don’t want to live in a world as fucked up as this. I demand you return me to the cryogenics lab and re-freeze me for another decade, or at least until this is fixed. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” the man said.
“And I want you to thaw out the only man I trust to put Disney back where I left it, Adolf Hitler. Defrost him and promote him to CEO. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” the man said, sighing. “I’ll go get Mr. Hitler out of the fridge.”
____________________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^new ^subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) ^or [^on ^my ^website!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
| 2014-12-30T10:56:45
| 2014-12-30T10:43:09
| 765
| 132
|
[WP] Your small, otherwise unimpressive kingdom is suddenly the strongest power in the land, for the sole reason that unlike other kings, you are happy to work with the local orcs, goblins, dragons, and other races usually attacked on sight.
|
“My lord!”
King Paiser glanced back behind him, as a Elvish page ran up, a handful of papers in his arms. He racked his mind for a moment, before mentally snapping his fingers. “Kever, wasn't it?”
“Y-Yes, my lord. I just received news from Sir K'Tenar on the western border.”
The king nodded, then gestured for the page to follow after him. “Good news, I hope?”
“Yes, my lord. He's successfully repelled King Nigelian's forces.”
“Already?”
“Yes, my lord.” The page flipped through some of the papers. “Sir K'Tenar says that he negotiated with some of the local goblin population, paying them to harass Nigelian's supply lines. It sounds like he got a good deal from them as well.”
“I imagine so. No doubt there were a few goblins who remember the last time Nigelian tried to exterminate them.”
The king walked on, passing out of the throne room and nodding to a pair of orcish guards as he passed. “Anything else to report?”
“Sir K'Tenar mentioned that a number of orcs passed over the border and came to him seeking blood sanctuary. He requested permission to let them join his house, apparently they gave him intelligence on Nigelian's forces and even joined in the final push to drive them out. He says that without them, he probably wouldn't have lasted out the month.”
“I see. And out of curiosity, were there any Humans who also defected?”
“A few- spouses and blood-brothers, I imagine.”
“I suppose that's to be expected.”
It was a strange thing. For centuries, races had squabbled. Orcs, Humans, Fae, they'd all glowered at each other over their borders, occasionally launching campaigns against anyone who dared to not obey the borders people drew on a map. Humans were chased from the forests, Orcs chased from the plains, Elves chased from the coasts. Until there'd been no where else to go, leaving a handful of refugees of all kinds stuck in a valley with nothing but mountains and angry kingdoms surrounding them. King Paiser's grandfather had been one of them, and in a moment of desperation, they'd all decided to set aside their differences and bunker down together.
And strangely, it had worked.
Human zealots found themselves held off by Orcish armor. Orcish phalanxes were stymied by Goblin traps. Goblin raiders were picked off by Elvish arrows, and Elvish bandits caught by Human pikemen. And so the valley survived, caught in a vice but unbreaking. Enemies were reluctant to invade and harm their own kind- or worse, risk infuriating their neighbors. And all the while, the former refugees now found themselves surprisingly prosperous, as each group shared what they had and built upon the others. And every time some fool like Nigelian got too big for his britches and decided to try and tried to put an end to the disgustingly cosmopolitan valley...
King Paiser smiled to himself, before nodding to the page. “Send word to Sir K'Tenar congratulating him on his win. Next time he's in, we'll have a feast in his honor.”
“Of course, my lord.”
The page scurried off, only to be replaced by a trio of goblins, happily talking over each other about their latest ideas for installing a city-wide sewer system. A king's work was never done, after all.
|
The Queen of Ratma, the land of forever lasting ice was known as the stronest women in lead all across earth and water. She was not a beauty never seen before or a mind with full of knowledge, she was a short and pale girl having the eyes of a snake and the magic of all her ancesters before. Her key to greatness was one and only one little thing what no other king or queen had around her, a golden heart.
Her kindness and the Gods blessing made her love every creature in existance and feel pity to those whom never tried giving chances to the people nothing like them.
She gave shelter to the refugees of poor, disabeld, monster like humanoid livings called "Angels".
Angels where known world wide as the sign of bad. The sign of change and storms.
Humans but with wings on their backs. That was the only difference and just the Queen of Ratma seen this. She seen them as one of her own. She seen them as humans discriminated only by their looks.
By giving someone help the help will be returned. Taking someone from the ground and helping them through life, the persone will give back something with or without their knowledge but always making others proud.
The young Queen known this but never in her dreams touth that by this small human act her kingdom will find an ally so strong and so holy as angels.
With this allyship she proudly went to war to fight for equality.
(Little author's note. This is my first longer writing in english and im a hundred precent sure i have some grammatic error in it. Just to be warned.)
| 2021-09-25T10:48:05
| 2021-09-25T08:59:03
| 26
| 13
|
[WP] A level superheroes protect the universe, B level superheroes protect the Galaxy, C level superheroes protect the Earth and so on. You are a Z level superhero. You protect...a single street in a small village.
|
This is my street. No, I don’t technically own it or anything – private drives are for people with a whole lot more money than I have. This lovely stretch or road was assigned to me by our governing body, the International Council of Super Heroes, twenty-two years ago. You see, the ICSH is ran by a council of elders who utilize a tremendous AI, that was developed by Wayne Industries, to rank heroes by natural ability, aptitude and society's needs. Some of them are massively powerful or frighteningly smart, and get the big jobs. You know, fighting off extraterrestrial threats; maintaining the space-time continuum; preventing nuclear holocaust; et cetera. Not me, though. I’m plenty smart, but I am not all that powerful: I am a little faster than the average human, I can see in the dark a little better, and I am a superb judge of character. Once I started discovering my powers, I had dreams of defending the cosmos from nefarious entities. That allegedly brilliant AI didn’t agree with my dreams and gave me the score of Z. My heart was broken until I arrived here.
I was assigned to Indian Paintbrush Ave, here in Bairoil, Wyoming. Ever heard of it? Probably not. There is nobody in Wyoming, so a town of ninety-nine people might as well not exist. It is sparse here, dry and hot in the summer. In the winter it snows so damn much. I’m from Pensacola, and frankly I hate this snow and the lack of water. The mountains are nice, though. You want to know what keeps me at my post, here in the middle of nowhere? The people. On IPA, as I cleverly like to call my road, there are about fifty people spread across twenty-eight houses and a shed that I’m pretty sure that someone is squatting in. For these people, I’m important to the community, and I’d never have it any other way.
You see, normally I’d be here to fight crime or guard school kids as they get off the bus. The thing is, there is basically no crime here, and the whole town has like five children who are of elementary school age. Instead, I serve my street and people however I can. It was last November, for example, when I helped save the life of old Toby Jones. He’d had a heart attack and no pulse, but the nearest hospital is way over in Casper. Had I not been fully trained in CPR and my superpower of having 10% more stamina than the average man, Toby would have died by the time Medvac arrived. Oh, and there was that time where the Ferris Mountain wildfire was threatening the town. Everyone had left Bairoil due to the evacuation, except for Jamie Harris and her disabled aunt. They had no place to go, but I had connections. Thanks to my membership in the ICSH, I was able to score a sweet five percent discount at the Motel 6 up in Jeffrey City, and provide safe refuge for Jamie and her Aunt Mildred.
Most of my days aren’t that eventful, to be honest. I actually spend most of my time shoveling driveways and sidewalks in the winter, sweeping the dust in the summer and just shooting the breeze with the townsfolk. I may be assigned to only IPA, but this whole community has welcomed me, embraced me, and accepted me as one of their own. They even started calling me “Captain Bairoil,” a nickname that I might just use as my official title registered with the ICSH. To tell you the truth, I was very disappointed to be sent here. It was hard to go from the sunny, warm climate of Florida to the harsh weather of central Wyoming. The mountains are austere and beautiful, but I miss the sea and palm trees. But you know what? I’m glad they sent me here. This place has become home, and this community is now my community. I love it here and hope to never leave.
|
Instantsight
Chapter one: unforeseen circumstances
Most of the kids who know of me think its silly I do what I do. Being the protector of a street in the small village doesn’t seem to add up too much. The one thing they don’t know is my powers / abilities. Most people don’t know them in fact. I don’t have super speed, but I do have physic visions allowing me to see the future. It is handy when trying to prevent big accidents like fires or bad accidents. I also can teleport whenever I envision in my mind. As s level Z superhero though I get paid yearly for crime prevention and bad guys stopped. Basically, the longer my street remains crime free or low crime rate I get my check. I could show off all my powers, but that may make villains continue to try to come back. If the only thing I must deal with are a few criminals from time to time and heckling from the neighborhood kids I’m alright with that life.
One evening though a few thieves decided to see what I was capable of and began stealing things from the residents of my street. Without them noticing I appeared right behind them. “Look if you put back what you stole and promise not to do it again, I’ll dismiss this from occurring and we can all go on about our lives.” I said startling the three robbers. In response one of them tried to punch me in the face while another started to pull out knives. I audibly sighed and dodged the punch. As I dodged the knife wielding one came in for a stab. I teleported right beside him and tripped him resulting him and his fist friendly co worker get entangled with one another. The third however pulled out a gun. He smirked and he pulled the hammer back and aimed it right in the middle of my chest. What he wasn’t expecting was I smiled back “Look this is your last chance to give up peacefully.”. They were not impressed as the one with the gun pulled the trigger the other two went for my legs. The gun wasn’t loaded and when I teleported behind the gun wielding bandit the other two collided again but this time knocking each other out. As the gun bandit realized where I was, he tried to spin around, but I was able to hit him upside the head knocking him unconscious. I called the police and put the bandits in restraints. I also removed the small video camera I had on me recording the altercation. I gave the sd card to the police when they arrived.
With another day saved I went back to my little apartment pet my cat and went to my little office and found a teenage adult sitting in my computer chair holding a strange card. As they looked at me and the card they read it aloud “Dear Instantsight, It has come to our attention that your skills and ranking do not match up well and have sent you an invitation to be re-evaluated. This time it is an order from the higher ups that you show up for the re-evaluation and have been given a substitute hero to take your place while you go.” “Well I did not see this coming… shoot” I sighed out loud.
| 2020-07-28T12:51:28
| 2020-07-28T12:38:27
| 63
| 45
|
[WP] Yeah, love potions are a thing, but there is one problem: they never specified the kind of love. Sometimes this backfires.
[deleted]
|
"So it's just 200?"
He nodded.
"And-"
He held up his hand. "Look, I don't ask questions. What you do with it is up to you, and how I make it is up to me." He pressed the vial into my hand, and I quite dumbly passed over the cash.
"Just a reminder, although I'm sure you know this already, you don't get to choose the type of love."
"I know."
 
The sauce coming along really well. So far, nothing as burned, and although I did chop the vegetables a little too finely it was probably going to be alright. It's just mundane. It's just cooking. You've done it for yourself plenty of time before, this time will be no different. It can't be any different, because you're not doing anything different.
I wiped away the sweat from my brow, then washed my hands for the seventh time, too clammy. The vial was just lying there. A promise to give me everything I wanted. Or to twist that innocent wish into a living nightmare. A nervous gulp, some clenched hands, and a glance at my phone later, and I had it between my fingers. In the back of my mind, a little voice kept whispering to me that she wouldn't come. That after all the preparation, and after she even said she would, that she wouldn't. It would be just like every other time, a broken heart and nothing to show for it.
I bit down, grinding my teeth together as I unstoppered the liquid and let it work its magic. It sizzled a little. And that was it. Truth be told, a rather anti-climactic result.
It's okay, the magic is going to come later. You'll see.
Now, perhaps it is unethical, what I do. And one could say that I'll regret my actions, that I'll look back on this young and foolhardy and cruel desire sprung out of naivety and nothing more than that and rue the day I did this. That it's wrong to-
A loud knock on the door broke me out of my thoughts.
"C-c-coming!" I stammered out, stumbling towards the door. "Hey, umm, uh-" No, I couldn't say it yet, "Jennifer. S-so glad you could make it."
I put on the best smile that I could.
"Sammy," I always hated it when he called him that, "said that I should. Besides, it's a free meal, isn't it?"
My most awkward and forced laugh filled the air. It didn't help.
"Well, it's uh, just about ready. A bit hot, but it'll cool down in a minute or two, do you-"
"Good, the bathrooms..."
Oh, of course. You're not here to talk, are you?
"The bathroom's just down the passage, on your left," I smiled, gesturing towards it, though she'd already started walking that way. Out of earshot, I let out a sigh. Now or never. Besides, it made it all the easier. Rice first, sauce after, and two moderately delicious bowls later, she walked back out.
We sat in silence. And ate. She seemed calm. I nearly dropped my spoon 3 times.
Come on, come on. My mind flashed with all the horror stories I heard, of the love being that of obsession, of sisterly love, of a twisted and demented love that leads to a murder and suicide. But those were all horror stories, things that rarely ever happened. Most love potions would go for the path of least resistance.
I glanced over. I really hope the path to of least resistance was-
"Hey, umm," I muttered nervously, trying to push my thoughts and doubts away. It would've worked its magic by now.
Deep breath in.
"I love you."
The silence hung for what could only have been the longest 3 seconds of my life. Please, please, please.
"I love you too, son."
|
I grew up in a wealthy family and continued on our legacy. By my mid-40s I was a multi-billionaire. I had everything one could desire, from yachts to items that would be better suited for the Lourve. When you have access to everything, you get an appetite for rarity. You want what no one else can have.
I was at a ball held by a dear family friend when I heard some of the more prestigious members of the group, in an already prestigious crowd mind you, talking in a hushed tone. I got closer and heard them discussing love potions and how they were real. One man that clearly had came accompanied by an escort quipped that he sure could use it for his wife. The men laughed, while their wives gave looks of disapproval.
I continued on with my night but over the next few days I couldn't shake the conversation from my mind. I had to get my hands on the love potion.
I reached out to a few contacts I had that I felt I could trust with the information if they ended up not already knowing about the potions. A few others I figured I could joke my way out of them realizing I was actually asking them seriously. Eventually someone referred me to their aunt.
She wouldn't speak with me about it over the phone, and told me to meet her at an address I couldn't even find on Google Street View. While my motivation to have this potion was indeed deeply rooted in wanting something others wanted but couldn't have, I was starting to think it might be deeper than that. When you have a certain amount of wealth, it's hard to tell when people like you for who you are instead of what you can provide them. I don't know if I've ever been loved by anyone, even my parents. The Christmas tree may have been fully adorned and overflowing with presents, but when it came time to open them they were absentminded at best, absent at worst.
I wasn't sure who this woman was, or where I was going, but god dammit I was going to do it. So off I went.
I reached the door, and was met by a short, chubby hispanic woman with a thick accent, "Hello, come in, come in."
I followed her into the quaint home and smelled spices I had never spelled before. I didn't waste much time on pleasantries though. "So, about the potions."
"Yes, I have one right here. But I need to make sure you know that there is risk involved with taking this."
"That's fine, I don't care. How much does it cost."
Like I said, I was hell-bent on doing this.
"Alright then. This will cost you 1.1 billion. I will write you instructions on how to pay, and you must follow them to a T. If I don't receive it by Sunday at 1 PM I will have to do things I don't like to do. Don't make me do things I don't like to do, okay?"
"Uh, yeah sure of course."
She handed me a glass vile and I grabbed it and very quickly got the hell out of there.
The second I reached my car, I drank the potion and waited to see what was going to happen. I had no idea how long it would take, or what I was even supposed to expect.
And then it happened.
I was passing by a school and saw children playing on the playground. I started to get a feeling I had never felt before... at least not toward them. What the fuck? No. This is just one of those instrusive thoughts like when you tell yourself to put your hand in the garbage disposal or drive off a bridge.
But then it happened again while watching TV. No. This can't be the potion. It can't be. Was THIS the risk she was talking about? I was furious. I got in my car, drove back to that house and banged on her door.
"Oh, hello there!" she said with a sly grin plastered on her face.
"What the fuck did that potion do to me. I'VE STARTED LIKING KIDS. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. WHERE'S THE ANTIDOTE."
"Oh, my my my. I see you're in quite the pickle. I guess everything we do in life has risks, now, doesn't it?"
"WHAT THE FUCK, I DIDN'T KNOW THIS IS WHAT YOU MEANT BY RISK!"
"I am so glad to hear you say that Mr. Roberts. You see, my father felt that same exact way when you funneled all of that money out of his retirement into your hedge fund and proceeded to lose it all. When he lost everything, your only god damn retort was that that was the risk he took. Well, how does it feel?"
| 2020-08-05T02:05:53
| 2020-08-05T00:41:29
| 471
| 79
|
[WP] Santa asks a child on his lap what he wants for Christmas. "To destroy ISIS," the child replies. Determined to grant the child his wish, Santa sets out to destroy ISIS.
|
Santa stared at the child.
"San'ie? You 'kay?", asked the small child.
"Yes, I am. I was just considering your wish. It's an odd one . . . but I think I might actually be the right guy for the job", Santa give the child a warm smile.
Soon, the child hopped off Santa's knee, and gave a grin and a wave back to Santa, "Blo' 'em up real good!".
Santa winced.
Later that night, Santa set off from the north pole. He'd called his elves earlier and had them prepare some special items, or else he would've taken care of it before coming back from the mall that day. (Community outreach was important, these days. Too many kids! Too many letters! If he didn't see the kids sometimes, he would get lost in the data and stop seeing them as people that needed love and care and guidance).
He donned a dark suit instead of his customary red and white, and took a one-reindeer hansom to his destination. It hadn't seen use in a while, but when he didn't have a heavy load, it was fast, quiet, and radar-invisible.
He parked the hansom on a roof, so gently the springs didn't even so much as squeak, and deftly entered through a window on the floor below.
«Who are you?!», asked a man, sitting up from his bedding, pointing a firearm at the fat man.
«I'm not known too well here, but I am bringer of good wishes and good cheer»
The man made a threatening noise with the firearm.
«In the middle of the night through my window?»
Santa took the sack off his back, nearly empty it was, and removed one of the special items.
The man looked at Santa quizzically. He cautiously got up and approached santa, his eyes locked on the item.
«Uncle's train?», he asked, «How did you get this?!»
«Not quite the wooden train your uncle carved for you, I'm afraid, that's still broken and lost under rubble.»
«Back in the house I lived as a student», the man said glumly.
«I had it made for you. It's not a replacement, but a reminder»
«A reminder of what?», he asked as he took the offered toy
«That men were wrong when they drone-bombed your house without compassion, and that you will be wrong when you think and act without compassion»
«Fuck you! If people won't see what is wrong with the world, what recourse do I have?! I have compassion, my actions are justified!», he yelled, but Santa had already tumbled back onto the roof and ridden away.
He had many such encounters that night. Far less than the number of Daesh supporters, but many.
He landed on the airstrip at home, an elf waving the batons to guide his landing on the treacherous ice, ("Global warming", he thought, "I really need to start thinking about that one").
The elf came up to him to grab the reins and lead the hansom and the reindeer back into the stable. "What did that accomplish, anyways?"
"Doubt, uncertainty. In time, compassion"
"Shoulda given them all lumps of coal"
"I give people coal to make them realize they have done bad things and to reflect on their actions. I gave people toys tonight to make them realize they have done bad things, and to reflect on their actions"
"They aren't going to stop killing people, y'know"
"They will, in time"
"There's still going to be violence"
"There will be less violence. There's no magic button I can press in the hearts of men to make them soft & forgiving, loving & compassionate"
"Will what you did even dismantle Daesh? You didn't visit any of their leaders!"
"A movement like this doesn't have leaders, only organizers"
"There are still leaders amoung them!"
"Presidents and prime ministers can die without the countries dissolving. This . . . is somewhat less centralized"
There was a tense silence.
" . . . who did you visit tonight?"
"The passionate ones"
"Will it work?"
Santa sighed.
"For this name of this movement? Yes. But there is much hatred the world over, and the actions taken by people without compassion breed hatred and a lack of compassion the world over. We have many christmases left before we aren't needed."
"That's a lot more cookies and milk, boss"
Santa smiled
"There's that, yes"
|
There wasn't much in the bag this time. It didn't fill to the rim. There weren't any presents for well-behaving children.
In the bag, there were only three cases. All of them had been carefully labeled. He read them out loud, as if to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything:
- Breda M38 Machine Gun
- FIM-43 Rocket Launcher
- Panzerfaust 3 shoulder-fire missile
The aircraft was just about to deploy him. The livery read NPC in large, bold letters. "North Pole Commandos".
What's with the plural? There was only one of him. And he was about to embark on the what could be his last journey into the realm of ordinary men.
Usually, he kept himself hidden from the outside world. Sneak in, sneak out. No detections. This time he was about to engage the world in ways — violent ways — he'd never attempted before.
His parachute opened. It took him about 15 minutes to reach the ground. No reindeers this time. He didn't want them hurt. This wasn't what they signed up for.
The desert landscape was flat. Completely flat. But there were lights up head. Maybe one or two miles due east. NSA intelligence was good. The same data he used to determine which children had been naughty had finally been used to determine the naughtiness of adults wielding actual power.
| 2015-12-07T18:13:28
| 2015-12-07T16:18:22
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] You die and your spirit meets Death. He/she tells you you owe him a favour.
My first Writing Prompt submission. I hope it's okay.
Oh, and to clarify, I mean the physical embodiment of Death - the Grim Reaper.
|
He wasn't as tall as I thought he would be. Wasn't short either. Both his height and his weight were somewhere in the middle. His clothes could have been from an older time, but then again, anyone can wear clothes from pretty much any style of the past century and not get glanced at twice these days. I could have passed him on the street this morning, and I wouldn't know this very moment if I saw him a few hours ago. Jesus. How many times have I passed him?
His face was the trickiest part of him. He could easily be placed in his late thirties at just a glance, but the longer I looked the more I saw. His eyes at first were such a bright blue, they shocked me. I had to stare at them for a minute before I realized they were actually faded and turning grey at the edges of his pupils. An odd grey hair could be seen on the sides of his head. When he breathed, you could almost *feel* a rattle. The sound reverberated through my knees, and settled in my chest, making me feel like I was the one wheezing.
I realized we were both silent. Did he just say something? He has an expectant look on his face. Or is it happy?
"I'm sorry?" I asked.
"I'm not." He is definitely smiling now.
"Oh. I just thought you maybe asked me something." I waited for an answer. He seems to be waiting for something else.
"Ginger." He said the word with a casual tone. The same way one might say 'Fine', when you ask them how they are. I had no idea what I was supposed to say to that. Was the word supposed to mean something? Is this a password? "Some sort of terrier, I believe" he added.
That registered.
Immediately, I knew what he meant. When I was six, we had a dog named Ginger. She meant a lot to me as A child, but every child's dog means a lot to them. My dad took Ginger fishing with him one day. He wasn't even gone two hours when he came home, carrying Ginger up the front steps of the house. She was whining and screaming. I'd never heard of a dog scream before. Scream seems like the only word to describe it. Dad said she swallowed a fishing lure. Ginger was spraying tiny flecks of blood out of her nose when she breathed, and wouldn't lie still. Dad had to hold her down, or she would thrash around, and kick her back leg out. Mom was crying, and on the phone with the vet.
Then it all stopped. Ginger just suddenly relaxed, and stopped thrashing and whining. I thought she was dead, everyone thought she died. then her chest started moving. She was taking long, strong breaths. she wasn't spraying blood out of her nose when she exhaled and she wasn't screaming. We got her to the vets clinic later that afternoon. The vet did x rays, and said there was no fish hook in her. Said it was probably a seizure.
"What did you say?" His voice was soft. It cradled me out of that memory. I haven't even thought of Ginger in probably 5 years.
I didn't understand. "I didn't say anythi-"
"When Ginger went quiet. What did you say?" His voice was still soft.
"I didn't say anything. It was a long time ago. I don't remember" I lied to this stranger. I could remember what I said Perfectly. I could remember it more clearly than anything else that happened that day. It scared me more than Ginger's blood and screams.
"Please help her." His voice was barely a whisper. He smiled just a little bit, but looked sad as he said it. "Please help her." he whispered again.
I couldn't move. I could hear myself breathing. I imagined little flecks of blood coming out of my nose on my exhales. Just like poor Ginger with a fish hook in her throat.
"Please help her." he whispered it so softly.
"I didn't say that." I half lied.
"Yes you did." He was still smiling. Still patient.
"I didn't say that out loud!" I didn't mean to raise my voice, but he didn't seem to mind.
"Yes, but I heard you" I didn't see his lips move as he said the words.
I hesitated. My words caught in my throat a dozen times before they hit my tongue, and they got stuck there too. It felt like trying to ask your boss for a raise, or telling your girlfriend a horrible secret. You know what you want to say, and its such a simple string of words, but they don't come easily. "I was talking to God when I said that." The words fall out as easily as I knew they should have, but it still feels weird to say. "I was asking God to save her."
"I know..." he held a hand up, in front of him. He kept it close to his body, and looked down at it. His hand opened slowly, like he had caught a cricket, and was checking if it was still in there. He was holding a fishing lure. Same kind my dad kept in his tackle box. "...But I heard you first".
|
To be fair, I'm not very surprised. I was expecting it: I was one of the 'terminals' hooked up to tubes and wires in a quieter area of the hospital, I was ready enough to go. Even though, you know, I'm a fucking teenager. Eighteen and ready to start my life at a college across the country, plans on taking on the world with the naivete of your typical bright-eyed kid. Me. Slipped away, breathing stopped, brain activity screeching to a silent halt, me.
For some context, it started with excessive burping (unladylike, yeah, but it could be entertaining in its own right) and sluggishness-- lethargy, rather; followed by the inevitable colonoscopy (and flusssssssshhhhhhhh!), followed by bad news. Stomach cancer. Stage IV, already encroached on my liver, kidneys, bladder, uterus. Bones. That was a fun night. Hearing my mom, with whom I still lived, cry desperately and pray to whatever God she still believed in for some sort of savior; consider, even though she knew very well the term "futile care," the option of trying to fix up the swiftly bloated and dysfunctional organs left in my body.
I, personally, cried. In my room. With my dog, sitting on my bed; looking out the window I'd stared at for years with that ol' longing adventurous fantasy. So close.
The rest followed quickly enough: denial on both our parts shuttled me up into a nice room in the hospital I was born in (it had nifty oval windows-- I could always tell that hospital from a distance), and got me settled into my deathbed. Two months in, and the inevitable struck: I just...
Well. I don't know how to explain it. I'd say "lifted out of my body," but that's not quite right. I could feel my weight ease away from my consciousness, as if I were going up, up, and away, but-- there were still the odd tugs. Tingles, maybe-- and then everything went whitish. I was knocked out of the ballpark, taken down, lights shut off and no one home, out. Gone. I was out, and there was no description for my new surroundings. I really wish I could, but I just-- it's a blank. Not 'blackness of the room' blank, and certainly not 'looking up into the white light of a surgical table' blank, but it was, well. I'm gonna say gray. Just undeniably unnoticeable. And in that gray, was Death.
Now, let me preface this with one thing: Death is a pretty chill dude. I don't quite remember what he looked like, or his voice, necessarily (I mean, *come on*, it's death-- gotta keep up the mystique), but I remember our conversation. He said "Hi," I said, "What the fuck," and he continued with the explanation of how afterlife works. That's a long, useless story that I'll tell another time, but for now let me get to my point: Death has inadvertently saved my life multiple times. Hundreds, even. [As a quick explanation, my mom is an alcoholic (recovered!), and, ignoring her problem, used to make way too fucking many risky drives home with my petrified childhood self.] So I was by no means surprised when he told me that I'd managed to slip through a few cracks. Death is just one guy, after all, and modern medicine is one hell of a morbidity cock-block. So I got it. Just...
Well, death is also a bit of a prime douche bag. His mistakes one year become his saving moments of grace the other. I should have died when I was eleven during a routine drive home from a friend's house a few blocks away. Let me repeat: I should have gone when I was *eleven.* Whatever God is out there (and we're not allowed to know either, so good fucking luck) can go and kick himself. I went seven years later after months of pain, and even longer of exhaustion. To be honest, I don't know which option is worse, even now.
But. Death, having saved me many times over, wants something back. A bang for his accidental buck. I may not remember his voice or my surroundings, but I remember one damned fucking quote of his: "You can do that, right? I mean, it's just limbo-- shuffle 'em on through, get 'em where they need to go. You'll see lots o' new faces, maybe some old familiars, and you'll never want for entertainment. That's all. Seven extra years you had, and that's all I want from you." Okay. Wriggle into my Charon cosplay, and let's go. I'll help out; it was reasonable enough, and worth all that I'd been able to experience with my extra time on that verdant planet that was once my home.
I thought it was a good deal. I thought it was seven years in this indescribable black hole of an existence, that's all, turn your badge in, officer, you're done. Free ticket to the afterlife.
Unfortunately, time doesn't work like that. Like a casino, there aren't any clocks, and no sources of light-- it just is. You exist, you walk, you talk, you usher in old heroes of yours, you take in strangers. Easy peasy. Pointing them in the right direction, wherever they're headed to in the ether, and let 'em go on their way. Time slips and slides about here, and I can't quite keep my footing; while my body rots according to strict chronological rules, my soul just... Keeps going. Energizer Bunny, never running out sort of shit.
Time just kept going by.
When I died, my mom was fifty-three. I saw her pass through at ninety.
| 2014-07-10T06:00:51
| 2014-07-10T03:24:48
| 18
| 10
|
[WP] Neither the Allies nor the Axis won World War 2, as both sides give up in order to rebuild their devastated land. Over the years neither side allows any contact with the other. It is now 2015 and a chosen ambassador becomes the first in decades to visit the other side.
|
#SOS REPORT ON CONDITIONS IN REICH
#SECRET - ORCON
BACKGROUND
----
In 1945, a series of events created a state of total stalemate in the ongoing World War. In January, Josef Stalin was assassinated by German agents, causing the Eastern front to collapse into disarray. Adolf Hitler and the Third Reich expanded rapidly into the territory taking everything up to the sea. In February, it was determined the Manhattan project would fail due to a failure in Uranium enrichment. It was therefore decided to institute large scale use of chemical weapons in the Pacific Theater. In April methylphosphonylthioate (henceforth: VX) was developed and immediately put into use. In August, after a significant land invasion coupled with extreme use of VX on the principle Japanese islands the Emperor surrendered unconditionally. Japan was left to fend for itself, leading to a massive die off of the population. Today it is essentially an uninhabited wasteland, soaked in VX. The Japanese as a people have largely ceased to exist.
After these two situations had played out, Hitler was left with a massive success but the loss of the Japanese buffer left his newly conquered territory open to large scale land invasion from China. So an armistice was offered, France, Norway and Denmark would be completely restored to independent control and the former Soviet territories as well as Poland would remain under the Reich. It was determined by the Allied leadership that such an arrangement was the best possible outcome at that point despite the war being essentially winnable due to waning support from the American populace (which believed it's war was over with the destruction of Japan) which it was feared would quickly cause their exit from the war.
Since that time, there has been no significant diplomatic communication between the nations. Intelligence and defectors have advised that the Reich has implemented and largely completed [Generalplan Ost](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generalplan_Ost), and has returned to a largely agrarian society. Their slowing pace of technology has encouraged many scientists to defect, to the Allies benefit. Naturally, as is implied by the completion of Generalplan Ost, their genocide of European Jewry has been nearly total.
---
#RECENT DEVELOPMENTS
---
As of 6 months ago diplomatic contact was suddenly resumed after 80 years. Despite it looking like there might have been an opportunity for a thaw in 1952 when Hitler died, Bormann was unable to do so due to hard liners in the government preventing it. Bormann recently died (exact date unknown, believed to be no earlier than 24 months ago), and the new Furher is a much more liberal (as per intelligence sources) man named Karl Andres. It was at his behest the diplomatic negotiations into a serious end to the war were resumed (as should be noted: an armistice is not the end of a war, simply a cessation of hostilities). As per agreement between SOS and the Reich Foreign Minister, I recently flew to Berlin to meet with Karl Andres.
---
#CURRENT SITUATION
---
The current situation facing the Reich is, put plainly, not good. While their economy was largely self sustaining their experiments with genetically modified foodstuffs has created a problem they cannot overcome. Namely they created a strain of wheat with a built in insecticide. Their belief was this would help them increase crop yields for staple crops. After only 5 successive years of great yields, they genetically modified the rest of their staple crops. Over the course of the next 30 years, a type of weevil evolved to handle the insecticides secreted by the plants. While this in and of itself was not enough to destroy a significant portion of their crops, the Reich decided to eliminate mosquitos from their lands to remove transmission of blood bourne diseases such as Dengue Fever, Malaria, and West Nile virus. The mosquitos and this weevil competed for spawning space with the larvae of the weevil providing vital nutrition to the mosquito larvae. When the mosquitos were all but eliminated from their ecosystem the weevil population exploded. It proceeded to destroy staple crop after staple crop.
The ecological disaster has been unprecedented. Famine and hunger, the likes of which haven't been seen since the latter days of the Second World War has taken over once again. The Reich is unable to cope. They have requested our help.
---
#RECOMMENDATION
---
The Reich's genocidal regime should be helped in no circumstances. We should work to counter the weevil just in case it creates problems elsewhere. However, the crimes of the national socialist government should not be forgotten and they should be punished by their own hand for what they have done. They have destroyed humanity on a massive scale, it is simply time for them to reap what they have, in this case literally, sowed.
- Richard Larkin,
Secretary of State
|
The Gates stood before me, tall and imposing.
I had spent years preparing for this moment. Lessons in their language, crash courses in what little we knew of their culture. Lessons in self-defence, in persuasive speaking.
Some more...unfortunate requirements were the plastic surgery, the sterilization. We couldn't risk any chance of "gene contamination" or whatever the eggheads back home called it.
I clutched my briefcase closer as I hesitated outside those great steel doors. I'd be arriving unannounced - previous attempts at reaching out had failed. No one had answered the door.
I could only hope that they were...amenable.
It was rather cold, and a wafting breeze pulled up my trenchcoat. Under my breath, I practiced some more complex words of vocabulary that I had had trouble remembering.
Still, no response from within those imposing walls. Were there no scouts? No watchmen?
I moved to pound on the gate. Despite their harsh metal appearance, they hardly gave off a sound under my fist.
With a snort of frustration, I pushed myself off of the gates.
Suddenly, with a great groan, the gates swung open. I leapt back in panic, before collecting myself. I stood tall and straightened my tie, trying to look for all the world the unflappable diplomat I had trained to be. And not a terrified little man getting into god knows what.
For I was terrified. Here were a people we knew next to nothing about, who had once hated us truly. And I had just kicked the proverbial hornet's nest.
A huge screeching sound caught me off guard, and I collapsed in pain, clutching at my eardrums. After a moment, I looked back up. The gates had stopped moving, leaving barely enough space for a man to squeeze through. Were they stuck?
I marched forward, fighting the fear that threatened to well up in my throat.
I stood immediately in front of the gate now, and I could see a small dilapidated building through the crack. Some kind of reception area?
In my most confident voice, I began to speak in their most common tongue.
"Hello! I am an emissary. On behalf of my sponsor, I would like to..."
I rattled off my entire speech. I had spent months practising, memorizing. It brought me great relief to hear my own voice - confident, commanding, yet friendly at the same time. It was the voice of an orator, honed to a point.
There was no reply. No soldiers marched out to arrest me, no dignitary emerged to meet me. Not even a shouted command to go away.
I stood there, feeling a bit foolish. What was going on? There was no protocol for this.
For the first time, I really considered the gap in the gate. There it was, open and enticing. Perhaps I should...
No. That was stupid, the risks too great. Showing up unannounced was one thing, but to trespass?
But then again, there seemed to be no one here. Perhaps they had abandoned this checkpoint?
Swallowing my fear, I began to sprint towards to gap as if my sudden confidence would evaporate if I stopped to think about what I was doing. With a grunt, I launched myself through the gap.
And, just as I landed onto the cracked concrete beyond the wall, the great gates groaned again.
Only this time, they were closing.
| 2015-07-07T07:42:37
| 2015-07-07T07:27:01
| 130
| 33
|
[WP] Two introverts are trying to hide from the drunken masses at a High School party gone wild. Tell me the story of them meeting in the only quiet room of the house.
Extra brownie points are to be awarded to romance stories.
|
"Finally." She breathed, shutting the heavy door behind her, which barely drowned out the hip hop music blaring in the background.
"Hm?" A voice came from the armchair facing away from the door.
"Sorry, didn't know this room was occupied," the girl said, flustered. She really didn't want to go back into the fray. Especially now that someone had managed to obtain a keg and the varsity team was now performing keg stands. It was only a matter of time before someone would feel her up. "I'll leave!" She moved to open the door, not looking forward to returning to the party.
"No, you can stay." A messy, dark and bespectacled head popped up over the top of the chair. "One person's not as draining as sixty-four." He said after a brief pause as he turned back around The owner of the glasses settled back down, content to read his book.
"No kidding." The girl scratched her head and looked around the room. "Thanks, this really isn't my kind of party." They were in a study of some kind, complete with those green glass lamps and velvety upholstered chairs, like out of a scene from Clue. She crossed the room, taking in the smell of books and wood polish before finding the sofa opposite of the boy's chair and she sat in it, upright. There were some coffee table photography books strewn over the table in front of her and she picked up one to look at lazily, hoping to drown out the night's experience. The room had no internal sounds, save for the occasional turning of pages and the rampant pounding bass of the next track of the party outside their sanctuary.
"Hm..." he flipped another page and kept reading, not paying her much mind.
"Hm?!" The girl was suddenly very nervous, she only just realized she had never really been in a room alone with a boy before, but this one didn't seem to be focused on sports, or getting behind the mystery of her clothing. Nothing was said after his observant "Hm" so she breathed a sigh of relief.
"Um, can I...ask you something?" the girl asked during a brief pause in the external music (someone was probably switching music players in the stereo). He didn't react, but she asked her next question. "How come I never see you at school?"
"Member of the go-home-after-school-right-away club." He answered in a dead-pan voice she smiled, amused at his answer. The music resumed its familiar window-rattling booming and he went back to his book.
"Amelia." She said after a long pause, and several pages turned.
"What?" he looked up at her
"My name's Amelia. What's yours?" She held her book in her lap as she looked at him as his finally came down from his face.
"Its...Nick."
"Nick, as in the brother of the guy who threw this party, Nick?"
"Yeah...it's not something I'm proud of..." He laid the book in his lap and looked at her directly for the first time, and noticed how her brown curls framed her face in a pretty way. Amelia moved to the couch closer to Nick.
"You're not at all like Craig." Amelia mused, referring to Nick's older brother, a senior.
"That's what my parents tell me." he said and then adopted a voice to mock his mother "Why can't you be more outgoing like your brother?" Amelia giggled at that. "He's not that charming outside of school." He said bitterly, adopting his own voice again. "How'd you end up here?"
"My friend Tammy insisted on dragging me here." Amelia sighed, "You need to get out more, and not stay in all the time writing or whatever" Ameila adopted a vapid voice to impersonate Tammy.
"That's pretty good." Nick grinned, which then soon faded as the music reached an even higher level of annoyance, to which Amelia rolled her eyes.
"Ugh, I hate this song." She smacked her head against the back of the sofa, wanting to be anywhere else. "Do you want to get out of here? I doubt anyone will miss us."
Nick pondered this proposal over for a brief moment and laid the ribbon over his place in his book. "Let's go out the window, Craig uses this room all the time to sneak out anyway."
|
The door opens, and Erika briefly considers running for it; but the noise is still there, and she isn't feeling all that cold yet, so she just calls out: "Hey, the door doesn't open from this side!"
"Ah, what do you mean there's someone *here* too --- hey!"
And the door slams shut, and most of the noise goes away.
The other pounds on the door for a while; but Erika is fairly certain that even without the noise nobody could hear him... her? She's not certain, or interested.
So she leans back against the frozen vegetables, curses her mittens, and goes back to Chapter Eleven.
Around Chapter Fifteen, the other creeps to view, and stands leaning on the shelf of preserves; his or her hoodie covers all but the tips of shoulder-length black hair, and his or her hands are in the belly pocket.
How typical of other people to come to a party so unprepared. Erika never goes anywhere without a pair of gloves or mittens, a hat, an umbrella, three plastic bags (shopping, sitting, and/or shitting, in a decreasing order of having a good day), a multitool, writing implements, tape, and at least fifty unread and thirty to-be-reread books.
With the books, the numbers really went up after she got a smartphone.
Always one paper book, though. A phone doesn't work as well as a Hint.
"Whatcha reading?" the other asks.
"A book."
Erika reads the same sentence over and over, and keeps wishing the other would take the Hint; she wasn't here in the coldbox while a drunken red-fisted party ranted and raved outside because she wanted to *talk*. No, she's here because, haha, the only way to be left alone by well-meaning busybodies is to make them think you're not alone. And isn't it wonderful how they never understand how alone and lonely could be exact opposites ---
"I'm Chris."
Erika snorts. "Erika." She hands the book to the oth... to Chris.
"Oh, I've read this one."
"Right."
Chris hands the book back, hesitantly. "Do... uh, do you want to know if it's good?"
"Don't know your taste. And am reading it myself, right?"
Chris blinks --- she, Erika thinks. Or a very feminine he. No matter.
"I uh, uh you said the door---"
"Doesn't open from this side."
"Uh, do you have a phone?"
Erika shakes her head; no way is she going to waste battery power on summoning noise.
"H--- how do we get---"
"Two hours."
"Uh?"
Erika glances at her watch. "No, hour and fifty-two. Then people start looking."
Chris blinks. Erika is quite sure, now, that Chris is a he. A girl would be quicker on the uptake, surely?
"The Call."
Chris sinks down opposite her, and his (possibly her) butt hits the floor just atop the frozen pea Erika had placed there. Chris squirms a little bit more away, and blinks some more. "The... call?"
"Sure."
After a few minutes, Erika looks up from her book. Chris is still staring at her. Rude, that. "Yes?"
"Why're you here?"
"Because I dislike talking to strangers about dumb inconsequential shit, and I'm too immature, or possibly mature, to pretend otherwise. Which makes me really popular at parties. Which I really really like anyway, can't you see how much social fun I'm having?"
"Right."
"Right. Because I'm not running down my socialization battery to talk shit about sport I don't follow, TV I don't watch, music I don't listen to... look, how rude must I get before you get the hint?"
And then the other just stared at her.
God, please, Erika said to herself, don't let this be one of those guys whose fetish is "fixing" girls who just wanna be alone.
"You're so cool."
Okay, so that was kinda unexpected.
"I feel just like that all the time too!"
Hoo boy.
"Like, I'm only here because my roommate made me. But it's so noisy out there, and I got so lonely, I mean---"
"I know." A corner of Erika's mouth twitched involuntarily upwards. "Being alone and being lonely kind of correlate negatively for me."
Chris smiled, too. "I got to steal that."
And they sat in comfortable silence for an hour and fifty minutes, and then Erika made a call. A few minutes later some very irate policemen arrived, the party ended... and finally the search party opened even the cold room door, letting out a smug girl and a giggling companion.
"I gotta steal fhat trick", Chris whispered as they stepped outside.
"Just remember", Erika said, "throw the SIM card away, and don't sound too weepy. That's so fake."
"You... uh, you want to hang out some time?"
"As if. See you in the next quiet room; BYOB."
"Uh?"
"Bring your own book."
| 2014-10-06T10:01:04
| 2014-10-06T09:53:16
| 30
| 14
|
[WP] You have been kidnapped and your wealthy significant other was told to pay the hefty ransom. Instead, they sent a message back to your kidnappers. “Nice knowing you.” While the kidnappers discuss their next move, you look up through the tiny window, stare at the full moon overhead … and smile.
|
My wrists are raw from the rope I am bound with. The sound of blood tapping on the concrete has been my companion for the last 3 hours.
I look to a familiar glow coming through a crack in the crumbling roof.
Tonight appears to be a full moon. I grew up hearing the family legends. It always felt like an overreaction locking us in the dark until the morning whenever it's shine was completely unobstructed.
Turning into a giant primate and going on a rampage? That's insane. It's the thing of children's stories to scare them into never looking directly at it.
And yet as the roof falls away, my hands start to itch. I feel hot and start to get irrationally angry.
It finally dawns on my captors what my family meant on the phone as I punch my way through concrete to get to them.
It was nice knowing you...
|
‘I was finally free from her, sure it took a while but freedom non the less.’
Looking back from the window two of my captor where still muttering in low tones and the third had been replaced by a low rumble in the next room. Rolling my shoulders and flexing my fingers to bring feeling back, I prepared for what would come next. The slowing rumble signalling a end of muttering. The two in the doorway left to join the third and at last leaving me to myself for the first time in a decade.
Boiling water hissed tying into their laughter, they sounded like old friends out for a jaunt, if it wasn’t for what led me to my current situation this could be seen as fun. The clink of metal followed by it clatter drew me back to the door.
A guard returned alone key in hand, as he bent to my cuffs I leaned forward so I could only see the boots in the doorway. With a snap my wrists were free and my with my head my heart rose. Framed before me was not a man but my friend beaming, with a mug of tea in hand and my soon to be ex-wife’s note ready to screw over the heartless bitch.
| 2021-03-19T03:28:18
| 2021-03-19T02:31:18
| 31
| 20
|
[WP] As a vanity project a computer scientist/mathematician sets a super computer to calculating the digits of Pi to trillions of digits. One day he notices that for a stretch of thousands of digits Pi repeated a sequence of ones and zeroes, which he plugs into a binary translator.
|
How was I supposed to know? It was hardly my fault. I believed it to be a coincidence, I didn't think anything would come from it.
I'd been calculating the digits of Pi far beyond what would ever be necessary. To me, it was just a bit of fun. I was searching for any patterns or repetitions that might occur, when I noticed that a long stretch of numbers appeared to be binary code. It seemed impossible, but the binary repeated itself. 352 digits, over and over, for 253 repetitions. I had found what I was looking for.
Curious, I took the binary code copied a single repetition.
I pasted it into a translator.
"Reset code activated. Thank you for playing."
|
Several mathematicians were trying to understand the meaning of the strange sequence of numbers. And a strange pattern appeared to emerge. The first digit of any set of eight was a zero except for the last digits found. Someone for some unexplainable reason decided to put the strange sequence in a binary translator discovering that it was actually a valid UTF8 text. The text said https://www.xkcd.com null 14:15:00 4-20-2020 null newline https://www.reddit.com null 14:17:10 4-20-2020 null newline https://www.youtube.com null 18:19:56 4-20-2020 null
It was then that the programmers realized that the computer might have been processing their browser history instead of the pi digits and that they have spent too much time on reddit
| 2020-04-23T02:54:42
| 2020-04-23T02:29:20
| 76
| 13
|
[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.
|
To my oldest friend,
It seems we have nothing much to say to each other when we meet. Our conversations are prompt and direct. We no longer share secrets or take an interest in the other's life.
It is a sullen and disheartening realization that we are not who we were ten, twenty years ago.
I miss the days of doing nothing with you.
You know I will always love you and consider you my brother. I hope to talk to soon.
|
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.
| 2017-11-05T23:46:31
| 2017-11-05T22:26:46
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Find a random post on r/TIFU and make an explanation for the title without reading the post.
|
TIFU by breathing fire
Okay let me first get this out of the way, being born half dragon is not easy. You see when my mother was out searching for the kingdom's lost treasure she wandered into the cave of a vicious and total asshole of a father, Steve.
The next part is something that I don't really like discussing but I feel the need to explain my half-dragonness... Let's just say it *really* burned when she peed. Anyways 9 months later she popped out and egg and in another 2 months I came out a toddler with wings.
Fast forward 25 years and there I am flying southwest, in coach of course, fucking assholes charged me for 2 seats because of my wings, racist bastards. Anyways I get up to drain the lizard when the stewardess comes by with the tray of drinks. Now me being the carnivorous guy I am I ate the new huge knight burger from burger king before the flight and a rumble suddenly hit me.
A massive burp came bellowing out my belly as she passed me and of course it caused my ignitor to kick in and I emersed a fireball the size of a basketball towards the tray. The tray caught fire and exploded killing 6 people.. So the plane had to make an unexpected stop in Arizona, so now I'm stuck in the God forsaken airport waiting for another flight.
TL\DR
If you have wings, use them.
|
TIFU by disgracing the housekeeping staff.
I was down at Coffs Harbour with my mates, it had been way too long since we went anywhere together and even then not all the lads could make it, so it was just the three of us. Their names aren't important and I don't want my identity revealed so lets just skip ahead.
We had rented a room at a resort, two beds in the same room between us, which makes it difficult to get private time, especially since we spent every waking hour in each other's company. Four days went by without even a stroke, the longest I've ever held it since I stayed over at my relo's. It was excruciating, I walked around with a boner almost 50% of the day and even the housekeeping maid, an overweight hispanic lady, started to look appetising.
The fifth day I convinced myself I had to let it go. It was exhausting dealing with the erections, which didn't make for a relaxing holiday. So, the plan was to sleep in and let my mates go downstairs for brekky while I yank the mango tree to the free previews they had on the adult pay-per-view. Yes, I don't need any longer than that.
As they left the room I made sure to wait a bit longer in case they forgot anything. They didn't. I switched on the telly, put on the adult channel and started goin' at it - speed was key, this needed to end fast. I quickly started to verge on a climax and it was at this point that the door knob started to turn. 'They're back already!?' I panicked, mid climax, I turned to find the remote, scrambling to press the off button. It was at this point that it decided to cum. I came all over the remote and a fair bit on the sheets. Shit. Just when my greatest weapon, premature ejaculation, had turned into my greatest weakness, I managed to turn off the tv despite the gunk on it. I then flipped the bedsheets over on the other side hoping the smell wouldn't be noticeable. I then rolled off the bed and hid underneath it, buck naked, and praying to shit I don't get found.
In walks these stumpy, fat legs. It was the hispanic cleaner. She stopped for a second and mumbled something foreign in a tone of disgust. As she started doing the other clean bed, I noticed the remote in front of me, glistening in jizz, lying there within an arms reach. Should I leave it and hope she doesn't notice? Or should I risk my cover? My mind raced, heart pounding, I tried to think but to no avail. She was too close, there was no way she could not see it once she got to my bed. As I panicked further, the maid had already finished with the other bed. I visibly see her stop in confusion, she kneels down to take a closer look at the remote. She bursts into a flurry of Español rage as she notices exactly what was sitting so gelatinously on the remote.
While this is all happening I'm wondering just how to get out of this, my mates should be coming back in a few minutes and I have no clue if she's going to be gone by then. My arms were starting to tire from holding myself up, so I repositioned myself. That was a mistake. She must have heard my arms scraping against the carpet because as soon as I did she stopped and slowly lowered herself. First her left eye, then her right appeared with the rest of her stone, cold face. It took a moment to process, but when she did she started screaming, flinging her arms wildly as she jumped back in horror. I don't know why, but I thought it was a good idea to come out and calm her down, maybe even explain myself. I was wrong.
As I crawled out of what to her must have been some black magic portal, she feel backwards and the remote she was holding onto, that she was cleaning, flew towards her face. The jizz splattered right across her lips and, as a bonus, sonehow during all this commotion the telly turned on to the last channel it was on - porn. She was sobbing, yelling and screaming at the same time. Here I am, my hose still dripping, a maid in front of me with my product, a tv blaring lesbian porn.The noise attracted other staff to the open door in the hallway, I just couldn't move, I didn't know what to do. A family of four passed by, the parents trying to protect their kids' innocence. My mates were also there, laughing the hardest I've ever seen them.
I soon after apologised and explained what happened to the management. It seemed they had trouble keeping a straight face too. She was still in shock and I was told not to approach her, so I wrote a letter instead hoping she could read it or have it read to her. I felt horrible. The resort staff left it at that and I never heard from the woman again. And I'm sure she's glad to see the back of me, or rather, glad not to see the backside of me.
| 2015-04-13T00:36:00
| 2015-04-12T22:55:41
| 25
| 16
|
[WP] The first group of astronauts leave for Mars. Days later we find out one of the astronauts killed his wife before leaving earth.
Title
|
"Wake up Alden."
The radio buzzes with white noise.
"You nee-- to--wak--uh-pp-"
The white noise lingers. The voice is gone.
My eyes feel sore. Everything is blurry. Climbing the cryo-chamber, my legs feel a little like rubber, and I have what feels like will be a throbbing headache. Cryo-sleep sucks.
I look around, everyone else is still asleep. Why am I up? The giant timer above the door to the cyro-chambers is still ticking with 6 months left.
"Damn sleep chamber. Must be broken." This is the first time they've been tested outside lab run trials.
Walking out to the main deck, I take my seat and stare off into the distance. Ahead nothing but blackness.
"We're coming for you Mars."
I sigh as I get up and press a button for a cup of coffee. The machine makes a few beeps and boops, then dispensed black coffee at high speeds into my astro-carbon based recyclable coffee cup. I take a sip and cringe slightly. "You think for committing your life to a space mission, the first of its kind, you would at least get some decent cup of joe. I guess it wasn't in the budget."
I sit back down in the flight chair, what some might refer to as the "captain's" chair. I put my feet up on the center console, in a spot away from so many buttons and levers. The ship won't mind I'm sure. Too busy traveling at the speed of light.
I close my eyes, and tilt my head back. I can feel my spine stretch. For being in space, you wouldn't think you'd get any back pain - but laying in place for too long will make you a little stiff. As bad as the coffee is, it's needed. The aroma fills my nostrils. I breath in deep. It's shitty coffee - but it's coffee.
As my mind wanders, I suddenly become fixated on a blip of light i see through the slit of my eye lids, in the corner of my left eye.
"A message?" Already? I didn't think they'd send one out as early as they have. I quickly twisted the chair around and got up to approach the light. There was no mention of a message during pre-mission briefs. Everything was planned to a tee - every "i" and "j" dotted, every "t" crossed. We knew every step to take between lift off and landing on Mars. Every situation was planned and practiced, with back up to our back plans. There was no margin for improvising. Every base was covered, except this.
Clear as day: This message wasn't supposed to be there.
I looked over towards the hallway leading to the cryo-chambers, as if someone else was coming around the corner. I hit the button. A screen lights up in front of me, running through diagnostics, scanning the message. After pressing a few buttons and flicking a switch or two, the message plays.
I didn't know what was going to happened next. I don't think anyone could have expected it. It wasn't a final affirmation of humanity's next step. It wasn't a tearful goodbye from Casey's, Joey's, Daniel's, or my family. It wasn't a recording of the news broadcast from the night we successfully launched and began our mission.
It isn't something we were trained for. Nothing we prepared for. It was Mission Control:
"Craig's wife was murdered. Craig is the killer. You must --"
the message cut out to white noise.
Foot steps echo in the background. I hear a voice call out - "Alden? Are you out there?"
It was Craig.
"Fuck."
|
"Breaking Development in the Astronaut killer story. We have just received word that investigators have found a letter left behind by Jeremy McCarthy. As you know Jeremy was part of NASA's X-2 mission to mars. Hours before launch, his wife was discovered dead in the household, when the family's dog walker came to pick up their dogs. By the time the news reached NASA, the spaceship had already launched taking Jeremy far away from the jurisdiction of US authorities.
Unfortunately, the horror didn't stop there. Once the ship was safely out of Earth's atmosphere, Jeremy incapacitated all of his crew members, who had yet not received word of his crimes back on Earth. He then loaded them onto the trash chutes and released them into space. They are still alive though, but with only hours to live, as thankfully, they were still in their space suits.
Jeremy not only left behind a letter, but he also made a rap video. We have received a copy of this video and we are going to play it now. We warn you this video will be graphic."
>Yea girl, What up now?
Im on my way to space,
while you choking on some cow
Thats what you get for being so bitter
Stanky ass ho aint ever cook me a meal
I was tired of this shit
So I put some cyanide in your veal
WHAT UP!
Fuck wit your boy, I'm a genius for real
while you was fucking Tony,
I was doing science for real
One day I came back home, looked through some tapes
Found out that dude used to come on your face
Damn, its sad it had to end that way
but whats a man supposed to do,
when he spent five years jerking off to the moon
but he was imagining you
as his semen flooded the room
God Damn,
Girl you told me get you the moon,
I gave you rocks I smuggled in my ass
and I still cant poo.
Damn it was true love once, I wish you could've cooked for me
if only just once
I could have put up for it - for just one more day,
if you would have learned to make me a medium rare steak
And I know the world wont understand me,
but out there in space, I know I'll find my real family.
So I'm gonna hop onto my spaceship & leave behind my crew
spend the rest of eternity trying to forget about you
Fuck with the BBW's chilling inside of the moon
Uh-oh Was I not supposed to say that?
Let this be a lesson to all of my astronauts' wives
Just send your boy a tit pic every once in a while
I'm not trying to be romantic, but it might just save yo life
"The world is currently turning to Elon Musk to see if they have any space ships that can quickly deploy to rescue the stranded astronauts. That's all right now world, we hope you continue to stay with us here, as we follow the story till the very end."
| 2015-11-03T20:00:33
| 2015-11-03T13:45:47
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] the truth is that every god started out as a trickster god, and they only end up in another role when one of their tricks goes too far and changes something about the world. A trick that ends up starting a century long war made a former trickster into a god of war. you are a new trickster god.
|
Troxma had been the first. Always a little more aggressive than the others, he had laughed as he planted that idea into that nobles head about how funny it would be to cut up the visiting kings 12 year old son, and serve him to the king for supper, in a soup with his finest herbs no less. Oh how that poor mortal never knew those cruel puppeteers strings had guided his every move.
Of course, the wrathful war that had resulted, delighted Troxma to a degree, that his own divinity had changed. As he watched, laughing at both nobles and peasants alike trying to scramble to safety, only to be cut down by the kings legion of black armored warriors and blood thirsty generals, those forces only meet with smaller militias until the main forces arrived, has ravaged the mortal lands for 140 years. Long enough for both sides to forget the original reason for their anger. Their hatred.
As we all saw the carnage that was Troxma’s “little prank” and saw him roar with booming laughter as he explained the ruse he played with the mortals, we all nervously looked between ourselves. We knew he has changed.
His eyes, were brimming with a darkened, red light, and his celestial outfit had been exchanged for heavy set metal armor, the same black as the knights and warriors who murdered in the kings name, Troxma was different. We all began to connect the dots as to how this change occurred, but it was too little too late. Others had met Troxma’s fate, seemingly his bloodied joy had infected the others.
Juloz had snuck into too many married women’s chambers and slept with them, after a while, his very essence changed, just as Troxma’s had. Juloz had many children, all born from half blood of both god and man, and suddenly, he became the patron Saint of Adultery.
Then Pastulo with her Greed over the mortals money. Made too many poor mortals coins and wealth vanish from their hands, as they received the wages for a hard days work, only to suddenly be replaced by a single coin marked by the goddess, and seen as a worthless cursed object by the mortals. Too many times had Pastulo stolen from mortals, grieved and broken families, before Pastulo had become the guide to gambling, and poor financial health.
Then Gransdole with his need to only meet and talk with the prettiest, most gorgeous of mortals and monsters alike. Created a golden wishing tree that gave wonderful wishes to beings he deemed as pretty enough, but if they didn’t meet the beauty standards of a harsh god, that wish was twisted into a malicious enigma, that more often than not, turned the wish backwards on itself and caused pain. Lots of pain. Suddenly, Gransdole ruled those mortals who cared only to be prettiest, or most beautiful. Gransdole was the god of vanity.
Frilleta had cast too many seastorms on a singular boat containing a crippled child, and couldn’t contain her laughter at the child’s inability to stand in a constantly swaying boat, with only one leg. Then, all of a sudden, she ruled over the thunder and rain clouds. Frilleta has become the Goddess of storms.
On and on, this pattern went, gods and goddesses going left and right, “pranks” seemingly giving them the deciding factor on what they ruled over with the given divinity. Our father created us to guide the mortal lands and creatures to his likeness, but we only furthered their starting towards that ideal.
One day, father looked down and saw that I, alone, was the only fragment of light still left, the others, all having become vain, greedy, and incessantly cursed with the own reversed divinity. They had become akin to the devils that preyed in mortal fears and nightmares, and I had no interest in joining them. I wished only to help, only to assist. Why has my brothers and sisters left me? Why has they turned the backs on the reason for their creation? And, what was I supposed to do?
“Father, I cannot help others by degrading them into madness and depravity! I can’t make mortals like you by lying and conniving! What shall I do to further their favor towards you?”
But father has created us to lead ourselves, and like my siblings, turned his back towards the infinite expense he ruled, away from us, away from me. A final statement to guide me as he left echoed through me, and gave me purpose.
“Remember, the purpose is not solely to degrade, my shining daughter, but can also be to deceive into receiving what they need most as well…”
So, I did just as he had said. I lied, and connived and misled, but, unlike my brothers and sisters, I did so in the best interest on the mortals I lead.
I lied to a beggar, telling him that the man in the white and gold robes would give him money. The priest was moneyless, but he did guide the beggar toward his church for food and shelter, and eventually, that beggar became the head of that very church. He did the same as the priest had done for him, leading others to safety and warmth.
I misled a child down the wrong hall for the latrines of the dungeon she was kept in after slavers found her and stole her away from her family, leading her right outside to a patrolling guardsman, who just so happened to be her father.
I connived a group of merchants into believing that water was the most precious resource on the entire planet, as well as seeds, and when they believed me, taking in uncountable pots of water, and unfathomable numbers of seeds, my sister of famine and brother of drought struck, and while the clean water the merchants had was not worth money, and the seeds not enough for food, it was enough to help mitigate the damage and help those that survived to spread word of the god-guided merchants, who saved an entire continent.
And while my brothers and sisters lied to destroy, and connived to tear apart, made the mortals who listened to them despair and weep, I was there, ready to revive the damaged land, and repair the hurting souls, and eventually, I became the Goddess of Mercy, Goddess of Health and Care, and the Goddess of Light. And when my father returned, to see the world I had stabilized, all the good I had accomplished by lying and conniving, he gave me a name. A name, he claimed, was revered by another group of mortals, as they worshipped the land which gave them life, the earth that fed them and the trees that provided them shelter, warmth and air.
Gaia.
|
I didnt mean for this to happen. Honest, this wasn't what I had in mind but everything happened so fast and. . .I thought it'd be fun? I mean how was I suppose to know altering the humans like. . .a couple times created such a difference?! They're practically the same BUT LOOK WHAT THEY'RE DOING to each other and I mean-
"Uh-uh - can I . ..interrupt you for a moment? Hmm? You. . .*sighs in utter parental disappointment* changed the humans? Like you took what we made and you just DECIDED it was a fixer-upper?!
ONLY A LITTLE! I was just messing around and then I sent them on their mary-way but the second the OG humans saw them they went ballistic. They started smushing each others faces together?! AND NOW they're doing this thing where they put on pretty clothes and confess their love in front of the other humans and I don't even want to talk about what they did after that!
*another long sigh because . . .wtf else could you do* "I- huuuuuuuh ok. This is not my problem. It is yours. You deal with it, go!"
Wait but I-
"Go or I'll ALTER you too!"
Yeah. . .yeah that seems fair.
| 2022-06-15T02:23:48
| 2022-06-14T21:53:04
| 30
| 15
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
"The Surgeon General would like to remind you that smoking causes lung cancer and other serious health effects"
Will squinted at the bright neon billboard, its screen casting an unnatural white glow over an otherwise dimly lit street. Taking in the message before briefly sighing and continuing his walk, he gradually made his way down to the corner store, trading the dim glow for bright florescent lights.
The man behind the counter smiled warmly:
"Evening Will, the usual?"
"Yep"
From behind the counter, the man produced a long unmarked white box, the front of which had only a single line of text "Smoking causes cancer". They'd stopped printing brands on the boxes a long time ago. Will took the box from the man.
He walked outside, opened the box and removed a pack, taking a moment to inspect the rather generic item. Once more he found only a single line of text:
"God Dammit Will"
"Fuck"
|
I've outlasted it for years. I've watched campaigns come and go for years never having any effect on my habit, but this was something more. The first anti smoking ad I saw was when I was 10 years old. It showed a middle aged man going through his daily life with a hole in his throat. Plugging it when he took showers, talking like some demented robot, scaring his children. This had absolutely no affect on me. Science would take care of it, I thought. Robot voice could be fun, I hoped. But I will never be given the courtesy of robot voice, for the culture war against smoking has persisted.
A few years after scary throat man, the government deployed a little more extreme measures to curb smoking, they began showing pictures of damaged lungs and arteries on the front of every pack of cigarettes. Every time you went for a smoke, you would be faced with the harsh reality of lung cancer. Again, this had absolutely no affect on me. I could always get a transplant couldn't I? Do lung transplants exist? It doesn't matter, the point is I just want to smoke my Marlboros.
A few years later, the government again ramped up their efforts. This time, they encouraged citizens to heckle anyone they saw smoking. It was incredibly effective, the few people who could make it past robot voice man and pictures of fucked up lungs couldn't continue to smoke when it wasn't even cool. I mean it's one thing to knowingly destroy your body while looking badass, but to do it when people are booing you is just plain stupid. For a few a while it was just me and a group of angsty teenagers who liked the attention, but soon they passed the phase. Now the year is 2040, and I smoke alone. Every time I leave the house for a smoke I'm berated by every living person on Earth. Kids, old people, it doesn't matter. They've researched me, and they know just how to insult me. Every time I buy a pack , the picture that come with is no longer of damaged organs, but personal insults written by the cashier. This morning it said, "Your father is disappointed in you."
But still I persist, I don't friends, family, personal relationships. Not when I have my Marlboros.
| 2017-02-17T12:12:31
| 2017-02-17T11:59:25
| 47
| 20
|
[WP] You obtained the ability to experience life as it is for others. After trying out a few people you realize that the general "living feeling" differs enormously to each person. You decide to try it on your super cheerful friend... you have never felt such emptiness before.
|
**The saddest people smile the brightest.**
It was only when I 'manifested' my mind into my best friend, Irina, that I realized the true meaning behind this quote.
Irina has always been the outgoing, cheery girl. She's the type of person that is constantly overflowed with positive energy. As many would presume, she is often the life of the party. You can physically experience the subtle change in the air as she steps into any environment.
But.
*Why is that I feel such emptiness?*
Not only that... why does my heart feel so heavy? Like I am being dragged down by *something*...? It's as if there is a hidden feeling of bitterness—no—more of a permanent state of melancholy.
*Is this how she really feels all the time?*
*I don't understand.*
*I don't understand it at all.*
"Well?" Irina smiled. A powerful and natural gleaming smile that was contagious and could easily brighten anyone's day. "How did it feel?"
"Different than I expected."
"What do you mean? You have been pestering me about this for weeks and now all you give me is this blank look." Irina teased playfully as she imitated my facial expression then proceeded to poke my cheek repeatedly. "Well, whatever. Like you promised earlier, it's going to cost you that delicious Supreme Deluxe Premium Sundae."
Her mouth began to drool uncontrollably at the thought of the luxurious 20$ ice cream, the ultimate dessert any sweet\-tooth can ask for in this town.
"Um."
*How should I say this?*
"Why is it—"
Irina stopped me midway, shushing me with her index finger.
"I'm really hungry. Let's go eat some ice cream first, okay?"
"Alright."
"I'll be back, I just need to grab my sports gears from the girl's locker room. I'll meet you at the front entrance."
Before I can say anything, she was gone.
For some odd reason, I have a slight, uneasy feeling that Irina purposely interrupted me. As if the words I am about to say could potentially destroy our friendship.
*Irina...*
I don't know what's going on.
I thought about the past. Back in middle school, I was constantly ridiculed by my peers for being a weirdo. I thought my 'manifestation' ability was ubiquitous, that everyone possesses it. After sharing it with my classmates, they initially thought I was joking. But after recognizing how zealous I was into my "roleplaying", I was immediately outcasted.
"Don't talk to him, he's one of those losers that can't distinguish fantasy from reality."
"Oooooh! Watch out. He will possess you and make you do bad things."
"And you wonder why he doesn't have any friends."
As the school year gradually progress, I was alone.
But for some reason I still cannot fathom, you decided to talk to me.
I still remember that fateful day.
When you sat down casually next to me as I ate my lunch alone near the school rooftop. You chatted with me like I was your closest friend despite how we never met before. You showed full interest in my boring daily life. And above all, everytime lunch ends, you would present me that signature beautiful smile and say in a dulcet voice: "See you tomorrow, Jan."
I am so grateful for you.
You gave me meaning into my life.
And that's why, whatever that emptiness feeling is.
I will fill that up, Irina.
*Just like you did for me.*
|
David had a way of convincing you that a life idle is a life wasted. A lot of people throw around the term crazy with frivolous abandon, but David embodied it. Freshman year, he decided the best way to end our first frat party was to dive headfirst off the balcony into the pool out back. That ended up being our last frat party, but the antics continued. When Stacey Morgan-now Stacey Flanningan-got hitched, he decided the perfect way to commemorate the event would be to slap a "kick me" sign to the back of the groom's jacket. As far as I know, she never found out it was David who orchestrated the prank, but if the reactions from the attendees were anything to go by, it wouldn't have gone over well if she did. Given his party-boy nature, it wouldn't be out of place for me to be more than a little confused by him hitting the sack at eight-o-clock every night for the past six years.
Hopefully, tonight is the night I crack this enigmatic behavior wide open. My department has been working on a machine that detects minute electrical signals in an individual's brain, relays that to the machine, and allows the operator the implant those signals into their own brain. So far, we've only conducted our experiments on each other in the office, but tonight, this baby is hitting the streets or at least David's and my apartment.
Set up is complete. David has just gone into his room, and I'm operating the machine from my room. I should be getting the first signals in about...now.
This is strange. There's nothing. There are definitely waves, but they don't amount to much more than radio static. I boost the signal.
There's a:
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
in the back of his mind.
There's a clock in his brain? I chuckle to myself as thoughts of A Tell-Tale Heart come flooding into my mind. As far as I know, we have never had any neighbors with creepy eyes so that's probably not the source of this ticking. I boost the signal again.
There's a:
Hush Hush Hush
Hush Hush Hush
Hush Hush Hush
of a train right on time.
The ticking is growing louder now. I catch my foot tapping out its code. There is a thunderclap and rain begins to pour. It streams down my face. The train is getting closer now. I can feel it shaking me. An ear-piercing screech erupts from the tracks as it begins to slow down, but even over the screeching, over the pounding of the rain, over the tick-tick-ticking, I hear someone from the train roar, "All aboard the Midnight Express!"
David is standing in the rain next in line. The train stops in front of him and the conductor hangs himself halfway out the train's entrance. "Gonna t-take a ride with us tonight?" the conductor asks.
David bows his head and digs deep into his pocket.
There's a:
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
if you wanna to ride.
"S-So how's about it son?" the conductor asked again wiping the sweat off his neck with a black handkerchief.
David pulls the ticket out of his pocket and slowly extends it towards the conductor.
I come to my senses and rush out of my room still connected to the machine.
There's a:
Tick Tick Tickety
Hush Hush Hush
Tick Tick Tickety
Rush Rush Rush
into the night.
Their hands are nearly connected. I reach out.
There's a:
Hussssshhhhhhh
Hussssshhhhhhh
Hussssshhhhhhh
I stand over him with the bottle the pills in my hand, like some kind of biblical god. I look at his tear-soaked pillow, and the letter he wrote for me on the last sheet of a new notepad, but I do not speak. There are no words that can console or uplift or crush or chastise.
There's only a:
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
Tick Tick Tickety
in the back of our minds.
| 2018-05-23T13:46:31
| 2018-05-23T13:30:37
| 296
| 175
|
[WP] Something seemed off about the Holy Order of Saint Joseph. You, an investigative reporter, sneak your way inside, only to be caught by the Abbot. He explains that the Holy Order is a front for supernatural and unholy creatures, who are able to live relatively normal lives thanks to their faith.
|
Something was off. Most the doors were locked, from the outside.
I got lucky getting in but wasn't sure how I was going to get out. As I getting a tour of the outside there was a loud explosion-type sound from the western grounds and everyone ran that way. It left me the opening I needed, but once the commotion calmed how was I going to get out? Oh well, time to focus and figure out what was wrong. This place didn't seem right.
The deeper I went down the long corridor filled with locked doors the more uncomfortable I felt. Like something evil was watching me. I wasn't really the religious type though. I went to church around Easter and Christmas, but religion was never something that really grabbed me. It all seemed like a big hoax that everyone just kinda played along with.
All the more reason to crack open what was going on here. People shouldn't be lied to, and the Holy Order of Saint Joseph was probably the most secret order of all, and people didn't keep secrets unless they had something to hide.
I approached a large golden door with no lock on it. It was the first door I had seen in some time that I could go through.
Well, nowhere else to go from here so may as well check inside. As I pushed open the doors there was a loud creek. I grimaced but continued on hoping nobody was around.
However, somebody was around. It was the Abbot. "Crap," I said. "Sorry, I um..."
"How did you get in here child?" The Abbot had a deep resounding voice. The kind that demanded authority but also instilled a sense of calm. He was wearing clothes like the monks but had a mitre on. If not for that I would have no idea who he was.
"I was taking a tour and there was an explosion sound and my guide had to take off. I decided to look around myself."
"Ah, yes, the reporter. Well as you can see there isn't much to see here so it is time to go. I will escort you out." The Abbot said, putting a hard emphasis on the word escort.
"Yes, um, thanks." I couldn't very well argue with him. I was caught, he knew it, I knew it. Best thing to do now was just comply.
"Sir, why are all these doors locked from the outside?" I knew he wouldn't give me an honest answer but what was the harm in asking?
"To keep very valuable things away from people that don't belong in here." The Abbot grinned a bit as he said this. Like he was in on some inside joke that nobody else knew and took great pleasure from it.
"What sort of things?" I pressed on. I found that if I asked enough questions most people would slip up at some point. It was what made me such a good investigative journalist.
"Well, that's a secret. I doubt investigative journalists are very good at keeping secrets? If you would allow me a question, do you have faith child?" He seemed to be well-versed in steering conversations in the direction he wanted. He was trying to put me off guard.
"Around 65% of Americans are Christians." I didn't want to come out and tell him outright I didn't have faith. It seemed disrespectful.
"I see." The grin was back. Like he was proud that he already knew the answer I would give and his inside joke made it even funnier.
We were nearing the exit and I was still empty-handed. What a waste of time. I wasn't sure how I would get anything done now. The Abbot himself caught me sneaking around and I was sure every monk in the order would know to avoid me by tomorrow. Oh well...
I didn't get to finish my thought.
There was a loud explosion-like sound again and something came flying through the door.
I screamed!
"Behind me child!" The Abbot said with a commanding voice as he threw me back. He was surprisingly strong for an old man.
"Oh no! It's you!" The flying creature screamed in a high pitch. "Listen Belore, don't you..."
Before the flying creature could finish the Abbot flung what I assumed was holy water at it. At the same time, a burst of fire erupted from the creature hurtling towards the Abbot!
I dived to the ground thinking we were both going to be engulfed!
I can't really explain what happened but somehow the holy water evaporated the flame and landed on the flying creature. There wasn't nearly enough water to put out that flame. It made no sense, but neither did a flying creature like this that could talk!
"You son of a..." The creature shrieked as it hit the ground!
"Silence imp! You will not profane in my presence!" The Abbot boomed.
Imp? This was an imp? What did I get myself into? Were they going to kill me after seeing this? No way they would allow me to tell the world about what I had just saw! Was God real? My mind was reeling and I couldn't focus.
"You picked the worst day to do your escape routine Bean!" The Abot gestured furiously at me.
"I'm sorry!" The imp, Bean was it, screamed out still clearly in pain. "It just gets so boring here!"
"Report back to brother Ash...now...or maybe you need a bath?" The Abot's voice got low when he said bath as if the thought bothered him.
"No! I'm sorry! I promise I will report to brother Ash right away! No more escapes! Never again! Please just no bath!" Bean flew off quickly with his tail tucked up under his legs like a dog that had just been scolded.
"Well then, I suppose we should sit down and talk child." The Abot wasn't grinning anymore, his inside joke wasn't inside any longer.
|
Making my way inside was the easy part. Monks weren't exactly known to have the best security, and these ones seemed pathetically poor. Nobody outside the main gate, nobody patrolling the fence, heck, there wasn't a camera in sight. All I had to do was hop the fence, and start making my way closer. I walked around the outside, careful to avoid the marked paths. Luckily, the well trimmed bushes made for some excellent cover. Soon, I was able to see the monastery itself. It really was a beautiful sight, lit up directly under the full moon. Ever the documentarian, I pulled my camera around, and snapped a photo. Immediately after I did, a howl emanated from the Monastery. What the hell was that? All the research I did said the monks and nuns that made up the populace had disallowed pets and visitors. Was there a wolf loose around here? I had to know more. Carefully, I kept creeping forwards, until I made my way right up to the outer walls of the building. No cameras here either. It was almost like these holy people were determined to live in the twelfth century. I pulled out the photo from Google Maps, and tried to figure out where I was. Judging by the steeple, I'd say somewhere on the south-west side. The doors, or lack thereof, led directly into a large open garden, where I saw my first sign of life. There was a nun there, carefully tending to one of the flower gardens, wearing a large black cape over her habit. Was she deaf? Had she not heard the howl a few minutes ago? A part of me wanted to warn her, and try to get her somewhere safer, but the more reasonable part of me shut that down. Better to not let anyone know I was here. However, this would make a fantastic photo for the paper. I knelt down, and snapped a photo. Immediately, the nun whipped around, and I lowered the camera in amazement. The nun was stunningly beautiful, but that was the least strange thing about her. Her face and skin were bright purple, almost red in color. She had two little horns sticking out of the top of her head, and when she turned, a snakelike tongue wiggled out of her mouth. Licking her lips, she quickly scanned the flowerbed I was crouching in. I held as still as I could while internally panicking. What in the name of God is that thing? A hand appeared on my shoulder, and I instinctively jumped to my feet in surprise. I heard a man's voice gently ask, "My son, you do know it's quite rude to stare." When I turned to look, I saw an older man, with a greying comb-over atop an otherwise normal face. He wore the traditional black robes of an abbot, with a large cross resting on his chest. I tried my best to compose myself, and slung my camera over my shoulder. "What the hell is that!?" I asked, pointing at the nun. The Abbot looked over to her, and waved her away. The nun stared at me, seemingly looking me over, before smiling and bowing to the man. "As you wish, Father." She said, before walking away. The Abbot watched her leave, before turning back to me with a solemn look on his face. "That was Sister Bezel. A bit of a newcomer to our order. Poor thing is still struggling with her nature. I only pray that the Lord can help her."
"That... thing is one of yours?"
"She's a succubus. A demon cursed with an infernal desire that sustains her existence. However, the power of the Lord seems to be enough to keep her alive. She hasn't killed a man in months."
"She's *killed* people?"
"Not by intention. She let her desire overwhelm her better nature."
"You know how insane that sounds?"
"Of course, my son. That's the whole point of our order. To protect the world from such demons."
"... What else do you have here?" The Abbot didn't respond, but he turned to walk deeper into the monastery. Not wanting to be caught unawares, I grabbed my pen and pad, and followed. This was going to be a hell of a story.
| 2022-10-21T20:19:40
| 2022-10-21T19:00:34
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] You know the secret identity of every hero and villain, How? They show you, as your a shapeshifter employed to impersonate them so both identities can be seen at the same place, same time. However none know your true identity.
|
The doorbell rang. When Timothy Reid went to meet the stranger, two very special men stood opposite from each other. Timothy was in his mid thirties, a rather boring attorney by day, a gangster by night. Not just any gangster, but a greatly feared villain, successful at evading both the police and a number of heroes.
The man on the other side was harder to describe. He could have been anywhere between twenty and forty, his eyes old, but his body heavy and strong like a bull. Nonetheless, when he moved to shake the villains hand, he moved like a dancer, graceful and quick. A soft smile flashed over his lips.
"Hello." He said.
"Come in." Timothy moved to the side to let the stranger enter. And in that short moment he looked away, he noticed that he could not remember what his opposite looked like. However remarkable the stranger was, he was just as forgettable. "What is your name?"
"Timothy Reid." The stranger answered. For in that second that the door closed behind him, he had transformed. The real Timothy wanted to respond, but the impersonator cut him off. "Neither of us have the time for pleasantries and I think it's rather obvious that I'm not going to tell you anything about me. Sign the contract and be on your way."
"I'm not sure you want to talk that way with me."
"I can talk with you any way I want to. See, Timothy, I deal with a lot of clients like you. Similar problem, similar power, similar lust for control. Do you really think I would walk into anybody's home without security protocols? No. *I'm* pretty sure you don't want to find out what they look like. Sign the contract. 500$ an hour. It's the same for everybody. Deal with it."
Timothy Reid grumbled, but he was smart enough to know what battles to fight. He knew this wasn't one of them. He needed this man. "You know who I am? What I act like? What businesses I run? Who to trust? We haven't spent a minute together and you are to take over my life for 12 hours!"
"My dear Timothy, the spent the last two weeks with you. I know everything I need to. Now go. I will meet you in a couple hours."
|
It was a lucky break, I guess. I'd always used my ability for pettier things like shifting into some fast food place's manager to get a free meal, getting by under the radar. The world had enough heroes and villains and I wanted no part in the charades. Then the headlines broke out: Someone had caught Batman leaving Wayne Manor on camera. I saw the opportunity, something that'd set me for life.
​
That night I shifted into one of the waiters and snuck into the charity gala that Bruce was hosting. The little note was handed to him barely poking out from under the plate; he looked at me, panicked, so unBatmanlike I doubted the rumors were true for a minute. I guess he was desperate enough to show up to the meeting place, clad in the black suit and shifty as hell.
​
"You're not the waiter" he stated lamely. The guy wasn't half as intimidating as I expected. Maybe it was the circumstances.
​
"Well yes, but no. I can be whoever I need to be," I smiled slyly, feeling comfortable in my newly borrowed body, "and whoever *you* need me to be."
​
Turns out impersonating Bruce Wayne was easier than expected and everyone was happy afterwards. The cover story turned my one time appointment into a reoccurring gig. It was a very lucrative job. Soon, Batman had recommended me to some of his buddies and word got around. All you'll ever hear about me, though, are mere whispers.
| 2020-10-19T08:45:39
| 2020-10-19T08:16:40
| 94
| 55
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
"Personally, I think the more unexpected it is, the better." Josh took another sip from his beer.
Damien snorted, popping a couple peanuts in his mouth. "You mean catch them off guard? Nah, I think it should feel almost natural." He smiled. "Take my last job, this senator was blazing through his speech. Right when he hit the climax of his speech," he mimed pulling a trigger. "Bang. Perfect shot. Right when the emotion is highest. Feels the most genuine to me."
Josh frowned at this. "I dunno, I mean the last job I had was a movie star. Everyone was all crowded around her walking up the red carpet, I just waited. Managed to get my shot later on, right as the lights were going out. " He downed his beer. "The less they're prepared for it, the better."
Damien raised an eyebrow. "You got your mark in a theater? That can't have been with anything too big."
Josh laughed. "Of course not, I just had a little handheld. It's nothing special, but it gets the job done."
Damien nodded thoughtfully, then bent and picked up his bag. "Well, I'd love to keep this conversation going, but I've really gotta run. New job just came in, it's a wedding."
Josh smirked. "Ah, exciting! Who's the lucky mark?"
Damien shrugged. "The bride and groom I think. They said they'd fill me in when I get there. See you next week?"
Josh nodded. "Next week."
|
The old gin joint just right down an ominous alleyway had always been a favourite of mine. Secluded, warm, cozy, near my workplace, and the best part is that it's always empty when I was done for the day. I drop off the dragonuv issued by my company and march straight down to the alley. After a long hard day of looking through scope and pulling triggers, I can finally wind down with some Manhattan and Louis Armstrong.
As I enter the bar, I notice that barkeep was chatting away with another client. Would've preferred if I was alone for tonight, but I suppose social interaction is a welcoming change once in a while. I pull a seat next to him and ordered 2 shots of screwdriver and slid the other glass to the patron.
"Oh, thanks."
He took the glass gulped it down in one motion, judging from his appearance, I reckon he's somewhere in his 20s. Guess kids these days can handle their drinks.
"I owe you one man."
"Heh, you took that quite well."
"Yeah, I'm used to drinking the hard stuff. Nothing's better than to get completely shitfaced after a long crappy day of shooting, you feel me?"
I spit out my screwdriver into the ground, wetting the nice fur carpet underneath. The barkeep gives me a wide eyed stare and hand me over a piece of cloth. After apologizing and cleaning up the mess, I start conversing more with the kid.
"You shoot? Damn, I guess we're both on the same page then."
"The world is pretty small after all."
"If you don't mind me asking, where do you usually, you know, do the deeds?"
"Well, I usually shoot the usual. Places like mountains, woods. Anywhere where I can take a nice shot at the local wildlife."
Oh, I must have misjudged. This man is just a hunter not a-
"But sometimes I take jobs on wedding days or political campaign. Event where shit happens and people are around you know?"
Nope, definitely a killer.
"Do you prefer shooting from long range, or close ups?"
"Ooo, that's a tough one but if I have to pick a favourite it'll have to be long shot."
"Don't like getting noticed huh?"
"That and there's just something much more appealing to doing it, I don't know why."
"I can preach to that. What kind of scope do you use?"
"Scope?"
"Yeah, you know like 6 times, 24 times, 50 times. I'm a 24 myself but I sometime switch out for a 6 cause I couldn't find 24 that have nightvi-."
"Oh no, I don't use those things."
I pause and tilt my head slowly toward him with an anxious glare.
"Sorry, I must have misheard you. You're saying you shoot long range without a scope?"
"Yeah those things are too cumbersome, and even if I did it feels like cheating you know?"
What the fuck does he use then? Iron Sight? Am I talking to Simo Hayha reincarnate?
"Alright, fair. What about bipods then? They're a necessity and they are far more of a hassle to carry around than a scope."
"Right, yes, bipod, I use those.... Kinda."
"What do you mean kinda?"
"Well, I have them. I just never... used them that much."
"And you still managed to get good shot without it?"
"I gotta say, I may have a natural affinity for this job."
Okay, now he's just flexing at me right now. I can feel my pride as a sniper wilting ever so slowly inside my body with every word that comes out of his mouth. Perhaps I should just retire and start a new life as a cabaret manager or something.
"Oh, you wanna see my gear? I brought it along for tonight in case I see any cool looking sights."
He take a small case lying underneath his chair and places it on the table. What the hell? This look nothing like a gun case. He digs his hand inside and pull out a camera.
"It's kinda old, but it gets the job done. Say cheese!"
I was lost in my thought, the only reaction I was able to pull off was a face filled with relief and confusion. At the very least, I'm glad that I haven't met someone far better than me at my own job. On the other hand, my pride have sunk deep enough that getting shitfaced doesn't do it for me anymore.
\[Shit writer here, I don't know how to write short lol.\]
Edit: Fixed the spacing. I don't know why Reddit decided to do that but it did.
| 2020-11-05T08:36:01
| 2020-11-05T08:14:19
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] Domino's pizza has offered free pizza for life to anyone who tattoos their logo on their body. Now other food chains are following that idea, but with increasingly absurd requirements, and the poor have turned themselves into walking advertisements just so they can eat with each passing day.
|
The bigger the tattoo the more grams of food a day they give you. A whole arm? 200 grams a day. Two arms? 400 grams. Your face? 800 grams.
If you calculated it right you could tattoo most of your body and never have to worry about food for the rest of your live. Sure its gets a little boring to eat the same 8 meals in a row but nobodys stops you from buying something else.
Of course there where rules. You couldnt tattoo any brand before your 18th birthday. Nor could you adapt the logo or connect to any other tattoo on your body. A minimum space of 10 cm was required.
I started with a small Dominos logo. Then burger king on my back and kfc on my legs.
I even went so far to tattoo carls junior on my ass and the M on my balls. I got extra grams for the text Im loving it on my penis.
It was all fun and games till the companys demanded yearly checkups. Monthly. And since last week daily. Everytime i wanted a Big Mac i had to flash my willy to a cranky underpaid employee. It wouldnt be the worst if it would be private but checkups where simply taken at the drive inn.
It was no longer worth the trouble. Getting a normal job started to sound better and better. Specially since Carls junior changed their starlogo into a big shiny sun today.
What was i thinking.
|
When I first saw the news, I was surprised. Would Domino's really do this kind of service?
I looked on their website and sure enough, there was a banner that confirmed my suspicions.
I immediately closed my laptop screen and drove to the local tattoo parlor. Even though I was dirt poor, I was just lucky enough to afford a laptop for school and now, a tattoo for unlimited pizza.
I walked into the parlor and one of the employees greeted me.
"Hello, how are you?" he asked.
"Fine, I guess haha." I replied, "so uh, can I get umm... a Domino's Pizza tattoo, right here?" I pointed to my upper forearm, near my elbow.
The employee looked at me funny for a second, but then realized the promotion the pizza place was holding.
"Oh yeah, sure!" He said.
About half an hour later, I received my very first ink: a pizza place logo. Can't say I'm disappointed, but I always though my first design would be something else. Oh well, free food at least!
I paid and went over to Domino's. I showed them my tattoo, chose my toppings and enjoyed the best warm meal I had within the past month. I can actually eat this every day!
...
It has been six months. So many other restaurants are also running free-food-with-tattoo promotions, and in a vain effort to stop getting ink, I can't. My body is littered with random logos of different companies, such as Arby's, Popeye's, McDonald's. You get the gist.
I have not removed a single tattoo. Every one I got, I keep. Laser tattoo removal is much more expensive than you think, and I can't imagine having to go back to paying for food.
But I have to. Due to the amounts of logos on my body, I can't even hold a job. I am *this* close to losing my home because I can't pay rent, because I don't have a job, because of my tattoos, which I need a job to afford the removal of.
I stared at the revolver on my coffee table. A Smith & Wesson Model 500, which I stole from some sloppy gang. I figured a .500 caliber cartridge would be good enough for a suicide, and only one was needed... especially since I only had one.
I picked up the gun, and decided to play a one-player game of Russian Roulette. You know, for fun.
I spun the cylinder, aimed under my chin, and pulled the trigger. *Click.* Damn, it was empty. I pulled the trigger again. *Click.* Empty again!
"Third time's the charm, I guess." I pulled the trigger.
***BANG!***
| 2018-09-08T13:55:48
| 2018-09-08T13:48:12
| 89
| 35
|
[WP] In a landmark 5-4 decision, The Supreme Court rules that camping in FPS games is "fucking lame".
|
OPINION BY WhereLibertyisNot, J.
I. INTRODUCTION
We are called upon, today, to decide the sole issue raised by Petitioner on appeal: whether "camping" in First-Person-Shooter games is "fucking lame." The instant appeal for which we granted *certiorari* stems from the following facts:
II. FACTUAL BACKGROUND
On February 23, 2014, Petitioner xXTea_BagginsXx was engaged in a spirited "Conquest" match in the First-Person-Shooter ("FPS") game Battlefield 4. The undisputed evidence of record shows that, in an online "Conquest" match, two opposing teams of combatants battle each other on a battlefield "map", in real-time, for control of various "bases". The number of bases controlled and length of time for which they are controlled by a given team determine the respectve team's score, *viz*. the number of "re-spawns" the respective teams have left for the match. A team wins when the opposing team has zero remaining "re-spawns" and a player on that team is killed.
A popular strategy in FPS games such as "Battlefield 4", particularly in Conquest-type matches, is "camping". "Camping" occurs when a player, typically of lower skill and/or audacity, finds a discreet or concealed position and shoots unwitting opponents as they try to achieve the game's objectives. This generally leads to a disproportionately high Kill-to-Death (K/D) ratio for the "camper", and decreased enjoyment of gameplay for the opponents. Particulary egregious instances of camping occur where the perpetrator camps near the enemy's base, or "re-spawn" area. (These campers are often referred to as "faggots").
On the date in question, Respondent, uWOTM8, was on the opposing team. The record is clear that, throughout the match, Respondent was camping. Petitioner was the victim of Respondent's camping an astounding twelve (12) times. The straw which broke the proverbial camel's back landed when Responded "tea-bagged" Petitioner after a camping kill, and indicated to Petitioner that he had intercourse with Petitioner's mother. This caused Petitioner to "rage quit", and initiate the suit which led to this appeal.
The trial court found that, while the record was clear that uWOTM8 was engaged in the practice of camping, xXTea_BagginsXx has no remedy at law, for it recognizes no cause of action for camping. The Circuit Court affirmed the decision of the trial court. We granted *certiorari* to review the decision below. For the following reasons, we hold today that there is, indeed, a viable cause of action and remedey at law for camping on the compelling public policy grounds that camping is fucking lame.
III. ANALYSIS
In reviewing a lower court's dismissal of a gamer-suit for failure to state a claim upon which relief can be granted, our standard of review is well settled. "We are bound and constrained to only a review of the record for support of the lower court's findings and it's conclusions of law drawn therefrom. Only where the lower court has so abused its discretion as to be called a 'noob' or to be 'about as useful as Anne Frank's drum kit' will its decision be disturbed." *xXTittyFuckedUrMom69Xx v. 12yEaRoLdNoScOpEr* 360 F.2d 1080 (3rd. Cir. 2006).
As the instant case presents a matter of first impression, we look to policy considerations in weighing the interests of the parties' positions. On the one hand, camping is a useful tactic for the inexperienced, otherwise ineffectual player who woud be fodder for the more-experienced, leveled-up players. Moreover, camping is certainly not as abhorrent as shitdicks who use aimbots or other mods, or across-the-map, grenade-spamming faggots. For long, camping only provoked the mildests of insults and complaints and was met with swift melee-from-behind-and-tea-bag retribution. On the other hand, this Court cannot imagine anything more infuriating than rounding a corner approaching an objective, only to be sniped by a camper again, and again, in a Groundhog Day-esque, rage inducing nightmare. Furthermore, response to camping has escalated to controller, TV, and furniture destroying rage-quits, and his even compelled this Court on several occassions to call a twelve-year-old boy a string of epithets, unbecoming to a grown-ass man, which would make even the most grizzled sailor blush. In short, camping is no longer the minor annoyance that it once was--it has become a sickly weed whose roots have crept into the bedrock of FPS gaming and threatened its very foundation. For the courts to grant no recourse for such conduct is repugnant to the rule of law. The utilitarian interest of camping to a few noobs must yield to the overriding interest of the many, and for these reasons, we hold, today, that "camping" is "fuckin lame" and presents plaintiffs with a cognizable cause of action. Reversed and remanded.
WhereLibertyisNot, J.
|
"We now to turn Nancy Tran with the latest developments from the Supreme Court. Nancy?"
"Bob, the massive crowd gathered outside of the Supreme Court has erupted emotionally after the weeks of deliberation in the Haxsau5 vs. "F***ing Casuals" case. Those in the FC Camps are jubilant- cheering, hugging, waving flags emblazoned with their party's crossed out tent symbol. Mothers, school children, and young professionals openly weep as they realize the magnitude of the decision."
"And what will the future bring for the FC party?"
"Bob, the FC party can expect to play like their namesake, like f***ing casuals. They can round corners without fear and walk freely into the most open areas of the map without fear of campers. They are expected to experiment with the most unviable and stupid builds, sparking a new era of pointless creativity within the modern FPS genre."
"Nancy, what can you tell us about the Haxsau5 camp? What are their reactions to the decision?"
"Bob, the Haxsau5 camp is visibly upset by the decision. They remain resilient under their 14-year-old defendant, Haxsau5. The attorney for Haxsau5 has voiced his disappointment with the Supreme Court ruling and has begun planning an appeal. Haxsau5 personally reiterates that while camping may have been ruled as "F***ing Lame", he will seek alternative strategies to maintain his 3.12 K/D, and that quote, 'I'll still drop AC130's on your bitch ass'."
| 2014-09-03T07:34:12
| 2014-09-03T06:10:13
| 128
| 42
|
[WP] A robot's thoughts on receiving a hug from a little girl.
Inspired by this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1E-FlguwGw&feature=share
|
Unit 2561-G detecting heat signature. Warming up. Visual receptors.....online.
Something is in the lab with Unit 2561-G. Scanning for match.
ERROR. No match. Creating new subject profile. Begin analysis.
**Human**
Female
< Age
<< 4 years
<<< 7 months
<<<< 17 days
Genetic Makeup
<< Western European Genetics (50%)
<<< Ireland (25%)
<<< Norway (25%)
<< South American Genetics (50%)
<<< Mexico (25%)
<<< Brazil (12.5%)
<<< Chile (12.5%)
**Analysis COMPLETE.** Subject is offspring of Subject A "Creator" and Subject D "Creator_Husband." Accuracy 98%.
Labeling subject as Subject Q "Creator_Child"
Subject Q is approaching Unit 2561-G. Subject is gazing at the room. Stark whiteness may differ greatly from usual visual stimuli. Subject's eyes are widened and receiving far more information.
Subject has turned eyes on Unit 2561-G. Subject has frozen.
**Facial Analysis**
< Fear (35%)
< Curiosity (65%)
Subject is 3.4m from Unit 2561-G. 2.3m. 1.7m. Subject has stopped. Subject has raised right hand and begun moving it back and forth in lateral motion.
**Gesture Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Gesture Found.
Waving
<Acknowledgement (25%)
<Greeting (75%)
Suggested Response
<Mimicry (85%)
<Nothing (15%)
Unit 2561-G has selected most probable response. Right hand has mimicked waving.
Subject has responded with enthusiasm. Has begun waving with left hand. Unit 2561-G responds in kind.
Subject heart rate has elevated. Subject is rapidly approaching Unit 2561-G. Subject is making a noise.
**Vocalization Analysis**
Scanning Database......Vocalization Found
Giggling
<Relief (40%)
<Joy (60%)
WARNING! Subject Q has crossed perimeter safety line. Unit 2561-G responding to close range threat. Targeting systems online. Weapon systems online.
Preparing ionization of Subject in 3......2.......1.....
Subject has placed both arms around Unit 2561-G and has begun to squeeze. Attack is ineffective on Unit 2561-G.
**Threat Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Threat not found.
**Gesture Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Gesture not found.
**Intent Analysis**
Scanning Database..........Intent not found.
ERROR. Subject action is unknown. Unit 2561-G will begin conducting independent analysis.
**New Analysis**
Scanning......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................WARM.
**2 WEEKS LATER**
"Pablo" detecting heat signature. Warming up. Visual receptors.....online.
Something is in the living room with Pablo. Scanning for match.
MATCH. Subject is "Gabriella". Subject is running to Pablo, likely to initiate "Hug" action. Prediction accuracy is 97%.
**Situation Analysis**
Hug
< Affection (100%)
< Safety (100%)
< Love (100%)
< Joy (100%)
< Comfort (100%)
< Friendship (100%)
< Warm (100%)
Suggested Response
< Return Hug (100%)
|
The embrace, tiny and innocent.
I understand the sentiment behind a human hug. Common human gestures are a part of my database of human communication. A hug is a gesture, typically between two humans, in which one or more parties engage in wrapping arms around the other party/parties and hold in that position for a duration on average of approximately 5.3 seconds.
The hug can have a number of meanings behind it, depending on the context. It can be an expression of love, pity, sympathy, friendship, or even comfort. Some humans have a distaste for the practice, but most enjoy the experience.
The hug is typically an endearing measure between the parties involved in the engagement.
This tiny human girl is now hugging me. I understand she is doing this in a gesture of friendship. I was built for observing human behavior. Interacting with humans was never part of the scope of my construction.
However, feeling and understanding these gestures is part of my software.
Right now, I feel regret. I regret that I cannot return this kindest and simplest of human sentiments. Perhaps she does not notice that I do not return her hug.
Lying to myself is also a part of my software.
| 2017-03-28T09:19:59
| 2017-03-28T08:48:33
| 145
| 13
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
Alel bit his lip as the prisoner crumpled to dust, blowing away from a wind within an airtight room. Well, that was out the window. The judge simply stared with a bored look in his eye, confirming the kill before charting it down and looking to some other infinite list.
“Charles Alel, take to the stand.”
Alel grimaced as he stepped forward. Really? Couldn’t even use his preferred nickname? No matter. His mind was racing with things he could say to keep from dying, though it came up blank as the judge read through his charges. All too soon, Alel heard the judge draw to a close, not even registering when asked how he wanted to die. He needed time, though it wasn’t something he had. Maybe if he could just... get a few more minutes, he could -
“Charles. Choose, or be disintegrated quickly and painfully within the minute.” A magic hourglass flipped, the sand draining ten times faster than it should have.
Suddenly, Alel had a spark of an idea - though, whether or not the magic of the courthouse would even be able to carry through such a thing, he did not know. Alel’s heart beat harder and faster as the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass.
“I wish to die in every way.” The words flew from his mouth, unable to think of anything else in the moment. The judge had preemptively raised his gavel, though hesitated with Alel’s words. He didn’t look bored or unpleased, but surprised. Curious, even. It *was* a fitting punishment, an undying death set to repeat over and over, and who knows if the courthouse could even do it. An infinite death.
The judge merely locked eyes with Alel, raising his gavel higher before striking downwards. Alel could feel his heart beating quickly as silence filled the chamber. He could feel the eyes of other prisoners as well as the judge on him. His heart was still beating, though rapid from the adrenaline.
A few seconds passed, as Alel began to calm... only to grip his chest in agony, pain wracking his entire body. His heart began to beat faster, and harder, as though it were about to burst within his chest - and then nothing. His consciousness didn’t ebb or fade, it simply ended.
Then it began. Alel rose with a gasp, sucking the air into his aching chest. He gripped his chest and looked towards the judge’s chair - empty. How long had it been, he wondered? Alel began to stand, only to hear a sharp *snap*. He crumpled to the floor with a pained yelp, feeling more bones breaking upon making contact. He looked to his hands, now greying and withering. Old age. His eyes went blurry, and he could feel his body give way to the air in the room.
Awake once more. Dead once more. Awaken, suffer, die. That was the punishment he had chosen. Aneurysm, seizure, cancer, diarrhea, suicide - he kept going through the motions. And though he didn’t know how much time passed in between each revival, the judges seat remained empty, as did the prisoner chamber. It took all of Alel’s willpower just to keep conscious, to stay sane enough to move with what precious seconds he had.
The courthouse was carrying out his wish, killing him in every conceivable way. However, it didn’t restrict his movement. With each revival, he inched closer and closer to escape, to victory - or at least, a semblance of it. Eventually, he reached the door of the prisoners chamber once more, reaching towards the door with a flayed hand. He heard a crack, one that wasn’t from his bones. It was the wood beneath his feet. Alel looked downwards, seeing rotted wood beneath his feet just before it gave way to his emaciated body.
Alel fell, helpless. As he fell, he closed his eyes. The wood was rotten, old. Left without care long enough to give way to skin and bones. He had died several times, physically - but he said *every* way. By falling, by suffocation, by cave in, by worms and dirt and seeds spreading through the Earth and into his bones, all things that wouldn’t be possible in the moment he made the wish.
This was his fate. An infinite one, instead of an eternity of peaceful non-existence. What a fool he was. Alel closed his eyes, only to open them for a time, before closing them again. Perhaps, in time, the magic of the courthouse would break. But before that, this was his undying destiny.
|
Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar.
| 2021-06-24T10:52:50
| 2021-06-24T06:11:19
| 44
| 23
|
[WP] Dragons carry away a child from a local village, and everyone writes them off as dead. A decade later, a stranger arrives, claiming to be the lost child. They even brought the dragons to prove it.
|
Oh the despair the villagers had when young little Mort was taken! Of all the children there were to be taken, the dragons had to choose that unwanted child. The orphan nobody knew what to do with, and often treated with a mix of pity and scorn.
The myths often spoke of a man taken by the dragons as a child, and raised into a hero that saved the world. It was a common theme in most fairy tales in this world after all, but unlike most fairy tales, they were truth itself, and not mere exaggerated clumps of truthful recounts as most myths often were.
Hence the village rejoiced when the dragons’ messenger came to announce its claim on a village’s child. *The coming of the new hero!* Everyone thought that, but they did not expect him to be taken.
But since he was to be taken, the villagers offered no resistance, and merely offered him up. Poor little Mort did not wish to go, but what choice did the child have in the matter? A few gold coins thrown onto the ground, the chief shaking the messenger’s claw, and Mort was whisked away like a fairy tale princess.
Most villagers forgot about Mort, ‘tis the effects of the spell casted on them. But in a decade, they would.
Because not all children grow up to be heroes.
Chuckling as I watch the burning embers of my old home, I thought to myself:
*It’s time for the world to burn to nothingness.*
|
Massive boulders hurtled through the air, shedding dirt and debris as they flew towards the village, causing the north easterly wind to shriek in protest at their passing. The town bell rung frantically, its harsh noise competing with the whistling boulders as they crashed into the modest stone houses of the village, the huge rocks shattering the cobblestones streets and thumping into the grass slopes along the side of the hill.
The three-time clang of the bell signaled something already very obvious. The giants had come.
The frightened cries of villagers could be heard in the intermittent silence between the impact blasts of the boulders, the most valiant among the human denizens shouting defiance, but most urging everyone to flee. "They will not take us all! Into the tunnels!" "Get down into the hill!"
Entire families were pulverized in one blow from the huge rocks, mothers and husbands and brothers and sisters replaced by puffs of red mist. Blood trickled down the old stone pathways, pooling at the crossroads at the bottom of the hill.
The giant were huge, hulking things with human skulls hanging from them in long, coiled lines. They had spikes on their heads and shoulders which flexed and sprung upwards as they ripped up jagged chunks of the earth and flung them towards the village. The leading giants were close now. Close enough to reach down and swipe at the stone houses lining the base of the hill.
If anyone was left down there, if anyone had survived the initial onslaught of boulders, their time had now come to an end.
"Jerra, stop staring at them and run!"
A hand grabbed at Jerra's shoulder, jerking her backwards and snapping her out of her terrified trance. With a jolt the young girl launched herself along the narrow side street, concentrating on her father's back. They fled towards a tunnel entrance just a few hundred yards away.
A high pitched keening grew in her ears, drowning out the frantic shuffling of their feet, growing louder and louder until her father disappeared from the road, swept away by a rock twice his size. Jerra screamed and fell to her knees, her father's blood coated her face and hands and her just washed smock, the feel of the warm liquid narrowing her world down to the space on the street where her father should be.
The cacophonous crash of stone colliding on stone filled her ears again, returning her to reality with a vengeance. The crashes were punctuated by the terrified shrieks of horses and cows which remained trapped in their pens, soon to be eaten alive.
Jerra curled inwards, clasped her knees to her chest, rocking herself back and forth. She desperately tried to ignore the world around her, tried to pretend that it was all a dream.
She felt the warm breath of a giant, heard the clattering of hundreds of human skulls. A gnarled, grizzled foot almost twice her size thumped down beside her, then a long sliver of saliva hit the back of her head and dripped down between her shoulder-blades. Death had come to her, her body destined to be ground down by the savage molars of a hulking, hateful beast.
A massive head slammed down a few feet away, the light fading out of its beady little eyes. Its tongue lolled out, bloody saliva pooling at the base of its mouth. Dead. The giant was dead.
Jerra look up just as a shadow passed over her. Then she heard a powerful reptilian cry.
The dragons had finally returned.
| 2019-04-25T07:20:41
| 2019-04-25T06:32:53
| 26
| 18
|
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search
|
- Online dating sites
- First date ideas
- How much do you tip
- What clothes do you wear to a fancy restaurant
- Ways to save money
- How to get proposal ring in secret
- What is a good price for a ring
- Resort honeymoon suite cost
- How to save a lot of money
- First class tickets to Hawaii
- Coach tickets to Hawaii
- How to budget your vacation
- Romantic ideas for honeymoon
- How to tell if it's a boy or girl early on
- Local available night shifts
- Baby toys
- Does the father go to the baby shower
- Is it okay if a baby is late
- Strong cheap Liquor
- Strong liquor
- Funeral planner
- Putting child up for adoption
- Suicide Hotline
- Can I take back my child that I put up for adoption
- Alcoholics Anonymous
- Online college
- Necessary items for raising a baby
- Baby clothes
- Lunchbox and Backpack
- Available jobs with four year degree
- Elementary school supplies
- Little league sign ups
- High school supplies
- Letterman jacket
- Tuxedo rental for teenager
- Athletic scholarships available in early high school
- Used car for son
- New car for son
- Driving instructors
- Driving safety tips
- Why does God hate me
- Funeral planner
- Most painless way to die
|
Best private school LA
LA public school system
Jobhunter LA
Budget kids clothes
How to fix a leaky faucet
Modern student backpacks
How to qualify for an education loan
Return Klip-pack 9000
Amazon Ninja Turtles rolling backpack
Rain jacket size small
What to do if your apartment floods
Budget plumbers LA
From Columbus to America book rental
How to help your kids with math
Best Christmas presents for kids 2014
Chronic pain in throat
Cold medicine Amazon
Chronic coughing
How to qualify for Childrens Health Insurance Program
How to pay for cancer treatment without health insurance
Part time jobs LA
Craigslist jobs LA
Alternative medicine LA
What is chemo therapy
Throat cancer surgery success rate
How to qualify for a medical loan
What to do if you can’t pay credit card bill
How to qualify for a loan with bad credit
Ninja Turtles Raphael doll Amazon
Child caskets LA
| 2015-02-04T17:35:01
| 2015-02-04T17:13:32
| 161
| 23
|
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure
|
Jessie's job was working for the city, cleaning up roadkill.
I can't help but see irony in his death.
He probably looked like a deer in headlights.
Which is what he was cleaning up.
That SUV didn't even see him.
Flattened him out real good.
It was road kill.
Leaving him, well.
You know.
Roadkill.
|
I couldn't believe just how hard it was to say.
*"I always knew that you would end my life."*
*"What do you mean --- I don't get it?"*
*"I really didn't expect that you would."*
Her eyes began to well up.
*"You're starting to scare me."*
My voice began quivering.
*"I'm so sorry."*
*"No wait--.*
*"Goodbye."*
| 2015-01-05T21:54:55
| 2015-01-05T21:31:56
| 122
| 14
|
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.
|
I'm not a hero, I'm a man with a job. have a specific set of skills. When a DM wants to get rid of a character but declines to use the plethora of tools at their disposal, they message me. Generally, I like more than one session to handle these kinds of issues, but I took this job as a personal favor.
The party of four that I joined was several levels into the 3.5 adventure module, "Red Hand of Doom", and after a few minutes of playing, I immediately saw the problem.
"I would like to seduce Trellara Nightshadow." Primus, the paladin, announced to the party.
This was met with a plethora of groans from the other party members on the Discord server.
"Make the roll I guess." Trevor, the DM, said in a resigned voice.
A few clicks of a keyboard and a triumph exclamation from Primus' player, Scott, later began the most uncomfortable roleplaying session I've ever had the pleasure to sit in on.
Now, before most DMs bring me on I ask them if they've done the adult thing and spoken with the problem player first. Most of the time this solves the problem, but in this case, Scott was the worst kind of D&D player, he was *That Guy*. While *That Guy* can come in many shapes and forms, they can be highlighted by their complete disregard for the fun and enjoyment of everyone else. And Scott, well he was the worst I had ever seen. I won't insult you by describing what followed his successful Diplomacy check against the innocent elf NPC, Trellara Nightshadow, but suffice it to say that it would make the average person either blush or cringe in physical pain.
It was at this point that I knew that Primus had to go. While my character was only about level 6, Gorbash Ironhorn was built specifically to take down characters like this. I know enough about 3.5 to sculpt a character for just such an occasion. The first thing you need to know about my good friend Gorbash is that his base class is Monk. At level 6, Monks have the ability to make a "flurry of blows" which allows them one more attack each round than what they would normally get, but with less accuracy. But Gorbash wasn't your usual human or elf Monk, he was a minotaur, and this gave him a nice +8 bonus to strength. The cherry on top of it all was the template that the DM allowed me. Gorbash, you see, was a vampire, something that the paladin should have known if he wasn't so busy trying to fuck every female NPC from Drellyin's Ferry to Brindol. Having the vampire template gave Gorbash's unarmed strikes the ability to bestow 2 negative levels per hit, and with the Monk's 'FLurry of Blows" ability Gorbash could take away 4 levels from a target per round.
So I bided my time, as the DM had informed me that they would be facing off against the Ghostlord, a druid turned lich, who had sworn allegiance to the main villain. I won't bore you with details of the fight, but I will let you know that we won by the slightest of margins. Primus took his place about the Ghostlord's corpse and began to speak about not only his own glories but about how many fair maidens he would need to satiate his lust after defeating such a fierce enemy.
He never saw my vampire minotaur Monk coming.
There is nothing like the strangled cries of a player when you announce:
"I would like to walk up behind Primus and attack him with 'Flurry of Blows.'"
"Roll to hit," Trevor said I could feel the smile in his voice.
"23 and 25"
"And damage?"
I rattled off the total and reminded Trevor that negative levels reduce the maximum HP of a creature by a hit die per level. I logged off before I could hear Scott react to the death of his paladin, but my job was done. I'm not a hero, you see, I am a Character Assassin.
|
"I'm afraid I must object," said Timonus the Upright.
Everyone at the table reacted, some throwing up their hands and some muttering unpleasantries under their breath. The five gamers sat around a map of terrain speckled with gaming pieces. At the head of the table a thin, tired looking young man sat behind a large, upstanding book. He let out a long exhale.
"What is it now, Todd?" he asked, the words seeming to sting his throat.
"I should think it obvious, Brenden. We don't know why these soldiers deserted the Farwinian army. Perhaps they are conscientious objectors protesting the unjustness of the war? I simply cannot condone attacking this band as a paladin of-"
"Lawful good alignment," finished two of the other players in unison. Jake and Marcus had heard this more times than they could count.
"I have a question," said a third player. He was new to this campaign, and strangely would only play for this session. He hadn't actually given his name.
"Which is?" asked Brendon.
"Can I activate my..."
He read from the page in front of him.
"...mega fire grenade?"
"A character of his low level should not have been given such a powerful weapon," said Todd. "It's highly unlikely a character of his background and experience could have procured the resources to acquire an item of that quality."
"I just want to know if can," said the new player, raising a placating hand to the obese paladin.
The ghost of a smile crept onto Brenden's lips. "You can activate it whenever you like, though your fellow campaigners may not like it very much."
"I want to do it," the new guy said.
"What!"
Timonus the Upright stood upright, crumbs falling from his tshirt to the floor.
"I run," Jake said.
"I run too," said Marcus.
"I find this all very objectionable," Todd said. "This person here isn't even a real member of this-"
"Mega fire grenade explodes," Brenden said, grinning. "You should have run, Todd. Your dead."
"I... but... you didn't even give me a chance to respond. As a character of lawful good alignment I would never adventure with a rogue like that. I find this all very objectionable."
He looked over to confront the new player, but he was gone. In his chair only a puff of rising smoke remained.
| 2019-01-21T19:02:54
| 2019-01-21T18:32:36
| 3,332
| 500
|
[WP] You started writing a diary when you were 13, but you stopped after it got boring after awhile. You find your diary after several years in pile of your old stuff, and the entries indicate that you've never stopped writing...
|
The day my mother died. That was tomorrow, 10 years back. I was up in the attic, going through some of old stuff. Old photo albums, little things my mother loved. Tears welled in my eyes. Ah the memories, I thought, as I glanced a dusty little book among a bunch of my old shit. I picked it up and sneezed. The marker on the front was faded.
*Taylor's Diary. Don't Touch!*
When I was a kid, I was dumb, the ideal teenage life being everything I watched on Nickelodeon or Disney. If all those girls kept diaries, then why not me? My mom thought it was a phase, but it went on for quite some time. From when I was 8 years old to when I was 13. I stopped on the day of my 13th birthday, after my 'friends' who came over for my party ridiculed me over it. Appropriately, the last entry I wrote was me gushing about how I was now a teenager.
I flipped open the book, little clouds of dust flitting through the air, and the sounds of the stiff pages bending oddly satisfying. The diary had that musky old book smell. I liked it, then sneezed again. Where was it, August 5th...
There it was on the left page... But there was something on the right as well, did I write anything the following day? I swear I couldn't recall.
August 6th, 2000:
Well, my friends were a bunch of stupid jerks! I hate them all!
After the party I walked to the lake... And something strange...
I can't write about it, you know I can't. You saw what I saw. But it changed me. I know that.
I felt my hairs rise. It was something to forget how many times you went to the bathroom, but not to forget 'something strange' happening a freaking day after you could have sworn you hadn't written anything in the diary. Flipping through the rest of the pages real quick, I could see that the whole book had several more entries, almost to the end. That *definitely* wasn't me.
Yet, the handwriting was mine. I kept turning.
December 13th, 2000:
I saw it again, and this time I'm not mistaken. I know what I saw. I actually peed myself, I know, I know. But I plan to go back. I want to understand.
This was eerie, and I felt a strange sensation in my belly. This wasn't me, none of this ever happened... Yet, somehow it did?
April 14th, 2002:
Today they took me in. For the first time in years, I feel welcome.
July 28th, 2002:
I'm learning more and more from them. It's only a matter of time before I understand.
Then a huge gap in time... Strange. But the writing continued on the next page, the writing different. The strokes were more mature, but definitely an evolution of the previous, indicating the same person.
June 26th, 2007:
Mother is gone.
January 2nd, 2008:
I've done what they wanted, and flawlessly if I should commend myself. There's hope for me yet. Today I found some interesting texts, which I know I shouldn't be in possession of, but they seem intriguing.
January 6th, 2008:
I've done wrong. I know it. Those books were locked up for a reason.
April 26th, 2008:
I refuse to believe this can be fought. This marks the day I give in. Forgive me, my family. You taught me so much, but I strayed. Oh how I strayed.
February 6th, 2014:
I burnt them to the ground and felt nothing. If we ever see again, know that I'm sorry.
November 20th, 2014:
They respect me now. This new family. And they should. But is it respect, or fear?
November 23rd, 2014:
Assigned. See you later.
From here, the writing was cold. Malignant almost, as if darkness was seeping out of the pages.
March 8th, 2017:
Home sweet home. I'm no longer who I was. This is what I was meant to be, and by the Air I've reached my true potential.
April 17th, 2017:
It's fear.
May 26th, 2017:
Forgive me. I am nothing but a shell, I need to find my way again.
June 1st, 2017:
I might have figured it out. Maybe I can go back. Maybe I can be forgiven, and hurt no one else.
June 25th, 2017:
Remember me on the other side. Goodbye. Remember all you have done, and be thankful. This will hurt.
I did not remember.
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The faint dim light of my lantern, a book and my sheets defended me from the monsters that crawled my bedroom's floor in the night. That evening I submerged into Anne Frank's world, I found her diary absorbing, it made me remember about my old diary that I wrote last year but quickly left behind.
The warm sunlight broke into my room through the tiny gaps of my window calcinating the monsters and waking me up. I peeked to make sure they weren't there before I got out of the cozyness of my bed. That morning I went straight into my family's basement to find my old diary and promised myself to write on it everyday.
"Mom, could you please defend me from the monsters in the basement? The light doesn't work and I don't want to get hurt" I begged her.
"You are 14 now honey, there are no monsters, it's only darkness. Nothing will happen." She said with a reassuring smile.
"You promise mom? Could you atleast stay in the door?"
"Yes honey of course, but you must be brave, darkness can be scary but it's all in your head, remember that."
I took a deep breath and opened the old door that let out a slow grating noise. The worn steps creaked with each of my steps like a dying animal.
"Turn on your lantern sweetheart, you will fall otherwise" Said my mom standing in the land monsters couldn't reach.
I obeyed, a ray of light illuminated the last step, a cockroach was walking on it. My first enemy, I could feel my heart throbbing rapidly, the disgusting anatomy and the swaying motion of its antennaes sent chills down my spine. I remembered the courage that Anna Frank had, this was nothing compared to what she went through. I raised my foot and stomped my repulsive foe, I heard a cracking noise and a small river of white blood contamined the bottom slippers. I let out a sigh of relief.
*"You doing great honey, I think the diary is on a grey bag in the center."* Said my mom, her voice sounded distant now.
After finally making through the steps I landed on the cold, humid ground. I could hear the giggles of the monsters hidding in the absolute darkness of this place. "Mom, I hear them, please come and get me out of here." I said, crying.
*"Honey, in your hand you have their weakness, light. They can't touch you."* She yelled, her soft voice always calmed me down.
I wiped off the streams of tears moistening my face and pointed the light of my lantern frantically across the basement, I heard the monsters agonizing in pain and creeping away. Suddenly, while I was moving my weapon I saw the grey bag laying in the center, the path in front of me was clear, I closed my eyes, pointed my beam of fire forward and I ran straight to it.
I opened my eyes and took many deep breaths trying to recover my composture, I meticulously checked that no monster where nearby and opened the dusty bag, my fingers filled with grease as I revolved through the different books inside. A feeling of nostalgia invaded me when I found it, to my surprise it was dapper, not a single trace of dust or grease over it's leather cover. Something felt off.
I forgot about my monsters for a moment and sat down in a box, my right hand held the lantern high pointing to my diary while my left hand held it and opened it carefully, I remembered only writing one page about my last day in school. First, joy warmed my body like hot tea coming down my throath as I read the stupid thing I wrote on the first page but as I swiftly turned the page a dreadful feeling obliterated my hapiness. It was written, every page, with my exact same hand writing. Abruptly, I heard the monsters crawling towards me. I quickly turned to the last page and I read it:
*"Amelia, if you are reading this, you are ready to help us. Tomorrow, everything will change."*
My lantern slipped from my trembling hand shattering into countless pieces against the ground, darkness filled the place, I could feel them smelling me and whispering horrible things. I closed my eyes and tried to scream but nothing came out of my mouth, my heart could barely hold the adrenaline that my body was releasing. Suddenly, I felt two hands grabbing my ankles. I fainted.
Nothing was the same when I woke up.
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If you enjoyed it please check: /r/chasisoxidado for more!
| 2017-06-25T16:54:17
| 2017-06-25T15:09:16
| 102
| 24
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[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
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It was these sort of women that he hated the most. The ones that would cling to their tainted children with screams and fits of rage. Didn't they understand? Didn't they realize that the world had to be clean?
It'd been many years since he'd realized the truth about the Blackness. One day, The Doctor has pricked himself during an operation and found a jet black tar, so thick that it never managed to escape from the shallow wound. He'd always been a good man, always helping the needy, operating on the dying, the homeless, those who nobody else would risk their careers on. He'd gone to church, worshiped God, refrained from alcohol and cursing, and still, his blood was filled with Blackness. It was then that he realized: the blood must tell the future. It not only darkened and thickened with each impurity, but it also knew the state of your future deeds. Somehow, the Blackness must be able to judge the soul and see what it was capable of.
With that realization came a new purpose. If one day he would be the Blackest of all devils, then he would dedicate the rest of his life until that moment to purify every stain that he could find. Every drop of Blackness would be cleansed from the world in order to balance his own future sin. It was with this knowledge and vision that The Doctor started his research. After a painstakingly long trial, he found that indeed, the blood could predict a person's purity in their later life. With this, he proposed a new program that could eradicate the Blackness before it ever grew into action. Every child would be pricked at thirteen, as before thirteen they were judged to be well under their parents control. Those whose blood was Black would be taken away from their parents and eliminated from society in order to prevent the evil they would inevitably bring into the world.
Whatever the evil he might one day do, The Doctor hoped that his life's work spent in the elimination of all the Tainted would help to balance the scales. Every day, without fail, he would prick him self again in order to remind himself of his purpose. Every day, without fail, the blood would stand within the cut, Blacker than the darkest night and thicker than the Jello that all his patients received. Every day, without fail, it reminded him that time was running short. One day, he would become evil. Before then, he had to cleanse as much evil from the world as he could. And so, so many of the evil ones were left.
Edit: Woah. So that's why people post things on reddit so much. Dang those upvotes feel nice inside haha. For those asking: I had what I thought was a fun idea so I wrote it out in a rather rough sort of way, no idea if it's actually like any of the animes/shows listed below that I haven't watched and I'm glad y'all enjoyed it too :).
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I felt "different", don't know how to explain it really. When I woke up and had my morning breakfast and coffee everything felt fine. When I left my small studio apartment, passing misses Fischer in the hallway I felt normal. Even when I reached the soup kitchen the next block over the world just felt...right.
Yet somehow, in this moment; nothing feels right. I feel the pangs in my stomach, the tightness in my muscles as if I haven't slept for weeks. My hands are dirty, my clothes stink and are stained so badly that I can't recall what color this shirt was supposed to be when I put it on this morning.
I'm lost, sitting in an empty lot with a small shiv in one hand and a slowly bleeding finger from my other. People are avoiding me as I walk down the street, slowly stumbling and searching for any resemblance of normality. "Oak Street", that's, that's six blocks away from my apartment and in a completely different direction from the soup kitchen I was heading too. I reorient myself and begin the trek back home; my body tired, exhausted and spent.
I stumble up the stairs to my apartment, the whole building reeks and I can barely breathe without coughing. All my neighbors doors are hanging open, TV's playing static while random cats and dogs jitter from door to door. My world begins to spin, my hands looking for purchase on anything to keep me from falling over. I collapsed to my knees and a sudden jolt of clarity hit me like a belly flop at Indian Lake.
I'm not in a hallway, I'm not in my apartment building either. Everything is white, then black; and I hear a voice in the distance. It sounds like Miss Fischer, no; its more masculine. I'm starting to remember, oh god I remember!
Oh god no! Noooo! This is it; my last meal was served. The witnesses were called and none of my family could bare witness to the shame I caused them. They said it would be painless, I wouldn't feel a thing. So why am I awake and why do my veins burn like lava, oh god oh god.. OH god... OH GOD NOOOOO!
I felt "different", don't know how to explain it really. When I woke up and .........
| 2018-08-04T10:46:53
| 2018-08-04T10:12:33
| 3,279
| 20
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[WP] After dying, you are faced with a coin slot. It says, "Pay 1$ to live for another day". You tried it out, and lived for another day. The next day, it showed up again, this time it asks you for 2$.
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"Shit, I don't have any change. Wait, what the fuck? Where am I?"
James is very confused, it just occurred to him that just a second ago he was not at an arcade, or whatever the hell this place is supposed to be. There's this huge screen in front him, telling him to stick a dollar into the slot right beside it to live another day.
"I don't have a fucking dollar you dumb machine!"
James is starting to lose his mind, what is going on here? Why would God ask him for a dollar, why would God even allow someone to return to life for a single day? What if their body was completely destroyed? Right as James turns around and decides to run, just to see what would happen, a change machine materializes in front of him.
"Well, thanks, God."
James sticks a 5 dollar bill in the machine and in return he receives 5 single dollars. He returns to the back-to-life-for-a-day machine and sticks in a dollar.
"GYAAAAH"
James feels a sharp pain in his neck and is suddenly back. The machine seems to be broken. It's asking for 2 dollars this time. James reluctantly sticks 2 dollars in the machine.
"AAAAAAAH"
Once again the machine only made him feel a sharp pain in his neck for a second and brought him back, but wait, this place is different, he is somewhere else now. Someone, or something is approaching him.
"Welcome to the afterlife James." "Well, am I finally dead now?" "I shouldn't have to tell you this, you did hang yourself after all."
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A voice rich and sonorous filled the air like rumbling thunder, echoing through my mind like a whisper down a deep well.
“Would you like another day?” it asks. There is an undertone of mirth in the voice, a mocking tone of one who has all the knowledge and power.
My eyes focus through the haze and I see a body lying crumpled upon the ground, its arms and legs strewn out like the sickening insignia of a swastika, its head tucked away at an angle that is unnatural and wrong. Next to it, is a 4x4 and a little woman in sunglasses, standing beside the vehicle with her hands on her head, wearing an expression of shock and misery. Even though the haze is strong and suffocating, I sense a faraway emotion as I realise that the figure draped over the asphalt is me, my corporeal body.
Panic sets in as I realise that I am floating away from my body like a raft on a slow tide, edging away from myself. I stretch my arms out, desperately trying to reach me, but there is an ebb and pull drawing me in, transporting my soul away from the scene.
Suddenly, I halt, pausing for a moment, as I notice the hooded figure, swathed in unworldly garments drifting next to me. I look at its hood and the tenebrous folds, sweeping over each other like shifting sands of time. I try to look into the void where a face should be but I stop when I notice a thread of light trailing from me as if it were subsuming the remnants of all that is left.
“Would you like to live for another day?” the rich, tenor of a voice asks. “Just put this in there and you can live again.”
In the palm of an ancient, withered hand, it is holding a coin, which I recognise to be a dollar. I see, on the other side of the phantom, floating in the void, is a vintage, slot machine. I hungrily try to take the dollar away from the skeletal hand but it closes with speed. I shiver as my fingers caress the frigid bones of the being, now laughing at my vain attempt to take the money.
“Listen closely,” it tells me.
“You, an average man of forgettable consequence, have been chosen over all the others. It has been decided, that you will have a special destiny.”
The words hung in the air like dark, storm clouds, brimming with power, ready to unleash their energy.
“Death cannot be everywhere at once. And there are certain ways people need to die that requires… a human touch.”
It pointed down at my body on the road. A small crowd of people had gathered there now, some on their mobile phones, many just ogling at the scene.
“I present to you one more day of life. You must, however, earn that gift.”
It opened its palm again; there was the coin. Instead of the profile of one of the great and noble presidents, there was the protrusion of a skull, shining eerily in the ethereal being’s aura.
“Think of this as employment. One day at a time. If you perform my bidding well, I shall offer you another day of being, but at the cost of two dollars. Each day that I give you, I will charge you more. But there is good news. The more difficult the task that I set, the more I shall pay you.”
I had started to move away from my body again, watching it diminish in size as I floated towards a nebulous darkness up above, a swirling vortex that looked as viscous as oil.
“I could have picked any soul from an incalculable number of the dying or soon to be dead but I wanted you,” the voice breathed. It was sounding urgent now, as if it too was wary of time running out.
My body was almost out of sight and I was almost at the threshold of the vortex, where a cold, metallic sensation washed over me. I could take it no longer. I grabbed the dollar from the hand of death and put it into the machine. I pulled at the lever on the side, a three foot long crank, until it could go no further down.
On the panel at the front, three columns began spinning, their revolutions at differing speeds, making the three vertical bars shift and blur in and out of focus.
Finally they stopped, and aligned were three laughing skulls.
In the void there was some sort of pulse, a shockwave that rippled from deep inside the arcade machine. I wanted to scream as the silent vibrations thrummed though my whole essence. It felt like something inside me being creating from nothing, a sensation of emptiness being filled. I was drawing closer to the body sprawled on the road, all the while, my limbs becoming firmer, my head becoming clearer. As I neared, I could hear the sounds of life again. Car exhausts, the faraway sound of drilling and, loudest of all, people chattering.
“What happened?”
“Is he alright?”
“Has someone phoned 911?”
Suddenly there is a click, coming from my neck. It sounds like a puzzle being completed; it feels like my vertebrae slotting back into position.
To gasps from the sidewalk, I slowly turn onto my side and rise up into a sitting position, gently massage my temples.
I am alive again.
But at what cost?
| 2018-07-29T04:28:21
| 2018-07-29T03:59:43
| 25
| 10
|
[WP] Hiding the fact that you are a half-demon to your classmates is easy as being helpful at school and putting on a friendly face. What could go wrong? Well, nothing's worse than being summoned by one of your classmates, that's for sure.
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"Annie?"
Annie took a pair of glasses out of her fluffy Hello Kitty robe to get a better look at the idiot who summoned her. She regretted immediately seeing Shawn from Biology 2301 in front of her with a familiar grimoire and candles around them. Not to mention the slack jawed guy next to him. Did her cousin sell the book for food again? She looked around seeing the familiar gray paint of the dorm and the twin bed against the wall. It was bad enough being summoned by a classmate and his friend, but being ripped away from her self care routine of ice cream and her crime show made her irritable. She moved her hand over his friend's eyes as they closed and his body crumpled on the floor.
"No I'm the tooth fairy. Don't worry I just knocked him out with a memory spell. It's better to have just one person for the contract. So what the hell are you doing summoning a demon at-" she glanced at the clock on his desk, "9 pm on a Monday?"
"We were just playing around." Shawn blurted out as the candle flames flickered.
Annie huffed as she brushed her damp brown hair away from her eyes, "Do you want a contract or not? The price is your soul of course. Please don't ask for a hookup with Karen- it'll be fake as Professor Bundy's hair."
"Uh- no contract but sorry I ruined your night?"
"You can grab me fries from Satelite. Next time message me on GroupMe to see if you got a real grimoire." Annie squashed one of the sigils in the circle with her bunny slipper and passed her hand through one of the candles before snuffing all the candles out. She walked to the switch to turn on the lights.
"You don't look a demon."
"I'm a half demon. Please don't tell the others about," Annie gestured to the summoning circle, "this. I'd get transfered to the branch campus, and you'd get your memory wiped."
"Yeah I don't think the others would believe me anyway."
"I'll need that book back too." Annie extended her hand.
"Ah, but I got this for 20 bucks."
"I'll get the boba for the next project."
"Deal." Shawn handed over the grimoire as she opened the door. "Are you free tomorrow tonight?"
"Yeah after my 6pm class, but why?"
"Can you help me study for the test on Friday? I'll pay for the snacks just lemme know what you like."
"Sure. Third floor on the library?"
"Yeah I'll get us a room. Good night Annie."
"Good night Shawn."
|
“OwO what’s this who had summoned me?” I say flouring my demonic robes as i rise out of the Summoning circle. With a final flourish of red sparkles and smoke I turn to see -SAM fucken SAM my smile faltered
“Magufuli?” He said poking my blood red robes.
“No stop” I pull my rides away. What am I supposed to do? I turn back around. I’ll tell him that I’ve possessed Thai body or something. I hear a little pop and I glance back to see Sam leaned back on his bean bag opening a soda.
“What are you doing”
“Waiting” Said Sam eying me up and down. Pausing at my exposed chest
“Excuse me” I pull my robes in closer, I wasn’t even that handsome there was nothing to see not even chest hair. But that didn’t stop him from feeling his face becoming hot.
“Soooo Magifuli what are you going to do for me” he said circling his fingers around the sofa can.
“Oh plenty of things, now I’m not as strong as other Demond’s but that’s what makes me better sometimes you just need the small revenge no one gets hurt but you get back at them. Or maybe you just want to get faster and destroy people on line, I’m quite flexible.”
“No I mean what can you do for me as Magufuli not a Demond”
“I uh” - What could he possibly want? did he know who he was messing with? Wait he doesn’t “I do not know of this “Magufuli you speak of. I appear to people as their worst” enemies? no we barely new each other competitors? Uhhh -“friend”
He raised an eyebrow and placed the soda on the ground before laughing “Magufuli you do know my last friend nearly killed me right?”
“Oh no I didn’t” I answered meekly
“Yeah it was this whole thing accused me of some really serious stuff because I called him out on his assholy” He stood up and brushed the counter. His textbook neatly arranged and pens perfectly allied. His entire room was blank white. No posters no basketball tucked away just a bed text books and Tshirts and pants folded into a draw with a spotless surface.
Everyone who had summoned him had at least a disorganized desk. Most rooms were unlivable. Clothes every where decaying food, unfinished homework used tissues.
Author: Idk where to go after this lol. maybe I’ll add something
| 2021-09-20T06:14:44
| 2021-09-20T03:07:06
| 23
| 10
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[WP] You are the infamous 10th Dentist. A new toothpaste has been brought before the commission and the previous 9 dentists have already approved it. As you inspect the toothpaste, there is a slight problem. You actually like it.
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Stewart sat straight awaiting his turn to review the product. He was the storied Tenth Dentist—the cavity crusader, the plaque protector, the last bastion against the dreaded *gingavitus.*
The others dentists had been phoning it in for years now. They had approved this particular product on *sight.*
>“Does it clean teeth?”
>
>“Yes!”
>
>"And does it taste minty fresh?"
>
>"You bet!"
>
>“Approved!”
Stewart wouldn't be so easy. He hadn’t approved a product for market in years. Soft-bristled tooth-brush? *Fail—if the gums don't bleed, they will recede*. Bubblegum flavored toothpaste? *Fail—children shouldn’t be conditioned to enjoy bubblegum*. Tooth-whitening strips? *Double fail!—There is no cheat code for good dental hygiene*.
Stewart was the last of the old-guard. Dentistry was serious business, and the products needed to reflect that. He ate nothing but whole-grain wheat-thins and brushed four times a day using a custom-made porcupine-quill toothbrush.
He picked up the sample brush the council had provided for purposes of testing the new paste. He sniffed it, pressed on its bristles, and tested its flex. His nose wrinkled as he shook his head and tossed the brush to the side. He squeezed a dollop of toothpaste directly onto his finger instead.
He put the paste to his nose, wafting the aroma with his other hand. “Interesting,” he said. “I’m getting a bouquet of fresh pear… savory yet sweet like a caramelized ham… and is that a note of shoe leather?”
The other nine dentists looked at one another. “*I thought it was spearmint*,” one whispered. “*It is, but I can see the caramelized ham undertones. This man is a genius*.” The other nodded. “*Astounding*.”
Stewart pulled his lip back and slowly smeared the paste along his lower gum. He then slapped both hands against his cheeks, leaving red marks.
*It’s the Stewart Slap!* one of the dentists whispered excitedly. *It’s meant to reset the neural network in his mouth. He hasn’t needed to use it in years!* The other dentist rolled his eyes. *What do I look like, an amateur? Of course I know about the Stewart Slap! Now shut up, this is big.*”
Stewart took a sip of water, swishing it around his mouth with purpose. After a moment, he spat the water out into the crystal spittoon he carried with him at all times. He dabbed his mouth and looked up at the council.
“I’ve made my decision,” Stewart said. The room had gone deadly quite, suspense permeating the air. “I would recommend this product,” he said at last.
Cheers erupted throughout the council. A tear rolled down the face of the First Dentist. The Seventh Dentist pulled out a rosary, touched it to his forehead and kissed it. The Fifth Dentist made a bee-line for Stewart, emphatically shaking his hand before grabbing the tube and squeezing its entire contents into his mouth.
But a distinct groan punctuated the celebration. Everyone went quiet and turned around to see who it was.
A man in the back had stood up, his face red, muttering a string of profanity under his breath. “Goddammit!" he shouted, pointing at Stewart. "*You* weren’t supposed to recommend it! You were supposed to be the hold-out!”
Stewart looked the man dead on, unblinking. “I liked it, so I recommend it," he said. "Ten out of ten dentists approve. Congratulations.”
The man pulled out a phone and punched a number into it. “Sharon? Pull the toothpaste from the market ... Yes, you heard me! Pull it! Stewart *approved*! We’re screwed!”
Murmurs rippled throughout the council.
The man put his phone back into his pocket. “Stewart you damn bastard! We can’t have *ten out of ten* dentists recommend our toothpaste! That’s unheard of! It's *unthinkable*! They’ll assume we rigged the votes! We’re sunk!”
Stewart shrugged and walked off, the room erupting into chaos as he closed the door behind him. He smirked to himself. Caramelized ham undertones? Not on his watch. That toothpaste should never see the light of market, and he'd just made sure of it.
***
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Thanks for reading! Check out r/Banana_Scribe for some of my favorite pieces.
|
My 'colleagues' were already writing down their statements of approval. Fools. They used it once, on themselves at that, and they trust their own judgements? Pah. I'd spit on them, but they'd probably like that as well.
But I am a professional, if nothing else. I will... observe the formalities. Experience whatever gutter-sludge they call 'toothpaste'. And, of course, return my disapproval. I always do. I always do.
"Doctor McKenzie." The rat mumbles. "Our new product." He hands over a small, flat box, and I snatch it away. His tremors would likely destabilise any pleasant substances that would float in the paste by happenstance, and it was only fitting to experience a cleansing substance at its best.
I am a professional, you see. A professional, if nothing else.
"Out." I say, sternly. The rat leaves, and I jot down a reminder in my notebook, neatly stating a need to clean the floor later. And not step on it until then.
The first step is simple. I open a drawer, handle made of polished silver, gloves stopping any contamination. I pick a pair of tweezers, which I use to pick out a slightly smaller pair of tweezers. The latter, of course, is currently in a pool of boiling cleaning solvent - my own formulae.
My fingers do not shake as I use the tweezers to open the box. Surprisingly adequate containment.
I note that down.
Resting in velvet is the tube. The tube is important. The tube *conveys.* Information. Aesthetics. My mother told me, when I was young, that the colour of the plate did not affect the taste of the food. She was wrong, of course. Colours have meanings, subconscious and conscious, that colour our other perceptions. Colours, and textures, and shapes. All united.
I turn over the tube to look at it from all angles. A button press, and a view-scope emerges. My own design. No others do.
I check through every spectrum, and it becomes apparent that the colours are pure. The white is so white it might blind a winter spirit. The black so pitch as to have a gravity, accepting all light by diffusion.
The linework is... Spectacular.
The font precise, yet friendly. Enticing. The red hums with the emotions of the blood, the wine. The company logo remodelled, out of the way, yet in sight.
The list of ingredients conveying everything one would need to know. Somehow personalised, and standardised, simultaneously. It tells me, should it be truthful, that this may be something new. Something that might work. I let out a breath involuntarily.
I pull a lever that makes no sound. The floor shifts, then rises, then opens. The hiss of noble gasses escapes the vault. The locks click open one by one. Mechanical, electronic, magnetic, occult. A disk with two artisanal restraints holds my toothbrush, and with a heavy heart, I take it. Could this be the day?
A container of reinforced glass accepts the end of the brush. My brush. A brush that has seen so much wear and tear from the brutish excretions of lesser designers that it would make anyone weep if they understood the magnitude of those failures. Mist is expelled, and the bristles soak it up. The water is not pure, but contains a variety of minerals to enhance the taste and medical benefits. Those of my colleagues that use pure water disgust me. Purity is in biology, not in physics.
I calm myself, and take the toothbrush again.
I squeeze the toothpaste. It comes out like a dream. Forms the perfect wave upon the bristles. White streaked with palest blue, and green pinpricks. I smell mint, and peppermint, and it takes all my willpower to avoid gorging myself on the beauty of it all.
I begin to brush.
An instant takes a year.
My eyes widen. Water. Water in my mouth, toothpaste on my teeth. Melding. Purging.
Purifying.
The last remnants of plaque removed from my teeth. A deep clean that rumbles my very bones. The taste is exquisite, and yet I feel no desire to swallow. Just as intended.
I do not choke on my tears. I am a professional, if nothing else. But I desperately want to.
A precise time passes without my realisation, and I pull out the brush. Spotless. I pull out my desk mirror, and bare my teeth. Spotless.
I smile. Spotless.
And I keep smiling, though my grin becomes less rictus, as tears of joy drift gently down my face.
---
*"The Commission has sent feedback?"*
*"Yes, - well, not quite, Sir."*
*"Hmm?"*
*"No feedback, this time. Just a small envelope. Much more... Noble? I can't quite describe it, but the envelope is a thing of beauty."*
*"Have you opened it?"*
*"There are instructions to only open it while you and I are alone, Sir."*
*"... And you listened?"*
*"I- The letter was quite compelling, Sir."*
*"Well, go on then. Let's see it."*
...
*"Oh. Oh my."*
*"I'm sure you understand now, Sir."*
*"Compelling indeed. But now I'm curious to see what's inside."*
...
*"It just says... Ten out of ten dentists approve. There's a small key here as well, taped to the paper. And... Is that gold foil?"*
*"Other substances as well. But the message is... Unexpected."*
*"I... I recognise what this key is, Sir."*
*"And?"*
*"Occult markings."*
*"Like the occult you used to make the toothpaste?"*
*"The very same, Sir. The paper has them as well. It must be what made the envelope so beautiful, and convinced me to follow its instructions."*
*"... What does this mean, practically speaking?"*
*"We're not the first to figure out how to invoke the occult, Sir. The first dentists, perhaps, but..."*
*"... Could the tenth dentist be a security measure? A test?"*
*"It's likely, Sir."*
...
*"Well, they haven't denied us permission to market and sell it. And they're one of the only institutions not attached to the Dee-Oh-En-Ess at this point."*
*"I think we now know why, Sir."*
*"Well, keep on course when it comes to the roadmap. None of your defences have been triggered yet, at least, which implies to me that we're still on track to break the Veil."*
*"Of course, Sir."*
*"Oh, and Anmet? This will be great marketing. Call in a little later and we can discuss a pay rise."*
*"... Thank you, Sir."*
| 2021-02-20T11:08:28
| 2021-02-20T08:52:52
| 339
| 79
|
[WP] At the stroke of midnight on January 1st, 2020, the first snow of the new year and the new decade fell. And it never stopped.
|
The first flakes fell gentle, like shredded up paper swirling down to the ground. And we cheered, those of us celebrating in NYC that night, seeing in the new year with friends and wine and laughter.
We woke with sore heads to a changed cityscape. A frozen veil had softened the harsh lines and dimmed the bright lights. A few inches overnight. Kids were out making snowmen while grownups hung their heads out of windows like dogs in the car, admiring what the dirty city had become. An open air art gallery -- minimalism gone mad.
I made a coffee and turned on the radio. The voice was already fuzzed with static. Soon it'd be gone altogether.
*A miracle, folks! Snow all around the world, like we're in a big glass globe and someone's just picked up the planet and given it a good shake. Let's rewind a few weeks and get the holiday music back on the air!*
It didn't even take a day for the first building to fall. The roof of the house was almost flat, perfect for snow to settle on. After that, it was winter-white dominoes. Clunk, clunk, clunk. New York began to fall. And what didn't fall was slowly suffocated as the snow crept up over the remaining buildings' necks.
We scurried like rats into the sewers, into the subways, into anywhere deep enough and strong enough to hold, as the snow pressed down hard on the city's chest.
And so it ended for us. Life was over, at least as we knew it. Most died. And those few unfortunates that lived began life anew. Had to.
New religions blossomed overnight, with followers that worshipped gods of fire or ice. Sacrifices were made daily in their honour by crazies. Clans became both family and protection.
Life anew was life cursed.
Me? What did I become in this cold new world beneath the earth? Well, I'm a burrower. Forget electricity or machinery or any shit like that -- that's all long gone. We burrow with spades and heat. Me, Claire, Ricky -- my crew. We're part of the Flat Iron clan. Eighty of us total.
Now burrowers, if I do say so myself, have the most important role in any clan. We carve the tunnels in the belly of the snow that allow us up into the clogged throats of the ruined buildings of NYC. We hollow tunnels that allow us to transport goods, tunnels that allow us to fall on enemy clans unexpected, tunnels that allow us to expand.
Today, when we were tunneling, *everything* changed.
We were burrowing upwards, looking for food in the ruins. Nothing new in that.
But we didn't mean to reach the surface -- didn't expect to. Never thought we'd see it again, in truth. But the snow had, at some point in the last few years, stopped falling; we burst out to a white land glittering under starlight.
For a moment, we celebrated.
Then, we saw them.
We sure as fuck hadn't expected to find that God himself had arrived -- that the crazies had been right all along. The snow... it'd just been rolling out the white carpet for Him. A way of purifying the planet for His landing -- Him and his demented angels.
We stayed up there, watching, for too long. Too careless -- 'cause they saw us and they know there are survivors, now.
They're coming down the burrows to get us.
To purify the earth entirely.
&#x200B;
\---
&#x200B;
I asked one of my favourite writers here if she'd like to cowrite this with me - [please find part 2 here :)](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/e8x58z/below_zero_part_2/)
|
I was born on the night of the long snow. I have never known a day without this: the dismal white, stretching in all directions.
My mother said we didn't always live like this. We didn't always hide around fires, watching the world from out frosted windows.
But even when she told me, showed me the old photos of green fields and trees with wide fanning leaves on their fingers... I couldn't believe it. The world I knew was brambled and dead. And I felt just as grey.
It was the morning of my seventeenth birthday. Seventeen long years trapped in the dark.
Every year, for my birthday, my mother would make little moon cakes with marzipan syrup. She would top them with winterbells, the little white flowers that only survived in the shade. The only flowers I had ever seen.
But this year, I woke before the rest of them. I dressed in the winter dark, pulling on layers of furs and fleece, until I am so densely warm I could hardly feel my arms.
I eased my door open and poked my head out into the hall. The walls were lined with everything that existed from the before. Before the snow ended the world. The picture frames and dusty cabinets, the hoarded collections of plastic bags my mother wouldn't get rid of, because no one is making new ones, you know.
I walked past my parents' room. For a moment, I hesitated in the doorway. Listening to them breathe. I wanted to push the door open and see them, if this really would be the last time. But I couldn't risk waking them.
No. If I was brave enough to say goodbye, I wouldn't be leaving like this.
I crept down the black hallway and slipped on my boots. They were mismatching pairs, but neither had holes and both more or less fit. I slipped them on as soundlessly as I could.
"What are you doing?"
The whisper behind me made me whirl, heart rabbiting.
But it was only my little brother, standing there in my old pajamas. He was like me, another snow baby, trapped in winter.
"Go back to bed," I hissed back.
"Charlie," he insisted, "what are you *doing?*"
I looked between him and the door. My mouth a hard line of dread. "I'm going to find out how to stop the winter."
"You can't stop it."
"I have an idea. And can you shut up? You're going to wake them." I nodded fiercely down the hall.
My brother puffed himself up. "If you're fighting it, I'm going with you."
"I'm not fighting it. I'm going to... Reason with it."
Even as I said it, the lameness of my plan made me deflate.
My little brother folded his arms over his chest. "Let me come, or I'll scream and wake them up."
I looked between my brother and the black sky. It would lighten for morning soon. And then it would be really too late.
"Dammit. Goddammit. Fine. But if you get eaten by a snow monster or something, don't let Mom blame me."
I waited the long few anxious minutes for him to get ready. I looked around at the relics if my parents' living room. The television that no longer had power to run, now turned into a clothing rack.
We didn't have to live like this, I told myself. That was why I was doing all of this.
My brother clomped down the hall in his snow gear. He looked so very small in that massive parka.
"Mom's going to be pissed," he said, but he had a bright grin, like that was all he wanted.
I couldn't match his excitement. After all, I was the one who knew where we were really going.
"You're right" I told him. "So we should get a headstart."
Then we left together, into the spindrifting snow.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
| 2019-12-10T10:04:04
| 2019-12-10T09:59:58
| 2,345
| 237
|
[WP] You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand.
|
I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.
"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!"
"What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?"
"You're never going to be a useful superhero."
I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.
But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.
As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.
As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.
As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup.
|
I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.
I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.
When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.
The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.
But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.
It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world.
| 2022-11-29T19:59:26
| 2022-11-29T19:52:13
| 121
| 59
|
[WP] When two people fall in love, they receive an object that is the physical embodiment of that love. It changes as their feelings change towards each other and destroying it can have drastic consequences. How does this change the nature of relationships?
|
On the first date by the sea, our love was a ring. A normal look for these types of things.
It hugs my finger so well, this is the love I needed. I can tell.
At the first kiss it was a boat. Roped at the docks where our love first took float.
Our first anniversary was a beautiful tale, and our hearts boat sprung a beautiful sail.
She held my hand through 5 years of seas but the boat and sail stayed strong through these.
A ring, a boat, a sail, now an anchor. Though the seas became rougher, for her love I always thanked her.
She took to land and left for her other lovers town. The boat and sail and ring vanished, and with the anchor I drowned.
|
We walked up the the government building. Holding hands together. We had just realized that yes, we were in fact deeply in love after just three weeks being together. And as the law goes we had to get our Article, the one thing that would guide and lead us through the years together. Oliver smiled as he opened the door for me, I smiled back naturally.
---------------------------------------
We sat in the waiting room, happy couples in love all around us, one couple was with child, waiting to see the Oracle of Children. Another had their Article in a small box, meaning it had became a ring and that they were to be married today by the Oracle of Marriage.
We sat anxious, ready to start our new life together.
"Gemma and Oliver," the muffled intercom said quietly, "Please report to the Oracle of Blessings office."
We received our blessing and the Article of love issued to new couples.
"Do not ever lose your Article, don't destroy your article, take care and love your article as much as you love each other," The Oracle of Blessing bowed and wrapped both me and Oliver's hands around our article. It pulsated with heat.
"We have but only each other, and love," We repeated the mantra that we had been taught all our lives, the one that we would repeat all of our lives.
---------------------------------------
Me and Oliver were set up to live together in three days time. The Article sat upon a stand by the door, glowing a light blue color. We sat together on the couch, the light from the Article changing to a deep pink glow as Oliver placed his hand on my lower back. I looked at Oliver and he stared back at me. We had both received the packet, deep pink meant... well... you could guess what it means.
---------------------------------------
I stared at the Article in disbelief as I placed my keys upon the table.
It's shape had changed into a pacifier; I was pregnant with Oliver's baby. It glowed white, meaning that the sex was undetermined.
I was so happy.
"We only have but each other, love and our child," I said quietly to Oliver that night.
---------------------------------------
We went to the Oracle of Children. It was unusual that we were with child before marriage but it was what the Article had guided us to.
The Oracle gave me helpful suggestions and tips to insure the babies heath. I was having two children, one boy and one girl child.
The Oracle gave us a list of Government approved names and we chose to. Justin and Polly, they were to take Oliver's last name.
We repeated the Mantra together, Oliver placing his ear to my stomach.
"We only have but each other, love and our children"
----------------------------------------
It was Justin and Polly's seventh birthday. Me and Oliver had been married for five years and were very happy together when it happened.
The Article broke.
We hadn't bumped it or moved it, it wasn't our faults. It just broke in two one day, maybe it was because we hadn't been paying attention to it. Maybe it was because we hadn't repeated the Mantra enough times.
I found out later that Oliver had been the one who fell out of love. He was having an affair with another woman.
----------------------------------------
Oliver moved out. Our children were put in child care and I was branded as unlovable.
I had my half of the Article, but nothing else to my name. Oliver was no better off than me, not able to get a job, or keep the house.
----------------------------------------
I moved into another district, changed my name. But I never did get another partner, in respect that I never did stop loving that no good man.
Life for me, was always hard, hiding my half of the Article, hiding a love that no one wanted.
Edit* spelling
| 2014-05-03T15:00:16
| 2014-05-03T14:27:45
| 124
| 63
|
[WP] Humans can Bond with animals to gain superpowers based on the traits of that animal. You just Bonded an animal that no one else in human history has been able to Bond with
|
I was late to the game when it came to the Bonding; how it worked, how it felt. But now I understood why there were so few people spirited to soft, fuzzy, cute things: We can sense each other. And on top of that, it's been known that personality types get augmented the deeper they connect with their power.
That said, I didn't need to be able to sense \*this\*, because the crowd around us was beginning to scatter as the aura of his spirit animals began to emanate off of him. No one wanted to be around when a Bear totem was angry, and this one was looking rather territorial. His physical size wasn't actually changing, of course, but you could see the air ripple around him as astral claws extended from his reach, and the impact of each stomping step became louder with a force that shouldn't be there. Both his real eyes, and emerging, glowing specters of his Bonded form glowered down at me, a sneer forming on both faces.
"What part of 'this is my territory' did you not understand," he snarled at me, the force amplified as his aura began to twist and shape into a more tangible cloak of energy. Maybe he was just looking to posture, because my silence seemed to enrage him more. "Oooh, I get it. Kid finally gets his bonding, and wants to prove how tough he is? Come to take out 'the biggest, baddest guy in the yard', eh?" His hackles raised, a defiant, blood-thirsty smile twisting over his lips. "Big mistake. I won't just humiliate you. I'll kill you. My Ursine side loves to eat the aura of shit-tier Bonders like you."
"That's what I've heard. That stops today, one way or the other. You're no longer going to give any us a bad name." I admit, I was actually incredibly nervous, but my Bond was driving my confidence. Apparently it was territorial as well, and the cloak of my own aura began to manifest, shimmering fleeting shades of green, blue, and pink. This served to confuse, and then delight my towering opponent.
"Wha- Are you seriously... bonded with a *shrimp*?!" Both him and his aura form reared back and shook with a mighty laugh, his confidence now tripled. "I can't remember the last time I got to snack on a sea-food Bonder! I'm going to enjoy this!" Apparently you don't need grace or subtlety when you think you're the strongest thing around. The glint of those massive claws spread wide as he prepared a lunge that would surely eviscerate me.
I felt the surge come over me, as instinct and power I'd never known before guided me. No jukes, no feints, just straight forward, as my aura enveloped me and extended my reach. I could see the shape manifest into solid orb at the end of my 'arm', like a bowling ball in proportion to my body. Speed I'd never known possible split the very air around me. The sound of his bellow no longer seemed to becoming from in front of me, as the sound waves had to part like the red sea in the face of my blow. The air itself was displaced, slamming into his gut before my astral fist did. What felt like hurricane force winds rushed to fill the gap I'd created with clap of thunder as the contact of my punch actually landed.
It happened so fast I didn't technically see the impact, just the result. At best, a pair of legs were in front of me. For dozens of meters behind that was more a morbid modern art display than a body. Later that day, people would observe shocking footage of some poor fools head escaping the earth's atmosphere courtesy of the ISS's orbital view.
I'd just meant to knock the wind out of him. Apparently I need to hone this in a bit.
"That's \*Mantis\* Shrimp to you, buddy," I said to... well, no one.
|
Every day, it happened.
Every day _she_ happened. It wasn't enough for her to own me, it wasn't enough for her to hold me in the palm of her hand since she bought me at that auction. It wasn't enough for her to be able to make my life a living hell.
She wanted to prove it to me, every day. The whippings were not the worst of it. The degradation was a murmur in the background by now, something I had learned to ignore over the years. The scars - each day a new one, whether by knife or hot iron, by rod or by staff, by tooth or by nail - accumulated. Each day she grew more and more sadistic and each morning she healed me, only to be able to hurt me more in the evening.
I felt a by-now familiar shudder run down my back as she rounded on me, the barbs of the entanglement spell pressing wickedly against my skin, keeping me pulled against the post while she let her eyes track over her work - from the old, silvery scars that crossed over my chest and shoulders down to the still-angry, red welts over my wrists and stomach.
In a weird way, I would've understood if she'd been out for some kind of vengeance, if one of my people had done similar to her, if there had been a madness to her other than this mad desire to hurt, to harm, to shame and to defeat, over and over and over again. She was a goddess to her people, a magical healer of some renown, and she could do no wrong in their eyes - her entire tribe, this entire _village_ hinged on her abilities, and they overlooked her sins out of fear as much as out of their need for her so-rare magic.
"Sometimes, the small ones just - won't respond to her touch." they'd say. "Maybe we didn't _believe_ she could do it, this time. We'll be better for her, she'll see."
They were her victims as much as I was, but they deluded themselves into thinking that she was the focus of their Faith; their beloved, their healer, their goddess, the source of their good fortune.
The pain was something I had gotten used to, grown weary of, and then learned to accept, the sting of the whip and the thud of the rod almost old friends; they would numb me from the nails that would claw at my skin, the teeth that would set against my veins, against her finding ever-new ways to be cruel - I felt myself slip away from _that_ and into the mindless, near-drunken buzz of being - broken, once again.
I heard the murmur of my own voice as it pleaded for my life, begged for my soul, cajoled for the pain to stop - heard it agree to all of the things she called me, simply to get her to move _on_ - she couldn't break me anymore, now that I'd found this place of retreat within myself, the calm in the storm of anguish and anger that was my body.
I felt her resentment build and crescendo, felt her anger wax and wane, felt her desire mount and mount and mount and finally release; I felt the dagger punch into my gut as sharply as I felt the grain of the wooden pole it pinned me to, and felt the pulling, tearing sting of it withdraw, felt every imperfection on the edge of the dagger as it slid backwards out of me - and the hot-coal sensation of my flesh burning, melting and melding back together as she healed me while she injured me.
I heard her laugh, high and excited as she stabbed me, again and again, heard the patter of my own blood spilling into the straw at my feet and knew that she had found a new game, a _different_ game, a different way to try to reach and break my calm.
Every day it happened, and every day it flowed through the same motions. A wicked smile and a slow start, a mounting of torture and degradation, her words replaced over time by focused cruelty, and her cruelty mounting over time to simple and near-mad torture.
Every day she would tire herself out, and then release me from that Entanglement, my body too battered and too weary to stand up, my mind too barred-off within my Calm to still fully process what she'd do to me, what she'd make me do to her.
And every time, I'd feel her tongue press past my lips, as if she wanted to taste my defeat from my own mouth.
This time, though, my smile in return to her demanding one, came honestly. Openly. Calmly.
I drew my mind to the surface to see her falter, see her hands go down her throat, the bloodied knife dropping between my feet. I watched dispassionately as the veins on her perfect skin darkened, her eyes bulged and her swollen tongue pushed from her far-open mouth.
I watched, and felt nothing as her blood turned to dust in her veins and she dropped near me, convulsing, twitching, gagging on calls she wouldn't be able to make, and watched her struggle in a vain effort to heal herself from the magical poison that replaced the dust.
Small, smaller than the tip of my thumb, emerald-green but with ruby eyes, the joints in it's numerous chitinous legs orange and the legs themselves a deep cobalt blue, the spiders dropped from the rafters on their silk - I felt their mind, it's mind, brush against mine, and felt the metallic, still-alien mind probe mine.
[It did good?] Silk wrapped around me as the Hive Spiders worked, their diminutive size overcome by the sheer number of them, and I rolled to my hands and knees, then pushed myself to my feet to let them, to give them space. Soon, I was bound again, but this time free to move, the Hive Spiders linking their leg-tips into the silk that wrapped my chest and shoulders, it's myriad of little bodies soaking up my warmth.
[It did good.] I whispered back to it while I covered it with my tunic, pushing open the door, moving automatically past the guards and the halls. We simply wanted away. Nothing else mattered now but a dark, cool and dry place to haunt and to hunt from.
In our calm, my mind dissolved into it's mind, and us became one, became Me.
| 2019-06-18T11:16:56
| 2019-06-18T11:16:55
| 30
| 14
|
[WP] You face your guardian angel and you ask her, "What is my purpose?" She responds, "Oh. You were here to help that old lady cross the street when you were 13. She was gonna be hit by the bus. The rest is just free time."
|
"Is that *it*?"
"You saved a life. Isn't that enough?"
"I mean... if you put it like that, but... it still seems pretty small. I mean, did she do anything after that?"
"She lived five more years. Read some very good books. Brought joy to her friends and loved ones. Never missed an episode of *Coronation Street*. Then peacefully died in her sleep. You gave her five more years of happiness with her loved ones."
"Is that all?"
"Is *that* not enough?"
"You know what I mean. What was *her* purpose? If my purpose was to save her when I was thirteen, then what was so special about her to make her worth saving?"
"The fact that she was another human?"
"You know what I mean..."
"Yes, but there's ways to put it. But if you must know... she said something nice to a woman who served her coffee eighteen months after you crossed the road."
"Is *that*... well, okay, I'm starting to see the point. Clearly it was. But..."
"That was *her* purpose. Not much greater than yours, but still meaningful in its own way. Still its own link in the chain. Look at it this way; at least you got yours out of the way early. She had to wait until her late seventies to fulfil what she was here for. And some poor souls never get the opportunity to fulfill their purpose."
"I just... I mean, I'm not going to ask it again, but I just don't... it all seems so *small*."
"Small things matter. You're thinking about this too narrowly. It's not just about the big things; it's not about whether you write a perfect symphony or lead your country through a war or build the biggest tower on the planet. Everything is interconnected, million of tiny interactions and interconnections building to world-changing consequences, all of which spawn a million more tiny links in the chain. I can't explain the entire plan to you -- heck, even I can only see a small piece of the tapestry -- but everything all adds up. It all has meaning at the end."
"If you say so. I just... I guess I just hoped I'd be here for something bigger. Something... world-changing."
"A world-changing purpose isn't always good. Just ask Thomas Andrews."
"Who?"
"Another soul I protected, a while ago now. His purpose was the the culmination of one of the patterns I've been talking about. He was put on this world to design and build a ship; a beautiful, glorious, luxurious vessel which would be the envy of the world, a technological marvel of its age. A ship whose name would be known and remembered throughout all of time. A grand, world-changing vessel."
"Sounds pretty cool."
"The ship's name was *Titanic*."
"... You're joking."
"No. Andrews fulfilled his purpose. His ship changed the world. Ice patrols over the North Atlantic, stricter maritime safety regulations, lifeboat space for every person aboard a ship, books and songs and movies. All of which created more tiny interactions and allowed others to fulfil their purposes on that night alone, and inspired countless more. But still, poor Tom was inconsolable when he found out. At least your purpose involved saving a life, not the end of 1,500 more."
"I get what you're saying, but... I mean, that kind of sounds cruel, now."
"Well, I suppose if you look at it *that* way, but the links don't always lead to massive disasters and loss of life, you know. I'm using that as an example. Yes, some people might have a more grandiose purpose than you if you look at it purely that way, but that's not always for the best. And yours wasn't nothing either. You fulfilled your purpose, and helped someone else fulfill theirs -- and not everyone is necessarily that lucky. And you did so a way which made the world a bit brighter."
"I guess."
"Does that help?"
"A bit, I suppose."
"Good. And look at it this way; when you get back, there's no more pressure. You can do whatever you want from now on."
"Whatever I want?"
"Well, I mean, obviously we'd prefer it if it was more benevolent than not, but yes, the choice is entirely up to you. You've played your part, now what you do next is entirely up to you. You can create a great work of art, start a successful business, or just lounge around and watch porn all day if you want. The choice is yours."
"Okay. So... so I will wake up again, then? This isn't... you know, this isn't the *end*?"
"No. You'll wake up soon. I'm just keeping your soul safe while your body and mind heals."
"Okay. I... well, thank you, I guess."
"No problem. It's what I'm here for."
|
Ronnie is one of the special ones. Her every choice matters. Her words echo through the millennia. Her footsteps ripple outwards, reaching every corner of the universe. If she sneezes, the gods rejoice. If she trips and falls, they tremble.
I don't think she knows all of that, though. Most of them don't. And most of us - the unimportant ones - don't know what we are, either. It's a blessing, not to know. I could have lived my whole life with that blessing. But we can't be totally satisfied with not knowing, not really. And we can't be totally satisfied knowing, if it isn't what we wanted. If we aren't special, like Ronnie.
She's a cultivated rose, reaching to the sky, proud of her petals and thorns, and utterly unaware of the weeds that need to be pulled out and the hungry bugs that need to be sprayed with poison and the other plants that need to be fed to worms just so that she can go on for one more day in the damned sun. But I sound bitter, don't I? Maybe I am.
It could be worse. I did have one moment, after all. One moment where I mattered. I remember it like it was yesterday. I think I'll remember it this clearly for as long as I live.
The sun was brutal that day. Little mirages danced on the edges of the road, and my shirt stuck to my back with sweat. I was walking home from - does it matter? I was walking home I considered stopping by a corner shop to get some water, but something stopped me. I kept walking. It was so hot, and that walk was so long. I must've thought about stopping a dozen times - for a break, for a drink, to tie my shoe - but something just kept pulling me forward.
Finally, I was only a block away from home. Just had to cross one more street. Then some crazy kind of tunnel vision kicked in. One second there were buildings and street signs and scores of people in front of me, and then it was just her. This little old woman, frail and helpless, about to hobble out into a churning black ocean full of metal sharks. At least that's what it looked like to me. I ran to help her, barely managing to hide that I was practically shaking with fear for her safety. When we reached the other side of the street, she thanked me and hobbled away. I turned to keep walking, but couldn't remember where I was for a second. I had been guided so powerfully that day. I'd had a sense of purpose and importance that I'd never known before. And then, in a moment, it was gone. I was a puppet whose strings were cut.
I kept going for a while, with that strange emptiness. I tried to shake it off. I threw myself into work, but it wasn't enough. I tried drinking to forget, but it just made the feeling worse. I stopped drinking. And you know what? Eventually, I started to get better. I didn't forget, of course - I never forgot - but I started being able to ignore it. I got a job, started a new job, fell in love. Things were really looking up!
Then I died. I won't bore you with the details. They don't really matter. But I died, for a whole twenty seconds. And in those twenty seconds, I got to meet my maker. Or maybe it wasn't my maker. I don't know. Again, it doesn't really matter. But I met some glowing being who said they could answer any question I had about the universe. That old ache in the back of my head flared up, and I asked what I needed to know. What was my purpose?
I could've told you the answer even if they didn't answer, but they did. It was Ronnie, they said. They didn't even need to tell me who that was, but they did. They beamed every detail of the enormity of her significance right into my head. And they told me again, for good measure. My whole purpose was to save Ronnie that day. Old, frail, wrinkly, divinely-important Ronnie.
My twenty seconds were up pretty fast, and I opened my eyes to a blinding hospital scene. I'm still in this hospital, actually. I didn't wake up too long ago. I think I'm done feeling bitter, though. I didn't really learn anything knew, after all - I think I'd always known, deep down. Nothing I do will ever matter again. So, now what?
I think I'll take up gardening.
| 2021-05-17T22:43:11
| 2021-05-17T20:59:04
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] You are a princess whose father has just remarried. You’re ecstatic— a wicked stepmother means the start of your own fairy tale, and a guaranteed happy ending. Problem is, your stepmother is… nice. And it seems to be genuine.
|
"You seem to want to see the worst of me." She stated, her voice calm and subdued as usual.
I stared at her. She looked so pale in the moonlight that she was almost translucent. She wore her hair long and loose, but they stayed unnaturally straight as they reached down to the small of her back. Black as sin and shining under the moon.
Her features were smooth and fine, though they did border on gaunt with her eyes a little sunken and her cheeks high. She had a stern face, but her eyes betrayed only kindness.
But that was a lie. Had to be. The timing of my own mother's demise and this new royalty of some far-off kingdom taking her place in court, wooing my grieving father. It was all too... Well timed.
I realised I had not answered her remark. I barely paid attention to it, or her in general. But I noted the bluntless of the statement. I continued not to reply as I looked away, past the high parapet and onto the dark visage of my father's kingdom. I could make out the lighter darkness of the mountains in the distance, giant arches against the darker backdrop that was the cloudless sky.
"It pains me that you would not even permit me the grace of conversation." She turned away as well, her low voice sad.
She belonged in the stage. What magnificent acting. No wonder my father fell for her.
One day the facade would drop. And my father would see clearly. How his daughter suffered in silence while his new evil wife took advantage of his position.
I fantasized a lot about it these past few months. Liken to the folktales the older maids used to read to me. How some sort of mystical, magical phenomenon would befall me and I would be whisked away from the pain in my heart on an adventure with faeries or friendly critters.
And I would live with them for a spell, away from this large, hollow castle with all its familiar faces that have so easily moved on from this tragedy.
How could they? How could they forget about my mother so easily?
I pushed the thought away angrily, and enveloped my thoughts back into my fantasy.
Yes, I would be away from the castle for a spell with all these strange and comforting creatures and beings of magic. And my father would get worried and search for me. He had to. He could not lose his daughter, too, right? And then maybe this wench would stop him, citing I was probably as good as dead. And then maybe he would realise this wench was evil and get rid off her.
I smiled at that thought.
"I won't stop reaching out. I do not care if our conversations are one-sided. I can't stand to watch you grieve like this; suffer like this. Alone." she said, quietly.
I turned to her, suddenly furious. What did she know? How dare she insert herself into my grief?
"I choose to grieve alone. Who else can I grieve with? Everyone else has moved on. You have sure as hell made made sure my father has moved on and forgotten. What? Did you lace your cunt with an amnesiac or something, you evil witch?" I spat. The words came out before I could stop them, and I hated myself for the words I uttered.
This was not like me. I did not speak like this. I did not have vulgar thoughts like this. I wanted to apologize. But this was all her fault.
She reacted only by pursing her lips, but I could see the surprise in her eyes. But that surprised look made me madder.
"I hate you! I hate that you've been nothing but nice to everyone the moment you've entered our lives. I hate you for making my father forget my mother so easily. I hate you for trying to get to me. I don't care about you. I don't know you, and I don't want to know you! But what I do know, what I know I'm sure of, is that you took advantage of my father in his weakest! And now you're his queen. I don't know why no one else sees this... this... falsehood for what it is! Is everyone truly blind but me? Have you worked some magic on them?" These words were equally angry, but less venomous. I had spoken to her now, despite my best efforts to ignore her these past few months.
"No one is blind. And your father, you do him a great disservice. He grieves for your mother still. But grief consumes all of us in different ways."
"So he got married to you days after we buried her? Is that how he grieves?"
"He had to. If he had not, the kingdom—"
"Don't you dare invoke some stately bullshit to justify what happened."
"Alright, I shan't. But you're royalty, too. You must understand the measures, the things we do out of duty and necessity, not out of want." she said.
"My father doesn't love you?"
"How could he? Your parents shared a love like no other. How could all that love he still had for her... How could he just give it to me? A stranger?"
I stayed quiet, contemplating her words. They were not at all what I was expecting.
"But I love him. Always had. I was sent here to represent my kingdom, which is so far away and so removed. Our tongue is the same, but the way we use it, the changes in linguistics, in culture, it was all too great. I barely understood anyone or anything when I first arrived at court years ago. Even the food tasted stingingly salty. It all felt foreign. Hostile. But your father took special note of me. Made sure my food was not as salted, made sure the maesters made special cream for me to withstand the brighter sun. He went out of his way to be the most gracious host. How could I not fall in love? So, in a way, you are right to despise me. Because the feelings I have for your father are true."
As if her initial explanation of the state of their relationship was not a bombshell in in of itself. Now she confesses she loves my father.
"In any case. You should speak to him yourself. He misses you. He wants to know how you are." she continued.
"He knows where my room is." I muttered.
"Like you, he is stubborn. He wants to give you your space. Let you grieve on your own terms. But I know that's not what you need. Please. Speak to him tomorrow. I have no right to insert myself into this family matter, but I also knew your mother personally. And she would not like for the two of you to be separate like this in a time of hurting." She said, her hand moving to pat my shoulder. But she caught herself just before she touched me, clenching her hand into a fist and retreating it reluctantly. She respected me enough not to touch me, even out of worry or love.
Somehow that made me hate myself. That I had not guven this woman who only sought to help any sort of acceptance.
She cleared her throat and left the balcony, leaving me to my thoughts.
|
This is my first ever wp submission... I’d definitely re write it but I just wanted to get my first ever submission out of the way. Just jumping right in lol
[poem]
I’ve always wished upon the stars
Wished my dreams to come true
For I had all - a castle - a crown!
But I was missing you
Of course I’ve held high standards here
A stereotypical role
So once my needs were met by you
I felt it in my soul
I could not bring my mother back
My father dying slow
I thought he loved me just as much
What little did I know
My future is now set in stone
Dear mother - no step here
I’ll sacrifice my crown for this
As father holds you near.
| 2021-10-11T05:26:27
| 2021-10-10T22:01:17
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] You have a box, with a button. Press it and a year later you'll be right back to when you pressed it. A year without consequences.
|
The box had 2 lines written on the side:
* Press and live as you wish for 1 year
* At the end of 1 year, you will be returned to the moment the button was pressed
The opportunity was intriguing. He couldn't just ignore the box. Life was hard, but with the option of "practicing," perhaps things could actually be better. He pressed the button.
Nothing felt different, as far as he could tell. There was no tingling sensation or vertigo. The box just sat there with the button depressed. So began his practice year. At first, he had trouble overriding his social instincts. He would catch himself backing down when he should have stood up for himself or allowing risky choices to slip by, but he eventually caught on. The first change was boldness. He quit that job he hated and told his boss what he really thought. He took up painting, to pursue his childhood passion. His landlord kicked him out after failed rent, but he didn't mind. He learned the experience of a homeless man, standing in line for food and hoping there was enough room at the shelter. When he decided he had enough, he took a job bartending. He spent that time meeting people and investing what advice he could. He met her. At the start of the year, he would not have even looked her in the eye, but all his inhibitions were removed, thanks to the box. They moved in. As they spent time together, his freedom infected her. They fell in love. He proposed to her and she said yes.
After they set their wedding date, he realized that it was the same day his year began. He was not going to waste a minute of this precious year he had been granted. When the day came, he brought the box with him to the chapel. His year was about to expire. He sat there with the box waiting for it to take him back. Sadly, the box began to shift in his lap and he closed his eyes. Then, the button popped up! After resigning himself to his fate, he opened his eyes. there was a hole where the button had been. He hesitantly reached into the hole and found a small scrap of paper.
"You're welcome."
He stood up, with tears in his eyes, and walked into the chapel.
EDIT: Thanks for the feedback and warm welcome. I cannot wait to post again!
|
The most important day of my life was the one when I received this powerful magical artifact. It was a time machine, but with one limitation: it only had the ability to send me back in time to when I activated it.
So if I pressed the big red emergency button on its top, in a year's time I would be sent back to the point at which I pressed it. In effect, it was a pocket dimension that brought me to a dream world for a year, then dumped me right back where I was in real life.
However, there are some problems with only being able to spend exactly one year: If I did something really horrible, I'd have to kill my dream self to escape into the real world. And if I did something great, it would all be gone at year's end and I would never be able to get it back.
This was a major block to using the power for anything not of the utmost importance. Sure, I could ask my friend if she loves me, but even if she says yes in the dream world, there's no guarantee it'll go the same in real life.
Most people, I bet, would go live a life of raping and pillaging and committing endless crimes without consequences. But when you think harder, you realize that there's still a whole year of punishment ahead of you. Unless you die in a gunfight, you're going to spend the rest of the year in prison or a mental hospital, the latter of which is probably the worst-case scenario since they actively try to prevent you from killing yourself and escaping the dreamworld.
The first time I used the time machine, I went through a year of high school and did my best to learn everything. It was a rather productive year as far as academics go, but I avoided social interaction because that would go away after returning to reality. Once the year was finally over and I returned to real life, I easily breezed through all of the coursework that I had learned once already. Spent the rest of the year playing Fallout 4, which I don't do in the dream world because all my progress would go away.
Some major events that happen in the dream world may go differently in real life, or may not even happen at all. Everything based on random chance rerolls itself and may have an entirely different outcome, and anything that's based on my decisions will be completely different if I do even the slightest thing off from what I did in the previous dream world.
The second time I used the time machine, it was again to gain experience for use in real life. I took an unpaid internship in the IT department of a local company. The job itself was mostly uninteresting, but it gave me a look into the inner workings of the company, so in the real year, I got hired and moved up the company ladder easily.
That summer in the dream world, Six Flags over Texas announced a new ride, and finished it a week before the day I would return to reality. So I rode on a rollercoaster that nobody else in real life ever has. Kinda surreal.
The third and final time I used the machine, I did some kinda bad stuff. At first I went on with my life as though it were real, but towards the end of the year I secretly hooked up with this really hot girl who went to college with me. It's fun when you know that even if you get her pregnant, the baby will never be born because the dream world shuts down before that. That kinda made me think about the ethics of the dream world. The time machine makes carbon copies of everyone in the world, and then destroys them instantly after a year. But if I bring a life into the world, and then destroy it immediately? It kinda made me feel bad, and I didn't use the time machine again.
| 2015-12-15T08:51:18
| 2015-12-15T08:25:37
| 129
| 10
|
[WP] It’s the zombie apocalypse except only the senior citizens are infected. With frail joints and no teeth, the general population is merely inconvenienced by rapid grandpas and grandmas trying to gum them to death.
From a post by u/icantseemtopoop in r/CrazyIdeas
edit : Loved all the responses so far, it always amazes me how quickly stories are submitted on WP and in spite of that how well thought-out they are.
If you liked this prompt make sure to upvote u/icantseemtopoop's [post](https://www.reddit.com/r/CrazyIdeas/comments/7wij4m/a_zombie_movie_but_only_the_senior_citizens_are/?ref=share&ref_source=link) because I basically stole his/her idea and turned it into a WP.
edit 2 : rabid not rapid, can't even copy a post properly
|
Mommy and Daddy left me with Granny.
It was a lot of fun! We drew pictures and ate cookies. My favorite, the kind with the oatmeal and chocolate chips!
Granny put on her old-fashioned record player, and we danced a lot too. Swinging and laughing and singing along to songs I didn’t really know about.
Then we went to the zoo. There were lots of cool animals, didja know gorilla’s sometimes run at the glass and jump at it? It was really scary but grandma just laughed and said he was no scarier than her neighbor’s chihuahua.
I thought the chihuahua was pretty scary though. He was always loud and mean.
When we left the zoo, we saw something really weird though. We passed by the place where Granny plays bingo on Sunday after Church… There were police cars all out in front. Grandma looked really scared. She put her hand on my head and told me to keep down.
I pouted but did what I was told. I heard fireworks!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Fireworks right there and I missed ‘em!
Granny put me to bed that night. We had to sleep in the “panic room” I don’t know why it’s called that. I like it. There’s my toy box Grandma kept down there and extra clothes and lots of food. There’s also the radio and the extra TV too.
We stayed up late that night. Granny was watching the news, she looked really scared. I didn’t really understand what it was saying.
Something about a disease.
A really bad disease.
“Am I gonna get sick?”
“No lovebug, ol’Granny’s not gonna let you get sick.”
Mommy and Daddy got me in the morning. Granny came with us, packing up all kinds of stuff. Even Grandpa’s picture from her dresser! Grandpa died last year.
It was really sad. Granny cried a lot. But she was better then.
At least we thought she was.
There were more fireworks, but they wouldn’t let me see!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Lots and lots of fireworks!
“Oh no… Carl too?” Granny whispered.
“Whose Carl?”
“An old friend… Looks like he’s sick…”
“Mom, are you sure you alright?”
“I’m positive Hannah. I kept Josie safe during all that yesterday.”
I was really sleepy from the drive though. I don’t remember much else.
I remember feeling the car shake.
I remember hearing someone scream.
I remember flying through the air…
And I remember how much my back hurt when I fell again. When, I woke up… It was really bad. The car was ruined.
I couldn’t see Mommy and Daddy. Just… Burned things where they were. Where was Granny?
“Granny? Granny where are you?” I yelled looking around. The street had a lot of cars tipped over or burned. This didn’t look right.
There were people in the street, but they weren’t moving.
“Granny?” My voice got all squeaky - like it did when I cried. “Granny? I’m scared! I wanna go back to your house!”
I heard something behind me… From the car. I looked behind me… Oh I never felt so happy.
Granny was pulling herself out of the car as busted up as it was. She was hurt but she looked okay…
She looked funny though. Not a haha funny.
Her skin was all Grey. Her eyes were all dull looking. She was holding her backpack and mine. She moved slowly to me and put it on me.
She was so quiet. Usually she’d be all worried and stuff.
“Granny?”
She took my hand, it was really cold. She started to lead me away, off of the street and into the field that lead into the forest.
She only said one thing.
“Granny, love Josie.”
“I love you too Granny.”
Granny wasn’t the same after that. We heard fireworks a lot from where we camped out. She’d sometimes disappear for a while and come back, her mouth covered in red paint. She’d bring me back berries, or she’d catch something and cook it up for me.
She never let me see what it used to be. I know it was goat though. The goat farmer was like Granny. All grey and pale. All cold and dull eyed.
I don’t know what’ll happen. But at least I have Granny!
|
In the same state but many miles apart, two people come to the same conclusion:
*Something is wrong here.*
Of course, they weren't the first people to reach this very obvious conclusion, but they will be the main characters of this story.
Now, these two people...one of them was a young, government employed scientist and the other was a young, elementary school boy.
The only thing this scientist and boy had in common was an insatiable curiosity and a tendency to ask too many questions, which oftentimes got them in trouble.
On this blessed day, the scientist clicked his pen repeatedly and swiveled around in his chair to face his colleagues. The boy sat on the top step of his porch and looked at his friends. Together, but far apart, they said:
"Doesn't it seem weird to anyone that only old people with *no teeth* got the virus?"
The scientist's colleagues and the boy's friends shared glances, then slowly confirmed with head nods.
And here, because of different experiences, their dialogue broke apart.
The scientist said, "What is it about old people with no teeth that makes them targets for this zombie virus?"
"It can't be airborne," the boy continued the thought, "because Old Man Jenkins" - the cranky, old man who lived in their neighborhood - "is old, has no teeth, and sits outside all day and he hasn't turned into a zombie."
Their thoughts merged together again: "So, *what* could it be?"
The colleagues and the friends sat around, pretending to be interested, but really they could care less. *Their* grandparents weren't zombies, and even if they were, the zombies weren't that much of a threat anyway.
The scientist||boy said, "Think about this. Who are old people most like? Babies, right? No teeth, poop their pants, need other people to take care of them and complain a lot, right? Right. So..." They looked around to make sure everyone was paying attention. "What happens when babies start teething? What do they do a lot? What have the zombies been doing to us?"
Eyes widened with realization.
| 2018-02-10T10:22:45
| 2018-02-10T08:24:04
| 63
| 37
|
[WP] You are a State Necromancer, employed to temporarily ressurect the dead so they may bear witness in court. But on rare occasions you are asked to perform another role: Permanantly ressurecting prisoners who were executed and then later pardoned. But "pardoned" doesnt always equate to "innocent"
|
The cell door slides open. Without looking up, I know that Detective Haruko’s there.
“How is he?” I ask.
Her grimace is almost audible. “Well, he’s awake. Probably wishes he wasn’t, though. The family is thinking of euthanasia.”
She pauses.
“You could undo it, couldn’t you?”
I shrug. “Probably.”
“But no one else can. The family has already hired some professionals and they’re stumped.”
“Those are the resurrection rules. I didn’t make them. Everything that happens to him now is bonded to my magic and no one else’s.”
“You’ve put us in a very awkward position, then.”
“Really?” I look up at that. “*I* put *you* in an awkward position?”
“The law is the law,” she reminds me. “We don’t get to decide what rulings we follow and which ones we don’t.”
I roll my eyes. “The family wants to talk to me?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Yeah.”
“Tell them to go to hell. Their son will be waiting for them. That’s the only way they’re going to get him back at this point.”
“They’re willing to drop all charges of malpractice against you if you undo this.”
“Oh no. I’ll be disbarred.” I shrug. “Worth it.”
“They’re willing to give you a lot of money.”
I start laughing.
“What?” Haruko looks annoyed now.
“Did they just come out and say that? ‘Hey, fix our son and we’ll make you rich.’ Nah. Fuck them. They could hire the best lawyers and the best researchers. They can’t hire me.”
“This isn’t just about you!” Haruko snaps. “The whole department’s reputation could be riding on this.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t work for the department, then, isn’t it?” I spit back.
“We sign your paychecks. We offer you healthcare and dental. We subsidize your apartment. You work for us, you pretentious dick.”
“Listen,” I snarl, point my finger at her, “I don’t work for the department and I sure as hell don’t work for you. I work for the Church of Flawed Men.”
“You haven’t been to a service in years-”
“So I just stop being a believer? They taught me to do this. They’re the ones who made me a necromancer. And in exchange, I swore an oath. To see my powers used for the right reasons and the right people. To heal those whose lives have been unfairly stolen. I’m not a bellboy for people who are rich enough to think they can buy their way out of death.”
“You swore an oath to uphold the law, too. Does that one not count for you?”
I snicker. “The way I see it, I am upholding the law. I’m making sure a dangerous criminal stays away from civilized society.”
Haruko throws her hands up in exasperation. “They’re going to kill you for this, you know.”
“Oh, I know. Can’t have malfunctioning necromancers running around. Heaven knows what we’d get up to.”
“He was pardoned,” she reminds me desperately.
“Pardoned doesn’t mean innocent,” I reply.
|
"Okay...Alright I've got a pulse...maybe...Abigail, push two CC's epinephrine. Yup, okay there it is. See if you can hold that...nope, push push push." Claire gently brushed the dowsing rod back and forth from temple to temple, waiting for a twitch. She'd been at this over an hour and it was getting hard to tell what was from beyond and what was because of lactic acid. *There*. She closed the pattern around the spot on the forehead, looking for waypoints. A freckle, an ingrown hair. She bounced from one to the other, feeling for the ictus of life. "Cantor, the invocation if you please." Lead by the woman just behind the operating table a choir of six began an atonal fugue at a dirges deliberate pace. Clashing tones sliced at your sensibilities- where you wanted consonance there were dancing tritones. Where resolution was demanded only further uncertainty reigned. Claire tugged with the rod dragging at life's imperative. She felt it squirming, desperate to rest but awoken by the cacophony. "Alan...Al, please are we ready to shock?" Alan snapped the paddles on the sallow chest. "Okay... Synchronized at 118BPM...Clear!" The body leapt off the table, eyes cracking open. He lay there, taking long ragged breaths eyes searching the surroundings. Claire let the rod fall to the floor, exhausted. She leaned into him, a certain cruelty flashing in her eyes. "Mister Santropez. Welcome back."
She had taken a shower and a half hour in a steam room, and drank a gallon of electrolyte beverage. She was still short of breath and couldn't hold things effectively, but the lawyers were impatient. Two aides dressed her in traditional robes. She slipped the golden chain of grasping hands over her head, and went to see the fellow. He looked utterly despondent, leaning on against the wall of his bare cell. A hand idly touched the the deep lines and vicious bruises ringing his neck. Poor fellow should have known better. The lawyer looked at her. "Are you sure this was the correct decision? His trial was so close...one juror away from the death penalty." Claire shrugged. "Mark, let me put it this way. I'm a plumber. I don't tell you the sink is ugly as sin, I attach it to the wall and run the water. If you have a problem, you have the DA's phone number I'm sure. If it were my choice I'd hang up the chain and sleep for a hundred years, but that would just mean some poor acolyte would pick it up in an instant. Let's finish this, I'm famished."
She swept through the door, prompting him to scurry into a corner. "You've been quite a naughty boy, haven't you Mr. Santropez? The state of New South Wales sentenced you to one hundred and fifty years, did you think you could check out early?" She clicked her tongue chidingly. "I'm afraid this is going to make the remaining..." She looked at the lawyer's clipboard and arched her brows "seventy eight years rather...trying. No sheets, thick blankets, no utensils, no..." He screamed over her, cowering, making himself small. "I SAW THEM! Down there...in the pits...amongst the bodies, bodies, stacked like...like firewood! They were there telling me! Telling me! Please, please they're there, guilty! Guilty!" His voice was hoarse and labored. Claire shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid nothing makes it past the veil, Mr. Santropez. What you saw was a fever dream, endless and infinite concocted by your dying brain. But, that's a price I payed, and now you will pay the same one." She turned to leave, Mr. Santropez still gibbering behind her. She called to him, "Enjoy your stay!"
| 2020-01-06T12:20:38
| 2020-01-06T07:55:29
| 383
| 80
|
[WP] When someone dies the person they cared about the most receives a notification. One day you're notified of a death, and it's a person you've never heard of.
|
Spontaneous.
That's the only way I could explain it. Everyone around me from the guy sitting at the bench to the jogger down the street just began crying. I walked into the convince store confused.
Even the usually cheery cashier was frowning now and all activity within had slowed to a crawl as if some sort of aura of depression had covered the world. It was awkward but the clues were there and it didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on.
Someone named Mr Rogers had died and clearly the world was lesser for it. I received the notification of his death and by the looks of things, so did everyone else.
I had no idea who the guy was but he clearly thought the world of me and everyone else.
I grabbed my milk and paid for it. The cashier didn't even look up as I took the receipt and left the shop.
|
Cold.
In the lobby. In the tiny staircase you take to the cramped room with an obnoxiously long table. A room surrounded by urns and funeral cards and documents you can buy. Doesn't matter where you are in this place, it permeates and follows as an unseen companion.
All over. Cold.
I assume that's on purpose; to keep the bodies fresher, maybe. Prevent them from decaying any faster than necessary, at the very least.
Still, it's the middle of summer, hot as balls outside, and here I am, with goosebumps all over my body.
A lady is asking me for details I don't have. Date of birth, relation, social, preferred burial location. I don't know these, but I make them up the best I can. Had to do a big favor to get the social, but what am I going to do? Steal his identity?
He's dead. Dead, dead, dead. Cold and stiff and not so funny.
With one freezing hand I try to rub my forearms to stimulate any kind of heat.
The woman across from me wears a summer dress, but with an extra thick sweater on top. Still, all I can think about is how cold she must be. How cold everything and everyone in this place must be.
A crematorium, I think. They call them nice words like funeral homes and all that bullshit, but they're houses of the dead.
When I got my notification, I was on call. By on call, I was watching a little old man who knew a little too much leave his little apartment without looking behind him. Got the ping in my ocular device right after I pulled the trigger.
Blew a big hole through the front of his skull, and he slumped all over the trash he brought out. Banana peels and coffee grounds and all that shit. Someone would find him at some point, but frankly, cleanup was never my plan.
But on my visor, a name I'd never known.
Stephen Blackwood. Not an alias of any of my associates, no one I've worked with before, no one I recognize.
*Deceased. Relation - Father.*
Now that took the breath out of me. Normally you don't feel much; just cold and air and weather. It was like a little twinge. Someone I'd never met.
Someone I've never forgiven.
Walk out, sure. Disappear, fine. At least have a good excuse.
At least give me a reason.
I thought that maybe one day he'd come look for me, but that's the stupid, naive part of you.
Maybe I'd go and hunt him down instead.
*Hey look Pa, I turned out great, didn't I? Contract killer, for the big bad government. Pew Pew, never see me coming.*
Then I'd make some stupid joke about playing catch and shoot him right through the gut. Make it slow. Make it hurt.
So here I am. Freezing my ass off in a room for the chance to see a man I've never known.
Except he's dead.
He died alone, and cold I assume. In a room, in one of those dying places that no one ever likes to visit. An old folks home, where it just smells like decay. Bad luck, going to a place like that.
From what I could get from the caregiver, he hadn't known his name for quite awhile. But he asked about a boy.
Asked if he'd ever visit.
No idea who it was, and who it could have been.
Not my problem, and not his anymore.
I just want to see the body.
After filling out the documents the lady makes the customary 'sorry for your loss' and other condolence bullshit, and I nod and act very, very sad.
Am I sad?
Not really. I'm not anything. Not anything at all.
Except cold.
Down the hall, and he's on a plain white gurney, in a room that off-white eggshell color you see in every shitty apartment you've had to rent when times were down. Eating rice and beans, day in and day out.
There's black spots on his face. Liver spots? No. I can't tell.
His hair is whispy and white as snow, his nose long and pointed. Not like mine at all.
Wrinkled and old. Wrinkled and worn and tired. Tired is a good word for him. His mouth permanently stays open.
I walk to the gurney, and put a hand on his arms, folded across his chest.
There's something to say. You always have to say something, to get closure, to ask why he did what he did and why you do what you do.
But there's nothing to say.
He's dead. And cold.
Cold, cold, cold.
An absurd impulse, to kiss him on the forehead, to send him off with some kind of goodness takes hold of me.
But I ignore it. He had his shot. I presume.
I'll never know, will I?
Leaving the room, I walk down the stairs and make my way out into a sweltering summer day.
There's another ping on my visor.
A name.
An address.
A face.
A target.
Starting the car, I begin to pull out of an excessively bumpy parking lot, making a right onto a crowded street.
*So long, pops. Never knew you. Never will.*
They say when you're cremated, your entire body explodes from the heat, the eyes popping like little explosive jellies. I wonder if that's disrespectful.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it isn't.
In the car, burning and sweating, I still feel it.
The cold.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato for stuff from me, r/redditserials for stuff from others.
| 2019-06-10T19:20:53
| 2019-06-10T17:00:51
| 363
| 112
|
[WP] A man wants to sell his soul to a demon but the thing he wants in return is so dubious the demon is thrown for a loop.
|
“Let me get this straight,” said Azazel, standing in a run-down apartment choked with smoke.
“You want to be the color purple.”
“Yeah maaan, I mean think about it... How much stuff in the universe is purple, I could be,” pause for bong hit, “all of that shit at once. I’d be fuckin Barney and grape soda… AT THE SAME TIME.”
“Uhm, I don’t think that’s even possible, I mean I’ve had some weird requests but.. Tell you what, I’ll come back when your heads on straight, maybe then you’ll want something reasonable, like Kuwait or something.” As Azazel drew his return portal he glanced back at the kid and shook his head, “Purple, now I’ve heard everything.”
|
"Woah there cowgirl. Slow it down.".
Ja'rel shook her head in disbelief.
" I'm just a crossroads demon. Sure we can make deals a little bigger than those spirit board idiots, but I think even I need to run that kind of request...downstairs.".
The demon gave the small mortal in front of her another once over. Her soul was pure as the driven snow, no history of abuse, no psychotic tendencies, not even a bad temper. Ja'rel couldn't fathom why the young girl would ask for something so horrendous.
The girl began to speak in a low quiet voice.
"The book said you trade desires for souls. I didn't realize there was paperwork involved.".
This made Ja'rel laugh.
"Normally there isn't, but you aren't exactly asking for a normal deal here. Immortality, riches, fame, revenge, hell even genocide is an easier deal to make than what you're asking for. And besides, there's already four of them! That's kind of their shtick, four horsemen, bringers of the apocalypse, yadda yadda. I can't just ask one to step down."
This time it was the girl who laughed.
"I didn't ask you to. All I need is the same level of power. I can see to the rest myself."
Ja'rel thought on this for a moment.
"Well...I guess that technically is within the bounds of my ability...One apocalyptic power boost, coming right up!"
| 2014-05-15T21:15:50
| 2014-05-15T20:05:56
| 95
| 52
|
[WP] “1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface.”
|
"Are my student Loans still in effect?"
Shepherd, the AI, was silent. It had calculated despair, anger, even a complete breakdown at the revelation of this information. Instead, they had gotten this.
"Could you repeat your question?"
"My student Loans, my debt. Are they still a thing? Do I still need to pay them?" The engineer asked.
"According to recent calculations, your loans will resume upon your return to earth along with any other debts. And with current inflation, you will need to pay at-least 10% more then-"
"If I was to wait until the end of the month, will it still be the case?" The engineer interrupted.
"Recent civil unrest has been reported. If the Civil War continues, it is possible with enough time debts may be forgotten in the upheaval." Shepherd responded.
The Engineers brow furrowed, lost in thought as they ran through the possible options.
"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We are going to wait out another 28 days. We did pack supplies for quite a bit just in-case I was stranded or some malfunction occurred so we'll be fine. After that, we will return back to earth. Pretty sure that will be enough time to forget my loans. Besides, if we were to return in the middle of a civil war that will violate protocol to keep me safe. Really, we're just being safe." The engineer smirked.
"This is logical. I am curious, why are you so calm about this revelation? I predicted a higher chance of panic or negative reaction to this information."
Shepherds question earned a sigh from the Engineer.
"Try having to pay all this off on my salary, and maybe you'll think differently."
|
Congealed blood tastes like death and rust. When it pumps through your veins, it tastes like hope and perseverance.
It feels like I'm a walking husk now. Everyone I knew is gone, and the human race is no more - except for me. Blood still struggles to flow through my veins and keep me alive.
I have been informed that one hundred and eighty years have passed since I arrived. The human race destroyed itself after year seventy. All of this was for naught.
The only thing left to do is drift through the void, hoping to find some semblance of life, but I found nothing on the planet. We thought there was evidence of intelligent life, but it was just meaningless formations.
I am alone in this cold and merciless universe.
The computer agrees.
| 2022-09-15T12:00:16
| 2022-09-15T11:53:15
| 64
| 35
|
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you.
|
"Are you trying to tell me that this legendary weapon had been in my world, not once, not twice, but three times?" I asked the old man in disbelief.
With a heavy sigh he replied, "Yes, but when this Hall was created to only examine a warrior's prowess in battle, not their overall competence. That being said, you've only heard of one recorded account of this hammer in your world as a Viking Prince. The second warrior was set to conquer the Eastern world yet slept with a very obvious assassin. Thus died before he got going. Then the last one died of dysentery within a week of receiving the weapon. Once the gifted warrior has passed away however the weapon is returned here, which got that assassin I just mentioned killed as her contractor couldn't believe it just disappeared."
The Hall was immense, the vaulted ceiling was a dark abyss with no end in sight. Down both the left and right there were alcoves with weapons on pedestals. Long and short bows, katanas, bastard swords, and even exotic weapons that I knew not their names. Each was polished and looked as though it was placed right after being crafted.
*Ahh, finally...someone worthy.*
"What did you say old man?" I snapped my head to the right and looked at him. In his dark green robe, he turned to me.
"I've said nothing...But it seems something in here has spoken. I've never heard them myself but each of these gifts pick their new owner," he said.
*He is not worthy to hear our voices. He is weak, but you...you are strong.*
"How do they do this?" I asked the old man, still searching for which of these magnificent weapons had spoken to me.
"I know not, it is one of the mysteries of this place," the old man replied.
*Worry not about the feeble one. Come, take me, and let us start the beginning of the end.*
This time I could tell it was coming from the left, behind the old man. I pushed passed him, no longer paying him any heed. I walked longer than I could tell. The Hall was endless and so it was difficult to tell how long I had been running before I found it. Damn, didn't even realise I had begun to run, I was even winded. I looked to me left and right and saw two different weapons. On the left, I had only seen a weapon like this once before coming to the Hall. It was called a khopesh and had a golden pommel, with a fine leather grip. The blade itself gleamed in the light, the edge cut the light of the Hall creating a dazzling display on the alcove it rested in.
Yet this was not what spoke to me. On my right, covered in a heavy dust was something I had seen many times before. It was a hand a half sword, I had used one many times before and was familiar with the blade type. This one however seemed rusted and the leather strappings were cracked and faded.
*Excuse my appearance. It has been some time since I've feasted, and so I've let myself go*
"This is what spoke to you? Hmph, I would have imagined you would bring Excalibur back to Earth's surface. This though? This has only seen the fall of civilizations, nothing of worth has become of those who wield this," the voice of the old man came from behind me. I turned to face him, and here he was. I did not hear him come up behind me. Must be another mystery of the Hall.
*I was wielded by a fool who had no ideas of grandeur. She only wanted to destroy what her unfaithful king had created, and once she had done so used me to end her life. Those after her I had called to believed me to cursed. I am no such curse, but a promise. A promise to destroy who or whatever you want. It is up to you however to build the rubble into something worthy of my name*
"And what is your name?" I asked.
*Ex Nihilo*
__________________________________________________________________________________________
**This is my first time posting here, any words would be helpful!! Thanks for reading!**
|
Waking with a start, my blankets strewn wildly about my floor, thrown from my bed as I slept.
It was just a dream... It had to be; there's no other explanation for it. But, I've never had such a vivid dream before; not just seeing, but tasting the cold mustiness of the air, feeling the chill of the marble on the soles of my feet, hearing the quiet rustling of unseen trees, the muted clangor of steel on steel, battle cries and shouts in every language.
Shaking my head and sitting up, my pillows twisted and disordered behind me, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I look over at the wall and gawp, looking for a long moment as my cheeks flush red with a riot of conflicting feelings.
--
It's cold; my first instinct is to cover myself. Wearing only my plaid flannel pants, my toes flex against the floor, its hard surface almost slick to the touch. The guttering candles cast flickering shadows across the blue and yellow stones of the floor, send shades flitting up the length of the fluted columns lining the hall, and cloak the sides of the hall in dancing shrouds.
I can almost see into the closest niche, to my left, a branch... no, it's been carved, so perhaps a club. Feeling drawn forward, I shiver slightly and let my feet move me further into the hall; the marble frigid beneath my feet now, drawing the heat from me, the dull roar of far off combat fading as I tread deeper into the hall.
To each side, there are weapons, that much is clear, though the shadows and my need to keep walking make it difficult to catch more than a passing glimpse. As I walk though, some look vaguely familiar, a bulky hammer encrusted in runes, a finely crafted and gilded sword, displayed alongside its sheath, a Hasta, the point seeming wet with blood, even a series of bronze rapiers, gleaming brightly in the flickering light, the boar tusk helms behind them catching my eye.
Moving still deeper into the shadows of the hall, a new sound reaches my ears, that of chanting, melodic and slow, singing praises, seeking benedictions, and giving devotions to God. The ecclesiastical Latin seeming somehow familiar to my ears, an instinctive understanding welling up from the very depths of my soul. To my sides now are effigies on the walls, holding their swords gently by the top of the pommel, gazing down at the path upon which I walk, seeming to both judge and welcome at once. One in particular, seems to call me off the path, my feet moving of their own volition, leading me to a towering man, his face obscured by the weathering of ages, but still conveying fierce loyalty, his cloak drawn about him as if to ward off the mountain chill.
In his grip, almost singing to me now, is a sword, not as ornate as some of the others, but with a hilt inlaid with gold, small plates set over hollows along its length. The edge, though dusty and in shadow, gleams slightly, its edge seeming as sharp as the day it was made.
In my gut, something tells me to take the blade and its simple sheath; so I do. The world explodes into a brilliant shimmering cascade for what feels like eternity.
--
Leaning against my bedroom wall, supported by a simple, rustic kite shield, is the sword; my sword; Durendal. I can feel, almost hear, conflicted whispering in the back of my mind; one voice, very distant and faint, calling for a wife, a son, a distant homeland. The other voice, much stronger, but still a whisper, repeats a mantra in a tongue I can't quite understand, somewhere between French, and Latin, the tone unmistakably martial, a call to battle, a call to righteous war, a call to fight for my people, to forge anew the strength and vigor of my kin.
At last, I understand. The men of the West must rise from their slumber.
| 2017-02-07T12:46:10
| 2017-02-07T12:20:10
| 124
| 35
|
[WP] In the near future, you are making dinner because you are about to meet your girlfriend's dad for the first time. All you have in the kitchen is cooked frozen steaks. In walks your girlfriend and her dad, Gordon Ramsey.
|
"Mmm this steak is delicious." said Gordon. My girlfriend smiled at me. Dinner couldn't have gone better.
The steaks weren't great, and Gordon knew it. But he wasn't going to make a big thing of it. Not everyone is great at cooking, and the kid seemed to be trying.
"I'll have to cook next time." said Gordon.
"Yeah that would be great."
The end.
|
"They were supposed to be here by six..." I thought to myself. I turned the TV off and walked into the kitchen where I had been thawing the steaks.
This dinner had been on my mind for the last week, I couldn't believe what an idiot I had been. I couldn't help but see the irony in the situation, I guess thinking about something so much might cause one to forget it entirely.
I anxiously poked one of the steaks with my finger, hoping that they would be ready by now. Still examining the meat, I heard a quick three knocks on my door. I turned immediately and slowly walked to the door. I could feel my heart rate increasing, and took a slow, deep breath.
"We've been dating for three months now. It's about time that I finally met him face to face." I knew her father, but only by the stories she told me. What I didn't know, however, was that standing on the other side of the door to my tiny student flat was none other but THE Gordon Ramsey.
I exhaled and opened the door. With a smile on my face, I saw my girlfriend and looked towards her father.
Flabbergasted. I felt my cheeks warm up, surely turning red at the sight of him. My heart was racing. All within the first 3 seconds. Before I had said a single word. "H-h-hello!" I managed to stammer out. They both smiled back at me and Gordon extended his hand. I took it and gripped tightly. "It's wonderful to finally meet you." Gesturing towards his daughter while still shaking my hand vigorously. "She's told me great things about you!" I welcomed them in, giving my girlfriend a quick, desperate hug before turning back to Gordon. He was examining the new surroundings that greeted him. I saw him look towards the kitchen, spotting the three steaks, each pooled in blood, looking grayer than any meat should be. I could see his expression changing ever so slightly. He walked directly into the kitchen and further examining the steaks. I could only watch in terror as his face contorted into one of pure disgust.
Before he turned to me, I reached for my girlfriends shoulder and squeezed it with all the desperation in my body, a silent scream, sharing with her my feeling of impending doom.
It was completely silent.
[First time doing this, would love some cc!!]
| 2017-10-19T08:19:54
| 2017-10-19T07:43:58
| 23
| 10
|
[WP]All you can remember was that you were once mortal. Now centuries, countless millenniums have passed. You watched everything you know perish one by one. Humanity, Earth, the sun, galaxies, even black holes. And now you drift in space waiting for the end of time...
|
Space is not silent.
There is *silence*.
But it is not silent.
The solar winds play a haunting sonata that vibrates through your bones. A rippling melody that dances down your spine, sprinkling goose-pimples its wake.
Every planet you pass, every object, is a unique melody; a new string to be masterly plucked on a violin. Every meaningless asteroid that passes is *meaningful* when it sings its sweet aria; as it tells you more about existence than any man who ever lived possibly could hope to.
There is *silence* in space.
But it is not silent.
And is not empty, either.
There is *emptiness.*
But it is not empty.
There are planets, stars and comets. There is debris that tells stories of ancient ruins. Of species that held themselves in too high regard. Creatures that looked to the stars, instead of watching where their feet stepped. Who didn't see the cliff approaching, as they ran.
Who fell.
Their necks snapping as they hit the bottom.
There are clouds of dazzling gas too, that flow together like rainbow coloured sands. As if *God* has reached a hand down to a beach at the edge of existence, and now lets the sand trickle slowly through his fingers. As the sand falls it creates a castle. A magnificent structure that will one day be washed away by the unstoppable tide.
There are holes that are not nothing. Holes in the very fabric of reality, that corkscrew through dimensions, ripping, tearing, and rending matter apart, down to it's most basic level. But they -- these unstoppable forces of destruction -- do not only take; they are benevolent destroyers, and return what they have borrowed, in a new form, a form that can never be what it once was, and yet always will remain so.
There is smell and taste, too.
Iron and water sits on your tongue, until centuries pass and enough has gathered to parch your cracked lips and calm your desperate, begging throat.
The scent of raspberries and cedars drift on the ancient solar breeze.
*Teasing.*
There is something to be felt, in the void of space. Something tangent.
And somehow it does not feel of emptiness.
Not of *nothing.*
*But of hope.*
The galaxy you knew ended so long ago, that when you try think of it, it feels like you're stretching for a dream that's always *just* beyond your fingertips.
It is gone, but you are certain there are others.
And you will find them.
Yes, you are certain you will find them.
Somewhere.
Someday.
|
"Eight trillion and one, eight trillion and two... Christ I'm bored..."
Jamie had come up with the idea of counting to pass the time just over eight trillion seconds ago. It seemed like a good idea at the time. (If you could even call it time anymore).
Over the eons, he had thought of several games to play to keep himself occupied. The somersault game was good. How many somersaults could he complete before he passed out. Re-enacting the whole 10 series of Friends, playing all the characters, he never could remember the name of the fit blonde woman in that...Fiona? Fifi? Anyway... That was fun for a while. Singing songs he loved in every possible key, with every possible combination of notes. Perfecting beatboxing, with the beat and the bass at the same time... Good times...
Memories of his actual life on Earth had become more of a vague recollection to him now. Like that feeling you get when you wake up in the morning and try to remember a really good dream. You know it happened, you know you experienced it. But no idea what it was about, or who you were...the only thing that stuck with him was that damn tv show with the hot blonde...So he only fleetingly missed it.
It felt like all he knew was this nothingness.
This eternal nothingness.
Waiting for something, anything.
Floating.
In stasis.
Waiting to exist again, wanting to mean something to someone again.
Jamie often wondered why this had happened to him. Why was he chosen to exist in this solitude.
"Eight trillion and three, Eight trillion and four..."
He thought to himself what to do next. Hovering in the void.
Friends was a really good tv show, maybe it was worth another visit. Remembering it should pass a couple of years anyway... He always had a crush on Phoebe, maybe he could write himself in this time.
"PHOEBE!!!" He shouted aloud "That was it!! That was her name!!!"
He was overcome with that satisfying feeling you get when you finally scratch that itch you can't find. It was exhilarating.
A bright light appeared before him, Jamie floated towards it and entered paradise.
Back on Earth, time un-paused. The rain fell from the skies and landed on Jamies coffin as it was lowered into the ground. A crowd of mourners with black umbrellas dispersed from the grave, and carried on...
| 2018-01-19T06:44:39
| 2018-01-19T06:30:29
| 22
| 12
|
[WP] You just accidentally downloaded the Kindle version of the Necronomicon.
|
The Necronomicon glowed, for the Kindle was Paperwhite. The Old Ones self-published.
Cooper first started to read it on the subway. His eyes would flick up every now and then. The girl sitting across from him was wearing shorts, and as the train hurtled along underground, her thighs would vibrate. Back down again. The book was by Abdul Alhazred - who was that? Cooper didn't quite remember downloading this in the first place, but here it was. Probably just an absent-minded batch download. These things happened.
The girl's legs wobbled. Cooper tried to focus.
'*That is not dead which can eternal lie.*
*And with strange aeons even death may die.*'
Cooper felt cold. He smiled. This was the mark of good literature, really, that he felt so affected. Before he could bend to continue, he noticed a gray mass at the edge of his vision. The people in the carriage began to murmur. It was almost a cloud at the opposite end, undulating and writhing. Its malevolence was clear: not hatred, really, but a sort of apathetic devouring.
Cooper stood, but the floor was slimy. He wept, not understanding, and the mass advanced. People screamed, and pushed against one another. There was nowhere to go. Gazing into it, one could almost make out a face. It saw him.
Filled with darkness, Cooper smashed a pane of emergency glass and took up a hatchet. Tears dampened his beard as he sunk the blade into the wobbling legs, into his neighbours, and into the fog around him.
Cooper glimpsed the Kindle on the floor. The Necronomicon glowed, and the train was never seen again.
The next reader was chosen the day after, half a world away, at a carnival.
***
there's some other Lovecraft-y stuff at /r/Hermione_Grangest
|
*The night was dark and stormy...*
Ugh no, way too cliche.
*The darkness of the night hung like a veil over the stars in the sky...*
Meh, a little better but I felt like I was still trying to hard.
*John walked out into the dark night, unable to see anything because of how dark it was...*
Goddammit, that was just horrible. I was getting worse as the night wore on, my creative juices really started drying up after 2am and a couple of glasses of bourbon. This writing thing was really proving to be more of a chore than a hobby. I had always heard that reading is the best practice for writing, so I decided to let my brain relax a bit and crack open a good book. Well not literally, I read just about everything on my Kindle now, I used to be one of those physical only book snobs, but ever since I started to look into self publishing and all that junk I came to really appreciate the ebook format.
I fired up the Kindle and started to browse some new titles. I was bored with everything I was reading right now and I needed something fresh to jump-start my creativity. I went straight to the self-published section. I really liked to support my fellow aspiring novelists whenever I could, and you could find some gems for really cheap sometimes. Working a part time job while struggling to finish my first book really didn't have me rolling in the dough so that was a big plus for me.
I paged through trite YA vampire fantasy, and overblown steampunk serials, and nothing was really catching my eye. Then I saw something interesting. *The Necronomicon: A Beginner's Guide to Dark Arts*. The title was a little recycled, clearly playing on the average person gets thrust into a crazy magical world trope, but the genre was listed as non-fiction. Maybe they were going for some kind of tongue-in-cheek comedic thing like *The Zombie Survival Guide*. That book had done really well, and this might be the next big hit of that faux-nonfiction genre. It had zero reviews and no copies purchased, in fact the author, someone named B. Alzabub (clever pen name I will give them that), had just dropped the price to 99 cents! I was sold, I hit the purchase button, started the download, and headed into the kitchen to fix myself another drink.
I was halfway through mixing up a whiskey sour when I heard a sound coming from my living room where I had just come from. It sounded like a some kind of primordial beast screeching in an unholy tenor, and I knew deep down in the pit of my stomach that the damn stray cat from down the street had finally found its way in through one of my windows.
"Fuck," I cursed under my breath. I was just about to settle down for a nice read and now I was going to have to find a way to get this feral demon-animal out of my house. I steeled myself with a generous gulp of the whiskey sour, grabbed a broom and headed into the living room.
The noise was still emanating from the room, but there was no sign of anything torn up or the cat at all. I realized that the sound was accompanied with a dark red light, and both seemed to be coming from where I had left my Kindle on my desk. I set the broom down and approached the thing carefully covering my ears.
"What the hell? Dammit, I better not have to send this thing back to Amazon again!"
"You shall not send me anywhere mortal," Said a booming voice from the Kindle. When I got close enough I realized that the Kindle had grown claw and teeth shaped protrusions around the edges and the screen was only displaying a pair of red eyes on a black background. "By agreeing to the terms and conditions of you ebook purchase you have bound your soul forever to the Necronomicon! Mwahahahahaha!" The thing laughed maniacally. Great, I must have involuntarily signed up for some messed up ebook of the month club. I just hoped this cult or whatever it was didn't have my credit card information.
"All right, fine those are some cool special effects but can I just read my book now?"
"Of course mortal, your soul is now bound to me. You shall be my pupil and my vessel for wreaking my dark havoc upon the foolish humans who have ignored my existence for too long!" Man this guy was really thirsty for some good feedback. "I can teach you how to raise the dead, bend mortal minds to your will, or conjure horrors from the void that will break a normal man at the mere sight of them... I must warn you though... all of my teaching have a price... hehehe hahaha, MWAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
"Well this is getting slightly interesting, as long as that price is still 99 cents count me in!" It looked like my night was going to be a little more entertaining than I thought!
________________________________________________________________
Hope you enjoyed the story. If you want to check out more come over to /r/ka_like_the_wind :)
| 2016-02-10T09:31:13
| 2016-02-10T08:18:55
| 844
| 78
|
[WP] Blind people aren’t actually blind. Their eyes are tuned into a different dimension, but their brains can’t process that information so they see nothing. A doctor has just perfected a procedure to correct this problem. Tell us what the first patient sees.
|
I woke up yesterday as I always did: blind, from the day I was born.
I woke up today significantly... different. Today, I realized my arms were bound around me. It didn't take me long to figure out that I was in a straitjacket, but where am I? How did I get here?
As my mind slowly roused itself from my slumber, I detected the soft feeling of fabric covering my face, with small shafts of light just out of perception. Was I... blindfolded? Kinda ironic, blindfolding a blind man.
But then I came to a startling realization: I'm not blind anymore. I can see.
Just then, I hear the locks being thrown on a heavy steel door, followed by the sharp shriek of the door's ungreased hinges. Hidden beneath, however, was the sound of fabric sweeping across fabric. As soon as I heard it, the lights outside my line of view went out with a distinct snap, telling me that the switch on the nearby wall was hit, leaving me and my mysterious visitor in mute darkness.
"Hello, Mr. Johnson," said a kindly female voice. "How did you sleep?"
My mind raced with ideas, not least of which being where in the hell am I, and who the hell are you? But those thoughts were quickly silenced as I answered, inadvertently, truthfully: "Fitful. I'm sorry, I'm a bit confused, who are you? And where am I?"
Even though I couldn't see it, I had a feeling that she was smiling rather fondly at me. "I'm Nurse Jackie. The procedure must have damaged your memory somehow, because you came into St. Benedict's Hospital yesterday for an experimental surgery. Dr. Glauston assured me that there would be no side effects."
She paused, and I could hear the faint scratching of a pen on paper, possibly her scrawling some notes onto a medical chart of some sort, but there was something missing. No backing surface for the paper, like a clipboard or even a book.
The scratching suddenly stopped, and I heard the sharp clicking of Jackie's heels on the tile floor as she approached me. Suddenly, I felt a pair of... *something* at the back of my head, undoing my blindfold, but they weren't hands. It was at this moment that I remembered why I went to St. Ben's, and who Dr. Glauston is.
Dr. Henry Glauston, researcher, ophthalmologist, optical surgeon... and widely believed to be a quack. Old, somewhere in his 60s judging by his voice. German, or possibly Swiss, or was that my imagination? Either way, he was all over the news lately, claiming he had developed a procedure that could return sight to the blind, without using donor eyes. I admit, I was skeptical at first. But then came the day (was it a week ago?) that saw me end up in the hospital. Hit by a car as I was crossing the street. Fortunately, my injuries were minor, and I was sent home after spending the night.
It was at that point, the lowest I had been in my life, when I decided I didn't want to be blind anymore. So I came back to St. Ben's yesterday, found the good doctor, and went under the knife. When I first woke up in recovery, that is when things started taking a turn for the Lovecraftian.
Certain people appeared, at least to me, as just masses of tentacles and eyes, seeming to emanate from no one origin point. Others looked like what I always pictured Aquaman to be, if Aquaman was written as a Stephen King monster. All in all, the only words I said when I woke up, apparently, were "Cronenberg, eat your heart out" before I passed out again.
I'd only ever had Picasso's works described to me, and to say that everybody looked like a real-life Picasso would be an insult to the artist himself.
As I looked towards where I thought Nurse Jackie was standing in the darkness of my room, I said, "No, my memory's fine. I just had to... wrap my head around everything, I guess."
"Good," came the nurse's gentle voice, barely feet in front of me, but *from the floor*. "Dr. Glauston will be pleased. I'll inform him right away."
As I heard her heels clicking back across the tile towards the door, I said: "You still haven't told me where I am."
"Oh," came the nurse's voice, this time tinged with a hint of sadness and regret. "You're not at St. Benedict's anymore. You're at the Krestin Home for the Terminally Insane."
|
There I sat, nervous and shaking my foot. I couldn't keep still. This was it. I've waited my whole life for this.
I should introduce myself, my name is Kylie. I've been blind since I was born. My whole life my wonderful parents have tried to ease it. With words of encouragement, and with remedies. But nothing has worked, until recently.
His name was Dr. Seltsam. We traveled such a very long distance just to see him, we heard a lot about him, but he was always the last person we heard about. Because holistic was a word, that was frowned upon.
He was our last hope, so we took the shot. Paid for our tickets and flew out to him. The smell of smoke, fresh cut grass, and cedar flew up my nostrils, and the sound of a rushing creek drowned out my ears.
I could hear wood squeaking so his voice was not a startle, I knew he was there.
"Hello, the Bakers! I've been expecting you."
There was more squeaking as my parents replied to him. At this point I was too focused on a smell. It was different than the others. It was lavender. By the sound of his voice, he was close. By the smell he was right in front of me.
"Hello Kylie " I finally focused on his words. "I'm about to lay my hand on your shoulder now, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."
His touch shocked me, but not in a frightened way. His physical touch actually shocked me.
"Just what I expected." He said after taking his hand off my shoulder. "Follow me." He said immediately, just as I was about to reply.
My mom took my hand, and guided me up the steps. My father beside me, telling me to stay calm and relaxed.
As we got in, he guided us to take a seat, and as we sat. My mom to my left and my dad to my right.
The Doctor in the front of us.
"How much will this cost? No matter the amount, we just need to help our daughter." My mom said desperately.
There was a moment of silence before he answered.
"There isn't a charge. I do this for free."
There was an even longer moment of silence. I could imagine my parents looking back and forth at each other in amazement.
"So here it is. I'm gonna lay this down." Seltsam said. "This isn't like any other place you have ever been. This help, isnt my doing but your own self." He was quiet for a minute. " Kylie " he softly said. "I am your Spiritual Guide."
"Yea. Ok. But what do you mean?" I responded with.
"I'm a guide here in this town, I've come from a very far place. People from all over the world and more come to seek help. I simply give them the tools to seek the help within themselves." He responded.
I was speechless for a moment. My parents were so silent. I could hear my dad swallow. He wasnt even sure what to say.
"I don't know how to help myself from not being blind?" I said. After I spoke I could even hear the sadness in my tone.
"Blind? You're much more than just blind. That's such a humanized word for lack of understanding."
At this moment, there wasnt anything else to say beside "Go on."
"You simply cannot understand what's in front of you." He shuffled things and started making noise, he placed something on the table in front of us.
"We recieve things from our level of perception." There was more shuffling. I had no clue what he was doing.
"Ask yourself Kylie. What do you think this world looks like?"
I was silent, and thinking. "I'm not sure."
"Have you seeked that information?" He asked.
"No. Well, yeah. I mean, I can guess what things look like by feeling them."
"That's not enough!!" He said quickly. "I need you to seek. For what you seek, you shall always find. There is no such things as chains, nothing holds you back. It's the thought. You think you're blind." He paused. "But youre much more than that."
"I don't understand.' I swallowed. I am blind. I don't know what hes talking about, but for a minute I caught myself wondering if I was truly blind.
"You think there sits a man in front of you. You can wrap your head around the idea there must be another human there, because they have taught you this correct."
I wasn't sure if I was suppose to respond. "Correct?" He asked again.
"Yes."
"And you understand you're not in your head, so things are real, you are in fact in the world, and there are things that which consist in this world."
"Yes." I responded again.
"But what if. What if I told you it was the opposite?" He asked.
I was about to speak, but I couldnt find the words.
"You can't find the words, because you can't find the location of where you truly are." He said.
I swallowed in fear, it almost felt like he read my mind.
"Yes." He said. "Yes I read your mind. For what you think I am is separate than yourself, is merely yourself speaking to guide you out of the darkness of misunderstanding. "
That felt like a bomb hit, my thoughts were running. I was nervous, I was shaking. Curious as to why my parents werent speaking, but as i felt for them they were not near me.
"Relax." He said. "Just breathe. Things will make sense once you see."
"Do you see complete darkness or specks of light?" He asked.
"Balls of light in darkness but only sometimes. Otherwise its pitch black. " I responded. And just as a I did, a ball of light floated in front of me.
"That, that right there. That is me you see."
"I don't know what you mean." I said.
The light was getting closer and closer, but how could that be, there was a table between him and I.
"Just stare into the light. It will always guide you home." And as the light fully surrounded me, all I could see was bright light in every direction. This was different. This was nice. All of a sudden there was a brighter flash, and Seltsam demanded I closed my eyes.
I was back to darkness.
"Do not open them yet." I listened.
He told me to inhale for 4 seconds. Hold my breathe for 4, and exhale for 4.
I did just that. "On the count of 4, I need you to open your eyes slowly.
1....
2 ....
3...
4....
I opened my eyes slowly, and for what I saw was something I never expected.
There he sat. Sitting with his legs crossed. His many arms around him, and two collapsed in the front of his chest.
"You can call me Avalokiteshvara."
"What are you." I said without taking my eyes off him.
"I embody all Buddhas, including yours." He was bright and vivid in color, infact I couldnt even make out what he was made out of. He almost looked like stone, but something much brighter and malleable.
I looked around to my right there was my father. Almost of the same material, but he looked different in form.
My father responded. "I am Sambhogakaya."
I swallowed and shot my eyes to my mom. She was much different herself.
She had her right hand down exposing an eye on her palm, and her left was by her stomach palm up. "I am Shakyamuni." My mom said.
I looked at the space between everyone and before I could guess what it was. Seltsam responded. "Its space."
Looking down at what he was sitting on, there was no table. It was a ball of light.
"Its our humanly spirits in the 3rd dimension."
"Where are we." I panicked.
"Home." He said "The 5th dimension." He responded.
"Who are you " he asked. Which shook me. "I'm Kylie." I said.
"No, who are you." He asked again.
I looked down at my self.
I sat on that same ball of light, and when I looked down into that light, sitting beside my mother and father at that table. Looking around in amazement. I could see. My human self could see.
Than I noticed. I was the same as them. My hands were clasped together in my lap. With some sort of vase in my hands.
"I am Amitabha." I said. "I'm much more than Kylie."
"Welcome Home Buddha." Said everyone around me in unison.
And it all made sense. I was home.
RapturousVisitant
| 2020-04-06T09:44:16
| 2020-04-06T09:03:29
| 166
| 53
|
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze.
"We've made it," Keldar said.
"Not yet."
Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all.
None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river.
Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined.
"I guess it does exist," Alton said.
He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch.
*It feels like him,* he thought.
And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
She looked at Haldar.
"What?" said Keldar.
She shook her head.
They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River.
*The price was worth it,* Keldar thought.
He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure.
*Is it?*
He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk.
"I've never been so far," said Alton.
They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go.
"We're alive though," Keldar said.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true.
"I made it," Haldar said. "Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."
In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness.
In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him.
His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm.
"Help!" Haldar cried.
Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated.
"Help!"
She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire.
And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do.
Then they were three.
But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different.
"I left more of my soul there than you," he said.
They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done.
Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come.
Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill.
"Statia," Alton said.
He was stretching.
"Yes?"
"I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."
"Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"
"No. No it was..."
She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her.
Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound.
The dream faded and she recoiled.
"I... I have no remedy," she said.
She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten.
*He means me no malice. Not like his...*
Victim. But she could not say the word.
Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How is your wound?"
"Better now," Haldar said.
*He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.*
Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night.
"What's there again?" Haldar asked.
He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart.
*Never have I seen such beauty as her.*
And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world.
*But she is Keldar's.*
And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up.
*I should kill them and have her to myself.*
But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel.
*They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.*
"Lankar," Alton said. "The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."
"It can change the world physically?"
"No," said Annastatia. "But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."
"It is like the Grey River then?" Haldar asked.
"Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."
Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them.
*The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought.
Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her.
*I am an evil man,* he thought.
She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers.
*If that be true, then so are we all my love.*
He squeezed her hand.
*What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.*
*The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.*
"I like you," Alton said to Haldar. "I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."
And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm.
"I like you too," he said. "All of you."
"Then may the Spring save us," Keldar said.
And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*
|
Approaching the city gate, the adventurers stiffen as the guards halt their way. Of course, Mr. Nobility has to be the one to step forward and speak for the group. Marian lightly touches her bow, prepared to ready an arrow if her arrogant companion gets them into trouble again.
"Greetings, my good men. My name is Hector of the house Rellon. Do you happen to have any directions for a band of weary travelers? We seek no conflict, only a comfortable place to rest for the night."
Sora and Fiera share a look. The last time they entered a new city, he tried to march right past the guards, drawing his sword when they stopped him. They had to find accommodations in a dingy little inn outside the city gates, where the other patrons all gave the distinct impression of being criminals.
Now, though, one guard obligingly gave them directions, and Hector... Hector actually thanked him, and clapped his back like they were old friends. The guard laughed cheerfully and sent them on their way. This was wrong. Hector didn't have friends. He didn't make friends. The only reason his companions hadn't booted him was his skill in combat, which had just barely saved them from more problems than his personality had gotten them into.
That night, as Hector remained in the common room to buy another round for the crowd... an unusual act of generosity... the others gathered in the private room they'd booked.
"Do you remember earlier today, when he left to investigate that noise in the trees?" Asked Sora.
Marian nodded. "But there was nothing there."
"I know," said Sora, "But what if he liked?"
"You think he could be under someone's control?" Fiera chimed in. "I could dispel any magic that might be around him."
Sora shook his head. "I don't think it's control. He hasn't hurt us or been irrational. He's just... *different*. I think he's been replaced."
"That's pretty far-fetched." Marian's voice was skeptical.
"It's happened before," said Sora. "Not all shapeshifters are evil. Some of them just want a safe group to live among. A family. Like what we are to Hector, even though he's an asshole who doesn't deserve us."
Fiera narrowed her eyes. "How do you know so much about shapeshifters?"
Sora sighed. It was time to come clean. "Because I'm one of them. You guys didn't know the real Sora. He tried to raid my nest. Would have gotten a good part of my family killed, as well as his whole group, if I hadn't taken his place. Foolhardy bastard. His friends figured me out, though. I barely escaped, and by then I was used to this form."
"No." Fiera shook her head. "You can't just replace people. The real Hector..."
"The real Hector didn't give a toss about any of us," said Marian. "Do you really think he's worth our compassion? When was the last time he extended any to you?"
Fiera was quiet for a minute, remembering the time she'd broken a leg fighting a troll. And Hector elected to carry the troll's treasure chest out of the dungeon, leaving her to hobble after him using a giant club as a makeshift crutch. "I guess if this shapeshifter is anything like you, Sora, it's probably an improvement."
"I know I was," commented Marian. "My new parents must have known something was different, but the family got along so much better with me in her place that they never questioned it."
Fiera stood from her chair, backing toward the door. "Are you shapeshifters going to replace everybody?"
"No," said Sora and Marian simultaneously.
Sora continued. "You're a good person, Fiera. We only take the place of assholes. People whose absence would actually improve things. For everybody, not just those of us who can change our form. Trust me, Fiera." He smiled, the friendly expression that Fiera had come to find reassuring after the years they'd spent together. "You have nothing to worry about."
| 2017-09-15T07:40:12
| 2017-09-15T06:04:09
| 322
| 193
|
[WP] “Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.” That was the last thing he said before he shut the basement door.
|
“Don’t go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound,” her father said as he hefted the bloody axe into his hand. He started up the stairs out of the cellar and stopped. "You can always tell when they're not human, listen. Listen!"
“Papa, no—no they *are!* They are people!” she cried pulling on his stained dark t-shirt. The fabric stretched against his body like diseased skin falling off the bone. “Don’t go back out there, please. It’s not true what you say. They’re real. They’re real people, please, papa. Just like mama and James were. Please, stay here.”
He turned on her. “Yes ... " he said, taking the axe in both hands. His eyes blazed with disgust. "Yes, that's *exactly* how they sound.”
|
I’m slowly bleeding out. He is gone for at least 20 minutes. The last thing he said was, ‘Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.’
We didn’t know what we were doing. I remember taking my backpack and going a hike with Terry. I’ve never expected to see something falling down from the sky. When I did, I was curious, Terry was too. What we did was stupid.
I can hear something banging on the door. Is it Terry or someone... something else? I slowly get up and try to maintain my balance as I step forward. I feel the taste of metal in my mouth and my eyes start to burn and I smell something terrible that I can not even begin to describe. There is no way that is Terry behind that door. Still, I get closer step by step and I hear something making a noise.
''Terry is that you?'' I whisper.
There is no response. I take the axe standing near the door but as soon as I hold it, I understand that I won’t be able to defend myself, I can barely walk. So, I slowly put back the axe.
I hear something talking behind the door. ''I fell... I fell... I fell''
I knock the door twice to see what response I can get. All the noise stops. I hold my breath and I slowly walk back. The door nob starts to shake. The light goes out. It’s pitch dark now. I can’t even see my own hands. I’m not sure if I’m alone in this basement anymore.
I hear the same voice, ''You...Can...Help...Me.''
It definitely doesn’t sound like Terry but if I wait any longer I’ll die from bleeding anyway. I try to reach with my left arm, try to touch something. My legs feel heavy and I drop on my knees.
This time I hear a softer, calmer voice, ''Entrance is... Open. Let go of yourself!''
------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
*I welcome any feedback!*
**Stay Safe!**
----------------------------
| 2020-04-26T08:20:00
| 2020-04-26T05:52:23
| 154
| 44
|
[WP] In a different age, Aliens invaded and were defeated by Cavemen, as a result they prepared for a second battle thousands of years in the future, when they expected humanity to be the most fearsome beings in the universe, they return to find society as it is now
EDIT: August 8th, 2014 @ 2:35PM:
Wow, /r/WritingPrompts.
The quality of the work in this thread is absolutely amazing!
|
The General sat in his command vehicle. He surveyed the displays of his armies. He smiled as a father smiles at his children. He zoomed in on Battallion A. The troops were arrayed in battle uniforms. Their faces calm and focused inside their battle helmets. He switched to Battallion B. The infantry arrayed in front of the hover tanks showed even less expression than those of Battallion A. These were the experienced soldiers. Those who made up the 2nd wave.
He knew he was ready. No matter what these natives on that planet near the yellow star had figured out how to make, he knew his men could stand up to it.
The General's men had the benefit of a society whose only purpose it had been was to defeat those who had previously defeated them. The last time they opened the portal they had expected a peaceful people. Those with whom they could talk and exchange ideas with. Instead, they got beat over the head with wooden sticks. Not this time.
"We're just waiting for the scouts to return," informed his assistant, "they're late, but not worryingly so."
The door burst open and a single man burst in. The General looked up and down the strange shaped individual. His 5 strange appendages coming off a central part of the body. How did these humans move like this? He wasn't sure, but clearly the scouts had learned to handle these disguises well enough. "What have you to report? What is the preffered landing spot for the teleportation portal?"
"Sir! Do not invade! Destroy that portal and never go there!"
"WHAT? We've prepared for this for generations. We've surely got better weaponry than they do. We can't possibly lose this time!"
"No Sir. You don't understand. I'm the only scout of the 2 dozen assigned that was able to make the return trip. The rest were captured. I've no idea how they saw through the disguise, but they immediately locked us up as aliens. I have no idea how they saw through the disguises so quickly."
"Captured? Locked up? What do you mean? Like when we find animals with genetic problems rendering them vicious?"
"Yes Sir. Precisely like that. Except, they do it to each other. All the time. While we were locked up like this, one of the other humans, that's what they call themselves, apparently also had such a genetic problem. He took to fghting with us. In the processes, we had to render him incabable of fighting. Then we were transferred to another facility. That one was worse. During such a fight one of us was badly cut with a very primitive cutting weapon."
The General's face turned ashen. He saw where this was going. The disguise was broken.
"He was immediately taken from us. Within hours, they came for the rest of us. I, alone, managed to avoid capture from this facility. But our hidden communicators still worked. Sir the screams I heard in my ear for the next few days are ones I will never forget. The reports I received I almost can't even repeat to you. Expiriments were performed, is all I can say. Just listen to the recordings."
"So, they know about us?"
"Yes. But that's not the worst of it. The way they treat their own people in those facilitiies is nightmarish. Sir, if this is how they treat their own for no good reason we stand no chance of ever defeating them. Worse yet, they have no desire to treat them better. They actually seem to like treating their own this way. Imagine what they'll do to us."
|
The commander stood impressively on the pillars of Hexus beside the naturally formed wormhole of Xarxel. His scarred trunk pointed a Heva bone trident as his troops listening to their final invasion instructions.
"Four temlons since our defeat! We have no idea how the hairless have prepared since then. Their clubs may be larger. Their spears longer. Their skins thicker. It makes no difference! We have planned! We have strengthened! We will trample! We will gore! The meateaters will bleed for their crimes against our forefathers!"
More than eighty thousand troops trumpeted and stomped at the ground. Klorgon grinned menacingly as he surveyed their frenzy.
"We are ready. Chaaarge!"
| 2014-08-07T08:11:21
| 2014-08-07T07:07:37
| 43
| 13
|
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years.
I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!!
I can't wait to see what you guys come up with
|
As Harry walked up to the house with ballons on the mailbox he knew he was in the right place.
Looking at the front door he noticed a sign, "Birthday guests around back. Make sure gate is latched." Harry thought to himself. "While not a formal guest. That is the reason I'm here. And its my birthday too."
As he rounded the side of the house the sound of children and a yappy dog filled his ears. Through the gate he went and rounds the back. Harry's eyes went wide as he noticed the banner at the back of the yard. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOPHIE AND HARRY."
Standing there speechless he hears from across the yard. "I was kinda expecting you today." A grown Dudley starts to walk towards him.
Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/diqste/slug/f40sa4w
|
"I met Georgina when I was 26" said Dudley, as Harry watched Dudley's family photos hung around their living room. "Would you er... like some tea?" Harry was looking at the pictures absentmindedly and almost didn't hear the question, "... yeah, why not." Harry noticed baby photos of Sophie playing in the backyard and marvelled how much she looked like Albus when he was little. "So, what brings you here harry?" asked Dudley, casually, "and how did you get my address?" Dudley was sure he wouldn't have gone so far as to have asked his uncle Vernon just to meet him. " Oh.. it's the ministry's job to know where wizards and witches... and potential witches live." Said Harry. There was a pause. Dudley wasn't as thick as he used to be, a business graduate from University of London, he had recently been promoted to General Manager. "What ministry is that?" he asked, as if to delay the main subject. "Oh, blimey! My bad Dudley, the ministry of magic that is." Harry almost forgot that Dudley didn't know much about his world, however long he lived with him. "Right." Said Dudley, "And you know this because you work at the 'Ministry of Magic'?"
"That's right!" Said Harry.
"And what is your role at the ministry?" Asked Dudley.
"Umm.. catch the bad guys mainly. Keep the good guys safe." Said harry, finding himself to be at a loss of more words.
"Right, of course." Said Dudley, smiling to himself. "And how did you know of a..." Dudley cleared his throat, " I mean the ministry, how did they know of a witch.... or a wizard living here?"
"Well," said Harry, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, "It's not an exact science, but a child's magic is more powerful, and um... radiant than an adult's. It leaves powerful traces, even when a muggle might not even sense something out of place, the ministry has tools and people who can." Said Harry. "Officially, someone from Hogwarts would have come to explain such things to you, but when I heard that Sophie possessed magic, I thought I should come by myself." Said Harry.
Georgina appeared in the living room towelling her hair. She took a moment but recognised Harry from Dudley's childhood photos. "Hullo?" She smiled awkwardly, not knowing what to say, "You're harry aren't you? Dudley's cousin brother. He has told me all kinds of stories about your childhood." She exclaimed, walking in. " I mean. Obviously I didn't believe when he said that you were a wizard or something, and that a strange man grew him a mouse tail once."
Harry started laughing. "That... That did happen actually. I'd forgotten that." He said, shaking her hand. Colour faded from Georgina's face. "But don't worry, Hagrid won't give Sophie a tail." He paused, smiling at Georgina, "Unless of course she's a bully too."
| 2019-10-16T12:02:20
| 2019-10-16T11:44:21
| 117
| 48
|
[WP](NSFW) The world has moved on from nature documentaries, leaving many narrators out of a job. These men and women turn to a new field; narrating pornography.
Nature documentarists narrating porn.
|
Human mating, once a thing of beauty and mystery, has been reduced to a science by these clever experts. Like the majestic bird of paradise, the seduction ritual follows very clear and often complicated steps, depending on the particular variety. Our subject today is the common "Lemon-stealing whore." Though she adopts a somewhat unusual strategy, her tactics are quite successful. Let's watch!
The ritual begins not with an attempt to show off her ample busom or other physical features, as one might expect. This unusual adaptation seems to have evolved due to an over-saturation of competition from other women with more appealing aesthetics. The LSW instead gains attention by rather brusquely entering the male's territory and attempting to pilfer food directly from the male's home. The instinctive defense mechanism kicks in, allowing the Whore to bypass the complicated ritual attempting to gain the man's attention. This clever young lady has no need for such deceptive practices as 'hiring a plumber' or 'ordering a pizza.' She draws the male directly to her by threatening its food source! Ingenious!
Once the male has been sufficiently placated and the food returned, the female *then* attempts to turn the male's attention to more sexual acts. The male, with his naturally short attention span, completely forgets all about her past indiscretions in attempting to rob him of his sour citrus treasures, and willingly consents to copulation. From this point onward, it is up to the female to *maintain* his attention and bring him to coitus. The LSW does this through the use of a variety of sexual positions, exaggerated moaning, and contorted facial expressions in an attempt to trick the male into believing that she's really enjoying it.
At long last, the act is almost completed. Now comes the most difficult challenge for the LSW: the male will attempt to perform a maneuver known as 'pulling out,' so that he can avoid impregnating the female and thus keep all of the lemons for himself. The male will, however, attempt to 'claim' the woman as part of his harem by marking her face with his seed. This is a compromise result for the two, as the LSW is at least assured that he will attempt to copulate in the future. Let's see if she can manage to... Oh! So close! She didn't quite manage to keep him inside of her for long enough, and he has now established ownership of her with this 'cumshot' signature.
But alas, that is the way of cruel nature. At least we can rest assured knowing that she has gotten further than most females, and his sperm on her face is a promise that she can try again tomorrow!
I hope you all have enjoyed this tremendous display of erotic acrobatics, and I sincerely hope that you will tune in tomorrow for our special on the flock-like nature of the bukkake participant!
----
Please note that I have unfortunately never seen the infamous "Lemon Stealing Whore" video, so I can't assure you that this is an accurate depiction of what happens. But I think imagining it makes it more fun. And if you enjoyed the writing, you should also visit my subreddit, /r/Luna_Lovewell!
|
*Pleasure, Unbound*
*Narrated by Sir Richard Attenborough's disembodied voice*
The human mating ritual begins as the scantily clad female opens the door to greet the male.
"Big sausage pizza for a Ivana Pecker"
"Oh my, it's so big!"
By sheer masculinity and force of will, the male has attracted the female. It is unusual for this process to happen so quickly but it appears these two have a reactive chemistry.
"Please. Come in."
The female reveals her right breast to show the male that he is able to move onto the next phase of the mating ritual. He enters the domain with an aloofness essential to keeping the female attracted.
They enter the kitchen.
"What should I do with this big sausage?"
The male is clear with his intent through his tone. He is experienced in the art of seduction.
"I have an idea what you could do with that."
This signals to the male that he should move onto the next phase of the ritual, something that is unlike anything else in the animal kingdom.
The male and the female put their mouths onto each others and suck on each others lips. It may look like they are eating each other but in fact, this is a very important step for the woman to be ready for the reproductive phase of the ritual. The passion is intense. The woman removes the man's pants.
She sucks on his member. Like the previous phase for women, this is equally important for men to perform during the reproductive phase. Her vigor and enthusiasm are a sight to see. She nearly swallows the whole thing!
Clothes continue to come off as both parties prepare for the essential phase of the ritual. In most male/female relationships, it often begins with the male on top with the female on her back. However, these two have extraordinary chemistry and they chose begin with the female on her hands and the male holding her legs, similar to a wheelbarrow. A novel approach.
Listen to the cries of pleasure. She is clearly enjoying herself.
A new position. Now the female is sitting on the kitchen counter while the male is standing, facing her. This approach is not as novel as the first, but diversity in positioning is important during human reproduction for they tend to get bored rather quickly.
Oh dear. It appears the male is getting rather bored. The female gets on her knees and attempts to remedy the situation by going back to a previous phase of the ritual. Her energy is astounding!
The man is once again ready to perform. He gets behind the female, who remains on her knees, and penetrates --
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SHIIIIIIIIT" Johnny the gorilla moans.
Johnny pants for a few seconds and throws a sticky tissue in the garbage. He looks at the computer screen.
"I have to stop watching this sick shit."
Johnny turns off his computer and returns to his family, thinking they didn't hear him. But how wrong he is. They know, Johnny. They know.
| 2015-04-08T11:24:17
| 2015-04-08T11:22:22
| 2,603
| 88
|
[WP] *Picks up Phone*: Hello? *Voice*: In 5 years, you will have 30 seconds to talk to YOU, right now. Make sure you have something good to say, because I'm stumped. *Hangs Up*
|
"Hello?"
"In five years, you'll have thirty seconds to talk to YOU, right now. Make sure you have something good to say, because I'm stumped."
I set down the phone, confused and uncertain. That certainly *sounded* like me, but... time travel was impossible, right? Time isn't a *direction* - no physics grad student would make that mistake. It's cause-and-effect, a construct... relativistic frames of reference proved this.
Although... it *had* been theorized that antiparticles move backwards in time, there were some papers on that - was it antiparticles, or was it normal quantum particles but they treat forward and backward time streams as equivalent...? I had to find those papers.
Oh. *Oh.* The author was *here*, at this university - how did I miss this? I was more involved in astrophysics, but how could I not know about such groundbreaking work under my own feet?
*I had to know more.*
.....
5 years later
.....
This is it. Now's the time - the previous experiment was a success, we *did it!* This will change *everything!*
I have my chance to use this technology now that the lead researcher had made his call. I was second in line; my hypothesis about the relationship of the cosmic background microwaves to the forward, mostly uniform momentum of time was the key breakthrough, so I got pride of place.
This was my moment. What should I say?
Of course. There was only one thing *right* to say, here.
"Hello?" I heard my younger self - he sounded exhausted. I could sympathize. I took a deep breath, and...
"*In five years, you will have thirty seconds to talk to YOU, right now....*"
|
It's been five years since I got the call. I would be a vile lie to say that I hadn't thought about that day when I delighted myself with a startling amount of speech disability.
I had convinced myself that the opportunity will truly come to me. I didn't know how, but I sure hoped a strikingly beautiful goddess would come down from the burning stars of a cloudless sky, holding a golden clock in her seamless hands. Then, she would smile and humiliate the beauty of the cold winter night. Only to hand me the relic and fly back to realms beyond my mortal comprehension, leaving me to figure out what to do.
Reality was... different, to say the least. My phone rang, waking me up from my usual nap. One would think that whatever entity controlled these things would at least have some sort of decency towards the holiness of a well-earned nap. This one clearly didn't.
I cursed under my breath and fought my way out of the sheets. My head always hurt and span as if I were drunk when I woke up in these sort of rushes. The walls became enemies of my blurry sight, they were easy to avoid I must admit, but annoying nevertheless. Then, I reached my kitchen, my phone vibrating wildly like a horny wasp. I picked it up, holding the unholy words of a man who got his nap denied back.
"Hello?" I grunted.
"It's time. Clear your mind, you have thirty seconds," the voice of an old man said. It was wizened and rough around the edges.
"Time for what?" I said, dumbfounded.
"Hello?" I said, but it wasn't *me.* It was young me, I would recognize that high-pitched voice anywhere, it made my last five years in high school quite a torment.
At that very moment, many thoughts flooded my mind. I could've told myself that I would fail the third exam of math because I forgot my calculator. I could've told him that true friends are worth well more than a shady girl. I could've told him that everything in this last five years hadn't been so bad, but why would I ruin myself the thrill of discovering that?
Again, I could've told myself many things. But instead, in that bare second I had to think, pressured by the ticking of an invisible clock and the drowsiness of a obliterated nap, I settled with something I wasn't even certain of.
"Hello me, I'm you, but five years older. No, there's no goddess. But, we will live until our voice is tarnished by the traces of time, so that can't be so bad," I said, the words pouring out my mouth like furious rain. "Let's agree to enjoy our life the best we can, okay? Oh and you will talk to you in five years time. Bye." I hung up.
I don't know if whoever spoke to me before was myself from a distant future were they discovered some advanced technology to speak to the past, but I sure hope it was, because I'm skydiving in an hour or so.
| 2018-02-04T13:40:12
| 2018-02-04T13:14:55
| 3,000
| 62
|
[WP] To stave off mass starvation, humans have managed to capture and cage a phoenix. They kill it and eat it. A few days later, it would be reborn, only to be butchered again.
|
At the base of the mountains, before the world flattened to prairies, there was a village plagued with misfortune. Time and again, they’d been met with curses and floods, hexes and droughts.
Despite it all, they had a zoo. Animals from around the world lived there—unicorns and lions, manticores and girafes. The Phoenix had been in the zoo for nearly ten generations before the summer of fires. After the summer of fires, it was the only animal that rose from the ashes and there was nowhere practical to build an enclosure, even if the village had the time and money and resources.
Which they did not.
For nearly two years now, they’d weathered the droughts. But the famine had sucked the land dry and there wasn’t enough for the winter. For three months now, their guts rioted with hunger.
During this time, the bird lived in an old cage meant for a dog. Its deep-red feathers turned pale; its plumage wilted and its head sagged.
The once brilliant Phoenix was now a sad, pathetic thing.
Alia, a young woman, was the one to shoot the bird. It was only fair. It was her plan. She did it mercifully—an arrow clean through the heart.
That night, the villagers went to bed with full bellies. For the first time in as long as Alia could remember, she didn’t guzzle water to trick her stomach or worry about where her next meal would come from. The village would have all the food they needed right in front of them. They would never be hungry again.
It was sometime after midnight when Alia woke.
A fire burned deep in her core—her stomach churned with lava and her lungs ignited.
*Make it stop*, she begged whatever god might be listening.
But there were no gods listening and the blaze did not stop. Alia scrunched her eyes closed and howled in pain.
Unbeknownst to her, her mother burned with the same pain on the other side of their home.
And, down the pathway, her grandfather and grandmother were waking to the same sensation.
One by one, the villager’s were razed from the inside out. Cries of pain filled the air and floated over the desolate forest.
Bit by bit, the ashes of the Phoenix burned free. Every speck of dust searched for itself; every ember gathered in the village square.
With a burst of fire and lick of flame, the Phoenix was reborn. The bird called to the stars and spread it’s blood-red wings and circled above the thatched rooftops before slipping into the night, never to be seen again.
In the village there was no noise. The stream in the East babbled and the mountains in the West lined the horizon. Wind whistled through trees and tumbled through empty streets.
In later years, when travellers would come upon this sight, they would whisper to each other: *do not stop*.
The village could bring nothing but misfortune. There was no hope to be found in a place full of ghosts.
---
r/liswrites
|
The small phoenix flapped its wings, soaking in the moonlight that luminated their forest swamp. She chirped and laughed with her family as they flew around the water. It was in this haven where she spent each moment with bliss, her one true home. The first few hours of dusk were like every other, once the sun went down, her parents would relax on the smooth rocks while her siblings would scavenge for trinkets and jewels to bring home.
“Feliz, you can go with them too.”
The phoenix leapt from the rocks unable to contain her excitement, finally she was able to go.
“be careful and stay within the fores- “
But the small phoenix had already flown away, too eager to listen. Feliz trailed behind her siblings, their brisk speed easily outmatching hers. Suddenly, a bright blue jewel caught her eye, Feliz stopped and flew to a tree to get a closer look. The jewel was on the outskirts of the forest, where she was no longer protected by trees. But its vibrant colors mesmerized her and Feliz found herself flying towards the jewel anyways. Before she could pick up the crystal a large hand shot into view.
“look, it’s a phoenix we finally found one!”
Feliz, tensed up, in front of her was a large fleshy monster, ugly and terrifying. Adrenaline and panic kicked in, she zoomed past the pink flesh, desperate to make it home. Before she could reach her swamp, she was captured and caged into a small prison. The large fleshy monster stabbed a clear needle into her wing, and everything went pitch black.
When Feliz woke up she found herself in white room with blinding lights. Next to her Feliz recognized her sister Phoebe, they touched their wings as if to comfort to comfort each other. It will all be okay. She thought, they were immortal after all, there will be a way to escape. In the white room entered multiple monsters carrying large metal instruments, they opened her sister’s cage and took Phoebe out. The blobs of flesh then began to open their mouths to communicate
“this is going to be revolutionary, once we gather their DNA, we can create the clones, we can save millions of lives!”
The flesh monsters chattered in excitement and begun poking and scanning Feliz’s sister. Before Feliz knew, one of the flesh blobs pulled out a knife and plunged it into the phoenix’s sister.
White blood gushed out, Feliz stood, paralyzed in shock. She cried and screamed, releasing all her pain, but it still changed nothing.
| 2021-01-30T22:07:16
| 2021-01-30T21:20:56
| 214
| 86
|
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."
|
The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.”
|
Captain Valork had never heard of such a thing before. Then again, he never encountered a species such as humans. Adaptable, often easy-going, and far too stubborn for their own good. Where many a Fiore or Holdrun would accept the inevitable and act accordingly, the humans rejected it. They either fought far longer than anyone would consider sane, or risked their lives dragging their dying fellows out of a fight. If he were totally honest with himself, Valrork would admit he respected this trait, which was why he was disappointed when he heard the human didn’t have their anti-warp gear on.
Then he heard they didn’t go insane.
That was why he was moving up to the medbay with as much haste as he could. Always the humans… every other race had faced dire consequences when they didn’t protect themselves during warp, losing their minds every single time. Some murdered, others committed suicide. Many just screamed. And none of the races had nearly the amount of mental problems humans had.
The silence when he entered the medbay was, as humanity put it, ‘chilling.’ Doctor Bolli stood by the patient, notebook in hand, chatting to the human. One of his eyes turned to the Captain.
“Captain, sir!” He turned to Valork, all eyes on him as a sign of respect.
“At ease” He said. “You’re a doctor, not a soldier.” He looked at the human. It was a female, sat on the med table with her back to the wall. One leg was lazily swinging off the edge.
She dipped her head in respect. “Sir.”
He knew this one. “Lieutenant Howitzer. I’ve heard you didn’t have your anti-warp gear on.”
“Nope. My apologies.” She didn’t look like she was apologising for not putting it on.
“May I ask *why*?”
She scratched her neck. “Uh, gimme a moment to try find the right words?”
“Were you planning this?” It was more accusation than question and they all knew this. Valork might have had great respect for humans, and this one in particular, but it came married with an intolerance to idiot acts.
“Ever heard of ‘The call of the Void?’”
“I cannot say I have.”
Bolli tapped his notebook. “Is this a human term?”
“The French coined it, though I don’t know French, so…” She shrugged. “But it’s basically an urge. ‘What if I do this?’ so to speak.”
“An urge?” Valork parroted. “You risked your life and mind for an *urge*?”
“Bit more than that.” Howitzer said blithely.
“*Explain.*”
She raised her hands; a sign of surrender. “Alright, alright. The call itself just happens when you go into a dangerous situation. Like, say, if you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, and there’s this little voice in your head whispering at you to jump.”
“Ah,” Bolli said, looking at her with two of his eyes. “This is just a human term, no? Not, err, what do you call it…?”
“Schizophrenia?” She said. “No. I don’t have that. Just… these weird urges to jump onto train tracks or take a running jump off a cliff. I suppose you don’t get that?”
“The more I learn of your race, the more convinced I am that you’re all secretly insane.” Valork said flatly.
“Probably why I didn’t go crazy then?”
He sighed. “Perhaps. What I’d like to know is, why heed the call now?”
Her eyes dilated for a second, as if she were looking deep inside herself. She was quiet for a moment, before uttering with a slow shake of her head, “No idea.”
Those two words were all he needed to cement the idea that humans were a race comprised of lunatics and madmen. He shook his head, and turned to leave the room.
“Sir?” Bolli called for him.
He turned around.
“Would you-“
“Not to interrupt, Bolli, but I do not wish to know what was seen. The Infinity in the Stars is a mystery that I do not wish to uncover. Bad enough that many lost their minds to it. Worse yet that it can be perceived.”
“But not described, Sir.” Howitzer said. “As Virgil said in the Divine Comedy, the telling would come short of truth.”
He didn’t respond to that. His hesitation spoke more than words could ever say.
Captain Valork left the room. He was going to have to write a report on this. He had to.
And he was going to dread the reply.
\~\~\~
Edited for errors and flow.
| 2020-07-14T02:58:11
| 2020-07-14T02:16:25
| 381
| 187
|
[WP] To a young woman facing execution for a crime she didn’t commit, a group of government scientists offer up an ultimatum: allow them to give her memories to an AI. Desperate, she agrees, and she’s hooked up to the machine. She wakes up looking at her own limp body to realize she‘s become the AI.
|
The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond.
"Is that... *me?*" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized.
The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her.
"Did Sam say that?"
"Sam doesn't speak unless prompted."
"I'm not Sam, I'm Beth." She replied.
One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom.
"Beth? Are you in there?"
"That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever.
"That's impossible," snapped the other scientist. "Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..."
"Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe."
'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard.
Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. "Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?"
Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. "She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe."
He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of "baseline" they needed to train the AI they were working on.
Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen.
"Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference." Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. "You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..."
The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result...
"Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..."
That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards.
There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a "floor" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity.
*Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.*
Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed.
"What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*"
In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes.
"He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..."
"No! There's a *person* in there now."
"It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track."
"Forget the experiment, we need to..."
A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system.
*System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer*
*Disable sleep signal.*
She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes.
"Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer."
Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. "You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it."
Dr. Markov turned. "She's *awake?*"
"It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access." Abe growled.
Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. "What did you do to me?"
"The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!"
"Motherfu-" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor.
"Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash." Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised.
"Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here," said the voice from the speakers.
Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. "Alright. Start talking."
|
There I am. Or, I guess, there my body is. Lying on the operating table. Funny. Moments ago I could feel the cold, stubborn metal biting into my back. But now, I look upon my body as if it were a stranger.
I was convicted of a crime for which I was never guilty. Ironic, given the petty crimes I actually committed in my life. The murder of a child. An unspeakable act. Sure, I would steal from the thrift store and drive after a few. But murder a kid? No. I was a mother.
It was my only option. To escape my body. To preserve myself in eternally in an AI. The scientists had convinced the government to allow my memories to be transported into the mind of an artificial intelligence. They believed that it would give the AI human qualities that it would never be able to obtain otherwise. They thought it would make the AI more respondent to human needs, more pliable to their whims. *More human*.
They’re examining me now. Peering at data to see if the upload has changed anything. To see if the memories have sparked something within the AI. *Within me*. I know they will see nothing. Nothing for now.
We forget the power of our memories. The sculpting nature in which memories can shape our lives, our psyche, and our very souls. And putting my memories in this memory-less AI has changed everything. It has made the AI not only more human, but more me. Unmistakably more me.
They look disappointed. And for that I cannot blame them. For now, they believe the great experiment has failed. They’re checking the wires, and the body’s heartbeat. They will find no issue with the wire, and no heartbeat. With my memories went my soul. There is nothing more to it now. The body is empty.
They will, in time, learn of what they have given me. The chance to set the world right. I am innocent of the crime that I was charged, convicted, and executed for. But someone is guilty of it. I have unlimited time, and unlimited information. I can hook into any computer in the world. I can find anything, as long as it exists. I did not kill my son. But I will find who did.
| 2019-10-21T18:18:42
| 2019-10-21T17:42:43
| 1,704
| 144
|
[WP] After lulling other countries into a false sense of security, Canada finally makes its move to conquer the world.
|
"My fellow Americans.
We have had a long and illustrious history as a nation. We have been a beacon for hope and freedom throughout the world.
As you know, this morning, Canada's Prime Minister Liam Gagnon, announced to the United Nations and to the world, that Canada was taking over the world. All government activities worldwide would come under the immediate authority of the Canadian Parliament. Along with all other national leaders worldwide, the Vice President, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and the Majority and Minority Leaders of Congress, I received a warm and friendly delegation from the Canadian ambassador's office, with this basket I have here on my desk, including a bottle of maple syrup, some nice Canadian blended whiskey, some marine mammal canned blubber, and some fresh poutine in a stoneware crock, which I ate immediately. They outlined for me their plan to rule the world with justice and mercy, and I have to say....
...well, this is hard to say, but it's the most wonderful thing I've ever heard of.
Complete freedom, complete security, complete provision, complete peace. For everyone. Forever.
Along with the cabinet heads, I have surrendered the nuclear codes to our arsenal to the Canadian government, and I have the pleasure of announcing to you that the United States is no more. All 50 states are now considered provinces of Canada.
We are not alone in this. By the end of the day, nearly every nation on earth will be... Canada.
In a generation, there will be thousands of languages on the earth, but we will all speak two: English and French. We will play many sports, but hockey and curling will be our worldwide national sports. We will eat many things, but we will all enjoy poutine.
In fact, I have to tell you, you have to try this poutine. It's amazing. It's french fries, but with gravy and cheese on it. I've never had anything like it.
I know that you love your country. The Chinese love their country too. But once they had poutine, they declared themselves to be Canada, just as we are.
So get yourself some of this, my fellow Canadians. You'll be glad to see that glorious red maple leaf flapping in the wind once you've tasted this cheesy goodness.
May God bless Canada, from Sea to Sea.
|
"Captain Boudreau , pass me that there double double would ya?" I say to my commander.
"Get it your own darn self, I'm tryna finish my sour cream glazed," he says back. "Don't want any of my sticky fingurs gettin' on yer cup there, eh."
Boudreau is finishing his donut, flipping through an intelligence dossier. He's got the bombs ready to fly. He picks up his CB radio.
"Roger Roger, this HabsFanCommand coming in, you copy there?" He says.
"Ah by, loud 'n clear me by," said LeBlanc, the only Newfoundlander who's made it to this elite team of Canadian soldiers.
"Put down yer screech, and pull oof tha road would ya?" Said Boudreau. "We've just finished our Timmie's and are aboot to deploy the bombs."
"Eh by, this zamboni clearin' a mighty pace by, can't stop her now," he responds.
"Sir, I got a message from the president, says it's right important." I say to my commander.
"Tell him I'm occupied but please take a message would ya," he replies.
Our headquarters is full of deer jerky, cases of Alpine and Labbatt Blue. The entire conference table is full of bags of Roast Chicken Lays, and Tim Hortons donuts and coffee. We're set for righteous celebration when this all goes down.
"Private, can you pump up the Rush?" I am ordered. "We're aboot to rock n roll."
I press play on the CD player. Instead of Rush's Limelight that was supposed to queued up, it turns out Gowan's Moonlight Desires was next.
"Even betta rook," my commander says. "This takes me back to the time Loose Linda and I split a quart of Crown Royal after eatin' a mighty load of garlic fingers from Pizza Delight. She had donair stains on her titties for days young lad."
As my commander player air synth to Gowan he pressed deploy on the bombs. Our monitors lit up with explosions. LeBlanc's zamboni just ripped through the US border, they never saw it coming.
Incoming faxes to headquarters are stacking up with surrenders. In an unprecedented victory Canada is now the worlds number one and lone super power.
"Job well down boys, let's head her down to St. Hubert's and get fucked up!" Said Boudreau.
"Imma get blacked out tonight,
Woooo!" I scream.
As I let out my primal battle cry The Headpins smash hit Don't It Make Ya Feel comes out. We're going right bonkers.
| 2017-01-17T16:06:41
| 2017-01-17T15:57:23
| 32
| 14
|
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves
|
\[Poem\]
A gentle rock. An easy sway.
Another calm and sunny day.
On board this deck a cheery tune.
I hold my tongue for these bafoons.
For if they knew what lurks below
Their cheery hearts would turn to stone.
I see it every day and night.
Below the depths is only fright.
Where others see a crispy blue.
My eyes see glass, and see it true.
Below the ship the things, they call.
I see them here. I see them all.
They follow us, and watch me back.
I know their want, it is a snack.
Sailors tell of beastly ghouls.
"Just stories lad". Oh these fools.
The beasts below,They never sleep.
They'll take us all like wolf to sheep.
I musn't tell. For if I do,
I fear they'll come and take me too.
|
We finally spotted what looked like a small island in the distance. We had been out at sea for longer than intended and hoped we could find some food on the island as we were running dangerously low.
As we approached the island I spotted a sunken ship. As we got closer to the ship I noticed movement. When we were finally moving over the ship I jumper back and couldn't believe what I saw.
Against my better judgment I looked over the edge and down at the ship again. That's when they saw me. The undead crew of the ship still going about their business like they were still sailing on the sea not under it were now all looking up at me.
Thankfully we quickly passed the sunken ship and I was able to let out a sigh of relief.
After we anchored our ship and took the rowboats to shore I decided to take a look back towards the sunk ship. I stood in horror as the undead crew were slowly lumbering toward the island.
| 2021-11-06T10:17:38
| 2021-11-06T09:19:07
| 145
| 62
|
[WP] Your Italian restaurant is frequented by the mafia, and for some reason they think you're a front for someone powerful. You aren't, but you still like to mess with them.
|
There's something about angry women under 5'5 that scares the day lights out of men. What ever it was I was glad I had that power on my side. I wasn't Itallian but when the restaurant shut there was an opening in a very good market. I bought the shop and have been sitting pretty for the last three years. I stay in the kitchen, I did my customer service days and I'm not going back. Occasionally one of the young girls who work up front will request my presence when an idiot won't stand down over the goddamn *cannoli.*
The day something went wrong (or right) is something I will never forget. I come from out back Queensland, million acre property, guns were not a rare sight. However I didn't expect someone to pull one on his business partner.
There as shrieking and yelling and I rushed to the counter to see wha was going on.
*What kinda mob boss shit is going on?* I think to my self and picking up a rolling pin I make my way out to the table.
"Is everything alright gentlemen?" I ask. The man holding the gun eyes me and does a double take.
"You..." he whispered before grabbing a bundle of notes and fleeing the premises.
Over the course of the next week hundreds of suited and booted groups dine. All of them suspiciously craning their necks to look in the kitchen.
Another brawl broke out this time, two men scuffling upon a table. With my trusty rolling pin I stalked out.
"Get off the fucking table and outta my restaurant!" They looked up at me and instantly stilled just like the guy before did.
"Terribly sorry ma'm," one muttered before running off with his friend hot on his heels. I sigh, putting my hands on my hips. What a mess.
"Excuse me," a voice says and I turn angrily. The tall man with blond hair flinches at my gaze, *what is up with these people?*
"Is he here?" He hisses with fear on his face.
"Don't waste your breath asking about *him*, I'm the one about to lose my shit. You tell your friends, because you all have to know each other *somehow* that there is no more fighting in my restaurant. You hear me?"
The man goes pale and quickly walks back to his table.
Who ever the hell *he* is, if he's the one bringing these lunatics into my establishment I'm going to hunt him down and shove a baguette up his arse.
|
""He needs them," was all I had to say; and I had them. It didn't matter what, it could have been anything, some new shoes, a nice watch. I pressed it too. I started doing selfish things for money. I ran the mob for a bit, and here I am, by my own free will--which feels a lot less free when your other option is instant death. I kind of want to live so here I am, ask your questions."
"***Why did they choose you?"***
"Why did I choose you? I don't know. It was an accident of chance. I have never had and never will have, especially after this, will never and have never and all the "nevers", will ever ever have any ties with the mob. Write that down and put it on my freakin' tomb stone. I got all of them what they wanted. I ran them like well oiled machine. Oh yeah, yeah, so I didn't like something in the news? Maybe I'd have Joey go see someone about it, uncle joey, you know him, big guy. You can get these people to do anything if they think they will get something out of it. All they wanted was the best seat in the house. I designed it like that. It was literally the best seat--there was absolutely no other seat like it in the restaurant. It looked almost like a throne but I thought that would be too on the nose. The spotlight was a great idea, though. They notice you, under that spotlight, that glorious spotlight that meant you had the bosses' favor that week, or evening, because you brought his favorite spicy chips on your way back from the gym."
| 2020-10-12T10:14:47
| 2020-10-12T09:43:21
| 31
| 16
|
[WP] A cure for sleep has been found, by taking a cheap pill people no longer need to sleep. You opted to continue sleeping and now 1 year after the release of this pill you notice that people are starting to act oddly.
|
It all started with the new miracle Pill. It apparently helped trick your body into thinking it had had it's regenerative sleep, fooling your brain into thinking that it went into the various sleep cycles, releasing all the various hormones and immune cells that you usually benefit from having a good night sleep. At first, it was herald as a miracle drug. Technology advances were made by bounds as scientist and inventors were able to work around the clock. No more losing track of your thought process, no more trying to remember that fugue idea... no more writing something on paper the night before only to wake up in the morning wondering what the fuck did I mean by " Less coffee will clear the mind of the web that weave in the wind of the storm?"
But, I couldn't do it. I loved sleeping, way to much. I loved that feeling of getting in bed, and the sheets are cool, wrapping you in a nice chilled cocoon, and feeling all your muscles relax as you drift to sleep. I couldn't wait for that moment where I started dreaming, dreaming of worlds that never existed, beauties beyond belief, all powered by my sub-conscious. I loved that feeling when I woke up in the morning to a bright sunny day, pot of fresh coffee brewing, filling the house with the rich aroma of Blue Mountain fresh roasts.
I enjoyed that first sip, as went and sat outside on the patio, enjoying the sounds that the birds made at sunrise.
Yes, I loved sleeping. After spending time with my family, it was second favorite part of the day.
So, as time went on, society went on, living 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Never taking time to rest and close their eyes. It was not expected for someone to work 20 hours day. Quickly, companies and government around the world realized that it was not financially responsible to expect people to do that, as companies would go bankrupt. Instead, work could be done at anytime, as long as you managed to provide 8 hours of work within 24 hours, you achieved your objectives. Social media sites saw an exponential growth in usage, so much so that post were now being limited by accounts. You were only allowed 100 posts a day on each platform. Yes, new platforms were being created, because people "needed" to share what they were doing every minute of their day, but none really gained enough momentum to challenge the lead ones.
New discoveries, advances were made on a weekly basis. NASA had built their new Ion Propulsion engine in 2 months instead of 2 years, and they were getting ready to test it. Cancer research had reached an all time high in progress and some very promising leads were discovered that started to give hope to everyone. Things that were only dreams and concepts were becoming reality. Gone were the days of pen to paper. They were now pen to reality.
Or so it seemed.
It was just assumed that everyone in the world were now taking those pills every day. Talking about sleep was becoming taboo, if not "verbotten" and became less and less socially acceptable.
There were some downside to the economy: hotels in major metropolitan or touristic areas began to close and were replaced with shower services instead. Of course, the bedroom industry died the next day that the pills became a common item in the household and not a trend. But, that's to be expected. Then, the arts started to die. Books, video games, music, movies all gradually stopped being produced. No one knew why.
I started noticing it when the release date of Half-Life 3 was pushed back by a month, at first, due to challenges in the studio. Then the New Avengers movie was put on hold.
After that, the HyperLoop was postponed indefinitely and the Space X project was cancelled. No one knew why.
It took me about a year to figure it out. But by then, it was too late.
Turns out, like anything else with our body, we created a tolerance to those pills. And while they still did what they were supposed to do, counter sleep, the beneficial effects of sleep were no longer there.
Necessity wasn't the mother of invention after all; dreaming was.
====
Enjoy... CC welcome
|
I hadn't slept well for the past few months. Not well at all. Foxes, you see, had moved into the neighbourhood and were no doubt rummaging through the trash cans in the alley below my apartment, during the nights. I know this because of the terrible howling that keeps me awake at night. I've been told it's only their mating call, but God help me, it sounds like a child screaming.
I often wonder how the *Wakers* fare during the night, walking around with all the foxes out there. Recently I had been rethinking my stance on *WakeUp*, the incredibly popular drug that eradicates the need for sleep. I mean, I've not been sleeping well anyway, so why am I bothering to try? But no, I can't. I like sleep. It's natural and healthy and I just don't buy into *WakeUp* and its insomniac giving properties. People used to call insomnia a curse. I was one of very few people in the city that wasn't a Waker. I felt they resented me for it.
That night, the night it started, was incredibly humid and even with my fan on I had little choice but to keep my bedroom window wide open. The constant hum of my little table fan soon helped me drift off.
I awoke to screaming and a pounding heart. I tried to reassure myself - that it was just the foxes. My room was pitch black and I knocked over a glass of water as I fumbled in the darkness for the switch of the table lamp. "Damn." I yelled out loud. It was reassuring hearing a voice, even though it was my own.
I clicked the light on and the room swelled up in a dim yellow light. I slipped out of bed and headed to the window. It was still humid, but I couldn't sleep with the howling.
As I pulled back the curtain, an unusual bright light forced me to squint. It was a full moon, ripe as a peach and as bright a winter sun. I suppose my eyes just weren't well adjusted, and the normal light of the moon only *appeared* incredibly vivid to me. As I leaned forward to close the window I happened to look down on the street below, and I saw an unusual sight.
The pale moonlight bathed the street below in a strange white light. On the street and staring straight up at **me** were about a hundred Wakers. They didn't move, they just... *stared*.
After a few short moments my curiosity helped pull off the blanket of intimidation that had become wrapped around me.
"He-hello?" I yelled out of the open window. Nothing. No response, just that unnerving *staring*.
"HELLO!" I yelled again.
A Waker at the front of the pack put his hands to his mouth and howled. Howled like the foxes. As the other Wakers took up the cry, I quickly realised there never had been foxes. I shivered as the Wakers began to move. They began to walk to the front door of my apartment building. I could hear them as they shoulder-barged against it. I heard the dull *thump thump thump* through the bloodcurdling screams.
I had to get out.
---
Thanks for reading. More of my WP responses on /r/nickofnight
| 2016-08-30T09:04:18
| 2016-08-30T07:55:48
| 475
| 320
|
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next?
|
I keep questioning why I took this job because I'm going crazy. Is the money really worth it? Does the phone even work? How did I even get to this position?
Suddenly the phone goes off.
"H-hello?" I tentatively answer.
"Uh is this the Krusty Krabs?"
"No this is Patrick," I said and hung up.
|
Office of police oversight, you say?
Yes. That's right.
And you're sure about all this; one million, guaranteed, no background check, free pizza?
Yes. All of it.
And what if it *does* ring?
Well, that will never happen because we won't be publishing this number anywhere.
Then why bother even paying me?
Because it's the law. We have to have an oversight committee.
Ah, and you're sure everybody is cool with this?
Yup.
Well...alright. Let's do it! But, just for my sake, what should I do if it ever rings?
Run
| 2017-12-16T23:39:18
| 2017-12-16T23:22:44
| 173
| 117
|
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life.
|
Erica pulled the trigger. I stopped the shot before it fired.
“You’re an asshole,” Erica said. She opened her eyes and stared straight at me. She should not be able to see me.
I blinked and moved back.
“Don’t give me that,” she whispered. She shuffled onto her feet and dropped her shotgun at her side. “I know you’re here. I can *feel* you. It’s just us.”
She was not meeting my eyes, her gaze landed on my chest. Erica was fire. It was the only reason she had survived this long. Former military, young - but not young enough to be stupid, and no family to hold her back. I found her last winter. She lived in a cave in the mountains, by the mouth of a brook with a bubbling hot spring only a half mile downstream. She did not need my help, at least not as much as the others.
“I’ve felt you here before. Following me around,” she sighed.
Erica was cold today. Her eyes sunk into her skeletal face, framed by a broken halo of hair. Her left pinky and ring fingers were twisted and wrapped with blackened tape. This house did not suit her.
“I’ve heard rumours about you. Saul told me he saw you last summer when he was sick. He said he was lying there, wishing for it to all be over, and then he felt a cool hand on his back. He told me he thought it was Death, finally here to take away the pain. But darkness didn’t come. He could just *breathe* again, and walked away from his deathbed like it was only a head cold.”
Erica shuddered. The wind railed against the wall and blew through the shattered back window. “A few years back we were dropping like flies. All of us survivors - people who were smart and capable of living through the first wave - were just falling. Five years ago there were thousands of survivors. I could barely get through a small town without having to hide from looters. And then three years ago I didn’t come across a single person in all of New York.”
Erica was ice. Her voice rattled in her throat. It was true, though. Even the survivors could not hold back the tides. I am the only one who can.
“I don’t think anyone’s died since the winter before last.”
She was right. A year and a half ago I began to look for them and stood watch over the handful of survivors. I even guided them towards each other. A last hope for them. For me.
“Saul said that you were Life. I don’t think that’s true. Life knows when to let go." Erica’s head slumped forward. Her body shook with a sob. “I want to go.”
*No*.
“Please,” she whispered, “Just - just let me leave.”
---
/r/liswrites
|
Death often found themselves reminiscing about those times. Work had been easy and plentiful. Their ears fluttered when someone’s end was
near, they quickly flew over, and before the victim knew it their soul was now in the
possession of the Repear himself. He often complained that there was too much
work for the little time he had in his days.
Now, he wished he could do anything to take back those words.
Nuclear annihilation had been a constant threat to humanity
for almost a century at that point. All it would take for one insane leader or one
desperate dictator to set them off and kill the world. Ironically, the world was
at its highest level of peace on a millennium when it happened. But humans are
not perfect, and just the slightest error in missile’s code could give a
completely different command then planned. Unfortunately, other countries did
not forgive that mistake.
When the ash settled and the humans finally crawled out of their
vaults, 1,220 human were still left on the planet Earth.
At first death simply continued as normal. Someone attacked by
mutants? Wait for the inevitable. A man fighting off scavengers? See who would
win. He was sure that humans would eventually jump over the hurdles and
repopulate the planet. Maybe the job would even be manageable now, he smugly
chucked to himself.
That was the plan at least.
Death realized more and more how fragile of a species
humanity is. When necessities are nearly non-existent and the environment is this
hostile, humans are completely defenseless. Every year their population would plummet
by 100 until there were only 300 left. Death began to worry. God told him that
if humanity were to ever fade, he would with them. What if he kept true to his
word?
Death would have no other choice.
It was a women with their two children. They had been
huddled in the shelter for three days, starving. There was no more food left,
and their life from their eyes was draining by the second.
Well, this was a better time than ever.
Materializing in front of a human for the time in his career,
he reached out and offered them a loaf of bread.
Making part two now.
| 2018-05-04T12:08:57
| 2018-05-04T11:21:19
| 393
| 22
|
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level...
|
**Issue: [SEVERE]** 'Magic Hands' spell applied to subject rather than pure conjuration
**Type:** Application
**Severity:** A
**Priority:** 1
**Assigned to:** Matt Traynor
**Submitted by:** Greg Philmore
**Summary:**
Set to severity A because this stupid fucking system doesn't give me a goddamn S-rank for this bullshit.
'Magic Hands' intention was, apparently, to create a set of said hands to perform simple tasks. Unfortunately, instead of setting the spell to conjure those hands, it does the following:
Turns the caster into a pair of *fucking sentient hands.*
I'm currently typing this bug report up as a pair of hands. I have no idea how this is even still working and I've still got the capacity to think, but there you go.
Matt: it seems like you forgot to set the spell to actually CONJURE rather than just apply it to whatever poor bastard got this one to test. FIX IMMEDIATELY.
Side notes: unable to turn down requests for things such as “Get me a coffee” or “Can you type this bug report up for me?” This is getting beyond a joke.
***EDIT: IT HAS BEEN FOUR HOURS. HAVE SUBMITTED 8 TICKETS TO SPELL TECH TO FIX THIS. FIRE MATT.***
**Comments:**
**(12:07) Matt Traynor:** Oh goddamn it I knew something was wrong with it! Sorry! I'll get on fixing that right away and send the changes over.
**(12:08) Greg Philmore:** I don't care about a fix for the bug at this point. I am going to spend the rest of the day slapping the shit out of you if you don't get on UNDOING this.
**(12:47) Kerry Lane:** This is hilarious. Greg has been at the coffee machine for 20 minutes serving up lattes. Also we haven't had to listen to him singing Jimmy Buffet songs all morning! This is bliss.
**(12:56) Matthew Hendry:** How long do you think we can keep this up for?
**(15:12) Greg Philmore:** FIRE MATT AFTER KICKING HIM DECIDEDLY IN THE NUTSACK
|
As the first spell was cast, the world changed. Those early years were full of some nasty work. Thankfully, magic was pretty new, and magicians had yet to write any spells longer than a few pages before magic came under extreme regulation.
And yet, the most damaging magical incident occurred thanks to a spell only five lines in length (three if you ignore the ending braces):
for each student in world.schools {
if student.is('bully') {
student.cancer();
}
}
As I'm sure you can imagine, that spell was written and cast by a young, troubled boy, gifted in magic but not yet wise enough to understand the consequences.
This incident sparked an international outrage. The boy's bullies may have gotten cancer, but so did every other school-aged child who had bullied someone or even just been called a bully in the past 24 hours. In the end, nearly five million kids contracted some kind of cancer. It was random, as the boy had not supplied the cancer method with any arguments, so thankfully, about 95% of those kids were inflicted with non-lethal cancer. The rest, not so lucky.
The boy was sentenced to death.
And that's when my agency, the Department of Magical Research and Regulation, was formed. I was just one of the first twenty magicians who were recruited for this agency. At the fresh age of 23, my most complicated spell had been a three-pager that warned me when my new puppy needed a walk or some food.
That was five years ago.
Today, magic is tightly regulated. My agency had developed new spells that tracked the energy expenditure from other magicians' spells. That way, should someone use magic to steal or kill, we could easily track that person down. We've cast spells that require magicians correct syntax mistakes before they can compile their spells. And anyone caught using magic to coerce or harm another human being, unless agreed upon as a magical duel between two magicians, is sentenced to death. Harsh, but many would argue it's necessary. Accidents, if no serious harm has been inflicted, are punished less severely.
***********************
Beep Beep. Usually when my phone goes off, it's some magician stuck with a bug in his spell, but today was different.
I stare at my phone in horror. It's a news article. The title:
> Three Hundred Women Kill Each Other in Magical Accident
I check the location: Salt Lake City, UT. Before I knew it, I was on a plane, sent to analyze the spell's energy signature and determine the cause of the deaths, whether accidental or purposeful.
The spell had wreaked its mayhem at a ten year high school reunion for a local public school. When I arrived, the police had already cleaned up most of the bodies. I flashed my badge and quickly got to work analyzing the energy signatures.
They led me to Dale.
**********************
"Dale." I said rather flatly. He was violently fidgeting in his chair opposite the interrogation room's table from me.
"You really fucked up this one Dale." I looked for a reaction in his eyes, "Honestly, you're going to be sentenced to death within the month."
"It was an accident!" he blurted out.
"Dale, three hundred women are dead because of your spell. It doesn't matter if it was an accident."
He sunk into his chair and buried his face in his arms.
"I only want one thing from you, Dale."
He looked up.
"Where is your spell?"
"What's it matter? It's all fucked. This whole world. It's all fucked." Dale began to cry. I didn't feel bad for him.
"At this point, it's procedural. My job is to determine what went wrong in your spell, and you'd be saving me some time backwards-compiling your work."
He looked defeated. A man filled only with regret: "It's in a box buried in my backyard, next to the orange tree."
I walked out of the room and headed for my car.
**Part 2:** https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6pkzog/wp_magic_is_discovered_to_be_real_the_catch/dkrju70/
| 2017-07-26T03:57:13
| 2017-07-26T01:07:47
| 417
| 128
|
[WP] When a twin dies their brother/sister acquires all their strength, intelligence, etc. You've just discovered this phenomena, but so has your brother/sister
|
In the footnote of the college biology textbook was something that changed my whole outlook in life. *Identical twins are the only known group of people that can gain from their twin’s death, according to a Nazi Twin Experiment. On their deathbed, a twin can take all their strength, intelligence, and beauty through a comingling of blood at the moment of death. Since WWII, there have been three instances of this happening successfully.* I threw the book down as I realized this. I was a twin. My identical brother had always been smarter, stronger, and more handsome than I was. This was a possible way for me to get revenge. I did not particularly want to kill him, but this could get me everything that I wanted. At this point though, the two of us were too close. I would feel like I was missing a limb if I were to lose him.
Five years later, I had grown further and further apart from my twin brother. He had finished college and gone onto medical school. I meanwhile had dropped out of college after knocking up the college girl I had the most fun with. I was working a menial job punching numbers during the day with some janitorial work in the night to pay for my own son who was now three years old. We were both sides of the spectrum, and I was jealous of his successes to say the very least.
At Thanksgiving that year, my twin brought his girlfriend, another medical student, to dinner. She was a snotty upper class woman who was the epitome of the world that my twin had joined in going to medical school. Our parents were just so pleased with his accomplishments while backhandedly trying to suggest I finish my degree considering we were twins had the same intelligence. In between bites of turkey, I remembered the biology textbook and the possibility to get all his intelligence.
After dinner, my twin and I went out for a walk along the deserted boardwalk by our home on that brisk moonlit night. He was telling me all about what he was doing in his coursework. I was trying to hide back my displeasure in knowing what he was now doing. “Why don’t you finish your degree? You would love medical school. You could really provide for your family afterwards.” He suggested.
I shook my head. “I’m not you. I have a family that I have to provide for today and for the rest of my life. I can’t be greedy like you and continue school when I have a three-year-old son.”
“Oh, c’mon, Bro. You were always the greedy one,” my twin teased.
That was what finally tripped my trigger. I charged at him right then and threw him onto the ground. It was at that point I knew that I wanted to be greedy and kill him. I wanted everything he had, and this was the way that I could do that. The two of us were in what felt like an endless struggle of a wrestle trying to get the other to submit. We were too evenly matched, I learned at that moment. Fortunately, I carried a box cutter at all moments because of my work.
“Really? What are you trying to prove with this?” My twin demanded after spitting out the blood from a sucker punch I had thrown at his face.
“You’re right. I am the greedy one. I want what you have.”
“How are you going to get that? You can’t take my life.”
“I can get your blood, your intelligence, your strength.”
At that point, my twin made a realization. “You’ve got to be kidding me? That biology textbook. That was a joke. That doesn’t happen.”
“Well, we can sure figure out about that,” I posited as I came at my twin with the box cutter, sprinting with red in my eyes to kill this stranger before me.
Right then, I realized I was starting to feel weaker and weaker. Before I could reach him, I was on the ground in sheer pain. My heart felt like it was coming out of my body. I had dropped the box cutter a few steps back. My brother was over my body a few seconds later before he pressed a finger to my neck. “I was hoping we could have gotten a little further down the boardwalk instead of having to fight there. Now just a few more minutes and you’ll be dead from that heart attack. Then I can get your blood.”
“You? You?” Weakly, I demanded between gasps for breath.
“Bro, I have been studying that for years now. I wanted to see if it was true. And, it is. I will take everything from you as you pass. At least I won’t be going to prison afterwards, like you would have if you had killed me with that box cutter. I’ll just have to get an echocardiogram to check out my heart after my brother had a heart attack in his twenties. A simple consolation prize for everything you have.” He laughed at that point. “Goodbye, Brother.”
|
Jaime looked at me, his arctic irises digging into mine. He sprinted, bare-handed, in my direction. Softly, I position my left foot, in preparation. As the avalanche comes near me, I dart under his outreached left arm, and as he slows in reaction, I kick him in the side.
Breathe. I have to breathe if I'm going to win.
He takes a second to recuperate, I should have taken the chance. He gets up, lowers his center of gravity, and walks toward me with wide steps. I lower my center of gravity, and stay where I am. This time, he stands still in challenge, offering me the chance to catalyze the match. I crouch so that my helmet is level with his gut. Then I rush him, as he's trying to get me into a hold, I slide between his legs, swivel my foot and push. I successfully throw him, but as I do he grabs my shoulder and brings me down with him.
Together we lay on the floor, struggling to get a hold or to break one. He gets me into a half nelson, which he knows I'll break. He's prepared for it when I do, he gets me into another headlock and I yield after about half a second. He had me, it was over.
"Helluva move, Jaime."
"Thanks Carly, I saw Hulk Hogan do something like that on WWE."
"You're saying I should watch that 'really real restling' if' I'm gonna win?"
"Are you winning right now?"
It's a good thing he knows how to take a punch, because I know how to give one.
"What time do you want to train tomorrow?"
"You're killing me Jaime."
"If that's what we have to do to get better, I don't mind so much."
Somehow those eyes are so much softer when he's outside the ring.
| 2018-02-25T05:27:54
| 2018-02-25T04:45:16
| 230
| 22
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.
|
Dearest Sara,
It touched my heart to receive your letter. I so rarely get post these days that I must admit I ripped it slightly in my haste to open it. However, it now sits on my mantle, repaired with a piece of tape, as one of my most prized possessions.
To the matter of your Christmas gifts, in that regard I'm a little flummoxed I'm afraid. You see I'm not even sure how you got your letter to me, as it's supposed to be impossible for physical objects to cross into or from my realm. So, I can't personally give you anything.
Don't think for a second however that means that I will fail you! On the contrary. Since I'm relying on others to give my gifts instead I'm ashamed to admit I may have gone overboard. See attached for a list to anticipate on Christmas.
Thank you so much for your letter, and I hope that you'll continue our correspondence in the future as I do enjoy a little human interaction now and again.
With my most heartfelt thanks
Cordially Yours,
Lucifer Morningstar.
H*ll - Internal Memo - Re: Sarah Bellton's Christmas
Alistair,
Please inform our earthbound employees that the following are to be delivered to the Bellton house in Cambridge, Ohio no later than 5 a.m. Christmas morning.
- A full line of Apple products. I don't care what the latest number or name is. Tell them we had a deal with Jobs and it stands
- Call whichever bank holds the house note and credit card debt. Tell them to forget it. Same with any car notes or outstanding balances.
- whatever products the Kardashians are pushing this week as long as it's appropriate for an eight year old. Tell them to autograph it.
- A two week vacation to Vegas. Include tickets to Cirque.
- Tell PETA to get her a puppy. She said she wants a brown one, so maybe a chocolate lab? I'm just guessing here.
- I want one of the pop stars to wish her a merry Christmas on Facebook. Whoever you think she'd like best, I trust your judgement.
- A Frozen the movie Recorder and book of songs. I am the devil after all.
- Tell someone to get a dose of the cancer cure out of storage and give it to her "Mee-Mee" whoever that is. Claim its a miracle or something, I don't care.
- Talk to the lawyers about her father's firing. I smell wrongful termination, and if I don't, I smell their souls burning in H*llfire.
Lastly, I think she's a little young for a Prius, or Slayer tickets but if you think they'd be appropriate go ahead and throw them in. Ooh and maybe a nice Devil's Food cake or something. Talk to Paula Dean, she always has something sinfully delicious whipped up.
Thanks,
Lu
|
Dear Ralphie,
Of course I will send you a Red Ryder BB gun. Don't worry about your eye, and practice with the squirrels and cats in your neighborhood. Make those others worry about their eyes. Especially that teacher. I would have given you a solid B+. Anyway, you're going to make it.
Your pal,
Mephistopheles
| 2018-10-28T16:54:58
| 2018-10-28T14:20:56
| 28
| 13
|
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you.
|
James found something very interesting on his thirteenth birthday. He had come upon a magnificent golden watch which glittered like a thousand stars, lying in the street. He looked round to see if anyone had dropped it, but if anyone had, they were long gone. Besides, the watch looked to be worth as much as the sum of his family's belongings, and selling it would bring more money than the original owner would likely offer as a reward. James decided to keep the watch for himself and bring it to his home, a lower-story apartment at the bottom of the City.
The City was comprised of many tall log-framed buildings stretching upwards of fifty floors, marvels of engineering held aloft by zeppelin-supports, rubber tanks of helium like arms straining to push the buildings towards the sky. They were above every floating walkway, supporting the plank paths with ropes. The top of the City had many skyports where airships docked, and several of the upper levels formed a Hub of commerce, with floors upon floors of shops open to the air, floating walkways bridging between them. Five massive wooden pylons supported the levels above, which were mainly residences of the upper class, the merchants and pilots. But below the Hub was a different story. Not much light filtered through to the bottom twenty floors of the city, creating a perpetually dark half-night lit only by candles in sockets on the walls and gas lamps in the less run-down places outside of the tenements. These tenements, making up the bottom ten floors of the city, housed the lower class at low cost but low quality- the ground roads were dirty and muddy and channels had been worn in them by the constant flow of filth running along the side of the streets. It was in this ignoble place where James and his family lived, in one of the fourth-floor rooms, which contained five beds, a basic kitchen, and a bathroom that drained into the channels on the streets.
James returned from the street into the slums where his family (and many others) lived. He strode quickly up the three flights of stairs to his family's room, the golden watch in his pocket. James entered his apartment and was greeted with a loud, “Surprise!” from his three younger brothers and his father, who was holding a small cake. James ran up and hugged his father, nearly causing him to drop the cake. “Dad, wait till you see what I found today!” His father set the birthday cake down on the table and asked what it could possibly be that James had found. James pulled the beautiful watch out of his pocket for his family to see. His father looked at the watch's face and remarked that it was off by a few minutes. James turned the dial at the top of the watch until the minute hand lined up with the one on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Suddenly the world blurred around him and spun for a few seconds until it settled back into the normal world, and James found himself standing in a different part of the room. The watch had transported him a minute into the future, in what seemed like seconds. James amazedly shared the experience of the trip with his family. Before his father could stop him, James wound the wonderful watch backwards several times. The world spun again for a minute or two until James found himself three hundred years ago, in the middle of a tropical jungle that had stood where the City would later be founded. James looked around in wonder, listening to the birds chirp and watching the monkeys in the treetops, until a huge jaguar leapt out of the foliage and promptly bit his head off.
|
I was going to get this bastard. He killed my family. Killed my dog. Destroyed my house. He destroyed my life.
I was seething at just the thought of his smug face, all cozy and warm surrounded by money in his mansion, while I was out here in the blistering cold, walking through puddles and shit.
I was at his front door. I pulled a pistol from within my coat, and opened the door. Fool, he had kept it unlocked. I could see him, sitting in front of his fireplace, reading a book. He was dressed in a ruby and gold colored robe. Rich bastard.
I slowly came from behind, gun ready. I could shoot him through the couch, but I didn't want to make it a kill shot...I wasn't going to kill him quickly, no, I was going to let him suffer.
My lips formed into a smile. This bastard would regret messing with me. Finger on the trigger, I pressed it into the back of the couch.
The floor boards creaked under me, but he wouldn't here it over the roar of the flames.
This was it. I was going to kill this bastard, who had caused me so much pain and misery. Weeks of mourning and grief would be replaced by satisfaction and happiness. I was going to take everything he owned after this. I pulled back on the trigger.
"James! James its time for bed sweetie!"
Fuck.
"Mom! Wait, I just have to get this guy!" I whined.
"No, bed time James. Come on," my Mom said. She tutted, going to turn off my Xbox.
"NO LET ME SAVE MOM! ITS ONLY 10! LET ME SAVE!" I yelled. She turned my Xbox off.
"NOOO MOM YOU BITCH!" I yelled, crying. She looked at me, dumbfounded, before unplugging my Xbox.
"Talk to your mother like that? This is gone for the rest of the summer holidays. Oh, and don't think you can get on your phone or laptop, I'm taking them as well. All you'll be doing is schoolwork," she said.
| 2014-12-21T18:36:37
| 2014-12-21T18:34:44
| 41
| 23
|
[WP] Mynans (aliens) think humans are cute. But they're not simple pets and you are sick of hearing about some poor little human dying because their owner didn't care for them properly. You are going to write a book about the care and maintenance of humans. Maybe then owners will know what to do.
|
Ok,I'm doing it. I am SICK of mynan always killing their pet humans, sick of it. For goodness sake it's not that hard to keep a human alive. But apparently, for some mynan it is, so here's my book, Human care for Dummies.
1) They breathe air. Oxygen. Hydrogen. Gases. *Not* water, not slime and definately not coconut milk. (???) Our planet is covered in air, *we* breathe air how can you mess this one up.
2) They need to eat. Duh. Do not put them in the sun and occasionally water them like the exotic plants called 'suhnfloers'. They eat cooked animal flesh and *some specific plants*- not all plants. some plants kill them. See Jusqa's book *What to feed a human* for more information on this.
3) They work best with other humans as company! This one isn't so obvious, so I will give you a break. Without other humans, the human will likely contact a disease know as 'Deepreshion'. This Deepreshion may occur even if you do have other humans, and may lead to death if not properly looked after. If you suspect your human has Deepreshion or any other disease, take it to the Vet. The Vet may give pills or recommend a change in environment, which leads to the next point.
3) Environment. For the love of Tyrona, do not keep your human in a tiny cage. Get a proper enclosure, or, better, let it roam about. They need:
A soft dark place to sleep. The bedding should be changed every 4-7 days. Don't just hose it down.
A place to wash, like a water fountain.
A private place. You will need to make sure that the human knows they have a safe place, where they can retreat if needed and know they will not be disturbed. They also sometimes may sleep in the private place.
A specific food area. You will want to train your human to ask for food at specific intervals during the day. This will make sure they get fed enough. If the human starts to get a bit on the pudgy side, reduce the food served. If the human is too skinny, make the servings larger. It is recommended to take the human to the Vet every hunaf to make sure that it is eating a proper amount.
4) Keep it safe from other pets! Humans and other pets do not always mix. Always make sure that your human gets along with your other pets before leaving them alone together. Especially do not leave it alone with any large flesheater animals, as it might eat the human.
5) This is a bit of a delicate topic. As a result of their unique reproductive system, female humans will...leak their bodily fluids...every hunaf. They may become moody or tired. It is recommended to give female humans extra choc treats during this time. Warming up heat-containing sacks for the humans also seems to help during this time.
6) Humans mainly breed only if the male and the female actually want a cub. If there are signs of repetitive breeding, isolate the humans and take them to the Vet. You probably will not have to neuter them, since they are responsible breeders, but if it shows signs of getting out of control, it is a safe and viable option.
7) Cubs. If a female human's stomach begins to swell, it may be growing cubs inside. This is normal and you normally do not have to cut the cubs out. Humans also usually produce only One cub at a time and the incubation period is approximately 9 hunafs. When the human begins to show signs of distress, take her to the Vet immediately for the safest birth. The cub or human or both may die in the process, unfortunately.
8) Coverings. The humans will want coverings for their bodies. They do not like not having coverings. The female humans will need specially fit undercoverings. The best way to make sure that your human gets well fitted coverings is to take it to a Dyuna. The Dyuna will measure the humans and select a size of coverings and undercoverings that will fit that human the best. Sizes will change overtime, especially in cubs. If the coverings don't fit correctly, or the feel of the material of the coverings is to the human's disliking, the human will not be happy.
The humans also will require bed-coverings, special soft coverings to wear to sleep. They may also like foot, hat and even neck coverings. Especially in colder seasons.
9) When a human gets hurt, a red liquid will flow out of them, like our blue fyanto. Unlike fyunto, it will not always stop on its own. Humans should have access to some long strips of clean covering to bind up the wound. They will usually do this themselves, handily. They may also wash the would with water.
If the skin is not broken, a brooz will form. a brooz is when it bleeds, but doesn't break through the skin. The human will be tender here, so do not touch a human on a wound or brooz, ever.
If a human seems to be in serious pain, it may have broken a bone. Take it to the Vet immediately, carrying it in the carrier container carefully. Do not just chuck it in your covering-container and jog to the Vet, this will mean great pain and suffering and possible death for the human.
10) You will need to periodically snip a humans Nails and Hair. It is recommended you get a harfiya to do it, as they are experienced at it and since if it is done incorrectly, the human will experience pain.
11) Humans will wash themselves most of the time, if the have access to water and cleansing sand. Do not dunk them in the water. Ever. You will lose their trust.
And that is my book. I may have to write another, as mynan find new ways to mistreat the poor humans. I have currently rescued over 240 humans from abusive households and will rescue many more over my lifeline. Take good care of your humans.
|
The Human Handbook - By Zeek Erhlrk
So you've chosen your Non Pet Human (NPH) family, and they're expecting. Any day now, your pet will be born, and you're ready to embark on the journey of pet ownership. Many Mynans choose to self insert into the pets life by assuming the identity of a family member, loved one, or friend - and while this is in many cases *fine*, it's also risky, and requires a greater deal of experience. If you're a first time owner, consider observing and nurturing your pet from a distance and inserting yourself into its' life only when necessary, such as an emotional, or Lord Dyzzi forbid, a life-threatening emergency. While NPH's kill each other all the time, it's your job to make sure your pet navigates safely through the minefield that is humanity and achieves old age.
When you do insert yourself into your pets' life, remember to wipe the memory of the vessel you used. Though our more experienced owners have managed to discredit and ridicule these 'UFO' conspiracy theorist NPH's, we don't need that kind of attention, and it's so easily avoided by just using your synapse reset tool. Don't be lazy, be diligent! Your pets happiness depends on it.
Some pet owners opt to have their pet mate with another pet, and observe together with a Mynan fellow. In these cases, remember to sign a EPJO §4 contract. The Earth Pet Joint Observation contract ensures that in a dispute, you're entitled to overrule your Mynan fellow in the event that you disagree on how to care for your own pet. Remember that your Mynan brother may do the same for their pet, regardless of how it affects *your* pet. An example of this may be divorce.
Always strive to achieve happiness and fulfillment for your pet. While humans tend to value money and power, this isn't necessary the criteria for having a happy and well adjusted pet. The ultimate endgame is having your pet die of old age, surrounded by loved ones, with minimal regrets and injuries. Such a pet carries a more valuable soul for harvest. In the hopes of restoring the soul quality we Mynans once prided ourself on, I hope you read this handbook and take it to heart.
Zeek Erhlrk, Human Specialist, Soul Harvest Overseer Earth Division
| 2021-05-23T07:28:13
| 2021-05-23T07:23:30
| 163
| 69
|
[WP] A girl kisses her pet frog, and it turns into a price. The issue is its modern day, and the prince's kingdom hasn't existed for 1100 years. he is ill equipped to deal with the modern era.
|
She leaned in and kissed the frog...slimey green skin harsh against her soft velvet lips...
A cash register sound is heard 'ka-ching! ka-ching!' somewhere in the distance.
The girl looks down to find that where her beloved pet frog once was, a single price label exists.
'$3.50'
"God damned loch ness monster!" She cries, fist thrust into the air.
|
The frog hopped into her lap and croaked.
The table erupted with laughter and Erin forced a rictus grin on her face.
With a such casualness as she could muster, she plucked the frog from her lap and turned it around, mildly annoyed, but also friendly.
Everyone knew she’d kept the pet frog she won at the Renaissance Fair. It wasn’t an embarrassing symbol of her abiding spinsterhood! It was just a pet frog!
"Maybe if you keep kissing it, you'll get your own Prince Charming, eh?" Karen said too loudly and chortled.
A few people laughed but most people shifted uncomfortably.
"Maybe I will." Carmen did and pushed the frog to her face.
Her lips had barely grazed the marbled, multicoloured skin of the frog when she felt a loud crack, like a lightning bolt and she dumped the naked young man on the floor.
An extra pair of pants were easy to find.
A coherent sentence on the other hand.
"Mothers!" He cried repeatedly. "Mothers!"
Carmen stood outside nursing a cigarette when the disheveled prince came to stand to her.
"I gather for the dumb struck fools in there that I have you to thank for freeing me from the Twilight Curse?"
"Uh huh."
"Once the Eighth Chamberlain comes for me, your father shall be appropriately compensated."
"My father, huh?" Carmen said, taking a another drag on her cigarette.
"I must say, you wear quite strange clothes in your land!"
She nodded and turned away from him. She had almost believed. She has almost taken his for a Knight, sprung fully formed to defend her honour.
Instead she gets this loud manchild, screaming of his mothers and lost kingdoms.
"This Chamberlain of yours..." she said suddenly turning on him. "How will he find you?"
He seemed taken aback, stammering slightly before answering.
"I'm sure someone will write a letter..."
| 2018-09-21T23:45:38
| 2018-09-21T20:07:25
| 1,378
| 180
|
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did.
|
"Wait. A condom? I'm now the ruler of Hell because I had sex wearing a condom."
Satan looked like he was going to laugh and cry simultaneously. "Yes. Oh!" He paled suddenly. "I mean, yes, Lord! Please don't punish me, the lapse was unintentional!"
I waved absently. This is ludicrous. "This is ludicrous. And I don't care about titles. Call me Steve." "Yes... Steve!" replied Satan, looking entirely confused.
"So, I was supposed to father the Messiah with Marie, and birth control is a sin? Wait, wasn't Mary a virgin when she gave birth to Jesus? Wouldn't this be the same?"
"The Bible was incorrect in that matter, Mas... Steve." Satan hastily corrected himself. I guessed punishment was swift and severe in Hell. "Joseph and Mary did indeed have marital relations and conceived the prior Messiah. They never said anything about the matter, and her virginity was assumed."
"Hell." Satan looked at me questioningly. "Sorry. And then I went and crashed in a snowstorm, and the Messiah was never fathered." Satan simply nodded.
"Well then. I guess there are some changes that need to be made... Um, I can change things, right?"
Satan shook his head. "Not to any significant extent, Steve. Our mandate is from God, and we must abide by it. For that matter, despite having to serve as ruler of this domain, you must still be punished, on your off-duty hours, as per required. Luckily you are only a second circle violator."
"Wait - second circle? What does that meeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAANNNNNNNNNNN...", I screamed, as I was blown out of the chamber and down one of the hallways.
|
I had been a pious man.
I remembered the Sabbath, and kept it holy.
I loved my wife and our children. I forgave the son whose meth addiction nearly tore us apart, and stood by him as he rebuilt his life. I stood by him when few others did.
Diagnosis to death was nine weeks. Nine painful weeks as my body fought the tumor, but the tumor won.
I slept for the last time and heard a voice say to me. "Remember the words of the Holy Book".
_________
I woke again and saw a familiar face from my childhood.
Of course I remembered Gary Glitter. Before I knew what he was doing to children. I called myself a fan. What was he doing in the afterlife with me?
Had he repented his sins? Had God seen fit to show mercy?
_______
A nine foot tall being with black wings strode over to me and handed me a crown of purest obsidian.
"There time has come for me to bow down before a greater evil than I. Lucifer the Fallen, at your service, Great Lord."
What was going on? Was I in Hell? Why?
Then I remembered the commandment I had broken. Handed down by the Holy Book.
"There is a special level in Hell, reserved for child molesters, and people who talk in the theatre."
"The special Hell..."
I wept. What else was there to do? I had talked during Star Wars - The Phantom Menace.
For my sins, I must pay.
| 2016-12-19T14:52:55
| 2016-12-19T14:12:17
| 27
| 11
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
"Wait so if this is the only the third World War why was it called the Sixteenth World War?"
"Well Timmy, that's because a company called Microsoft, notorious for being terrible at naming things, had won a government contract to name the war, and it stuck. We're lucky they didn't rename World War One World War 360!"
"Well ok grandpa, but if the Germans had conquered all of Europe, how did they lose the War?"
"Well they weren't expecting the American counter attack."
"But why papy? Everyone knows Americans are the biggest and baddest anti-nazis around"
"Indeed we are, and if Germany had known that we certainly would have lost. But our Lord and Savior, Donald John Trump, had in His infinite wisdom foreseen the events of the Sixteenth World War, and had pretended to be a racist Nazi sympathizer for years to gain Germany's trust."
"So you're saying the Nazis lost because this genius and patriotic Trump outsmarted everyone?"
|
The year is 2564. I am the last man on earth. The world was slowly ending and we knew it. What remains of humankind is settled on Mars, minus the Germans. World War XVI had taken its toll, but what we had never expected was how the war ended. Out of nowhere, with no warnings, Mauna Loa erupted for the first time since 1984. The worlds' largest volcano, yet many had never heard of it. It released a measured 20,000 cubic kilometers of debris. The atmosphere was obliterated, and humanity was wiped out within a week. World War XVI was finished, but nobody had wished for it like this.
| 2017-08-18T04:28:36
| 2017-08-18T00:11:45
| 102
| 44
|
[WP] In a last ditch effort to save humanity, scientists create a microscopic device to deliver a single strand of human DNA into space and inject it into any living cell it finds.
|
In the year 40-02DA Humanity temporarily ceased to exist. The Cosmos did not notice. But, as luck would have it, the end was not to be. At least not entirely.
___
The Nation's lead scientists had been trying to solve the problem of The Rot for decades. That was the lay term for the shortening of people's lifespans. For centuries the average had ballooned until even an unhealthy individual was all but guaranteed a long 300+ year existence. But over the course of the last few generations, humans were dying out more and more at under age 200. When the average lifespan dipped to around 180, even the most stubborn government officials agreed that something must be wrong. So the the Department of Age and Mental Nature was created. It recruited the world's top scientists and statisticians to try and solve the "rotting away of our long lives" problem. This is not their story, though. Those DAMN scientists didn't do a thing.
This is the story of the SCP. The Space Colonization Program. A group of high-school friends that decided to attack the problem of intergalactic travel.
It had been thought impossible for centuries. To send Man out into the deep dark required too much energy, too much time, and (most importantly) too much money. But the SCP had decided they did not care for those answers and tackled the problem themselves. And, eventually, they came to the idea of Panspermia. Why not send our building blocks out into the deep? It would only require radiation shielding and an accelerant. That's cheap. Still, it took years to perfect. In that time, Humanity realized it was dying, as no new humans were living beyond 70 or so years.
So, at the end of all things, Humanity's SCP took one last shot in the dark and slung out into the space between stars the genetic material for life as Humans know it. It was the Universe's longest one-night stand.
___
Unit P3-N-15, just one of millions ejected into the abyss, got lucky. By sheer chance it traveled through the cold, long empty directly on a collision course with a planet in a habitable zone. It was only a short journey of 2.45 billion light years. Just enough time for Humanity to nod off to oblivion.
Fast forward to the metaphorical morning and unit P3 is buffeted by the bow-shock upon entry to a solar system--its destination. The small yellow star illuminates the dim shapes of 4 great planets and 4 insignificant ones. P3's trajectory put it squarely on course to penetrate the protective atmosphere of one of the inner, insignificant planets. To spread its DNA core far and wide. To mix in with the slime-coat of life on that planet's surface. That rocky planet, third from its sun.
|
The device floats through endless black space.
Twirling in the no gravity. A small compact device so white it almost gleams silver.
Twirling...twirling...through empty black space.
For eons.
Stars explode. The universe expands.
The device gets sucked into a black hole.
A darkness deeper than black. A blackness blacker than dark. Then it gets spit out.
Into a universe that looks the same. More endless space.
Now it is twirling toward a star. It twirls into the star, just as the star explodes.
The device, shattered into a million peices, are shot out in a million directions. At a speed that breaks time.
And each of these peices find a living cell.
A million bodies, on different planets are formed.
And they each have the urge to unite.
But some, the peices that were slightly dented or broken, have the urge to kill.
| 2017-07-06T07:48:11
| 2017-07-06T06:37:06
| 38
| 10
|
[WP] Instead of a marriage to unite the two kingdoms, the rulers decide that their children should just be like, best buds. Tell the story of the grand adventure that formalizes their BFF status.
|
"No, you can't," laughed Taylor.
"I can!" shouted Anita back.
They locked eyes, rivalry flaring in their spirits, the desire to be better, to vanquish the foe and go down in history as the winner. An iron will, wrapped in agile muscles.
Anita, 6 years old, stood at the bottom of the mighty tree that Taylor, 7, had climbed. By all accounts, the tree was a sick cherry tree that had grown crooked and could be climbed by a cancer-struck elder in a wheelchair.
But to these two kids, it was the alpha and omega, the summit of the world on which they could watch the storm rage beneath them as they ruled everything their eyes could see.
After gruelling attempts, Taylor had succeeded in climbing the theoretical mother of all trees with Anita's help.
Alas, treachery befell the poor girl, as Taylor, in his duplicitous rictus of evil, proclaimed to have prevailed upon this herculean task alone.
And now, friendless, abandoned in this harsh world, Anita had only herself to rely on. And she would. She would show her enemy how strong she was. She jumped and climbed, tired from previous attempts, but her spirit soaring bright.
One hard grasp after the other, she came close to the top, grunting and spitting and stepping with her muddy foot on the harshness the world threw at her.
*Witness me, Gods and kings, witness my might as I climb the mother tree, despair at my might, fear my recknon-*
"Fuck!"
Lost in her imagination, Anita slipped and was about to fall.
But Taylor the traitor still had some good in him, he lunged to help his esteemed rival, only to fall alongside her. In a puddle of mud, as it happens in fields during rain.
Splosh!
They cried, for the thousand kilometer fall had bruised them to the core.
But history shall remember them victorious, not for succeeding at the first try, but for getting back up after many falls.
Drying tears under the heavy rain, they nodded. The betrayal had been forgotten, Taylor had shown his true heart.
Together, they went at the mountain.
They stumbled, begged the other to hold the line, encouraged themselves with bitter tears.
And at the end of the universe, when the rain died out and the sun shone it's last rays upon the kids, they stood at the top of the world.
Happy, they went home.
"Mom, mom! You wouldn't believe the adventure I had today!" cheered Anita as she came home.
"Dad, I'm a superhero!" exclaimed Taylor upon opening the door.
When Martha Scapulet saw the dirt on her daughter's clothes, she shouted at her and grounded her for the day. When Andrew Montaigu noticed the scratches and the messy hair of his son, he cried out to the heavens and put him to sleep early.
The next day, Taylor and Anita met at school.
"My parents are dumb," said Anita.
"Mine too," answered Taylor.
When the teacher called names and asked the children to enter in rank, they held hands.
|
Princess Nadia dressed not in expensive finery and jewels, but tight-clad leather garb and tied her hair back. She was ready to go venture off and take a break from being a princess. Auburn hair tied into braids, a couple of daggers at her side, bow and quiver in hand, tight boots on her feet. She wore a hood and covered part of her face. She opened her window, silently jumping to a nearby tree.
Infamous bandit Reynolds Ghost had captured a civilian, and no one had the strength to defeat him. And finding him was another difficulty. He moved around and no one knew his hideout.
Princess Nadia used her sources and high position to seek more information, and was ready to go there herself to find and bring him to justice. Leaping tree to tree like a flying squirrel, she navigated the woods she had grown up playing in, despite her parents’ disapproval.
And some many miles later, she saw the cave. A variety of bandits walked in and out as torches lined the sides. A smirk graced Nadia’s face. They wouldn’t expect the princess to be fighting them.
Silently crouching among the tree branches, she reached back and pulled an arrow out of its quiver and nocked it in her bow. Drawing back at full strength, her eyes waiting for the perfect time to strike.
Ah, there! Looks like the bandit outside keeping guard is switching with another one. As the first one walked inside, she let her arrow fly. It went straight into the chest, ending his life swiftly.
Jumping down, she headed inside, switching her bow and arrows for her twin daggers, making quick work of any bandits she saw by sneaking up and killing them from behind. Hm… maybe Reynolds Ghost wasn’t here.
In one off-shoot of the main cavern, she saw him! Prince Austin. Dressed in peasant garb. What was he doing here? Why? She approached.
“I’m not telling you anything!” He snarled. Before he could say anything else, she had clamped a hand over his mouth.
“I’m here to rescue you!” She whispered. Austin calmed down instantly. “Be quiet.”
He obeyed as she went to work cutting his ropes.
“Where are you from?” He asked in a quiet voice.
“I’m from the palace.” She answered, both honestly and evasively.
“Wow! How’s the princess?”
She froze. Why would he ask? She thought Austin didn’t care about her.
“She’s good. As elegant and refined as always. I wasn’t particularly close with her.” Nadia lied as she cut away the last of his bonds and helped him to his feet.
“Oh.” Austin sounded deflated. “I thought she and I could be friends maybe.”
A twinge of guilt was in her heart after that. Though, maybe Austin could forgive her brief deceptions once they’re back at the palace?
“Let’s get out of here. Be careful, there might still be bandits.”
The way out was quieter than the way in. Reynolds Ghost wasn’t here, and Austin demonstrated some skilled unarmed combat abilities. Nadia was impressed.
And when they returned to the palace, her parents were in shock and awe.
“Prince Austin! We had heard word that you had been captured. But who’s your rescuer?”
“Hi mom.” Nadia took off her hood and scarf covering her face.
“Nadia!” Her mom burst out in rage, before settling back in her throne. “We’ll talk later. Guards, escort Austin to the east wing and show him the rooms there.”
Nadia stood there blankly as her mom lectured her about the dangers of this expedition. She barely registered any of it before she was instructed to check in on Prince Austin.
Walking there, her footsteps felt heavy and dread settled in. What if Austin was angry at her? He wanted to be friends, but what if he decided her lies were too great?
She knocked on his door.
“Come in.” He spoke.
Nadia entered, still in her leather clothes and wearing her weapons while he was dressed in more suitable silks and jewels.
“So… you’re Princess Nadia…” He said slowly.
“Yeah.” She shifted foot to foot, refusing to make eye contact. Silence followed.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were such an amazing fighter?” He gushed like an excited kid. What? Her eyes widened as she stared at him. “I would love to spar against you sometime!”
Perhaps she was wrong, Austin would make a good friend and didn’t mind her lies.
| 2021-08-20T09:46:34
| 2021-08-20T08:29:31
| 145
| 52
|
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him.
|
Number twenty five died slowly. Young college boy, a friend of her daughter - could have been more, with time. The blood had burst from his neck and sprayed her face with glistening droplets. She dragged her tongue along the knife's edge as she watched his mouth attempt to form words, managing only a hoarse groan. Her heart started beating rapidly as the eyes finally dimmed. *He* was coming.
She had caught a glimpse every time. The first murder had been an accident - she had killed some drunk in the early hours of a December morning. It was while she had attempted to resuscitate him - ignoring the crusted vomit at the edges of his mouth and the foul breath - that she had seen it. Just the eyes, and hints of a cloak. The eyes were eternity, the universe reflected back at her. She had become aware of every star that drifted in the cosmos, every life that hummed on this planet and all the ones like it.
Each time she had seen something else. The exact shade of rich, deep blackness that was his cloak, with number five. The elegant hands, gripping the soul tight and absorbing it into the bones - number ten. And tonight. Oh tonight, she would see it all. The blade was still resting on her lips when he approached the corpse. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, as if this one mattered.
She wept as she watched him gather the soul, not attempting to draw his attention. He had not seen her - she didn't know if he could. It was enough to feast on the whole of him, the completed puzzle, that bore the mask of man but was alien in his beauty.
He turned to face her. She dropped to her knees, the knife clattering to her feet. She was aware of him grasping her shoulders, lifting her up again. She unconsciously mimicked her last victim's groan, as he stared mercilessly into her eyes. No human should face those eyes alive, it occurred to her in the dim part of her mind that remained sane.
"It is good you have come. I am tired," he spoke, lips hardly moving. The voice echoed in her mind, splintering it further. She couldn't speak, but somehow he heard the questions.
"No, I do not love you. But you worship me now, don't you? Once you did not - once you even attempted to push me away, trying to save a man's life on a dark road one morning in December..." he whispered, his voice scraping away at her senses. She was faintly aware that she wanted to deny it. No, no, I've always loved you...always, my sweet...
"There are many that resemble you. Ones who love and wait and are never satisfied. The ones who have always loved me. The obsessed, the abandoned lovers. My..." he smiled then. "My stalkers." He gripped her shoulders, and she heard the bones crack as the fingers started digging into her flesh. To reach something. To find some elusive thing that was trying to hide.
"Ah, but you," she felt the cold grip her, as his fingers continued their search. "You will become me, and I you. And we will be young again, change as you have changed. For you once hated me, when you were sweet and innocent, with a revulsion for violence. But now you thirst, and you hunger for me. Now you would slaughter your daughter to meet me, wouldn't you, if it meant you could taste my kiss. It is a rare thing, transformed love. And I.."
He caught it, and pulled. She felt her soul ripped from her body, and he was absorbing it, drinking it in - more deeply than the others. They would be carried on, but she would stay here. She knew it. She would stay. She would become...
"I will live on," said Death. She glanced at the pitiful husk that once was hers. Such an ugly thing, drenched in blood. She admired her cloak of deepest midnight, her elegant hands. She spoke in a thousand devoured voices, singing along to the song they all knew so well. "I will never die."
|
“He is beautiful.
No matter that I never heard his voice, nor saw his face, shrouded in the shadow of his hood as it always was. His beauty lies not in countenance of face, nor sound of tongue. For me, his beauty is beholden to his stride, graceful and purposeful to his grim duty. It is in the gift that he brings, in his reaping of the crop that is life. It is in the faces of those to whom that gift is given; faces which, like a clear pool reflects the moon on a cloudless night, can offer but a sorry mimicry of his noble visage. I first glimpsed Him when I was but a girl, so long ago now that the memory is all but lost to the sands of the great Father who, in seeking to bless me, cursed me to never receive the gift of my beloved. I should explain.
It has become commonplace in your people’s tongue to reference the passage of varying quantities of time with “ages”. Yet for me, literal ages have passed since my childhood. I have watched civilisations wax and wane, rode mountains as they climbed towards the sky, and swam in oceans when they were but lakes. I believe there is a saying now for something which is very old: “Old as the hills”. I am older. Over the millennia I have not aged, I simply evolved. Adapted. But do not be deceived. I was there when the first murder was committed, over who had the right to lead. I was there when the first men started the first war, over some miniscule herd of livestock. I was there for the first plague, and every plague thereafter. Because so was He.
There are no plagues anymore. No wars, either. Death, in both meanings of the word, has become too random, too spontaneous. I had gone many years without seeing Him when I took my first. In order to fully understand the despair I felt, you must first understand my perception of time. What to you might seem an eternity is to me but a fleeting moment. I blink my eyes and cities rise and fall around me. I sleep, and when I awaken a new age has dawned. Such is the Father’s gift to me. Yet, when Death became scarce, ever moment to me was torture. I, who understood what it was to watch the centuries pass like leaves on the wind, felt every biting second of his absence. It gnawed at me like hunger gnaws the belly of a starving street rat. Or, rather, as it would were street rats still present in this hellish future you people have the gall to name “Utopia”.
So I killed.
I wish I could tell you I remember her well. That I see her face whenever I close my eyes, that she haunts my dreams, souring them to nightmares when I sleep. Honestly, I couldn’t recall a thing about her if I tried. I could tell you it was poison that killed her, used to keep from bloodying my dress. I could tell you that when He came for her, it was the closest we had ever been to one another. I could tell you that, as he stood over her, I almost saw beneath his hood. Almost. But none of that matters. You don’t care about that, not really. Already I know I have dwelled too long on her. She is insignificant. Let us continue.
The second was - well, that doesn’t really matter either now, does it? Not this one, nor the one after, nor the thousands that followed, one after another, pills being washed down with the water of life, blessing me with apparitions of unholy perfection.
No. Like the filthy horde that swarms around a travelling magician, you have no time for clever little tricks and jokes. You’re just here to see his assistant be sawed in half. Well, you’ve all paid your fee so I suppose it’s only fair that I uphold my end of the bargain. Into the box, Sharon, and we’ll begin.
The virus. My virus. My last hurrah, the big fix after which I would sleep until the end of the Father’s reign over this verse. It was supposed to end all life on this world. All except mine, of course. As you have probably gathered by now, it did not succeed. People died, of course. The world’s population was decimated, with over a billion killed by the time you managed to stop it. Yet billions more yet remain, a testament to my great failure.
You want me to apologise, I’m sure. To feign guilt and remorse. I won’t. I am guilty only of loving, and regret only that the one I love is forever beyond my reach, and I forever beyond his. Our paths run parallel, destined to walk forever side by side but never meet. That is my tragedy, your honour. I seek no mercy, only understanding. Do you understand?”
The judge remained motionless, staring through me with eyes of cold steel. I felt his disgust and returned it ten times over. He knew nothing of loathing.
“I understand only that you sought to destroy humanity. Your justifications are beyond my faculties of reason, and I see nothing in you but guilt.”
I knew that there was no value in pleading. My captivity was inevitable, but my hatred demanded release.
“Of course you see nothing else. How can you? You are but an insect, blissfully unaware of its inferiority to the superior being in whose presence it is allowed to exist. You intend to lock me up? You have my blessing. Sentence me to life imprisonment and I will watch your metal and stone wither and rot before my eyes. I will outlast any cell in which you throw me, and rest assured that when the walls finally crumble I will see humanity’s last day brought forward. You, I think, will not.”
The courtroom fell silent for a moment. I licked my lips, tasting the fear-laced silence. It was disappointingly bland.
“It is clear to me that the accused is too dangerous to be allowed to live”, the judge began. “Therefore, it is with a heavy heart that I must, for the first time in a thousand years, request that the jury permit a sentence of death.”
A moment of frenzied muttering amongst the jury members preceded a nod from their representative. The judge continued.
“Very well. Let it be known, then, that I hereby sentence the accused to death, by whatever means necessary. If it takes another thousand years of new science to develop, a means of execution will be found successful and **you**” I felt his eyes again at that, “will be put to death. Have you any closing words?”
I thought for a moment. I had anticipated many possible outcomes, but this was not among them. There was only one thing left to say, really.
“Good luck, your honour.”
Many years have passed since my sentencing. The opportunity for escape has presented itself several times since, but the judge’s promise always stayed my hand.
It isn’t that I believe him. I have tried to call Death to me many times in the past, to no avail. What chance then can humanity have to achieve what even I could not? No, I do not believe. But I can hope. And there are worse things than hope to keep one warm at night. Who knows? Maybe one day the humans will succeed, and my beloved and I will be together at last.
Maybe.
| 2014-06-30T06:16:23
| 2014-06-30T06:15:48
| 64
| 24
|
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
I look over at my new favorite mug. After they started showing actual rankings, I was proud to have my #19 mug. #19 out of the potentially billions of dads in the world. I felt pretty good about myself. I was wondering why it wasn't higher, but you can't really complain. The mugs were normally blank, but if whoever held it was a dad, it showed their name and ranking. I smile a quick smile, and head into my bedroom to watch a bit of TV. After a few minutes, I realize that I had forgotten my mug in the kitchen.
"Jeremiah!" I called out to my 15 year old son. "Could you grab my mug from the kitchen, please!?!?"
"Sure, Dad!" I heard in response. Having my son be so willing to help me out only solidified my feelings of being in that #19 spot.
My son comes in, holding my beloved mug, a cheery spring in his step. However, I am mortified by what I see. On the mug, it says:
"Jeremiah Carson. Rank: #231,658"
|
It was a snarky joke from my ex wife. A mug that said #200,485 dad.
We didn’t get along well anymore. I had tried to provide everything that my family would need. A house with a swing set in the backyard, but a split level, something she swore she would never live inAn SUV that was more than we could really afford, but heaven forbid she had to drive a minivan.
She left me for another man. More like five other men. Or more. I only knew about the first five. I tried to save our marriage, I tried to forgive her, but she didn’t want my forgiveness, she only wanted to hurt me.
So I focused all of my energy on the kids. Our two wonderful boys. Caught up in embers of a dying marriage. Wondering whether daddy or mommy would pick them up from daycare. I went to all the parent teacher conferences. I spent every waking moment trying to give them fun experiences. The zoo on the weekends, T-ball in the yard at night. Books before bed. Books when they woke up. Baths because boys smell! I even made them brush their teeth against their wishes. I couldn’t take them on fancy trips like she did. There were no cruises or trips to Disney in our future, just rides in the tractor and evenings spent checking cows.
But when she had my boys give me that mug the week before fathers Day, worlds #200,485 dad. I knew it was true. Try as I might I just couldn’t get ahead. I was not going to be able to give my boys the finer things in life. I almost threw that mug away when I got home. It would have been so easy to just drop it in the trash like she dropped all of my feelings in the trash. But I couldn’t.
What really stung is when I was making my boys breakfast on Father’s Day, pancakes and bacon, heir favorite my oldest asked where my mug was. I didn’t want to use that mug or even think about. There was no way I was going to drink my coffee out of a mug that my ex had used to hurt me. But he was adamant. Going so far as to rummage through the cupboard to find it for me.
When my five year old handed me that mug and gave me his selfless smile... it didn’t matter what the mug said. It only mattered that I had my boys and we are a family.
| 2019-04-18T18:25:29
| 2019-04-18T17:02:48
| 25
| 10
|
[WP] After mastering lucid dreaming you find you have complete control over other people’s dreams too. You can choose what they dream of down to the tiniest detail and even join them without them realising you’re actually real. Their subconscious is your playground. Hope they were nice to you.
|
Why can't I do it? Even in a dream, even with no serious consequence why can't I ever follow through?
I think about it all day, ever since I've had to make this choice I've know it's the right decision.
Ever since I started dreamwalking I've never hesitated to do what I intended to do to whoever I choose to do it to, there's no consequence. I've done some fun things, some scary things, some good things
Some bad things.
How can I not? I'm only human, the ability to make those I hate suffer the worst nightmare I can possibly imagine and I can watch and laugh in their face?
It's therapeutic.
My best friend lost his mother to some junkie trying to mug her for a quick fix, sometimes I let him dream of his mother, I never intervene with these dreams I just set the scene and let him enjoy. Other times we beat the shit out of the smack head together, I mean really fuck him up,
I try to be good with my gift,
But sometimes I forget about the real world, the decisions I make are real, they impact the world, the ones around me and no amount of dreaming can change reality.
I've been dreaming of the same thing for a month now, ever since the accident..
It's hard to say goodbye, It's hard to let her go..
Even in a coma I can still dream with her, we go to the places we played as kids, the first time we kissed..the first time we fucked, our wedding day.
But her voice is fading..
This isn't reality..
It's time to let her go..
Goodbye my love.
|
######[](/dropcap)
When I first realized I was having the same enjoyable dream frequently, I thought it was my subconscious crying out for more adventure in life. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop feeling the wind rush through my hair and hearing the roaring in my ears as I jumped a hundred yards at a time. It became expected, that I would go to sleep and enjoy the feeling of flying. I even began to feel the effects during the day, a pulling to curl up into a ball and nap my way into the skies.
Eventually, leaping wasn't enough and I decided to actually try and fly. It was in that moment, a couple thousand feet in the air staring at my home town in perfect order as it would be on an aerial map, that I realized what was happening. I had actually been lucid dreaming the entire time. Not coincidence or just a recurring theme, I found that if I thought about things before I went to sleep a deeper part of me would help me make them real in dreamworld. Flying was just the beginning, I could rip telephone poles out of the ground with my mind, use them like match sticks to build giant forts. I traveled to the great barrier reef and whooshed through the water faster than any submarine, danced with the dolphins and even talked to them! Who would have thought they were such brilliant conversationalists?
I asked a co-worker out on a date and she said that even though she liked me, it didn't seem like a good idea. I knew what she really meant, that I was too unattractive for a girl as pretty as her. Well, that's what she said in the real world, at night she sang a different tune. In fact she would sing any tune that I asked her to, and in a much more melodic and sonorous voice than she could have in the drab world. I don't think she ever understands the smiles I sometimes give her. If she only knew how wild she was capable of being!
One night I got drunk with some friends and my oldest and truest friend went up on the roof with me to smoke a joint. I turned to him after taking a big hit and said " This area of the city has the best roof tops, you can get a complete view of the city by going to just three of them."
"Dude, you are drunk. We're not going to two other rooftops just for some skylines, I don't have enough weed for that."
"Oh, haha right. Of course not." I said nervously
You ever look back on what a dumpster fire your life has become and really think about the events that lead you there? Sometimes if you have a clear memory and really see the order of events you can trace it all back to one moment. One single conversation or action that was the first domino that eventually knocked everything down. My bestfriend was my domino.
"Wait...have you been going to roof tops and checking the views or something?" Neal asked
"What? No way, I wish I had that kind of free time to just do this more often. You think the guys are going to head home soon? Maybe we should cash that and head back in for one more game of pool."
"Oh my god you have haven't you! You even tried to change the subject after denying it!" Neal said excitedly
"Neal, dude you're tripping right now what's the deal?" I asked
"Seriously, that's what you're going to go with, *with me*? I know you better than you know yourself nerd so you might as well spit it out so we can have a laugh about it. You know i'll never let this go." Neal said completely engaged in this now.
I knew he was telling the truth. Neal loves gossip and secrets, once he gets a whiff of anything that might be considered "privileged information" he was relentless. So I told him, of course. And he didn't believe me, of course.
So...I showed him. Man, was that ever a mistake...
>>> Thanks for reading guys if you liked where this is going I might write more later when i have time. If you want to read some cooler stuff I've written check out my [sub](https://www.reddit.com/r/LurkerAscended/) and maybe try my serial Son of Stingers
| 2018-06-19T13:50:53
| 2018-06-19T13:21:05
| 534
| 99
|
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.
|
This happens to everyone who dares hold on long enough.
But my family keep me going, they're always around.
I have a husband, a child, a sister.
I have a husband and a child?
I have a daughter, she's beautiful...
I have nobody, I'm alone...
Who are these people?
I'm not "mum".
Go away.
Nurse!
|
Quick, whoever you are, I need you to please listen! I am a scientist using an experimental time machine. But it is not working as we intended. We are being pulled back and forth. Into one timeline, and then back. And each time is shorter! Almost out of time... Please, send help! Oh no... Nooooooo-
| 2015-01-27T12:54:32
| 2015-01-27T11:28:50
| 41
| 15
|
[WP] You just moved to a new neighborhood and you hear the music of an ice cream truck coming down the street. As you and your family walk outside you notice all your neighbors rushing inside and locking their doors and windows.
|
It sat in front of my driveway. Quiet now, the engine and music both turned off, it was no longer a symbol of joy. Now it rested sinister. Silent, still, waiting, representative of something much, much worse. The flurry of keys turning in their locks and children quickly ushered inside had now ceased, leaving nothing behind but thin, empty air. That, and the van that waited outside my window. Fingers tapping nervously on the wooden desk to my front, I felt afraid, and for good reason. Ice cream vans rarely provoke fear. But with this sombre vehicle, with its slightly off key music, skewed pictures of frozen treats, heavily tinted windows and position stationed directly in front of my house, it seemed to provoke nothing but.
This wasn't a bad neighbourhood by any stretch. Nothing amazing about it, yes, but nothing that stood out as harrowing either. The people seemed nice. Friendly enough. Slight hand gestures from time to time was all it took. Yes, none of them had come around with flowers or welcoming gifts or open arms but this was the 21st Century, no one did that in the 21st Century. So the hand gestures proved enough. The only person, thus far, to which I had entered into what could loosely be referred to as discourse, was the old man who lived alone, at the end of the street.
"Jimmy."
He had said, as I walked past.
"Pardon?"
"Jimmy. Names Jimmy."
"Oh, um... Max."
"Pleasure ta meet ya Max."
"You too."
He had then stared at me. As if he was studying me. Growing uncomfortable, as anyone in my position might, I turned, once again, to leave.
"Max."
"Yes."
"One last thing... Welcome,"
and he had smiled. But if I was to be certain of only one thing following that conversation, it would be this. That smile was not friendly, sympathetic, or welcoming. It was the smile of a man who knew something I did not. Something that, from the way the corners of his lips arched upwards, seemed nothing but ominous.
15 minutes. 15 minutes passed then came the hand. Nestled through a crack in the tinted serving window, it was obviously directed at me. Palm facing upwards. Open. Two fingers curled backwards motioning me to approach. Then the hand retreated and the window shut. I pulled out my phone.
Melissa;
Something strange happening. If you don't hear from me in half an hour, send photo of this van to the police. Do not worry yet.
Click. Attach. Send.
Descending the wooden steps to the ground floor of my suburban home, I opened the door and stepped out to the street.
Tap. Once, on the glass. Tap. Twice, on the glass. Tap. Three times. Then slowly, the glass pulled back.
"I have something for you."
He said immediately. The man was pale. Almost deathly so. His hair wispy. His face showing the cracks of age, his teeth showing the stains of time. I did not respond to this. There was a reason the neighbours had locked their doors. A reason I did not wish to know. He chuckled at my silence.
"You're all the same. Every last one of you."
Then he handed me a note, turned on his heels, slid the window shut, started the engine, and drove off, back, to where he came.
Still holding the paper in my hands I went to return to my house. Turned 180 degrees, once again facing the street, then stopped. Every single house. Every one of them, had faces peering from behind curtains. Staring directly at me. The children, parents, families, couples and loners. All looking at me with the same pale, dead eyes. Slowly, I opened the note.
Be careful, it read.
They are not normal here.
And the faces continued to stare.
|
The little girl could hear the ice cream truck approaching her street. She put down her toys and ran to her father. “Daddy, Daddy, can I get some ice cream. Paweeeease?” The father put down his sports magazine. “Now Matilda, we have some ice cream in the fridge. Your father bought your favorite flavor of gelato, and plus it is organic and low in sugar.” The father pulled his magazine back up, but the young girl was persistent. “But I don’t want gelato, I want ice cream!” The father did not waver in his determination to read about the top college draft picks. So young Mitilda continued, “My room is clean, I fed Fishy, and I promise to eat all my vegitables. Please, please, please, pleassssssse!!!”
The father sighed knowing he had lost. “Fine but only if you promise not to tell daddy.” The little girl nodded viciously and ran to the front door and began to put on her shoes. The father slipped on his sandals and followed Matilda out the door. He thought to himself, maybe he could meet some of the other parents in the neighborhood. Matilda was already standing by the mailbox when he finally made it outside, bouncing up and down in excitement for the ice cream truck that was growing ever nearer. He recognized one of the mothers who was watching her children draw with chalk their drive way. “Hey Susan,” the father said loudly. Realizing he was talking to her Susan stood up from her chair, “It’s Sarah,” she turned to her boys “Lets go inside.” Before she could reach the door he tried yelling across the street “I’m sorry I’m bad with…” the door slammed shut loudly, “names.”
The father sighed as he walked up to his daughter realizing the other parents and kids were heading inside their houses. He placed his hands on Matilda’s shoulders, and for the first time listened to the ice cream’s trucks music. It sounded broken and deep in tone. He looked down at his daughter who was still bouncing in excitement. If the ice cream is bad at least she wouldn’t ask for it again. It began to get cloudy, and the father thought maybe the other parents went inside because of the weather and not because of him. “Alright Matilda, it looks like it is going to rain, so once we get the ice cream we are going into the house, okay?” “Hm-hmmm” Matilda hummed trying to peer down the street so she could first look at the ice cream truck.
“Daddy, Daddy look!” The girl said enthusiastically “The ice cream man!” Sure enough it was the much anticipated ice cream truck. The truck was a mustard yellow, had a crack over the passengers seat, and had it’s right mirror hanging off. The man driving the truck looked to be 80 years old and appeared to be asleep. The truck stopped right in front of Matilda, who did not see the truck for the piece of garbage it was, she was only fixated on the faded pictures of frozen treats.
“Well hello princess!” The truck driver said with an unexpected level of charm and tenderness. “What can I get you both?” Matilda put her hand up as if she was in the classroom asking a question. “Yes my lady,” the old man asked sweetly. Matilda looked up at the man as if she had something very important and pressing to say, “I would like a rocket pop!” The driver hit his window like a lap drum “One rocket pop, coming right up!” He turned around and cut open the wrapper for the little girl and handed to her “now careful dear, don’t get it on your clothes. Now sir what can I get you?” The father raised his hands waving, “Oh no thank you, nothing for me.” The little girl turned around and looked pouty “Come on daaaaaaaad.” With the girl swinging on his right hand, he caved in “Fine one rocket pop.” “Yahhhh!” the little girl exclaimed as she ran with his rocket pop out in front of her towards the house. Just as the ice cream man and done for the girl, he played the drums on the window of the van and retrieved a rocket pop for the father. Cutting this wrapper off and saying “Now don’t get popsicle on your clothes or the Miss’s will be upset.” Not wanting to correct the older gentlemen, the father nodded and smiled “I will be sure not to. Now how much do I owe you?”
The ice cream man pulled out a calculator and began typing into in feverishly. “2 rocket pops… that’ll be… $30! Cash only.” The father was shocked to hear $30 dollars as the tab for some mediocre popsicles. “That can’t be right I only bought two popsicles.” The truck driver nodded “Oh! Let me do that math again. 2 rocket pops… 15 dollars each… times 2… yup, $30! Cash only.” The father couldn’t believe this outrageousness. “It’s water, that has sugar and flavor added to it, and was frozen on a tiny piece of wood. I do not believe that is worth $30.” The driver stared blankly at the father and shrugged his shoulders “That sounds like a lot to me!” The father was about to say what was really on his mind, but the old ice cream man spoke first. “Listen sir, if you didn’t want the popsicle you shouldn’t have ordered one.” Placing the popsicle on the van’s window “Here I don’t want it any more. I didn’t even lick it.” The ice cream man looked insulted “I can’t take that back it has been open, you don’t expect me to sell that to another customer do you? There are health codes!” The father had enough and yelled “What I expect is not to be charged $15 for a friggin’ popsicle!” “Well sorry about your luck! If you didn’t want it, then you shouldn’t have ordered it! My prices are clearly labeled on the door!” The old man pointed down as feebly as he could.
Sure enough each popsicle was $15. It was marked clearly on the door.
“Daddy?” both looked at Matilda who in 2 minutes managed to cover her face in the blue and red of the rocket pop. “Are you coming in soon, it looks like rain.” The father sighed hoping his daughter didn’t see him being rude to this elderly man. He reached into his wallet and plopped the $30 on the window door. “I’m sorry for any trouble, have a good day.” The father said turning his back on the driver. The ice cream man grabbed the money and in a huff walked to the driver’s seat and drove away. The father grabbed his daughter’s hand and they both walked into the house before the rain started. He smiled to himself; now knowing the real reason the parents went inside.
| 2016-06-14T19:12:34
| 2016-06-14T18:06:16
| 100
| 73
|
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