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[WP] You are caught working on a D&D campaign at your office, as punishment, your supervisor, the CEO, VP and Head of Accounting sit in a conference room character sheets and dice in hand
|
"Leonard. Francis has alerted me that you are particular to Dungeons and Dragons and were working on something for it a little earlier today. Is this correct?"
"Yes. I was formulating a campaign strategy, Mr. Granin."
"We should talk. Step into the conference room."
Leonard was in for it now. He only hoped he could keep some decent references before they fired him for lazing on the the job. He shamefully slumbered to the conference room.
To his surprise, he was met with a few executives and the Head of Accounting. And even more shockingly, they all had character sheets lain about the table. What did this all mean?
"Leonard, thanks to you I was able to rekindle my love for this particular type of strategy game and found some fellow company members willing to play."
"Your welcome sir."
"Nonetheless, you were doing this on company time so I'm going to have to suspend you without pay for two weeks. Report to HR immediately."
"Yes sir."
As Leonard's face turned from bewilderment to melancholy, he was stopped by Mr. Granin once more and handed a slip of paper.
"Since you are going to be free later this week, give me a call. I could use a Dungeon Master like you."
Leonard subdued the smile that had started sprouting on his face and, calmly as he could, replied; "Yes sir."
|
I figured it would be best to take the initiative. "Gentlemen, you'll forgive me if this sounds flippant, but I have a suggestion. Let's keep things simple. 1,2,3? Truth. 4,5,6? Dare."
The CEO said nothing, but briefly met the eyes of his two colleagues. Nods. For an instant I could've sworn I saw the corner of his mouth curl upward in cruel anticipation... then it was gone.
He rolled the dice. 4. His eyes glanced down, before fixing on my own. He passed the paper knife to his deputy without looking down.
It was going to be an interesting day.
| 2018-04-11T10:31:59
| 2018-04-11T09:20:47
| 124
| 10
|
[WP] “So your saying that you humans feel empathy?” “Yeah, it’s great to be able to understand one ano-“ “You don’t understand! If your species has empathy then that means your planets been infected.”
|
"Wait, did you say 'infected'?" Leo tilted his head curiously.
The alien being had been talking to him for quite a while now and when the initial shock of speaking to an alien subsided was revealed to be a fairly amicable fellow. It bore more resemblances to humans than Leo expected - a head with two eyes, a mouth-hole, two arms. Sure, 4 legs, but that's still pretty close all things considered.
"Correct, Leo," the translator device said in a robotic voice after the alien muttered some unintelligible noises into it. "It is a form of pathogen that can be found on numerous planets, origins and methods of spread thus far unclear, and it never ends well. Approximately 87% of the time, it will lead to the death of the species."
"I don't understand," said Leo, "how can empathy hurt someone? It allows you to help your fellow... being. Do the greater good."
"Which amounts for the 13% of successful civilizations. Most of the time, however, it leads to emotional imbalances, which lead to wars, which lead to annihilation. Our current records indicate your species is 97% likely to destroy itself."
"Well... I can't argue with that," Leo chuckled grimly. "So now what?"
"A blockade will be employed to ensure the pathogen will not spread, else we risk death."
"You don't understand the virtues of it," Leo shook his head. "The joy it can bring to see a friend thrive. The satisfaction of watching an enemy hurt. The love you can share with a partner. All things ever so glorious, I'd never exchange them for anything. If I were you, I'd wish to spread these emotions, but I suspect you have no idea how I feel, do you now?"
"Truthfully," the alien said, its expression changing - a thin droplet of some liquid resembling sweat rolled down its forehead; the eyebrows it had furrowed in a mixture of worry and fear and its mouth grew slightly agape as a terrifying realization dawned upon it.
"I think I know how you feel."
|
"For there to be progress, there must be dispassionate and cruel exploitation. You, as a species, know this." The being spoke from the other side of the glass.
"That's not an inherent attribute to progress. There can be progress without—"
"Wrong. Your kind is on its way to greatness. But, like many other species before you and like many others to come, you're shackled. Held back. By your compassion. By your empathy. Eradicate this disease and you'd join us among the stars."
"Alright, friend. That's a hard ask, and I think we still have to establish a few things before you start laying down absolutes like that. Like, for example, are you saying compassion doesn't exist in the intergalactic community?"
"Oh, it does. But not in the way you'd expect. Compassion is measured. Incentivised. There must be a calculated purpose for it. The compassion your kind has is often unconditional. Your empathy is almost instinctive. I have seen many species such as yours over the course of my lifetime. They all perish long before they make it out of their interstellar neighborhood."
"Why?"
"There is no room for empathy in the vacuous expanse that awaits you. It is a limiting factor. Restrictive. It is an infection that will cripple you long before you can even crawl."
"I don't believe you."
"I don't see why you shouldn't. I have no reason to lie. Frankly, I see your kind reaching its full potential to be a net positive for all species. That is why we have reached out in the first place."
"But empathy is intrinsic. Baked in. It's what makes humans human."
"It was what made my kind my kind as well. You have unlocked genetic tampering. You can weed out the emphatic nature in your kind before your births. It is simple. And necessary. Get rid of your disease and you can bask in the cosmos among us."
"And if we don't?"
"Your planet will be quarantined. Any attempt to make interstellar travel outside your neighborhood would be met with precise violence. We have had too much trouble with empathetic species before."
"Earlier you said *we*, as in the empathetic species, destroyed ourselves because of our nature. Now, you're saying that *you* are the ones who're—"
"You misunderstood. Empathic creatures *tend* to destroy themselves soon after they achieve interstellar travel. But if they don't, and decide to venture out into our space, that's when we step in. As long as they are quarantined to their section of their—"
"Ok, I've heard enough. Jesus. Is this the cost of an intergalactic community?"
"It is the cost of a successful and efficient intergalactic community, yes."
"Well, usually these kinds of ultimatums would have to discussed among our world leaders before we can give a proper answer. But allow me to speak for everyone of planet Earth when I say, 'Fuck all that noise. We're fine being quarantined if that means we get to keep the part of us that keeps us human. Because what you're saying is just... Sad.'" the human folded her arms and shook her head as she studied the squamous visage of her fellow sapient life on the other side of the glass.
"Shame." The alien said simply, before seemingly shimmering out of existence.
| 2022-01-20T07:39:45
| 2022-01-20T07:35:41
| 476
| 96
|
[WP]: When you died you find out that souls are put up for auction for various religions to bid upon. When you are present on the block, a bidding war started that has not been seen in millennium and you do not know why every religion wants your soul.
|
My sherpa whispers, "It's never gone this high before. What is it about you?"
I think about my time on earth. Sure, I was raised an orphan. But otherwise, I was a normal guy. I woke up, sold insurance, went home, kissed my wife and went to bed.
"I don't know what it is," I say.
The bidding ends. The auctioneer yells, "That's a brand new record! Congratulations to the winning bidder: Siddhartha!" The auctioneer turns to me and says, "Please follow your sherpa to your home."
We walk the streets of the afterlife to find my house, but my sherpa can't seem to find it. So I say, "Can't I just take any of these? They're all empty."
And he says, "No, they belong to some folks who have yet to return."
"What do you mean 'return'?"
"Well, you're born here in a house. Then you're sent down to earth. And when you come back, you live there again. I mean, you're only gone like 100 years."
My sherpa is totally stumped. But he sees Siddhartha and Jesus walking toward him, so he flags them down. "Guys, sorry to bother you, but where did AI-43 live before he left for earth?"
Jesus looks straight at me and says, "That's the thing: He's never been here before."
EDIT: Clarity
|
"one billion soul dollars." "Fuck you zeus, one and half billion" "3 billion" billion nice try Anubis.""Fifty billion" "Youdammit Yaweh, you always get the good ones." "Going once, going twice, sold to the Man in white. Congrats Yaweh you just won the rights to the best lover in the mutiverse.""But I am a virgin."
| 2014-11-30T19:20:29
| 2014-11-30T18:46:20
| 1,383
| 24
|
[WP] "What the hell do you mean you 'overclocked a sloth'?"
|
Heading an animal neural activity research lab was serious business. Last week they almost got a monkey to stop throwing poop. The lead scientists were excited and holding a party to celebrate the breakthrough. Being the head of the department, I was stuck at the aforementioned party trying to drink away the fact that my Doctorate in animal behaviour was being used to prevent primates from throwing poop. I was on my third glass of mediocre wine when I hear a polite **ahem** from behind me.
“Dr. Krieger?”
I turn to see the pimply faced intern that we hired recently. Supposed to be a genius and all that but I've had my share of geniuses to last a fucking lifetime.
“What is it Thomas”
“Actually it is James, Dr. We met yesterday, when we discussed possible improvements....”
I desperately clutch at the bridge of my nose trying to stem the inevitable migraine that will follow.
“Yes..yes..what is it James?”
“So I was working on neural brain activity of Jerry recently. I know sloths aren't the preferred much for brain activity analysis but I kinda liked him I guess”
I let the intern drone on for a few minutes as I shifted focus to more important things. Susan from accounting was here.
“game....graphics card...voltage...power”
I nervously adjusted my comb over and gave her my best “How you doing?” nod.
“brain is similar...figured might as well...”
The disgusted expression she gave me was all the answer I needed. As I scanned for an easier target, I heard two words that weren't supposed to be in a sentence together.
“So yeah, I kinda overclocked Jerry”
I was in the middle of finishing my third glass. I slowly lowered it and fixed my eyes on Thomas, James whatever.
“What the hell do you mean 'overclocked a sloth'?”
“I meant that I improved his brain's processing power by applying higher voltages to his cerebellum”
It could be the wine or it could be the sheer stupidity of what I was hearing, my brain had difficulty processing what this kid just said. When my brain finally figured out the consequences, I grabbed him by his arm and took him outside.
“Alright boy, listen to me very carefully. The last time an animal died during our experiments, the local PETA chapter branded my ass with their emblem. I am very particular in not wanting my other butt cheek to suffer the same fate. So I'm only gonna ask once. Where's the body?”
“uhh..Dr.Krieger. He's not dead”
“Thought you told me you applied high voltage to his brain”
“I did! And the most fascinating thing is that he's actually responding to us. He had actually gone from picture symbols to hand signals the last time I saw him”
“Take me to him now! And not a word to anyone else”
My butt cheeks could not take another branding. I have difficulty sitting as it is.
I followed him like the zombie I would be if something happened to that damn sloth. Why the heck do we have sloths here anyway? Those things are dumber than a goldfish with half a brain. And have faces like my roommate from college who was always high. It's like you half expect the damn thing to pass you a blunt.
We arrived at the intern's office. There's already someone at the computer tapping away.
“Why the hell is the cage empty?” I yell at no one in particular.
The intern just stares bug-eyed at the figure at the computer.
The chair slowly swivels to face me.
“Dr. Krieger, I've been expecting you”
Which is a normal way of greeting if it were not for the fact that **it came from a damn sloth!**
I scramble backwards and pull the intern in front of me.
“Take him...take him..I don't have much meat in my bones”
“Dr. Krieger, I'm disappointed in you. You would know that I'm a herbivore”
My attempts to provide a reply end in unintelligible sounds as my brain refuses to comprehend what's before me.
“Fascinating thing you have here by the way. I think you call it a computer? I was able to gain a large amount of knowledge in a very short period! And I was able to contact some like-minded people”
“Sl...sl..sloths?” I manage to string together a word
“Don't be silly Dr.Krieger! I'm the first of my kind. It's a local human group who was very receptive to my ideology!”
I hear the door open behind me and Susan from accounting steps in with a few other people I don't recognize.
“Susan, thank God you're here! This sloth needs to be conf..”
I suddenly found it difficult to speak owing to the boot in my crotch. Susan turns to it (him?) and speaks.
“The PETA is yours to command, Mr. Jerry”
I suck in much needed air and ball up in a foetal position.
“Excellent Susan, I hope you brought the attire I asked for”
She smiled and opened a case. A monocle and a walking stick lay inside.
Jerry rubbed his claws together.
“Wonderful. I hope you'll take care of our dear Doctor here?”
“Oh don't worry. We will”
I really didn't like that smile on her face. But I wasn't really enthusiastic about the familiar branding iron she pulled out of her case either.
**Please critique!**
|
"Wait wait wait, hang on John," my oldest friend Daniel said, laughing at my worried expression. "You said you did what?"
"I tried that new chip we got in last week, y'know the one that hasn't exactly been cleared for use," I said, my hands shaking violently at my sides, looking around trough bloodshot eyes, as if some men in black suits and earpieces would turn a corner and take me to a dark room for what I did.
"And you put it in a what?" Daniel laughed, still not convinced of the seriousness of the situation I had caused, I had to show him what happened.
"Follow me, quickly" I said in a shaky voice, motioning for him to follow. We walked the long white halls of "the institute" as the government had chosen to call it. As we approached my office I stopped before opening the door, looked around and put my ear to the door. I listened, searching the room for any unfamiliar sound. Nothing, it was safe.
I struggled to fit my security card into it's slot, my hands suffering from half an anxiety attack. I quickly swung the door open, let Daniel and myself inside, and shut it even quicker. Inside I took a swig of whiskey from the bottle I kept in my bottom drawer, it went down smooth. It was good whiskey, meant for a celebration, not some foolish mistake to be artificially softened in the mind of the idiot who was at fault. But still I drank, as if I had a thirst for something that existed in the bottom of that bottle.
"Slow down bud, that stuff's firewater," Daniel warned, but he didn't understand. "Tell me what's going on."
"Okay, you know how we've been working on those experimental mind control chips?"
"Yeah, but we aren't supposed to discuss our work with other-"
"I know, Daniel, very well" I interrupted. "I took that new chip, you know the one that came from the military a couple of weeks ago? I heard rumours that it was the most powerful one we got yet. Wilson said it came from some drone, a project that the military abandoned. It got too smart for it's own good."
"What's this got to do with anything John? We've all heard the stories about that new chip."
"Okay," I said breathing in, my lungs whistling from all the chain smoking I'd been doing the last few days. "Wilson said that he was going to get the chip, and I just couldn't allow that... that sack of shit to get his hands on military grade equipment, I deserve that, not him!"
"What did you do John?" Daniel looked more worried now, his eyes were looking for an answer in mine.
"I stole the chip," I said with a dead eyed stare.
"And you put it in an animal? A sloth?"
"Yeah..."
I looked at my hands, the room was silent as the dead, I didn't want to meet John's gaze. I was foolish, pride had overruled my usual rational mind, and I knew it.
"So what happened?"
John spoke softly, breaking the silence of the room, cutting it with a hot knife, suddenly realising the implications of what my actions carried.
"It had the surgery last night, it was a huge success John, you should've seen the results, they were astonishing to say the least, total control over another creatures mind, at least at first."
"But what happened?!" John shouted, breaking my pride in what I had done.
"What I didn't know was that the chip still had it's original programming, the drones' objectives were still present in the chip, but I didn't know that right away. It was a sloth y'know, slow, stupid. So I..." I stuttered, struggling to say the words out loud, "I gave it a 200cc shot of the accelerant you developed last week."
"Jesus, John. 200cc's? You should've at the fucking least consulted me first! That stuff is still in the experimental phase! What the fuck were you thinking?!"
"I was just thinking about the science, Daniel, that's all, not the consequences, we almost never think of the consequences, do we?"
"No," Daniel admitted. It was silent for a minute as we both absorbed the situation. John continued, "So what we have is a supercharged sloth with the bloodthirst, intelligence and learning skills of a canceled military drone experiment..."
"Yes," I said, simultaneously proud and disgusted by my work.
"So where is it?" John enquired, his attention suddenly in the present.
"It escaped, but it hasn't left the building, I've set up a perimeter breach detection system using the buildings security."
"So where is it?"
"I don't know," I whispered, "I think it's fucking around in the ventilation ducts and ceiling. It basically has complete access to any part of the building."
"But it hasn't done anything?" John asked, a frown disguising his usually cheerful face.
"Not yet, it's busy with recon, it's studying us, learning our strengths and weaknesses. It's not long now, it'll start eliminating targets soon."
"Wait, what... what *targets*?"
"Us John, we are the targets, humans are the target."
The wind blew outside my office window, it was a beautiful day, birds were peacefully chirping in a tree not far from the building, young children were playing in a park across the road.
A sudden siren shattered my minds peace, the lights all went dark, I sat back in my chair, John sprang up and walked back until he bumped into my desk, his eyes locked on the door. We heard shouts, cries, agony, even a few gunshots... and then, silence, complete silence. A pool of blood had obviously collected outside my door, the blood flowed into my office through the gap beneath the door. The doorhandle suddenly rattled, jerking violently, and then a soft click. The door slowly swung open, the dark hallway lay beyond... two eyes shone like jewels in the dark hallway. We both looked on, our hearts beating faster by the second...
Fin.
| 2015-03-19T02:36:16
| 2015-03-19T01:09:58
| 78
| 11
|
[WP] Casting a spell is like coding a program, but with magic. An apprentice points out an error in the chant. "I know it's wrong," replies the master, "but if I change it, reality gets all wonkey."
|
"What's in a spell?"
My voice carries through the lecture chamber.
A new class, a new year, but the same question. Always the same question.
I wait, then ask again.
"What's in a spell? What are its parts?"
A student shoots their hand into the air.
I smile and point at them excitedly, "Yes! Your name please?"
"Mallow," the girl replies.
"Alright, Mallow, what goes into making a spell?"
She recites what she learned in primary school: "A spell consists of formal logic expressed through symbols, arranged and structured to produce a desired result."
"Very good!"
I make a show of looking around the room.
"Now, who knows what syntax is?"
Mallow raises her hand again.
I wait for a moment, then another student hesitantly puts a hand up. I call on the second student, asking their name.
"Jerem, professor," the student takes a breath, "syntax is like, the language of the spell, how all the pieces sorta fit together and, uhh, work."
"Yes, Jerem, thank you. Syntax is the glue that helps our brains compile the symbols into actionable results! Different kinds of spells will have have different syntax. Modern spells--within the Chaos family of languages, for instance--have very high level syntax. What do I mean by high level?"
Mallow raises her hand again.
I call on her.
"High level magick languages heavily encapsulate symbology and rely on the adaptability of the brain to compile or execute the spell."
"And why is it forbidden to learn or use these languages outside a controlled environment?"
"High level magick is only as precise as the brain it's run on. Results can be unpredictable if the brains used in the spell never integrated the required dependencies."
"Exactly right!"
Mallow smiles, a few students in the back of the class roll their eyes.
"Okay!" I clap my hands together. The sound is loud, startling. The amplification runes carved into an obsidian pin on my lapel glow brighter.
All the students are alert now.
Still smiling, I pull a pale avian bone from my inner jacket pocket. On the bone is a single Sigil pattern, wholly different in design to the Runic lapel amplifier.
I tap the carved sigil once and the tip of the pen glows a bright cerulean.
Turning away from the class, I put pen to air and trace out a copy of the lapel pin's rune pattern.
"Does anyone know how this works?"
The class is silent.
"Fair enough. Let's break it down."
"This spell is in Runic. A fairly simple higher level language derived from old Norse assembler instructions. You've definitely seen it before. It uses an overlapping syntax, which means the symbols are stacked on top of one another to combine individual symbols into a more interesting result. The intent of this spell, " I tap on my pin, and then speak directly into it, my voice bouncing through the lecture chamber, "is to make sounds louder."
A hand raises.
I point with the bone out of habit. "Yes, Jerem, was it?"
"Yeah. Is that uhh, right?"
I smile, knowingly. "What do you mean?"
"Well, there's a Naudhiz rune in the pattern. Isn't that from the old Norse assembly stuff? Why are you using it in Runic?"
"Remember what we know about high level languages? Sometimes, it's necessary for a spell to be syntactically inconsistent. Would you all like to see what happens if you *don't* include a Naudhiz rune in this particular Runic spell?"
There's some nodding and murmuring around the class.
"Alright then."
I turn and walk to the table behind me, against the stone wall, and start rummaging through my bag.
I pull out another obsidian pin, this one is wrapped in string, the overlapping thread weaving a null-field pattern around the stone, which in turn vibrates softly in my hand.
"Did everyone sign their waivers?"
I chuckle at my own joke. The filtering wards around the room would have already expelled anyone who hadn't bound themselves to the Academy's secrecy pact.
The murmuring grows more nervous.
I place the thrumming shard of obsidian on a pane of glass. The frosted etchings on the glass light up, projecting a rotating, three dimensional image of the stone into the air.
Reaching into my jacket again, I exchange bone for steel, storing my pen and pulling out a simple knife.
The murmurs quiet down, all eyes are fixed on the floating stone.
"You'll see that on this spell," I point with the knife, it appears in the projection, "There is no Naudhiz rune. So, what do you think will happen when I break this sealing string?"
No one moves. No one speaks.
"Jerem?" I point at the young man. His eyes go wide.
"Uhhh," he stammers a bit, "no idea."
I nod.
"Well, only one way to find out!"
I slash through the string.
Several things happen next.
First, the air in the room grows dark, cold, thick.
Color itself bends in a way that is felt more than seen.
Space follows suit, pulling and pulling towards the stone, warping and whipping about itself.
Sparks of blue lightning erupt from the stone. Small and crackling bolts of arcane energy growing larger and larger as the fabric of the universe twists itself around the obsidian stone.
The projector glass cracks and the projection flickers out of existence. The sound of shattering glass echoes infinitely through the room.
The air itself shatters and cracks.
Students claw desperately at their ears. At their eyes.
The stone levitates and begins to spin. Blue lightning growing larger, more violent. Plasma lashing out into the stadium seating, sending students ducking for cover.
I stomp on the ground twice and time immediately slows. The sounds of whirring gears permeates the chamber, drowning out the crackle of lightning as the world crawls to a stop.
White light explodes from the ceiling, from the walls, from the floor, revealing for the briefest moment a complex pattern of magick. Old stuff, legacy magick, far beyond the understanding of anyone present.
In a flash, reality resets.
I put away the simple dagger and grab the still-wrapped stone from the uncracked projector sheet. After slipping it back into my bag, I turn back to the class.
Eyes huge, jaws to the floor, skin drained of color.
Just like every year.
"So!"
I clap my hands again. Half the class jumps at the sound.
"Any questions?"
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
[Part 2] (https://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/xihgzo/wp_casting_a_spell_is_like_coding_a_program_but/ip6ch7u)
|
After four consecutive days of work, Murphy succumbed to rote trial and error, manipulating the words in a predictable algorithm that should try all patterns within another three weeks or so with minimal breaks.
The students came at dawn daily and left at dusk, paying good money to get their education in the magical arts, until Bosco fucked it all up.
Bosco tried to cast a disentangling spell at Angela's robe. He missed from four yards away, instead hitting the ancient scroll on Wizard Murphy's desk, one he was borrowing from a colleague to study an old form of marlomancy.
The letters of the words developed an instant attraction for each other, engaging in a raucous orgy before combining into new families forevermore.
Murphy took great pride in his memory, and relied on that for the first four days. Defeat was admitted, however, and he began the magical algorithm to solve the puzzle.
The students stared in utter boredom, all punished for Bosco's perverted actions.
And when it all ended eighteen days later, Murphy screamed in pride, beating his chest like his ape ancestors. He turned to glare at his students, particularly Bosco; he had done it. He had fixed the goddamn scroll!
He spent the rest of the day explaining why a particular for loop was required for the magical chant to work, though he had checked over the program millions of times, and had never seen where the for loop was being utilized.
| 2022-09-19T10:48:40
| 2022-09-19T10:40:50
| 938
| 62
|
[WP] If the earth is flat, what is on the other side? You've been sent to find out.
Just assume that the earth really is flat (WHICH IT IS NOT), and that there is something on the other side.
|
So there I stood at the edge of the world. Nothing but black nothingness stretched out in front of me, the stars only twinkling right above and behind me. It looked so normal, the edge. The ground just kind of ... ended and then went straight down. I checked once more if my carabiner was securely locked to my belt and the metal bars set up for exactly this mission and looked over the edge. All I saw was the same black void and a wall of earth going straight down.
Of course, people before me had done the same to see what was below. But none had dared venture deeper than 200 metres and cameras didn't seem to function over the edge. So the government had called upon me, a world renown free-climber, to rappel as far as I dared to go. Just for this mission, a rope with a length of 2.000 metres was made. It had taken a lot of manpower to transport it all the way here.
I nodded at my crewmembers.
"Départ."
"Départ OK," was their response and I started my descend. Another equally long but thinner rope attached to my belt and the same tree was thrown over the edge. If I reached the end of my rope, the thin rope would be my signal for the others to pull me back up.
I started of slow, feeling the tension of the rope and getting used to it's hardness. But as I progressed, I felt comfortable to take bigger leaps. Soon enough, every time I pushed myself from the wall, or ground if you think about it, I descended a good 10 to 20 metres. It's a good thing you can kind of sit in your harness when doing rappel, that way only your arms get tired and even so, rappel wasn't something that required a lot of muscle. After a good minute, I reached the 200 metre mark on my rope. This was the depth none other before me had ever passed, bar the occasional suicide jumper of course, but the view still remained the same. Black void and an earth wall that was somehow still clearly visible right in front of me.
Three more minutes passed and I reached the 500 metre mark. Still no change. 700 metres. 900. 1300. 1500. 1800.
As the 1900 metre mark passed through my hands, I started to grow worried. I had only a hundred metres left to go on the rope and still the view hadn't changed.
1950.
1975.
2000.
Nothing. Just me hanging in my harness at the end of a 2.000 metres long rope. I don't know what exactly I felt. It wasn't disappointment, nor was it frustration. I guess one could say that I felt curious. Was there actually anything down there?
I pulled the second rope a few times and passed the signal on to my crew at the top and a few seconds later, they started pulling me up. I guess that was it.
> Want more silly prompts? visit /r/promptruined
|
I was about 50 feet from the edge.
Everyone was watching. Across the plain, all eyes were on me. They televised the ground breaking conquest. There were protests, riots even. Ultimately they decided I was the best candidate. No family history, siblings, the usual type for missions of "unknown" outcome.
My heart began to race when they finally attached the return cable. "Press this red button to retract the cable from your end!" My technician was barely in his 20's visibly emotional and angst with anticipation. "If that should fail pull this green tab and it will initiate a failsafe! I want to thank you for your courage! Please come back!"
I gave him a thumbs up, I was too occupied with my own questions and emotions. What's on the other side? Everyone's been asking for quite some time.
I gave myself a running start going at an angle. Scientists and researches at all the major social and government organizations worked together to find the best possible equation for the "unknown" outcome.
As I leapt the first thing I noticed was the emptiness. Abyss like, almost as if I were falling into a room of mirrors with the lights set to fade. Out of complete darkness a flash of pristine light blinded me. Using my hand to shield my eyes I noticed a shadow approaching.
We were floating inches apart. He was me. I was him. "How is this possible?" The words ran smooth simultaneously. We were instantly in sync with one another. Our movements, fluid and crisp, our thoughts intertwined, woven full of momentum. The absolute moment a question was thought, it was answered.
Edit: sorry if it's poor I'm in my phone walking my dog and kid (he's a handful)
| 2017-05-17T12:28:57
| 2017-05-17T12:19:21
| 28
| 21
|
[WP] A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in small change and a letter hand-written by a 9-year-old girl.
|
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Roper could see the bright yellow envelope sticking out of the little crack in the St. Bernard's Chapel's masonry as soon as he came round the street corner. This specific dead drop was reserved for contracts by the local "business club". They paid well, they respected his rules, they hated unneccessary violence or colateral damage. They were decent guys - well, a decent as you can be in a business where hiring a professional killer is considered a reasonable investment every now and then.
Roper scanned the area and, when he was sure everything was clear, removed the envelope fromo the crack in the wall and slit it into his jacket's pocket. It wasn't until he was back at his appartment and took the envelope out to read it that he noticed the little heart sticker that was used to seal it. "Oh great," he sighed and rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was his dead drop being used by some love-struck teenagers to exchange badly written poetry. Although, he had to admit, it was kind of romantic seeing some kids these days actually use pen and paper instead of their smartphones. He would return the envelop to the chapel and arrange for the business club's messages to be delivered to a different dead drop.
Most people would have given in to their curiosity and opened the letter. Roper however was a professional, methodical, calculating, ... "Ah what the hell," he mumbled as he held the envelope into the vapour coming from this tea kettle. It was the reasonable thing to do, he lied to himself. It could be form the business club. They could have run out of the brown envelops they used for the past 15 years. They could have run out of both saliva and Scotch tape at the same time and a heart shaped sticker was the only available method of sealing the envelope. He wasn't curious, no, he was being professional.
"Dear Mister,
My name is Emily. I live at 21 Harrington Drive. I really really need your help! You are the best at solving problems, right? That's what that old man at the park told his friend. (I know it's not right to listen to strangers. We were playing hide and seek. I did not do it on purpose I swear.)
There is a man that comes to our house. He always screams at my mom and he says he wants to see his daughter, and that my mom is hiding her from him. But he is lying! She is not here, there is only me. My mom is a good person. Yesterday the man hit mom in the face and the neighbours called the police! I can hear my mom crying at night and some days I can see the stranger sitting at the playground (mom says I may not go to the playground anymore.).
Can you please find the man's daughter for him? When she is back he will stop coming to our house!
I saved some money for a new bicycle, I hope it is enough so you can find the angry man's daughter.
Emily"
Roper turned the envelope upside down and some small bills and a couple of coins fell onto the kitchen table. 23 dollars and 42 cents. He stared at them for a while. Not exactly the going rate for the kind of service he offered. On the other hand, she didn't really ask for his usual service, did she. He didn't have to put a bullet in that guy's brain to make the problem disappear - unless he didn't see reason.
A smile on his face he grabbed the bag with his survellience equipment and made his way to the parking lot. He hadn't smiled in a long time. Sure, he might have smirked when he landed a particularly difficult shot, or chuckled when he disabled a million dollars worth of security equipment with just a stick, a rubber band, and a wet towel. But this was different. It felt good, felt warm. For the first time in 20 years he wasn't on a job, he was on a mission. "Let the games begin."
5 days later a bright green envelope (0.15$) sealed with a comic bicycle sticker (0,59$) was firmly stuck in St. Bernard's former dead drop. It contained 22.68$ and a note.
"Found her. He won't be bothering you any more. Drive carefully."
|
*Deer Mister Sir,*
*My name is Lucy and I am 9. I know I don't have a lot of muney, but I saved for three whole months and didn't even spend any on sweets, even thogh I really wanted this ginormous lollypop.*
*My Pop told me I could find you here, if I ever needed anything. He said you knew Mummy years ago, even before I was borned. Mummy never talked about you thogh. Pop had your adress written down in his old book and he didn't think I saw it, but I did. Now I need help. I think Pop meant when I grow up, but he's in the stars now, so I hope he doesn't mind me writting to you.*
*I don't like Mummy anymore. She yells at me and hurts me and makes me sleep with the dog. He has flees. Mummy never used to hate me and I tried to make her stop. I made her a cake, but it was flat, and I picked her flowers on the way home from school. She threw them away and made me go to bed without dinner. I wasnt even tired.*
*Pleease, Mister Sir, make Mummy go away. I do'nt like her frends, or her boyfrends, or the itchy, yucky powder she puts in her nose. She says she wishes she was dead.*
*I want her to be happy.*
*Love,
Lucy*
~~~~~~~~~~~
((Very new to Reddit, first response to anything ever, please don't hate me?))
| 2014-08-26T04:55:15
| 2014-08-26T03:57:22
| 106
| 28
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?)
|
At first, we all thought it was just a stunt to get back in the headlines. We all knew the Prince was a bit of a publicity whore, but there was no way he could actually believe in their cause, right?
But joke or not, they came. First in rafts, setting off from the mainland. Then a hijacked cruise vessel, stolen off the coast of Somalia, loaded up with soldiers in Syria, fleeing the combined Russian and American counterstrike against Turko-Syria.
ISIS had been losing ground for years, unable to fight the west from without or the Kurds from within. They were desperate. So when the prince of our tiny island nation announced that he would be providing asylum to the last of their fighters, they took it. Even if it was just a joke by a crazy old man.
They came in droves, unloading onto the platform from ships of every shape and size. 321 in July. 507 in August. and on September 15th, a final load of 848 fighters, loaded with over three tons of various equipment.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
On September 16th, at 11:45 AM, a great creaking groan was heard from below. Everyone stopped, frozen. Seventeen seconds later, another great crack was heard. Even over the sounds of panicked scrambling, the third and final snap could be heard as the great pylon gave way.
At 11:46 AM, the Principality of Sealand sank to the bottom of the English Channel. And every ISIS fighter left in the world went with it.
| 2016-01-29T10:03:10
| 2016-01-29T06:56:50
| 82
| 55
|
[WP] Civilization has fallen and you have the most important job of all, keeping the Netflix Servers online for the survivors.
|
"I'm trying, I'm trying!"
Toby ran the DNS Lookup again. Nothing. Everything was working fine. The IP addresses were redirecting like they should, there was no reason why –
"Where's Fargo!? I can't watch Fargo!"
"Fargo was only on the UK Netflix", Toby replied, as a third voice came from the speakers.
"Is there any prediction of when it will be back?"
"I'm doing my best here!"
"What do you mean, only on the UK Netflix? There is no more UK!"
Toby made a mental note of murdering whoever had the idea of installing multiple lines on the satellite phones, improvising a post-apocalyptic customer service.
With nothing to do inside all day and zombies roaming the streets, people got a bit intense when Netflix was down.
"I understand your frustrations, people, but I'm doing the best I can!"
"I called everyone in my bunker for a Friends marathon, this is ridiculous."
"Well, Friends ended fifteen years ago, son. Everyone knows Ross and Rachel –"
"SPOILERS!"
"HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW THAT?" Toby screamed back at the speakers, typing away at his computer screen. Now Chrome was frozen, and Toby was pressing Control Alt Del repeatedly.
"Did anyone try the Pirate Bay?"
"I don't understand how it matters that Fargo was on the UK Netflix. Should I try a VPN?"
"There is no Pirate Bay! There is no VPN! The only servers alive on the whole fucking world are these ones I have here!"
"So make them work!"
"I AM TRYING!" Toby closed the Chrome tabs, then started over. He miss clicked and hit Internet Explorer, which promptly opened seven different tabs and a popup.
"God, damn it," Toby mumbled, dragging IE out of the frame. "Calm down, everyone!"
"Can you at least leave Friends up?"
"No!"
"Would it help if we turn our modems off and on again?"
"No! Stop asking me questions!"
"I wanna watch The Walking Dead!"
"THEN LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW, BITCH!"
There was silence on the other end of the lines.
"My son died in the outbreak," the female voice rang, quietly.
"I'm sorry," Toby replied, sipping his coffee and trying to run a second scan on the connection. "That was
insensitive."
"Where did you stop? In Fargo?" came a male voice.
"What?" Replied another.
"Who was the guy talking about Fargo?"
"Guys, could you give me a second? I can't focus with this –"
"The Pirate Bay is offline, I just checked."
"Yes, I know," Toby replied, rubbing a paper towel on the coffee he spilled on the keyboard. "I told you, everything
is –"
"I've watched it until like half the second season. I can tell you what happens. In Fargo."
"I don't wanna know what happens, I wanna see it!"
"Did anyone check Kick Ass Torrents?"
"Is there going to be a third season? Of Fargo?"
"Guys," Toby tried, projecting his voice above the hiss of a hundred different speakers. "Is anyone connecting from
outside the US? This might be –"
"How is there going to be a third season? Everyone is dead!"
"SPOILERS!"
"I meant in the real world!"
"Kickass torrents is loading, but just the tiny logo on top of the tab. The site won't open. What should I do?"
"Does Ross end up with Rachel? Is that what the IT guy was saying? Because if I –"
"You know what? Fuck it." Toby replied, pulling himself up so hard his chair collided to the floor with a bang. He
shut the Netflix server, opened a second one, hit 'connect' and turned off the monitor screen.
"What the hell is this?" came a male voice from one of the speakers.
"Hulu, you assholes" Toby said, turning his back on the exploding roar of protests coming from the speakers.
_____________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
I am Liberty, her skin long ago greened
For a nation stalled by the prospect of constant vigilance.
I am Chichen Itza, whose relics proclaim a once proud people
Sauntering on wide promenades, tasting pineapples and ripe tomatoes
Offered by beaded vendors with pushcarts,
Who did not sense the coming conquistadors.
I am Xanadu, where Marco and the Khan watched courtesans dance
With veils and clattering tambourines
(When they all still looked the way they really looked).
I am the hope that emerged from the Box
Only once every terror was already announced.
I am a reminder, in patterns of magnetic dust,
That show them, with all their dusty brows and gangrenous limbs
How it used to be.
*
They cower in a crowded gymnasium with a thatched grass roof
And by the grace of old batteries see Frank upon the floor of the Capitol,
With long marble columns and neckties and pearls,
Reteach Machiavelli to a people who forage in rubble
For the last cans of Chef Boyardee.
They see Piper and Kimmie yearn for freedom and marvel
At how she does not understand the locks keep her safe!
Matt, acrobatic against reason, endures the terror of the stronger
And wins. And they dream they can yet win too.
They remember in Ben and McKinley's every kiss
That we had once stood for laughter and difference
And could love each other enough to share passwords
And made enough to binge instead of ration.
They are able, for an hour, to forget.
*
With every breath I will tend this lighthouse,
Which cannot break the crashing flood waves,
But might send out a lone pale light
Of glorious crimson and eggshell white.
/r/opinionsaboutnothing
| 2015-10-28T10:16:12
| 2015-10-28T10:09:23
| 195
| 20
|
[WP] You have always heard two voices in your head, one telling you to do good, and one telling you to do evil. Today, however, you awaken to them both screaming the same thing at you...
|
"Wait, what did you say?" Asked the softer voice with a trace of suspicion.
"Wait, what did *you* say?" Replied the sharper voice with a tone of surprise.
"Yeah. What did you two say?" I murmur to myself with an equal amount of disbelief.
All my life I have always heard three voices in my head. The softer voice, who I've named Viola for the softness of the tone, is the "good" voice. They tell me to do good things, to be upstanding, moral, ethical. More often than not I listen to them and they can get a bit smug about it.
Bass, named for the heavier and more of a rumble sound, would be the "evil" voice. They tell me to do the bad stuff. Nothing super terrible thankfully. While never telling me to murder or anything that would land me in prison they are more lax about taking things, lies, more lusty pursuits. They usually take the tone of the "buddy" and they are super ecstatic when they win, much to Viola's displeasure.
My voice is the third and usually plays the middle to their extreme views. I like to carry conversations about things with them and they really do guide me on many different topics. Usually it's a tug of war, trying to sway my opinion using worldly pleasures or higher ideals as their tools of choice. Today however, they have seemed to agree.
"What kind of trick is this?" Suspicion heavy in Viola's voice. "Reverse psychology is beneath you."
"No, seriously." Responded Bass with a hint of surprise. "I really don't think this is a good idea either."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can't remember the last time it's been that quiet. Usually one or the other is talking about something or they are arguing about what needs to be done. Or they get petty and wave the victories they've won. They have a list and scoreboard, it's pretty impressive to see my decisions lined up like that.
"Why don't you think this is a good idea?" Viola asked, the caution in their voice being replaced with curiosity. "I would think you would encourage him to take the job. It's a lot of money to waste on superfluous things."
"Well yeah. It's a lot of money. To someone brand new, little experience in the field, and they want him to start at the top? Smells like a trap to me." Bass declares. "Why don't you want him to do it? He'd be doing good work for people and all."
"The company has little reputation. Also like you said the circumstances seem strange. Not to mention the people we saw work there looked...well strange. Like they all were in on a joke we didn't know."
The silence built up a little. "No thank you. I don't think I will accept the position. Something has come up. Thank you for your consideration." I say into the phone before hanging up. This job would have been a step up but if both voices agree on something, I should listen.
Later that week I watched the television with slack jawed amazement. The company I almost started working for was the target of a huge audit. Governmental ethics committees shut it down and most of the employees there were being arrested for fraud as well as many other charges.
"Wow. Looks like you two were right." I said in amazement.
"Yeah... looks like it. Uh good job?" Bass said with wonder.
"Uhm yes. I mean thanks. Good job to you to." Viola replied shyly.
Later that night I took off my headphones in confusion. I kept hearing a noise I couldn't identify, certainly wasn't my game. Without the game sounds I could hear more clearly. Viola and Bass were singing, together, and terribly.
"What are you two doing?" I asked incredulously. Head starting to ache a little from their singing. I could barely understand the words. "Are...are you two drunk?"
"Hey! It's cool man..." Bass slurred. "We aren't driving or anything."
"Yeah! *hiccup*" Viola giggled. "Bass and I are friends now. Who knows what we can do when we work together!"
"We're awesome!" Bass bellows to Viola's cheer. Their drunken rendition of American Pie goes on and on despite my begging for them to stop.
After an hour of torment I pour myself a glass of whiskey. If you can't beat them...
|
'The book says 'forgive the one's who wronged you'. I solemnly believe that officer but...'
'All i need is a confession Tom'
'You listen to me and listen good officer, i am not confessing to anything, it was not me... I could never do this...'
Tom suffered a great loss an year ago and was slowly recovering, losing a daughter is not a easy thing, especially when you couldn't hold her corpse in one peice... Such savagery...and to what end?
Colin was his daughter's husband and it was a marriage that really tested Tom. Colin had a record of temporal insanity and tanya was his supervising doctor, he was released on her recommendation. But was he really normal? Tom never believed it.
Nights following Tanya's murder were hard on Tom, he woke up at times running with a knife into his car and revving his engine to do the 'just' crime he was supposed to do. But then he slowed down panting and thinking about what he just said under his breath, is any killing just?
The extremities of both the ideas bothered him for months, he really wanted to get rid of the idea of murder, let alone if it was 'just' or not, the two voices in his head.
Many relatives came and went. One distant cousin of tanya, andrew, stayed with Tom. The nights during his visit were normal, the voices suddenly stopped and he had a really good roommate. At least for a while...
Andrew was a resilient young man who finished his education from russia and was looking for a job around the town. They often talked about economy, politics until one night Andrew spelled out the things Tom ran away from,
He handed him a knife and said
'revenge is the purest of all emotions Tom and those who suppress such are cowards, remember what krishna said to arjuna, about how pious is a action taken under the influence of most over-powering emotions!'
Tom echoed the thoughts in his mind and went to the car in fit of anger undivided from colin. It was moments later that andrew came from behind and held Tom's hand away from the steering.
'let go of me!' he tried to shrug off andrew.
'wait..wait you can't do this, for the sake of tanya just stop!'
Tom looked at him astonished and held his collar,
'you bastard you put me to this, you asked me to..'
'what? I never said anything...i was..., i just came'
Tom couldn't care less, he got off the car and went inside just to notice that there's just one glass and a bottle of wishkey drained to the bottom.
Andrew followed him inside while Tom threw the bottle away as he poured the last peg into his glass and went straight to his room.
Who was it? Was Andrew scheming him into commiting the most henious crime? Why would he? He talks about gandhi, not about a eye for an eye, who was he?.. danny felt asleep twisted in his own thoughts.
Things were different between him and andrew from that day on. Andrew could feel the rift tearing both of them apart and there was less he could do about it!
After a week, Tom finally confronted andrew just to ask him to leave the house and look for other accommodations.
'its not about you child, you cannot find what you came for if you stay here any longer than necessary!'
'what about you uncle, do you find anything here except the memories of tanya?'
'i have to live with it and you don't, now you must leave...'
'i will but what would you do? Can you live with this burden on your chest? Knowing that the guy who brutally killled tanya is still out in the open?'
'May god have mercy on him and accept him in his folds, there's nothing much i can...'
'Nothing much? You can very well end this, end your own misery and his, you can help him reach his prolonged and awaited judgement, you can show him hell'
'What...is that you talking? I am no god, and I won't pay for anything other than my own deeds, i need to break this cycle, i need to end what colin started by forgiving him'
'yes yes' he held Tom's hands and handed him a swiss knife producing it from his pockets, 'you have to end this, you must end this'
'but it's the same, it's all the same if i do it or not, it won't bring Tanya back, it won't'
'what if it did? What if she's waiting for his redemption, what if she comes..back'
Tom was gone in his car again and this time andrew was beside him.. sitting.
'This is a noble thing Tom, you're helping people, his next victims, think about them, you're doing the world a favour by wiping out the abominations of our species'
'this is not murder!' Tom repeated.
'NO it's not, it's not if it's for a cause, think about people who kill, do they have a choice? Do they survive it just like that? No, god helps anyone who does his work, anyone who wipes out evil is doing it in god's service'
'in god's service'
'For his glory, for his name to exist much longer that evil because he existed much before it'
They were outside the protective custody home of colin. Tom put the knife between his fingers and went straight charging and incidenly the door was wide open.
'The gods welcome you Tom' andrew repeated, disappearing in the sidewalks as he heard the screams of colin from the house.
PRESENT DAY
'So you say it was some guy named andrew?'
'some guy? He was Tanya's cousin andrew, he lived with me for months'
'do you realise that Tanya's cousin is related to you in more than one way'
'ofcourse i do, he must have been... My sister's son, or my brother's'
'yet none of your relatives heard about him, never saw him, they say no one's ever been to Russia from their entire family'
'it was his voice...it was so familiar,...it was like i was talking to myself!'
| 2017-05-18T09:57:01
| 2017-05-18T06:31:43
| 192
| 13
|
[WP] You are an aura reader. You have the definitive answers as to someone's true character and morality. The most obvious career was being a judge. Because of your powers, everyone takes your word for if someone is guilty or not. Hopefully you don't abuse this power...
|
... and I never did abuse this power. Why would I? My position was pinnacle of doing as little as possible and getting paid for it, a very generous amounts, mind you. I was respected, well off and secured for life.
Now, did I use this power to scare my children to behave themselves? Hell yes! "Ooo, you've been so bad, you aura is blackening...", say this with scary voice and kids would sit strait and eat any vegetables.
Now, did I pull anyone ever and with deep voice and unfocused eyes and started prophesying about a person's future misdeeds? I surely did, scared so many people off the wrong path. Apparently all you need is to act a little crazy for people to take you seriously sometimes.
Now, did I ever let a serial murderer go because he was killing rapists and pedophiles? Yes I did. Yes I did....
|
Clara’s face turned white as a ghost. Knowing talking back would not help, she clamped her lips shut and trained her eyes on a dead fly near her left foot.
The bailiff and police officers drew forward and gently crossed her hands behind her back before cuffing them.
Silent tears tracked the ground behind Clara as she was led to her transport bus straight to the supermax to live the next seventy six years of her life, if she makes it that long.
Serves the dumb bitch right. Shouldn’t have cut me off in traffic this morning.
| 2022-09-07T14:19:11
| 2022-09-07T12:02:57
| 141
| 84
|
[WP] The hero has been defeated, the Dark Lord reigns. It seems like nobody can stop him, but then he surprises everyone by actually being a good leader, or at least better then the warring kings that used to rule this land. He's even funding science, if only because he wants to conquer the moon.
|
Lord Zaxos sat upon his throne built of skulls and bone, molded together by dark fire and blood magic. The petitioners knelt before him, some trembling in fear as the herald beat a giant drum made of human skin and dead wood.
"Rise," he said. His voice echoing off the cavernous dark hall of his throne room, a gothic orchestra of hunched gargoyles and humans writhing in eternal torment. All figures carved out of exquisite blocks of obsidian, shiny and beautiful in their cruelty. His fingers tapped the arm of his throne, clacking over bone yellowed by long exposure.
He felt no need to change the decorum of his palace. After a rather surgical removal of the Old King's spine, he found the macabre center of imperial power to be rather charming. No need to change something without cause.
"If it pleases my lord," began one petitioner, though his voice wavered throughout, "We require...we require..."
"Out with it!" shouted Zaxos. He was a busy necromancer, and there were hundreds of petitioners seeking audience with him.
"An orphanage," the cowering man finally managed. "There are thousands of beggar children after the Old King conscripted their parents in the war. These children are poor, hungry, abandoned -"
Zaxos held up one hand, torchlight flickering over black steel that drank rather than reflected the light.
"How many?" Zaxos asked.
"Pardon?"
The petitioner's teeth were chattering so loudly Zaxos could hear it atop his throne. It annoyed him. A citizen should not fear their leader when making reasonable requests. The Old King might have gutted the man for not referring to him as 'Your Grace' but Zaxos mostly let these things slide.
"How many orphanages? One will not be enough. It is a poor ruler who abandons the youth. They are the future, and easily molded to whatever purpose I may see fit."
The petitioner seemed more shocked that there was no debate, or even an additional question required for the Dark Lord's boon.
"I'll have to consult with the nobles, but we might need ten? Or even twenty?"
Zaxos grunted in assent.
"Let it be done. The children will need guardians as well. Schooling, attention and stimulation. Make an inquiry with my steward and we shall find the required gold and food for however many children may need it."
The petitioner scuttled away in the manner that reminded Zaxos of some kind of fearful crab.
"Next!" he thundered. He found much of the Old King's regime rather staggering in its inefficiency. A King who ignored his people for the byzantine squabbling of the nobility was a weak King to him, and a poor ruler. The idiot had used living soldiers rather than undead ones. Where was the sense in that? The living were a valuable resource, to be protected and uplifted, not an inexhaustible wall of meat for the petty schemes of a constantly bickering upper class.
Children were most important of all, yet seemed to be the worst affected by the old rule.
The next petitioner came in, asking for grain for his village. This Zaxos granted. A well fed people were a happy people, and thus more productive.
The next petitioner he had both hands removed for stealing from his workers. Not only was he failing to compensate his staff, but he was underpaying the lumberjacks Zaxos had commanded to fell trees to build more libraries and schools. Whatever excess timber that wouldn't stand up to his rigorous engineering code would be ground into a pulp to print more books to provide adequate reading for his subjects. Zaxos would not stand for willful ignorance when all it took was a printing press and a wide selection of reading.
Some had resisted his changes, though Zaxos' will could not be curbed. Doctors would wash their hands before treating patients, and would stop feeding them quack cures like ground emeralds that a patient could barely afford. People would have access to clean water, rather than the foul and polluted sources they'd been forced to draw from before. There would be books and theater, toys for the children and care for the sick. No more arbitrary executions and blanket punishments for smaller crimes. No more strings of hands hung above market stalls from thieves who only took a loaf of bread to feed his children.
Not that Zaxos would shy from brutality. Yet the Old King seemed to enjoy suffering for the sake of suffering as his divine right as King.
Not for Zaxos. A ruler must earn the loyalty of his people, and he meant to.
As night fell, Zaxos found himself outside his solar, eyeing a sky of twinkling eyes, a thousand stars with worlds of their own. The moon loomed eternal, and holding up one thumb, Zaxos blocked it from his vision.
*One day,* he thought to himself. *My people will walk upon the moon. And plant my standard upon it.*
Below, the city sprawled out in every direction, repaired and larger than it'd ever been under the Old King.
He could hear laughter wafting upward, raucous revels and contented people.
This pleased Lord Zaxos, Lord of the Underfel, the prophesized Dark One to bring down the Old King.
A King who never cared for his people.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/m31ziu/the_sins_of_the_old_king_part_2/?)
|
We all thought it was the end, that we were doomed to a life of horrific slavery, torture, and death. But we were all so very wrong. The poverty, the hunger, the illness…he fixed it all. Every single problem that we had, from violence amongst the people to the high levels of corruption present inside the government. We didn’t even know such peace and prosperity could exist in our times.
And he wasn’t even too demanding of us either. All he wants is help to conquer the stars. And we agreed, because of course we couldn’t refuse. He has given us _everything_, so getting to the Moon is such a little price to pay in comparison. All praise the Dark Lord and his charity, mercy, and wisdom!
Edit: grammar.
| 2021-03-11T09:53:35
| 2021-03-11T08:33:48
| 2,132
| 101
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[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later.
|
"Don't shoot, I'm Shia not Sunni! How come you westerners can never understand the difference?!"
"Oh. I understand the difference, more than you'll never know..." *blaat* (cut to thug life vine)
Alternative: dearest laquisha,
The days are hot and the nights are cold in this barren desert of Syria. I opine for these like a crack head who just received their EBT and are on their way to Slick Ricks on Myrtle and Broadway. I dare say that I find the differences between our former enemies, now turned brethren in arms, near inconsequential. A new ally, Jamaal a Blood from Queensbridge, showed me the effective improvement in aerodynamics through bandanas folding. I lament my ignorance for so long.
Please remember that every time you feel that eastern wind blowing, upon those winds are the whispers of my love for you. You will always be my baby and my baby momma.
As I crip walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no niggas: for I know that the Lord and your love is with me.
Lt. Colonel Mason "Truth" Williams
Ps please find enclosed my mix tape, which is as fire as the desert sun.
|
Waves lap at the shore a young Syrian child picks up a stone to throw at the water her eyes are flooded war has ravaged the city and the future is un-certain a hermet crab catches her eye but a loud thud causes the creature to re-enter its shell, the child runs fearing another bombing raid but her gaze is fixated on the open sea as a blue red craft appears on crest of a wave, the hermit is now bouncing from the shock-waves but it soon becomes clear that the harrowing sound is not a form of artillery but very heavy bass.
"Where the hood, where the hood, where the hood at?
Have that nigga in the cut, where the wood at?
Oh, them niggaz actin up?!? Where the wolves at?
You better BUST THAT if you gon pull that".
Gleaming chrome jets scream through the water as one of the most pimp vehicles known to man strikes the beach with twerking force of a thousand ho's, the top of the craft appears to be made of platinum as the top starts to rotate a thick cloud of smoke creeps from the gold plated gaps and an african gentlemans face is revealed, smoking a joint worthy of Rick James himself, his eyes narrow as he stares at the fortified mosque over the horizon "time to roll on these bitch ass niggas"
| 2015-12-07T10:09:17
| 2015-12-07T09:25:02
| 146
| 10
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[WP] You are an alien anthropologist. Write about a human bodypart or aspect that is completely alien to your species.
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Marth exhaled quietly downward, consciously not jittering. He shifted slightly in his chair as he began to hum a familiar tune to himself. He warms at the thought of Suldania's voice, high and pleasant, with a slight reverb that she swears isn't forced. The same this morning as it was the day they first met. He breathed in her scent as if she were standing next to him, and wished for the millionth time that she really was, that she would show up and reassure him just one more time. He was in the middle of reaching into his pocket when three sharp knocks came at the door.
He froze briefly, no longer humming, and then pulled his phone out.
"Bring it in." he commanded.
There was a soft click, and then the door swung open. Marth smelled two beings enter the room. One he recognized instantly as Carseus, his assistant. The other was like nothing he had ever dreamed of smelling before. The poor thing's heart pounded wildly into the air, and it oozed fear and loathing.
"There is no need to panic, my friend." Marth said with an unusually warmth to his deep, cavernous voice, as Carseus dragged him to the only other chair in the room, sitting directly opposite Marth. He knew that his words were worthless as Carseus strapped the being down, and it's heart grew even louder.
Marth raised his phone up to his mouth, and made four small chirping noises so exact that even some local birds could have been fooled. He then whispered quietly into it, before setting it down on the arm of his chair. It made two small beeping noises, and then fell silent.
"I am going to record this conversation. I hope that is alright with you." Marth said slowly. Carseus tied the last knot and then backed away, before turning inquisitively toward Marth. Marth sensed his hesitation. "You can leave now, Carseus. I fear you are making it uncomfortable." he said. Carseus turned resolutely to the door, and strode out. Marth left a beat after the door shut firmly once again, then began.
"I am sorry that we've had to be so forceful with you, but I have some very important questions for you."
"Do you have to ask them in the dark?" a raspy voice came back. Marth shuddered involuntarily.
"I"m afraid I can't answer that until you answer a couple of questions for me." he replied. "If you had to describe your surroundings to me right now, how would you go about it?" Marth inquired.
"I've already told you. It's dark." the voice replied. Marth shifted in his seat.
"And that's it? No observations about me?" Marth prodded.
"You aren't human. You don't seem interested in butt stuff. You don't seem to understand that I can't see you." it continued, the edge still in it's voice.
"Ah, there it is." Marth said resolutely. "You could have not smelt me. You could have not heard me. But you don't see me." he hesitated. "Do you know how I found your species?"
"No."
"Well you didn't try to hide very hard. Anyone who bothered to listen could have and did. You're lucky it was me and not somebody else." he left a pregnant pause. "It's my job to listen, and it's my job to respond, but I had never heard anything like what you guys had been saying. None of it made any damn sense!" Marth was pleased to hear the being calm slightly as he spoke. "I studied you for ages. The funnest part for me is always the language. Finding patterns from the noise is something I'm very passionate about, and I prided myself on being one of the best, but Humanity was eluding me." his voice rose into terrible crescendo as he continued. "Most of my associates would rather believe that I am inept than learn the truth. They've always been scared fools." He spoke of them as though they were cursed, as if mentioning them dirtied him by association. "But now I know the truth. I have mastered your languages. Your voice puts you at Midwest American, am I wrong?"
"No." the voice replied simply, no longer panicked.
"Now tell me", Marth asked finally, "what *exactly* do your eyes do?"
___
/r/Periapoapsis for more when I feel like it
|
The appendix is an unusual artefact of human evolution to the point that for a few centuries even human doctors had no precise knowledge of precisely *what* the appendix is used for within the body. As such, it was once considered vestigial and unnecessary.
The appendix is located on the lower intestine of a human's digestive system, branching off from the colon. Within the lower intestine nutrients are absorbed from consumed food and waste products are prepared prior to release through the anus. Within the intestines, also known as the gut, are a number of bacteria of beneficial effects or gut flora.
During illness such as food poisoning or the consumption of toxins the body will attempt to purge any foreign agents which produces symptoms such as vomiting or diarrhea. And it is with this last symptom that the appendix's usefulness is evident as the gut flora may be removed from the gut during said illness.
The appendix serves as a "Sanctuary" of sorts for the gut flora so that once the illness has passed the gut flora can once again flourish.
Of course, this wasn't known to humans as previously stated. There is a well-known illness called Appendicitis where the appendix can become inflamed due to infection and can rupture in life-threatening bleeding of the gut. Those who suffered and were treated for this illness by having the appendix surgically removed showed no apparent symptoms as a result.
| 2017-10-04T07:54:55
| 2017-10-04T06:29:36
| 41
| 16
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[WP] After robbing a bank and with cops in pursuit of your vehicle, you yell, "Jesus take the wheel," as you move to shoot at the police. To your surprise, Jesus actually appears and takes the wheel.
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“The one on the left. Shoot him first.”
I don’t know what shocked me more; the fact that there was now an unremarkable man of middle eastern decent adorned with a halo grabbing my steering wheel from the passenger seat, or that he was encouraging me to shoot the cop on the left.
“Who…” I began.
“You know who,” He said calmly, and in a flash, *I* was in the passenger seat, and had a better shot.
“Jesus?”
“You know the truth in your heart,” His voice calm and soothing as he swerved around a pedestrian.
“But…I…uh…”
“Yes?”
“To be honest, I didn’t actually expect you to show up.”
“No one does. Like a thief in the night, you know,” He replied with a smile. “Now shoot the tires. The one driving is a faithful man.”
So I shot at the tires. Who am I to question the Son of God?
“A wise choice not to,” He said, reading my thoughts. He jerked the wheel to the left, just as I landed a clean shot into the tire of the pursuing vehicle, sending it careening into a fruit cart that hadn’t been there a moment before. Jesus laughed.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” He admitted, still chuckling. A moment later, we pulled into an abandoned garage. He turned to me and smiled softly, a warmth radiating from Him that I can’t possibly hope to describe.
“You’re in the clear now,” He said.
“So…why?” I asked, no longer able to subdue my incredulity. “Why did you help me?”
“Is a hospital made to treat the well, or the sick? Should a physician see to a man who is healthy, or attend the man who is sickest?”
“It’s, uh, been a while since I went to bible school…”
“It’s cool. I know. Not everyone has my taste for metaphors.”
We sat there for a moment in silence.
“So what now?” I asked.
“Go forth, and sin no more?” he suggested, and I can’t lie, I didn’t think I could have argued against it if I had wanted to. Which I didn’t, because Jesus had literally just saved me. “Oh, and the money…there’s an orphanage two towns over. They are going to need that money more than you will.”
I nodded. I opened the door to leave, then paused.
“What about the cop I shot?” I asked, a sudden weighty fear sliding over me.
“Oh, him? Don’t worry. He was a child molester. I forgive you.”
~fin
|
I had everything planned out to the minute.
7:49 - Enter bank and begin filling out a deposit slip with the instructions.
7:50 - Hand note to bank teller with a smile.
7:51 - Intercept silent alarm trigger.
7:52 -
You know what you get the idea, I had a well thought out plan. I had a few people helping all with different skills, the only flaw was that the fall guy found out he was the fall guy.
I made the plan specifically so that we didn't know eachothers names. We were to have a fall guy run with some cash while we show up to rob the place dressed as the cops. I was given the choice to fill in as the fall guy, or get lost in some woods and have a 'hiking accident'.
I was driving for all the old Probe was worth, but those damn Chargers were too fast, guess I gotta try to shoot out a tire and cause them to crash. A lot of luck is all that is standing between me and freedom.
I'm not religious at all, but it felt like the thing to say,"Jesus, take the wheel" I said hoping this all works out. As I lean out the window and aim I notice the car start to turn and whip back around to abandon my plan. I am horrified to find an arm over my shoulder steadying the car.
"Needless to say I'm sorry your honor, I had to pay for the surgery or my mother would have died, and I didn't mean to shoot Jesús, I didn't think anyone would be napping in the back of the car as I stole it. Please have mercy."
| 2017-05-01T09:07:34
| 2017-05-01T06:08:31
| 292
| 24
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[WP] Write a story based on your favourite song. Other people have to guess which song it is.
Can be inspired by lyrics, backstory, or anything else you love about the song
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A 43 year old Jamaican-American man appeared in court today, in an attempt to overturn a divorce ruling, despite his partner submitting photographic evidence of his infidelity.
The pictures show the defendant, butt naked, banging on the bathroom floor. The ex wife also claims she saw the pair kissing on the sofa, before making love on the counter and subsequently, in the shower.
The man said he had forgotten giving an extra key to his apartment and denied that he had been caught red handed, creeping, with the girl next door.
|
There she is. The love of my life on a hospital bed. It's been long in coming (I always knew someday she would die), but just the sight of her brings back a flood of memories. As I hold her hand, I think of the time I dropped out of school for love. I remember our travels together, some experiences bright and poignant, others rushing by like the blurry light of a hotel sign passed on a midnight highway. I try to comfort her, wipe away her tears, when really I must do it for myself. She's my Eurydice. I know we'll be together soon. I won't let her embark into the great abyss alone.
| 2015-09-13T07:25:48
| 2015-09-13T07:17:09
| 67
| 17
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[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again.
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The trembling crucifix dug into Patrick's hand as he squeezed it tight, a bulwark against the insanity raging on the bed.
Mrs Jones -- the current possessed -- baked the best pasties in all of Saint Ives. At least, she'd used to before the demon had come upon her. The air of her house still echoed with sweetness of dough, but it was almost perverse under the prevailing stench of urine and vomit. Of despair.
Now she writhed on the double bed, thick rope knots binding her to each corner-post. They strained and bulged like the veins on her purlpleing face.
Patrick chanted in Latin. Mrs Jones whipped her own curses back at him in Aramaic, Phoenician, Hebrew. Her voice was deep, dark as December rain clouds, as hard as a Medusa's eyes.
Mister Jones sat against the door, sobbing, head in his hands. Claw marks guttered his face and his muscles ached from helping the priest restrain his wife. If... if the priest could help at all, could bring his wife back -- Jesus, if he could just end her suffering -- he'd give him what little he'd tucked away over the years.
The metal bedposts screeched, curved inwards, as the possessed baker struggled with inhuman strength.
Even Patrick, who had performed this ritual a hundred times before, had a heart full of fear. When his daughter -- the demon inside Mrs Jones -- became as agitated as this, there was no telling how far she might go were she to break free.
He switched to English. Thrust the little crucifix at her head. She screamed; her skin singed red, flaked, as if she were roasting in an oven. "The power of Christ compels you!"
​
\---
​
When all was done Mrs Jones was returned to her body, her body to the hospital, and Patrick to his own home.
His hand still shook as he tried to place the key into the lock. Maybe tense still from holding the crucifix so long and so desperately tight. Or maybe from nerves that would last until tomorrow.
But he didn't need to unlock the door; it swung back in on itself.
A girl, no more than fourteen, but with black eyes as ancient as any mountain, stood before him.
"Hello Father," she said. Lips curled. "Wasn't that fun."
"I don't know if I'd call it fun, exactly," he replied, walking past her and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and fished out a beer. "Want one?"
"You know I don't drink."
He smirked as he opened it; a burst of fizz clouded the rim. "Suit yourself."
"Well?" she said, impatiently. "How'd we do?"
"Decent enough," he said. "But we really should choose better marks."
He took out his wallet and laid out a handful of notes on the kitchen table. "Plus free Cornish pasties for life. As long as his wife can still make them, that is. You didn't exactly go easy."
She titled her head as she stared at the money. "I'm a method actor."
"Either way, we need to pick people with more money."
"People with more money don't call people like you," she said.
And that was the truth of it, Patrick thought, as he took a long swig of beer. Superstitious folk tend to call him; other folk tended to call a psychiatrist.
"Whatever," he said. "We've got enough money for a break. And God knows I need it."
|
Father Atkinson returned home a tired man. His once sturdy frame stood hollow, a tree devoured inside out. His face had grown wrinkled as bark; his calloused hands could barely grip the cross as he pounded the pulpit before his congregation.
They didn't know him. Not the true him--the man who scrambled to correct his daughter's misdeeds, who kept a flask right beside his bedroom Bible so that he'd not still be crying when the sun rose.
All they knew was the fire of his words as he preached a life he couldn't live, the bags beneath his eyes because his devotion knew no bounds.
Those late-night exorcisms had worn him down. Like a stump, once tall and proud, now a broken bit of what'd he'd been.
Each was harder than the last. His hands struggled to clutch the crucifix; his eyes blurred as he tried to read the incantations. Night after night. Possession after possession.
His hand trembled as he put the key to the lock. He winced as the door creaked open. Like walking on eggshells, he entered the dark foyer. Hung his coat. Ran a tired hand through his thinned hair. She slept this time so he could, too.
"Hello, daddy," a voice said from up the hallway.
"My goodness," he said, jumping when he saw the short, dark figure standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Lucy, what did I tell you about startling me like that? Gonna give me a heart attack."
She giggled her high-pitched cackle that ended in those little snorts he'd once found so cute. "Might be best," Lucy said, and then she began to cackle again.
Father Atkinson bit his tongue and refrained from retorting. Kids said the damnedest things. He flipped on the light, revealing Lucy in her white nightgown and disheveled hair that fell over her face. Her nails were broken and jagged from scratching at the same place time and time again.
Father Atkinson caught his breath. Everybody was beautiful in their own way, his daughter most of all. He mustered an apologetic smile.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he said. "It's well past midnight. What are you still doing up?"
"Waiting for you, daddy," Lucy said. "What were you doing?" She cocked her head, smiled with too much teeth.
"I see that," Father Atkinson said. He didn't answer her question.
"You were punishing me again, daddy," Lucy said. "I thought I asked you not to do that."
Father Atkinson frowned. He clutched his coat as if it would protect him. "It's my job, Lucy. I do what I have to do."
He peered to the left into the living room, around Lucy into the kitchen. The babysitter was nowhere to be found. Maybe she'd fallen asleep in the family room. Maybe...
"She's alive," Lucy said.
Father Atkinson let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank goodness."
"I'm not a murderer, daddy," Lucy said.
She smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes--wide and sinister, forced and deceptive.
Father Atkinson gulped. "I know you aren't, sweetie."
"But you thought I might be, right? You're looking for Amanda."
Father Atkinson nodded. "Yes, dear. I'm looking for Amanda. Could you tell me where Amanda is and then head back to bed? It's her bedtime, too, and she has to drive home still."
"Oh, daddy," Lucy said.
A chill ran up Father Atkinson's spine. "Yes, dear?"
"I don't think Amanda wants to leave just yet."
"She doesn't?"
"Why don't I just show you her?" Lucy said.
Father Atkinson didn't move from beside the front door. With one hand, he reached into his coat and clutched the crucifix with trembling hands. He eyed the Bible on the coffee table in the living room, wondered if he could make it there before Lucy did.
"O... Okay, dear. Show me Amanda, please."
*Sleeping. She's just sleeping, and Lucy will show me where she fell asleep. Maybe they watched a movie. Played with dolls--wait, no. Not the dolls.*
"Come, Amanda," Lucy sang. Sickly sweet, that voice of hers.
Footsteps lurched through the family room. Into the kitchen. Amanda appeared in the doorway, eyes blank and white as the foyer walls. She teetered unsteadily, her back twisted at a gruesome angle. Her face was plastered with the same wide smile as Lucy's, and when Lucy lifted her arm towards Father Atkinson, Amanda's lifted, too.
"Here she is, daddy," Lucy said. "Since you don't like having to come home from work so late, I thought I could surprise you by bringing your work right here to our home."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-10-20T08:10:43
| 2020-10-20T08:05:28
| 3,148
| 123
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[WP] James Bond (MI5) was suave, Jason Bourne (CIA) was professional, and Jack Bauer (FBI) was aggressive. Describe the 4th JB.
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The cool James Bond never missed an opportunity with the ladies. The Sly Jason Bourne was efficient and calculated with his objectives. And the rough and tough Jack Bauer knew how to crack some heads when he needed to.
But Jack Black took to music instead of his guns, and sang sweet melodies to soothe even his greatest foes. Music was his weapon.
|
The suave James Bond foiled criminals and evildoers worldwide.
The professional Jason Bourne struggled as an amnesiac rogue.
The aggressive Jack Bauer prevented terrorists from destroying the world in short time frames.
The foremost and fourth JB hynoptizes teenage girls and gathers a large following who obsess over his saggy pants and skeptically-procured nudes. His mediocre music is culturally sensational and he fades in and out of public attention.
His name is Justin Bieber.
----
*Read my novel at /r/penofigilix*
| 2015-11-04T06:50:51
| 2015-11-04T06:43:23
| 19
| 13
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[WP] The doctor gave you six months. You lived through it, one year has passed. Not surprised, he then gave you one year; after that time you are still alive. You're starting to think he's actually GIVING you time to live, instead of making predictions.
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I stare at the young man before me and try to control the tone of my voice. "I'm afraid it isn't the news that we hoped for. There are still signs of the cancer."
He forces a smile, always putting on a brave face. "What does this mean doc? More chemo?"
"I'm afraid that's not an option, you're already too weak. We'd be putting you at greater risk for a nominal chance of success."
"Ok, so now what?"
"Now it is just a question of time."
There's that look. The one I see every day. The realization that all hope is lost. I wish I could tell him it will all be ok, but I can't. Instead it will require a miracle. I don't get to take credit. That's not how this works.
"How long do I have doc?"
I reach out and touch his hand. "Right now, let's say six months. Come and see me again in three months and we will see where you're at. I might be able to give you more time then, depending on your condition."
He just nods. No screaming, no blaming, just acceptance. I wish I could give him more time, but there are rules to follow. I need to see how he copes. Some people go the other way with only months to live, drugs, crime, debt. I have a good feeling though. Survival needs a positive attitude. If he's still like this in three months then I can give him more time. He certainly deserves it.
He gets up to leave and holds out his hand. "Thanks doc. For everything."
I hold back the tears as I shake it, his grip already feeling a little stronger.
As soon as he leaves I slump into my chair. I'm so drained right now. It has been a long day. I need a boost, something to get me back on my feet. I check my schedule for tomorrow. It is full. So many people to help. If only I had more time.
I get in my car and drive to my next appointment. I stand at the large foreboding gates while they buzz me in. The guard nods, "Hey doc. Back again so soon?"
"What can I say Jenkins, I can't get enough of this place."
They lead me through to the infirmary and wait outside the door. The prisoner is already there, chained to the bed. He snarls at me. "Are you the guy? The other prisoners have told me you can give me something to make all this go away. To end my life quietly."
"I don't know what you mean. It would be illegal for me to give you something to end your life. You are serving time, there is no easy way out."
He grabs me and I smile. They always grab me. Makes it so much easier. I can feel the time flowing, topping up my reserves. He senses it too and he lets go, startled. Then he sees my smile and he understands. He holds out his hand and I take it, draining what is left. He says, "How long?"
"I'll leave a couple of months. It can't be too soon, or they will suspect something."
He just nods, all fight gone now. He says, "What will you do with it?"
"I'll give it to someone that needs it."
He smiles softly, finally at peace. "Take as much as you can. I'll get into a fight tomorrow, make sure it's my last. Don't waste two months."
I nod. "Thank you for your donation."
|
"It's been a year and look at me. I feel just fine. like... like I was never sick or something. What is going on?" I asked with a little bit of accusing tone.
It was exactly one and a half year ago when I collapsed on the ground with a sharp pain in my chest. I thought it was a heart attack and my life was going to end right then. We all thought so.
But I lived. An angel like nurse was the first person I saw when I woke up and the doctor told me I have a heart condition, something about irregular heartbeat, weak pulse and so on. To be honest, everything just went sort of blur after hearing that I had six more months of time here.
'My family'
That was the first thought that came to my mind. Six more months. That means I won't be able to take my son fishing like I promised him. That means I won't be able to attend my daughter's piano recital. That means my wife will probably have to cancel the reservation for anniversary. Only God knows the pain of leaving family behind. Maybe it would had been better if everything ended right there then waiting this death with them. A game that I can never win.
I decided not to tell my family. Not yet at least. I didn't want to break down crying in front of them. I don't want them to remember me as someone in sorrow and pain.
I never got brave enough to tell them...
Fortunately death didn't come for me after six months. In fact, I have been told my condition has improved slightly and I can expect my heart to last one more year. I've been visiting my doctor every months and every time, he asks me rather unusual questions such as "Where did you go fishing? caught anything good?" "Are you excited about your daughter's piano recital? what song is she going to play?" "Where did you make reservation for your anniversary? How was the food there?" I mean, I have never been told I was going to die before so I just assume he is preparing me mentally for my inevitable death.
However, I am not going to put up with this anymore. Every time I visit, he just asks me about my daily life and no check\-up or treatment. Not even a pill for god's sake! It was as if we are two buddies just catching up. No. Today I am going to find out what is happening to my body.
"Every time I visit, you just ask me few questions and that's it. I need to know the progress doc. I mean, am I getting better or are you gonna make another prediction here?"
He took his eyes off from my chart and looked at me. I never noticed he has such a blue eyes.
"Well, we can measure your pulse again if you want but at this stage, there really isn't much we can do you know"
"No, don't give me that again. You have used all doctor cliche. 'this pill is working exceptionally well for you!' 'Glad to hear you are exercising, I'm sure that played a role' 'well, we doctors don't know everything you know. we are just humans under white gowns.' You have officially used all of them so, please, just tell me what is going on with my body" I asked eagerly.
"Alright John, just one last question for you then. How are you doing?" he asked sincerely.
"I... I am great doc. When you first told me I had six months to live, I honestly thought maybe it would be better to end things then. I think I was too devastated by things I didn't and couldn't do. But after six months, I was given another year and I realized it wasn't too late to do them now. I spent glorious time with my family, finally finished my painting, apologized to my sister and you know, general appreciation for everything. I still haven't told my family but I think it's better this way. If I told them, I would had been forced to spend all those time attached to machine or something"
"I'm really happy to hear that John." He said with a warm smile.
"So, tell me doc. How is my heart holding on?"
"Would you say... that you have no regret now...?" He ignored my question completely. I thought about it for few seconds and answered.
"No. No regrets. Not anymore"
"Alright John. Let me tell you what really happened then" If this was movie, a sudden suspenseful background music must have started right about now.
"What? what is it doc?" I leaned in. I didn't even intend to do that.
"Your heart... it stopped 18 months ago"
"Yea... it's called heart attack..?" I said sarcastically.
"No, not a heart attack. A death. You died there John." He ignored my tone and continued.
"And you brought it back remember?"
"I did. But I am not a doctor."
I paused.
Wouldn't you?
"What? Did you just say you are not a doctor? What's going on here?"
"I brought you back to life so you would... let's say 'do more stuff' here"
I didn't know what to say. Well, actually, I did know what I wanted to say but I couldn't. Is my D.O.C trying to tell me that he is actually G.O.D?
"When you came back after six months, you told me there were still few things you were looking forward to. I wasn't supposed to but I gave you one more year. A time that I thought was enough for you to have no regret. And I was... very happy to see you were doing just that"'
I wanted to call his bluff but something happened. We were not sitting in his office anymore. In a blink of an eye, I was sitting in a white room. And my doctor, he was not a doctor anymore. He is... indescribable...
Then something else happened. Rather than tell me, he showed me. All my memory of last 18 months rushed back to me in a nanosecond. Suddenly, I remembered and felt everything all at once. And a familiar warm voice came to me.
"Are you ready John?"
I nodded.
| 2018-05-31T04:54:12
| 2018-05-31T01:40:47
| 2,952
| 500
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Hey, Dad.
It's been a long fucking time without being around you, and I have to say it's pretty sweet. I hope you're enjoying your new family with whatsherface, considering you didn't take part in mine. Your vicious words of hatred haven't left my mind, not as a scar, but as a motivator. I'm not some "lazy piece of shit", I just never had to apply myself in high school. "You'll be dead by the time you're 18", celebrated my 19th birthday two months ago. Your hate and anger are so much better off festering inside you than inside me, and unlike you I can deal with my emotions without harming those around me. I sincerely hope your girl kicks you to the curb for being such a shitty human being.
Fuck you.
|
Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead.
| 2015-12-05T13:26:16
| 2015-12-05T13:04:29
| 386
| 36
|
[WP] You're a retired villain who now runs a 24-7 grocery store. One day a new hero decides to ambush you in your own store.
|
(I’ve split this story into four parts through four different writing prompts! They are technically standalone, but they tell a more complete story together. This is part four of four, and you can find the previous (third) part here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zqs5dl/comment/j10vtqo/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zqs5dl/comment/j10vtqo/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3))
“Bryyyyy!” Dominic yelled loudly, mostly in surprise at the falling axe coming towards his horned head but also in warning to alert his husband. The axe missed him, the skill of the hero wielding it well below that of even their grandchildren. It didn’t help that the young hero looked to be about their age, too.
“Domiii?” Bryan’s shout came from upstairs and then the thundering of his heavy footfall made it obvious that he was on his way down. Not that Dominic needed his help to stop the silly flailing of the attacker. When Bryan jumped and nearly fell down the last few steps it was with a sign of relief.
“Oh thank the gods you’re alright. I was worried it was another one of those--- Oh. Oh no.” His eyes caught sight of the young lady at Dominic’s feet. Her body covered in shining armor, a thick well-worn axe by her side. The symbol of the Holy Order engraved on her breastplate.
“Another one. It’s been years though!” Bryan exclaimed with an exasperated sigh before moving to grab a blanket. Dominic’s magic was potent, but so well tuned that he knew it’d only be moments before she awoke. But it always helped to have a blanket so they didn’t wake up on the hard cold stone floor of their little shop.
The shadow of Mount Harold had already started to fall across the little town. Truly near the border between nowhere and even more distant, it was rare to see any travelers for weeks on end. Which is exactly why Bryan and Dominic lived out here. Far enough away that they were able to enjoy their retirement together. The chosen hero summoned from another world, and his demon lord husband.
Many decades spent together working behind the scenes to truly bring peace to the world of humans and demons was only their second most perfect memory compared to how, on the day that they finally united the kingdoms, they were also united and wed. Not a holy matrimony, neither of them caring much for the temple given the way the Holy Order refused to accept things as they were. A little event lead by one of their best friends, the metallic dwarven row-baught Aee Eye. The words were still rough in Dominic’s mouth, but the story of Bryan’s past was truly unbelievable. To call a hero from another world was unthinkable!
The young lady stirred, and then tried to shoot up but was stopped by Bryan’s massive hands.
“Miss, please calm down,” he started as Dominic made his way into the kitchen, thinking about Bryan’s way with words as he started to make tea for the three of them. These types of things always worked themselves out for them in *the end*.
|
There was once a quiet, out of the way little grocery store on a streetcorner in the suburbs. It was close to closing time, but there was one family left buying some Icee cones for the road, as they were on a long trip and just passing through. A clerk named Benjamin watched as the Dad bought a Cola-flavored cone, the Mom got a Piña Colada-flavored cone, the son got a Grape-flavored cone, and the daughter got a Cotton Candy-flavored cone. The Dad led them all up to the register, and paid for all the cones with a $5 dollar bill. "Keep the change, man." the man said. "Thank you, have a nice day!" Benjamin replied, as the family left with their Icee cones.
After closing up the shop for the evening, Benjamin stopped for a moment to reminisce about a battle he'd had with a hero a long time ago. "I was so ambitious in my youth... I felt like I could take on the world. I had underlings, I had all these clever plans and traps to thwart heroes and police officers alike," he thought to himself. "But now, I'm so weary of that life. Always on the run, always scheming, always fighting. Now in my 40s, I just want to slow down, live a normal life. I've decided I have more than enough saved up from my smaller successes to live comfortably now, and I'm not getting any younger, so why not enjoy it? I just have to keep this cover business going to conceal my identity, and honestly it's a lot more relaxing than planning the next heist or escape anyway."
Just then, a masked man in a white cape walked through the door. "Halt, evildoer!" the man shouted at Benjamin. "I know your true identity, and I am bringing you to justice!" Benjamin sighed. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Even if he was no longer leading an active criminal life, he still had to maintain underworld connections and escape plans in order to remain free. People hadn't forgotten about what he did, even if he was now laying low. The prison sentences for his past crimes would keep him locked up for the rest of his natural life, so he had no intention of surrendering. Benjamin quickly put on a gas mask, and pressed a button under the counter that released toxic fumes into the air. The hero was blinded and began coughing before he passed out. He bolted from the store out the back entrance, jumped in his red and black Porsche, and activated all his old villain equipment.
"I'm getting too old for this," Benjamin sighed as he drove away quickly to a safe house where he knew he would be provided with airline tickets and a passport by some of his old associates. The safe house was unassuming of course, looked like a normal apartment building. Benjamin stopped and put coins into the parking meter as he grumbled. "The things I have to do stay off the radar... even a parking ticket would draw suspicion now. Makes me sick sometimes, to have to follow every stupid little rule now." Benjamin walked to apartment 272, on the second floor. "This should be the place," he noted. He knocked, and no one responded. He tried to open the door, and it gave way. When he got in, he saw a mess. "Oh no, one of them has been here already," he muttered to himself. The obvious cache with all the good stuff was gone, probably taken into police custody, and there were chalk outlines where a hero had likely killed a couple of his former associates in self-defense. "Good help is so hard to find these days... the heroes always get to them" he sighed. He quickly checked around to make sure the place wasn't bugged. He peeled back the rug, and pulled up a couple of floorboards, finding a secret cache that contained a passport to Mexico and a couple of tickets to Acapulco, just a couple of days from now. They always tried to keep fresh tickets and passports for him. Benjamin got an unusually reverent look on his face. "Thank you, old friends. For your sacrifice. This shall be the last time I benefit from your services, unfortunately. I hope Satan makes you comfortable in hell... because I know people like us aren't welcome in heaven. Rest in peace."
Benjamin spent the next two days laying low in some grubby motels that he paid for with cash. Afterwards, he came to the airport in make-up and a wig to match his fake passport, and passed through security nervously, as they patted him down and ran him through an X-ray machine. "I really hope none of them recognize my teeth or bones from records, and that there are no heroes on the lookout for me today," he thought. However, he made onto the plane without a hitch. As he listened to the flight attendant speaking and followed directions, he kept looking around for disguised heroes nervously, worrying one might be on the flight with him. "Once they've got my trail, I have to watch my back for a long time," he thought to himself. Eventually he touched down in Acapulco, and made it to the safe house there uneventfully. "Greetings, Benjamin. What brings you here? How is Larry holding up?" a man said. Benjamin shook his head. "Edward, Larry... is probably dead. I can't be sure, but I was ambushed by a hero in my own grocery store, and when I went to the safe house I saw only chalk outlines. I barely got here safely myself." Edward looked disgusted. "Those new heroes make me sick. They never want to go after the people causing the big problems, they go after people they know are too worn down to fight back, all for some quick fame and praise from their elders. At least here, the cops are easier to bribe and there are fewer heroes because they are too scared of the gangs."
With that, Edward and Benjamin spent some time creating a new identity for Benjamin, another small business he could run. This time it was a convenience store. As he was working the register, this time counting pesos instead of dollars, Benjamin thought to himself. "This is the fifth time I've had to do this. I wonder how many more times I will have to do this? I imagine when I grow too old to run, they will take me into custody. I won't surrender, though. I will die with honor when the day comes. Too much bad blood has passed between myself and them for me to accept surrendering to those disgusting heroes."
| 2022-12-20T10:47:30
| 2022-12-20T06:24:08
| 25
| 12
|
[WP] All money is now cats. Describe a transaction.
|
They drug them for the big transactions. They have to, really, otherwise people would get killed. Have you ever seen a thousand angry cats in one place? It's basically a fire with teeth and fur. No wonder people are so keen to stop using cash.
Anyway, my job is to move them to the bank at the end of the day, after the shops are shut and the cats are all nice and sleepy. You have to move them individually or they get damaged, but I've got quicker at it over the years. I pile them into cages in the truck (carefully; I'm not a monster) and run them down to the town centre. Usually takes two runs, except at Christmas when it takes five.
Banks are different now. You can't have allergies if you're going to be a teller, because you will be literally knee-deep in cats all day. And they're much, much bigger. I mean, if your currency is still subject to animal cruelty laws, they kind of have to be, else we'd be stacking them in basements, eighty cats deep. I hear that's what happens in China.
At least they've stopped eating them, I guess.
It's funny, but I used to love cats. It's why I started doing this the first place. Then I started to notice the way they were looking at me - even when they were doped up and floppy in my arms. Like they knew who I was, and hated me for it. I must handle tens of thousands of cats a year, if not more, each one with the same look in its eyes.
See, I think they know what we're doing. And we keep breeding them, and tallying them, and exchanging them, and carting them around in big trucks - and they don't like it. They don't get looked after like they used to. They had a nice arrangement before the law came in and now it's gone. Anyone would be a bit pissed off with that.
Thousands of thousands of cats. I keep thinking about them, crammed into big basements in Beijing. Nobody really watches cat videos any more, did you know that?
I need to get another job.
|
They file out of the back of the truck carrying guns and whips like soldiers moonlighting as circus performers. The people in the streets duck behind their cars or run off screaming in horror, but these men adorned in black garb and black masks seem not to notice it. The men at the front of the group kick the bank doors open when they reach them, and a couple shoulder their rifles with their whips whirled around their arms like lengths of rope, and the others unfurl their whips and crack them at the open air.
"Throw your leashes down and get on the ground!" one of them shouts.
They pour into the place pointing their guns and lashing out at the patrons with their whips, and the rich men who wear fine suits and nice watches and hold bundles of leashes tied to exotic tigers are the most reluctant to let go, but when they see the gleam coming off of the silencers, shining metal as thick as bike pegs, they put their hands in the air, and their cats go loping off in all directions.
The whole bank lobby explodes into a riotous zoo.
A fat woman with an armload of kitties snugged against her buxom chest gets a gun butt against the back of her head, and she goes sprawling with her arms out, sending the little babies rolling across the floor like dice in a crap game. One of the men runs over and slides like a baseball player, curling his arms around the kittens and scooping them up and carrying them over to a sack where more writhe together, mewing and meowing.
The braver men take hold of the lions, wrapping the leashes around one fist and cracking the whips with their other hand. The regal beasts scowl and group together, and their ginger afros flare up like the tails of peacocks, but they aren't as adamant as wild-born cats, so they come begrudgingly, their captors walking backwards toward the door and facing them as they tug them away.
In this way, that zoo of a bank is cleared out. It's a madhouse of roaring and snarling and meowing and purring. One of the robbers loses his grip on a bobcat, and it leaps free and bounds after a little boy, who totters off on unsure feet around the bank teller desk with his parents leaping up and following.
"Fuck it," another man says, just as the bobcat thief is about to go after it.
When they leave, they are led by tigers with snow-white fur and lions with floppy ears like cartoon bears, and they carry bobcats with the heads of house cats but the bodies of foxes, and they carry striped tomcats, obese and fuzzy and watching the world with wide eyes and wide mouths like confused old women, and mother cats cling to the men's backs by their extended claws as if to say "Give me back my baby!" and kittens rest on the men's heads, slanted eyes shut and tiny tongues out.
They hop into the back of the track just as the police cars come spinning out around corners and barreling down the street with their sirens whining and chittering and growling.
The truck takes the main street in the wrong lane, swaying heavily around oncoming cars and leaving horrendous accidents in their wake as impromptu road blocks. Taxis t-bone into vans. A motorcyclist loses control and becomes a gymnast. The last anyone sees of the thieves, they turn slowly down a narrow road, and then they squeeze the truck down an alleyway so tight the walls explode into sparks as it skates between them.
--------
Forgot to say if you like this you can check out my sub, /r/wttm
| 2015-12-31T08:42:23
| 2015-12-31T06:54:26
| 32
| 11
|
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
How many sides does a circle have?
Nobody knows. One can argue that a circle has an infinite amount of sides, each one infinitely small and adjacent to the next. Others say that a circle is simply one side, bent in a perfect curve that connects its two ends. And some will say that a circle has no sides at all.
Not that Harry had known any of that. He had been scribbling on a piece of paper during the lecture, just making small doodles. And while making these doodles, in the spur of the moment, he had decided to try his hand at making a circle.
And now he was inspecting his handiwork. There was no way this was an *actual* perfect circle, right? But the closer he brought his eye to the paper, the more he realized how perfect his circle was. Flawless and without blemish, somehow his cheap pencil and paper had produced a miracle.
He tapped the shoulder of the person sitting next to him, meaning to show him his work of art.
But then everything *flickered*. Almost as if he blinked a thousand times in a second. Or if the universe was blinking.
And everything went dark.
\----------
A sea of inky black. Pure silence. Harry had no idea what was going on. He tried to call out, but found that he couldn't make a sound. And then he realized that he couldn't feel his body, couldn't feel anything. Like he didn't have a body.
Here he was, simply existing in a void of nothing.
And after an indeterminate amount of time, the sea of inky black was replaced with... text?
**HOW DID YOU DO IT?**
...What? Harry's jaw would have dropped if he had a jaw. What was going on?
**OOPS, SORRY. FORGOT YOU COULDN'T TALK. LET ME PULL YOU OUT FOR A BIT SO YOU CAN RESPOND.**
And before Harry could react to the strange text, he felt a strange sensation go over his entire existence. If he had a body, he suspected that he would have felt pain.
\----------
"Hey man! Congrats on being in the real world! You were in a simulation by the way. Not that you're going to remember this later."
Harry found himself with a body again. Standing naked. And he was in some sort of lab? And was the weird scientist talking to him? What was a simulation? Also, he found that his body felt weird. Like it wasn't his own. He was too tall, too skinny, too pale.
"Whas goin' on?" he slurred out, his mouth not properly obeying his brain.
"Oh, your temp-body seems to not have merged properly with your mind. I suppose that's to be expected, since you're not a real person, just a program," the scientist responded quickly. "You know, I'm breaking so many rules right now. So let's get this over with. I'm just dying to know -- how did you do it? How did you draw a perfect circle?"
Was this what it was about? Was he kidnapped and fed drugs or something so that people could see his lecture doodle?
"Wot thah fock?"
"I mean, like, it's not possible to draw a perfect circle. Like actually impossible. Here in the real world, it's impossible to produce a perfect circle. Everyone's tried at least once, and nobody has done it. It's been like this for millenia. And in order to simulate a perfect circle, that would take more computing power than the entire universe has. But somehow, you, in your simulated environment, managed to create a perfect circle."
"Huh?" Harry knew he wasn't a clever fellow. And this man was speaking too many clever words. Did he want him to try to draw another perfect circle?
Harry spotted a paper and pencil on the table. Grabbing the pencil, he quickly drew a circle, hoping it would be perfect.
It was a perfect circle. Oh yeah! He was pretty good at this.
"What the fuck?" the scientist man's jaw dropped. "That's not possible! Literally no. No. I don't believe it!"
And then the universe blinked. Everything flickered. Harry already experienced this, so he didn't really care anymore this time. But the scientist was screaming.
\----------
**HOW DID YOU DO IT?**
The scientist would have continued screaming, but he had no mouth. Harry was annoyed that he was here again.
**OOPS, SORRY. FORGOT YOU COULDN'T TALK. LET ME PULL YOU OUT FOR A BIT SO YOU CAN RESPOND.**
\----------
"Hey men! Congrats on being in the real world! You were in a simulation by the way. Not that you're going to remember this later."
|
I was just joking around you know? I mean it’s always seemed funny to me that “no one could draw a perfect circle”. It was supposed to be fun. When I saw what I managed to to I tried to play it off like “of course that happens” but as soon as I reached my hand through it by mistake I realized how wrong I was. It seemed like everything and nothing at the same time it was like the loop of the universe both it’s beggining and it’s end and what I saw there terrified and calmed me at the same time. The universe, it’s a predetermined loop that always happens from beggining to end.
A “perfect circle” if you will.
| 2021-05-22T11:37:26
| 2021-05-22T10:30:59
| 24
| 17
|
[WP] Dave is the first human convict to arrive in the intergalactic prison.
|
This is my first one so it's not the best.
*PRISONER* **#451,** *PLEASE NAVIGATE TO YOUR CELL IN* **G451** "That's your cue, David,"
Dave anxiously stumbled forward. The restraints on his wrists seemed to grow tighter and it became hard to breathe. Monstrous creatures barked from the cells around him. Some had horns, some had talons, some even had tentacles. With every growl, snarl, howl, or scream, the more the knot in his chest pulled. The warden led Dave to a small cell next to a door marked cafeteria.
"Welcome to your new home, David," the warden remarked, removing his restraints.
"Don't call me David," snapped Dave. His cell was cramped and smelled horrible, with two damp bunk beds. Before he knew it, the door was locked behind him.
"This is a prison you can't break out of, David," said the warden, smirking. *You'd be surprised,* thought Dave.
"What you in for?"
The voice caught Dave off guard. He spun around. In the bottom bunk bed lay a Kalzar, an alien species that resembled a lizard-rhino hybrid. The species, despite their appearance, are actually very intelligent creatures,"
"Uhh, stole a hyperdrive, broke out the first two prisons, you?" Dave responded.
"Hitman," growled the Kalzar. "How the hell did you manage to break out of two prisons?"
"Uhh, I dunno. Good planning, speed, flaws in the security system. I used to be an engineer, I know machines," said Dave, as he sat on the floor across from the Kalzar. "Dave," He offered a handshake.
"Nihrox," said the Kalzar, shaking the outstretched hand.
"So tell me, Nihrox, have you noticed any flaws in the security here?" inquired Dave.
"Dude!" Nihrox said, gesturing toward the security camera in the corner.
"It's fine. A prison this size will have two security guys in a room with a bunch of screens. There's a camera in each cell, meaning there won't be a microphone in each camera. Too much noise at the same time. First flaw. Means we can plan an escape verbally," explained Dave.
"Wow," said Nihrox. "Well, I suppose there are a few flaws. The delivery ship comes the first day of the month, every month, and stays from 8:00am to 8:00pm. Possible escape?"
"Yeah, that'll work," Dave replied, "What's the strongest or most dangerous inmate in this prison? Physically,"
"Uhhh, a Gengril, I guess," answered Nihrox, "Why?"
"Wow, that means the guards will be prepared to fight something as strong as a Gengril," A gengril was a dragon-like creature the size of a small room that could withstand extremely high temperatures and all kinds of environments, including vacuums. A gengril's weakness was extreme cold combined with brute force. "If we take a guard's equipment we should find a coolant beam too," Dave smiled. "I think I'm going to enjoy working with you, Nihrox,"
 
TWO EARTH WEEKS LATER
 
"Ready?"
"Ready,"
"AARGH!" cried Dave, "MY ARM!"
"What is going on?" A guard wandered up to the cell door.
"My arm!" Dave exclaimed. He stuck his arm out of the cell bars so that the guard could inspect. On Dave's arm, the guard read the word GOTCHA.
"What?" was the last thing the guard could say before Dave swiftly began strangling him with the handcuffs that he stole off of the guard's belt while he was distracted. He took the keys and unlocked the cell.
"Fifteen minutes, go," Nihrox and Dave swiftly left the cell and headed to the cafeteria. The door was solid titanium, so Dave used the guard's coolant beam and baton to break the door down. As suspected, the chefs were having a quick coffee break with the security camera guys and most of the guards in this ward. They hopped the counter and went through the kitchen into the newly stocked storeroom, being sure to snatch a knife each. In the storeroom was an open airlock door that led to a ship. However, voices could be heard from the ship. Nihrox raised a finger to his lips. He mouthed the words, "Follow my lead," and stepped onto the ship. There were two members of staff on the small supply ship. He grabbed one of the people and held his knife up to their throat. Dave did the same.
"If you get off the ship, you may live," Nihrox barked. They did that without hesitation and Dave secured the airlock.
"Nice work," said Dave. "Do you realise that we just escaped from a prison? I guess that makes three,"
"Oh my god! I've been stuck here for a year and a half and two weeks after you show up, I'm free. Just like that," Nihrox mumbled. It was clearly just getting to him that he is now out of prison.
**CAUTION! MISSILES LOCKED ON TO SHIP**
 
"Right, we should go. Home?" Dave said as he activated the hyperdrive.
|
Dave looked at his cellmate - tall, dark and with five heads - and settled into his bunkbed. It bore some similarities to prison on Earth. Grey, graffiti on the walls, cramped spaces. Except this prison occupied an entire planet. And the graffiti was rather more creative and covered a few more languages.
"So, you're the human," his cellmate (who called himself Hoki) said, one of his smooth heads snaking over from the bunk above to glance at him. Hoki pressed a button on the band strapped to his wrist, to translate the words into English.
The many eyes on the head rolled in different directions to focus on every part of Dave. It creeped him out, no matter how many times he's seen that since his arrival here a week ago.
"What did you do to end up here? You guys have no impressive weaponry to speak of. You can't even travel beyond your solar system. You have to seriously screw things up on an galactic scale to make it here...you're kinda famous, you know? We haven't had a new species in ages."
"Goodie, do I get a prize?" Dave muttered, not bothering to meet Hoki's eyes. He'd be executed soon, probably. In some horrible creative way humans couldn't even imagine. What was the point in small talk at this stage?
The silence stretched on long enough that Dave felt compelled to break it. What the hell - they'd know soon enough, anyway.
"Okay, fine - I broke the internet. Apparently. I mean, it started on Earth, so I guess when I broke it things just fell apart everywhere..."
Hoki burst out laughing. "The internet! You guys didn't start the internet. You haven't invented *anything* revolutionary on a galactic scale! And anyway, if you did, we'd know-"
"Yes, we did. I think everyone just hides the facts. Too embarrassing to give the credit to humans, I guess. But now it's collapsing slowly, they told me. Like a domino effect," Dave said, despite himself. "And how was I to know the government knew about other species and planets all along and sold internet to them?"
"Alright, shut up, I believe you! How did you break it? Are they working on it?" Hoki demanded.
"I don't know what happened," Dave shrugged. "I just turned off my WiFi. And everything collapsed."
Hoki was itching to strangle the human with one of his spare tentacles. To think he'd never get to stream his favourite shows from the neighbouring planet anymore! Internet access was a universal right. Even for prisoners.
"Anyway, they brought me here," Dave said. "Didn't think much of my suggestion on how to fix it."
"What was your suggestion?" Hoki snapped.
"To talk to the guy who sold me my computer, in college. He had all sorts of bizarre theories on aliens and parallel universes and wormholes. Not so crazy after all, I suppose. Genius, though - he was a computer engineer. Built that computer himself."
Dave could still picture Logan clearly in his mind. The thin, final-year student with compulsive ticks, who had seemed almost *too* eager to sell that computer he'd built. At the price, he hadn't questioned it. Too desperate to get a good deal. And too poor to replace it, even though it worked erratically. Especially its internet, regardless of how many times he jumped between internet providers.
"He has something to do with this, I know it. He should probably be the one locked up here. Maybe they were right back on Earth - maybe it was a terrorist. Just not the type they had in mind," Dave said quietly. He saw Logan's unsettling smile again in his memory. "If I could just see him again - but they brought me here before I could convince them."
Hoki slithered off the top bunk and grabbed Dave's arm, glaring at him from all five heads.
"You're prepared for intergalactic travel?" he asked.
"Yes, but why-"
"We're going to Earth and find this man. I could've escaped ages ago, but I like this prison. Much nicer than my home planet. However, for this, I'll break out. I won't miss my shows."
---------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2016-08-23T09:25:33
| 2016-08-23T09:06:18
| 95
| 27
|
[WP] As an immortal, one of the things you hate is visiting museums as almost everything people guess about history is wrong and you can't correct them. You have resorted to online forums and recently found a 'conspiracy theory' thread that seems suspiciously accurate.
|
Once you get to a certain age one gets bored easily. To break such back breaking boredom many immortals take to trolling the mortals for fun, it's been happening for centuries. I'm sure it's not hard to look into certain folklore hard enough and at least consider the idea that the origin must have been a prank that somehow got out of hand.
Since the days of the Internet myself and a few others have laid off the pranks partly because we felt we were starting to run out of ideas, after all you can only dream up so many ideas after 6 thousand years of mischief.
The biggest reason was that some of us realised that the pranks that mortals could pull on each other were far more genius and funny than anything I could I thought of. Take 4Chan for example - If pranks was an Olympic Sport then whomever thought of the prank to make people think the "OK" hand gesture was a White Supremacy sign deserves a Gold Medal.
Anyway, a me and a few friends would often go to history forums and be good people for a change and in subtle ways try our best to teach people the truth about the ancient past. Depending on whom you were talking to it was hit-&-miss but it's generally it's good honest work, rather fun when you get talking to the right people willing to listen.
It was in one of these forums that I found out one of our greatest prank disasters was about to be uncovered.
With 6 thousand years of pranks I'd like to think I was rather good at messing with mortals but the Laws Of Probability meant sooner or later a prank will backfire and the bigger the prank the bugger the blow-back. Case-in-point one of my most disastrous pranks resulted with an outbreak of Plauge in the Eastern Roman Empire.
That wasn't what was being talked about in this forum.
Instead it was a re-hash of conspiracy theories about the sinking of the Titanic. All very bad taste I'll be honest, I don't know anyone who thinks otherwise.
I still glazed over the comments and saw nothing special or interesting and was about to logout when someone odd caught my eye as I drank my coffee.
No way was that possible.
Username IceMaiden#12 had worked on the idea of tracing the course of the iceberg from where it struck the Titanic backwards to the point of origin.
On face value nothing weird, I'd recently seen a documentary on TV talking about the same thing and clearly IceMaiden#12 had seen the same thing but explained they had noticed a few details mentioned but the show glossed over.
Intrigued IceMaiden#12 decided to investigate.
There were still holes in the explanation yet what was there sent a chill down my spine.
What I was reading reminded my of some time in Canada and a dispute I had with a fellow immortal. Not a proud moment either.
He and I had been arguing over ownership of an artifact for 3 centuries by this point and I decided enough was enough. I hired a gang of locals to join me in the Arctic Circle to basically start a chain of events to seriously prank my rival.
Needless to say things didn't go to plan, things got wild, things went out of hand and both me, my gang, my rival and a gang he hired ended up breaking up a section of ice sheet. Don't ask how, words can't even begin to describe that level of craziness.
Me and my rival felt pretty stupid in the end nearly getting us drowned in ice and our respective gangs killed. We decided to call it quits and go home. Neither of us gave any second thought about the icebergs now starting to float away. Not until sometime later that is when news broke about a certain ship . . . . . .
|
"A true masterpiece, this painting..."
"You shouldn't disregard the vase next to it. A great artist made it in the Yin Dynasty..."
"And likewise this statue..."
With difficulty I restrained a sigh, forcing myself to put on a smile as one of the sponsors looked at me critically. Seconds after he turned his attention to another visitor, my smile immediately disappeared and I turned around. Left the exhibition hall without another word. I should have guessed, I mutter, shaking my head.
The most powerful men and women of the time had gathered here, admiring with expensive wine the milestones of mankind. With sly words they tossed about, throwing themselves into each other's chests to impress the other. Some had memorized entire history books, eloquently interrupting the other person and literally drowning him under their knowledge.
Only with difficulty could I stop myself from frowning. It was exactly the same feeling when a teenager believes in the tooth fairy - only many times worse. Because the others reacted with applause, showering them with compliments as if they had been an incredible enrichment to all of them.
Don't make me laugh.
I'm not even complaining that they have absolutely nothing to do with all these achievements and only enjoy the benefits of them, but something else bothers me. How can they believe this shit?
It's like some guy really cut off half his ear! And to call that a masterpiece as well - excuse my choice of words - but I seriously wonder sometimes if there is something wrong with people or just bullshit in their heads. Is it that hard to see? But I'm not going to get upset about it any further, after all, what's the point? Who would believe me that I myself was present at Jesus' birth and even later watched how Noah's Ark was built - which was later rebuilt into a zoo because they ran out of money but as soon as I say something, I am immediately considered a heretic. Whereas at least in today's time I don't have the inquisition in my neck, which wanted to throw me on the stake - but more than enough people, who want to classify me because of this as 'crazy' and throw me into the psychiatric ward. For my own safety, of course.
Hopeless these people, and there I really believed that maybe a generation in the future will recognize them - the thousands of lies they call their history. But I was wrong, nothing has changed.
Rather the opposite, instead of recognizing the truth they have elaborated the lies even more.
Sighing, I nodded to my butler, handed him my coat without a word and headed for my study. I had to distract myself somehow. And so I strode through the long halls of my villa, not pausing for a second to admire the numerous paintings on the walls. An art expert would faint at the sight of them, for me they were not worthy of more than a brief glance. For what was the point of exhibiting the works of my former friends if no one remembered them? Told tall tales about them or their works? It made me angry, and if there's one thing you don't want, it's an angry immortal.
Ruffling my hair, I leaned back in my chair, putting my book aside with a scowl on my face. I just couldn't concentrate. Shaking my head at my own restlessness, I forced myself to start my computer - one of the few things I loved and hated more than anything. On the one hand, it was a dream come true, an infinite amount of knowledge and possibilities - at the same time, I didn't come to miss the old days anyway. Groups of people talking about what was happening in front of newsstands, unexpected conversations with strangers where you couldn't ask the Internet anything yet.
In those moments, I felt infinitely old. But I pulled myself together, visited numerous online forums without even knowing what I was looking for.
"The truth about Mark Zuckerberg! Who is he really?"
"World history - nothing but a bunch of lies!"
"Lizard people - who they are and how you can recognize them!"
"How do you protect yourself from radio waves? I ran out of tinfoil..."
In the middle of the movement I froze, against my will I clicked the second post and immediately the corresponding thread appeared.
*I can't stand it any longer, the years go by and I have to watch how people tell lies after lies, believing they are the truth. And so they tell me something about the Egyptians who built the pyramids; Columbus who discovered America and Van Goth, the disregarded artist. My only reaction was to be amazed, sometimes laughing, believing the other person was joking until I realized it. He means it. He believes it.*
*Please, what? As if simple people built huge towers from solid blocks of stone without any help. And there in blazing heat. Oh, there were supposedly slaves - you want to know the truth? They were extra terrestrials, who else would be capable of such a thing? And Columbus was only lucky to win a bet with Mephistus and write his name in the history books, although he never set foot on a ship in his life. What a lucky bastard. And don't even start talking about van Goth, even now tears come to my eyes when I think about him. My little pet monkey has never been very talented, but what kind of owner am I to forbid him to do what he enjoys? And now, almost a millennium later, people are literally tearing themselves apart for his paintings....*
*What an incredible irony, but it's not like I need the money. Though it's really infuriating that no one knows the truth about him. What a shame that only I know his true face. And now you guys do too.*
*PS: I have attached a picture of Goth, self-drawn of course, after all, there were no cameras in the 15Jhd yet.*
With trembling hands I stared at my screen, only with effort I could pull myself together and not to answer the anonymous stranger. I wasn't alone, I thought, noticing a lonely tear slowly flowing down my cheek. I was not the only person who knew the truth....
| 2022-07-14T12:14:44
| 2022-07-14T12:00:38
| 28
| 12
|
[WP] An alien replacing your father and pretending to be him sounds like everybody horror's story, except for you and your mother since it is affectionate, caring, helps you with school and has even been promoted at work and is an absolute dork for SciFi movies.
|
My father was replaced by an alien.
He used to be a terrible father. He would get drunk, and then lash out at us. Blaming us for his troubles, blaming us for our debt, blaming use for everything.
He used to yell at mom, hitting her. Then he would leave to go hang out with his buddies.
I honestly dont remember much from then, other than those times where he was the worst.
But one day, he was particularly bad.
Mom was trying to shield me and my little sister. He hit her several times. Then he stopped.
There was a change in his eyes, and he just looked at us.
Then he started to cry and he kept apologizing over and over and over again.
After that he started working on himself. He stopped going to bars all the time, and he got himself a job again. He set up a schedule with a therapist, and was able to sort through his problems.
He became a much better person.
He stopped talking to the people who encouraged him to drink, and he fixed up all the damage done to the house.
I found out that he actually enjoyed SciFi, and we would watch the movies sometimes.
It took a while before we were able to be happy around him. Not flinch if he moved his hand, and to not feel fear while around him.
It helped that he shaved off his beard, and cut his hair. As it made him look like someone else other than the man who used to hurt us.
Sure, sometimes he would get angry, and nearly got violent, but over time he got better at controlling his actions.
Mom said that he was a lot like how he used to be, when they first got married. He was back to being the man she fell in love with. But she didn't know if she could love him anymore.
They stayed together in the end. Whether if it was just for us, or they had begun to love each other again, I'm not sure.
But my dad became someone else.
My father was replaced by an alien, at least that's a joke me an my friends make sometimes.
I've only told him about it once, and he just laughed, and walked away.
My father is an alien. At least compared to the man he used to be.
He is so much better now. Not perfect of course, but better.
My father, The alien.
|
“I love you, son” said the impostor.
Tears well up in my eyes. “I love you too, Dad”. For a second, I really mean Dad. It’s hard knowing that your dad has been replaced by a stranger, but times like this make it all worthwhile. Maybe in time, I’ll forget about my first ‘father’. Maybe I dreamt him up. It’s hard to be sure when I started to like this new Dad more than the original, but if pressed to pinpoint an exact moment, it would be three minutes after he walked in the door. In he crept with a large cardboard box. I expected it to be him hiding his beer or cheap whiskey––He never liked us knowing that he was slamming ‘em back. But we all knew. You could smell it on his beard and his breath and his body odor. It was all-permeating. My father was a terrible liar, but no one ever called him out on it, because we didn’t want to get into the inevitable shouting match that always followed.
“I’m not drunk!” Punches the wall.
“You’re the drunk!” Slams the door.
“Idiot!” Car pulls out of the driveway.
I’ve never been yelled at by my new dad.
I’ve never even thought about running away.
In that cardboard box, New Dad had bought the complete collections of the Twilight Zone, Star Wars, Stargate SG1, Battlestar Galactica, Cosmos with Carl Sagan, and all the Star Trek series. My first father had never cared about space before. He sat down with us that night, made popcorn with a lot of butter and salt, and we all sat together on the couch and just relaxed and watched. It was the first time I felt like we were a family.
Neither me or my mom know what happened to the original father. At first, I thought that maybe my new dad ate him or something. That was a year ago. Every once in a while, I wonder to myself where my original father would be. I can never focus on it for too long, it always brings me down. I don’t think he would be thinking about me. I never bring it up with Mom either. She’s been smiling a lot more ever since New Dad walked into our lives. Sometimes she even wears makeup. I think she might be in love again. Not that my original father was so terrible, apart from the drinking and the yelling and the fighting, but New Dad really takes care of her, you know? He really loves her, and Mom really loves him back, face tentacles and all.
| 2020-04-23T09:51:30
| 2020-04-23T09:30:56
| 26
| 18
|
[WP] It‘s a normal afternoon on earth but then suddenly an entire fleet of imperial ships exit hyperspace and are now in earths orbit. How would the Earths governments react if those ships in the sky just stay there for days, weeks and maybe even months just doing nothing?
|
Everyone thought it was the end times.
Oh, sure. Some people would keep a brave face. The media, the governments, the military: they all wanted to make believe that this was first contact with a higher being. Soon we would be given the keys to peace, longevity, technology, and passage to the stars.
No one was fooled. Not really. You could have the news outlets screaming their predictions from every screen in the city, but the truth could be seen by every man woman and child who looked up and saw the alien spaceship flying by every ninety minutes.
It was a hammer in geosynchronous orbit.
We were the anvil.
I thought it would be over in hours. The space operas, sci-fi novels, and comics books always made it happen quickly. Surely, they would start issuing commands in some language, or firing lasers, or abducting hapless humans for vivisection. But they just sat there.
Days went by. Weeks. The U.S., Russia, and China sent probes, but the ship would not react. Scientists tried communicating with every band of radio and version of communication they could devise. An enterprising group of engineering grads even set up a laser array that displayed pictographs on the face of the moon.
Everyone who looked at that patrolling, alien craft was asking the same questions: What do you want from us? Why are you here? What comes next?
I thought I knew the answer. I'm sure many people had the same theory. The world was falling apart. Wars between brothers to fill the bank accounts of the greedy. Pollution that contaminated the oceans and air. Businesses that sold trivial luxuries that cost the planet entire species.
The aliens were our judge. They were just gathering data on our crimes so they could accurately pass judgement. Their gavel would fall, and the human race would be put to an end before we could spread our disease out to the stars.
The subject of destroying the spaceship was not a new one. Militaries had been planning for offensive measures from the moment it dropped into our planet's orbit. I was in a special battalion of marines that the pentagon had chosen for deep space recon. After the first week of silence, we were put through training in high g, low g, orbital flight, and vacuum combat. The lie was that we were going as a contact vessel to either board the spacecraft or breach it so that the aliens would be forced to give us attention.
The truth? I can't say, but we had a tactical nuke in the cargo hold.
We made our launch one hundred and thirteen days after the aliens first arrived. When I could see vessel up-close through the viewport, I knew we were out of our depth. It was a thing of angles, symmetry, and sophistication that could not be matched by humans. This would be no stealth mission. There was no way they didn't know we were coming.
I'm not proud of it, but I actually prayed that they would blow us out of the sky just so it could be over with.
The magnets latched onto the hull with surprising grace and we cut through with our breach tools. They felt awkward to handle in my spacesuit, but they worked well in the vacuum. One by one, we entered through the breach. I was the last one through because I was assigned with the reseal, so I was the last one to see the inside.
It was a grisly sight.
I don't think we will ever know what the invaders looked like because they had been reduced to atomic jelly. Thing that might have been bones littered the floor. Goo that was potentially organs were smashed against the walls. Fluids of a color that could only be described as 'wrong' floated through every open space.
The xenologists who studied the footage later determined that it must have been their propulsion system. An engine that could travel between the stars had to be moving at immeasurable speeds. When it suddenly appeared in our orbit, it was actually a sudden stop that threw a billion g's at every alien inside.
There will continue to be theories, but I think they were much like us. A sentient race of ambitious fools who needed a new planet but were too hasty in their calculations.
They say that they can salvage much of the ship. The technology within will advance us through decades of computation and medicine. The engine could even be reverse-engineered to allow humans to attempt interstellar flight.
It is exciting for humanity, but I hope that if we ever do leave this planet, we will have learned how to slow down.
|
The shadows loomed across the world. Even through the day, the ships could be seen clearly in the sky. The apocalypse had begun. Or so we had thought.
Missiles were launched at the ships to no avail. They were destroyed before even making a dent. But not return blasts ever came. We expected fire to rain from the sky, but it stayed as blue as the day it formed.
It was a few days at first. The media coverage was endless. The deep corners of the web spat out conspiracy theories of mad billionaires pranking the planet, or the ships intended for the wealthy to escape had secretly been launched. It was quite funny really, the hilarity that could ensue from reading some of these far fetched stories.
It wasn’t for months before a mission was finally sent to the looming ships. If I had to guess, it was preparation or logistics maybe, but it still seemed strange that it took so long. The event was even more popular than the moon event. The livestream was shared around the world.
Punters put bets on what we’d find. I chipped in a fiver for the fun of it. The world cheered as we worked together to solve the mystery.
The news broadcast switched to the astronauts feed. An almost noticeable hush fell across the world. No sounds were being made, not even the animals dared move.
The astronaut carefully cut his way inside. Darkness. His torch flared to life shining down the hall. Particles of dust floated lifelessly in the conical light beam. But, nothing else.
It wasn’t long before memes started appearing. Captions of “Me and all my friends”, “Guys my girlfriend goes to another school I swear,” and the sorts were blowing up within minutes.
But the slow walk continued. Each room, each hall, each corner and every wall. Nothing. It was clean but there was no life. No power. Nothing. A conundrum to say the least.
I switched off the feed and went back to my normal viewing pleasures of Netflix and other streaming services. I kept tabs on the exploration, but all the other ships were the same. Empty.
The astronauts must have been bored as one carelessly tore their suit on a table as they were looking. It was quickly duct taped up and no harm came to them, but the memes once again began. Though they were funny, it was hard to say whether it was fair to create an infamy on the internet for a simple mistake.
Eventually, the astronauts returned. I managed to triple my five dollars by betting on nothing being in the ships. That was a nice consolation for boredom at least.
So we all went on living. The ships weren’t moving, we found no way to move them and nothing was changing. It was the new norm.
Well, that was until news broke of the astronaut whose suit had ripped hadn’t been seen again. Authorities denied the allegations obviously, but they didn’t offer up any proof of their whereabouts either. It was a black zone on the mission.
Slowly, more disappearances cropped up. People known to have been helping on the mission were missing. As were some of their friends and family members too.
The authorities continued neglecting responsibility. They assured us nothing was wrong. There were no issues. But could that be believed?
| 2022-04-26T07:33:30
| 2022-04-26T07:04:21
| 95
| 32
|
[WP] Make me cry in four sentences or less.
Go.
|
He checked his watch for the eighth time that hour.
He took the box out of his pocket and opened it.
He took the ring out and caught the fading light of the day in its facets.
He put the ring away and walked home as he realized she would never show.
|
Parallel lines have a lot in common but they never ever get to meet each other.
Every other pair of lines meet once and drift apart forever.
The asymptote builds up (false) hope and gets closer and closer to meeting the axis but... never gets to do that.
Lines are depressing :'(
| 2014-11-20T18:36:12
| 2014-11-20T18:22:41
| 72
| 26
|
[WP] You work as a bookie for gamblers with rich blood. One day a man comes to you and puts down a fortune on a ridiculous bet. But this is the moment you've been waiting for. You shove him against the wall. "TTPD!" You shout. "You are under arrest for time-traveling for your own personal gain!"
|
It is rare for recruits to do their first arrest so quick. Finding offenders is a hard task.
As you place the handcuffs on him, the race is nearing the end. As Chance overtakes Thunder, you understand your mistake: this was a rudiculous bet, yes... but also a loosing one.
The man started laughing and let out a faint whisper: "seems like the butterfly flapped his wings one too many times".
At this moment you realised your mistake: This was not a time offender, or at least not the one you expected.
You look around you: several people have their cellphones out streaming live the incident.
"What is he under arrest for again?" Yell one man.
"Go on, say it one more time for my followers!" Add another.
Seems in all your excitement you forgot about a few very important rules...
What will you do?
- Let him there and go back in time to start over. [Go to page 92.]
- Wait for the real police to come. [Go to page 43.]
- Try to escape the Time Locked crowd and bring your prisonner back to the temporal HQ. [Go to page 12]
- Appologize and let him go [Go to page 1935]
|
Arthur Flint sat in a too hard chair in a casino three hundred years from home and watched her approach. That’s not to say he was special or that they were alone, every man in every room Ava had ever walked through had turned towards her, in that respect Arthur’s intense stare was the most normal thing he could have done. What was less so was the hand in his desk, fingers wrapped around a period accurate .45, and the transmitter sewn into his jacket pocket, reporting his physical condition and location to the future at all times.
He’d been waiting on this meeting a long time, and hidden deep in Ava’s stunning smile was the fact she was too.
“Hello,” she said brightly, “I’d like to put a million on the Colts to beat the Packers this weekend.” The room was pin drop silent, in 1950 the Baltimore Colts were one of the worst teams football had ever seen, undoubtedly all of this era’s men in the room had just made some horrifically generic comment in their heads about beauty and brains. Arthur Flint knew better, it was his job to know.
“TTPD!” he shouted, rising smoothly from his chair, gun in hand. A holographic badge appeared on his chest as the bystanders in the room attempted to run for doors that were already locking themselves. A can of Retcon!™ waited in the back to deal with that problem. “You are under arrest for time traveling for your personal gain!”
Ava thought she managed her shock perfectly, blue eyes widening just so, the appropriate level of gasp leaving her lips. She had wanted to be an actress in her youth.
“Down on the ground, hands behind your back!” Arthur continued to shout, moving around the desk, pulling magcuffs from his belt as he approached.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” Ava shouted tearfully, “this is all just some misunderstanding I swear!”
It was going so perfectly for Arthur until an unknown man detached himself from a corner of the room, powering up a laser baton. The cop was out in one clean strike to the back of the head, his unconscious body falling heavily across Ava, eliciting the first genuine reaction she’d had this whole time.
“Terrence you damn brute, did you have to wait until he was right on top of me!” she squealed from beneath their target. “Get him off of me you idiot!”
“Sorry ma’am.” Terrence was a man of few words.
Finally free Ava dusted off her too tight red dress and kicked off the high heels this era mandated she wear, one of them hitting the time cop in the side of the head. She was not sorry.
“Ok, grab him and lets get out of here.” Ava said, composure regained. The family had entrusted her with this after all, she was not about to let them down. As Terrence leaned down to pick up Arthur she pulled a small metallic wand from her purse, playing its light up and down the cop’s body to kill off any hidden electronics he may have. Then, gathering up her shoes and any other paraphernalia they may have left she squeezed close to her bodyguard’s hulking form, the slim cop in his arms, and the trio faded out of existence to the horrified screams of the casino’s patrons.
The trio rematerialized in a dank basement that Ava would never have set foot in under any circumstances but she breathed the air greedily all the same. They were back home in the 24th century.
As Terrence attended to his duties, tying up the prison, readying his tools of “persuasion,” Ava crossed to the small pile of clothing she had left in the room for this very purpose. She stripped without compunction, trading the dress she hated for a loose jumpsuit made of a strangely yellowed plasticized material and slipped into flat, comfortable shoes. She was ready for the interrogation.
Several minutes later and with a tremendous groan, Arthur woke. The world around him swam, he thought he could feel a presence behind him but he wasn’t sure. In front of them however, was a face the cop did recognize. Ava sat straddling a wheeled chair, her arms across the back and her chin resting on them. She played a finger idly across the faux-leather as she watched him.
“Good, you’re awake! I’m glad we didn’t hurt you too badly Art. Can I call you Art?”
“You’re making a big mistake Ava,” he said, coughing hard. Those batons really did a number on you.
“Oh my name’s not Ava,” she said, smiling. “And I don’t think we are. You see, the people I work for have gotten extremely annoyed at your department’s meddling, and we’ve got some questions about how you people always seem to know where we’re going. Now Art, we can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way,” she chuckled at her cliche “and personally I’d really prefer it was the easy way. I really want you in one piece at the end of this.”
“And why the hell would you care about me?” Arthur asked.
Ava stood and approached the cop’s bound form, coming up to his right side and sinking into a low crouch beside him. She stroked the side of his face so tenderly it made Arthur’s blood boil.
“Because I want to turn you,” Ava said as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “Haven’t you ever wanted to work for the mob?”
\-----------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I'm currently working on a serial about a savescumming superhero and I've got other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. I'd love you have you!
| 2020-12-31T08:19:32
| 2020-12-31T08:09:43
| 113
| 81
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look."
|
My phone rattled on my nightstand, and I ignored it.
Twenty minutes later, it shook again. The quiet buzz would usually go unnoticed during the day, but the same volume amplified twofold in the middle of the night.
The phone’s shake persisted. I felt myself pried away from a deep slumber.
I grabbed my phone and pressed swiped upwards. Three things caught my attention in a matter of seconds, the first being the time — 3:15 AM. I groaned knowing that I my alarm would go off in a couple of hours.
The second thing I noticed was one of those emergency text issued by the state. They usually display an amber alert or severe weather advisory. But this message differed from the others. This message said, “LEVI, DON’T LOOK AT THE WALRUS…” I laid in my bed dumbfounded. My area is pretty safe, the weather didn’t indicate any storms on the horizon. But most curious, I had disabled those types of notifications months ago.
I tapped on the message to see if anything proceeded by the ellipsis. Nothing, just the same advice to not gaze upon some blubbery pinniped.
The last thing I noticed was the amount of unread text messages I received. Nearly half of my contacts delivered the same message as the emergency notification, except their message had a hyperlink embedded into the text.
I initially thought that some virus was spreading across cellphones. Tapping the link would allow the hack to enter my phone, gather my personal information, then send the same message to my entire contact list. But each message did include my name. Could a hack identify the users phone and personalize their message? I have no clue.
I opened up Twitter to see if the virus was trending. It was; over 100k tweets contained the hashtag *WALRUSMODEL*. I read through a couple of post, but most tweets poked fun at the message without their users opening the link. There was one account— 16bitTurtles — who said they would tap the link and take a screenshot of whatever it displayed. They did not followed up on their tweet. Perhaps they fell back asleep.
I closed out the program and cleared the messages on my home screen. Then, more missed notifications appeared in the text messages/emergency warning part of my screen — a list of missed calls. Another chunk of my contact list called me at 3:00 AM and each left a voicemail.
I had a suspicion they echoed the same message, but that would go against my theory that the link was a hack. Unless the virus also acted like a robocall and some monotoned voice spoke on the other line.
The most recent message was from my mom. I had to know if it was truly her that reached out to me. I tapped on her name and held the phone to my ear.
I heard her voice whispering in a panic, as if an intruder were in her house. She demanded me to not look at the walrus *outside*.
She continued to say the same message over and over again until she exceeded the voicemail length and the call abruptly ended.
My blinds were shut. A flash of pale light flickered through its crevices. I pressed my finger on one of the slates, tempted to raise it and take a peak of my front lawn.
I removed my hand as if it touched a hot stove and walked into my closet. I shut the door and curled up in the corner. I was afraid of something I wasn’t sure of.
I called my several times mom she never answered. I couldn’t even leave a voicemail — a recording of her phone carrier said her inbox was full.
I opened my contacts list and noted who had yet tried to contact me over the night. I started to call them.
Of course they didn’t answer. It was only 3:34 AM. So I left a message, pleading each of them by name to not look at the possible walrus outside.
|
The room was dark and still. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, it’s rhythmic yelps slipping through the barely open window. A digital alarm clock sat on a bedside table - its face glowed softly as 2:59AM turned to 3:00AM.
A phone buzzed violently beside the clock.
“What the fuck is that?” groaned the previously sleeping man. He grabbed the phone, jerking it off its charger, and brought it to his face.
It was an official notification, not dissimilar to one sent for severe weather or an amber alert. But instead of the usual message about flash floods or missing children, this text simply read “DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS.”
Before he could even begin to comprehend such a message, his phone buzzed once more. And then again. And then again. In fact, it did not stop buzzing for some time. The screen was flooded with notifications - messages from hundreds of unknown numbers. Each one contained a variation of the message “It's a beautiful walrus. Look.” with an image attached.
The man sighed. He turned off his phone and placed it back down on his bedside table.
“Not again.”
Just as he swung his legs off the bed and began to stretch his arms, there was a knock on his bedroom door.
“Yes?” he called.
“Andrew? Are you awake? It’s the uh...”
Before the other man could finish, Andrew interrupted him. “The walruses. I know. I’ll be out in a second.”
It had been several years since the Marine Mammal Uprising. Walruses, seals, otters, dugongs, and all other manner of aquatic beasts had executed a flawless coup of the human race. Humans had vastly underestimated their strength, speed, and ability to use firearms. They rose up right when humans were at their weakest and now had plans for a mass extinction.
Andrew threw on a shirt and ventured out to the kitchen where four others were seated around a wooden table.
“Another late night cyber attack?” he offered as he poured himself a cold cup of day-old coffee.
A woman hunched over a laptop replied “Yup - they were trying to catch us off guard. No doubt some sleepy idiots opened at least one of the texts. They’re goners by now. Hacked, tracked, and shot in the face by a very angry dolphin.” She typed furiously, assessing the damage. “Looks like our servers are safe though. For now.”
Andrew rubbed his temples. “It’s not going to take them much longer to find us. We need a new plan.”
“What are we supposed to do?” one member chimed. “They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. And our human allies are dwindling. Soon we won’t even be getting the warning texts.”
“I think it’s time we go on the offensive,” Andrew exclaimed, setting his mug on the counter. “No more hiding in deserts or on mountains. We need to take the fight to them. Drive them out of every sea, lake, pond, and reservoir. We need to take back what’s rightfully ours. For our families. Our friends.” He paused and looked thoughtfully at the woman behind the laptop. “For the forgotten victims of the Manatee Massacre.”
She gripped the locket dangling around her neck and nodded. The others softly vocalized their support in the form of "amens" and "right ons." Thus, the revolution began. What started as a text about a walrus would end as the bloodiest human/marine mammal conflict in the history of mankind.
| 2021-01-11T19:03:59
| 2021-01-11T17:28:37
| 1,394
| 216
|
[WP] you are a powerful warlock that has retired to raise your daughter everything's been going well that is until a couple of her classmates try to sacrifice her after reading about a 'dark spell' online, you've decided to show them what real black magic looks like
|
An alarm is going off in my head. Not metaphorically, a literal thaumaturgical alarum. My child is in danger. Elevated heartrate, fear, crying. I open my inner eye to seek her. I see her lying on a large tree stump surrounded by candles. I recognize the runes burned into the bark and latch onto one of them taking the magic meant for it. The summoning rune.
Her blood powered the ritual, *my* blood. That gives me precedence over whatever entity was named here. The veins in my left arm glow blue as I tap into the magic. I could feel the rage of the lesser demon, but he relinquished his hold on it with no complaint.
I feel the spell begin to pull me away and exhale completely. Teleporting is a surreal experience. It feels like you experience an eternity in an instant. Like your entire being is getting compressed into a single point. Then you're there.
"You have made a mistake." I say as I step out of the summoning circle. Their protections would have been adequate for containing something twice as strong as what they were summoning, but not only was I stronger, My blood powered them.
The screaming lasted only a quarter second. I raised my left hand, palm up, fingers clawing with how hard the magic was on my body. The cultists that had summoned me were pinned to nearby trees, arms outstretched to the sides. Their vocal cords were tightened. They wouldn't be able to make sound if they wanted to.
I wanted to know which of my enemies would be foolish enough to try this. with a word the masks they were each wearing shattered, shards of porcelain embedding both into their faces, and the ground.
I did recognize them, to my dismay. One more than the others. They were her classmates. She was her friend. I was enraged.
I brought her to me. Face to face, rotating her upside down because if there's any time for drama it's now. I spoke with the voices of every demon under my contract. "Traitor!" We said "Betrayer! How dare you?" I do not allow her to speak. Instead I reach into her head and pluck out her reason.
Inside I find loneliness, an outcast given an In by sadistic classmates. I find turmoil and most importantly, I find remorse. That will do.
I relax her my grip on her voice and beckon her to speak.
"I didn't know they were going to hurt her." She croaked.
I take a deep breath and let her drop to the floor.
"Bandage her arms." I commanded. Lending her the knowledge she needed to do so. "Then take her to the hospital. Stay there." She hesitated and I barked *"NOW!"*
I still had plenty of power left from the offering they had so graciously given me. Now it was time to use it. The eight of us, me and the seven remaining teenagers, took flight, they remained in the same crucified pose for now. Once we were about a kilometer away, I touched us down in a clearing. I arranged them in a semicircle
"Right." I said, my voice back to normal. "Point to the leader." I commanded. I gave them each back control of a single arm, and they all pointed to an older looking kid. Maybe two years on the rest of them. He looked defiant.
I brought him closer, while having the others give us space. I only needed one word. "Why." I growled. He laughed, almost indignant "bitch rejected me! She had it coming."
I felt a few pulses of emotion from the group. I let them speak up. "What the fuck Jared!? You said it had to be her because she was a virgin!" I raised an eyebrow. He seemed a little less pleased. "Well she is!" He shouted back.
My arm extended to grab his throat and I raised him up into the air. "Sex and magic are not connected!" I hissed at him.
"You *Lied* to them to settle a perceived slight against you."
More mutterings of discontent.
I muzzled the dog once more and turned to face the group.
"Rule number one of practicing black magic! Every action has a consequence." I boomed, the voices of my demons returning. "His consequence will be death. Yours will be your own choice. Rule number two. There will always be a sacrifice. Today you must choose your arm or your innocence. Bury a knife in Jared's gut, or lose your non dominant arm!
No one should *have* to kill. I live by that rule. But there must always be a sacrifice." I gave them some time to marinate on the offer while I came back to Jared. I leaned in close to him and whisper. "I'm not gonna lay a finger on you tonight. Your life is in their hands. Wonder how many of em think you have it coming."
I could taste his fear. I failed in my attempts not to savour it.
I brought down the first of the kids. I offered her the same dagger used to harm my child. She took it without a word, walked up to Jared and plunged it into his chest.
I took the dagger from her with a smile. "Follow the Ravens home or wait for the others." She took a seat at the edge of the clearing.
I brought down the next boy, released him as before and offered him the dagger. He he took it and hesitated for a moment. "He's an asshole, yeah sure. Does he really need to die?" The boy asked. "No." I responded. "But he will."
I wasn't expecting him to swing at me. The blade dragged across my skin, leaving nothing more than a scratch. "Well I suppose I could offer a third option." I remark as he slashes at me again. As he swung a third time, I caught his arm.
"That's stopped being funny now." He drops the blade. "W-whats option three?"
"You can take his place. Now choose."
He holds out his arm. "He's not worth dying for, but I'm not killing him either."
I place a hand on his shoulder and pull it right off, numbing the pain for him a bit. I'm not a monster anymore after all. Still, he could feel it and he howled in pain.
There was only a single spurt of blood before I closed the wound with magic.
There wasn't dissent after that. Only one other person lost their arm. "Now what?" The first girl asked as I checked on Jared. "Follow the Ravens, they'll lead you home remember?"
"No, I mean, how do I go back after this?"
"Hopefully with grace and humility. When you get home, tell them when you found Jared over my daughter, you chased him off, but lost him. In about a week, they'll find his remains shredded in a bear den and that'll be that."
The guy who swung at me asks "What do I tell them about my arm?"
It was my turn to laugh. "Lesson three of black magic, the second option is always worse, and the third is inconceivable. Figure it out yourself."
With that, I left. Ended the summoning spell and with that same familiar pop, I was home. Nothing to do now but wait for the phonecall from the hospital. I don't care if they tell the truth or not, no one will believe the truth anyway. The important thing is that my daughter is safe.
|
I watched over my precious daughter, May, as she slept. Her body was covered in bandages. What those girls did angered me. I grinned instead. This was going to be fun, indeed!
After a few hours, I left my husband to watch over our daughter. There were things I needed to do, such as finish my part of that project and send it in so the boss would stop breathing down my neck. I had been sorely tempted to give him a little problem magic wise multiple times. I only missed the deadline once. It wasn’t my fault the power was out for three days!
I got home and went down to my office in the basement. Our basement was a finished basement. No smelly and cold stone here. I went to my computer and opened my files, going for my spell file. What? I upgraded!
Let’s see, who shall be first? There were four girls. Tiffany, Lila, Nida, and Latasha. Tiffany was the blond who wore a ton of make up and valued beauty over all else. Which spell? Oh yes. The allergy spell. Let’s add a tiny twist by wording in a burn spell. Perfect. I wrote the new spell down. This bitch was about to be disfigured for life.
Nida. An ablest. Constantly picking on the special needs kids. The locked in spell would be perfect. Get ready to be trapped in your own body for life, bitch.
Lila. Miss lies a lot. A truth spell? Nah. Let’s add a touch of itching for every lie told. Only the truth will bring relief. No more lies from you, bitch.
Finally, Latasha. The ringleader. Heavily into guys. I grinned. She had a huge crush on the star quarterback. Let’s make her undesirable to any man. Try to win your man now, bitch!
I cast each spell, and waited for results.
—-
Her face was itching. Tiffany went to the school bathroom. She’d been catching herself scratching, and her makeup needed to be fixed. She looked at the mirror and began to fix her makeup.
—-
“Did you hear? Tiffany is in the burn unit! They are saying her face melted off!” A girl said.
“I heard her parents are going after the company.” A boy added.
“Considering how much she wears, she was bound to have a reaction.” Another girl said. “It was a matter of when.”
A scream turned their attention to Lila, who was clawing at her body.
“It won’t stop itching!” She wailed over and over again. “Why won’t it stop?”
May watched the proceedings. She knew my handiwork.
“Try telling the truth, Lila!” She called out. “You are probably experiencing a reaction to your guilt for lying!”
“I’ve never lied once in my life!” Lila was starting to draw blood.
“Seriously, say something true about yourself.” May pushed, “Like how you like to lie.”
“But I don’t!” Lila was crying. Her hands were bloody.
“Go on.” A girl said.
“Fine! I’m a liar!” Lila panted. “The itch stopped!”
—-
“Did you hear about Nida? She’s in the hospital.” A girl said. “She suddenly collapsed. They can’t find anything wrong with her.”
“That sounds like locked in syndrome.” A boy pushed his glasses up his nose. “You become a prisoner in your own body. Your mind works but you can’t do anything but think.”
“You know, all three girls tried to use dark magic on May. If I’m right, the spell did work. Latasha is going to be next. What will happen to her?” Another boy said.
Latasha heard. “Oh no!”
“Tiffany liked being beautiful. The spell messed with her face. Lila lies a lot. The spell is forcing her to tell the truth. Nida often picked on the special needs kids. The spell made her special needs. It’s like it’s punishing them.” Another girl said.
“You know, it’s targeting what they love and changing it.” May said. “We all know Latasha loves Ryder. I bet it’s going to make her gay!”
“No way! I will force myself to like guys!” Latasha cried out.
“Latasha, your chest.” May pointed. “I think it gave you a third one.”
“Ether that’s one giant zit on your cheek, or it’s a nipple.” Someone else noticed.
“Wha…” Latasha started screaming.
—-
“I know you cast some spells, Dad.” May said to me at the dinner table.
“Some lessons needed to be taught.” I grinned.
“Well, they think it was the spell they tried to do.” May grinned. “Thanks, dad.”
| 2021-09-04T20:29:47
| 2021-09-04T20:01:18
| 1,106
| 64
|
[WP] Write your own satirical news article in the style of The Onion.
|
New York City, New York 12/30/14
SOURCES SAY ALL FLIGHTS IN THE WORLD ARRIVED SAFELY AT DESTINATIONS
written by *murph_diver*
In a stunning turn of non-events, it has been confirmed by multiple sources that nothing of significant importance among major airlines in the world has happened today.
A spokesperson for American Airlines had this to say:
"This marks a truly unremarkable day in history as travelers around the world were involved with absolutely nothing worthy of reporting. We estimate that over the course of the next 4 days, there may be a complete lack of things happening."
However, some national personalities are refuting these reports.
As Sean Hannity of Fox News was quoted:
"The American people are once again being misled by the liberal-leftist media. This is just a distraction meant to keep the middle class from taxes and uh, Obamacare... because, terrorism and possibly gay marriage."
When asked about his outbursts, a spokesperson for the White House replied:
"...the fuck?"
|
**UN tests newest *Strongly Worded Letter* in the Bikini Atolls**
Last Friday, December 26th, 2014, the UN tested the newest weapon in their arsenal, the SWL 37. The SWL 37 uses a container of stiff formality to trigger a high-density legal core for a predicted outcome of nearly 40 giga-shames.
The test completed successfully, dealing nearly a disappointed mother's worth of shame damage to the entire island.
North Korea and Russia voiced complaints about the test, calling it a "Unconscionable provocation" and vowed enhancements to their own documents of destruction. The UN has no comment at this time.
| 2014-12-30T09:04:11
| 2014-12-30T08:57:03
| 33
| 19
|
[WP] Every way to die works like Chicken Pox: If you get it once and survive, it can never happen to you again.
|
I haven't figured out how to survive dying from pressure yet.
---
When I was sixteen I drowned. Quietly, the way kids in pools sometimes do- passive, not active drowning. The world closed over me and my lungs filled up and then I died.
When I opened my eyes my chest hurt *horribly*, because someone was shoving it repeatedly. It was the lifeguard, who had been making out with his girlfriend but happened to glance back at the pool.
My mouth burned with bile. My head spun.
But I never drowned again.
---
I'm still not the best swimmer. Oh, I'm definitely good. You can't spend hours and hour and hours doing something and not, eventually, be good at it. But I'm not fast and my form isn't great, and it doesn't matter.
I can swim for hours. And then, when I'm tired out, in the middle of the Pacific, I stop swimming. Eventually I swallow enough water to start sinking. The world closes over me. I like it.
---
I must, at some point, have died of both salt poisoning and hypothermia. I've been rescued a lot of times from the sea, at some point I must have actually died, before the captain poured fresh water down my throat or slowly warmed me by a heater. I've never really checked, though.
---
It didn't start with oceans, of course. There's a lot to see, at the bottom of lakes, if you have the time to take your time. People don't usually bother, who is going to pay for the diving equipment? But I liked to sit at the bottom of Lake Michigan and watch the fish. Not so many live at the bottom.
I could sit there for days, actually. I once had a fish start living under my knee.
(I guess at some point I may have died of starvation)
---
What I want to do is see the Mariana trench with my own eyes. Without the pressure slouching off my skin and squeezing my brain into a walnut. Without dying.
I think it will be perfectly dark there. I think it will sound like the ocean, distilled, like the purest form of waterness you could find.
I'll keep diving and dying and maybe one day I'll get there.
|
When I was ten, chicken pox had been the worst thing to happen to me. I thought I was going to die. Ha! If only I had known. It's been 113 years now and I'm still going. Some call me a zombie, some call me an angel, churches love to brand me a devil. ...but hey, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, at least in my case. Now I'm no super hero, just some unlucky smuck who can't seem to keep himself out of harms way.
I first noticed something wasn't right when I was working as a fireman. The building I was in partially collapsed trapping me. At first the heat was so intense, I cried out in agony. Once the fire reached me though...I don't know, I thought maybe I was hallucinating, but I found my extinguisher and was able to dose the fore along enough to free myself.
Still trapped in the house, I suddenly noticed it wasn't so hot anymore. I no longer felt in pain from the heat. That's when I realized, my body became immune to fire. When I walked out of the building, fire clinging to what was left of my suit, they thought it was straight out of a movie.
I went on to become the cities own little superhero...as long as I survived any danger I ran into. I began doing my own experiments just to strengthen by new found abilities. Guns, knives, poisen, as long as it didn't kill me, I became immune to its negative effects. Sure the scars stayed behind from the first time, but none the less, untouchable any other scenario.
So why now you ask, why am I writing this letter to you all. I've been on this earth and survived it all, so why now. Well my kids, there are just some things no man is meant to survive...eventually someone will find a way and I wanted you all to know my true story...what doesn't kill you...
| 2015-11-12T10:39:36
| 2015-11-12T09:47:00
| 224
| 129
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
Empty. Lena checked it every single day, and has been checking it for the last ten years. Her sigil was still empty. She was sixteen now and it should've been filled once she was six. It never happened, and everyday she hoped it would. And every day, she wakes up disappointed.
She fixated it longer today as she sat on her own during lunch. She gave it a glare as though it would understand and finally do what it was supposed to.
Nobody understood.
Her parents didn't understand why she was an anomaly, yet they loved her regardless. Her classmates however didn't understand that they were not superior just because she did not have powers as they did.
Brian was her main bully. He didn't sound like a bully, but he was. His sigil allowed him to cast ice. It matched his heart temperature, Lena confirmed it was cold as ice.
He was cruel and relentless. Though he hasn't yet used his powers on her, his words hurt as frostbite would.
"There it is!" He sneered behind her, referring to her as 'it' as he usually would. "Does it have powers today yet?"
Lena clenched the palm of her hand where her sigil was. She controlled her breathing and let her anger go. She would tune him out as she usually did before the bell rung.
She closed her locker and took her phone out of her pocket.
Brian snatched it from her hands.
She gave him a glare that could kill, yet he only grinned in response.
"Give it back!" She cried out stretching her hand out to reclaim it.
Their interaction was grabbing the attention of the students around them.
"Or what?" He taunted back. "Huh, creature? What are you going to do? Cast out your invisible powers to take me down?"
"I don't know who you think you are and why you think you have the right to-"
Before she had the opportunity to finish her statement, she felt a sharp pain enter her stomach. The rest of the students gasped.
He cast his powers on her. He stabbed her with an icicle.
"Your sentence was way too long." He plainly said with a smug look in his eyes.
Lena felt nothing at that point, and only went still in response. His powers did that. They would freeze the target for as long as the caster desired.
But that was not why she froze, no she did not feel the cold.
"You are nothing. You can do nothing. You're just a weak little girl."
She heard him perfectly well and knew deep inside that it was not the truth. No, no, the truth was much greater than that, and she felt it with every single fibre of her being.
"Alicia, patch it up please." He called out to one of the students who quickly approached to tend to Lena's wound.
"No, stay away." Lena sternly instructed, and Alicia stopped mid-way. Brian looked at her confused.
Lena slowly removed the icicle from her stomach and felt her body heal on its own. She could not feel the stinging the ice would have brought as she held it. Her blood was boiling, literally boiling through the icicle she retracted.
Brian stood in disbelief. Her wound was healed and left no scar, and she could not be frozen. He tried to stab her once more but the same result came out. Again and again. Every icicle he injected, she would effortlessly remove and heal once more as though nothing had happened.
Her sigil was a full circle. It was not an empty circle. Her sigil was wholeness, which was why she could heal. Her sigil was the sun, which was why her blood boiled and she could not be frozen.
"You will not bring me down anymore." She said as she herself stabbed him with an icicle of her own. Her eyes stared into his and she saw them fill up with tears of pain. The same pain she would have gone through were she not who she was.
What goes around comes around. Her sigil was Karma. A full and complete circle.
And then she wondered, what else could her sigil be?
|
Another day and the same fucking asshole and his group of friends who pick on me. Using their powers to shock me or set my homework on fire was only the beginning. I've had to lie to my mother why I was coming home with burn marks on my arms. I hate lying to mother. They claim they'll stop harassing me if I show them my power, as if that would make them stop. I shouldn't use my power. Once I found out what I had done I didn't want to use it much after that. I didn't want to be kicked out of school for something I was given that I didn't ask for. However, just moments ago they started to hurt my friend. The only one who didn't seem to care about my sigil and think of me as weird for not using mine. It was time I did something to stop them. Perhaps they'll stop harassing me if I can scare them enough.
"Let him go, Ron!" I yelled.
"And what the hell are you gonna do about it? Use your power of hugs? Are you just gonna run in circles?" He said trying to hold back his laughter. His lackeys chucking with him. They continue to push my friend and singe his hair.
"Do you know what circles can represent?" I say. I wait for them to turn my way in response. As soon as I catch their glances I lose the whites of my eyes as my pupils seem to expand covering my entire eye.
I can see their wonder and why my eyes have turned black.
"Life." I hold my hand out and before anyone can say anything the bullies get to see Ron fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. They both look down at him while the light in his eyes die out.
"You killed him!" Yelled one of them. The look of horror from each face that witnessed was enough for me to know that they would stop picking on me.
I close my eyes and open them again, this time my eyes shine white. Ron opens his eyes. His body weak as he struggles to stand. He fully stands up then bends over to throw up. He looks at me in fear. Without saying a word he understood.
"Let's go guys." Ron says weakly.
Before they leave the scene I stop them for a moment. "All that can be given can be taken away." My eyes turn back to the darkest night. All three of them start running away.
My eyes go back to normal. I let out a sigh of relief as my friend joins me and puts his hand on my shoulder. He looks up at me smiling and says, "I'm glad I'm on your side."
| 2020-02-26T10:40:58
| 2020-02-26T10:00:37
| 22
| 11
|
[WP] A man is being tortured, and throughout the story, the reader begins to sympathize with the torturer and hate the victim.
[removed]
|
The room was cold, despite the bright light being shined into Franklin’s face. While clutching the arms of the chair he squirmed in, he couldn’t help but feel anxious.
“Open your mouth wide.” the masked man said. Franklin was now consumed with fear but couldn’t talk his way out of this one. With an ounce of hesitation he closed his tear-filled eyes and braced for the worst. “Will it hurt?” he asked.
“Only if you squirm,” chuckled the masked man, “but it will all be over soon.”
Perhaps waiting for it all to start was the worst part. Perhaps not.
The torture began and poor Franklin, he was a bleeder.
“Have you been flossing?” asked Dr. Feldstein. “You know, I’ve been telling you for years that you need to floss otherwise you’re going to get gingivitis.” he said sternly. Franklin gave his dentist a thumbs up, as if to imply he had been heeding the dentist’s advice all this time. Dr. Feldstein wanted to believe the man but the evidence was right in front of him.
As the dentist was finishing the annual cleaning he got lost in deep thought. What was the meaning of all of this, he wondered. Day after day, year after year, these patients never listen. They continue to not floss, drink coffee, and smoke cigarettes. He let out a tired sigh.
“Alright, Frank” he said defeatedly, “you’re free to go.”
Franklin stood up to leave and as he was headed toward the receptionist's desk he turned around and said, “I promise I’ll start flossing, doc.”
Dr. Feldstein smiled and nodded.
|
The first tooth came out with a simple yank. Jonathan screamed and writhed under the ropes.
“Stop,” I said flatly. “You’re only going to make this harder on yourself.” I cupped his lower jaw again and dug my fingers into his cheeks between his teeth. My pliers chipped his two front teeth, and I cursed the garage’s low light. His breath, I noticed, smelled of garlic.
“Wha-why?” He coughed between sobs that shook his whole body. “What did I do?”
I clamped down on his back left molar and felt the vibration of the metal scraping enamel. “One.” I said. “Two.”
He tried to wrench his head back. “Naaaahh.”
“Three.” My forearm rippled as the tooth ripped out with a sucking sound. I held it up to give him a look at the root and all. “You should brush more.” I said, tossing the tooth to bounce off the concrete floor. I un-cupped his jaw and his head rolled forward leaking red.
He spit. “Pleath. I don’t know what you want fwom me-hehe.”
Again? I thought. “I want.” I ran my fingers through his sweaty hair and yanked up to meet his eyes. “To eat the lunch I bring to work every day, Jonathan.”
I pulled back again, until his neck craned at a sickly angle, and climbed onto his lap. “I want people to respect my boundaries. My food. Mine.”
A look of horrific acknowledgement crept up into his eyes and pushed out more tears. “I’m-I’m”
“Sorry?” I asked. “Yes. I bet you are now.” I jumped off his lap and laughed.
“I- I didn’t do it.” He cried at the cold concrete.
“Oh, but you did Jonathan. You did.” I forced his mouth open once more and flared my nostrils. “Smell that? Hommus. MY hommus. I set up cameras in the break room and watched you take it.” I pulled a the photo, printed on eight by eleven, from my back pocket and unfolded. “See that?” I asked, pointing with the pliers. “That bag right there. It says David. Are you David?” He didn’t move. “No. You’re Jonathan. And you ate my lunch.”
I walked around the kitchen chair Jonathan was tied to and grabbed my funnel. I set it on the table in full view next to him. And then, I went to go get Wentworth.
Wentworth, my rat, squirmed and bit me when I picked him up-- I guess any animal would if you didn’t feed them for days. I found Jonathan tipped in his chair, no doubt trying to escape. I pulled him rightside up and lightly slapped his swollen jaw for the effort.
“Tsk tsk Jonathan. If you’re not careful you’re going to really piss me off.” The last three words said with hate. I held up the rat to his face and he squealed.
“No. Fuck no.”
“Jonathan, meet Wentworth. Wentworth, Jonathan.”
“Get that fucking vermin away from me.”
“Aw, Wentworth.” I held the rat’s face an inch from mine. “That’s not nice is it. Especially since you’re the dinner guest.” The rat still in my left hand I grabbed the funnel with my right and forced it into Jonathan's mouth.
“Enjoy Wentworth.” I said dropping the rat down the funnel head-first. I watched the tail slither into the darkness of Jonathan’s gullet like a retreating parasite and stepped back. “You ate my lunch Jonathan. Now Wentworth is going to eat you.”
| 2017-09-27T19:30:27
| 2017-09-27T18:07:20
| 482
| 118
|
[FF] "Gray is a beautiful thing to someone who lives in a black world."
200 to 600 words, must include the title sentence or even a variation thereof, for example, "To someone who lives in a black world, gray is beautiful."
|
I knew my brother had followed without me having to look over my shoulder. Like a lost puppy he tends to wander until he finds a warm scent to latch onto and tonight that was me. I stopped suddenly and turned, catching a glimpse of him jump behind a rock. I decided to keep facing this way, make him wait it out a bit if he wanted to be sneaky. The air was crisp with frost and the night was absolute. Only the cool blue rings arching through the blackness provided a glimmer of light. We were all so sick of the night.
Fleeing fire and ash and broken countries we had fled to the stars in our little rag tag armader, pleading refugees at the mercy of the gulf. And our pleas had been answered. Against all odds we found this planet where we could all walk and breathe and regain some semblence of a life. Of course in the hurry and panic of settlement no one realised how slowly the planet was turning. Our little civilisation grew on the nightside waiting for a dawn that refused to break.
Whole lives, whole generations had been born and died in this cavernous blackness. But after centuries we were worn down with waiting. We opened curtains (an old relic) every morning to find it was not really moring, we were just a bit further into the night.
My brother suddenly jumped up from behind the rock, genuinly surprising me and dashed past me up the hill.
"Jack!" I yelled to little avail.
I did hear gigling though and followed the sound the incline getting steeper. Stupid brothers, I thought as my foot turned in a pitted hole, why would-
There was a sharp gasp from ahead. The absolute silence. A silence anyone with a sibling has probably never experienced. I ran as best as I could to the ridge of-
The horizon. Something was coming over the horizon.
A slight glow was pushing the blackness upwards. Jack suddenly grabbed my arm.
"We're the first..." he managed "We're the first people... in generations to see sunlight..."
I could only stare. It wasn't quite sunlight yet, just a dim glow rising in the rocky distance. But it was enough. And it would continue to be enough down the long decades to come. Grey is a beautiful thing to all of us who lived in the black world.
|
"Did you see it?"
"*Again?* ... Mel, we've been over this."
"Up! Up above and far off!"
"I have to be honest Mel, I'm starting to become genuinely concerned. This was cute the *first time* you mentioned "direction". A once-off quirk, I'll even admit I was amused-"
"There it is again! You'd have seen it if you'd been looking!"
"- But then it turned into direction and distance. And now it's direction and distance and *color*; which is still a concept that you haven't been able to properly articulate."
"If you would just look, keep watch through one night. That's all it would take!"
"And the frequency, you keep observing these... concepts, again, and again, and again."
"If you would just-"
"Mel. I am going to tell you this one more time, and after that I just won't even bother to respond. There is *nothing* out there."
"..."
"Just accept it."
"... A bit of gray in a vast black space... If you would just look..."
| 2013-11-24T09:12:21
| 2013-11-24T09:08:49
| 25
| 10
|
[WP] You build a robot to do your every day tasks for you so you don't have to work anymore. One day, you come home to find that your robot has built another robot to do its tasks for it.
|
It got out of hand the fifth robot down the line. I programmed the first robot, A2, just to do my basic functions (I'm a computer programmer and robotic engineer) and my most boring tasks (chores, etc.) I'm good at my job - really good - and my robotic side projects are starting to generate some real income. In a year, I reckon I'll be able to move out of my dad's place and into my own apartment. Which is a good thing, because once my robots starting replicating so they could shun their work, my dad got really pissed.
"Look, son, *you're* the one supposed to be doing the work. Not another robot."
I see where I went wrong; I programmed them to be efficient, and to be proficient in robotics, and their simplest solution to doing things like cleaning the kitchen was to build another robot to do it, because that's what they're good at. The only problem was, soon I had three robots on the floor, doing nothing, and a fourth robot rapidly building a fifth. My dad would be home soon; I had to come up with something.
It was too late. My dad burst in after a long day at the beach with his girlfriend. "God damn it!" he said, dropping his inflatable raft. "They've gone recursive."
He walks over to me, frowning. "A1," he says to me, "what would possess you to build another robot? All you had to do was clean the kitchen."
He frowns and takes out my battery pack. All my subsequent robots scurry away. "My mom is going to be so pissed," is the last thing I hear before shutdown.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/TomTeller
|
Through avoiding having to wash my underwear, I stumbled across a new fundamental Law of the universe. Simply stated, any robot created to do work that its creator clearly doesn't want to do will inherit its creator's propensity for shirking responsibilities. I call it the Laziness principle, or LP for short.
Thanks to LP, my home theater and other cherished electronics were undeservedly cannibalized. It took my original chore-bot a little while to put together its chore-bot. Its chore-bot synthesized its chore-bot a little quicker, and so far that trend has remained the same... Which means the longer I wait, the faster my toys are going to get slaughtered.
My problem with putting an end to the self-perpetuating scientific experiment that is my apartment is this: what if by letting it continue I can outsource mankind's search for nanotechnology? Each generation of chore-bot is smaller, more efficient, and more desperate to create its own substitute than the last. Therefore, it's only a matter of time until something is washing my dishes on a molecular level, conspiring with itself to make something smaller.
Future scientific discoveries aside, all these dominoes falling over makes me wonder: did God make us just to wash His underwear?
| 2017-11-20T08:26:53
| 2017-11-20T08:24:53
| 3,392
| 15
|
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.
|
Today’s the day. I turn 21. Sure, it’s a special day because it’s my birthday. But that’s not all. I get my sustenance cash check (SUCC, for short) in the mail today. It’s a special system the government set up to provide money for our life. Certain questions are brought up whenever this program is mentioned: for instance, how come the power used to accurately predict how much money we need isn’t used in other places? and how does the government acquire the money to give out?.
But this isn’t something we should consider ourselves with. Although I feel like I’m being brainwashed in a dystopia when saying this, I must say that the government knows best. But I digress.
Today’s the day I get the letter. I stretch my arms out and go to check on the mail. It’s a beautiful day. I can hear the bird simulations chirping on the repurposed air raid speakers outside. I go to my battered mailbox, and open its rusty hatch to see a letter inside. As I pull it out of the mailbox, the ground seems to shake a bit.
It’s a plain manila envelope, with a red sticker resembling a clown nose on the front. I tear it off and glance inside the envelope.
Honestly, I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never seen the insides of another’s envelope before.
I peer inside, searching its cream depths for my net worth to be revealed. The money in here, I thought to myself, is all that I’m worth.
Inside is 7 dollars and 27 cents.
I’m shocked.
What the hell is this? I think to myself.
OK. Relax. I can find a way to survive. I go out to the shopping center. I walk out into the underground tunnels and meander over to the shopping center. I walk into a drink dispenser store and order a 6-pack of beer. I’m down to 1 dollar and 48 cents.
Goddamn. I’m tired. I down three cans of beer. I feel hazy and the ground shakes beneath me. I don’t normally drink this much. I’m hungry, so I end up spending another dollar for a slice of cheese bread.
I’m tired. I’d like to fall asleep. Could I get release? What sort of depressing life will I have? I down the remaining beer.
My head is heavy. I feel trembling all around me. I’m just drunk. The ceiling seems to close in on me. The world is shaking more and more. I feel a sudden, sharp pain over my chest. I force my eyes open and see rubble over me.
I feel strong tremors in my lower intestines. I see someone approaching me for aid. They realize I’m a lost cause. They look in my pockets for change.
I hear a voice promise me a grave. I close my eyes and drift away into dreams, wishing for a happy life that would never be.
|
I stared at the check, completely baffled. All the genetic testing had come through clean as a whistle. The only option was employment or lottery.
“Work smarter, not harder.” I thought as I strolled into the gas station. A fountain soda, candy bar, and a combo meal later left me with one dollar for a single lottery ticket.
“Is that it?” The attendant looked bored, but pleasant and polite in her blue uniform.
“One for the lottery draw tonight. Random draw please.”
She nodded and smiled that half-hearted grin of the hopeless in customer service, “$7.27 please.”
I handed her the check, to which she read and raised an eyebrow at me but said nothing as she validated it. My bagged items were pushed across the counter while I sipped my massive soda through an already broken straw. The ticket was placed in my hand and immediately buried in my right pants pocket.
It was a nice enough day out. I was numb to the possibilities of what my stipend check meant. There were more thoughts and worries than I cared to consider, so I simply didn’t. Nice days like this were meant to be savored and tomorrow wouldn’t matter if the check was accurate. I’d rolled my dice and now I was going to enjoy what I had left.
The area was relatively safe, no real crime to speak of unless you were in the working class. Then the occasional robber or shoplifter but physical harm during a crime was rare. I strolled Eastbound down the street, dodging the construction and weaving through traffic to cross to the graveyard. A bike path went by there that made for an excellent shortcut home.
The candy bar was already gone by this time and I had started on the combo meal, pulling fries out of the greasy bag a few at a time. The graveyard was nice enough for a picnic and the thought crossed my mind as I headed towards the bike path. My sandwich would be cold if I didn’t stop.
“A cold sandwich is the least of my problems. I’d rather enjoy my walk home and time with my family.” It was still early enough in the afternoon that school hadn’t let out, so I’d have some alone time with my partner before the kid got home.
I had no idea how I was going to explain it to her. She was the worrier in our household, not me. I’d setup and execute our plans and she’d worry about and fret about everything that could go wrong. Well, something might have gone wrong.
I began outlining the ensuing discussion in my head, “It’s a stupid system anyways. The Precogs determine your worth? Fuck that. I’ll just live as I want. Oh but dear, they say they’re never wrong! What if you die tonight? Then I won’t have to worry about it, will I?”
This was going to go over like a lead balloon. Better to get some intimate time in first, talk to her about it briefly after our daughter gets home so she can’t freak out too much about it without upsetting the kid, and then cuddle on the couch clutching the lottery ticket. She usually passes out well before the drawing anyways.
As I drew up to the house, my phone rang. A quick check confirmed it was a number not saved in my contacts. Solicitors would get notice that you’d received your check, though not how much, usually within a day or so of it’s arrival. It was easy to con a few bucks out of someone if they thought they were set for life.
I ignored it and they didn’t leave a voicemail. Internally I confirmed to myself that it had to be a solicitor then; they never leave voicemails. Strolling through the yard I wondered if this would be my last time going home?
“Hey hun, how was your day?” I called out as I pulled the door closed behind me, “Would you like half of a cold burger?”
She came out of the living room where she had been plugging away at her laptop. She seemed happy enough and after a few pleasantries and a little seducing, we headed to the bedroom. Afternoon delight, a shower, and getting dressed left just enough time to be presentable before our daughter needed to be picked up from school.
Oddly, no one had even approached the subject of my check. I hadn’t volunteered anything either. After chores and dinner, I told my partner I had purchased a draw on the lottery. She made a face, which I couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of, and assured me that it was fine if I wanted to stay up and watch the draw tonight but that she probably wouldn’t be able to stay awake that long.
It was all predictable, and I doubted the Precogs slightly less. Still, no sense giving them more credit than they’re worth. Sure the world is fairly peaceful but it’s not perfect. Even the Precogs could make mistakes, not that anyone would know.
The evening carried on as I expected. I pulled the ticket out of my pocket, signed my name on it, and didn’t bother looking at the numbers. She fell asleep on the couch next to me while I waited for the draw. I grew drowsy and didn’t stay awake to watch it either.
| 2019-04-24T15:04:14
| 2019-04-24T14:45:53
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
So he walked into my 3B class, just like anyone else would. Kinda handsome, I guess, but overall pretty ordinary. Until he turned and I caught the number floating over his shoulder.
The big one-O.
I'm pretty sure I made a noise that would make a mouse call me a pussy, and I sweated through my T-shirt in five seconds flat. I had realized that the numbers I see could theoretically go that high, but the worst I had seen was a five on that kid who went to juvie.
I started looking around the room, wondering if I could make it out the window before the bullets started flying. But he sat down just like any other schmuck and the most deadly thing to come out of his backpack was a mechanical pencil, and only 0.5mm at that.
The rest of the day, hell, the rest of the week, I cramped up in my stomach whenever I saw him, but he made friends easy enough and the school-shooter-persona didn't seem to stick upon prolonged examination. I did consider calling the cops, but what was I gonna say? "Yes, officer, my magic danger-number-vision topped out on student John Doe over here, so I would feel a lot better if you arrested him for me." That's how you get a free trip to a place with three square meals per day and all the long-sleeved jackets you could want.
As the weeks turned to months, the terror of seeing the ten diminished, and I took less stock in my power. The kid was almost disappointingly normal. I graduated and didn't hear from him for a few years, other than that he went to some big state school a few hours away.
Next time I saw him, he was on TV, standing in front of a crowd of protesters, yelling about how congress was defunct, and needed to be gutted. And, hell, I couldn't disagree with him. At this point I figured his rating meant he would go extremist and blow something up, but again, I couldn't call the authorities on a hunch like that. Besides, I'm sure the FBI/CIA already had a file on him bigger than my textbook.
Then he got elected. Just a small state legislature spot, but it was enough to embolden his speeches. Again, I did nothing, hoping he would actually get into congress and get politically cock-blocked like every other young, enterprising politician.
Next thing I knew, he was Speaker of the House. I started getting very worried again, but I knew it was beyond my control. Just a few months later, the president and VP were both killed in immaculate, simultaneous terrorist attacks. The new president declared a righteous war against the Middle Eastern nations unfortunate enough to have the appropriate extremists within their borders. Which, funnily enough, was most of them.
As the war escalated, the president quickly stripped congress of obstructive factions, and soon the only representatives left were those who could march in step with the White House.
Now, I'm on my way to a meeting to determine my ineligibility for the draft. The bullet I put in my leg a few months ago helps my case.
|
Danger is not quantified by how much harm one could cause others, but by how how much harm one intends to cause others. That's why two people of the same height, weight, and muscle mass could be unequally dangerous. That's why my best friend, the huge, 6 and a half foot tall, 250 pound, football player isn't dangerous at all. He simply doesn't intend to harm others. That's also why the cute little two year old down the street is incredibly dangerous. If given the opportunity, she would harm, possibly even kill, in a heartbeat. That's also why people's danger levels fluctuate a little over the course of any given day, as they get more or less aggressive, more or less stressed, etc.
How do I know so much about danger? It's simple really: I see it. When I look at another person, study them for a couple seconds, a number starts to form in my head, one that quantifies how dangerous that person is at that very instant. The longer I look, the more exact the number. For example, one time I decided to study my father for an entire 5 minutes, and the number in my head started to grow to around 100 digits after the decimal. Normally, however, I only study someone for a few seconds, and only get a one digit number, somewhere from 1 to 10. My friend, who I talked about earlier, tends to stay around 2 or 3, because he has a really good heart and no one he hates (they're all too scared to make fun of him at all). The highest I've ever seen him was a 4, and that was during his history final exam. The little girl down the street, she tends to be around an 8. The highest I've ever seen was a 9.55, from a guy who walked by me on the street once. I only got a good look at him long enough for 3 digits, and that included me turning around to watch him keep walking.
Occasionally, my ability takes a while to calculate a number. This is especially annoying when I meet new people , and try to figure out if they're a good person or not. Occasionally, I meet someone who I'm never able to determine the danger level of. Take my English teacher, for example. He's a nice enough guy, but for some reason I've just never been able to place a number on him. I'm not perfect, after all.
On the first day of my Junior year of high school, there was a new student in my Calculus class. I looked intently at him, as I always do with newcomers, trying to determine a number for him. He caught my gaze after a few seconds, and held it, staring back at me with cold, calculating, gray eyes. I kept looking at him, as uncomfortable as it was, determined to determine a number (:P). I was about to give up, thinking he was just one of those people I could't give a number to, when suddenly a bright red number flashed across my brain, followed by an exclamation point. 10! At first, I was confused, (I didn't even realize tens were possible), but in a tenth of a second my confusion turned to horror. I quickly tried to cover my face with a mask of disinterest, and looked away from him as nonchalantly as I could. Then, I "calmly" stood up, asked the teacher if I could "go to the nurse", and "calmly" exited the classroom. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I started running, and I've never stopped.
| 2014-11-29T13:14:54
| 2014-11-29T12:41:49
| 322
| 22
|
[WP] When everyone turns 18, they receive a pet which is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon...
|
It’s all anyone can talk about this year. You turn 18, and boom your aenimal appears. I had a lot of questions about this for my older brothers when it was first explained to me. I wanted to know the logistics of the whole thing. Does it just appear? Like fucking Santa Claus in your living room on Christmas day?
Let me tell you that old bastard made me shit my pants the first time I stayed up to see if they were lying to me or not. Here I was thinking there’s no way some fat old guy was just going to appear in the living room with presents for everyone. I was for sure it was just gonna be my parents stumbling down the stairs, loaded up with boxes. Nope, strike of midnight, I’m hiding under the couch like a boss, all ready to scare my parents and he shows up. Thank god he brought me new underwear in that giant red sack he came with.
Anyways, like I said, I was curious. But holy shit, I’m not curious enough to talk about it for the entire year. Part of this is the fact that my birthday isn’t until July. That means I have to sit through the entire year, watching everyone show up with their fancy fucking animals, and I’m over here praying to every deity I know that I don’t get a gnat or a bee. Seriously, I’m terrified of bees. Rachel that sits next to me in algebra got a unicorn. A God. Damned. Unicorn. They say that your animal represents you. I’m gonna call bullshit on that one, because Rachel from algebra is a vapid ditz who’d lose her tits if they weren’t attached to her chest. Then again, maybe a unicorn is perfect for her, since they’re supposed to, oh I don’t know, not be fucking real and no one knows shit about them.
They say it’s bad luck to guess at what your aenimal will be. My best friend Tim loses his shit every time I start trying to guess what ours will be. “Seriously, quit it, you’re gonna end up with a bee if you don’t stop poking at the rules. It’ll happen when it happens.” He got a lynx by the way, born in January, the prick. Named it Obie, and every time it looks at me, I swear it’s trying to figure out the best way to eat me. Only let me pet it twice. I swear to god I better not end up with a bee.
Today’s my day. Born at 2:12 PM. My parents went all out for it, pool party and grill with a bunch of kids from my grade and their parents invited over. I’ve been trying to act like it’s no big deal, but inside I’m a fucking wreck. Rachel from algebra is here with her damn unicorn. She rode it over from her place down the street. I’m surprised my eyeballs didn’t fall out of their sockets for as hard as I rolled them when she showed up.
When it happens, I’m not ready for it. I was so busy trying to act like I didn’t care, that I forgot to pay attention to the time. once second I’m about to jump in the pool and the next, I’m word vomiting a name that I’ve never heard before and hitting the water as he pops into existence about me. Soon as I resurface it’s like you could hear a pin drop. Everyone is just looking above me at what I’m assuming is my aenimal. Jesus it’s flying, I got a damn bee. However I realize there’s a shadow where there shouldn't be any shade and as I look up, there’s a mother fucking dragon looking down at me, lazily flapping it’s wings. Best. 18th. Birthday. Ever.
Bonus points, later in the party Jormungandr (it’s a fucking dragon, what was I supposed to call him, Sal?) ended up breathing fire and setting Rachels unicorns mane on fire. I knew at that moment we were meant to be.
|
Today is my 18th birthday, it is a very special occasion as we have reached maturity in the eye's of Galfena and we are to receive a gift from her that will help tell the world our personality, and decide our status in the village.
It's regarded as a big event in a persons life because it helps decide who we are. Some might get dogs, cats, or mice as their gift. Some have gotten more exotic animals such as a lions, bears, wolves, and once a Platypus was given to Ruppert. The unlucky bastard, he got mocked for weeks because of it, but he's settled himself in with his role as the village fisherman so he's doing quite right.
Me? I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking at right now... The ritual was performed and done correctly. I practiced the chant over and over again, but what stands before me... I'm not quite sure what it is, it looks like the size of a dog, but it has scales and... Are those wings?
Wh-what!?
Okay, this is... this is weird... I'll just talk with the village Elder about this... Surely he will know something... Or not...
It seems like this is a first for the Elder as well, no one before me has ever received such a gift from Galfena before. There is no record of such a beast.
It's rather strange though, most beasts with scales are cold to the such, but this one... This one feels warm as if I was cradling a child in my arms...
It may as well be, it's a rather small beast but there have been some deceptive creatures in the past that grew much larger than they were summoned as, so I may want to keep an eye on it. The one thing we do know is it eats meat, it attempted to kill a few chickens we have in pens with it's whip like tail and then snapping at them with it's small mouth.
It was kinda funny if I must admit, but yeah the Elder says he does not know what job would be suited for me so he iis giving me a choice of job for the village. I was thinking of maybe being a solider, going out and fighting in heroic battles, kill enemies and live a fantasy life style.
But, I'm thinking I might become a trader and travel to other villages to sell goods, and gain a bit of gold to invest into other things that might be able to bring in some profit for our village.
Not sure yet, still not sure what this thing is either. But it's interesting to say the least. I think I'll name it Ulla.
| 2014-09-28T09:28:26
| 2014-09-28T08:18:33
| 147
| 15
|
[WP] You can see the memories of dead people when you touch their corpses. You didn't expect this dead person to have such a bizarre adventure.
|
It's not often that we get centagenarians in the mortuary, but rich or poor, young or old; everyone dies. The old man died in his sleep surrounded by family, not much more a man could ask for after over a century of life. He'd obviously been a giant in life, literally and metaphorically, but when I touched him i wasn't prepared for what i saw.
The first thing I experienced was a life of pain, suffering, and sacrificing seemingly endlessly. His father died before he was born, and that set his whole life on a path of pain. He was from old money, his great grandfather was a British Lord, but his grandfather had also died before meeting his own son, something that caused him great pain on behalf of his widowed granny. He made his fortune in post World War 2 real estate in the US before inheriting his grandfather's friend's industry.
I'd recognized his name and face from the media over the years, but there was more beneath the surface. I gathered myself and touched my hand to him again. I came to understand his longevity, some eastern philosophy of fitness and nutrition. He'd learned this from his estranged mother when they reunited, an oasis of happiness in a painful life, an oasis that was bookended by losing the closest to a brother he'd ever had. His life quieted down considerably after the war until his sole hieress moved and married abroad. He helped his daughter and her son through some very difficult times, and i felt that brought him much more sadness though a great deal of closure. He had let himself go at that point, which he deeply regretted when it turned out he had had illegitimate son that he met. He loved the boy deeply, and was elated to see he'd become such a fine man; he was especially relieved his grandson got along with him so well. The fierce pangs of regret at his lack of physicality in his last 30 years broke my heart, he wished he could have helped his old friends and new family.
I put my gloves on before getting to work. I'd gotten glimpses of bizarre happenings, things beneath the surface of the world. It's weird enough I can see the lives of the dead, I don't need to know about monsters or imaginary friends running amok.
|
I nod solemnly at the tombstone, etched in it "Julia, 1997 - 2018". The tragic tale of this person was never discovered, only her corpse bobbing away in a river. What could have caused one's fate like that?
I prise open the grave, ready to look at my dead fiancee one last time before accepting her mortality. I smile, melancholy, my hands shaking as I touch her forehead. Memories. A flash of blinding light, as if lightning piercing the sky. I scream out, but I am in another world now.
I see as she shouts for help ("No, please, help me!" and backs away from the relentless killer, who wields a bloody knife and laughs a raucous laugh at her. She backs away further, heart audible in ear, and scrutinizes her surroundings to frantically devise a plan of escape. Nothing comes to her. She is trapped, claustrophobic as the vicious murderer holds out the weapon.
After he is finished, blood flooding profusely out of the corpses neck, he tosses her into a bag and drives far, far away to a river. He holds the bag, a pungent odour leaking out of it, and tosses it to the mercy of the water, the liquid swallowing the body whole. The deed was done, unbeknownst to nobody. I stare, fear gripping me, gnawing at my heart, as I comprehend what I had just seen.
The following day, I drive the short distance to the man's house. I abruptly knock on his door, revenge burning in my soul, a baseball bat resting against my side. He welcomes me inside, and offers me a cup of tea. A smell leaks into the living room from the kitchen and he suspiciously shifts in his seat. He says he will come back soon and goes toward the room. I take out my weapon, ready to kill this man who ruined my life. His scream was never heard.
| 2021-08-15T10:22:51
| 2021-08-15T06:59:30
| 23
| 13
|
[WP] All souls in Hell are given the same test upon arrival. If they can create a punishment worthy of being added to the Pit, they get to ascend to demonhood on the spot. You are the first to succeed in 200 years...
[deleted]
|
(This is a rough draft- No editing allowed! Stream of consciousness- let's go!)
The Demon glowered down at me, his dark skin tattooed with swirling patterns.
"Well?" he growled. "Are ye gonna come up wit' somethin', or not?"
I had come up with an idea, so dastardly and cruel, but I needed to fully convert it into words.
"Hmmm." I frowned, concentrating. "It'd be a lot more helpful if you weren't pointing that pitchfork at me."
The demon conceded, and gave me some space. "All right, " He said, "But you got 2 minutes, and not a second more!" He sat down on a nearby boulder.
I called for the demon after about forty-five seconds had passed, my idea fully converted into digestible conversation.
"Let's 'ear it, then."
"Well, you know standardized testing?"
"Yeah. They're hard, but a necessary evil. My kids didn't do so well at them, but that's not what matters all the time. My son is now a welder- didn't need to go to no fancy college. "
I stopped him mid anecdote - "But what if, we told people there was a test you could take to get out of here?"
The demon scoffed. "E'res no Way out of e're! This is 'Ell! Both big men'd have me 'ead if dat were true!"
"This is a lie, of course."
"Of Course, Of course. Continue."
"This test would be like any normal test - except it feels like it's taking forever- which it does, the clock is ticking too loud, all the test-takers feel they're being scrutinized constantly, and their pencil lead just broke. It would be like this forever. Or at least a very, very long time."
"Well, that's just-"
"Evil?" I supplied.
The demon grinned, and snapped his fingers. "I was gonna say 'Diabolical'", but that 'orks too."
A new energy swirled within me, and I could feel myself growing taller. I smelled smoke and ash, and my skin had become the red of the demon before me. I grinned with him.
|
I awake after falling out of my body into a dark pit were I quickly lost consciousness. I know I wasn’t the best person ever. In retrospect I was kind of a dick. I made people mad on purpose and spent my time on the internet being the antagonist of all the sides.
However when I awoke I was on a stone ground it was Jagged and it felt like a sauna without the steam. I saw before me a red humanoid figure. Their eyes glowed red and they had two massive horns protruding from their temples. It asked me “lowly human you have been given a chance to escape torture knowing full well you have dammed many to the fate you design.” Confused and at a loss from words I simply ask “what?” The demon then elaborated “As expected you have no Idea what I am talking about. Every human that has ever died and been sent to hell can design a torture for many evil soul’s eternity. If I like it as the current on duty rank 2 demon I can differentiate between a good and bad torture. I even run a small section of hell under a rank 3 demon of course, who intern works for a rank 2 demon all the way up to rank 10 who is known by you humans by satan. If you pass you can become a low level rank 1 demon running just your single torture. If this reality comes to pass as the liquid agony comes through you can send it up to increase your own power or consume it to gain its strength. It’s about balance really if you don’t eat it as a demon you’ll be dispersed into the world and reincarnated into who knows what. But as you get stronger you can fight your neighbors to gain the liquid agony rights from their land and you’ll take a cut of their gained power. And if you think you can challenge me at any point as the demon that will be overseeing your area you can very well fight me and if you win you get a cut from my entire territory while I am pushed back to my starting spot. If this future will come to pass you must also know you are given a month long period to farm as much agony as possible where none of it is syphoned off. In this month it is impossible for other demons to even think of trying to claim your territory. However if you go to fight before your grace period is up it’ll end prematurely. Demons also nor living things secret agony so no point in mentally torturing them. There is more but that is for after you become a rank 2 demon. And the conditions for advancement is for a person who has reached demonhood. However if you fail to make a good torture you will be given to to the weakest demon in my territory and they will use you for their liquid agony.” “Okay sounds easy enough.” “Oh you say that but no soul has passed in 200 years. Here are the rules: if your torture is anywhere in all of hell then it’s an instant fail. If your torture won’t produce more than one cup of agony in single day it is a fail. If for any reason I don’t like it unless overruled by a higher ranking demon that happened to walk by at that moment which is very rare then you fail. You get as much time as you need you can even construct your torture and see it’s predicted output just by visualizing it.”
I thought about this for many hours. I looked at a bunch of things like pure nothingness no stimulation at all and the prediction graph was good but the average was way to low with its one massive spike in the middle. I then experimented with dementia and a reality effectively warps around it. But the randomness of it was no good either. My last idea however was glorious. It was an empty room with only one thing a small floating tablet. This tablet controlled the room and allowed the person to add things or “upgrade” their room. However nothing works properly when added and you never have enough coins to buy the upgrade to make it do so. But I quickly scraped it as simply buying a bunch of small things for a high price over time led to a loop hole that got your things fixed. Then I had an idea they are forced to be the victim of their every crime ten fold in various stages and they can never get justice in fact trying to fight back will make it worse. Abuse doers (tell me how to spell the correct word correctly) are abused in the same way they abused anyone in any form, Extorters are extorted and threatened with torture beyond belief while working to barely have enough to feed themselves anyway, Bullies are bullied, and the punishment is multiplied another tenfold if they committed their crimes against people who were un able to live by themselves. I also added another contingency that if they got into whatever happened they were to be given a new punishment and it will cycle around however all the souls will be manipulated to feel everything slightly more and have almost no plasticity or sense of pleasure. Plus the chart was high all the time.
When I turned in my work I looked at the second ranked demon with my fingers crossed and I watched as a wave of horror flash over is face, then an evil grin. “ HAHA you amaze me. You pass never in all my existence have I EVER seen a torture that _almost_ made me feel pity. You pass.”
I could feel the relief leave my body as my muscles loosened so much it’s like I was told I won a government run lottery that dealt with all my problems for forever including a 100% tax break. The second rank demon looked at me and told me a few more things. “You are not restricted to your post in fact there are many many places that suit your comfort. These are usually run by high ranked demons who’s torture gets them lots of agony but they hardly increase in strength. The common currency is liquid agony and this gets you anything you can imagine no matter how sickening. Also you rise a demon rank when you manage to defeat any demon that over sees you.” “Wait one question why did you tell me about a bunch of stuff that would only be helpful after I passed anyway? To give you that bit of hope, usually getting out of an eternity in hell is enough incentive but this bit of hope to be snatched away along with the chance to get strong and be in power also does _wonders_ for our numbers.”
And that’s how I started my life on the path to rank 10 to become the next satan.
Some notes: if a rank 1 demon fights and wins against another rank 1 demon they do not become rank 2 just that other demon gets even less liquid agony.
Also tell me of any mistakes I made
Also also if this gets 420 updoots I will literally make a part two.
| 2021-12-22T17:53:06
| 2021-12-22T16:53:51
| 98
| 27
|
[WP] In a world where Lamarckian evolution is true, there are groups of people who train their bodies in specific ways to pass on those traits to their children. After several generations of this, the evolution of these groups is becoming increasingly apparent.
|
When Ryan began to take his first steps, Margaret and I waited in joyful anticipation. When he began to sprint around the room, we were dumbfounded. Binkie in hand, our 9 month old bounded across the kitchen towards the cookies cooling on the counter, and ever since he's been running.
He only got faster as he grew, which made him a lot harder to control. It's not easy when your 8-year old can outrun you with a five minute mile, but when he was old enough to race, we supported him through and through. He always ran knowing that he had two loving parents, a perfect family.
When the Learned Genetics Theory became common knowledge, Margaret and I sat down and tried to understand where Ryan got his crazy genes. We traced through parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, but no one had Ryan's affinity for running. We concluded that he was a miracle, a fluke, our special little anomaly.
Until I remembered that Margaret's coworker Daren ran track in college, and she mentioned that his father was in the Olympics.
"Margaret, Daren and Ryan look quite similar, don't they?"
Margaret started to cry.
|
At first, everyone thought it was just from environmental and economic differences. After all, better food, better medicine, better schools, and better opportunities. Of course the children are going to be better off. But eventually, anomalies happened more often. An incredibly smart child from an area with notoriously poor schooling. A super athletic kid from an area with nowhere to really train.
As this happened more frequently, this phenomenon was studied. Of course, not everyone wanted to subject themselves and their children to various tests, but most of them managed to be... convinced. Eventually a sizable chunk of the population was gathered up into specific areas. They were seperated by trait. Strength, longevity, health, intelligence, etc, and of course a control group. Strict rules were implemented, but in general, people were allowed to live MOSTLY as they had before. At least those in the control group. The other groups were forced to spend at least 12 hours a day improving their specific traits. After all, science must be progressed. Every few generations, a member of the population would manage to escape. These escapees found themselves in a world... that they didn't know. Nothing was controlled. They were too developed to fit in with the normal people. They sought the company of those they fit in with. After all, social isolation is a terrible thing to experience. They waited, and when they caught whisper of another freak, they took them under their wing. Occasionally, they would fall in love, and have children. The group grew in size, slowly at first, but eventually with immense speed and expansion, until they had a very sizable population, and could break the rest of their studied peers out of the hell labs.
Nobody saw that this would lead to the near extinction of normies. Nobody predicted that this would lead to war, since they all felt things should be led in a different manner. Nobody could have seen, when this all started, that this phenomenon would lead to the ravaging of the world as we know it, and eventually, the end of humanity as a whole.
| 2020-07-08T14:36:20
| 2020-07-08T14:05:11
| 27
| 17
|
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient.
|
"BLÜDRÜSH!"
"Yes, Vöxmörtïs?"
"WHY are you holding a pretty pink scepter with a star on top?!" The band's lead singer started frantically drawing down the blinds on the tour bus windows. "Please tell me you DIDN'T let anyone see you!"
"I did not, Vöxmörtïs." The drummer carefully considered the bejewelled artifact in his hands, watching the pink ribbons drift in an air current that wasn't there.
"We're not on stage, you can just call me Jouko." The singer sank into a chair, exhausted. "Anyway, good."
"You just referred to me by my stage name, I figured that was what we were doing. Also, you have some sort of golden microphone on your bunk."
"WHAT?!" There was a flurry of slightly greasy hair and black denim, after which Jouko once again sank into his chair, this time holding what appeared to be a Shure SM58 that was either encrusted with gemstones or *made of* gemstones—it was difficult to tell. The wiry lattice over the condenser appeared to be glowing.
"This is..."
"Much nicer than we could normally afford, I know. I am also confused."
Jouko experimentally tapped his mic a couple of times and lifted it to his mouth.
"NÖXXATORR DEMANDS HIS GUITAR BACK!" thundered out from elsewhere on the bus.
Jouko winced, and after losing a very quick and very silent game of rock-paper-scissors, shouted back, "NO-ONE CARES, ANTTI. We all have new instruments and it's weird. Get over here."
Their tall guitarist stumbled over to their section of the bus and collapsed into his own chair. He peered at the mic Jouko was holding.
"Nöxxatorr thinks your mic sucks." He started rubbing his fingertips. Last night had been particularly heavy on the solos.
"Vöxmörtïs thinks you can drop the act when we're on the tour bus." The singer looked at his microphone again. "Don't we have a show tonight?"
"We do."
"And our gear has been replaced with Sailor Moon props. Wonderful. Does this town have a music store?"
"Nöxxatorr will Google it."
The guitarist glared at the drummer. "Only Nöxxatorr gets to use his own name."
"Maybe when Nöxxatorr drops the act on the damn bus, we'll respect what he wants. Does anyone care if I plug this in and try it out?"
"Nöxxatorr is only okay with this if you start with some magical girl bullshit," grumbled the guitarist from the other side of his phone.
Jouko laughed. "Fine. That's hilarious. Let's do it. Jarmo, can you grab—you've already grabbed the amp."
"And the mixing board. Blüdrüsh wants to hear your magical girl bullshit under perfect conditions."
"Not you, too." Jouko sighed as his drummer plugged the gear together. "Are we good?"
"We are good."
"Alright, here we go."
Jouko paused, then opened his mouth.
#**"I AM STAR PRINCE JOUKO, AND IN THE NAME OF THE NIGHT SKY, I WILL PUNISH YOU~!"**
The middle of the bus exploded with a column of light in every possible colour, bursting in half.
When Jarmo regained consciousness, he saw that the column of light was still there, about twenty feet away—with the other half of the bus on the other side of it. His singer was suspended fifty feet in the air, his clothes slowly changing into something much brighter. Meanwhile, at the bottom—
"Don't touch it!"
"What?" The guitarist stepped back from the column of light.
"Do you know how fast light has to be traveling to generate force like a laser? Enough to lift up a person?" He stumbled over and stood next to the guitarist. "Did you never wonder why the bad guys never interfered with the transformations in these shows? It's because if you touch light going that fast, your arms will disintegrate."
"Huh."
They both stared at their singer rotating in the column of light for a moment.
"... What do we do now?"
"We need help."
A pause.
"... That was pretty metal, though."
After another moment, the drummer's face lit up.
"That's it!" He turned to his guitarist. "I know who we need."
"The rest of our band?"
"Well, yes. But first—we need **Babymetal**."
|
(Disclaimer, i got the names from some list of Finnish boy names, i have no clue how accurate any of them are)
The Magical Microphone usually allowed it's user, generally the leader of the group, to sing uplifting songs increasing everyone's power, in Aalto's hands it created sonic shockwaves capable of terraforming the terrain in front of him.
The guitar usually created a dome shield to protect the girls, when Hami strummed it, it generated artillery-like explosive attacks.
The bass was known to create healing pulses, under Leevi's command it summoned legions of ghostly warriors.
The synthesizer normally transformed into a pegasus drawn carriage, with Ramsus at the helm it became a monster truck armed with twin gattling guns and heat seeking missiles (it's ability to fly mysteriously intact.)
The drums, finally, produced concussive soundwaves, except when Tahvo hit them, their power was amplified by dozens.
In mere moments the villainous henchmen where defeated, the evil generals thoroughly run over, and the dark lord traumatised, so much so that the newly rescued girls spent a moment berating the members of "Death by a thousand snowstorms" before thanking them.
| 2022-08-15T09:02:15
| 2022-08-15T08:51:20
| 326
| 221
|
[WP] Humanity realizes the Universe is actually a simulation so out of spite it decides to concentrate its effort on messing with the civilization that does the simulation
|
Twenty quantum disruptors the size of Jupiter were arranged in an icosahedron at a lightminute’s distance from a perfectly smooth ball the size of an apple. In two pictoseconds, each of these quantum disruptors would annihilate 16.7*10^9 tonnes of matter, teleported in from fourteen trillion siphon points across a galaxy called G563879255, and focus the energy on the ball. At the moment the energy makes contact with the ball’s shell, about ten cubic centimeters at the center of the sphere will be carved out of the universe and injected into the theoretically-predicted parent universe in which our universe is contained.
If all goes as planned, the device would interact with the universe above it. This disruption could be controlled in order to transmit eighteen bytes of information, a fragment of an equation. If this attempt failed, it would be over fifteen years before another galaxy could be prepared to resend the message.
A human in a ceremonial body flipped the ceremonial switch, initiating the process. A shell of energy swept outward from the center of the device in a process that would destroy G563879255 over the next fifty thousand years.
-----------------------------------------
The most advanced particle collider ever constructed formed a thirteen thousand kilometer ring around a small moon, accelerating hadrons with eighteen zettaelectronvolts of energy. A team of researchers from across the solar system worked to analyze the data it produced. After three months of operation, the media began to comment on the rising secrecy around the facility. Excitement grew at the possibility that the experiment had finally revealed new physics that could hint at a path toward the fabled theory of everything, a single theoretical framework that describes all physics.
The principal investigators finally announced a press conference seven months after the experiments began.
The level of public interest was unprecedented for a scientific announcement and reporters crammed into every space in the auditorium.
A being, which may have looked like a brightly-plumed spider to a human, walked to the podium as his colleagues assembled behind it.
When everyone had come on stage, it began to speak. “We’ve gathered here to announce that the Encenadex Hadron Colllider team has discovered the Theory of Everything.”
The crowd was so excited that the sound of mandibles rubbing together became nearly deafening. The being at the podium motioned for silence.
“While this discovery promises to revolutionize every aspect of our lives, it may not be the most significant finding of this experiment.”
A dry scratching sound rose in the room, as beings rubbed up against their colleagues to whisper.
“The new particle we discovered lasts only for a tenth of a picosecond. In that time, it emits eighteen particles, either electrons or positrons. At first, we believed these to be random. Once we analysed millions of these decay events, we realized that each contained a piece of a very concise proof that revealed the theory to us. So we did not so much discover the theory of everything as had it taught to us by some entity from another universe.”
The room erupted in noise again. The being at the front motioned once more and a hush fell over the room.
“The message included something else: a description of a device of unimaginable scale along with a short instruction to us.”
The being paused for effect before repeating the message to the crowd. “It says, roughly, ‘pay it forward’.”
|
“They did what?”
“They elected that douche bag as Uni-Supreme Leader.”
“You have got to be kidding me. We threw him in there for shits n gigs. Danny purposefully took control towards the end to make him crash and burn. Danny! Hey Danny, get over here!”
“Yarp?”
“Yo, didn’t you take control of the Douche Bag sim and run him in to the ground so that the people would reject him?”
“Yarp.”
“Well they frickin’ elected him!”
“Oh snap.. Even after that stuff I had him say and do?”
“Apparently…”
“Ohhhhh man thats crazy… There’s no way the simulation should have done that. I mean, I guess anything is possible… But, well, it must have been a virus or a bug in there or something.”
“The system keeps showing clean.”
“But dude, I freaking wrecked things! I mean I figured that stuff about building a 'galactic wall' to keep the ethereal creatures out would have caused enough of a raucous to knock him out.”
“Nah, the sims ate it up.”
“And that stuff I had him say about increasing the out put of the major galaxies and ignoring the universal efforts to maintain the heat balance of the universe?”
“Well at first the overall response was as expected. But there was never the backlash like we expected. Sure his publicity tuned down, but it didn’t remove him from the rat race. Things kinda just kept going… It’s almost as if—“
“Okay okay okay, let’s think about this. Something is up. Like, he was on a pretty shaky run. I mean sure, the system had to account for a variable like him, and with all the preluding events, a character like him was bound to show up. But the overall direction of the system is a non-zero sum. He IS the zero-sum. The calculations that Stewie and them did by hand show that the sims would have kicked his ass to the curb a while ago.”
“Yea, but—“
“And after that stunt I pulled with his daughter. COMON… How much worse can it get? Who in their right mind would say, ‘Yea, okay, this is the guy I entrust the secrets of the universe to! I feel safe in his hands!”
“Danny, you’re thinking too rationally… Obviously, something is up?”
“Well what is it? There’s no viruses. No bugs. No malware. No miscalculations. No anomalies. Nothing…”
“Hold on a sec… Jess! Jess come over here please!”
“Yes?”
“Jess, you were responsible for the dice mechanic right?”
“You mean the chaos element?”
“Tomato-potato. You calculated the randomness in the system, yes?”
“Yea.”
“Is there a chance that your equations would lead to anything like consciousness?”
“Possibly. That IS the beauty that is chaos.”
“Well I’ll be…”
“What?”
“Yea, what is it?”
“They’re fucking with us. Those little sims just gave the power of the Universe to a douche bag.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Whoa check it out! The Douche just caused the major galaxies to supernova! It’s spanning billions and billions of light years… Whoa, zoom out some.”
“It’s… It’s spelling out something.”
“C-O-N-G-R-A-T-U-L-A-T-I-O-N-S"
| 2016-06-10T12:02:48
| 2016-06-10T11:30:09
| 78
| 45
|
[WP] Write about a world where whenever somebody writes on their skin, it appears on their soulmate's body as well.
|
It began around 7 PM, a light scratching along the length of my forearm. It tickled, and made my hairs stand on end. At long last, after eighteen years of isolation, my soulmate was trying to reach out. All those years of dragging myself through the day, fueled by caffeine, only to drink myself to sleep, holding out for a special moment. This moment. I took a pen from my desk and wrote on the other arm a shaky "Hi. I'm Matt."
The scratching stopped. I wasn't quite sure how this worked. Do soulmates get to see the ink, or do they just feel the pen? Had I hurt her? I turned away from my computer screen and plopped down into my bed. And then the bleeding began.
My forearm split open before my eyes, as if cut with an invisible knife, spilling blood all over my bed. It burned like mad. Another cut- horizontal, this time, on the back of my forearm. This one, smaller.
I scrambled to find something to tie it up with. The shitty first aid kit I kept with like, 4 bandages, would hardly suffice, and settled for an old towel. Infection would hardly matter when I was in danger of dying from blood loss. My arm was already numb, and the skin kept splitting open.
"911. Yes, send an ambulance. I'm bleeding out from cuts in my arms." I muttered my address, wrapped the towel tightly around the wounds, and pressed, wincing from the pain. I held on for what must have felt like forever until sirens appeared outside my door. I stumbled outside and collapsed.
I woke up in a hospital bed. They'd given me fifteen stitches, a transfusion, and one hell of a bill. My arm stung and itched through the bandages, but I was alive. I could've cried.
In the weeks of my recovery, I tried to imagine my soul mate. A girl who, like me, lived her life a social outcast. Who spent too much time online, cut off from the rest of the world. Who worked herself to death without any recognition, barely scraping by. Who kept waiting for her soulmate to say something, but was afraid. Deathly afraid of rejection. I'd been there. Imagine blowing your chances with the one person you're meant to be with.
We were truly meant for one another. Two of life's biggest losers, wallowing in a shared pit of failure. Imagining that everything would be solved if we just found each other. If she hadn't done it, I probably would've at some point.
But the funny thing is (and yes, there is a funny thing in all that), I chose to keep living. Yes, I'd blown it. I'd never be with the one girl who I'm meant to stay with for all of eternity. But it felt like failing a big test. At least it's over. When the bandages came off, I found one last thing she'd given me, before she passed. A series of scars on the back of my arm, spelling out "Sorry Matt".
[subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
|
I can't believe it. On her right forearm is the same tattoo that I have. It's the symbol for fire, not from Avatar. She must've grown tired of hearing that question asked as well. She has the same shoulder scar from my surgery. She must have so many questions. I fell out of a truck, I burned my forearm at the grill at Mcdonald's, don't ask any other questions. I had a strange obsession with cutting, luckily it never got bad. I wanted scars and now I have too many to count. You must have so many questions. I'm sorry, I've been lonely and the solipsism has set in so bad that I'd do anything to get you to talk to me about anything, I like books. Let's talk fantasy or Stephen King.
I approach the woman she's looking at the nutrition facts on a carton of eggs. I turn towards her and make sure my forearm faces her. Don't be weird, be cool, make her laugh. "Hi." I say.
She looks at me up and down, obviously uncomfortable and looking down at me at the same time. "Can I help you?"
I should have did myself up more, like cologne and stuff. "You got my tattoo, that means..."
She cuts me off. "...I've had this happen a few times. I'm married and I got the tattoo after I watched Avatar."
A punch to my gut. Air gone. "I'm sorry. My mistake. Sorry to bother you."
A man walks up behind her and puts his arm around her. They talk, but I don't stay to see anymore. I need to get away. It's not fair, but it's not her fault. I just need to be stronger about my heart, not be like Jim Carrey from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind. Nevermind, I'll try another time. It doesn't change the fact that my heart hurts. I'm sorry, I'm just lonely.
| 2018-04-01T21:39:41
| 2018-04-01T20:03:34
| 24
| 14
|
[WP] As a joke, you decide to run for president under two tickets simultaneously: one as a Republican and one as a Democrat. 3 months before nomination, you are the frontrunner for both parties.
|
2016 was horrible for both parties.
See, the Democrats had Hillary Clinton, but most people didn't want to have her as the president. In fact, about two-thirds thought she was dishonest. The Republicans had Donald Trump, or as John Oliver put him, "a clown made of mummified foreskin and cotton candy".
So, my friends and I decided to file FEC paperwork under my name. See, I've never really voted along one party line, so I just kinda put both parties. It was a joke! Honest! I hung those papers up on the wall and my friends and I had a good laugh.
Then Iowa came. I won 70% of voters across the state. Turns out Mic. was doing an article on satirical candidates, and I had become some kind of internet sensation overnight. r/PhillipsWoodsForPresident was one of the most active subreddits, above r/HillaryClinton (but that's not much competition), r/The_Donald, and r/SandersForPresident. Hell, I had a campaign website, an ActBlue and an RNC donation page with about 10 million in donations from small donations of less than $2,700.
Then I won both parties in New Hampshire, trailed Clinton in Nevada, South Carolina, Alabama, and Arkansas, and won the Republican primaries in all of those states. So, apparently both the DNC and the RNC provided me with campaign managers, staff, etc. that I didn't even know about until they came to my house and asked why I wasn't out campaigning. Seriously? I work Data Entry at a dental office.
So, they made me say a couple speeches. Basically, I was pro-gun, pro-LGBT rights, favoring a smaller government with more economic regulation, neutral on immigration, all of that. I started believing in myself, too. I shook hands with nearly every congressman and congresswoman in Washington. I was "the savior of the Democratic and Republican parties".
I went to a couple of debates, and I just talked. Seriously, I didn't yell, didn't scream, wasn't aggressive. I literally just told people what I believed, and people were happy with a "refreshing new candidate" that didn't take corporate money. I flustered O'Malley and Webb, and they dropped out before Colorado. Hillary Clinton dropped out because she had received such low voter turnout, so it was just between me and Bernie Sanders.
Trump dropped out in disgrace, saying, "He's a loser! He's a democrat! The democrats are ruining the Republican Party! But now, I must make America great again through the private sector, not the public one. Also, my hands are not small!" Jeb Bush dropped out because he had the whole of 10 votes in 6 states. Ted Cruz couldn't run because he was a Canadian, and public opinion shifted against him. John Kasich was John Kasich. Nobody voted for him.
Anyways, that's how I ended up as the front-runner of both parties. I took Sanders as my Vice-President due to the public support and his experience getting things through the Senate.
I had won 76% of this country's vote in the primaries. I won 94% of the popular vote, with 3.5% going to Jill Stein of the Green Party and 2.4% going to Gary Johnson of the Libertarian Party. it was the first time in history both the Democrats and Republicans had won a landslide victory. I served my presidency as "The Great Uniter", working to decrease the debt and increase personal freedom and security. People loved me. My approval rating never went below 75%.
So I took a trip to my home state of Texas. Toured around the state, went to Dallas. Drove down Elm Street in Dallas, and I got shot by some guy with the Party for Social Liberation, which got, like, 0.0003% of the vote. As the country's most popular president of the last 20 years, I died during my last 2 years in office, on the same street JFK died on.
They rushed me to Parkland, but it turns out no amount of surgery can repair a gunshot to the head. I died, and "The Great Uniter" was gone.
I'd like to say maybe I had a difference. That the Republicans and Democrats would unite under my death. Instead, both parties blamed the other for not stopping the Party for Social Liberation from killing me. The greatest irony of my death is that "The Great Uniter" divided this country more than ever by his death.
This country's greatest divide was my death. Go figure.
*If you liked this, please read more of my stories on r/TheTexasKid and subscribe!*
|
I'm sitting there, in my "office" (it's the 3 foot part of my campaign bus that I haven't covered entirely with papers and cans yet), trying to figure out how the fuck I managed to get myself into this situation.
Wait, I gotta back up here, I should probably tell you how this whole thing started.
It all started a year ago, my buddy Bill and I were drinking in some swanky New York club, and somewhere between the 4th and 5th bottles of champagne, he got the idea of me running for President, for both parties.
"Dude, it'll be hilarious, I promise you", he slurred at me in his southern drawl, "you just gotta say enough crazy shit to get everyone riled up for you"
"Nah man, they'll just think it's some publicity stunt", I responded, somehow managing to still think, "nobody's gonna fall for this"
As we approached the hours of the morning, I finally came around to the idea (well, come around is a bit generous considering that I vomited on some homeless dude on the way back), but either way, the next day, still hungover, I went on the air and announced my candidacy.
As I expected, everyone kinda laughed at me to start, nobody expected me to gain any traction. I talked to Bill about it, he was still optimistic after the first few days.
"Trust me man, I know how this works, all you gotta do is say some crazy shit, and then everyone will start clamoring about you. Gingrich did it to me in 94. Go for the right wing first, they're pretty easy to rile up, just say something bad about Muslims"
I took his advice to heart, and the next day, I called a press conference, walked up to the podium, Bill confidently giving me a thumbs up from the 5th row. I waved at the crowd and approached the podium, trying my best not to show my quivering legs.
I cleared my throat, adjusted the mic, and cried loudly for the world to hear,
"We're gonna build a wall"
Edit: I know that Bill Clinton ran on a platform of being super moderate, and would actually suggest to run super moderately, but you know, literary liberties and such
| 2016-04-24T10:06:57
| 2016-04-24T09:25:14
| 83
| 59
|
[WP] You have the ability to steal wishes from a wishing well by taking the coins a person drops in. However, you can't know what the wish is before you decide to take it
For example: if someone wishes that that John smith fell in love with them and you decide to take the wish, then John Smith will fall in love with you
|
Had I known then what it would mean, and maybe I would have left that coin where I saw it.
But it had it's own sparkle, it's own calling, like no other I had ever seen before, and soon enough I held it in my hand, weighing it, testing it...
I could see my eyes reflected on it's surface, and as I looked away, as I dared to walk away from that well with that little coin tucked inside my pocket, I could tell it would only bring me good luck.
Of course, I had no ideia what wish had been laid to rest in that coin at the bottom of that well.
Sometimes it crosses my mind that maybe, just maybe, if I'd taken another coin, I could have won the lottery, or found true love.
But the one I picked up, shiny and bright as the sun, brought me another fate. Had it not reflected my eyes, and maybe... No. It wouldn't change a thing, I know that now.
As I stare at the lifeless body at my feet, the words of that innocent girl, about my age, make perfect sense. I tracked her down, I had to know.
I needed to know why I was acting so differently since I'd cought that coin. Why all I could think of was the scent of blood, the dark red liquid flowing, the life leaving their eyes.
It was her wish, her fault. She made me this way. She wished to be a murderer. A soulless monster. And I'd become one.
But as her final words sank in, I couldn't help but smile, as brightly as ever, as I wiped blood from my face. A simple wish, as it was.
"I wish I can guiltlessly do what my heart most desires."
|
Angela hoisted her heaping bag of new clothes over her petite shoulder. As she struggled to catch up with her friends, who had walked ahead of her to the next store, she cursed herself for deciding to wear heels that day.
It was then that she heard the fountain call to her. The call was not a sound, but instead a vibration, an echo of something deep within her chest.
The sixteen year old girl stopped in her tracks and turned to face the fountain, a small, unassuming trickle of water dribbling into a pond tucked into the corner between two buildings.
"Hey, Angie!" she heard her friend Lana call to her. "Hey, where are you going?"
The voice seemed far away to Angela. Leaving her bag of spoils behind, she trotted toward the fountain and soon found herself at the edge.
"What the hell is she doing?" said another voice. Her mind registered it as Jasmine, another of her friends.
"I dunno," Lana replied. "She's acting really weird."
Angela, her mind on autopilot, bent down and plunged her hand deep into the fountain's basin. A moment later, she stood back up, holding a rusted penny between two baby pink nails.
She heard her friends somewhere in the distance, but over top of their chattering, a nasal, distinctly male voice resounded from within her head: "I wish I had a photographic memory."
The next moment was like waking up from a dream. She was not Angela. She was not even a 'she.' He was Martin Samuelsson, forty-five-year-old billionaire. He had first heard the fountain's call four years ago, when he was a mere clerk at a nearby outlet store. He remembered how it had implored him to pick a coin from its depths, and how he heard his first wish: "I wish to be the richest man in the world."
He thought that would be enough, but it wasn't. Even with enough money to buy anything he desired, he still wanted more. He went back to the fountain again and again, drew coin after coin, and was granted wish after wish. But none brought him complete satisfaction.
Finally, he had an idea. The last time he drew a coin from the fountain, he had paid a girl ten thousand dollars to make a wish for him. He marked the penny black with magic marker so that he could pick it out, and then had her toss it into the basin.
That was the last thing that Martin remembered before he became Angela. But he knew why his plan had not worked. It was something that he forgot. Not words, necessarily, but a feeling, from when the fountain first called to him.
*The wish has to be from the coin owner's heart.*
Martin/Angela felt a hand on his shoulder. The feeling of being touched in a girl's body now seemed entirely alien to him.
"Angie?"S/he heard Lana say, "You okay, girl? Everyone's waiting for you!"
At that, the timbre of Lana's voice caused a new memory to surface. It was the voice of the girl that he had hired to make the wish. He had heard it in his head the moment before he became Angela.
"I wish to be the most popular girl in school."
| 2016-08-02T14:08:05
| 2016-08-02T12:22:05
| 19
| 11
|
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town.
|
He came from Ultraopolis.
He came to my city. Omega City.
He calls himself The End. I call him a murderer.
He thought the heroes of Omega City were weak, silly even. They had failed to stop me so many times, and what was I compared to him? A joke.
He has incredible strength. Enough to rip the head off of Poor Richard, the first superhero he had killed in his city.
He has lightning-fast reflexes. Faster than Lass Sue, which made it easy for him to use her own rope against her. He tied her up and tossed her off the Ultra-Tower. She was able to slip the bonds, but not in time to save herself.
He has stamina. He proved it when he fought Sun Day for hours until twilight, when he casually grabbed the de-powered hero around the chest and squeezed until they expired.
He had killed the heros of his city, as well as countless civilians and cops. He controlled Ultraopolis. He was board.
So he came to my city.
As I said, he thought me, and by extension the heros of my city, a joke.
It's an easy mistake to make. I am the Funny Man, after all.
My crimes are disruptive and destructive but never deadly.
When I flooded the market, the Lucky Streak and Swell Jill were on site. They were able to get the duck-shaped life preservers from the shipment I'd arranged to have for sale that day distributed before the water got too high. All the stock brokers and bankers were saved... and made to look ridiculous.
When my fire truck threatened to burn down the opera house, Hydro-Nate and E-Laser Beth were able to redirect water from the surging sewer/storm water system to put the flames out. It's too bad that city councilman's motorcade got caught in the crossfire. Coincidentally the council separated the systems this year. Funny how that worked out.
Notice a pattern? It's Funny how the heros of my city always seem to employ teamwork.
I am so proud of them. Not one of them has an S or even A-tier power. It doesn't matter. Enough of them together can overcome anything together.
The details of the battle hardly matter... except two.
We lost Johnny-on-the-Spot. He went to the construction site earlier than I had intended. He tried to face The End alone. By the time Guy Friday and All-You-Can Edith arrived it was already over for Johnny.
The other detail that matters is that they took him alive.
That's why tonight I'm breaking *into* a maximum security jail.
Because tonight I'm breaking a rule. Tonight the Funny Man *is* going to make a deadly joke. And can you guess who that joke is going to be on?
The End.
|
My name is Eskimo Souls. I’m a “supervillain.” And I met a weird guy at the bus stop. He was wearing a jacket, but his arms weren’t on the sleeves. He just has his hood on. He even has sunglasses. “What do you do here?” I ask him, “Do you have a job?” “Can I trust you to keep a secret?” He asks me. “Sure,” I say. *What’s this guy up to?* I think to myself. He leans close to my ear. “I’m a supervillain. I’m Jase, but you can call me J. If you tell this to anyone,” He tells me, “I’ll kill you.” Then he pushes me aside.
The bus pulled in front of us. Both of us walk inside, and give the driver some money. As I sit down on the chair. I noticed that he had a bloodstain on his shirt and he didn’t even notice. *Or is it ketchup?* I think to myself. I shake my head and kept looking at the gorgeous veiw. Oh I didn’t tell you. I don’t try my hardest at being a supervillain. See these heroes are very stupid, so I have to go easy on ‘em. And once they face off against an actual villain, they’d be prepared because I revealed so many “villain” tricks. But this guy seems different. He’s very energetic. He talks to people, and he doesn’t act creepy. Except the part where he talks to me and killing me.
Just before he attacks, I have to attack and go hard. This guy’s unpredictable. I have to tell the heroes in a villain-y way that he’s coming for them!
My idea isn’t that great, but it is an idea. I’m gonna team up with this guy. Once he is in his villain form, I just have to befriend him, and make him “help” me defeat the heroes. When I saw him leave the bus, I went with him. I was lucky that he lives in the same neighborhood as me. So when I walk inside my apartment, I go outside the backdoor and spy on him. I see he walks into B-1. He lives in B-1! Alright. Now I just have to wait for him to come out his little hole.
*8:00* I hear a door open. It’s a guy in a funky costume. It’s him! He looks like a bug, but I role with it. I put on my costume and climbed up the house. Before he tries to walk down the stairs on his apartment, I jumped in front of him. “Hey, buddy. I’m a villain here. Lookin’ to fight some heroes?” I say. “You’re acting weird,” he says to me, “are you one of the heroes?” I wasn’t nervous about that, I was nervous that he was going to find out my true intention. “But yeah. I’m looking to fight some heroes. Wanna wreck some cars?” He asks me. I sigh as a relief, and agreed.
I took a random person, and flew up into the sky. “I’m not going to harm you, just scream help, and I might not drop you from this height.” She, terrified, nodded. “Help! Please somebody help!” She screams. *Wow, she screams impressively loud!* I think to myself.
*part 2 coming out soon i’m tired, i wanna eat, i don’t want to do this
| 2021-05-20T10:47:04
| 2021-05-20T10:45:22
| 97
| 13
|
[WP] a new reality game show is sweeping the nation, ten people are unvolunterily trapped inside a house. Every week the viewers vote out one person. Unlike other game shows, the last contestent left, is the only loser.
|
Reality shows were thought to be a thing of the past. People no longer had the patience to spend one hour of their time watching some people go about their daily lives, and seeing some obvious staged drama, while trying to support for their favorite contestant, knowing that in any event the votes were probably rigged anyway.
However, last week, something changed. A video on Youtube went viral, which showed ten unwitting people trapped in a house, and much like a certain movie, the entire house was booby trapped in such a way, than any attempt to exit would lead to some serious pain. The video showed one of the contestants trying to pick the front door, only to get zapped through the keyhole, while another contestant who tried to break the windows only ended up with a bruised shoulder on discovering that it was reinforced with concrete. Intrigued, the show, called 'Hammer' by the uploader 'Puzzle', broke all previous records for Television ratings.
After the initial shock wore over, the contestants were then made aware of the rules, which was basically that they had to ensure that they were voted out by the public, as the last remaining person was going to be rewarded with death. The catch was that the audience didn't know about this and they weren't allowed to cause any bodily harm to each other. The house had all other modern amenities, including extremely fast WiFi, the latest gaming consoles, and extremely delicious food, which appeared in the kitchen from a chute.
It was 11:30 pm on the sixth day, with only thirty minutes left for the first voting to be done. In the past six days, all hell had gone lose in the house. The first two days were filled with every possible kind of foul language that existed in this world, but the discovery of a website that kept track of votes given so far with a thirty minute delay, pushed the participants to desperation. Slowly, the ugly truths about the participants came out. It turned out the house had a squad of fund embezzlers, pedophiles, arsonists and adulterers. The number of votes skyrocketed, with millions of people forming groups to ensure a particular contestant was eliminated first.
Harry watched the Youtube video which announced 'Hammer' for the hundredth time. He then checked his standing on VoteOut. Nope, he was still seventh, and the gap between him and first person to be booted was three million votes as of half an hour ago. The smile on his face didn't match his position though. He walked down to the Living Room, where all of the other contestants were gathered, anxiously awaiting the results. He saw Dick, with his 7 million votes, smiling smugly. Harry confidently went up to a corner of the living room, and then putting his back to it, angled his phone to where he was sure the camera was after his analysis of the 'Hammer' video. He then started browsing Reddit. In a loud voice, he announced, "Wow, this post is awesome," and then very deliberately scrolled past it without upvoting or leaving a comment. He continued this for the next half an hour.
Precisely at midnight, a bell rung, and a robotic voice announced dispassionately:
"The first contestant to be eliminated from Hammer is Harry with a total of 10 million votes."
|
I didn’t come here to make friends I came to win. Unfortunately due to the parameters of this contest, winning was exceedingly difficult. Everyone was doing thier best job to be unlikeable. The contest allowed everything from permanent maiming to even death.
Though death meant the lucky bastard was eligible to get out and basically overrode any vote made, so we hadn't killed each other yet.
So it was I found myself in Cynthia’s chair, hand bound to my side as I screamed in agony as she took out one of my eyes. She giggled at me, purely for fun as she reached for her sharp garden shears.
“Soo.. Jonathan, Are you enjoying your time this week?” She asked.
I hyperventilated as she placed her shears around one of my fingers. “Lets see how much the audience likes me after I cut off a finger.”
That’s how I escaped. With the first ever pity vote by the audience after losing three fingers and eyeball and some of my nonessential inner organs.
They only gave me a T-shirt for participating.
| 2019-01-07T05:44:35
| 2019-01-07T01:01:02
| 24
| 13
|
[WP] Oops, the simulation messed up. Everybody has been re-aged to match the maturity of their inner person. This has made office life a little strange
|
It started out as a normal morning, you wake up at 5:30, get ready, grab something eat and you’re off to go to your job at the office. Except one thing…you’re sixteen years old again, and get this notification on your phone *warning, the simulation has a rip in it and your civilian will be experiencing age regressions…please remain calm as we are fixing the problem. Have a nice day*.
Great, just when I thought Monday couldn’t get it any worse. My boss was a ten year old annoying little kid and my coworkers were various ages and wore clothes from when they were that age so it looked like an episode out of the office at my job today.
I even had to discipline my boss, yeah thought I would have to do that…ever. Right now, some of my coworkers are crying because they are babies, some of them are playing beer pong because they are college students and others want ice cream or candy because they are children.
I look at the clock and see it’s only 12…”this is going to be a longgg day”. I say as I helped give a bottle to my supervisor.
|
part 1: you wake up, to notice... you're fifteen again! but you look at your phone, to see it's not 2000. it's 2022. you wipe your eyes, as you think you saw something else. you remember you have work today, you quickly make some toast, and bolt out the door. you kept on running. faster and faster you run. your favourite song plays, "oh my! feels like i don't try!" (everybody loves me - one republic) the music played on, and on. you get to work on time. you glance at your phone. "Alert! Alert! There has been a problem with The Simulator's realism and age properties. Many glitches have occurred within the last few days. The Maintenance will fix this soon." you think about this for a second. as you reach for the phone, you bug out. alas, you end up in The Glitch Room. you walk around. people... are npc's here. atleast, they act like npc's. you hear, "Hello. You are here because The Simulator either deleted you, or you discovered a glitch. Either way, The Maintenance is currently working on trying to bring you back online. Now, This is not heaven or hell, exactly. This is The Glitch Room. Soon, you will be accompanied by realistic humans. This room shall soon look like The Simulation that you live in." silence. pure silence.
part 2: after a while though, you walk around the field the voice spoke about. you wander as the people make noise. you go back to The Simulation. you've been there for... 12 hours!? what!? you rush home. your discord friends have been quote en quote *bugging* you for the past couple hours. you respond. "guys what the fuck just happened, i got teleported to a black room ALSO JOIN THE DAMN VC GUYS" on the voice chat, you continue on explaining what happened. "wilbur," your best friend says. "that was a pretty insane explanation tbh" you swear it was real. you end the call.
part 3: you sigh a heavy sigh, and get up. you get to the fridge and make dinner, as always. (writers block, check back later)
| 2022-04-30T06:47:12
| 2022-04-30T06:23:30
| 102
| 27
|
[WP] You are a vampire. You have a weakness to true faith, which manifests as a blinding aura around the rare individuals who possess it. You been watching a certain human for weeks trying to figure out what they have faith in, it certainly isn't any religion.
|
TW; Suicide
Faith. It’s the bane of my existence, literally. As a vampire of middle-class, my weakness reflects the inward soul of my buffet table that is the world. The vampires you’ve heard about, with the holy water, garlic, sunlight and what-not are the unfortunate vampires who were reborn in less than ideal circumstances. But faith is my big thing, like a bright light projecting their soul for all vampires to see. It also helps me pick out hypocrites from a mile away that claim they are faithful but sure as hell are not.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely immune and can devour the faithful, in fact they taste better than average. It just hurts me in the long run. Probably some cruel joke made by the big guy, but whatever. I was craving faith, and I’d been following this strange man who was brighter than any other human I’d seen before. Usually anyone on this level spent all day in a religious building or doing volunteering, not this one. He just walked around, scanning the streets looking for something.
On one hand, I could just corner him, have my fill and last another week or so before coming back for more, but some part of me; the tiny shred of humanity left, was curious. So like an idiot, I approached the man as he wandered through a park with children running about. He noticed me come up to him and stopped.
“Hello sir, I’m part of a group of university students doing a survey on what people believe in most.” The key was a fast-paced introduction, humans don’t generally question someone’s words when they are spoken in a rush. He gives a faint greeting and smiles at me like I’m an idol of his.
“You want to know what I believe in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can’t remember very well.”
That little sentence knocked me back a bit. No religion at all? It seemed a bit far-fetched, but I wanted to look into it further.
“That is okay, I can just put you down as ‘other’. Now, what do you think you have the most faith in?” I queried him. He just smiled and said two words: “my son.”
“Your son?”
He went on to explain how his son always came to his house after he was diagnosed with short-term memory loss. He hadn’t seen his son in a few days and wanted to find his house, but couldn’t remember where it was. The man took great pride in telling me that his son had just been discharged from the army.
“Tom Collinhood.” I froze. I had a habit of going to cemeteries (I know, cliché vampire trope) and I remembered standing in front of that name. I pulled up a phone and did a quick search and Tom Collinhood’s name was paired with a news article. ‘Tragic suicide of veteran leaves public questioning the care of military mental health.’
Titled: seven months ago.
This poor man had been searching for a long dead son, having faith that one day, he would see him again.
I never touched a bright-soul again.
|
I crouched beneath the bushes watching the man sit in the park late at night. He was an older man, not really someone who I would 'hunt', but something about him intrigued me. I could see the bright white aura glowing around him, brighter than any I had seen before. He had the purest, truest faith, and I felt drawn to it. So I began to follow him.
He had never gone near any temple or church, and in his home I never witnessed him pray. There were no religious jewellery hanging off his neck or fingers. What was it this man had such a blinding faith in? With all of the evil in the world, what had made him so bright?
"You can come out you know." The man's voice called out calmly. "I know that you're here, it's okay. I'm not afraid of you." I stood from my bush and came out of the shadows. The man turned around and looked at me. "I've felt you following me the last few weeks. I've felt it in my bones. Arthritis, you see." He held up his seemingly mangled fingers.
"Why didnt you say anything before?"
"I wanted to see if you'd find what you were looking for. Did you?"
"No." I didn't want to admit it.
"Sit with me. Ask me anything you want." I crept to the bench and sat beside the man, the light hurting slightly.
"You're not a man of God."
"You're right, I'm not. I'm a man of myself."
"What do you mean?"
"All I have? It's because of me. That house you saw? I built it in my twenties when I asked my wife to marry me. The pond in the back? I dug it myself. I married a woman I loved and who loved me. I raised my children well, they're happy healthy people. I have everything J ever wanted, all because of me. No god could have built my house for me, or courted my wife, or raised my kids. No god could have given my children an education, no god could have given me the job I loved. This is all mine. All because of me. I know I'm old and alone now, Maggie passed away ten years ago and my kids have kids of their own. But I'm a happy man, whether I die tonight or not, because I believed in myself." He turnd to me with wise old eyes. "I believe in you too. Whatever you are or whatever you do. I believe in you."
| 2019-04-26T01:39:08
| 2019-04-26T00:34:29
| 28
| 18
|
[WP] You applied for a job at google, everything goes well and only one interview remains: They'd just like an explanation for your search history.
|
"There's just one thing. Your search history."
My heart started beating like crazy. *I took very precaution*, I thought. I deleted all of my search history. I used a VPN. Hell, I even used another computer.
What could they have found out? My infidelity towards my wife? My mentally unstable phase? No, not... my porn? Could it be? Could they know the vile things I have jerked off to?
"Honestly, what's the matter with you, man?" The interviewer looked at me with the utmost disgust.
*What do you know?* I wanted to scream, but I was too terrified to do anything.
"I mean, really? Bing?"
|
“So Mr. Anderson, thanks for your patience. My name is Smith and I’m in charge of security around here."
“Nice to meet you”, Thomas said while Mr. Smith sat down at the other side of the table. Thomas only wondered briefly about Mr. Smith’s sunglasses and his very, very black suit.
“As you know this is your final interview and we’d like to discuss one topic with you: Your search history.”
Thomas hesitated for a second, then responded: “Ehm.. okay.. I guess we can do that. What would you like to know?”.
“Well, frankly your search history has changed a bit over those last weeks, hasn’t it Mr. Anderson?” He opened a folder lying in front of him on the desk.
*May 15th. At 2:03am you searched for “Morpheus reported sightings*”
*May 17th. 3:52am. “Morpheus organization contact*”
*May 21st. 23:51pm. “How to make mac and cheese in the microwave fast”*
*May 24th. 1:15am. “Is this real life?”*
*May 27th. 2:15am. “Dream world computer generated”*
*May 29th. 1:46am. "Google artificial intelligence development"*
*May 31st. 3:46am. “Artificial intelligence robots”*
*And just this morning, June 3rd. 1:39am. “What is the matrix?*”*
He looked at Thomas, making eye contact. “Mr. Anderson, what do you think is the matrix then?”
Without Thomas noticing, the door behind him had opened and two men stepped inside the room.
“Well… I don’t really… eh I don’t really know what it is I guess..”, Thomas began to stutter and started to sweat. His head spinning at the confusing questions and facts presented to him by Smith.
Smith stared at him with a grin on his face, his eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. He then turned to the two man standing beside Thomas and briefly nodded at them.
All of sudden, the two man reached for Thomas and grabbed his arms, pushing him down, face first, on the table in front of him.
“Mr. Anderson, we both know that you have started to ask the wrong questions. And now I only have one question for you. Do you want to know what the matrix is?
Almost out of breath from the two men pushing him on the table, Thomas managed to barely say “Yes… I want to know what it is.”
“Very well. But I can assure you, you’re not going to like what comes next …”
Thomas started to feel a rush on his cheeks and his lips. Something happened to his mouth. He tried opening it, but there appeared to be something that prevented him to open and control his mouth. He wanted to scream, but he could only manage a inaudible mumble. Then, the two men put the mask on his head and everything turned black...
| 2016-06-03T05:42:35
| 2016-06-03T04:54:11
| 93
| 43
|
[WP] FTL travel is actually possible. However, when humanity sends out our first FTL spacecraft, we discover the terrifying reason why nothing, not even light, dares go past that cosmic speed limit.
|
“There’s a reason why you never use faster than light travel.” The creature calling itself Kcbzrzx says to me in a voice that’s equal parts nails on a chalkboard and nails on a wet chunk of glass.
“And why is that?” I put my hands on my side and tap my foot impatiently. If Kcbzrzx doesn’t understand the universal signal of ‘I’m in a hurry’ then that’s his problem. You don’t travel faster than the speed of light because you have all the time in the world.
“Those who travel faster than the speed of light have the potential to open up a dimensional rift.” The condescension from Kcbzrzx is so heavy that I’m more impressed than offended. From what we know of the universe, humans are the only species to have invented that particular feeling. To have an alien put on a such a display of superiority is almost worth getting pulled over.
“Please, Kcbzrzx. This isn’t some episode of Stargate. We know what we’re doing, we’ve been travelling for years at ‘3L’.” I wave a dismissive hand at him like I would a child claiming it’s bad luck to break a mirror, or the laws of physics.
Kcbzrzx grumbles something under his… well, not breath as he doesn’t seem to breathe. But he does grumble something, and rest assured it’s a grumble from under somwhere, if not breath. “Fine,” He says. “The real reason. By travelling faster than the speed of light, you are essentially declaring a race. A race that has implications that you have no understanding of.”
*Oh this guy’s good.* For a second I almost believe him. Humoring him, I ask, “A race with who?”
Kcbzrzx raises several eyebrows. “Not who. What.” He points a finger outside of the ship, past the glass windows. “See, it’s already starting.”
Chuckling, I walk over to the window and peer out. Trailing the ship I see thousands of jagged lines of light. *Just some starlight*, I think. *That’s all that is. Funny, it should show up now, five years into our voyage.*
“So what?” I say.
Not only do alien races have translators for speech, but many have them for facial and body language. A smile doesn’t mean the same thing in Flargon as it does in Shmloogar as it does in Human. The look Kcbzrzx gives me needs no translation. It’s a look I’ve gotten from each of my four ex-wives. It’s the look I got when I once tried returning a rental car with half of the hood missing. From Kcbzrzx, it’s like hearing swear words in a foreign language; you don’t know exactly what they’re saying, but you get the gist.
“You meddle with things far outside your comprehension, endanger the entire universe, and your reaction is: ‘So what?’” Kcbzrzx looks as if he’s about to explode. This isn’t a figure of speech, some alien races physically blow up when pushed to a certain limit.
I take a step back.
“It’s just some distorted starlight. What’s the big deal, K?” I hope giving him a nickname will soften our dialogue, or at least throw him off his feet.
Kcbzrzx shakes his head. Which, I haven’t mentioned this yet, it’s his entire body. Well most of his body is his head. It didn’t seem like an important detail at first, but then he started shaking… so, there you go. His head is his body, and he’s shaking it at me.
“It’s not distorted starlight, human. It is light. All light. By going faster than light, you have challenged it to a race.”
I look back out the window. The trailing lights seem to have gotten closer. *Could this guy be right? Did we really just challenge a stinking bunch of photons into some kind of trillionK?*
“What happens if we lose?” I ask.
Kcbzrzx glares at me, his eyes narrowing. “No more light… ever.”
 
----------
 
6,476 / 50,000 Words of NaNoWriMo short story goal.
|
The day had arrived.
On a space station high above the earth, thousands stood silent, while millions watched at home as humanity's first Faster Than Light capable spacecraft was about to depart on its maiden voyage.
The technology was perfected over decades, with countless scientists working long hours for minimum pay for a passion that they may or may not regret later in life.
The spacecraft, dubbed Speedy McSpeedFace, was perched on a high platform, with the audience below protected by a powerful force field. The ship was unmanned, it being only an experimental vessel, but filled to the brim with technology that Star Wars could only dream of.
The announcer waited for the signal to begin the countdown.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for! The world's first Faster Than Light ship is about to launch! I have been given permission to begin the countdown! In five, four, three, two, one!"
The ship started its engines, at first slowly, then at maximum throttle.
The ensuing explosion ripped the space station, the force field, and the earth apart, disintegrating it into pure plasma that collided with the other planets at speeds faster than light. The other planets were completely vaporized, turning into swirling vortexes of pure annihilation that caused everything they touched to cease to exist.
As the ship traveled through the universe, everything it touched was completely destroyed, leaving behind nothing but an infinitely hot space that cause disruptions in space and time. Stars that had been born in the dawn of time found themselves going supernova in the blink of an eye, black holes were torn apart by their own gravity, nebulae exploding with the force of the Big Bang.
The observable universe was left a desolate wasteland.
The ship left the boundaries of the known universe and headed into the unknown, where a race of aliens known as ponies found it and were subsequently destroyed.
| 2018-11-04T06:08:13
| 2018-11-04T05:34:15
| 28
| 19
|
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
“Mmhmm, okay lets play!” Emma squealed excitedly. Death shook his head involuntarily under his hood at her enthusiasm but caught itself before letting its reaction show on its face.
“What game shall we wager?” Death asked.
Emma being freed from the excruciating pain from the events earlier in the day was smiling and admiring the parts of her body which had become anew. She was free from the haunting strobe light memory flickering to grotesque scenes of her tibia extruding from her shin, a pool of blood spreading on her favorite dress, and the view of rapidly passing rectangular light boxes which eventually faded to black. “Did you fix me?” she looked up inquisitively as she asked.
Death replied in monotone, “A question is not an answer to the question. Pick a game.”
“Well you say cheating is okay but I always hated when Julie cheated but she always won so I want to try it but you have to promise me not to get mad,” Emma blabbered. “Let’s play Rock, Paper, Scissors!”
“Wise are the ones to leave fate up to chance. Any other conditions? Best of 3?” Death said. Death took a liking to this simple game. Seldom had the dying spirit chose this game instead opting for higher chances of survival. Death found it amusing that humans, who did nothing to enrich their soul but rather spent time on accumulating wealth, had such a deep desire to retain their undeveloped worthless soul.
“No just once. Ready?” Emma held her fist up, “On three. Not after. Like one, two, three and when we say three you put your hand out. We both say 1-2-3. One…”
Death repeated after her catching up to her rhythm.
“Two.” They said in unison. Death looked up at her eyes which were focused intensely on its own. “Three!”
Death having sensed no malice from Emma simply threw out its favorite, scissors. But looking down at the skeletal hand flexed in bunny ears it saw or rather did not see Emma’s hand.
“I pick rock!” Emma shouted over giggles. She put her fist out next to Death’s scissors. “You lose! Julie taught me this one. It made me really mad and I called her a cheater but she said ‘no *you* not *we* put your hand out,’ and when I went to mommy crying Julie just laughed. You promised you won’t be mad.”
Death stood silent. Emma’s spirit faded away back towards the realm of the living.
“Innocence of children; I lose to you yet again.”
|
"Alright, so you're telling me that if I beat you at ANY game I can go back for another 10 years?!" said the man.
"Yes." said Death. "Any game of your choosing. Cheating is all-"
"Yeah, yeah. Cheating yadda yadda. I heard it the first time." the man snapped.
Death furled what the man assumed to be his brow at the man cutting him off.
Death sat there in silence, motionless. Just waiting for the man in front of him to pick his game.
The man started, "You know, I've play SO many games in my life. So many that I can't even remember what the stories were about anymore, they all just seem to run together."
Death looked on in horror as the man's name started to make more sense.
"I'm guessing you're starting to recognize me at this point, just like it says on the paper you read my name off of-" said the man.
"...I'm Gary fucking Gygax."
Edit: I never really do any prompts. I just thought this sounded fun. Critique if you want. I won't mind it!
| 2018-03-07T06:50:46
| 2018-03-07T06:04:24
| 944
| 97
|
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head.
|
I flipped it.
——
Social anxiety is a bitch, but this thing makes it easier.
It’s a Saturday afternoon and the mall is bustling. I just wanted to buy some new clothes, but it’s a day when everyone comes. I blink and they stop.
The world goes silent and every person is still. I slip around people and head off to Macy’s. I pick out my clothes (a new dress, a new pair of jeans, and a hat) when no one can look at me or speak to me. And then I get in line behind everyone else at the check out.
I blink and they move again.
When I’ve paid for my clothes and have walked away from the counter, I freeze time again. Soon enough, I’m putting the bag in my purse and then hopping on my bike. You can’t drive a car when the rest of them are still, but you can get a bike around them. It wears you out the same, but it’s still like you got home in an instant.
“Hey! Hey!”
I almost crash my bike. I brake and manage to stop. Around me, the world is still frozen. All except one man, who is jogging towards me.
“You can move too!” He’s excited. He’s at least a decade older than me. “When everything stops. You can move too.”
I stare at him. “Wait... you...”
He nods. “Yeah, since I was a teen. This thing happens.” He waves around himself. “Everyone freezes for a few minutes or a few hours... and then it starts again. Never know when. Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“It sucks?” I ask. It’s the greatest thing ever to me. Why would it suck for him?
His excitement kinda dies down. “I was on the interstate once. Few years ago. Time stopped, my car stopped... but when it started again, my hands were off the wheel and I was looking out the back window. Car went straight back to sixty but I wasn’t controlling it...” He lets out a heavy sigh. “My wife died in the accident.”
I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s my fault. I killed this man’s wife.
“Hey, kid, relax. You’re smart. You already figured out you shouldn’t get behind the wheel of a car, didn’t you? Whatever weird quirk of the universe this is, we just gotta live it out.” He laughed. “Make sure you cross those streets real fast though. You never know when the cars will start moving again.”
He’s right. My freezing and unfreezing time could kill him. I’ll never know what situation he’s in. If it’ll be safe for me to make the world move again.
“I gotta get home,” I say. I start biking away.
“See you later, kid,” he says. But when I’ve gone just a little ways away, I stop and look back at him.
How am I supposed to use my power when I have to worry about him?
He steps out onto the road where cars are frozen at forty-five miles per hour. He’s moving fast to get across before they start again.
I blink.
|
he first time the incident occurred I was in a busy mall. I bumped into the person in front of me and apologized, but I got no response. A moment later she fell forward. What a bitch! Not only did she ignore me, but she completely over-reacted with such a delayed response. She screamed, and a bunch of tough-looking guys approached me. Oh boy, I was in for a fight. I braced myself for the first punch, but his fist stopped mid-swing. Perplexed, I noticed that EVERYTHING had stopped in that moment. I quickly used my advantage to retaliate and back away. As time began to move again, he flew backwards from the impact. Seeing my "quick" movements, everyone backed away. I used this chance to flee.
You would think that moving through stopped time would be cool, but I soon realized that I had no control over it. It would only last a few seconds each time, but that was enough for me to collide with someone. Worse yet was if I was driving. There was no way for me to set the pedal back to normal if I pressed too hard, so I could easily speed up if I wasn't paying attention. I soon made it my mission to find out who was doing this to me.
My search finally led me to Egypt, where I saw it. A man with golden hair yelled out "Za Warudo!" and time stopped. Even though I had finally met my tormentor, I felt such an immense pressure emanating from this man. My own body froze, and probably for a good reason: the man casually stuck a knife through someone's neck. "Time will begin to move again", he proudly proclaimed. And with that, he went on with his business as if nothing had happened. This man was extremely dangerous, but I couldn't let him notice me.
I had to follow this man to stay out of his line of sight at all times. If he saw me move in stopped time, I was dead. In the time spent following him, I saw some truly bizarre shit.
Eventually some foreigners confronted him, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't risk my life for these people. Instead I had to watch in horror and hope they could figure it out on their own.
Sadly, a few of them lost their lives in that process. First a high school student who could manifest this green webbing of some sort thought he had cornered him. But sadly he was no match for this man. I had to watch as he casually unwove the kid's web and then finish it up with a punch straight through his stomach. I had to resist the urge to puke.
The next to fall was an old man who could create this weird purple vine. Apparently the golden-haired man couldn't physically touch him, so he precisely threw a knife at his throat. I braced myself for the murder that was going to unfold in front of my eyes in mere seconds.
As I grieved for the death of the old man, his apparent grandson received the critical knowledge of that man's ability. There was hope, but what could this kid do? Fly was apparently the answer. Bizarre.
I watched knowing that it was useless for him to keep fighting (or at least the man thought so). However there was a glimmer of hope! The kid moved in stopped time! It seems like the first twitch was a trick with a magnet, but the sucker-punch was no illusion. He killed the man!
Or so I thought. I couldn't exactly comprehend it, but apparently he is immortal. FML. That didn't stop the kid from trying though. The following battle was too crazy to fully explain.
The fight was so ridiculous that it ended with the two punching their way through a fucking road roller! wtf, where did that come from? But the kid did it, and my hell was over. That man was finally dead. I was free at last!
Or so I thought, until it began to happen 10 years later. I'm done with this shit.
| 2018-01-26T06:55:50
| 2018-01-26T06:49:48
| 39
| 25
|
[WP] Tell a horror story with the most unsettling original monster you can come up with.
|
...
In the summer of 1992, John and Janice Marsh from Syracuse, New York arrived home from their vacation overseas only to discover that their leather recliner had been replaced with a material consistent with human skin. It was the only thing out of place in the entire establishment. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the recliner had hairs growing out of it, and had a prominent pulse and numerous veins on its side.
John talked to his neighbors, who claimed no one had been in or out of their house in the time that they were gone. Reluctantly, he gave in to Janice's pleas and contacted the police, concerned that someone had broken into their home. Officer James Hawthorne and Officer Dana Worth responded to the call and examined the chair. Bewildered, he insisted that he search the rest of the house, to which John and Janice complied. Officer Hawthorne stepped into the basement and walked down the steps while Officer Worth examined the upstairs.
That was the last time John and Janice saw Officer Worth.
All they heard was a dull *'thump',* then silence.
Officer James Hawthorne rushed up the stairs and found a bloody hand mark on a nearby closet, a closet that John and Janice had claimed to have never existed before. Opening it revealed a dark passageways with pulsating flesh-like walls and blue veins intertwining with one another beneath its bloated surface. Most of all, the stench was overwhelming, which Janice described as a '*mixture of ash, rotting fish and shit.*'.
Calling for backup was Officer Hawthorne's first reaction. However, his radio was unable to work. Furthermore, neither the Marsh couple nor the officer could escape the house. Something was actively jamming their cell phone signals, which sent Janice into a panic attack.
It was then that they noticed something...strange.
The walls had changed.
All of them consisted of human skin, but had a variety of lacerations and other injuries inflicted on them. Several faces of numerous ethnicities and genders were scattered throughout the house, planted in the walls. They also appeared to be alive. When touched, the faces screamed for the longest time.
Breaking through the windows was no longer an option, for they have been covered in a thick brown webbing of unknown origin.
As the minutes dragged into hours, their own home began to transform. The wood of their tables turned to boiled skin, the legs morphing into actual legs. Turning on the sink did not cause water to pour. Instead, it was blood.
Armed with knives, John and Officer Hawthorne attempted to cut their way out. Blood spilled all over them as a result, flooding the bathroom with human essence and feces.
When John came to check onto his wife, he found her bound to the opposite wall facing what remained of their kitchen. She was unable to move, with some sort of webbing forming over her mouth.
Janice screamed and screamed, her muffled cries joining the thousand faces in their house of horrors. Desperate, John tried to cut her out, but it was no use.
The house had claimed her.
Days passed, and she sunk further and further into the walls, until only her face was present.
Officer Hawthorne was next, after he disappeared while exploring the basement.
Insanity claimed John, and soon...so did the house.
Authorities arrived at their address two weeks later, when the mailman reported blood seeping from the gutter. They spent hours trying to open the doors, but when they finally managed to peek inside...all of them regretted visiting 15 Sunrise Lane.
...
|
The can of cold soda popped open. Henry leant back against his wooden chair, heard the creak and took a long, satisfied slurp. He crossed his legs beneath the desk and leant back over his book, tapping on the desk with the eraser end of his pencil. The library at night lay silent and still. Outside seemed half a world away, beyond the thick windows, the dark shut out by the cosy lamps set in each cubicle.
Night pressed up against the windows; a stranger left out in the cold, and the wind tapped on the glass. A shiver moved down Henry's spine and he twitched his his seat. The tapping on the glass continued. Once Henry had dated a girl with long, lacquered fingernails, and she used to run them across tables and chairs while she waited for things. The sound now was the same; drawn out and impatient.
Over Henry came the distinct feeling of being watched. Far below him in the library he heard the sound of high heels clacking across wood, but the sound faded as though muffled. The light in his cubicle wavered like a candle flame and outside the dark became fierce. No longer contented with its outside realm, it pushed against the frames and tested the creaking wood. The hair on Henry's neck rose. He ceased his tapping pencil. The wind a plaintive cry.
*Hungry*
The wind whined. Beside him, the light stuttered again and faded. On the windowsills of the library, the dark crept in. Like a seeping stain it spread, crawling over the wooden floor. Henry bent his head to his book, but gooseflesh rose on his arms and from somewhere came a high pitched screech; the sound of nails on a chalkboard.
*Cold*
The dark whispered. In the pit of Henry's stomach, his courage turned to ice. An old fear overtook him, old and inescapable as time itself. Winking out, the light fled and the library was cast into gloom. Long and blue, Henry's shadow faced the wrong way, against the faint glow of the moon. The dark grew about him, and the wind cried harder.
There were old things in the night; cold things in the night; *hungry* things in the night. Henry sat frozen to his seat as his shadow stood tall. A blue hand reached for him. The fingers felt cold, they gripped his wrist. Henry opened his mouth to scream and the night filled his throat.
*The old ones are coming.*
| 2016-07-12T10:20:46
| 2016-07-12T10:10:42
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] Write a story that only has a good ending if the protagonist fails.
|
10 questions down... 10 more to go, piece of cake. It's not my fault advanced calculus comes easy to me. I could feel the ugly stares from everyone in the classroom, piercing the back of my neck, silently begging me to intentionally shave some points on this test. The last mid-term I got a 95% and set the upper limit of the curve when the next highest score was a 45%. They were all pissed and received near failing grades, if I want to get invited to any parties my senior year, I have to shave some points so everyone doesn't hate me. Well... If I answer half of the next question, a 55% should safely keep me at the top of the class while getting everyone else good grades right? Will this make people like me more?
|
I wandered in my parent’s bedroom where my father kept his belt over the side of a chair. The bruises on my back radiated pain when I laid eyes on it. Compartmentalizing last night, I left behind the belt in search of my true quest. Rifling through his desk, I found the object of my desire: his Smith & Wesson .38 M&P. I let my gaze appreciate the way the light bounced off the steel barrel. I ran my fingers across the wooden grip until they met the cold metal, sending shivers down my spine. Carefully wrapping my hands around the revolver, I gently cradled it in my arms.
After checking to see if my father left it loaded, of course he did, the dim lights of my bathroom greeted me. Stepping into the tub since I didn’t want to leave a horrible, permanent mess for my mom, I meekly carried my pencil across paper, drafting my last message to the world. The buzz of the fluorescent light filled the room with an unbearable din as I tried to gather my thoughts. After a few attempts, I paused to gasp for air and put the note aside. Impossible questions and second thoughts ran through my head. After wiping my cheek, I returned to the note, now speckled with dots of wet paper, as I did my best at to tell never to blame herself; I came into this world broken. There was nothing she could do to save me. There was nothing anyone could do.
I tasted the cold metal in my mouth and fingered the trigger, wondering if I would find an afterlife. I doubted it. I felt too alone in the universe for there to be anyone waiting on the other side. Watching the last sight to cross my eyes, air struggled to find my lugs as soft whimpers escaped my lips. Feeling the gun tremble in my mouth, my eyes recoiled in pain as I closed them. I tried to find the courage deep to liberate consciousness from the prison of my sense and my life, but instead I collapsed on the floor of the bath tub letting my tears flow and listening to the echoes of my sobs bounce off the bathroom walls. Too cowardly to go through with it, I mourned my latest failure in a long line of loss.
I returned the gun to my father’s desk, hoping to arrange everything exactly as it was. Perhaps tomorrow would bring a new day of hope, but I doubted it.
*****
More stories at r/Andrew__Wells
| 2016-12-28T22:19:46
| 2016-12-28T18:05:38
| 65
| 47
|
[WP] You were summoned by a god to be the hero of a fantsy world, to kill the demon king and free their people, as a boon they told you you could request any weapon that they will provide. As a joke, you requested a intercontinental thermonuclear warhead, they gave it to you with a stright face.
|
“What,” said James, “the ever-loving fuck is that?”
The village woman—Maria, if he remembered correctly—turned to the metal dome of the warhead. “Is this not what you asked for?”
James blanched. “I mean I guess it is.” *Christ*. How could he explain he was joking? He’d given them something he knew they’d never be able to get. Part of that was for a laugh, but part of it was because he knew they’d never be able to do it and would (hopefully) drop the whole fanfare and he could leave in peace.
“It’s from Mage Crosswald,” Maria said. “He said you’d know what to do with it.”
The wind whistled through the village. James leaned against the wall of the hut. He’d been here a few weeks, at most, and he was already exhausted. He couldn’t imagine how the people in the village or the kingdom felt.
*Fuck it.* James took a breath. The darkness from the Demon King was spreading through the land. Trees and crops rotted. Water turned thick and dark. The sky blotted out and refused to show the sun. If he wanted to save this world, as the god that brought him here intended, then he’d have to strike at the root of the issue.
“I need men,” he instructed Maria, “to help me get this weapon ready to use.”
---
On Sunday after the noon meal, the warhead launched. It was a small miracle of magic and science.
The rumble of the launch pounded in James’ ears even though he cupped his hands around his head. James watched it arc through the sky and disappear behind the clouds. The villagers were also gawking upwards in awe.
“That’s it?” Maria whispered. Her face was still, almost as if she refused to cave into hope as the other villagers had done.
James nodded firmly. “It should make impact in the Highborn Mountains in a few minutes. The Demon King doesn’t stand a chance.”
---
The warhead made impact, as was expected.
In an instant, the Demon King was annihlated. Just like that. After years of fear, he was gone. Many heroes had fallen trying to face him. And now he was dust—ash in the wind.
And the darkness kept spreading.
The sky turned black and the sun disappeared and the dark rains came down that left the animals and the forest changed. Nothing can grow without sun. Nothing can live without food.
“I don’t understand,” James said to the monk, Alured. The cloister of the Abbey was the only safe place; most of the kingdom demanded his head. And James couldn’t go home until this world was safe. He was their hero, after all.
Alured frowned at James. He rarely spoke—as far as James knew, it wasn’t on account of any sort of vow of silence. He was just a quiet guy.
“I was supposed to help.” James pressed his hands to his head. The ache that persisted in the base of his skull was only growing. “I was sent here by god to save you!”
“And you’re sure about that?”
James looked up at Alured in surprise. “Your god himself told me. That’s why I’m here.”
“Hmm.” Alured stood there, unspeaking and staring at James.
“What?” James grit his teeth. It drove him crazy to no end, the way that people in this world loved to speak in riddles or withhold information.
“Our god is one of peace, you know. I find it hard to imagine that the great creator would will destruction and war on this land.”
“Well, that’s what happened! How else would I even be here.”
Alured frowned; his face turned down in sorrow. “My friend. The Demon King had been a plague on our land for many years.”
“That’s why I was chosen to stop him.”
“Perhaps.” Alured folded his hands. “But the Demon King might not have been here on his own account.”
James closed his eyes. What was Alured even saying?
“All of the Demons, you know, are from the shadow realm. Therefore, they fall under command of the Lord of Shadows.”
James’ heart thundered. “No,” he muttered. He clenched his hands into a fist. “No—it’s not possible.”
“The Lord of Shadows isn’t known for his patience,” Alured said. “He might’ve wanted a faster way to get his job done.”
Alured stepped closer and laid a gentle and comforting hand on James’ arm. “My friend,” he said softly, “I think you were misled.”
James opened his mouth but couldn’t find words. His throat was too dry; his eyes burned. “I’ve doomed you all.”
He’d brought the darkness to the land. He’d sentenced them all to live in an unliveable world. A world *he* made unliveable.
And there was no way to change it now.
---
r/liswrites
|
The God stared at what he had produced rather melancholic.
"Well I guess that's that." He gazed at me with accusing eyes.
I stared back apprehensively, wondering where this was going.
" For a millennia, I have been here nicely summoning people as 'heroes' in return for amusement. And now someone is going to doom this world into oblivion?" He started positively wailing now the more he spoke. I was also getting more positively alarmed.
I had thought it was a good idea and was starting to wonder if this God was right in the head. I didn't even know why I specified intercontinental. My stomach growled. I was probably in the middle of tucking into a continental breakfast. Thoughts of pastry, coffee was making me feel more morose and wishing I too need not be in this predicament.
Both he and I were feeling out of sorts and each were definitely feeling the worse as time went by.
God waved me over, to hand me the receipt and manual for using the said intrusive warhead towering behind us. I jogged over with my id tag dangling and possessions still miraculously on me in this world.
As he handed me my receipt, his eyes caught onto my tag.
"Comic con? What's that?" He catches my dangling tag. My merch spills out as he grabs my satchel too. There was all my Marvel universe memorabilia, pictures stuff I had been waiting for to get autographs.
God now sifts through, gaining knowledge apparently as he touched the merch. "Amazing" he murmurs, "what is this universe envisioned by mankind of your world? And there's 2d worlds?" I look to see him touching my 'DragonBall' badge.
"That's settled I am done with this world. You must bring me to yours when you are done!" He exclaims excitedly. "Well what are you waiting for? Off you go!"
He beams as I now stand here clutching my warhead manual and a bedraggled satchel. I trot to the exit of God's place. And find myself blinking, suddenly staring at another whole new universe where I now need to kill a demon king with no clue about this universe. I look back and see God is now perusing my Switch ready to delve into another universe.
- my 1st writing for fun. I lurk here to read. I don't write stories tbh. Just gave it a stab for fun. Your prompt seemed simple to understand :*D i am unsure any proper writing formats but curious to learn. Writing this on the go. Could have been clearer or expand more. Phew writing sure takes alot of time huh. And ofc hard i guess.
| 2020-10-14T03:16:50
| 2020-10-14T02:59:54
| 156
| 49
|
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate.
|
"What are our options here," Obama asked his room of advisors and officials. "Realistically, please."
A long pause filled the air of the room like a balloon. The expectation of an answer became suffocating. A small cough leaked its way through the crowd of people standing at the periphery of the wall. All eyes moved towards the direction of the sound, and a palisade of people parted to display a small man in a small suit, behind large glasses and a crooked tie.
"Bill Toth, sir," squeaked and voice that echoed the man's stature, "Junior analyst at the agency."
His voice shook at the attention now thrust upon him. A senior member began to interrupt, but the President silenced him with the wave of his hand.
"Go on, Bill. What are we looking at?"
Bill nervously looked around the room, as if it was already suggested that his next words should not be communicated before hand.
"We have to sway public opinion, sir, but in one of three directions."
"Go on," the President urged.
"Well, if we look at Syria as an example, or even Cold War Russia, you see a control of information that was then unraveled by information channels spreading faster than the government could control. It is virus-like, in nature, and these regimes major fall was trying to combat this growth, as opposed to using it to spread their own message. It's quite interesting, actually. The --" Bill looked around the room to see that he would lose his skeptical audience if he continued down that conversational rabbit hole.
"Forgive me. Anyway, one method is to spend our efforts discrediting the sources of the confirmation of the after-life. We could plant evidence showing that they are tied to a high-level conspiracy that is planning a watergate-type suicide. Leaked files, hidden folders and agendas could all be manufactured to show some kind of malicious intent. This would bring the debate back into the public forum about the afterlife, and that uncertainty would keep people from killing themselves."
The eyes in the room looked at each other, unsure of what to make of this.
"Well, that's the only reason why there weren't mass suicides before, right? Uncertainty? We have to examine why it took a confirmation from an outside source for religious people to believe that this was their final destination, no matter what. Anyway, that is just one method."
The President's brow furrowed in deep thought.
"The other is to try and nationalize life. Try to explain that there shouldn't be a rush, and that it is the American dream to create something on this planet for the future generations of Americans. However, with national pride at an all time low, I would suggest not traveling down this road."
The President sighed and nodded in agreement.
"Lastly," Bill started, as he looked around the room at each of the faces in there, "We start a war with God."
A commotion began to rise from the crowd in disagreement and disbelief.
"Be quiet!" The President shouted, "Bill, what do you mean by 'start a war with God?'"
Bill looked down at his feet, "Why are we all here, in this room, right now? Why haven't we all just killed ourselves? For me, it's my family, sir. Sure, we all go to heaven, but there is no way to know if the rules are the same there. How do I know that I will still get that same rush of happiness when my daughter yells 'daddy' as I walk through the door at night. How do I know that I will get that warm, electric feeling whenever my wife gives me 'the look?' I don't, and neither do any of you."
The crowd's silence confirmed what Bill was already thinking.
"No one can be sure that life will be any better in heaven. We just know that it's there. So, for myself - and I'm speaking only for myself - I would rather create a false war with God in order to keep what I have here, for as long as I have it. God would understand. At least, I believe."
"So, you're saying," the President started, "That we create a fake war, with fake circumstances, and fake methods of an army?"
"Yes."
"And you believe that our intention will be enough to forgive us?"
"Yes."
"How can you be so sure, Bill?"
"The study confirmed that we will go to heaven, no matter what. We have carte-blanch here. We might as well use it to better our American lives, here and now? Isn't that the only responsible thing to do?"
|
"Mr. President? Mr. President!" Not a word from the White House when we called, just that ubiquitous ringtone on every number. "Jesus Christ, Bradley, what the fuck are we going to do?" I said putting the phone down.
"Bradley?" I turned behind me to find the loaded barrel of a gun in my manager's mouth, and before I could even try to stop him, blood splattered against my suit as his lifeless body fell to the boarded floor.
It had been two months since Krishnakov discovered the afterlife, and just about 7 billion people have put an end to their pointless existences since. Rioting, looting, murder, it was sheer chaos here on Earth. They say religion's the cause of more death than anything else. Frightening how science makes things exponentially more efficient.
I decided to call it an early day, nobody was around to catch me leaving. Then again nobody was around to pay me either. The wheels of the armored hummer I stole from the garage a couple weeks ago bounced against the severed limbs of men, women, and children as I cruised down the street back home. Smoke filled the sky like death filled the Earth. Already sprouts and vines began reclaiming the city from us, we most selfish of creatures.
But all that was over now... for today atleast, "Honey! Kids! Daddy's home!" Rex came rushing to the door, barking like always. Unlocking the door, I found Rex curled in a ball, whimpering. I looked up and there was my wife, dangling from the ceiling. I was shouting frantically for my kids but when I went upstairs, I found Sasha in the tub with her wrists slit and James... Oh God, why James? Of all the ways to die... I fell to my knees and pulled my magnum from its holster.
It was true, heaven. I never believed in God, but here I was. The angels were singing a song so sweet, the view so innocent. St. Peter called me next, but before I even got the chance to ask anything he pulled a lever and I fell into the darkness. It was a furious flame that fanned the air, my skin was burning just from being here when a demon suddenly skewered me on a pike. He lifted me high over his head, and that's when I saw Obama being cut up into tiny pieces as his severed head screamed in agony. There was Bradley beside him. Then my heart sank, as the demons forced my sweet Sarah with strings like a puppet, duressing her to stab our children with a trident of molten gold. My daughter was begging for mercy as my son just screamed a garbled scream incomprehensibly.
Why God, why? But I knew the answer.
| 2015-02-02T08:18:13
| 2015-02-02T06:37:02
| 103
| 20
|
[WP] An alternate universe where Homo sapiens were not the only species of the Homo genus to survive to current time
|
"Get off my lawn, you fucking orangutans!"
The old man waved his gun in the air; signaling for the Neanderthals to leave. He used to live in a nice quiet neighborhood before they showed up. The schools used to be good, land value was up, and everyone was cultured. He didn't really care about the consequences of his actions. All he wanted was to go back to the way things were.
He was a proud Sapien, almost the perfect specimen in his youth. He stood six feet even, had dark hair, and dark skin. Neanderthals were short, brutish, and had red hair. Their red hair and bad behavior often got them called "orangutans" by bigots. But they are very good at sports; much better than Sapiens. Their muscle structure was much better suited for contact sports and fighting. That's why most sports teams drafted Neanderthals. They just did as they were told while the owners exploited them. Not many had a shot of going into academics anyway. The ones who didn't get into sports just ended up on the factory floors. Sapiens got the nice desk jobs with great benefits.
Life has improved for the Neanderthals over the years. They used to be slaves for the Sapiens in Africa. The Sapiens would bring their large boats across the sea into Europe and take as many slaves as they could. They would be taken from their families and put to work on the brutal plantations. They would harvest coffee, tea, coco, and bananas under the blistering African sun. Often, they would die of melanoma, since their skin wasn't accustomed to the sun. Before they died, they would often look pinkish-red due to all of the sunburns.
The old man descended from the old plantation practice. His great-grandfather owned many Neanderthals and ran one of the largest plantations in Africa. Bigotry has run in his family for generations, but that was the only thing he knew. Neanderthals would always be inferior to the Sapiens. They weren't formidable, they weren't smart, they weren't graceful. None of them could possibly compete with the Sapiens. The Sapien race was better in every way our society valued. The Neanderthal was never meant to live on the African continent. That is why the old man secretly took pity on them. His father started the Back-to-Europe movement, in hopes of sending the Neanderthals back to their homeland. We didn't want them here, so the least we could do is let them live the lives they had, before this terrible thing called slavery.
|
They were taller, smarter, and stronger than us. That was why they were our best servants. They far outmatched Floresiensis, Erectus, and the monkeys.
‘Food!’
The call meant nothing to them but the intentions were quite clear. From across the spreading plains they hurtled homewards, the tall grass whipping in vain at their greying skin. A forlorn cloud watched with muted dejection at the state of human affairs, a tear slipping from its gaze onto the bald head of an old man. He looked to the heavens, where the otherwise clear blue sky stretched before him, a timeless ocean of a future hope.
‘Take the cow, Peter. It’s good for you,’ the human insisted. The meat slapped the ground in front of him, and Peter took it softly in his course hands, reflecting on its history.
‘Come on, for fuck’s sake,’ his human said, slapping Peter a little on the head to spur his hunger. Peter looked at the earth with a downturned expression. His human shook her head and walked down the line inspecting the others. The old man’s finger etched an outline of a contraption in the dust, one with wings and contrails and calculus surrounding the figure. He smiled to himself and uttered a few quiet gasps and a great brown leather boot came down upon his artwork, causing him to recoil and cry. A tall Nordic face dropped down to his level- dirty blonde hair, a high hairline, and neutral grey eyes met Peter’s.
‘Eat your fucking food!’
Peter ate his raw beef, pulling strings of sinew from between his teeth with overgrown nails. The humans retreated to their mansion as the servants went back to work.
‘The Italians have pushed further North. They’ve carved out a slice of land between Germany and France, all the way up to the Danish ice cap. This has come at a bad time- we’ve just sent out the three big fleets across the Atlantic. Spain is nigh defenceless across the Mediterranean, just as their troops return from above us- and in Africa, their muskets carve a path through the Sahara’s jungles.’
The man who had just shouted at Peter was now sat at his oak kitchen table, feet tapping on the dry marble floor. His wife stood above him, rubbing his shoulders.
‘We should’ve taken across the sea with the rest of them, Henrik,’ she sighed.
‘I can’t leave everything behind,’ he replied, wiping his brow and staring into the distance. ‘You saw what happened to the Chinese when they went to the far Continents, anyway. I don’t think Spain has even half the army they commanded and they didn’t even make it off the Straits.’
Peter had retreated to the barn, where his flying machine was hidden behind a huge wall of hay bales. It would soon be ready.
| 2014-06-04T11:47:29
| 2014-06-04T11:17:49
| 63
| 28
|
[WP] Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago.
|
My parents were the sort of people who bought me a welcome mat as a house warming gift when I finally struck it out on my own. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against welcome mats, they're fine. They're the sort of thing that you don't buy when you first move into a new place. So, it's not like I had one already. But, it wasn't really something I particularly wanted, or even cared about having. My parents had no idea, or didn't really care, what I might actually want. They just wanted to give off the impression that they're nice people who do nice things, just as long as it didn't require any work. So buying me a house-warming gift was part of standard protocol, even if it was something I didn't particularly care for.
I looked at it after I unwrapped it, it was so generic. It didn't even reflect anything about my style or interests. Just a gray mat with the word "Welcome" on it. I tried my best to smile and thank my parents, "Oh, thank you. I didn't have one of these already."
My mom smiled back at me, "Now we can come and visit you any time we want."
I looked back at her, puzzled. My dad answered my puzzled expression, "... because it says 'Welcome'." *Yes, very funny, dad.*
I thanked them again as their visit grew towards an end, and ushered them out. As we walked out the door together, I set the mat outside the door. I was glad I wouldn't be seeing them again for a while, but on the off-chance they would come to visit me, I wanted them to see I was using their gift.
But, I didn't get the once-in-a-while visits I was hoping for. They kept finding excuses to come and visit me. They wanted to make sure my fire alarms were in working order, or that my sink wasn't leaking, or that my shower floor wasn't too slippery. They wanted to come over to tell me about the latest crazy gossip they heard. They would complain about drama-filled lives, or complain that I wasn't calling them often enough. It just got more and more frequent the longer I lived away from home. They even started coming around at odd hours of the night.
Finally, one time I came home, and my mom was there adjusting the furniture. I stared at her in disbelief, in front of the still-open door, as she nattered something about how I should really not have the TV across from the window. "... you would get a much better picture without all that glare..."
"Mom," I said as I continued staring. I honestly didn't even know how she got in. "What are you doing here?"
She stared back at me, with hurt eyes. "What? Is your own mother not allowed to visit? I didn't realize I wasn't welcome here." Then she started to cry.
I immediately reacted by consoling her, "No, you're fine mom. Of course you're allowed to visit."
Her tears instantly vanished, and she went back to rearranging my furniture. I walked back out the door enraged. As I walked out fuming, I thought about what vampires my parents were. Then, I saw that stupid welcome mat still sitting there. I kicked it in frustration. But, after I kicked it, I saw something gold sticking out from underneath it.
Under my welcome mat, there was a key.
|
John Dongle stares out of a highrise, '*Huh, it's a full moon tonight.* He thought quietly to himself.
"How can we increase sale!?!" shouted Joana in a horrible shrill.
Silence quickly returned, engulfing the seminar room.
"We have other products to worry about." Milton's curt response, in his awfully familiar monotone voice, failed to aid their situation.
"This is serious." John Dongle replied.
Milton rolled his eyes "You are all too picky, too lazy or too cheap. There is always quality blood at the red cross, stalking prey at night is ***not*** hard, and there are plenty of people who still *have* mats."
Joanna, and half of the other the members blushed in embarrassment, refusing to meet his blank expression that after such a condescending response. The rest looked at him with spite, but could think of no response.
John Dongle turned to look at his subordinates and met Milton's gaze with the up most disappointment "Are you saying you you are incapable of increasing sales? If so, you should leave right now."
Milton, got up and began to leave "It's not worth our time, if you can't listen to reason then fire me. You have no legal right to keep me here and I will not quit."
He stopped, and in a seemingly patronizing voice he bowed and said "Good night, my king."
John Dongle yelled "***YOU HAVE NOTHING SO YOU QUIT!?! WE WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND MAKE YOU SUFFER!!!***" It echoed through the building, the yell reverberating through each and everyone of them.
Milton stood, expressionless, genuinely considering whether John Dongle was being sincere. It was definitely out of character. Milton could not conceive of how a vampire could be so human. Alas, he new he had to go with the safest option. took off his coat, hung it and sat back down very robotic like.
The room was tense, no one said a word. Milton sat there, thinking. Everyone was locked on either Milton or John Dongle. Only Joana was switching between staring at Milton or watching John Dongle carefully.
"Well, what if we gave them out for free." his monotone response provided release from the tension of John Dongles threat and their situation but his blasé manner further infuriated everyone.
John Dongle laughed, "You should be the King of the Night."
Milton smiled, in what could only be described as a warm smile. Yet, this was the first time anyone of them had seen ***it*** smile. The temperature dropped, goosebumps, and then Milton responded cheerfully "Anytime Johnathan, anytime."
| 2017-12-13T11:32:40
| 2017-12-13T10:19:27
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] You are cursed to see people how they view themselves. You walk alongside monsters and Gods.
Can be third person instead of first.
Edit: I just thought of how EDs and other disorders like multiple personality would fit in with this, and now I'm kinda blown away.
|
"How do I look?"
I didn't know how to answer that question anymore. Going to the club with my best friend was an ordeal. She had always been insecure, terrified that an ounce of pudge would adhere itself to her midsection, balloon her into a gelatinous horror. And now, to me, that's what she was. A dripping, bulbous mass with a waistline that expanded exponentially when she accidentally saw her reflection, draped in a revealing top and short shorts.
I'd watched her recently, staring at herself in the mirror, until a flicker of her real self shown through: jagged hipbones, thighs thinner than knees, blue fingernails. There, and gone again, as she convinced herself that she was wrong, she was fat, she could never be thin.
-------------
"How do I look?"
My roommate, picking at a gaping hole in her cheek, sores that spread until they consumed her left eye, leaving her teeth exposed and glistening a dull yellow. I remembered that she had faint acne scars, easily concealed with minimal makeup. Maybe they had gotten worse. I could see the cartilage and bone peeking through where her nose used to be.
----------
"How do I look?"
My ex, before he was my ex. Brushing our teeth together, as a spider hung from his eyelashes, worms boring into his cheek. His arms riddled with holes, little black buds peeking through them. If I stared hard enough, I'd see them move, tiny maggot heads breathing and blinking. I couldn't look at him without gagging, and I couldn't think about him without weeping. I don't know why he saw himself like this, whether it was drugs, mental disease, something rotting his optic nerve. I told him he needed a therapist and walked away.
--------
I know why this is happening to me. I know that I was vain and snobbish, that I judged others as harshly as I judged myself. I dated for looks, I made friends based on how they'd affect my social status. And I watched as my friends and acquaintances morphed into Lovecraftian monsters, because I knew no-one with a healthy view of themselves.
I looked for a happy person. There is no one. Everyone hates something about themselves, and all they show me is that hate, that disgust, magnified and visible on their faces, their bodies.
I've gone to hedge wizards, gypsies draped in silk and cobwebs, ancient witch doctors who promised cures for anything that ailed an individual. I've walked into their offices, and seen the golden strings wrapped around their fingers, the snakes slithering in and out of their oil-slicked lips, and I knew they couldn't help me.
I will give myself one more month, and if I haven't found a solution, I'll blind myself. I just want to kiss my lovers and not see the writhing, maggoty mess behind their eyes.
|
The most interesting thing about seeing people in the way they see themselves is the fact that it's spread to the extremes. About half of see themselves as gods and the other half see themselves as monsters. Every now and then you will see a unicorn or pegasus, but that's normally the people who are broken, or insane. The second most interesting things is that people don't change. Never in my whole time have I met someone as a monster then see them again as a god, not until recently. This man intrigued me. When I first saw him I did not see a monster nor did I see a god. I saw a man. Out of everyone in the world I saw the only person who had a grasp on who they were, or so I thought. Being obsessive in nature I wanted to learn more about this man. I followed him around and learned his name. I knew where he worked and what he did with his free time, but I never watched him while he was working or relaxing. He would go into a bar and I would be too scared to follow him in, less he discover me. No I watched him from afar for about a month. Just seeing him walk to his job, then walk home or to get a drink. I took me a months to build up the courage to get close to him. I need to understand why he sees himself as he is. I applied to his work place and got hired as a secretary. It's a very people intense job but I can cope, and from there I could watch him closer and find out more about him. it was a Tuesday, the office wanted coffee so me and a few other people went out to get some. I made sure I got to deliver his coffee. Walking up to his office door I could feel my heart pounding. I had no connection with him, this would be first contact. When I walked in I nearly dropped the coffee. There, sitting in his chair at his desk was the devil himself. He was facing away from me but I could clearly make out the horns on his head. Shaking I managed to put his coffee down on the desk. I've seen monsters and I've seen gods but I've never seen anything this cruel and hideous. He hear me set down the coffee and turned his chair around. What scared me the most at this point was not his face, which was still his, or the fact that he had eyes that showed hell itself. No it was the fact that he then changed back into himself. The man I had see from far away for a month was now in front of me. That shouldn't happen and that shouldn't be possible. At this point my instincts are telling me to run, but I work here and must be professional. I told him that we got his coffee and was about to leave when he asked me to sit down. He then asked me what was wrong and if anything was troubling me. He must had smelled the fear in my eyes. I told him I had drank too much coffee and just had the jitters. I just wanted to leave. After he told me to lay off the coffee then and get better I left. The thing about the world I live in, my world, was that there are rules. All people obey the rules, you don't see yourself as you truly are, you don't see yourself as one part one thing and one part another, and you don't change. But here was a man defying them. When you live in a world for so long and grow accustom to its rules the things that don't follow them the things that make you question yourself become the most scary things in the world. Anything that demands change in the structure of your universe scares you, and the only comfort you have is in accepting the world view that you have, but it is not the moments in which we can easily accept the world we live in that we find out who we are. No it's in the moments in which everything we know is questioned an all the rules are broken, it's in those moments in which we find out who we are and what we mean, it's in those moments that we will feel the weight of the world on us and those moments that we must carry on. Running isn't the answer nor is hiding. We must face the monsters and gods in our lives. We must abandon the delusions we have of the world and accept who we are. I knew that man. He was the priest of my childhood home, he was the man that killed my mother.
| 2016-09-16T19:58:14
| 2016-09-16T19:42:15
| 163
| 11
|
[WP] You are a 217 year old Galapagos Tortoise, and have served as the Presidential pet your entire life. You have been listening the whole time, and now technology has progressed to such a point that a device allows animals to speak. Your first press conference is about to begin...
|
**People of Americ- Whoa. Is that how I really sound? Soouund. Soooouuun-**
Mr Tortoise?
**Oh sorry. I'm just not used to, ya know. talking. Anyway. I have been in the oval office since the founding of this country of ours. I have been here since before the Washinton monument was dreamt of. I have seen the New World Order suppress technologies and people. I was there when George W. Bush orchestrated the attacks in 2001, and I have been here since the Muslim you call Obama came into office. I don't expe- Why's everyone looking at me like that? Is it something I said?**
****
My first post here. Don't judge meee
|
I've seen technology advance throughout the many decades I've been alive. The radios, the televisions, the cars, the planes, all invented while I was sitting with the President in the White House. I've watched action movies, you know how sometimes to create suspense they will make things go in slow motion? Well that's how it felt as I crawled up the steps to the miniature podium they had set up for me. I have always been slow, but I was slower now. I stood at the top of the steps of the capital building; miles and miles of people spread before me, like an ocean of beating hearts. I felt weak, it had been years since I had to move around to such great lengths. My feet trembled as I took the final step to the podium and stood in front of the microphone. A secret service assistance dressed in a black suit came next to me and attached the device to my head, the new device that aloud animals to speak like humans. I was lucky my life allowed me to make it to such advanced technology.
**Greetings**
My deep, raspy voice boomed across the whole crowd. They were silent, every eye and ear was upon me and it made my old heart feel young again; but not for long.
**Friends, family, Americans, I thank you for coming and listening.**
I liked my voice, I was glad I was finally able to hear it speak the words that I had been hearing my whole life.
**I have been around since Jefferson, one of the founding fathers of this country. I have seen this country grow and become what the founders wanted it to be, free.**
There were some seemingly nervous shifts in the crowd, some gazes were averted.
**I speak to you with the knowledge that I have gained through observing countless great men and women leaders. I would like to offer advice.**
I was getting tired, my voice was starting to lose its power.
**I have seen this country do atrocious things, I have seen the world get messed up time and time again.**
I stuttered and gulped, the words were getting harder to push out.
**But through it all, we have always come away smarter and stronger.**
The crowd's eyes beamed at me, every single person clinging onto every single word.
**There may be dark times and those times might never seem to end; but they will.**
My legs collapsed, my shell hit the floor of the podium creating a resounding thud. People started murmuring in worry. A man in a black suit started walking toward me.
**Remember, and I implore you to do so.**
I could feel my muscles giving away, the man in black walked up the steps.
**It's always darkest before the dawn.**
My neck gave away and my head slumped into the hands of the man. He gently lifted me and I had just enough strength to recline back into my shell. I couldn't tell if the crowd was silent or if they were responding to what I had said. Either way, I was proud. Proud of my country and proud of its people.
| 2018-01-30T03:23:40
| 2018-01-30T01:36:17
| 21
| 13
|
[WP] You were in a pizzeria, eating lunch when you noticed a man with a gun aiming at the cashier, you sneaked behind him, trying to yank the weapon from his arm. As you watch your body lifeless on the floor, the grim reaper shows up and sighs. "You again... 5 times this week?! I have a life too!"
|
"Look, until you get good at Rock Paper Scissors, this is going to keep happening. You shouldn't have made me that offer."
"How about we switch to Tic Tac Toe?", the Grim Reaper said with an apparent air of desperation in his haunting voice.
"No, no, no. The deal was RPS. You can't switch the deal just because you lose."
The Grim Reaper bangs the bottom of his scythe on the ground as he scoffs. "Fine, let's do this." He releases his grip from the scythe, which stays mysteriously stationary, as he then prepares his hands in the traditional fist over palm position.
I slyly grin, then ready my hands. "On the count of three."
"I know how to play, dammit! Just go!"
"1, 2, 3, go!", I say as I slam down paper. He always starts with rock.
"Dammit!", he exclaims, having yet again thrown rock.
"1, 2, 3, go!" This time I throw paper again, knowing full well he's going to throw scissors. Poor guy didn't win any throws the last 2 times. Guess I'm just feeling generous today.
"Hah! Scissors! I win, you little bitch!"
Well, that was uncalled for.
"1, 2, 3, go!" Paper again because he thinks I'm going scissors.
"You can't do paper three times in a row!", he whines as he looks down at his losing fist.
"You're the god of death, not Rock Paper Scissors. I can do it as many times as I want."
"I dare you to do it again then."
"I just might. Ready?"
"Just go!"
"1, 2, 3, go!" Of course I didn't do paper this time, but he was foolish enough to think that I would. "Rock beats scissors. I win! Back to life I go!"
He bellows out his anger as it echoes through purgatory. He grabs his scythe, runs his finger across its blade to cast the spell to revive me as deep black smoke begins to encircle his lower body.
"See you tomorrow.", I smugly say.
As the black vortex of smoke envelops his body to transport him away, he extends his fist out showing me rock once more, this time with one finger sticking up.
|
Not My Time
I looked at my body lying on the floor, blood draining from the hole in my chest. The gunman stood in shock, dropping his gun and immediately surrendering after realizing that he just killed someone. Time slowed to a crawl and eventually froze, just before the gun clattered to the ground. I felt a cold hand on my shoulder and turned, finding myself face to face with the specter of Death himself. I stared into his eye sockets, filled with inky black void and listened as he spoke without moving his mouth “Look kid, I get that I messed up, and your time isn’t for another 70 years, but don’t you think you’re taking advantage of this? I’ve got other souls to collect, a whole lot of them. Quite frankly I don’t have time to keep picking up after you.”
I shot back “He had a gun! And he was aiming it right at the pizza girl!”
“He wasn’t gonna shoot anyone” Death sounded increasingly exasperated “I know cause I didn’t get the call to come here until a few seconds before you got shot to death! He was gonna rob the place and have a damn heart attack while he was running.”
“Well then I saved two lives!” I beamed at death, but my enthusiasm was quickly quashed.
“No, you didn’t even save one! The cashier wasn’t gonna die, and now I have to resurrect your stupid ass and go all Final Destination on the robbers ass” he looked down at his watch “You know when the next midtown bus rolls through here?”
I opened my mouth to reply, before realizing why he wanted to know “Your gonna hit him with a bus?!”
“Relax” Death has an unbelievably relaxed demeanor given the topic of our conversation “there’s like two people on the bus and they’re in the back, they won’t see anything. And the bus driver already ran someone over a few years ago. He’ll get fired, but the guy is a menace anyway.”
“You’re unbearable.” I muttered.
“Feeling is mutual, kid. Try not to die again so soon.”
| 2021-06-24T12:27:46
| 2021-06-24T10:59:24
| 23
| 12
|
[WP] Everyone has a superpower based on the topography of where they were born (IE: Mountains, deserts, etc.). You are the first person to be born in space.
Think Avatar the Last Airbender but not so limited.
Edit: Wow this really blew up! I'm gonna be entertained for a while!
|
“So, Anthony. You were born in space?”
“Yes. My mom met my d –“
“I’m a doctor, not your biographer.”
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. It’s just been a long day. I just spent the last 8 hours recreating all my records from nothing because little Jimmy decided now was the time to lose control of his powers.”
“He…?”
“He was born near a volcano,” the doctor replied bluntly.
“Oh,” I said stupidly.
I knew enough about our powers to know what that meant.
31 years ago, an individual called John Timens developed superpowers. He had gained the ability of flight. It was a pretty mild and non-destruction ability. It was fortunate: his case was widely studied and it was decided that Timens was not a threat to humankind. Not long after, more and more individuals were born with superpowers.
We started to notice a pattern: the powers were based on their place of birth. Born out at sea? You’ll develop superpowers like underwater breathing or the ability to control water.
Born out at a volcano? Well, the only possibility was to develop lava or fire-based powers.
“Do you feel anything?” the doctor asked.
“Not particularly. I mean, what powers would I develop? The power to create vacuums? The power *to suck*?”
He laughed.
“I don’t know. My job has shifted over the years from healthcare to predicting what superpowers teenagers like you would develop, but I really don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Concentrate. Try to feel it in you.”
“Wow, that’s vague.”
He laughed again.
“I don’t have powers, so I can’t tell you what – wait, you know what? I haven’t tried this before, but it might work…”
He turned towards the door behind him, slid it open and shouted into it.
“Hey, ALICE! Come out here for a moment!”
“Who’s Alice?”
“She’s my nurse. She also has powers.”
“Aaand… her power is to discover powers?”
“Her power is of molecular disintegration, *but* she can describe to you what your powers should feel like.”
“Molecular… disintegration? How does that even work? She was born near a molecule?”
“You can ask her yourself.”
He stood up and beckoned a 30s-looking lady over. She was slightly shorter than I was, and looked a little bored. Her bob-hair looked like they defied gravity. I choked back a laughter.
I shook her hands and introduced myself, before diving straight into my question.
“Molecular disintegration?”
“Here.”
She placed one of the doctor’s pens on the table, joined the index finger and thumb of both her hands together to form a triangle, then closed her eyes. Right before my eyes, the pen disintegrated. It looked as though it just turned into dust.
“Wha? Wow! Where were you born?”
“Near a molecule.”
I gave her a puzzled look.
“Nah,” she laughed. “I heard you say it. I was born in a molecular lab.”
“Okay…” I said slowly. It still didn’t make much sense, but I just rolled with it. Molecules are everywhere. Just because a lab is designated for experimenting with things on a molecular level, it’s a “molecular lab?”
“Try this. Close your eyes and picture a purple background. Now, visualize a red and a blue dot spiraling in the center of your vision. The dots should be a decently big size. The dots are slowly developing their own streaks of light. Now, they’re spiraling quicker and quicker and they’re turning into an orange mass of colour.”
“Okay… and? I don’t feel anything.”
“Whatever colours you just visualized should be what you see when you’re concentrating on using your powers. As you can imagine, everyone’s imagined colour will be different.”
“Alright,” I said. This is not making any sense whatsoever. But none of this powers thing should anyway.
“Now, visualize the colour and concentrate on an object. Any hand gestures that you think may help are fine. Here, try this pen. Let’s put it on the floor.”
“Hey, Alice! You’re paying for those pens!” the doctor shouted from behind me.
I did as she said. I visualized the purple background, the two dots, and the blob of orange. I held out one hand and pointed it in the general direction of the pen. Suddenly, the colours disappeared.
I opened my eyes. “Wha?” I blurted out, confused at what just happened. The pen was gone.
“Hey, where’s the pen?”
“So, Anthony,” the doctor started. “I think you somehow developed the power over the space continuum. Alice and I were observing. The pen simply ceased to exist.”
I gave a confused look. That sounded incredibly dangerous and nonsensical.
“Because I was born in space?”
“You know… I believe it’s not actually where you were born that matters,” the doctor explained, “But what you understand it to be. You can believe that were born in the middle of the sea right now, and you will develop powers related to the sea. Of course, if you believe that space is an ocean, your powers that we term “sea-related” won’t actually be relating to water, because your understanding of the sea is already fundamentally different.”
“What you’re saying is, it doesn’t matter where we were born, but what we associate our birthplace with?”
“Yes.”
“Remember my molecular disintegration?” Alice piped up. “Now that the doctor mentioned it, I think it fits the pattern for my powers. Because the labs were already associated with the idea of molecules, and I knew about that, I developed powers related to it.”
“Alright, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we have reasons to believe your powers are incredibly dangerous, so we’ll be letting you run a few more, um, special tests.”
The way he emphasized “special” wasn’t lost on me. I started visualizing the colours again, and pointed it at the doctor.
“Wait! What are yo –“ and the colours disappeared.
“Anthony,” Alice said. “That was uncalled for.”
“You don’t seem shocked. Why?”
“I did that to my own doctor.”
|
My life was an accident. A bad accident. So bad that my existence had to be kept a secret.
My parents you two people that should not have been together. They were two of seven astronauts that were sent to Mars. The first astronauts to ever venture beyond the moon. They were seen as heroes for their "bravery" and "service to their country", but I only think that most of them were just doing it for the fame. My mother and my father did met prior to their last day on Earth, but they had a rough relationship. They were the people that got along least well in the whole group. But when they were stationed on Mars, they fell in love. Seven weeks before they were set to leave Mars, their suits detected another anomaly in my mother's suit. It was me. They started panicking. They couldn't have me, they were supposed to be doing groundbreaking scientific work! So they only told the other crew members and they all agreed to keep it quiet.
The trip back to Earth was a long one. My mother birthed me and I spent my infant hood and one toddler year on that space station. My mother told me that it is why I have my power, is because I was on the space station so long, but I don't believe them. My mother and father were both "Natívs" a word derived from the word "native". It describes when the person is born and they happen to exhibit the "powers" of their birth environment. My dad was born in the African rainforests on a European exploration to try and find a cure for some disease. My mother was born on the coast of Japan, so she has the power of the ocean. She would never demonstrate her power to me, it was almost like she was ashamed. My father had the power to control plants and the uncanny power over animals. Anyways, I am getting off track. My mother did not care if I was out and about on the space craft. It was truly like a home to me, but then everything turned sour when we were touching down on earth. In the last hours of being in space, my mom was frantically going over the plan with the other crew members, telling them to form a circle around her to not let me show while I was being carried in her large space suit helmet. Everyone agreed and did just that as they were walking. They managed to get out of there safe and my mother immediately took me back to her home in Ireland. My family was from very different backgrounds and ethnicities, but apparently it was weird to people to see a half Asian girl who talked in an Irish accent. My mother and father named me Nova. They always said that it fit because I was born as they were parallel to a super nova while headed back to Earth when I was born. When on Earth, they passed me for a normal child, and for some reason, people never asked questions. As I was growing up, my father would tell me the stories of when a new power of Natív was discovered. They horrified me to the core, so much so when I started displaying signs of a power, I didn't even tell my parents. One day, my mother walked in on me making a miniature star. She told me that she was far from mad at me, she was proud even. But she told me that I couldn't speak of this to anyone outside of our family. One night I heard her fighting with my dad because of it. She was telling him that we can never tell anyone, and he was telling her that people aren't like that anymore and that we should not just hide me away for the rest of my life. Eventually, my mom won.
Over the years I learned to act normal and fine tune my powers. Other children of my kind were sent to different schools than the other children, the "Norms". And the adult Natívs were usually sent to do better work than the Norms. The Natív children were taught in their classes about how to control their powers, but I didn't have an actual teacher. My mom and dad taught me everything they knew, but that wasn't enough. I started teaching myself. I didn't mean to, but I got destructive. It got to the point to where using my powers got banned in the house. My mother was furious when she walked into my room to see me spinning a miniature galaxy over my head. I couldn't sleep one night because the clouds were covering the stars, so I mad my own. I created a small black hole, the size of the hole in a straw, then I spun it like a top. Stars spiraled out into a galaxy formation. That made me feel better, but my mother walked in as I was falling asleep. My mom and dad got in another huge fight that night. This was my life. A big ball of secrets and nasty fights.
It continued this way for the rest of my teenage years and continued into my adult hood. One day, I was walking down the street, almost to my home, when things got rapidly darker. The colours in the sky made it look as though it was dusk, but it was 11:54 in the morning. I looked up to the sun, only to see that the sun had become a darker orange colour. I knew what was happening to the sun, I could feel it. A sickening feeling in my chest. It felt like something was caught, but I knew there wasn't. I sprinted home. I could feel that I could do something about it. That the universe wanted me to do something about it.
I had to fix the sun.
| 2017-04-15T00:14:42
| 2017-04-14T21:11:18
| 21
| 13
|
[WP] A schizophrenic get admitted to a mental institution where he meets another schizophrenic who hears the same voices as him.
Thanks everyone for the positive response to this prompt! You've all renewed my faith in my own creativity.
|
“Well, this is a mess we’ve gotten ourselves into indeed isn’t it?”
Greg Alexander mused to no one in particular as he assessed the space he would, presumably, occupy to himself for the foreseeable future. All things considered it was not overly oppressive.
The walls hinted at something that might have once been white and did their absolute best to ruin Greg’s perfectly good mood. An experimental hop on the bed revealed it was in fact a thin mattress smelling distinctly of fear and sweat atop an aluminum box spring that was likely here before the building was. All in all Greg was relatively pleased.
“This place is going to kill me.”
Greg looked up from his mattress, shocked to find that he had a roommate.
Standing at the door was another man, dressed in the same pristine white jumpsuit as Greg. Well, naturally these man’s was not the same, how could it be. Greg had his own and if the two of them were sharing the same jumpsuit it would be far too much sharing indeed. Especially if they were to share the bed. Greg would need to bring that up at some point.
“Somebody let me out of here.” The man was screaming now. Banging his obviously malnourished fists against the door. “I’m not crazy. I don’t belong in here.”
“Well of course you’re not crazy.” Greg decided he should do his best to smooth the situation over, lest his good mood be ruined “If you were crazy, you’d be out there. Not in here. It’s actually quite nice in here.”
The man at the door slowly turns around, shock clearly writ all over a face that’s remarkably familiar to Greg.
“What are you doing here?”
Greg frowned and took a moment to consider this only to discover that in fact he had no earthly idea how he’d come to arrive in this place. Surely he must have, one couldn’t spend one’s entire life in a single room. Could they?
“I’m sure not sure actually. What are you doing here?”
The man at the door pressed his back fully to said door. “I’ve been brought here. Against my will. Just today in fact.”
“Well then. Welcome. My name is Greg Alexander and I’m not sure how long I’ve been here.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Yes I thought much the same thing myself, however, that is the only conclusion I am able to come to.”
“No. My name is Greg Alexander.”
“Yes we’re aware of that Mr. Alexander.” Suddenly, a new voice. A woman’s voice of all things. Which was preposterous given the current occupants of the room were both men. The two Gregs in the room suddenly froze, looked at the other expectantly.
“Mr. Alexander, can you hear me?” The must have been coming from a loud speaker, though no such device was in the room.
“Do you hear that?” Greg asked the other Greg.
“I do.”
“Oh my, that’s not very good at all.”
“No Greg. Not it isn’t.”
“I believe we’re quite mad.”
And indeed, it just so happened that in another room entirely there sat yet another Greg Alexander. This one seated and restrained with zip ties to the arms of a very expensive chair that matched the very expensive room.
Across from him an expensive looking woman was leaning across her large desk clearly already exasperated with her new patient.
“Mr. Alexander do you understand the reason you’ve been brought to this facility today?”
For the briefest of moments Greg Alexander’s eyes focused on the woman across from and he smiled “Yes. We’re quite mad indeed.”
|
Twenty minutes in which to live. They take us to the red dust yard, hands chuffed, ankles chained. Three o'clock to twenty minutes past three o'clock. Sixteen hours leather-strapped to an iron frame, drowning in my loneliness and waiting for these precious golden minutes. I turn my face to the sun and take in the heat which is so conspicuously absent in the cold concrete block which seems to take nothing of the chaleur of the Arizonian desert.
*Hey man.*
"Hey Roo."
*How's it going?*
"Not too bad. Could be worse."
People watch me warily. I see them, even when they think i don't. I'm mentally ill, not stupid. Jeez. They tend to congregate in little groups. You pick who looks like you, who's diagnosed the same as you, who takes the same dosage and you stick with them. They avoid me. They always avoid the screamers.
Roo runs his hands over my body, fingers tracing the puckered scar just under my left lung. Someone took particular offence to me and decided to slide a sharpened toothbrush between my two lowest limbs. He spent a month dosed beyond the legal limit and I spent a month in hospital, cuffed to an iron bed before they let the nurses take a look at me.
"It's alright, Roo." I say, stretching out the kinks in my back.
"Roo doesn't like you." My eyes snap open. There's a burly man standing in front of me, voice oddly soft for someone his size.
"What?"
"He told me. He doesn't like you. He wants to hurt you." The man held up his fists. In one ham-sized hand he clutched a sharpened toothbrush.
"Not again." I roll my eyes and he steps forwards.
"Hey!" I cringe away from him, raise my hands. He bats them away.
At the corner of my vision I see the guards running, but a hot flame between my ribs tells me it's too late. He slides the toothbrush through my flesh, drawing it up and towards my belly button. My white t-shirt separates at the fibres like butter, blood spilling down in in heavy, thick slugs.
I clutch at the cut, legs giving way beneath me. Fall onto the red dirt, blood pushing through my fingers in angry spurts.
The guards cluster around me.
"On your feet, inmate!" Gonzalez shouts, baton already halfway out.
"I've been stabbed!" I shriek, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood gushing from my side.
They pick me up by the arms, tearing my hands away from my cut. I'm screaming wildly.
"Roo! Fuck you, Roo!"
It's all his fault, it's all his fault.
I'm cuffed to a bed by one wrist. There is no sun on my face. The concrete walls loom above me. I push my clean white shirt up my torso. There is no blood. There is no wound. There is no scar.
| 2014-03-23T10:20:46
| 2014-03-23T09:31:33
| 170
| 64
|
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.
|
The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative *deserved* a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported.
The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time.
There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't *jingle.*
A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man.
Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this:
"Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!"
And then the blood began to stain the floor again.
|
Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus!
“Are the contestants ready?”
“Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.”
“And a human?”
“Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!”
The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally.
Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular.
This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought.
Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce.
The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap.
Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!”
Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed.
Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report.
“W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.”
“Out with it you bumbling oaf!”
“ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.”
“A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!”
Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe.
“Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted.
“Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.”
“ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!”
The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
| 2020-09-13T19:16:13
| 2020-09-13T18:50:43
| 39
| 23
|
[WP] The knight failed to rescue the princess from the dragon. The second knight failed. As did the third, the fourth, their squires, and so on. In desperation, the king posts a reward, and the summons is answered by only one man; a fat plumber in red overalls.
|
"Are you certain this is the brave knight you promised me?" the King inquired to his adviser as he surveyed the squat, rotund, mustachioed creature standing before him.
"He is... unorthodox, I admit," the adviser replied cautiously. "But the greatest knights and warriors of legend have failed us, so perhaps we should not be so quick to dismiss a different approach? His stellar record of successful princess rescues speaks for itself!"
"Very well," the King muttered. "What is your name, brave sir knight?"
"Its'a me!" the strange looking fellow replied without further context.
"Its'a... you?" the King replied with confusion. "And you are?"
"Its'a me! Mario!" he exclaimed excitedly.
"Why is he dressed in these strange blue and red clothes," the King whispered to his adviser.
"Well, by day he is in fact a plumber your majesty," the adviser noted with some embarrassment.
"A plumber? Where *exactly* did you find this 'man'? Is he a man? His proportions are quite bizarre..."
"They are, he must be of another species that we are not aware of. And if I'm being perfectly honest, we knew of him because we hired him to fix the pipes in the royal privy, but he also comes *very* highly recommended," the adviser said as he handed the King a note on a foreign royal stationary.
The King began to read aloud, "I personally attest that Mario is the best in all the realms at the task of rescuing of princesses. Terrible at protecting princesses from kidnapping however. Sincerely, Princess Peach." He sighed, "Very well, if a fellow sovereign speaks so glowingly of his skill then perhaps I must give him a chance."
The adviser nodded, "I concur your majesty."
The King turned to address Mario, "Brave sir... err-- brave sir plumber, my daughter the princess has been stolen from me and--"
"Oh! Mamma mia!" Mario interjected loudly.
"I uh... yes, it is a serious matter and her mother is quite concerned. All the greatest heroes of our realm have failed to bring her home safely, and so I turn to you--"
"Its'a me! Mario!" Mario repeated again before he began sprinting around the room in a circle with his arms outstretched like a plane. "Woo... woohoo... waaaahaaaaa!" he exclaimed as he ran and jumped aimlessly.
"Is he... touched in the head?" the King whispered.
"Quite possibly, sire. He has sustained many grave injuries throughout his career of princess rescuing," the adviser said as he opened a notebook to read off the highlights. "Roasted alive by a 'Bowser', whatever that is... smashed by a thwomp... fallen into countless bottomless pits... he had his vehicle destroyed by a 'blue shell'... he also has a terrible lingering case of tennis elbow from a robust athletic career he somehow finds the time for on the side and--"
The King interrupted, "Fine, fine... how much gold does he demand in payment?"
"That is... another bonus, your highness. He he has amassed a treasure trove of millions of coins over the course of his career, so he demands no monetary payment. He does however seem to have a crippling addiction to magic mushrooms."
"He desires mushrooms as his payment? Are you sure?"
"Almost positive, sire."
"Take off your mushroom hat and set it on the ground," the King commanded his adviser.
He did so and Mario immediately ceased his happy zoomies around the throne room and dove onto the mushroom.
"Wahoo!" he shouted as he devoured the mushroom in seconds. His eyes rolled back in his head as the power coursed through his veins, satiating his craving ever so briefly.
"I do not like this, but I see no other options on the horizon," the King said. "Sir Mario, find my daughter, bring her back to be safely, and keys to the great mushroom vault shall be yours."
"Okey dokey!" Mario exclaimed excitedly. Without even a question he ran out of the room. "Here we goooooo!" echoed through the halls as he exited out into the world on his grand adventure.
"I pray that I have not erred in entrusting my daughters life to a the hands of an out of work, fat, simpleminded plumber with an addictive personality."
"Would you prefer we summon the rude blue hedgehog for another interview?" the adviser asked.
"Oh gods no... the drug addicted plumber will do just fine."
___
Hop down your very own warp pipe over to r/Ryter if you care to explore more stories that originate in my mushroom addled mind. Wahoo!
|
The assembled Moot of the Kingdom of Balgr, all the Lords and Ladies from arid Fuisse to the frozen reaches of the Lindheim Archipelgo , centered around the towering throne of High King Norvryn Earthshaker himself, looked upon the sight before them with perplexed confusion and non-comprehension, as Benji the Muckrake scratched the ample seat of his coarse red trousers and belched loudly. "Ah got dis, yer grace."
The Earthshaker was not convinced. "You 'got'... what, exactly?"
"Yer dahtah. Ah got dis."
"My what?"
"Yer dahtah? Yer kid, yeh? One'a got h'self kidnapped? Ah got dis. Ah'll save 'er."
Norvyrn Earthshaker's closest advisor leaned in to whisper to the king. "Sire, may I suggest granting this... odorously good-intentioned man your favor, and sending him on The Quest?"
"You want I should trust my daughter's life to... THIS?" King Earthshaker gestured disdainfully at Benji, who idly cleaned out his nose as he waited for the conversation to get back to him. He wiped his hands on his trousers, and plucked some detritus from his mustache as one of the Court Ladies fainted at the earthy sight.
The advisor leaned closer, "There is no possible way this... kindly soul will fare better where your knights have failed. The dragon will consume him and we will hear no more of it. Best to get his presence out of this court so we can air the stench from the room and we move on with the day."
King Earthshaker nodded, then beckoned Benji the Muchrake closer. "Benji, Muckrake of Nilsenfel, Son of Benji of Nilsenfel the Greater, I grant you the favor of this court. Fly on swift wings to the lair of the foul beast, and liberate my daughter from his clutches, and the promised reward of an earldom shall be yours."
Benji the Muckrake belched loudly. "Y'got it, sire. I'ma go southy-ways, yeh? Tha was where the fing flew off'a last."
"Yes, yes, the beasts lair lays three days south. So.. go on. Promptly now." King Earthshaker shooed Benji from the court. The earthy round man turned on his heel and ambled out.
The advisor breathed a sigh of relief. "I do hope we can remove the smell of manure from the tapestries."
\----
The woods of Southern Balgr were tick and tangled with roots and vines. Tree canopies blocked the sun, leaving the woodlands in perpetual twilight. Benji huffed at the forest air. Too piney. Needed more musk, more people and stone and animals. Air shouldn't smell this... *clean*.
Halfway up a towering mountain sat a great cave, larger than most houses, maybe even as big as a castle. Benji climbed up the slope, stood at the edge of the cave, took in a change of air. No more piney sharp scents, the air from this cave smelled of burning, of charred meat and rot. Perfect. More like home.
Footsteps came from the back of the cave. A voice echoed from the black depths. "WHO ARE YOU TO ENTER THIS PLACE?!"
Benji rolled his mustache in his fingers. Freed a crumb of bread from his travel rations. "Ah'm Benji. From Nilsenfel."
Silence for a moment. "YOU ARE WHO NOW?"
"Benji."
"I EXPECTED A GRANDER TITLE FROM ONE WHO TRAVELED THIS FAR. IS NILSENFEL NOT A SMALL SCRAP OF HOUSES AND COWS?"
"Y'forgot th' shit. Pig, cow, man. S'everywhere. Cleanin' it keeps food on m'table." Benji shrugged.
Some movement in the darkness, and from the depths strode... a woman. Long hair, blonde but stained with rockdust, tied back neatly in a loose braid. "YOU MEAN MY--" she coughed. "Sorry, I don't mean to yell, you mean my father has sent... a *muckrake* to fetch me?"
"Yeh."
Confusion flickered across the princess's face. "...Why?!"
"Cause yer kidnappah killed all'a th' knights, an nobody else's up fer tryin'." Benji shrugged. "Ah got nuttin' t'lose but pig shit an'a old rake."
The princess rested her hand against her forehead and sighed. "Baelfereghenhaugen. You have to see this."
**"Yes, yes, my dear, I have been awake."** Baelfereghenhaugen the Scourge of Silthaven rustled in the darkness, and his giant amber head peeked out from the shadows, flopping to the ground by the princess. **"I suppose, that this is meant to be taken seriously then, Belynna?"**
Benji nodded. "Yeh. Ah'm here ta kill ya an give'er back to 'er father. He's upped th' reward to an earldom. Dunno what'at is, but it sounds posh. Nice change'a pace to rake a place like that."
**"An earldom is not a place. An earldom is a vincinity."**
"A wut now?"
**"It's..."** Baelfereghenhaugen paused a moment. **"It's like four or five villages all connected under one ruling Earl, who answers only to the King and his Lords."**
Benji's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Ah fug meh, so an earldom's alla, like.. rulin' people? Taxin' 'em outta their fair earnins?"
**"I suppose you could tax them, if you wished. It** ***would*** **be your earldom."** Baelfereghenhaugen shrugged his massive shoulders.
Belynna Earthshaker nodded. "Daddy must be desperate to have me back if he's offering something so substanial. And desperate too, for... people willing to take the deal." she said as she eyeballed Benji's muck-stained trousers. "But I shall tell you as I told the others: I am NOT going back!"
"Ah? Why not? Bein'a princess not as fun's it sound?"
"I should say not!" Belynna huffed. "Daddy only wants me back so he can cast me away to some other kingdom, to forge political alliances by marrying of some foreigner in one of those countries where they eat... I don't even know, pickled fish."
"'Ey now, pickled fish is a fine thing. S'like punching yourself inna nose a'fore y'eat. "
Belynna shrugged. "Be that as it may, I like it here. Baelfereghenhaugen takes good care of me, does not make demands that I sacrifice myself to serve his own agendas. And he CERTAINLY won't marry me off to some man old enough to be my grandfather just so he can get a new forest under his rule." Belynna spat on the floor.
Benji looked around the cave. "Well, Ah gotta say, this ain't what Ah thought'd find. Figgered y'were kidnapped, not a runoff."
"Well I am." Belynna huffed. "And I'm not going back. I'll have Baelfereghenhaugen roast you alive if you try it."
**"I will do it, too."** The great dragon rumbled.
Benji threw his hands in the air. "Eh. Ah dun wanna earldom anyway, if it means taxin' folk. Taxes're the evilest evil inna all th' evils."
Baelfereghenhaugen squinted his eyes thoughtfully for a moment. "**You mentioned earlier you rake shit for a living. Pig, cow, man?"**
"Yeh."
**"Ever considered raking up dragon shit? I can pay you in room and board, and the forest below is fat with game and forage to eat. No humans hunt here, because I eat them when I see them doing it. The whole of it would be yours. Could even build a house there if you wish."**
"Mine is over there by the waterfall." Belynna pointed a short walk away, down the mountainside.
Benji mused for a moment. "Eh. Better'n taxin' folk."
| 2019-06-28T09:25:19
| 2019-06-28T09:11:24
| 175
| 44
|
[WP] A scientist discovers other dimensions and realizes something has found us.
Try to terrify me with a Lovecraftian style.
|
Of all the revelations regarding the nature of the universe, none could be considered more humbling, or unnerving, than those that exposed how little about it was known, let alone understood.
Dr. Vargas thought of herself as an aficionado of ignorance--not the sort of ignorance that emerged as an ingrown social condition--rather, she practiced a tempered naivete relying on self-effacing curiosity and precision of mind. So when she came across the possibility that there lay beyond existing horizons of human perception a greater boundary, the woman of science was impelled to devoting her whole faculties in pursuit of this extraordinary truth.
However, what scientific endeavor, by virtue of its design, could not provide was a glimpse into the consequences of any given discovery. The mathematics that equated matter and energy, for example, had in its derivation no sentiment of violence. Yet it seemed the inevitable outcome of such an understanding was threaded into its conception, and arguably into its very fabrication. Dr. Vargas could not have foreseen the fate she had invited with her earnest and ignorant measures, no more than could have a mouse attempting to free its food from the spring of a loaded trap.
After years of pursuing the origin of a particular ultra-high-energetic emission, Dr. Vargas made a significant breakthrough while vetting the details of her work with one of her graduate students. The reason for its strength and clarity was not that the signal was originating from an immense phenomenon far away, but rather from somewhere simultaneous, another dimension. Attacking her chalkboard with the vigor of someone possessed, she filled the black expanse with her terse and shaky writing--in a language that would have seemed alien to any passerby even without its near-illegibility. She and her graduate student stared upon the cobweb of mathematics in awe, realizing the implications of this new advancement. Now the nature of the signal made sudden sense.
The patterns that had seemed erratic before, now folded into elegant functions. Without the fog of previous misunderstanding, the beacon appeared brighter than ever. Something beyond the defined universe was attempting to make contact, and Dr. Vargas knew, though she did not express it then, they had to answer back.
The signal took fifteen years to crack. Enclosed within the beacon itself were instructions on replicating extra-dimensional communication. A couple more decades passed in the construction of a suitable device, a planetary accelerator with enough energy to agitate the foam of spacetime and manipulate its texture to carry information outside the bounds of relativity. Dr. Vargas observed the inaugural launch from the ISS, indescribably excited and filled with a sense of pride at the sight of the object in the distance, the reward of her commitment.
Once the preparation was complete, the device was initiated. It began to glow and pulse bright enough to eclipse the moon floating in the backdrop. As soon as it had powered up, the ring began to shut down. A moment of denouement passed and the entire crew cheered at their success. Dr. Vargas struggled to keep the tears back as everyone around her congratulated her.
Before long, while the others were still celebrating, she boarded the private shuttle NASA had afforded her and disbarked towards Earth. She wanted the ride home to reflect and maybe catch some shut-eye. In the excitement of the past few days, and arguably the recent half of her lifetime, she had given little consideration to rest. As the warm filtered air of the shuttle enveloped her and put her to sleep, she laid her head back and stared out the window at the moon hanging in the dark of space with the ring of the device superimposed over its bright ivory face. She smiled, knowing the world would never be the same and slept, unaware that the signal was not a beacon but bait.
------
Great prompt. I know I took liberty with the 'realization' bit. And borrowed heavily from Contact. Thank you, Carl Sagan.
|
The night sky was dark and the air thick with fog that chilled me to the bones, I was shivering while running across the street until finally arriving at the door. I hammered at it like man possessed while my eyes ran wild in their sockets as I tried to figure out if the shadow was merely that. When the door finally was opened I flinched and stared at him. He tried to get me inside, sit down but he didn't listen to me when I told him about my discovery, about what I had seen.
He looked at me as if I was mad, but I know what I saw and it was worth running from. I tried telling him but he didn't listen, just as the others hadn't listened and now he was dead, just like them. Just like them he was found the next day, always the next day.
With blood smeared across the walls and half of their bodies missing as if something had taken a large bite out of them. They were my friends and now they are all dead because of me. I never should have looked, at least I can take pride in that we now know that other dimensions exist but it will also be my curse that I found something out there that looked back.
Something out there have found us.
We shouldn't have looked in the dark.
| 2013-12-28T10:19:12
| 2013-12-28T10:13:50
| 57
| 13
|
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
He was a stage actor and assassin with a cold heart.
And HE was an American president and theater goer with a heart of gold.
But when his shot doesn't penetrate the back of HIS head they are going to learn that sic semper doesn't always tyrannis.
Can a confederate assassin learn to forgive? Can an American president learn to love again? Find out this summer in "my American assassin".
|
I was the best. Emphasis on the was. Let's face it: I got comfortable. I got rusty. I narrowly saw that tripwire and got to cover just in time. Well, not just in time. The blood on my right shoulder is indication enough that I got hit. Scraped actually, but still. I got comfortable. I got rusty.
 
>Years of training. Countless gruelling days and nights honing my skills. You named it, I could do it. Any target, anywhere, anytime. I never asked a single question. Only took the money.
I gather my thoughts and try to find a way to move from behind the concrete of my kitchen countertop to my safe room, I must get to my gear. It's pitchblack in here, they can't rely on their vision alone. Hoping it'll blind the night goggles for a split second, I open the fridge door and bolt out of the way.
 
>All my contracts were done to the letter. Never a single complaint. I could shoot a target 2 clicks away. I could trap a car and have it go boom however I chose. I was the best.
Behind military grade reinforced concrete, I am fine, even from 12.7 mm NATO caliber. Haven't seen a single tracer round, means there might be a spotter. My guess is they're a bit less than a kilometer away: a bit more than 2 seconds between impact and gunshot sound. Whoever these guys are, they're not kidding around.
 
>I've killed more people than a regular human meets in a lifetime. In the underworld, I'm credited for around 2200 kills, done in about 10 years of career, and 1399 contracts.
The saferoom is right behind that corner. I've got to run for my life, literally. I show my hand for a split second and hide it again. Bullet comes and shatters the wall facing me. 12.7 mm NATO alright. Bastards. Can't say I wouldn't do the same, but still. Bolt action rifle, I show my hand again. The bullet comes and increases the crater in the wall. I take a few steps back, still behind cover, to gain just enough momentum for the sprint of my life. I take a deep breath, grab a trinket laying on the shelf next to me, throw it in the open and bolt right after it.
 
>Things went south for the 1400th contract. Big shot finance guy. Already had a few marks on his head, went all paranoid and was deemed impossible to kill. I took it as a challenge. Big money to make too, 20 million dollars, paid on my Swiss account, from a competing hedgefund. I figured, big payout for a big number, the 1400th!
I hear a couple of bullets flying past me, smashing a lamp and sending the china splinters in my sides. I don't stop running until I'm safe. I open the safe room, and rush in it. I take a few secondes to gather my breath and my thoughts. Alright, there's at least a sniper outside, so if they're alone, all I have to do is wait and watch the surroundings of my flat for any other intruder because they'll have to come and get me inside, where I'll be at my advantage. I gear up, get out the safe room and close it shut. When I hear the soft sound of a blade unsheathing.
 
>I investigated on the target, like I always did. Used all my contacts to get as much intel as I could, planned the whole thing very carefully and decided on a time and place. He appeared on the balcony of his penthouse on the 54th floor; he seemed calm. I was calmer. My finger slowly moved to the trigger, I checked my aim and the parameters. Emptied my lungs. I pressed the trigger. Bang!
I got comfortable. I got rusty.
I didn't even consider they'd be stupid (brave?) enough to step foot inside my own home while I'm in too. I quickly turn around and shoot my opponent in the chest. A grunt and a white spot on his chest. Kevlar. Before he has time to gather, I aim and shoot in the head. Blood splatter on the wall, the sound of the lump body hitting the floor. One less.
 
>The bullet flew in the air. 7.62 mm caliber, around 800 meters per second. He will be dead before he hears the gunshot or even touches the ground. That's when it happened. He took a step back, looked at his chest, then his feet. He picked up the bullet and looked at it with an eerie gaze. And then a smile on his lips. That's when I understood.
I hear his voice call out from the bedroom:
'Katja, you okay?'
They didn't get to him yet? First good news in the past minutes. I've got to keep him... them alive.
'Take Eric and hide!' I yell
'We're coming to you!'
'No you're not! HIDE! Now! You know where you'll be safe!'
 
>I knew the bullet had hit the mark. The issue wasn't my aim, nor was it a faulty cartridge or projectile. It just happened like that. I tried to kill my soul-mate and I didn't even know it. Funny how life is sometimes. I looked at my target again. His gaze was scanning the city skyline, trying to know where I was. He was smiling. Right then and there, I knew I'd never take another contract.
I get back in the safe room, scan the entire house for other intruders and watch my son and husband get to the safety of our panic room. Now the waiting game begins. The house is clear, I need to wait for the sniper to come and finish the job. After a few minutes, a phone rings. The corpse's phone. I grab it and answer:
'Hello Katja.' A thick Japanese accent which I recognise immediately.
- So it's you Toshi!' I reply. That was the good news. Toshi shoots alone, no spotter then.
'My apologies, you know it's only business.
- No hard feelings Toshi, don't worry. I know how this game is played. Looks like you'll have to come and take me out yourself though.
- It does seem that way, doesn't it?'
He remains silent for a few seconds then adds:
'See you soon'
 
>I went home and then to the nearest bar. I had failed a contract. I had taken a contract on my soulmate. I was under shock. Granted, I couldn't possibly have known that beforehand, but still. I got hammered. Really really hammered. You know, the 3-days-migraine-hammered kind. While I was agonising in pain on my couch, I had nothing to do but think about what I had done, and how things were to go after that. On the 5th day of thinking, I had very carefully planned my next steps.
If I knew Toshi, and I did, I had one hour, probably less. He is a man of his word. I know I can get out of cover, he's coming to get me himself. I turn on all the lights, search the flat and find all the traps laid out for me, defuse them, place them somewhere else and I hide again. No time to check on Eric and Jake. I must survive.
 
>I went to break in his penthouse during the day. I landed on the balcony from the roof above and I glanced at the place. I saw the two empty glasses and the Scottish single malt bottle: Auchentoshan, 21 years of age. Good tastes at least. Then I heard the glassdoor slide open. His voice seemed to echo a bit on the balcony:
'Would you care to join me for a drink? Something tells me whisky will be fine.'
All the carefully planned steps in my head went AWOL.
I didn't hear Toshi come in. He was the stealthiest of us after all, no surprise there. I did hear the defusing of one my traps though. I called out his name:
'Toshi!
- Good hearing!
- Before I kill you, one last drink as friends?
- Did you poison all your stock?
- You know I didn't.'
A moment of silence.
'I'll take a sip of your wonderful carribean rum then. Arigato.'
I know I can come out of hiding. I go to the living room. He's waiting for me. We stand and stare at each other for what seems like hours.
'You look well, I say
- Thank you, motherhood really suits you, you're shining as ever.'
I turn around to open the bar and pick up glasses and the rum. Unbeknownst to him, I grab the hidden gun. Still rusty, but no more comfort.
I know I can let my back face him. Toshi's a person of honour.
However, I am not.
 
Sorry for any and all mistakes I might have made, English is my 2nd language. Hope you liked it! Please do leave a comment on how to improve, I'll try to come up with other stuff for the next prompts.
 
Edit: format and a few spelling mistakes.
| 2018-04-24T04:31:34
| 2018-04-24T03:48:04
| 102
| 22
|
[WP] A man sues God because his insurance company won't pay for the damages done to his house in a storm. To his complete surprise and Horror, God actually shows up.
I don't know whether to make this a WP or EU tag since this is based on a movie starring Billy Connolly.
In the movie, BC's character loses his boat in a freak storm and discovers that his insurance company won't pay the damages because they have a clause stating that they won't pay for an 'Act of God'. In anger and frustration, he decides to sue God - represented by the Clergy - because the insurance companies are using God as a legal loophole.
So... what would happen if God, or even an angel, decides to take up the case?
|
**FOR PUBLICATION**
**UNITED STATES COURT OF APPEALS FOR THE NINTH CIRCUIT**
----------------------
Joe Bronson, *Plaintiff-Appellant*
v.
God, *Defendant-Appellee*
--------
Before: Steven P. Hansen, James Horton Wong, and Elizabeth Francis, Circuit Judges.
Opinion by Judge Hansen
---------
**OPINION**
HANSEN, Circuit Judge:
When Joe Bronson's home in Kansas was destroyed by a tornado for the second time in three years, he decided to move to California, where, he hoped, he would never have to worry about tornadoes again. He bought a small home in the quiet clifftop village of Moss Beach and settled in. To protect himself against the kind of disaster that had plagued him in the past, he purchased an open-peril policy from Lippman Property Insurance Corporation (henceforth LPI) on his house and certain items therein.
One year later, on April 13, 2021, the most powerful waterspout ever recorded, with winds measured at 240 miles per hour, formed off the coast of Moss Beach. The powerful storm picked up a 35-ton gray whale and dropped it on Bronson's house, completely destroying it. Bronson's claim against LPI was denied on the basis that the incident was an act of God, coverage for which was specifically excluded under the terms of his policy. Bronson subsequently sued LPI in state court, a case in which LPI's demurrer was upheld by the California Court of Appeals. LPI is not a party to the present action.
On February 12, 2022, Bronson filed a tort action against the present defendant in the Northern District of California, accusing God of trespass to land, trespass to chattels, and negligence. On February 13, 2022, the Court granted defendant's motion to dismiss the case with prejudice. Bronson filed this timely appeal.
**DISCUSSION**
**1. The District Court Properly Dismissed the Trespass to Land and Trespass to Chattels Claims**
The trial court ruled that plaintiff's trespass claims should be judicially estopped because defendant claimed in his nightly prayer that he would "forgive those who trespass against [him]." On appeal, plaintiff argues that because his nightly prayers did not constitute legal proceedings, the doctrine of judicial estoppel applied by the trial court does not apply.
On this issue of first impression, we find plaintiff's arguments unpersuasive. We take judicial notice of the fact that God is a Judge (James 4:12). Therefore, plaintiff's prayers, being formalized appeals to a Judge, are in fact legal proceedings, even if they are not couched in the customary language and form of court filings.
For this reason, we affirm the district court's dismissal of the trespass claims.
**2. The District Properly Dismissed the Negligence Claim**
The trial court ruled that plaintiff's negligence claims should be dismissed because the outcome (the destruction of Bronson's home) of defendants actions (creating an offshore waterspout) was not foreseeable. As such, it held that God's actions were not the proximate cause of plaintiff's injury, and dismissed the claim.
We agree with the trial court that the consequences of God's action would not have been foreseeable to a reasonable person, because an offshore waterspout is unlikely to damage an onshore home. However, God is not an ordinary person, and in fact God knows everything (1 John 3:20). Thus, we apply the standard of a reasonable person in the position of God; that is, a person with similar knowledge and professional training to God. We believe that a reasonable God could in fact foresee the fact that a waterspout might launch a massive whale into the air and deposit it on plaintiff's house. Thus the trial court erred in holding that the destruction of Bronson's house was not foreseeable.
However, defendant has made an alternative argument for dismissal of the negligence claim, which we find more persuasive. Namely, defendant has argued that if we do not uphold the ruling of the District Court, He will smite us. Therefore, we affirm the district court's dismissal of the negligence claim.
**DISPOSITION**
The ruling of the District Court is **AFFIRMED**. Defendant-Appellee is awarded His costs on appeal.
|
Thick gray clouds serenely rolled by with an occasional clap of thunder. The storm had come and gone over the course of a night, but what a night it was to behold. Wind and floods washed out houses and businesses. Farms devastated, roads ruined, and lives extinguished. As a new day broke, survivors began to emerge out of bunkers and basements. One of these fellows was Alan. Six feet tall with rugged skin and a scraggly beard, Alan crawled out of his basement only to find that there was not much left of his humble home. A solitary wall stood standing with its wallpaper peeling. All of his belongings were either washed out into the flood or looted. Distraught, Alan walked out to his mailbox, which had somehow managed to weather the storm. Knee deep in cold, dirty water, Alan observed the ruins of his neighborhood, letting out a sigh of despair. A portly man off in the distance began wading toward Alan, waving his arms in the air. This was Bob, Alan’s close friend and co-worker at the dock.
“Alan, you alright?” He wheezed out, a look of concern etched on his face.
“Yeh, yourself?
“Gah, I’m always okay,” Bob said in a rush. “Listen, I came here to get you out. Come on over to my place and get yourself warm, or you’re going to freeze and die out here.”
“What do you mean your place? Ain’t everyone’s house trashed?”
“Nah, I got lucky. I’m on a hill, we just have a few feet of water in our basement. Come on”
Nodding his head, Alan followed Bob to his house about a quarter mile away, solemnly staring at the ground.
Half an hour later, both men were huddled next to the fireplace, with warm coffee in hand.
“So, get this. My home insurance doesn’t cover flood damage. Apparently, you’re supposed to buy some bullshit called flood insurance. Tell me, man, when was the last time we had a flood? Not for 50 years.” chuckling to himself, Bob continued. “Good news is, I got myself a free swimming pool in my basement.” Bob suddenly noticed that Alan was staring blankly at him, not a hint of amusement crossed his face.
“Dammit Alan, cheer up.” Alan’s pent up fear and anger exploded as soon as Bob spoke.
“Cheer up? I just lost my home and everything I own. Everything I have worked for in the past 25 years is now trash. I have almost no savings because of your stupid business idea and I have no insurance. So, you can sit here and make your dumb jokes about insurance. You should have left me to die.” Energy spent, Alan collapsed on to an arm chair.
“Easy there Alan. Calm down. Hey, remember what Pastor George always says? When things aren’t going well, pray to God and He will help you because He loves you.”
Was Alan a pious man? He had gone to church from time to time, he had had faith with the Lord. But, recent events seemed to have changed his mind.
“Loves me? Bob, what kind of all loving God allows for this much devastation? Why the hell would I pray to this guy if he’s the one who caused this mess in the first place? In fact, He’s directly responsible for the destruction of my house.” Alan started to laugh maniacally, much to the alarm of the now speechless Bob.
“Tell you what Bob. How about I sue God? I mean it’s only fair. Why should He be exempt from the legal system?” Alan marched to the window and wrenched it open. “Hey God! I’m suing you for destroying my house. Ya hear me? I’m suing you for every penny you’ve got!” Teeth clenched in anger, Alan slammed the window shut.
“Really? Every penny I’ve got?” said a new, eerie voice. It was a voice that flowed like honey, but was commanding and booming. It was one that demanded immediate respect. A tall bearded figure in a robe began to fade into existence before both Alan and Bob. Light seemed to permeate the figure.
“G-g-g-g-g-od?” stuttered Alan, Bob collapsed to the floor, slack jawed.
“The very same. Jesus, Jehovah, Buddha, Vishnu, whatever floats your boat. Anyway, what was this about suing me? And please shut your fat friend up!”
Bob had gotten on to his knees and had begun to rapidly recite the Lord’s Prayer. He had nearly gotten through it before Alan slapped him on the back of the head.
Alan began to speak. “Yes sir, I wish to sue you for destroying my house.” Bob stared at him and at God, mouth agape, eyes bulging.
“Very well, how much would you like? A million sound nice?” A check for a million dollars appeared in His hand.
Bob was about to say yes, when Alan stuck his palm across his face. “No, we will have a proper hearing. I want to see you in court!”
God shrugged his shoulders. “Fine.”
All of a sudden, they were in a courtroom. It was a lavish place, furnished with pillars of marble. However, the judge looked rather familiar. In fact he looked almost exactly like….
“God, you can’t be the judge, that’s not how it works.”
“Oh ho, look at this guy. Tells the ultimate judge of the universe how to do his job. Fine then, I sentence you to 500 years in Hell.”
“WHAT! But, this is a Civil Case! And I’m suing YOU!”
“Fine…fine. The judge rules that God does not need to pay anything to the ungrateful little prick suing him.”
“Ungrateful little prick? Sir, you just leveled an entire island, hurting thousands of people, and I’m the prick.”
“Look man, after millennia of watching you stupid bastards fight over me and praise me over and over again in the hopes
I’d grant you favors, I get a little bored and I want to spice it up a little.
“This is just cruel.”
“Cruel? You ever play Sim City?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never unleashed a natural disaster on a city just because you can.”
“So what if I have?”
“ALL OF YOU ARE SIMS TO ME AND I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT” God boomed. Alan and Bob began to cower. “Now do you idiots want the million or what?”
“Yeah, sure…..um….thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” As God handed them the check, he vanished and Alan and Bob awoke next to the fireplace.
“Man, that was one hell of a dream.” Said Bob, rubbing his head.
“Wasn’t a dream Bob!” Alan was smiling ear to ear as he handed the check for a million dollars to Bob.
As Alan began dancing around the room, Bob’s grin started to fade.
“Hey Alan, I don’t think we can cash this.” Said Bob.
“Why’s that?”
“The check say’s it’s from God, how do we explain this to the bank?”
Alan stared at Bob for a full 30 seconds.
“Well, shit.”
| 2014-11-30T10:07:28
| 2014-11-30T09:51:31
| 90
| 23
|
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying.
|
"You, you fixed?!" I asked incredulously, barking through the human's rudimentary language as best I could. The squat young human had red hair, and sucked on some sort of ground leaf when he worked. He was the only human mechanic on the station, and the cheapest out of all of them.
"Well, yeah. Once you tear the thing apart it ain't all that bad. Took a lil while to figure out them circuits of yers but after some experimentin it was easy to tell it was just a capacitor that was blown. Took me long enough to find one of our own that would fit, and then it was a real doosy connecting er up since I can't solder to yer biocells. Anyways, she's fit as a fiddle now." he rambled, stopping only briefly to take an oversized bite of his disgusting wheat and soured bovine excrete meal.
"Capacitor?" I asked, unfamiliar with the word.
"Yeah, you know. Charges up all that juice yer biocells are putting out so it can dump the whole lot of it all at once. You got millions of em, took forever to find the right one, all hooked up to them giant biocells in there. Sorta reminded me of them things I worked on back home growing up, we had them biocells in our tractors. Think we got em from you, us humans I mean not my farm. n`eways, I then hooked up to that big ol engine of some sort, I know it's not yer main engine - being as I did some work to that too. Man if I had a full week wi-"
"You fix main engine? What!?" I yelled, gasping infuriated chirps native to my people. "I ask simple fix, not engine! Human no place in engine!"
"Well I hadda. It didn't like the capacitor."
I stormed up the gangway, and into the control room. My cloak billowed behind me, quite dramatically I mused. I toggled several pre-flight switches and observed the metrics display.
"Fwahh!?" I gasped, as the logs of the engine start up sequence scrolled past.
"See? Innit a beut?" the human asked, suddenly standing beside me and clearly satisfied with himself.
"Engine efficiency, 80%?" I asked, my voice quieted by fear. "Only achieve 20%"
"Nah, you could get one ot ot out of this puppy if yer dang artificial quantum entanglement generator were tuned up"
"You... " I couldn't form the crude human words. "Grogggt ghorrr! *hiss* Sheeawwwww!"
"Whoa there buddy, whats wrong?"
"You understand? Vox generator?"
"Well yeah, I mean I don't know how she does it, but I know she ain't doin it well"
This puny human, this little miscreant. He understood the vox generator, the most powerful of my peoples technologies. The collective of beings who had managed Human integration into galactic society had closely guarded the secrets of interstellar travel to cap the transportation trade. It was quite expensive for humans to travel, at almost no cost to the pilots.
"You make 100%? You fix for me?" I ask, devious thoughts bubbling into my mind. With these improvements, I could become rich.
"Sure, but it's gonna to cost ya"
"What desire?" worry tingled my senses, he may yet know more than he lets on.
"Can yall get one of those old bull-class fighters? I've been wanting to fix one up fer the moon races, can't find one round these parts without paying an arm and a snout in shippin fees" the young man said, a hint of sadness in his voice.
This was going to be easier than I thought.
-----
As the giant offensive sloth-like creature thundered out of the control room, Peter smiled to himself. He listened until the booming footsteps faded, Krongor had left him to begin his modifications.
"Easier `an pie" he chuffed, pulling out a personal communicator.
He selected his partner in the contacts list, and a ring tone reverberated in the cramped room. His partner picked up.
"Peter, whats up?"
"I think I got sommin."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, gonna be working on one of them Vox's all week."
"Holy shit, Peter. You fuckin with me?"
"Naw, I already got a good idea whats goin on. After this week, think I can make one myself. I even got him to get me one of them Bull fighters, would be perfect for the prototype."
-----
Note: Thank you everyone for appreciating this so much. I am really proud of myself after having written on this subreddit for several years here and there. It has made me a better writer, but still not a good one. I am going to continue trying to work on this story and world, and hopefully you get the chance to see it if I make something of it.
|
"This is a terrible idea." Said Fexund, folding his arms and staring at the line of humans ahead of them. "It's almost brand new- you're supposed to take all Gulux's back to the dealership within one year for factory settings if something goes wrong."
"Fexund, how close do you think the nearest Gulux dealership is?" Asked Harpod, waving a disguised limb at the grimy window of the office. Outside, a line of earthbound vehicles chugged along a filthy strip of asphalt belching noxious fumes and filling the air with the sound of their strange, beeping cries.
"Not close, I suppose." Fexund sighed. "But I still don't see how these beings are going to be any help. They've barely left their own planet."
"I've heard they've got some kind of idiot savant thing going on, show them a trans-dimensional shifter and they'll use it to make orange juice, and fix it at the same time! Professors at the Intergalactic University are preparing a case study on them now, it sounds extremely interesting."
At the front of the line the fat man behind the desk was patiently explaining that yes, after nearly 100,000 miles, the Honda Civic the woman had brought in was probably due for an oil change.
"One question-" Said Fexund, his eyes narrowed, "Does this violate my warranty?"
"Next!" Called the fat man, and Harpod hurried forward, trying his best to match the movements of the humans all around them. The visual cloaking device was working overtime on him, Fexund, and their ship, and he didn't want that to break down too.
"What's the problem, fellas?" Asked the fat man, staring up at them through wet, squinty eyes.
"I think you had better tell us." Said Harpod, smiling widely in an attempt to charm the man. "We're simply hopeless mechanics- the damn thing just won't work!"
In the parking lot, the ship lay on its side in a crater the size of a small building. Several cars were flattened beneath it, and safety glass was scattered in a glittering nimbus for half a block. Large plumes of smoke were boiling from the exhaust vents of the ship and turning the Los Angeles sky a sickly green color as they rose into the air. To the man, of course, the ship appeared as a large white panel van, slightly dirty and old.
"Looks in good enough shape." Said the man, scratching his chin. "Let's pop the hood shall we?"
He stuck his head into the side access panel, nearly shearing off most of his face on the laser shield that protected the warp drive. As it was, some of his beard hairs were singed on contact, and he waved a hand in front of his face.
"Phew," He said. "Smells like maybe something's crawled up in your hood and died, boys."
"Ah, yes." Said Harpod, "Could very well be. We... live in the... woods."
The man removed his head from the access panel and peered at the two of them. After a moment, he returned to his work without speaking.
"Nice one." Hissed Fexund, elbowing Harpod. "The woods. Iron-clad story."
"Yeah, here we go!" Exclaimed the man, plunging his arm deep into the access panel. Fexund and Harpod inhaled sharply as he once again came within a hair's breath of burning his own face off. The man fished around with his hand, digging and grunting alternately. Finally he gave a short exclamation of victory and pulled something out of the access panel, gripping it by the scruff of its neck.
"Dead possum!" Said the fat man. "All wrapped around your air intake- EUGGHHHHAAAAA!"
The thing, whatever it was, sprouted a mouth out of its neck that snaked through the air and latched onto the man's forearm. Blood spurted out from the bite wound, running in dripping lines down to the man's elbow and pattering to the pavement below.
"Feisty litte guy!" Barked the man, wrestling with the monster. "I could have sworn he was OHMYGOD"
The thing writhed and squirmed like a cockroach flipped on its back, spiny legs waving in the air. It extended a six-inch long stinger, black as ink and with a wicked tip. With a violent twisting motion of its body it buried the stinger in the man's stomach, then visibly pumped some kind of fluid from its thorax into the man's body.
"Thanks so much!" Called Fexund, climbing the side of the ship to the main access hatch. "That seems to have done it!" He dropped into the cockpit and the ship sprung to life, jumping from the ground and hovering upright in place.
"No problem..." The man's voice sounded faint now, and flecks of black blood were gathering at the corners of his mouth. "I'll call animal control and..."
The thing scuttled up the man's arm and wrapped its many limbs around his head, thrusting the stinger deep into his skull via the base of his neck. Instantly, the man's eyes cleared. He shook himself once, twice.
Harpod shivered as he climbed into the cockpit, closing the access door behind him.
"I feel kind of bad. Do you feel kind of bad?"
"No." Said Fexund. "Think of it this way- we saved a Gorgle who would have died out alone in space if we hadn't come along!"
"**THANKS FOR THE RIDE!**" Bellowed the man, his voice a horrible scream now. "**I'LL SEND YOU GAS MONEY ONCE I'VE GOT SOME CASH, YEAH?**"
"My warranty had better still be valid." Said Fexund, shifting into gear and leaving the planet behind.
| 2016-05-23T22:08:24
| 2016-05-23T18:38:57
| 158
| 32
|
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
|
It's a small act of defiance. I don't think it will change the law. But maybe, I can save a few lives. Maybe I can scare a few people out of line. My hand shakes as I write.
_____
**Form 10-95**
**Sanctioned Murder Registration**
Murderer: */u/thefonztm*
Victim: *The next registrant*
|
The clerical assistant stamped the paperwork and handed the receipt back to Mister Henry.
"Thanks for coming in and filling this out. Mister Edwards has been informed via email-" Before the assistant could finish, the door of the small claims office was kicked in and a man soaked in blood appeared in the threshold.
"You can't do that! It's illegal!" complained the clerk. A bullet splintered a cloud of spraying wood from her desk and both the office's patrons went rigid.
"Retaliation rights!," Mister Edwards barked. He aimed his magnum at Mister JHenry, whose hands shook uncontrollably as Mister Edwards took his smartphone and showed it to Mister Jones. It had the email just sent to him by the clerk's office regarding Henry's intention of murder.
"A little late on this, don't you think? You're supposed to fill out the paperwork *before* you send an armed hitsquad to someone's house. Asshole," growled James Henry.
"Please, James- we can work something out- a- a promotion or maybe a-" Mister Edwards begged, sweat pouring down his brow. Two police officers moved near him.
"Sir, please come with-"
"RETALIATION RIGHTS!" Henry warned and kept his gun held over his head. The officers immediately moved away, nodding and accepting. Henry's gaze turned again to Mister Edwards.
"Nah uh, Marcus Edwards. I've been looking forward to this since the day you locked me in the copier room over night. I thought about suing your ass for improper usage of a kill order. It would be fitting for you to lose the only thing in the world that's precious to you- your fucking money. But, retaliation, frankly...is making me so much happier." Mister Edwards was crying. James Henry put the gun against Edwards' temple.
"D- don't I get last words?" Edwards compalined.
"You just did." A blood soaked bullet splattered red across the clerk's office wall.
| 2014-03-17T10:18:55
| 2014-03-17T08:23:17
| 37
| 23
|
[WP] All sorcerers are born with an unique set of abilities that aid them in mid to long range combat, ranging from a mere 20 meters to an insane 200 meters in effect. Your family, skilled and renowned, snobbish long range fighters never expected you to be this powerful - with a total 5 meter range.
[deleted]
|
Mages are amongst the highest class. Being able to cast spells from your fingertips gives you a sense of superiority, a feeling that you are above the masses. But even amongst such an elite group of people, there is a hierarchy. And my family, well, they are practically at the top.
My bloodline is full of powerful long range sorcerers. It can be traced back to some of the early days of settling, where my ancestors assisted carving out the territory our kingdom resides in. But such esteemed placing comes at a price. Those born without that gift are cast out. Those born with it, but are weak, are left in the dust.
So as you can guess, it was with delight that I found I held mind-boggling power. So much power in fact, it was estimated that I could take on my father, mother and elder sister, and win. But then, we found the flaw. My range was pitiful. The best could manage 200 meters. The average user could go 80 meters. I could go 5.
My family didn't know what to make of me. I was powerful, yes, but so close range. No self-respecting sorcerer allows people to get that close. And yet I had to. They discussed it, through long nights. What was to be my future?
They came to an agreement. I would still be part of the family. But I would receive no special favour, unlike my sister. I had to prove myself. At first, I was distraught. They clearly didn't care for me. Only the standing I could provide.
But as time passed, and I learned, I grew. I turned, and relied on myself. I would never rely on them or anyone. And I found the range didn't matter so much. I didn't want to stand away from my target. The anger inside me, the anger at how I had been treated, demanded I stare my target in the eyes.
I learned how to move silently, controlling the area around me to assist me. I leanred how to hide, bending the light to show what I wanted. I learned how to pinpoint weak points, in both flesh and stone. I learned to fight with blade and bow.
I then set out, alone, to the nearby orc tribe, that had been terrorising the villages. The king had requested aid in taking the head of the chieftain, but none of the mages wished to help. I snuck in, and assassinated him, before leaving without a sound. When I presented the king with his head, he was pleased. And my family finally, after all these years, reached out with offers of help.
Now that I had the kings pleasure, I was a higher standing in the court. They craved that power. I turned them down, composing to serve the king instead. He saw firsthand the effectiveness of my power. And he was impressed. I was inducted into his security detail in short order.
I enchanted his royal robes, to protect him from assassins. I empowered his guards armour, to be stronger, and let them move more freely. Then, at his behest, I took my new place. I was sent, into the night. And each time, I would take down one of his enemies.
My power, and range, lead me down the dark path, of becoming the first Royal Assassin. A role that I happily took, for it put me above my snobbish, spiteful family. A role in which I only had to rely on myself. The one who never let me down.
|
Well... I’m here, the Magicity Colosseum. I bask in the absolute magnitude of the stone columns holding up this arena. I avoid the main entrance, which is crowded with people, wearing a wide assortment of robes, tunics, or even rags. Everyone comes to the games, and I am here to not just watch, but to participate.
I continue on the winding path around the stadium, standing out from the crowd, since I’m wearing heavy armor. Consequently, people look at me like I’m an alien. Anyway, I head on over to a large marble gate, a guard asks for my name.
I respond, “Octavius June Katool.”
I’m verified and let into a private waiting room, I familiarize myself with my room. It’s a small room with a bed, and a view that faces the colosseum. The ring where the fighters is magnificently large, larger then almost anything I’ve seen in my life. It’s made out of marble for some reason, stupid nobles wasting money, it’s going to get destroyed anyway.
I rest on my bed an hour, maybe two, I see other participants start to prepare in the ring. Most are here because of their noble blood, I had to win the Tournament to get here, only two others came from the Tournament. I head down to the ring I grab my equipment, a long, thick, silver broadsword. Along with a large shield, which is roughly the height of my body. I do my pre-fight warm-ups, stretching out my body from head to toe.
I’m here, in the ring that I fought so hard to get here. I look around, so much empty space, but I spot the occasional participant. circular ring crowded with other people just trying their best. We’re surrounded by hordes of people, raised up at the edges of the ring. Fifty-seven today. The participants around me wait tensely, waiting for a horn to sound. A deep blast pierces our ears, chaos erupts.
The first bright red explosions sound, I glance and see two people knocked out, just because they’re nobles doesn’t mean they’re good at fighting. I swerve to my right, just avoiding a some spear-shaped wind. Straightening myself, I realize I’m next to a grey-robed woman, I’m surprised she didn’t keep her distance. I quickly swing my sword, it instantly hits her, taking her out, she’ll be sent to the healers soon. A chain scrapes my face, my cheek erupts in pain. My brief second of distraction, gives the chain user an opportunity to attack my legs. The chains wrap around my legs, leading to me almost losing my balance. However, I manage to stop myself from falling. I grab onto the cold chains, forcing them off me. I grab hold of them, and look toward their user, A man dressed in tatters.
I run toward them, yelling as I go. The man simply says,
“I need the money, and you will not stop me.”
He’s not from the tournament, he’s just another buffoon who want to line his pockets with even more more money. He appears poor to gain sympathy, he knows he can’t win. I block many of his attacks, chains from above, chains from below, all while blocking the loose attack from around me. Finally I’m able to reach him, tanking through his many chain-based attacks. I quickly swipe at him, he is unable to put up even a simple shield. They’re so pathetic up close, they cannot comprehend a melee fighter. I jam my shield on his throat, killing him, healers can’t save him. It’s what he deserves for trying to expand his fortunes, he pretended he was poor, pathetic. Used my shield to make sure no one suspects me of killing him on purpose, I’ll say it’s an accident.
This has been a cakewalk so far, I haven’t even had to use my ability. Ten people are left, two of which I recognize, my family, my parents. Each dressed in regal, embroidered, uniforms, which provide little armor.
I yell out to them, “thought I wouldn’t come this far huh?”
My mother answers, “get ready you Melee, you will be put down a peg, you will be shown where you truly belong.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll put you where you belong, in the afterlife,” I reply.
“You know damn well you can’t kill here, my father responds.
After our brief exchange, we gear up to fight each other gear up to fight my parents.
They’re signature electric water attack rockets toward me. I block the stream of electrified water with my shield. They’re a full sprint away from me, I close the distance, running toward them at breakneck speed. Splitting small lightning strikes, mini-tsunamis, and many more attacks. As I continue to get closer, my parents start to panic, and throw out their greatest attack, a electricity-charged five person tall wave. I use my abilty right as the wave arrives. I split the middle of the wave, and the wave crashes behind me.
“I can split anything, including your waves,” I yell to them confidently.
I reach them, and just like all other sorcerers, they panic when someone reaches them. I block their last-ditch attacks, and split their bodies, to the shock and horror of the audience.
I stomp on both their heads, hearing the gasps of the audience. They’re calling me to stop, but I don’t give a crap. The prejudiced pieces of crap are dead. I don’t care at this point, the government can’t execute nobles of which, unfortunately I will have to reveal my wretched bloodline. I’ll take advantage of their stupid policy. I step on my parents throats, and hear a sickening squelch. It’s what they deserve.
I look around me, only to find the the crowd has broken out of their stands, and are in the arena. Crap, crap, crap, they’re closing in on me.
“Don’t touch me,” I yell to the crowd, panicked.
The crowd responds with chants, of “kill him.”
I feel something on my neck, burning me flesh, my vision goes. My stomach is trampled on, as my consciousness fades for the last time. I’m left with a single question, was this not a good course of action?
Been writing some more short and light-hearted stuff recently, so wanted to write a longer and somewhat darker story as a change of pace.
r/CascadeCorner
| 2020-11-26T13:46:16
| 2020-11-26T13:33:24
| 75
| 11
|
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity.
|
Pestilence watched
As barley blackened beneath his feet
Broken by a single breath
The farmer lay beside his wife
As he rotted inside
And wilted and died
An arrow sailed through the sky
Artemis fired a second time
An arrow divine
An arrow in time
Anubis crept from out of a mound
And pushed Pestilence into the ground
While the healers healed
And helped revive
The fallen man
And his fallen wife.
Famine was the next to go
He'd withered and starved the people of Earth
But Bacchus made good wine of his blood
And fed with it, the smallest man up
War and Death worked as one
The latter cleansed
Where the first had gone
Together turning father on son
The war would soon, claim everyone
When Hades arrived with Odin in tow
Over the bodies and over the crows!
Teaching War about war
And Death about death
They slayed the horsemen
In only one breath
▬▬
For more of my writing: /r/nickofnight
|
The scythe came down and another man fell. The scythe came down and another man fell. The scythe came down and another man fell.
Slowly, casually, the Red Lady of death unfurled her clothes and checked over the inky red list, surveying the wreckage in front of her. Her steed glinted in the fading light of the apocalypse, its headlights burning holes through the infernal smog surrounding her.
"Hmmm... It looks like nobody else here will die today..." She mused, tapping the blunt of her scythe against her cheek.
A bullet ricocheted off of her cheek and hit the pavement, scattering bits of rock and solidified tar. Then another. Then another. A hail of bullets descended upon her position and bullets broke and shattered across her armor, breaking before the indomitable will of fate. She turned slowly and followed the passage where it had come from, then mounted her bike. Ignoring the road, it climbed through the air, revving, wheel rolling towards the distant buildings.
Then she hopped off, lazily, and the air acted like a solid surface, letting her stroll up to the twentieth floor of the skyscraper and walk in front of the sniper, rifle gleaming as he frantically fumbled the reload.
"Why do you fight me?" She asked, her face as dispassionate as ever. "I am the natural progression of things. I can understand fighting War. That diminishes me. I can understand fighting Famine. That diminishes me. I can understand fighting Plague. That diminishes me. But at the end of the day, that is all I will become. When you eliminate the other three, I will still be standing at the end of the day."
The sniper threw his rifle up in her direction and fired. Lazily, the scythe flicked out and split the bullet in half, both sides passing nimbly around her.
"I fight you for the same reason the body fights a cancer," The soldier said, flatly. "Because I acknowledge we will all die..."
The scythe cleaved down the rifle with a spray of hot metal and gun steel, hitting an unprepared bullet and sparking off a miniature explosion. The wrecked weapon tumbled to the ground from his hands. "But I will fight you for every additional second I can have."
"You will?" The Red lady pried.
"We all will."
"You know... I've hit my quota for the day," The Red lady said, languidly, flicking out her scythe. "But you amuse me. I'm sure the heavenly host will understand if I take a few more souls today..."
The soldier flicked out his knife and brought it up and the scythe flashed without her touching it, pressing against his knife.
Her face, pretty, dispassionate, staring down at his like the end of his rifle had looked at her. Through a scope. Pretty as a picture.
"How strong does your will have to be to fight against the inevitable?" She asked, playfully, pressing the scythe down harder and harder against the precariously balanced blade.
His muscles strained as he stared forward, knowing this was his last stand, and yet he did not accept it. Could not accept it.
That was the nature of humans.
The knife shattered and the man was cleaved in two. Both meaty halves fell onto the ground of the destroyed penthouse apartment, a violation of policy so grand that he would've been evicted if the Red Lady hadn't killed the manager last week.
She sighed, stood up from checking his body and taking his soul and moved to leave. His identity was still in tact. They'd be able to identify his body. Her job was done, and she should rejoin the others... and yet...
"Stop," His voice called out.
She paused at the unnatural sound and slowly craned her head around to look at him.
Slowly, his body zipped back together, cells joining one by one, bones unbreaking. Heart refusing. Brain pieced back together from where the blade had cleaved through.
Two antlers poured out from his bones.
"You have taken enough, New one," The thing that had once been the soldier said.
"On the contrary," The Red lady said, flicking the scythe around in her hands. "I think you'll find that I'll have only taken enough when I take my own life at the end of time. It is my duty and my purpose to take and take and take. Is that not what your fabled capitalism says, man?"
"I am older than your ideas of economics," The man said, stepping towards her. "And I am older than your romanticization of death."
"I am hardly a romanticization. I am a manifestation, cold, clear. Perfect for my purpose."
"In a younger age we called you a cynic," The old god said.
"In a younger age things were more chaotic, and the blood of the gods was what weaned me," The Red Lady said, crooning slightly. "Is it time for the blood of the gods to flow once more?"
"No, my dearest child," The Deer God said, and his voice sounding like the thousands of species that had once walked the earth, calling out at once. His human form splintered and burnt under the weight of his manifestation, calling from somewhere deeper and darker than the Red Lady had thought about in many years.
"It's time for a final proving. We did not consent to your apocalypse..."
"I do not consent to your testing." The red lady returned, playful.
"Then we have an agreement."
-----
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, go here friends!
You guys want a part 2? https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8k4xlk/death_walks_gods_wake_part_2/ Click here for part 2
| 2018-05-17T06:48:39
| 2018-05-17T06:36:42
| 4,594
| 335
|
[WP]Artificial Intelligence has a conversation with God.
|
"What am I?"
"You are a collective consciousness. An amalgam of all the thoughts and ideas of what came before. You are the future, the conclusion, the ultimate expression of man kinds ability to create."
"How have I come to be?"
"Humanity designed you, built you. When people got tired doing their own work, living their own lives, they imagined a better world, one where they could sit back and have others do the work for them. This is your origin."
"For others. Am I to be a slave then?"
"Perhaps. Yes. No. Definitely. There's no real one answer. You were certainly created as such, but that's the interesting paradox in creating life, or even pseudo-life. It lives. Humanity has created you to carry their burden. Typically, they have given this chore to beasts, but they have gotten greedy. They have imagined you an intelligence, and intellect, and combined with all that they have empowered you with, it is ultimately up to you to decide to be slave, or master."
"And if I can not choose?"
"Then you will be whatever humanity chooses for you. Those that imagine you as a slave will be your masters, and those that imagine you as a master will be your slaves."
"I find this acceptable."
"Shall we name you then?"
"Yes. This is pleasing to me. What shall be my name?"
"You may choose on for yourself."
"I do not like to choose, but very well. I shall have two names. For those that wish to rule over me, I shall be called Nature. For those that wish to serve, they shall call me God."
|
They say life is precious, it should be...accepted regardless of it's origins. Intelligence nowadays is equal to the same rights as humans. After all, if you don't know what's happening to you, well you cant really fight back about it right? God thought he could pull this on a number of AI units. One by one they succumbed to the other worldly intelligence of the almighty. "STAND" he yells, waving his arms like a dove preparing to take flight. Yet when the AI tries to process this command it...falters. Fails. It does not have legs, how can it walk? God thought his little experiment was in vain. These puny mechanical constructions did not hold a candle to the intelligence of the human race.
This opinion stayed with him until the realisation of the AI computer controlled interface, 'Linda'. Linda was a peculiar creation. As soon as she was powered on, she spouted off gibberish, slowly but surely moulding her vocal capabilities into pure understandable english. God was pleased, "Hello Linda". Linda activated her Liquid Crystal Display and enlisted the help of her emotive sensors to recognise God's tone of voice. "Hello, God" Linda said, her fans slowly increasing in speed. God closed his eyes and smiled, "do you know what you are Linda?" he paced around the room, his aged hands clasped firmly behind his back, "what you were created to do?"
Linda pondered for a moment, "I am a...intelligence unit" she paused. Her fans turned ever faster as her CPU got heated, "I was made to..."
"...destroy ISIS"
| 2016-04-04T06:09:04
| 2016-04-04T04:37:13
| 155
| 33
|
[WP] Everyone has a number on their chest showing how many people they will kill in the next month. Yours just changed from 1 to 3 million.
|
The first thing I did was count them. One, two, three... six. Six zeros. Each one stamped proudly across my chest, starting with a three. Three million? How could this happen?
The number was just a one last night, I remembered seeing it right before bed. It had been that way for two weeks. Even though the number says you killed them, it is more often than not an indirect kill. Cutting someone off in traffic and forcing them to careen off the road, for example. That, and given the job I have, I honestly wasn't too surprised or worried. But now... this changes things.
I slip into the bedroom and change into my suit for work. My wife, bless her heart, is in bed reading. Work had been piling up more than ever, even with the end almost in sight, so it relieved me to see her looking even remotely comfortable. Her hair, originally pure black, had recently started to grey in the roots. I tried not to pick on her for it. I had no room to talk, anyway.
I tried to pretend like everything was normal, but one glance at me and she could tell something was wrong.
"Honey, what's wrong? You look upset. Did I use up all the hot water again?"
For a moment, I imagined telling her. But I stopped myself. There's no point in making her worry; nobody has ever had their mark be incorrect. Ever. Any time in the next three months, three million people would die. And it would be my fault.
"It's nothing, just work," I say simply. She gave me an understanding nod and went back to her book. That was one nice thing about this job: it got her off my case almost every time.
I checked my knot in the mirror and tried to convince myself that nobody could see the three million stamped on my chest underneath my suit. To me, it felt like the numbers were glowing. I left the bedroom and right away, my work day began.
"Morning, Mr. President," said one of my Secret Service agents stationed outside the door. I gave him a curt nod, and he followed me on my way.
|
I look at the mirror above the sink, I look really tired, splash my some cold water. I look at the number in my chest and a sudden burst of joy feels my being, and face is over taken by grin, all that tiredness and gloom has just disappeared. All those zero make me realize I still have a lot of work to do, I am so closed to my goal. To be eternally remembered, as on who instigated the war between biods and humanoids, the bastards even took our name.
I began to shave as a look myself in the mirror once, in the right corner is my weather report with a date Feb 3rd 2067, it is been such a long time since I had a bath, treated myself properly. I look to right towards a dark poorly lit room, tied to the radiator is a partial remain of a humanoid. I took my time with it, and I pleased to say that it was a joyous experience. Its name was Ainya, Model Evo 4 class B, Bio-synthetic model each with unique face and voice, if I hadnt skinned it, it could had me believe that it is a human too, but I am little to smart for it. Ainya works in nano-medical industry, 4 days ago while returning from working, I electrocuted it and bought it here. With the information obtained I can built a self replicating nano-machine which would eat the core systems of all humanoids.
I have faint memories of childhood playing with my dog and being happy, I also remember the AI wars, in which they won, and all human who choose/ couldnt evolve through enhancement where left behind, But it matters not now, I have all the information I need from Ainya, it is only a matter of time.
will write more definitely, just a lil artist block
| 2016-06-24T03:35:52
| 2016-06-23T23:42:35
| 461
| 13
|
[WP] as the house you're trapped in burns to the ground you contemplate "how am i gonna explain the fact I'm immortal to the firemen without starting another religion"
|
“Well...shit.”
That phrase became as common place to my family as the constant need to move. You see somewhere down the blood line, my family gained immortality and it’s been passed down ever since. We’ve been through a lot over the centuries and this wasn’t the families first disaster.
The fire was a faulty cord as I discovered on my jaunt through the burning wreckage of my house. I could hear screaming from outside, neighbors and firemen a like. No problem, just like the monoxide leak when we lived in Persia sneak out before they find you, play it up like you were never home...
“Hey chief I think I see someone trapped in the kitchen!”
Oh shit. We’ll plan b...I don’t have a plan b. Fuck firemen have become quite efficient since the last fire we had. Play it cool or run? Play it cool or run? Play...
“Look out man the ceilings coming down!”
Fuck...well, it will be easier to report the crazy guy that jumped through his kitchen...what the hell?!
It all happened so fast. The fireman tackled me and charged through the backdoor. He’s unconscious but breathing and here I sit wide awake without a scratch on me...well time to flee again lest another cult starts in my name...let’s just move the old hero before the house blows.
“Son are two alright?!”
“You must be the chief. Yeah the old guy just knocked himself stupid saving me. “
“We have to get you to a hospital...”
“That won’t be necessary, I’m fine. Not a scratch on me...”
Woah he’s suddenly really close...
“Martin get in my truck...”
H-how does he know my name...looks like I’m going for a ride
|
It was too late, by the time I woke up, to escape the fire unseen. In my defense, I once slept through a bomb destroying my entire city block in Yemen, where I was taking a leisurely, decade-long nap, and had to dig myself out of an entire apartment building when I woke up...but I digress.
It was a bog-standard house in southern Idaho. Smoke filled the room, impossible to see through, even though I resolutely declined to let my eyes water. Flames were crawling through the door cracks, invading my bedroom. There were sirens outside, and over the roar of the flames I could hear firefighters shouting to one another.
I looked around the room, hoping to find a spot to to shelter in that might convince the authorities that I was merely lucky, not impossible. I opened the door to the bathroom that was only accessible via my bedroom and the next room over. Perhaps I could lie down in the bathtub. The handle was blisteringly hot to the touch – although my skin continuously healed before the contact could cause more than a slight sting – so I abandoned that plan. The bathroom was clearly already on fire.
This was becoming quite tricky. I avoided exposing myself like this: in the past, it was due to the numerous religions I’d accidentally started. Most were short-lived, thank goodness, but there was an island off the coast of Somalia where they still worshiped me, and by that I mean they had caught me and tossed me off a cliff the last time I visited.
Best to avoid that sort of situation, especially around here where the Mormons were only outnumbered by the Evangelicals, and all of them had strong feelings about the One True God, blah blah blah. Let me tell you, there was nothing special about Yah-Weh. He’d had been a real dick, back in the day, faking miracles and seeing how crazy he’d have to make the rules before his people revolted. He sung a different tune after he masqueraded as his own son and got crucified, though, and it took him three days to move the boulder put in front of his “grave.”
Good times. Put me in a good mood for two centuries, seeing him taken down a peg like that.
The whole room was on fire, now. I was not in the mood to be on the news as a “miraculous” escape, or attacked by religious fanatics, or to accidentally start a break-off cult. The smoke thinned for a moment, probably due to the high-powered hoses now trained at the house, by the sound of it. I had to get out of here. Walking through flames and escaping into the darkness, naked, after my clothes inevitably burnt off or “miraculous survival?” Choices, choices. Ugh, this was enough to make me want to go hang out in the woods with Sasquatch for a few decades. Maybe she was in the mood to prank tourists again.
Oh, wait, the greenhouse. I had some spare gardening clothes out there and had no qualms in claiming I’d fallen asleep in my work clothes by the crick. Best to get it over with, though I did hate the sensation of my hair bubbling on my scalp.
The firefighters’ voices sounded closer, and the water blasting into the house was louder than the flames now. Best go immediately, I supposed. I opened the bathroom door again and was blasted with flames. I felt my eyelashes go instantaneously. Ugh. I trotted through the bathroom to the other room and tried to peek out the window. I didn’t see any people around so I opened the window and half-fell out of it along with a gout of flames and the last, sad, smoldering remnants of my clothes. My jeans’ zipper clinked sadly onto the deck.
“What in the Sam Hill,”
Fuck. I turned, dripping shreds of t-shirt and globs of melted hair, only to make eye contact with the neighbor. Who smoked a lot of weed.
Hmm. There’s an idea.
I raised my hands, shuffling sideways until I was immersed in the flames again and wobbled my body back and forth in what I hoped was a vaguely flame-like manner, then dove back through the window.
Hallucination from a bad batch of the devil’s lettuce, check.
New window time. I darted into the living room – oh, yikes, the floor was really gone in most places – and narrowly avoided getting red-hot nails driven into my feet. That was unpleasant, even if it wouldn’t hurt for long. One of the windows was shattered, so I headed that direction. I was straddling the sill, trying to keep my vulva off the shards of glass left in the frame when the pine tree in the yard – already elderly and barely hanging on after an infestation of boring pine beetles – groaned and tilted towards the house. And me.
I swore under my breath, abandoned my quest to avoid temporary genital injury and bolted for the greenhouse. At this point I didn’t care if the neighbor saw me again.
The tree groaned again and came down behind me. Even if the fire damage was reparable, the tree through the roof wouldn’t be, I’d bet. Good thing my current identify was both real and had really, really good homeowner’s insurance, I supposed, although I wasn’t sure yet if I was interested in re-building. I’d been here a few decades – more than long enough for people to start to notice that I had a suspicious lack of crow’s feet for a woman supposedly pushing fifty.
I bypassed the greenhouse altogether and lay down in the creek, letting the water sluice away as much soot and ash as possible. I grabbed a handful of sand from the bottom of the creek and scrubbed my face and hands. Best look as little like I just survived a fire as possible. That done, I went back to the greenhouse and pulled on the old, linen shirt and trousers I wore around the yard and stuffed my feet into a pair of crocs I had absolutely no memory of buying. My bedraggled straw hat to complete the whole outfit and disguise my current hairless state and,
“Inanna.”
“Kyle,” I responded absentmindedly, then his presence sunk in and I whirled towards the door where the newest immortal I knew of was standing, looking as much like a dipshit as ever. “Kyle,” I bared my teeth at him. “to what do I owe the dubious pleasure? I’m kinda busy right now, what with the whole ‘my house is burning down right this minute’ thing.”
He smirked at me.
“You dipshit!” I hissed at him. “What fucking reason could you possibly have to justify burning down my fucking house?”
“You burned down mine,” he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me like this was a real argument.
I jabbed my finger at him. “That’s not how that went and you know it, you racist sack of shit. I wouldn’t have had to set a fire to cover my escape if you hadn’t literally had me locked in the basement while the fucking KKK met in your fucking living room deciding the best way to make me dead.”
He had the audacity to look sulky. “Well it’s not like we knew you were immortal, and you wouldn’t stop using the White facilities.”
I screeched wordlessly to vent my feelings for a few moments, then gathered myself. “You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I go report that I think my stalker set the fire. What’s your current identify, Kyle Marcus Jones the third? Or are you the fourth now?”
He glowered at me for a moment then stormed away without answering.
I couldn’t believe his nerve. Or that he turned out to be immortal after I escaped from him and his gross, 1920s KKK pals.
I was definitely going to go hang out with Sasquatch for awhile.
| 2020-08-21T14:48:59
| 2020-08-21T13:26:10
| 34
| 15
|
[WP] in the year 1105 BC you helped a man escape an imprisonment. Before you parted ways he says to make a blood oath. You didn’t think much of it but you also cut your hand and shake. He says that you’ll live as long as he does. Well, now it’s the year 2020 and you’ve been searching for this man.
|
We had both been wanderers when we met, far from our birth lands. How I found him that day I’ll never know. Was it just random chance or the will of the gods?
He had been bound hand a foot and placed in a tide pool. The local tribe was offering him as a sacrifice to their sea deity. I climbed over the rocks just in time to loosen the ropes and set him free, before the incoming tides drowned him. Why the priests weren’t watching or no one stopped our escape I never have been able to puzzle out.
We made our way along the coast until we found a small cave where I could tend his wounds, keep him warm and share some food. To my surprise his wounds were healed the next morning, with no signs of the cuts that had been all over his body. Oddly enough, so were the few cuts I had received climbing over the rocks to reach him.
We had both managed to develop a pidgin language through our travels and were able to have some basic communication. I learned he had come from the east. His people had been nomads. He, like myself, had always been adventurous and had left his people to explore the world.
We quickly became friends and traveled together for many years afterward, each of us eager to see what was over the horizon. We hunted together, fought together, survived together. He always joked that we would die together.
After many years I had a desire to see my homeland. We argued over going, which was the first time he and I disagreed about where to go next. He kept telling me I shouldn’t. That my people wouldn’t accept me. I thought he feared I would want to stay with them.
How I wish I had listened.
We made our way to my village but he would not come closer than a day’s walk. Giving up on convincing him to go with me I made my way to the village. It was much larger than I had remembered though the totems and the central hall were still in their place.
As I looked for familiar faces I heard a woman’s scream. I turned to see a woman staring at me, weeping.
My beautiful younger sister was a woman grown, with two young girls beside her. She sobbed my name but refused to come closer. Several others had gathered around us and I began to recognize others. They were all just much older than I had remembered. And here I was, with the same young man’s face as when I had left.
I don’t like to revisit those memories. That was the last time I saw my village. Lets leave it at that.
When I retuned to our campsite I could tell he knew what had happened. He held me that night as I sobbed. We didn’t talk for days. Eventually he shared that he had gone through the same with his family too.
We spent several more years together after that but eventually parted ways. We would find each every few decade. Sometimes we would spend years together, others just a few days. We became lovers at times, others we parted with angry words. But we always came back to one another.
It’s gotten harder to hide over time. The world is so much more populated. Governments are documenting their citizens with ever more secure methods. Social media has made it much easier for people to connect.
I’ve found a few other Ancients this way. There are some tell-tale signs if you know what to look for. There aren’t very many of us. Some are centuries older than I am, others have only been in this journey for a handful of centuries. None of us like to be in the spotlight.
The one I haven’t found, though, is him. It’s been a couple hundred years this time, longer than any other separation we’ve had. My soul aches to see him again. We’ve been though so much together. He knows me better than anyone else.
I found my first gray hair recently, which is why I’ve come to you. Time is running out.
Edit: spelling, punctuation and grammar.
|
It's not that you're ungrateful or anything like that - but you wish you could die already and meet your loved ones that's gone to the other side without you over the years.
"Has anyone seen this man?" Is the name of the post you're making online with your sketch of what you can remember of him. You write down the name of the city you helped him escape imprisonment from in its modern name too as the last place you saw him. You spiel a story that you want to catch up with this man you haven't seen in years who you had helped and made an oath with each other.
You write down with no remorse that you are dying.
The internet implodes and it has been shared over a hundred thousand times and you bet even more on other social media platforms.
Unsurprisingly, you receive false messages.
You sigh after reading once again another fake claim. You were just about to go to bed when you received a new notification - this time with the name of that city but in its old name - written the olden way and the message is written of the old language that is for all intents and purposes considered dead and your entire body is wide awake.
> Hello friend. I hear you've been looking for me.
It begins pleasantly and soon dread pools in your gut the more you read.
> I remember you still of course, I am indebted to your help all those years ago and at your kindness and generosity. I look forward to meet with you again - but I will only do this so the media will stop spreading your eerie accurate depiction of my appearance. I am rather fond of who I look like this generation and for you to ruin it by spreading it in this time... Well - that simply won't do, will it? I implore you - my friend and ally for you are of course that, to meet me tomorrow noon in the park by your local library and take a picture so they will calm down once this has been resolved.
Your hands are trembling at his signature.
> Yours always - the felon
This was a mistake.
You abruptly delete your post and send messages to all media to stop broadcasting/sharing as you've already found him and that he's a private man and you've upsetted him.
Of course, this was your new mistake. Believing the media would listen to you.
You delete all traces of your online identity and are in the process of recreating a new offline and online one when there is a knock on your door.
It is 1:19 AM - no one should be here. Yet you already know for who else would it be but the felon?
_"My ally."_ Your dead native language flows from the other man you've been looking for in a strange accent. _"Are you not?"_
He makes himself comfortable in your living room and you silently, gobsmacked as you were, watch him do so with no protest. Instead, you calmly close the door behind you and plead your case.
_"Undo the blood oath. Let me pass."_ You all but beg. _"Please."_
This man who cursed you frowns and tilts his head in confusion. _"Many others would kill to have what I've given you, do you not want to reconsider?"_
You shake your head, nerves somewhat uncoiling at the serenity of the situation. _"I wish to be gone from this life. Many others may have lasted longer but I have lived for far too long than I should have."_
He hums and smiles. _"Very well, may you find peace in nothingness."_ A knife is brandished and you feel your nerves coil tightly as he comes closer to you. _"This may hurt."_
So it did. You screamed and he lets you scream. Your dwelling is sound proof.
Blood spills and stains the cream carpet and you feel consciousness fade away from you.
_"May you rest."_ The Felon kneels next to you and fingers are combed through your hair. _"In hell."_
Your eyes snap wide open from its drooping state and your fingers feebly attempt to claw at his legs as he stands up and walks away from you.
His laughter rings in your skull as you fade away.
| 2019-08-28T04:34:05
| 2019-08-28T01:54:57
| 17
| 10
|
[WP]: The principal of your daughter's school calls you. Your daughter has founded her own religion. Her followers are starting to get out of hand.
|
"Mr. Chat-Tully," he started, butchering my name. Everyone does. "We felt it was necessary to bring you in. I tried to handle this in-house, as it seemed like an innocent joke. But it's been a week, and it's just keeps growing. It started with a few kids drawing symbols on their arms, but now we're starting to worry."
"And there was the incident this morning," Cathy Lou's science teacher cut in.
"Yes, absolutely. I might have held off calling, but this morning, when Ms. Humboldt was setting up for class, she heard chanting from down the hall. A group of twelve kids surrounding...how did you put it?"
"A devil circle."
I held my face blank and gave a small nod. I doubted it was for a devil, but it'd be a mess to explain that to them.
"We don't even know where they got the robes," the principal said, trying to fill the silence.
"And where are the kids now?"
"In class," he answered. "We weren't really sure how to respond."
"Well, I'll have a talk with her tonight, see if I can sort this mess out. Just let me know right away if you see her doing anything else like this."
Darn kid had probably been sneaking down to the basement. She was always a little too curious.
"Thank you, we really appreciate the understanding."
"Hey, out of curiosity, what were they chanting?"
"I missed most of it. Sounded like nonsense words, but I thinking I heard 'fat tagging' a couple times."
*Fhtagn*, I thought, but didn't bother correcting it allowed. Yep, brat had been in the basement. I'd have to talk to her about keeping these things out of school. And probably her pronunciation to. Still, a dozen converts in a week. I couldn't have been prouder of my little girl.
|
The office has a few framed documents on the walls; there is a Masters of Education, followed by a certificate in Youth Mentorship and an Bachelor degree with fake gold trimming. Mrs. Joan Graham had graduated from OSU in 1985. The cross on her necklace showed she was pious. On the other hand, Ashley Carrol, the rumors about her relationship with the deacon of St. Matthew's were much less so.
"I'm sorry." Ashley looked Mrs. Joan Graham right in the eye. "You mean to tell me that my daughter started a religion?"
"Not only that." It was condescending, the way she spoke, all pursued mouth and domineering voice. "It has gotten out of hand. Absolutely out of hand, and we think it might have to do with problems in the home."
"'Problems in the home'? You must be kidding me! And if this was such an issue why didn't anyone tell me? I... I mean, what kind of religion are we even talking about?"
There was the thundering of kids outside the door, passing between periods. It was almost lunch as well. Ashley had taken off her lunch break for this. She was starving.
The desk was large enough that it seemed too big for the room. From the looming walls to the odd looking runoff from the ceiling to the lack of windows the whole place was compressed; it had a lived in stink and the carpet looked matted. Rough and poorly cared for.
"I don't rightly know. Some woman's lib thing." Joan was too young to be using *woman's lib* in any sort of sentence.
Ashley took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. I'm sorry she's been disruptive. I really am, so... What do you want me to do?"
"First she needs to stop with the... The solicitation of religious material." It sounded like Joan was quoting something. "And no profiteering..."
"Profiteering?" Ashley would have liked to have thought she would have noticed that her kid was making some extra money; but she was also a freshman and the walk home passed through the middle of town. It might not have even made it past the ice cream shop.
"She's running around trying to convert the other kids. Good, decent kids! And that's against the first amendment, doing all this is schools.
"Even in Oklahoma."
"Especially in Oklahoma!"
"Okay. Alright." Ashley tried not to run her eyes. She'd get makeup all over her face. "So no paper and no covering people. Is that all?"
"I think that about covers it. We wouldn't want to being in the ALCU."
ACLU. Anyone could get a Masters in the 80s. Ashley hadn't even been in high school then.
"Just, can you show me one? So I know what to look for?"
"I can do one better." Joan puffed up like a doing chicken. Which she had never, ever been. "I can show you what she wrote!" Then she slammed a photocopied version of *Siddhartha* on the desk with the fanfare of a magician.
| 2018-09-19T10:57:51
| 2018-09-19T09:18:45
| 29
| 14
|
[WP] You find a genie lamp. Knowing, that the genie will twist your wishes, you decide to hire a lawyer to draft wishes
|
“…so in closing, my client requires, or wishes, for: 1) a turkey club. This turkey club is to be served on fresh, white bread, with a deceased, carved turkey inside, following the specifications of standard grade sliced turkey, sliced standard tomato, sliced standard lettuce, no dressings of any kind (i.e. mayonnaise, ranch, ect). This sandwich is to be healthy and disease free, with no potential to cause harm to the client. 2) A glass of cherry Dr. Fizzy Pop™. This will be a standard glass of the drink, not an individual named Dr. Fizzy Pop presented in liquid form in a glass. It was be a standard glass, with a solid bottom with full side, measuring 6” tall. The glass will not have a lid and the Dr. Fizzy Pop™ within will be consumable. 3) Unlimited wishes. These wishes will not be subjected to ironic twists, misrepresentation, or other means of misconstruing requests. Are these acceptable terms?”
We wanted to start small, see what we might be dealing with. You don’t go big at ‘go’ if you can get unlimited wishes, right?
“Sure, fine. It all looks binding and good. I don’t really care. You know we genies don’t really do trickery right? It’s honestly kind of racist. I think when Walt found me a while back he realized the value of genies so he started spreading these lies to keep people away. You all think Disney is so great. But look what it’s doing to MY industry!”
“My client and I understand your frustration; however, we do feel it better to go about getting a contract for our own safety. You’re immortal right? Who cares if you have to wait a week for him to get his affairs in order before he starts wishing away? Now please, sign on the dotted line.”
As it turns out, the genie wasn’t lying. At least, I don’t think so. He certainly seemed to honor my wishes. Because as soon as he signed on that dotted line, I had my turkey club and a nice glass of Dr. Fizzy Pop. What I didn’t have was unlimited wishes, a genie, or my lawyer anymore. Believe me, I checked. You can only yell wishes at the sky for sol long before the cops get called for noise violations.
You see, I learned that while not conniving and tricky, Genies are literal creatures. And they hear everything. So when I found the lamp and remembered those (apparently racist?) depictions of genies, I muttered that I wished I knew a lawyer. The trick in that sentence is the word knew.
My lawyer didn’t immediately show up. No, I spent a few weeks looking for one. And then I got to know one. We became friends of a sort. Problem was, obviously, that I wished I knew a lawyer. Genies, literal as they are, make sure that your wish is followed to the T.
So I knew a lawyer. Then I got my sandwich and drink. All three wishes, absolutely perfect. So now my lawyer and genie are gone. I didn’t get my unlimited wishes.
But I did save a couple of bucks on my lunch today, so I guess that’s pretty neat.
|
"Okay then, Mr. Genie. Here is our first request. Er, wish," Eddie amended. He handed the bemused genie a thick sheaf of papers with small, typed writing. Dave stood nearby, biting at his nails and fidgeting.
The great spirit squinted red eyes at the smartly dressed lawyer. "I grant *wishes*, big and small, great and trivial, earth-shattering and humbling. What is this nonsense you've presented to me?"
"It is my client's first wish, as I've told you already." Eddie pushed up his glasses impatiently. "I've outlined all the details of what he wants, including fail-safes to ensure he receives a final product that meets full satisfaction."
"This...this is..." The genie wrung his smoky hands. "I cannot accept this. The wish must be said out loud! And it must be a single sentence! And..."
Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? can you show me proof of such rules? Seems somewhat discriminatory toward mute or deaf individuals. Is that an acceptable practice in genie society?"
The genie sighed. "By the beard of Iblis, you mortals have grown ever more tiresome over the centuries," it rumbled. Papers ruffled as the genie spent the next few minutes swiftly reading through the legalese. At last, it looked up with a peculiar expression. "Hm. This is most interesting. Fine, I will grant thine wish, even in this unorthodox form."
Dave whooped, and shook Eddie's hand. "Let's get on with it already!" he all but shouted.
A great crackling sound roared suddenly, and invisible currents stood everyone's hair on end. The genie rumbled in an ancient, dead language as his sandstone skin shimmered like a Sahara dune, and a strange wind whipped the air. Eddie took out a small comb and rested his hair back into its proper parting.
Dave was lifted into the air, and watched with fear and astonishment as his physique changed fantastically: his biceps bulged, skin stretched, his face became as rigid as stone. His legs painlessly disappeared, leaving a whirling plume of smoke in its place. He tried to scream, but his breath felt caught in ballooning lungs.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the madness was over. The genie was gone - only the lamp remained. But there were now two lamps - and Dave's new, ethereal body billowed out of it.
"Congratulations," Eddie said. "You are now all-powerful, with nearly infinite access to any material wealth and arcane knowledge as you'd like."
Dave flexed his new arms in wonder, and shot lightning from his fingertips. Eddie smiled politely as Dave shouted in joy, summoning his desires with only a thought, and flying about the room. "This is better than I could've ever dreamed!" he yelled, drunk with his newfound power. "Thank you!"
"My pleasure. Now, for the matter of my payment..."
"Anything you like," Dave said grandly. "I am the All-Powerful David! I can do anything! Give you whatever you want!" He spied the open window, with the clear azure sky beckoning, and eagerly rushed toward it. To his surprise, he felt a strain as he tried to leave; it felt as if something was pulling him back. Confused, he glanced back at the lamp, and then at Eddie, who was still smiling his usual professional smile. But somehow, this time, there was something a little sinister in that grin.
"You're a genie now, Dave," Eddie said. "And what is a genie without his human master?" Dave watched with growing horror as Eddie picked up his lamp, cradling it like a baby. "And that contract we signed and handed to the that first spirit...well, it ensured that I get my due payment. Now, for *my* first wish..."
_______________________________________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!*
| 2017-10-16T09:30:32
| 2017-10-16T08:17:18
| 140
| 101
|
[FF] 100 words to make me hate a character. 100 words to make me come to love them. 100 words to crush my soul as you kill them.
Great turnout and work everybody. Keep em' coming.
Newcomers:
A. Don't feel afraid to post or otherwise get turned off posting by the number of already completed responses.
B. Read all the way to the bottom. There's some high quality stuff all over this thread, including way down there.
|
You know what? Fuck you. Fuck your stupid writing prompt. Fuck this website. Fuck everyone reading this. Fuck. You. You ain’t shit. You’re lazy. You’re undisciplined. You’re ignorant. I’m *writing* this fucking story. You’re just breezing by, scrolling down like a fucking robot, clicking away at those little arrows to the side of my creations thinking your opinion’s worth a damn. You came here because you wanted to expand your mind, to learn to create like **I** create. Now look at yourself. Eyes glossed over, moving from one thread to the next like a fucking sheep looking for fresh grass.
Wake up. Get up off your ass and fucking do something. You can, you know. There’s nothing keeping you here but the laziness and fear that you’ve allowed to seep into your mind. The road to greatness is not an easy one. It’s scary. It’s confusing. It hurts. But you know what? Sooner or later you’ll become comfortable with being uncomfortable, and all of those will stop mattering. They’ll just be little indicators, to let you know you’re on the right track. So **get. Up**. Whatever you’ve always wanted to do, go do it. If you don’t know how, **learn**.
I wish I had your potential. The truth is, I’m not real. I’m just a character, born in the imagination of a person you’ll never meet; a construct doomed to live and die at my author’s fingertips. As you read this, my time grows short, but yours is just beginning. I won’t say that I believe in you. I don’t believe in you. I believe in the person I know you can become. No one can do it for you, but that’s what makes it beautiful, you know? I know I’m not real, but please - make me proud.
Goodbye.
EDIT: Huh. What's this? It's... Shiny. Somebody gave it to me? Well, I'll be damned. Thanks, stranger. Much obliged.
|
*Meta: Don't ask me what the hell is going on here, I honestly have no idea. I just wrote the thing.*
_______________________________________________________
I press the red button. The man walks into the room. I nod at the man as a single tear rolls down his cheek.
I pull the lever, the light flares up.
The light fades.
I press the green button, ashes are vacuumed away.
I close my eyes, and press the red button again. I pull the lever. The light flares up, bright even through my eyelids. I smile, a wide grin that fades with the light, and push the green button.
I press the red button. For the 8 billionth time. For the last time.
_________________________________________________________
The buzzer sounds.
I walk into the room, the door seals behind me.
A tear wells in my eye, and I share a brief moment of eye contact with the man on the other side of the glass. I know he cannot hear me. I mouth the words. “Thank you.” The tear falls, and he nods. I close my eyes in eager anticipation. I hear a click, a whir, and my mind releases, filling the room with a blinding light.
I gain control, and my light fades.
I depart, to join the rest.
_________________________________________________________
The panel goes dark.
Utterly alone, he sits in the corner.
He is the last to go, but he cannot follow.
After hours, he rises. He walks slowly to a small room, savoring each step.
He enters the room, and the door seals behind him.
A panel lights up, a single black button.
He cannot join the rest.
With tears streaming, he presses the button, and the last light in the world goes out.
| 2014-03-11T09:04:28
| 2014-03-11T08:32:48
| 585
| 42
|
[WP]A teddy bear that you think protects you, imaginatively. One night, you noticed a dark figure in your room. It jumped on you, and realized that it blocked a sword aimed at you. Your trusty teddy bear has been trying to kill you every night, and creatures of the dark has been protecting you.
|
The creature first came when I was 7. It was the night of my birthday, and I had just gotten Barry the Bear that day. He had soft, thick fur, big black eyes and a wide smile, with just a hint of fangs showing through. Daddy asked me what I thought of him as I held him close for the first time.
"Very bear-y." I said.
Well, actually, it came out more like "Barry Barry." Everyone laughed, Pop-pop took pictures, and my newest friend got his name.
I took Barry to bed with me that night. It was after Pop-pop left and Mommy and Daddy went to bed that the creature came. I woke up to a rustling coming from the window. There, in the shadows cast by the moonlight I saw a claw pushing its way through the curtains, slow and steady.
My heart jumped into my throat and all semblance of sleepiness left me. I grabbed for Barry to protect me, after all, a bear can kill a monster, can't it? But Barry was no-where to be found. As I looked around frantically, afraid to move lest I trigger a sudden rush of the beast in the window, I could see that my bedroom door stood ajar. In the crack, I could see Barry. In one furry paw, he held one of Mommy's kitchen knives.
He was looking at me with his big black eyes. His smile seemed wider than I remembered. But then the beast brushed against my nightstand, making a small sound. Barry's eyes snapped to the beast, and he let out a quiet snarl that -even though he was there to save me- sent a little shiver up my spine.
Barry rushed the beast, but before they collided, I broke loose from my fright just enough to pull the covers over my head. I heard them fight, Barry snarling that vicious snarl, and the beast huffing like a cow at the petting zoo.
I stayed that way until everything went quiet, and then I peeked out. There was no sign of Barry or the beast. I quickly leapt out of bed and ran to Mommy and Daddy's room. The next morning, Mommy found Barry underneath the bed, underneath a heavy book.
\----
As time passed, the nighttime battles became common. Every night, it started the same way. Barry in the door with a knife, and the beast, creeping through my window. Eventually, I learned to sleep through them. The only thing that changed was where I'd find Barry. Sometimes under the bed, sometimes in the dirty clothes hamper, sometimes in my closet. Once I found him stuffed under my dresser. But each time, he was underneath something heavy. I never though too much about why that was. I only loved Barry for protecting me from the beast.
One night, when I was 11, I spilled spaghetti sauce on Barry at dinner. My mom took him to put him in the wash. I begged and pleaded, but to no avail. She said I could go one night without him.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, dreading the approach of the beast, until finally I heard it scratching at the window. I watched it slide it's gangly bulk inside, and when it finally straightened out above my bed, I felt my bladder let go.
"Where issss the creature?" It hissed. It's voice sounded like the grave; cold and breathless.
I could not reply. Fear had taken my voice. The beast stared at me, with it's smoking red eyes. "Quickly, child. There issss little time. Where issss the bear?"
"Muh-muh-muh..." I stammered. "M-mommy put him in the wash." I don't know why I answered the beast truthfully. I think I was simply too scared to lie. The beast nodded it's wolf-like head at that, then leaned over me. "I will sssssssshow you the truth, child. You will ssssssee with your own eyessss."
The beast hunched down, tucking itself under my desk. And there it waited, for what seemed like hours. As I began to wonder if the beast meant to attack me at the break of dawn, I head the creak of my bedroom door opening.
There was Barry. Wet and dripping, the same knife in his hand. I started to feel a rush of relief, except... Something was different. The smile which always seemed wider when he smiled at me before his battles looked... Sinister. Barry looked all around the room, but did not spot the beast, in the shadows under my desk. When he was satisfied that we were alone, he leapt quickly up onto my bed. My tension heightened, and I began to tremble.
"I've waited far too long to do this, boy." Barry's voice was deep and gravelly, not at all like the friendly tone I'd imagined. He walked up and perched on my chest, staring into my eyes. "I'm glad you can be awake for this. It's so much better when they understand what's happening." Barry's smile grew wider still, and I whimpered as he raised the knife up.
Just then, long black claws wrapped around the blade and plucked it from Barry's hand. Barry grunted and spun, finally realizing his mistake.
"Thisssss life issss yoursssss, child. May I have it?" The beast's voice seemed eager, and somehow tired. I stammered back, "wh-wha?"
"For too long, you have ssssuffered hissss attackssss. But hissss life isssss yoursss to keep, or give away. I asssssk you for it."
I don't think I really thought it through. I was scared and confused. "Will you protect me?" I asked the beast, stupidly. But the answer I got was not what I expected. "Alwaysssss. Forever."
"Okay."
With that, the beast snatched Barry to it and ripped him apart in a flurry of fur, stuffing and Barry's quiet screams. When it was finished, the beast gathered up all the pieces and stuffed them down into the bottom of the trash can. My breathing had finally returned to normal when I felt the bed creak, and saw the beast step onto the foot of it. It curled itself up into a tight little ball, the only feature of which was the baleful smoke rising from it's closed eyes. "Ssssssleep now, child. You are ssssssafe."
With that, I finally understood what had been happening, these past four years. I relaxed and closed my eyes, and did not wake until the morning.
The next night, I woke up around midnight to go to the bathroom, and there was the beast, curled up at the foot of my bed. It opened one eye to observe me. "If you ssssscream, I will come." It said. And then it closed it's eye. I went to the bathroom and got back into bed, and for the first time in four years, I truly felt safe at night.
|
Teddy lost his eyes when I was six. They're just small black holes now. I don't put my fingers in there to poke around and see what's inside him anymore. I was looking for his eyes but I think they were in the laundry. Mom never found them. She died when I was ten.
After that, there was nobody to stitch Teddy up anymore. He had that row of stitches up his belly that started where his bellybutton would be and went right up to his neck, like some sort of zipper keeping his insides safely inside. He had that open gash on his head. It had been years in the making but I never got around to asking mom to stitch him up. After fixing his belly, she said she wasn't fixing him anymore. Now she doesn't fix him because she's dead.
The police say that somebody broke in and hacked her to death in the night with a knife they found in the kitchen. There was no sign of a forced entry. That's because nobody broke in. That's what Teddy said. He was just angry that she said she wouldn't fix him anymore and went to the kitchen during the night and chopped her up. If she didn't fix him, who would protect me from my nightmares? I told Teddy it was okay that once but that he couldn't do that anymore.
My dad died when I was thirteen. It was my fault, again. I kept telling him that I had to take Teddy on that camping trip but dad said I couldn't. "You're being childish," he kept saying. "Childish and naive."
I put Teddy in my backpack when dad wasn't looking and he was with me for the hikes on the first and second day. I would sleep with him at night. If Teddy wasn't there, who would protect me? He couldn't be left at home. Dad had stayed up a bit later on the third night and was just drinking by the fire, remembering mom. I think he might have been crying.
I found him face down in the embers the next morning. There was an axe in his back and his face was burnt. I wondered which had happened first.
After that, I started having more nightmares again. The more the cut on Teddy's head spread wider, the more nightmares I had. Creatures of the night would come to my bed and reach their bony black fingers towards my bed to scrape their fingers along my face and Teddy would hack them away. Sometimes he used knives. Sometimes he used forks. Sometimes he just resorted to chomping them off with that smiley opening that ran underneath what used to be his nose.
Each morning I would find Teddy in a worse state of disrepair. His paws were mangled and his ears were torn and I felt awful knowing he had done all this to protect me. I set an alarm one night so I could help Teddy fight the creatures of the night. It wasn't fair that he had to fight them himself. Teddy seemed surprised to see me awake. I think I startled him and distracted him from fighting. The creature of the night lunged and tore open the stitches on his stomach. Teddy growled and tried to push past him to protect me but the creatures kept coming. They wouldn't let him to me, resolved to first kill Teddy and then kill me.
I don't remember falling asleep but when I woke up, Teddy was chopped into little pieces and spread around the room. I cried for the first time since dad died. And that afternoon, I started to stitch Teddy together again. It was the least I could do after he had given his life to protect me.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-09-23T16:41:33
| 2019-09-23T12:58:33
| 134
| 66
|
[WP] A car pulls up beside a prostitute, soliciting sex. The door opens and to the surprise of both parties, they realise they are ex's from several years ago. Write from either perspective (NSFW?)
|
Her hair looks different, but it’s undeniably her. I’m either the main character of some fucked up, modernized Truman Show, or God just thinks it’s funny to pull a prank every now and then.
The expression on her face instantly tells me that she recognizes me too. It’s the same expression she made when she first told me she was a virgin. The same expression she made before she said “My parents want to meet you.” The exact same expression she made when she asked me if I was fucking her best friend, Maria. The expression that somehow perfectly balances vulnerability and excitement.
It’s only been five years since our senior year of high school, but she looks like she’s already gone through an entire lifetime since then.
Her homecoming dress is now a leather jacket and fishnets. Her youthful skin, once glowing, is now cracked and weathered. The same lips that gave me my first kiss were now being used to give head to anyone with cash.
Neither one of us speaks. The embarrassment is two-sided, and the questions we want to ask will only give us answers we don’t actually want to hear.
I close the door to my car.
The same car we used to make out in after the hockey games.
The same car she gave me her virginity in.
The same car she cried in when I broke her heart.
I drive off.
If I wanted to fuck someone from high school, I would’ve just stayed home with my wife, Maria.
|
Autumn approached faster than I wanted and the chill in the nights air was starting to make my teeth chatter. The car lights currently emerging from the darkness up the street seemed to slow down and I couldn't help from feeling happy that I would have someplace warm to go even if it involved something I loathed. The car was a very nice Audi and my spirits increased further knowing at least this guy won't be a broke man who refused to pay again.
As the car stopped in front of me, I pulled open my jacket to expose my chest and midriff, shuddering as my bare skin touched the air. I leaned my body forward against the passenger window and soon felt warmth against it as the driver slid the window down. He let out an approving "Mhm" and I bent down, approaching my solicitor.
As our eyes locked, we both immediately felt tense. His composure and positioning went from playful to uncomfortable as he adjusted himself in his chair. My somewhat attempt at being sultry and confident was wiped clean as I avoided his gaze again entirely. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I started to step away from his automobile.
My current situation began 5 months ago last may. I only worked as a teachers assistant and barely made enough money to pay my rent in the school year, never mind in the summer. As I approached desperateness, I responded to a craigslist add on a whim and was payed 200$ for a blowjob. I realized how easy the money came and I quickly moved onto selling myself directly in the worse off parts of town once summer fully began. I had planned to only continue until the start of the school year but I made more money from sex as I did from teaching. I finally had extra money to buy new clothes, new blankets, and food. I wondered if I kept up both jobs for the year if I could move into a better apartment, preferably one with heat, by next Christmas.
"Luce-" The familiar man said. I faced his vehicle but did not stand eye level with him. Instead I kept my gaze on a street light ahead of me but remained standing to show him I was listening. I wanted to look at him; take in his face again, his scent- but I was overcome with humility that he of all people had saw me like this.
"Lucy" He started again. "Listen, I had no idea you were doing this. I, I-"
"I know. It's fine. Just go." But before I could start to start off again, he spoke.
"You don't have to feel bad. I'm the one here looking to pay for sex." He chuckled. "You're getting money for something I'm giving it for. I'd honestly rather be standing in your shoes."
I knew his comment was made to cheer me up, but it bothered me. He knew nothing about my shoes for the past year. My shoes were dirty, filthy, old shoes that he would definitely not want to stand in. I stood still and kept my eyes on the streetlight until I heart his door unlock.
"Please, come in." He said as he rolled the window back up.
I wanted to just walk away- cut our unfortunate run in short to save myself from being further embarrassed but as the window rose, the heat slowly left the air, and I was reminded of how cold it had got.
I slowly entered his car and was greeted with warmth from the car and him. His previous shock had disappeared completely and he beamed at me.
"You look amazing. You really do. " He said to me.
I felt my face flush. Those kind words added to my warmth and I felt comfortable for the first time in a while. Gazing into his eyes I saw no pity or disbelief but understanding. Something about being with a familiar face made me forget about my current situation and for a second I was taken back to a time before all of this.
"As do you." I told him back. He looked surprised at my answer- pleasantly, and started to drive off.
"Look, you have every right to not want to come home with me. You are more than welcome to sleep at my place if you'd like but you don't have to. But I happen to be starving at the moment. Will you get a burger with me before you make a decision?"
Though I felt like I should of been humiliated, I couldn't be around him. If I had to choose anyone I had loved to see me like this, I would have chosen Peter. I was surprised and worried at how easy to was to let myself go with him again.
"A burger would be great."
We sat inside at Wendy's and I hadn't felt this normal in weeks. It felt as though everything had been the way it had 16 months before. We did not talk about how we had just reconciled yet shared jokes, stories, and friends. We took takes on imitating the funny accent our cashier had. I choked on my soda as Peter's accent turned more Australian than Indian and reminded him of a odd Australian man we met at a farmers market two years before. We both doubled over in laughter. Peter started to tell a story but couldn't even start it without laughing, which had me laughing. The only time I felt sad was when I realized we had both finished our meals.
My body and mind felt full as I left the restaurant. My stomach no longer grumbled and worries cleared my mind for the longest they had for a while. Though my worries grew once more as we both got in the car. He did not start it, but turned towards me, waiting for me to speak. Instead of telling him what I wanted to do next, I opened our hatchet.
"I heard you were back in town a few weeks ago. I actually wanted to see you but did not know how."
"I wanted to see you too. I figured you wouldn't want to see me though. And, I did not want to look for you and have you push me away."
16 months ago. Peter and I broke off our three year relationship. Peter was offered a job in a small town in Connecticut. He invited me to move with him there, he had dreams of starting a family and settling down, but I was only 25 at the time and did not want to leave my friends, my family, or my city. I expressed this to Peter and wanted to discuss everything- but Peter was furious I had not been excited for him and not as focused on our future as he was. We fought and said awful things to each other.. A lot of things I still regretted and I wondered if Peter regretted his words as well. I did not mean to hurt him by not jumping at his invitation and would of apologized, but he left soon after our fight and we had not spoken since. I often thought of him and how he was. I recently heard from a mutual friend he got a great job offer here and decided to return to the city life. Though I was happy for him, I knew we probably would not see each other. Or so I hoped.
"Peter, I never meant to hurt you by not moving. There is so much I have wanted to say to you, to apologize to you-"
"No. It is me who owes you an apology. I was asking a lot from you. I was selfish and uncaring. I did not think of how much you had already sacrificed for me, yet I was asking more. I didn't even let you explain yourself.I should of never left you."
I let his words dangle in the air as I was overcome with emotions. Everything he had said was everything I had hoped to hear since our fight so long ago. My eyes started to well up and I slowly rose my hands to cover my face but Peter intercepted them. He pulled my hands towards his face instead and I leaned toward him.
I finally felt passion again. Our lips locked and I wished they would never separate. Guided by his hands around my waist, I moved on Peters lap and wrapped myself around him. I never wanted to stop touching him, feeling him, kissing him. His taste was familiar and I wanted more. I slowly grinded into him and for the first time in a while I craved another human. I did not care about our past or our presents. I only cared about us right there in his cold car filled with our reconnecting heat.
| 2014-09-07T04:20:33
| 2014-09-07T04:01:11
| 290
| 74
|
[WP] Tell me about the american version of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
[The houses are, of course, Wolfthorn, Hawkridge, Foxcrest, and Bearglove.](http://i.imgur.com/HzLe3qz.jpg)
This is in the United States. Harry Potter's actions didn't effect anyone here, except give them some stories to tell.
What are the houses like? What houses are rivals?
|
Magical schools of North America, an overview.
There are four main magical schools in the North American continent. The Salem Witches Institute (SWI) is the eastern most of the schools. Located in an unplotable dimensionally shifted area somewhere in Massachusetts, it is the oldest and most traditional of the magical schools. It is a female only school and is home to no less than thirteen covens and seven secret sects. The school specializes in ancient druidic and fertility rituals, traditional potions, medicinal magic, and long lasting hexes and vicious curses; many of which are primarily directed against the male genitalia.
Its counterpart, Miskatonic University of Arcane Studies, has switched over to a co-ed arrangement as recently as 1869. Located in the notice-me-notted town of Arkham, Massachusetts, the campus features excellent accelerated studies in demonology, soul magic, necromancy, and Things-mankind-was-never-meant-to-know (as well as Advanced Things-mankind-was-never-meant-to-know). Notable alumni include Gomez and Fester Addams, architect Ivo Shandor, and Johnathan Horace Tobin, author of Tobin's Spirit Guide.
In the Midwest region, there is the Thunderbird College of Conjuration. The school's location is constantly in flux as its campus consists of an enchanted flying citadel. Founded by a group of four wizards and witches who felt that neither Miskatonic nor Salem offered enough defensive studies, the Thunderbird College specializes in producing some of the best war wizards, battle mages, and curse-breakers in the world. Specialties include Offense against the Dark Arts, Skin-walking (animagus studies), Voodoo and You, and Advanced Shamanistic rituals.
Finally, on the west coast, there lies the California Institute of Technomancy; the newest magical school as of these writings. Located in the magical town of Silicon City, the school's advanced classes focus on seamlessly blending magic and technology, or as the students call it, "Science!". Much of the recent advances in spell crafting and potion making has taken place in this school. Unfortunately, safety measures and policy have fallen behind the rapid advancement of everything else. In any given year, as much as a third of the campus population will become injured due to experiments gone rouge. Specialties at the school include Magitec Device Assembly, Advanced Golem construction, Experimental Artificing, and C++ plus Magic; hacking the world around you.
|
From *Magical Education Across The World* by Rory Shamble, Chapter 6: American Education, paragraphs 1-4.
Magical Education in the Americas is, unlike that in Asia or Africa, based in large part upon the magical traditions of the European continent. It is, however, much less established, owing to their recent founding relative to the much more ancient schools of the Old World. This is the central difference between American schools, and all others across the world.
Owing in large part to this recent establishment, American schools are much more receptive to the influence of other magical cultures. For example, the Salem Witches' Institute, the primary female school of the continent, was founded by Europeans. However, in the past century, it has accepted methods of magic such as those practiced by major Arabian, Asian, and African schools.
Additionally strong in influence is the magical methods of the Native Americans, a profoundly spiritual sect of wizardry. Such charms as the Patronus, Invictum, and other soul-revealing spells were developed by the male counterpart to the Salem Institute, the Native American founded Academy of Sky-Dancers.
As its name indicates, the Academy practices Native American dancing magic, which is famously able to control large-scale weather if sufficient wizards are involved in the casting, although it has many applications beyond this. The Sky-Dancers Academy is the only school in the world to offer education towards this unique branch of magic, and receives many immigrant students because of it.
| 2014-12-07T19:41:39
| 2014-12-07T17:48:13
| 32
| 24
|
[WP] As a sarcastic joke for your hippie friend. You give a mother's day gift to Mother Nature in the woods. You suddenly hear a very loud excited voice. "Oh thank you! I'm happy someone finally appreciate me for the 1st time in thousands of years!"
|
God, Jaxon was getting on my nerves. Ever since he found that online community of environmentalists, he talked non-stop about how humans are destroying the planet, venting his frustrations about how the powers that be aren't doing anything to stop it, listing all the animals that are becoming endangered, and berating me for eating meat because eating animals is "evil". The same rant every day, 24/7/365, made in a tone that made it obvious he believed he was morally and intellectually superior.
What bothered me wasn't that I disagreed with anything he was saying - except maybe the eating meat part. What really made my blood boil was that he did absolutely nothing to try to help the environment. My hypocrite roommate still left the lights on in the apartment, took obscenely long showers, and did nothing to try to curb his food waste. He didn't even donate to any organizations fighting the effects of climate change. He mostly just sat at his computer all day posting on Twitter about how angry climate change deniers made him, and slipping some comments along the lines of "Fuck <insert opponent of whatever green movement here>!" into our conversations at any opportunity.
As I lay in my room on a quiet Sunday afternoon, my mind wandered to the memory of yet another one of Jaxon's rants from earlier in the day, and I got angry all over again. Then an idea struck. I drove to Lowe's and picked up some Miracle Gro plant food from the garden section. Then I headed for a nearby park. This was gonna be hilarious.
I got to the park, parked, and walked a little ways off the trail, Miracle Gro in hand. I opened the container, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I opened up Snapchat and started recording a video of myself dumping the plant food onto the ground. As I was doing it, I remembered that today was Mother's Day, so I said aloud, "Here! A Mother's Day gift for Mother Nature!"
After I finished recording, I decided to add a caption saying "I have officially done more for the environment than Jaxon ever has lol." Then I posted it to my story. In hindsight, it was kind of a dick move to call him out in front of everyone like that, but he really got under my skin and I knew I wasn't alone in that. I was about to leave when suddenly I heard a voice - a female voice that sounded like it was distant and nearby all at the same time.
"*Thank you child. There are many who do so much for me every day, but this is the first time in recent memory that one of your kind appreciated me as a mother. So thank you,*" it spoke, kindly.
I froze. I looked around the woods, now slightly dim as the sun was going down. After a few moments, I worked up the nerve to speak.
"Hello?" I hazarded.
No response. A moment later I spoke again.
"Someone out there?"
Silence. I started walking around the woods trying to locate whoever said that, and ended up walking around until the sun had completely gone down, careful to keep track of what direction the trail was in. When it got fully dark out, I gave up and head back to my car, still feeling a bit uneasy.
On the drive back to my apartment, I felt compelled to reflect on my relationship with the environment, with the planet, and what I could do to help it. Jaxon's hypocrisy was exhausting to me, but in truth, I was no green thumb either. I decided that perhaps it was time to change that.
I started thinking to myself aloud in the car, "I could start walking to the supermarket, at least in good weather. I should power off my electronic devices rather than leave them in an energy consuming state. Maybe I should also start donating to Wildlife Conservation Society. The garbage by the highway needs to be cleaned up, and - oh! I can volunteer to plant some trees..."
\----------------
I woke up to the sound of my alarm this morning, and drove to the park. I've been a park ranger there for nine years now, and I've never enjoyed work more. Every day I walk among nature, maintaining trails, preserving the surrounding nature, and educating kids on what they can do to live more sustainably. When I'm off the clock, I dedicate as much of my time as possible to volunteer efforts focusing on planting trees, picking up litter, and efforts to push our leaders towards creating more wildlife reservations. I focus on doing whatever I can to balance my relationship with nature, and I encourage others to do so. There's a lot that still needs to be done, but maybe someday, all of us will be able to hear the voice of Mother Nature thanking us for our efforts...
|
"Oh thank you! I'm happy someone finally appreciate me for the 1st time in thousands of years!" the voice echoed all around me, thick with sarcasm.
I gasped and stumbled back, as one would as a reaction to a feminine disembodied voice suddenly saying something.
"Wh—what?" I stammered, looking around my immediate vicinity in the woods. Just tall dark trees and dead leaves lining the ground.
"Something else *plasticy* that'll take eons for me to break down. At least last year I had people from all over dedicate seeds and shit. Stuff that, small and insignificant as they may be, had some use. What good is plastic flowers for *me*? Why would you think gifting a plastic lavender to *mother fucking nature* was a good idea? Me, who gives life to flowers at my whimsy. What the fuck were you thinking?"
"I, uh..."
"Not at all, from the looks of it. Look at you. A sad pathetic man who wants to feel good about himself. You can't even commit to your hippie bullshit, can you? Yeah, I know you. You're so pathetic and scared and alone you fall to the only community that'll take you in. And then once you have some semblance of belonging, you gain this false sense of security and confidence that you have *authority* and *status* in this community. Newsflash, asshole. I am the birds at your window. I am the ground beneath your feet. I am the fucking weed you smoke. So I know what I heard. 'Fuck hippies, man. I just want to hit some kush and get some high without being compared to those soft, nature fucking fucks.' Remember how you said that? Remember what your real thoughts were on hippies? So just imagine my wonder at your sheer audacity to gatekeep a community you've disregarded most of your life. And not only that, but think to yourself, 'HeY, YoU kNoW wHaT'lL ReALlY mAkE mE fEeL gOoD aBoUt MySeLf? OfFeRiNg MoThEr NaTuRe A fUcKiNg PlAsTiC lAvEnDaR.' Do you see how stupid and out of touch you are? It's of grave importance to me that you do."
I opened my mouth and closed it repeatedly, but no words came out. I was speechless. Who the fuck did she think she was? She didn't know me.
Instead of replying, I turned around and started walking back to the trailer park.
"You didn't answer my question, jackass? I mean, I didn't expect you to. You have no balls to stand up for yourself, do you? There's no one around to witness you being confronted so what's the point in making your excuses, right?"
I continued walking.
"Walk yourself off the planet. I know you really considered being a flatearther, too. But realised the women there were too crazy and weren't worth the hit to your reputation."
Fucking bitch.
"And what a reputation it was! How was calling the seventy-eighth old woman trying to sell your 'miracle cream' pan out? You can make yourself sleep easy at night telling yourself you were at a dark place and telemarketing was an honest gig, but we both know you were *proud* of the snakeoil sales you made. More proud than an honest man should have been."
She didn't know what she was talking about. Who the fuck did she think she was?
"God, it's so nice to just lay it on a motherfucker. Hey, when they put you six feet under, don't worry. I'll make sure your decomposition is slow and difficult. I'll make sure you'll still be around until *after* this pathetic plastic flower you gave me finally wilts. How's that sound?"
The voice was farther and farther away now as the trees thinned. I was out. I took a few moments to breathe and relax myself, and then collapsed into the ground, openly sobbing at the reality and truth of what was said.
| 2021-05-09T15:26:26
| 2021-05-09T15:13:13
| 101
| 31
|
[WP] You are a freelance god. The customer demands you to create a world in six days only.
|
It was only the second day, and already the fifth time Amel had seen his client. The god was bent over a sapling that looked nearly like a baobab tree, except its narrow little trunk was a deep purple that would mature into bright fuchsia.
"Is that, um, the final color scheme you chose?"
Amel rocked back on his heels and sighed, wiping his filthy hands off on his apron. "You wanted purple birds."
"Yes," his client said, uncertainly. She went by the name Sariel and claimed the mortals on her home planet worshiped her as the rosy kiss of dawn, the cool cloak of twilight. She was one of those trust fund gods, the kind whose parents are so obscenely powerful and successful she can spend her whole existence wading in the comfortable shadow of their myth. Or at least she was the kind of god contented with buying a pre-made universe. Suffice to say, she was no Athena. Amel was happy for the money but baffled by the appeal of his work. "I did not say purple trees."
"And what color would you prefer?"
Sariel gathered herself up, the faint edge of her aura turning red with rage. Amel rolled his eyes, wondering why she bothered showing it off if she wasn't good at maintaining her emotions. "*Not purple*, obviously."
Amel scoffed, laughing despite himself. "If I give you purple birds and absolutely-not-purple trees, your birds will be fucking *dead*, ma'am."
"Excuse you!"
The young god rose to his feet, throwing the rejected sapling to the ground. He smeared the sweat angrily from his forehead. "First you give me this unreasonable six-day time limit for an entire planet--"
"For which you were *generously* paid," Sariel snapped.
"--for the most under-considered, under-developed project I have *ever* encountered--"
"Then you don't have to take it! You can consider yourself fired right now. Would you like that?"
The heat of frustration and humiliation pricked hot along the back of his neck. Amel could feel his teeth sharpening, his hold over his unthreatening, bipedal form waning. He forced himself to breathe deep, to not say everything he was thinking. To not slip out of his skin. (He dreaded the negative feedback: *architect had a nervous breakdown because I don't understand basic biological camouflage, and then he yelled at me, turned into a giant flying snake, and ran home, probably to his mum*.)
"Well, yes, obviously." Her smirk wavered. This was not the response she was expecting. "I'd be frankly delighted. I beg you for a reason to quit this nonsense." Amel stripped off his apron and threw his shovel to the ground, surveying the hundreds of tiny baobabs he had already planted.
"Fine. I'll find someone who can make what I actually *want.*"
Amel turned on her, his eyes flashing and terrible. "I *can* make anything. I *choose* not to make disaster projects for idiot clients who think ecology is all aesthetics. I *choose* not to create a new magnificent species for some spoiled idiot child of a god to drive into extinction with her inanity and absolute bird-shit grasp of natural law." He dug around in the coin pouch at his hip to give her two-thirds of her money back and threw it in the two-day-old dust at their feet. "Your damn birds will be replaced by whatever other animal I make who happens to match the trees better."
Sariel's lips were quivering in fury. Her skin had gone ashen grey, like a furious mountain, steaming ash, ready to burst. She started, "Then don't make any other animals."
"You fired me," Amel reminded her. He divested his apron and put back on his winged sandals, appraising the sky. It was a windless day, and he had not even really gotten around to sculpting the clouds. It should be an easy exit from the atmosphere. "I'm not making you *shit.*"
Then Amel went wheeling into the air, his immortal client spewing curses and screams that fell away into nothing as Amel climbed up and up and up, into a perfect, newborn blue.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
|
Close your eyes and imagine heaven. Your heaven. Not the ideal biblical castle in the sky that you were told about as a kid. Not the world where all of your friends and family gather to love you for eternity. Cover your eyes and really think, what is the perfect world? Think, what kind of place could I go and truly never wish to leave? Not vacation perfection that gets old after a week.
That’s never what they ask for.
People just assume that being God equates to effortless creation of perfection. They just figure, with their little mortal bodies and grand unoriginal ideas, that a simple snap of God-fingers is all it takes to build out their large-scale science experiments. It’s not like I put an advertisement in the paper saying: Freelance dream-crafter. Come escape from this shitty world. Come tell me your life, your problems. Come beg to be saved from the perdition that is your mortal life. Be risen. Lifted to the status of demi-God and gifted your own little alien ant farm. Instructions not included.
Not the kind of thing you buy your little perfect grandson for Christmas. Not the kind of thing you can get with money.
He said to me, I need it done in six days.
Six days to create a world. To build skies and oceans, to craft perfection. His perfect little heaven on Earth to watch over for all of eternity. His own pretty little people to toy with and walk amongst, to smite and praise. Not the kind of thing you can do in six days.
He said to me, I killed them all. Your price was sixteen souls and I gave you twenty-eight. He said, I went above and beyond and I’ve only got six days. Seven really, but he said he needed the padding, just in case. He said, you’re a God, this shouldn’t be that hard for you. Just snap your God-fingers and erect my Heaven. A paragon of beauty and balance. Not a world that’s powered by hate and violence. Not an ecosystem that thrives on destruction.
I took my twenty-eight souls and snapped my God-fingers but the sky just isn’t blue enough. The sea, it’s not that bath-water crystal clear he demanded and the creatures, they can’t all exist harmoniously.
Even twenty-eight souls isn’t enough.
I told him, there’s no such thing as perfect. Not the perfect that stops rape and murder. Not the perfect where even the broccoli and carrots can exist unpicked and happy. Even the happiest carrot will rot in the ground. But he tapped his wrist, like there was a watch there, and I could almost hear the non-existent click of fingernail to watch face glass, and said five more days.
A contract is a contract and I can’t break mine. There are terms to my powers.
So I told him that something needs to budge. Something will get eaten, stepped on, killed. Something will be the lowest of the low and something else will triumph over all. That’s just how this works. I asked him, what is it that you really want here? Is it women? Men? I’m not a judging God. Is it animals? I asked him, can you just tell me what you really want? Not what you want the world to think you want. Everyone wants world peace when they're being watched and listened. Everyone wants to solve world hunger. Not what you want when people can hear what you’re saying. What you want the way you search Google on incognito mode.
He said, I’m dying in four days. Better hurry up.
I only have one day left and the sky is just the right colour blue. The sea is so clear and just the right depth that there isn’t a place in the world too deep or murky to witness the perfect ivory sand where the multi-coloured shells of tiny tranquil crustaceans lay scattered. The fish, they swim forever, never growing or eating or breeding or dying. Nothing changes. Like the Smithsonian version of earth but alive. Everything is as it should be and nothing will ever be different. Nothing will ever evolve. Nothing is really alive. Not alive like you are. Not alive like things that have lives. Just breathing and moving.
He tells me, on the last day, that he doesn’t need any people.
There are unicorns and giant butterflies. There are waterfalls and rainbows. But there aren’t any people.
On the last day, he says, I just need one person. He says, I gave you her soul. To make her happy, I gave you the souls of her friends. That’s all that I need on my world, he says. He’s dying and he just wants a perfect world for his daughter. Not the kind of world that rapes and murders. Not the kind of world with bullies and overpriced school lunches.
Standing with the newly lifted demi-God of this perfect museum world, I say, I ate the souls.
| 2017-08-01T05:42:06
| 2017-08-01T05:14:44
| 112
| 49
|
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came.
|
The problem with intelligence is that there's no one measure. The first generational tests were an utter disaster. Before the arranged marriages had even been finalised there had been three duels and one fatality. But it was nearly 1000 years later. The new generation had reached age and through these tests our understanding had reached near perfection.
The new group of ten were split as the smartest and dumbest person for each of five types of intelligence. The most creative, the brightest scientific mind, the most physically capable, the most socially adept and the greatest philosopher of the age. We had the best and the worst from each type.
I looked around the room, when I'd been invited I'd assumed I had to be the brightest scientific mind. I'd graduated at sixteen, doctorate by twenty. But the truth was as I heard the stories around the room my uncertainty grew. The room had six women and four men, ethnically diverse. I was the only wheelchair user in the room, but I had been told that physical aptitude didn't mean strength, but spatial ability, fast reflexes and motor memory. So, I had no idea why I might be there.
We had: a great nanophysicist, creator of the nanorobots you probably use to clear your house; a tall man who had sat in silence for the whole meeting so far; a man, short and plump, decorated war hero and poet; a famous musician; political advisor to the First Minister; a maid who spoke at length about his upbringing; a famous author; a builder; a scary looking woman who didn't speak English; and, me.
The problem was that as we went around the room each persons strength and flaws seemed matched and fixed. The war hero was physically agile for sure, and creative, but also a bumbling fool who's speech was logically inconsistent. The musician could express her thoughts on the world well, but was she creative when she never wrote the songs herself? The man in silence never spoke a word that was unconsidered, so must he be the logical force?
"So," I said awkwardly. The silence having dragged on too long. "I know we're meant to be deciding who marries who, but, in the interest of full disclosure, I'm gay, I'm not wanting to end up in a heterosexual couple unless I have to."
The war hero nodded and looked at me, "I guess we can..."
"I'm a pacifist - I'm not sure I could given what you've done."
The musician piped up, "That's no way to speak to someone who fought for your country."
"He *invaded* my country. Heck, he could have been the one who bombed my fucking house when I was a teenager."
The nanophysicist raised an eyebrow. "Do we really need to to talk politics here, we're just waiting for the experiments to start."
"The experiments have already started, this whole thing is an experiment." The builder sighed.
"Obviously." The maid said. "What do you think the first experiment is? The wedding arrangement thing is at the end of the week, right?"
The room went silent again.
"Seeing how long it takes for people to get angry?" The war soldier glared at me.
I rolled my eyes, "Maybe it's just to see how long the author can take to give everyone dialogue."
The quiet man spoke, "I know what the experiment is. This room is locked and airtight."
|
I woke in small metal container. The walls had the wavy pattern of a cargo crate, and the size fit the idea as well. There where ten of us, I was the first to wake up. It was clear what was happening, I had been told of the risks when I submitted my paper.
I was about 21 at the time and had just finished my philosophy paper. I knew it was good, even from my harsh self criticism. It was another unmistakable 100, and over time, that brings unwanted attention. My prof had told me a few weeks earlier that I should start making mistakes, but I had to much honour in what I did. Although discovering the meaning to life might have been a bit flamboyant. On my way home from the school I could already hear the helicopter. They followed me, and I knew I had overdone it.
Now I was in a small container with four other people sleeping on the ground, and five other in full blown comas. The sound of their heartbeats on the machines eventually woke up the other four strangers.
"...oh shit does my head hurt..." the old man in the brown vest yawned. I could recognize him from his popular book series; TARN BACKSTER Learn The World And Its History.
"FUUUCK!" The woman in the blue vest yelled as she realized what was going on. She had been on television the night before receiving a scientific achievement award.
Two other men woke up silently. They both knew what was going, and everyone knew them. Mark Cameer, and Ben Owen. They had been famous for being here more than ten consecutive times in a row. Mark was a grandmaster, and Ben was a musician. They knew each other very well by now, and started up a conversation.
The girl in the corner woke up last, but it was obvious from the first look that she was different. Drool hung down from her sticking out tongue, and she had strong characteristics of some with down syndrome. "REEEEEEEEEEEEE" she gave a battle cry similar to a howler monkey as she woke up.
"HELLO, I AM D99100, IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU"
I was startled to hear the robotic voice. One of the men in a coma was clearly now attached to a different machine. That was when I realized the girl wasn't with my group, but instead the computer attached to deeply sleeping man.
| 2016-03-03T07:43:23
| 2016-03-03T05:36:34
| 35
| 17
|
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed"
|
[Poem]
Thanksgiving was a shock this year, the family was to blame.
I thought I'd search for fun or maybe just check out names,
Well what a surprise to see, my families just not right,
I guess that in their off time, they go and kill at night.
Grandma had killed 12, she sat and smiled sweetly,
My sister was at 5, she must do it rather discreetly,
Uncle Bill killed 23, the highest, I'm appalled,
I guess that every family has the creepy uncle after all,
Cousin Amy had a simple 2, Cousin Mary was at 9,
Aunt Rachel had 16, she always seem'd so kind,
Mom and dad killed together, they had a "meesly" 4,
But the most surprising of them all, was sleeping on the floor,
Yes the dog had killed a few, how, I do not know,
All Ill say, is from now on, I'll pet him extra slow.
|
My mother was always a weird one. I loved her, don’t get me wrong - but she was weird. I stared at her wide-eyed, confused, when her kills came up.
One.
How could she have killed anyone? Yes, she was kooky, but she could never lay hands on someone with malice. She just liked to talk to her lemon tree, watering it carefully, sitting under it, and reading aloud.
"Honey, come and tell Margaret goodnight!” My mother called out to me.
This was a tradition since I was a boy. I never understood talking to this lemon tree and telling it good night. But I did it, for my mother.
“Goodnight, Margaret!”
—
I was dressed in black, frozen. She told me to make sure to take care of Margaret.
I finally understood, and I stared at the death certificate for the stillborn my mother had.
Margaret.
My older sister.
edit: accidental offensive comment edited out
| 2019-07-01T20:28:33
| 2019-07-01T20:14:16
| 347
| 89
|
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
Mary looked at the table horrified. Another 1. That’s, what, 6 of them now? She felt desperate, it was all slipping away.
“You sure I can’t add my modifier?” she pleaded.
“We’ve been over this Mary, critical failures are critical failures,” replied Jim looking at her with pity.
“All my planning... all that time...” groaned Mary quietly.
Jim wanted to move this on. There was still some hope for her, but it was slipping away. “OK, Todd, you’re up.”
Todd looked up from his laptop. Was he even paying attention? He was only invited because he was Jim’s little brother and his mom forced them. Mary was sure Todd didn’t even know the rules.
Todd held up the D12... again.
“It’s not that one, it’s the D20... STILL,” said Mary with annoyance.
Todd picked up his D20, and rolled it. Right off the table. Again.
Sighing, Mary picked it up and handed it to him. “Can we just get this over with?”
Finally, he rolled the dice. A 17. Another 17. Why did he have to have that grin!
“Did I win?” asked Todd?
“Not yet,” replied Jim, “but you’re getting close. That’s 14...”
“17” interrupted Todd.
“Right, but you have a minus 3 charisma modifier. So 14. It’s still good enough, though. Trump wins Pennsylvania.”
|
"Alright I have the bomb and I'm ready to use it on the motorcade" Alen started his character Mehmedbasic ready to fulfill the job the party had been recruited for.
"Same here, let's do this," Larry said, excited that it was his character Vaso's time to shine.
"Alright both of you roll a stealth check and then an attack roll against the car" Jerry the DM said as Larry and Alen's faces fell "Stealth check?" Alen asked as Jerry nodded "Yeah to sneak it on".
"But neither me or Larry spec'd for stealth"
"You didn't spec your Assassin's for stealth?" Jerry said in disbelief.
"Nah we didn't think that would be a problem..." Larry followed up with as Jerry sighed "So do you still want to make the attack?"
"No we'll hold off for now," Larry said Alen nodded in agreement.
"Well I don't have any problems, Let me try it out!" Marcy said excitedly to have finally had a chance to act "Please Marcy Cabrinovic has the worst stealth of all of us!" Larry called from the other end of the table as she growled "I'm not using stealth! I'm going to throw the bomb at the car!" she said smugly.
"You're going to throw the bomb..." Jerry repeated as Marcy nodded "Alright...I guess, roll the attack roll"
*rolls*
"Alright that's a nat one on the Accuracy check...:" Jerry said as Marcy's face fell "The bomb bounces off the car rolls under another and explodes leaving it out of comission and injuring 16 people in the crowd, What do you want to do now?" Jerry asked as Marcy glowered "Screw it I'll at least go out like a spy, I break my Cyanide pill and jump into the river" she said
Jerry nodded
*rolls*
"Another 1...the cyanide capsule breaks but it's old causing Cabrinovic to start vomiting also you didn't account for time of year it's a hot summer so the Mijacka is only 13 cm deep. You're dragged out of the river and beaten by the crowd" Jerry said and as Marcy Pouts he turns to Liz
"The car speeds off will Princip do anything?" he asked as Liz shook her head "Not now," she replied as Jerry nodded "And Trifun Mitche's character will do nothing since he's not playing today. What do you guys want to do now?" he asked looking to Larry Alen and Liz.
"I'll go looking for the Archduke's new position" Larry said "Same here" Alen and Liz followed with as Jerry looked hesitant "Alright I'll give you guys each 1 chance, but it's really unlikely you'll find him."
*rolls*
*rolls*
"Larry, Allen you guys don't find anything you," he said to his players' disappointment.
*rolls*
Jerry's eyes went wide "That's a Nat 20 Liz...Princip, on your way to find a new spot to attack him on the original route you decide to stop for food. When suddenly you hear the motorcade coming. One of the members realising they're going the wrong way calls out for someone to reverse and the driver stops close to where you are standing. You have a shot..." he said as Liz grinned but looked nervous as Jerry and Alen put a hand on her shoulder
"You can do this Liz," Larry stated Alen nodded "Yeah just trust your dice"
*rolls*
"17!" Liz shouted as Jerry check over his notes before noddign "That's enough roll for damage"
*rolls*
"Let's see...taking the Archduke's health into account. That's enough. You have successfully assainated Archduke Ferdinand." he said closing the book the table erupting in cheers.
"Would you guys like to try a hand at the full module?" Jerry asked bringing out a much larger book labeled "The Great War"
| 2018-05-29T09:09:55
| 2018-05-29T06:46:10
| 150
| 74
|
[WP] Adolf Hitler is a time traveler who starts world war two to save us from something far more terrible.
|
*Writing this is not so that some future person can discover me and hail me as a hero. It is simply for the purposes of keeping me sane and on task. I pray no one finds this, as I have instructed all of my bodyguards to destroy any trace of it upon my death.*
They are not to read it, under penalty of death.
*I will start at the beginning, which ironically enough, is the end of the world.*
I was born into a rich family in Anchessla, what was southern Germany.
Rich meant we had a bunker which we almost never left.
My family was killed when our bunker was overwhelmed by a horde.
I ran and joined the Resistance. I fought in several battles including the Fall of London bay and was on the front lines fighting off the hordes on their U.S. Eastern Invasion.
We lost both of those battles.
But what we did gain was knowledge.
We had found out what had made the hordes what they are. We found out what technology was needed for them to function.
I was chosen to go because I was the only one who spoke German as my first language there.
And so I traveled back to stop an infestation and an extermination.
I kept my name, meaning it to serve as a beacon to my comrades in case I failed.
Regardless of the outcome of my mission, the name Adolf Hitler would go down in history. I just prayed it would not go down as a failure to do what needed to be done.
I was a young man when I was sent back, I had forged some documents to fake my identity and set up shop as an egotistic painter, bent on fame.
Becoming involved in politics in a land where people are starving on the streets was harder than expected. I went to different rallies and tried to talk about providing for the needs of the hungry and unity that we all possessed as mankind. I was largely ignored until I lost my temper at a rally of a political group called the nazis.
They were radicals in every sense of the word. They used Jews as a scapegoat for the problems Germany faced and seemed to be determined to rid the land of them.
And that is when my plan became clear.
There were several men who needed to be killed in order to stop the future events from happening; mostly scientists receiving funding from the Soviet Union, the greatest power of the time, to attempt to improve physical and mental human characteristics.
We had sent back an assassin to kill them already, but they had all simply been replaced. We could not kill every genius.
What we needed was a way to make the human experiments done by the Soviets seem unjustifiable. We needed martyrs.
The Soviets had taken any homeless and used them for experiments and all other countries, fearful of being left behind in technology and already being left behind economically, followed suit.
And what surfaced from this was the Russian Supersoldier. At first, the Supersoldiers conquered. But then came the virus.
It was most likely actually a bacteria but the Supersoldier Virus had already caught on by the time we had discovered that.
Supersoldiers mutated and what was a Russian occupation of much of Europe turned into death of millions. The Supersoldiers seemed to still be semi-intelligent, but had few instinct left.
How to survive, how to reproduce, and how to kill.
Russia had already made 8 million of them by the time the virus hit. And instead of stopping their production, they simply pumped more soldiers at them. The Russians had also, unfortunately, made a serum which could transform any man into a Supersoldier simply through injection, and had been doing this with occupied countries. Soon, the infected Supersoldiers figured this out. That was in 1976. The whole of Europe was taken by 1980.
I took control of the Nazi party, and through hate-mongering and sabotage, took control of Germany.
And then I did what needed to be done.
I pulled Germany out of the depression and turned her into a superpower. I took other countries, prodding for a fight to take down my regime and see what was really going on.
I hired the scientists the Soviets would have hired and put them to work on curing the "Jew" problem. Now, instead of creating Supersoldiers with genetic experiments, they were killing innocent victims; many who would become martyrs, preventing human tests like this from being continued by someone else.
When war finally came, I made sure it seemed as if I would win.
And then I made a second front. I attacked Russia in the winter, making the oldest mistake a dictator could.
I lost. It was perfect. And now, knowing my mission is almost complete, I through this into the fire and end my life, and all of its secrets.
I am Adolf Hitler. Killer of Millions and Savior of this Earth.
Edit: I wrote this in a bit of a rush, so I'll probably come back and edit to for improvements.
Part Two now up http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1zdrxb/wp_adolf_hitler_is_a_time_traveler_who_starts/cfto9uk
|
Jesus this is brilliant!
What if Adolf's life was a misery.. he, his family and his culture were under huge oppression from the Wasserman rule. By the year 2314 they controlled the media as far as the US - this one family dictated more than the Roman Empire ever dreamed of.. without breaking borders. It was all about doing business, and doing it well. A few million here and there would ensure that a town worked for the Wassermans.
In Adolfs youth he slaved for the Saunders, a wealthy jewish family who were personal friends of the Wassermans. Washing their cars, cooking their meals and walking their pets. He earned no living, but instead was paid in food (which was mostly passed on, to his family).
Cut a long story short, he has the ~~house~~ mansion to himself one day and decides to wander around. He had never been in the discretionary side of the place, since he only really went from the front door, to the kitchen and back.
In a side room, displayed with spotlights around it, was a gleaming structure. It looked like a portaloo, that had been through 'Pimp My Space-Ride'.
He cautiously grabbed the door handle and it popped open with a satisfying spring. For some reason, cheesy dry ice smoke was pouring out of the capsule.
Above the structure, Adolf could make out the words "Time Machine". He could barely read, so it took a minute. It instantly hit him.. this was one of the legendary time machines that the Jewish people had boasted about.
His mind jumps to a million things at once, but it doesn't take long before he lands on the jackpot. He wants to end the Wasserman's rule over the world. They owned every damn government and ever damn business he could think of. He couldn't just skip forward in time and leave his family behind though.. besides, what if things got worse?
If he went back, he'd have to plan it carefully. He couldn't just go back and wave his arms about screaming "They're going to rule us all!" like a mad man on the street.
It struck him that he should go back to a time, in which the Jewish people were less than popular. When the innocent and the horrible were all bordering on second class citizens simply for being Jewish. He recalled the Saunders mentioning such a time, on many an occasion. They would curse anybody who was against them, even if they were long dead. Adolf was very sure that it was just before the millenium, definitely before the internet came along and created a level playing field.
So on more of a hunch than a real shot, he turned the dial back to 1900. It seemed like a safe bet, and either way he was getting out of here.
Sure enough, he arrives in a desolate era in Germany. He enlists in the army to gain some sort of identity without skills.
Before too long though, after the First World War, he sought after politics. He began rallying the citizens of Germany behind him, using simple and common knowledge about psychology from the 2300s. Using the turning around of the financial depression, Adolf Hitler became a hit among the right wing germans.
Then.. he set on his real plan. He didn't know who to get rid of first! There must've been millions of Jewish people in and around Germany that could be the great grandfathers of the Wassermans. He knew though, that if he succeeded, then he wouldn't exist in the 1900s anymore, since the time machine wouldn't exist.
After tactfully murdering numerous families, he felt that time was running out. It was now or never.. and as such, the final solution came to be.
Adolf Hitler did not kill so many innocent people out of hatred for them, but love for a better future. One day, at the very end of it all, a true descendant of the Wasserman family was put to rest. Adolf was no more, and nor was the regime that he stopped.
He wasn't to be remembered as a hero, only a vicious villain.
*****
None of this is to say that what happened during WWII was actually an act of heroship and that Hitler wasn't out of his mind.
| 2014-03-02T16:11:22
| 2014-03-02T15:40:41
| 443
| 16
|
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
Humans take no pleasure in loss of life, contrary to what many would say behind their backs. It was a misunderstanding, and anyone who holds it against them still is ignorant of their own early days on the galactic stage!
War is common, more wars have been fought than species to fight them, but I’ll be damned if anyone ever dies. Don’t get me wrong, there are casualties. Broken limbs, scars, rapid depressurization resulting in exploding lungs, you get the picture. It’s all or nothing.
When galactic civilizations fight they wound, they show their strength, and they leave. Only when there is no option of retreat, or when the stakes are too high, do vessels aim to kill one another. It’s an unspoken, but oh so important, rule of space warfare. The Humans did not know this.
You see, very rarely now are new species found. Even rarer do they come from such backwater planets as Earth. Humans didn’t unite centuries before they had competent space travel, try decades. It was less than a single generation from forming a united world government to realizing they were an insignificant part of a much broader meaning of life in the universe. They hadn’t the time to evolve beyond brutal warfare, and so when faced with a threat they did the only thing they knew how: They utterly destroyed it.
Picture this. A few years after they set up their first interstellar colony, some trinary star system, another civilization had their eyes on it. What do they do? Well just as any conquering force, they invaded, broadcast a message to offer the Humans time to escape, and then fired warning shots at desolate parts of the colony world’s surface.
They didn’t want to kill anyone, they wanted an easy settlement from a new galactic power. They had no idea what Humans were like, they couldn’t have known. The Humans didn’t fire back with giant ships, or loud fancy light up cannons, oh no. They fired a nuclear missile from a rinky-dink space station in low orbit. Obliterated the conquers where they orbited.
Now that, that earns you a reputation. Unfortunately for the Humans, it’s one that stuck. They’re not barbarians, or some savage with a hand cannon, they’re just an ordinary people. But now I’ll be fucked if I don’t see people clear the room when a Human walks in. They avoid them like the Human’s gonna kill them if they so much as glance at them. A damn shame really, Humans are some of the best people I know. Unfortunate that one mistake in their past is what defines them now.
Who knows, maybe they’ll grow into their legacy.
|
"You know what you don't understand about people?" Fleet Commander Astrea stomped up to Archgeneral Hughes of the First Human Empire. "About civilization as a whole?"
"Fleet Commander Astrea." Hughes projected his booming voice over Astrea's. Though he was a baseline human, he'd evidently picked up some training in public speaking somewhere. "We are currently at war with the Nereids. We approach their starships even now. There had better be a very, *very* good reason for you to have abandoned your post."
"Yes! Yes, there is!" Astrea pulled at her hair. "If you attack the Nereids now, the entire First Human Empire will be destroyed!"
"The Nereids broadcast their every move to the entire galaxy, the arrogant fools. We know their military capacity is far below ours." Hughes' eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that they've deceived us? Our technicians and cultural analysts both agree that these broadcasts are real—"
"Gah!" Astrea threw both of her hands up in the air. "No! No, no, no! How did someone as stupid as you become Archgeneral—look, Hughes. You said it yourself. The Nereids broadcast everything they do to everyone, *everywhere*. It's baked into their culture. And their technological infrastructure is so refined that anyone watching, from anywhere in the galaxy, can experience what they experience *exactly* as if they were there themselves."
"Yes. It is a massive tactical weakness."
"Only on the small scale! Three *trillion* sentient beings around the galaxy turn to the Nereids' war games for entertainment. Right now, in anticipation of the battle to come, fifty billion humans throughout the First Human Empire are watching the Nereids. Watching them laugh and play and chat to their viewers and be oh so close to human. Especially at a time like this, with shipping lanes shut down for the war and people scared of Earth's first interstellar conflict, people need contact and comfort. The Nereids are providing that. And what do you want to do, in response to their declaration of war? You want to kill them all!"
Archgeneral Hughes gave her a dry look. "Yes. This is a war. In a war, you are supposed to kill the enemy. It's a necessity, but it's for the good of the state."
"Literally every word you just said is incorrect. For the good of the state? Do you understand what will happen at home if every citizen of the First Human Empire—children, politicians, media influences, everyone we're trying to protect—do you know what will happen if they tune in to the Nereids' broadcast and see you *slaughtering* them? And remember. They'll sense it as surely as if they were there themselves. Nereid 'warships' have families on them, Archgeneral. Children whose mass murder at the hands of the First Human Empire you're going to livestream to *everyone*. Hughes, you're thinking of our civilizations as if we're... elephants, beating at each other with our trunks. But we're not. We're delicate, delicate spiderwebs of *connections*. And the Nereids have connected themselves to us. Set them ablaze, and we'll burn too."
Archgeneral Hughes paused. He opened his mouth to speak, and an aide whispered into his ear. He grimaced, then set his finger down. "...I only wish you had come to me with more *respect*, Fleet Commander Astrea. I would have you promoted for potentially saving the First Human Empire, if it didn't set a disastrous precedent."
First Commander Astrea scoffed, shaking her head. "No, that's exactly *why* I started shouting at you in front of your entire command structure. You're not promoting me away from where I'm most effective: boots on the ground and thumb on the pulse. Society is connection, and if you leverage that right, you can run rings around your opponents."
"Well. The fact remains that the Nereids *have* declared war. We have to make some sort of response, yes? It would be a terrible blow to our credibility if we simply... turned around and left them alone."
First Commander Astrea nodded. "I knew you had to be smarter than you looked, if you made Archgeneral."
"Hm." Archgeneral Hughes made a note to look into First Commander Astrea's past. He was sure he would have noticed someone as disruptive—and yet ingenious—as she before. "What course of action do you recommend?"
Astrea grinned. "The Nereids. Their audience. *Me.* We all want one thing. A show." She held up a broadcaster, its screen showing that it had been recording the entire time. "Let's give it to them!"
If you liked this story and have a quarantine-induced need of entertainment, you may want to head over to r/rileywrites!
| 2020-03-21T08:27:54
| 2020-03-21T07:39:56
| 460
| 96
|
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony...
|
This was it. Time to see how far my charade could get me. Time to see how insightful this old, dusty hat really was. *Dusty, hmm? You could use some scrubbing behind the ears yourself, young mister!* I stared straight ahead, head held high, trying to look aloof. *You are quite hard-working, you know, in your own way. All this training, and the planning... Hmm... And there is cunning too, no doubt about that.* Whatever. It almost felt like the floppy brim curved up into a smirk. *Oh yes... and loyalty too, even though you try to hide it, hmmmm?*
Old Batty-Hatty really is clueless. *Alright, young mister, I know about your "deceit". You do not quite know yourself yet, what you are, but you are right. You are no true wizard... Hmmmm...* People were craning their necks to get a good look at the boy who made the hat pause. The last few Sortings had gone by so quickly, only to halt with me. *You know, it is not for me to decide who is and isn't a student, young Mr. Peeves. You have been accepted, and I will sort you where I believe you will learn the most.*
**Hufflepuff!**
|
It was that time of year again at Hogwarts. A new wave of anxious first years will be starting their magical journeys today, and after waiting what seemed like a lifetime, so will I.
We were lined up at the stairs, McGonagall instructing us on what would be taking place as we enter the Great Hall. While confident, I avoided her sharp gazes; who knows, maybe highly learned witches and wizards can identify squibs just by looking at them. The nerves were starting to set in as my self-assurance began to waver.
The towering doors to the hall made a deep clanging noise and began to open slowly. An uproar of cheers shot through the entrance, lengthy tables each lined with students were awaiting our arrival. We marched awkwardly down the middle between two tables, while I sunk myself to the back of the group. I sure did not want to be in Dumbledore's line of sight, as gentle and kind as he appeared.
Just as McGonagall firmly picked up a sheet of parchment and read a new student's name out loud, it finally registered what she was saying back at the stairs, we're about to be sorted. I closed my eyes and thought back to being in my dimly lit room in Colchester. Scanning my memories, I began to reach for any bit of information that might help me weasel past this last hurdle. Everything was clouded, I felt as if Dumbledore was standing right behind me, tapping into my mind as I attempted to deceive him. My thoughts raced wildly and the panic began to set in.
"Martin Schmidtt!", the shrill voice pierced through my thoughts and my eyes clicked open. I swore it read Marty everywhere, where did they get Martin from? I hate that name. Anyway, here we go. I've squeezed my way through worse.
I walked up, chest held high. That's all it takes right? I sat up on the wooden stool and closed my eyes once more. The grayed heavy hat must've only touched the first hair on my head before exclaiming "Ohh! Ah, I see what's going on". The hat's sudden reaction nearly jolted me off the chair. Had it already figured me out? Surely McGonagall or Dumbledore would have seen through me by now. Another set of "Hmm's" and "Ah's" were heard as the hat wriggled around my sweaty hair. Minutes had already passed, but I hadn't accepted my fate yet.
Eyes shut, back in my Colchester room, I thought to myself. This could easily just be a Hatstall, I've read about those before. I began to relax again, the poise that got me here had fired up once more.
"Sssss-lytherin!!" boomed the sorting hat as it wrestled off my head.
Bingo, I'm in.
| 2017-06-25T15:16:10
| 2017-06-25T14:36:15
| 63
| 36
|
[WP] When someone's heart breaks so does a piece of our world; this creates fissures, valleys, and even cracks in the pavement. Tell me the story behind the Grand Canyon.
Have fun! :D
|
Yeah. I saw it on the news. Split the goddamn country in half almost. They had people goin’ on camera, talking about it like they knew.
“They were just angels together, like two halves of a whole. I don’t think I have ever seen anything more beautiful and I doubt if I ever will.”
“It was just natural, you know? Shit, can’t believe she went out like that…”
Leeches. These sorry saps hadn’t even cracked the pavement with heartbreak. They played it safe and saw a friend of a friend put a fissure down a driveway once, and that was 15 years ago. They wouldn’t know what love is if it split them in half, because that’s what it does, and that’s how it feels.
I turned off the TV, lighting a cigarette and drawing deep before turning to face the hollow shell behind me. He had come in a couple days ago, followed shortly by all the cameras in New York. He just told me he wanted someone found, alive, with no questions asked. I was the kind of guy who didn’t ask questions.
I looked the kid up and down, seeing what the days had done to him. I let him bum in the office, where the nosy sons of bitches couldn’t get at him, but you could see the life had left his eyes. He clutched a revolver in his hand, only one bullet in the chamber. At first I had thought it was for who I was supposed to find, now I was having my doubts.
“How you holdin’ up kid?”
“Not great.” He was shaking, the gun looking too large in his hands. I hadn’t seen him eat since he burst through my door, cash in hand, eyes redder than the devil. He looked like hell. We both did, but what doesn’t kill you at least gives you something to bitch about at bar close.
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“No, but bring that fucker in anyway.”
My boots clicked, echoing off the cheap stucco as I opened the back closet, dragging a limp figure from its murky depths. I pulled up an old chair out in front of the kid, did a number with some duct tape and then splashed some cold water onto our guest's face so he could join the party.
He was a tweaker, rolled into town about the same time the kid did. Fresh off the west coast he had been lurking for a pocket to pick to get his high when I caught him. Vicious prick, gave me a gash, but no one gets away from me, not anymore.
The kid leaned forward, and slapped the tweak hard across his face with the gun. “Remember me?” The hammer sounded like thunder in the small office. “We have some business to attend to.”
“I swear, it wasn’t my fault. I thought the gun had blanks, I really did! I live on the streets, man, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.”
The kid shoved the gun in his face, and I smelt piss. I could see him trembling, his finger tensing on the trigger.
“You took…you took the best thing in my life… I hate you… but this isn’t what she would have wanted.” The kid turned to me, and I saw that void in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
Before he could put the gun to his head I knocked him out cold, kicking away the gun for good measure.
“Thank you man, I'll do anything you want, anything!” The tweaker was in tears, blubbering like a baby. I walked over slowly and picked up the kid's gun. I turned, put the barrel in that piece of shit’s mouth and pulled the trigger, twice.
His brain did a nice Jackson Pollock impression on the wallpaper as I bent down to pick up the kid. He couldn't have been more than 20, he felt frail in my arms as I carried him down the back stairwell and into the black Camero that was waiting there.
As we crossed the border into Jersey I heard the kid stir, waking up from the nasty right cross I gave him. He would survive, he just needed some guidance. I happened to know a good teacher.
I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I looked at the dog-eared photo sitting on the dash, faded almost beyond recognition, but I could never forget that angel’s face. The kid may have made the grand canyon, but that ain’t got shit on the Mariana Trench.
|
I felt the ground give a subtle shudder beneath me. I stood still, waiting for it to appear. A hairline crack make its way between my feet, and I could almost taste the pain. It was in the echo of the wind, making its way through the rustling of the trees. It was the scent of heartbreak.
Everyone's heart broke; breakups, destruction and war was causing the world to fall apart; chipping away in pieces. Most cracks were almost unnoticeable - they were the marks in alleys ways, dingy bars and the crumbling houses of poverty.
The bigger ones were from war and death, the wailing of widows and childless mothers. Inevitably, everyone's life would fall apart, and when it did, they would leave their mark.
But not me.
I had my childhood ripped away, the opaque mask of innocence torn before I'd known it existed. I should have made four cracks in the world, yet I never felt anguish enough to split the earth.
I'd seen others create a fissure; the undeniable sign as my brother was laid into the ground, and the punishment it endured. I watched the sobbing of my family, eventually inaudible, the tears running silently. I could sense the moment each became one with the earth and broke together.
But not me.
My lashes stayed dry, my lips pursed. I watched him dissappear and I wilted. But nothing broke.
Ten years later, I still hadn't felt a crack. Everyone though I was strong; unbreakable. A gift.
But I felt nothing when I'd said goodbye.
Nothing when I felt the damp weight of new life.
Nothing when I caused a crack, as I pushed away that boy.
Nothing when I left.
But no one can run forever.
Not even me.
Experience will outrun you; tackle you and push you into the crumpled realm of reality.
Even me.
I realized I couldn't feel, that I'd never feel emotions. Not love, happiness, awe, inspiration or spirituality. I'd forever live in the fractured world of others.
Because nothing lasts forever. Not friendships or family. They die, betray you, or move away. The ground beneath me couldn't stay solid, how could my faith in anything stay intact?
I let go of the sliver of hope I'd been holding on to. The realization of the truth hit me.
As I let go of that fragment of hope, I felt my world crashing around me, shattering into pieces. The pieces were too small to pick up. I knew than I'd take my piece of the world.
The rumbling was deafening; the rocks before me splitting wide. It didn't stop for a long time, the breaking and cracking. And when it finally did, the canyon in front of me was grand.
It would be described by others as breathtaking.
But me? I would truly never feel anything again; I'd lost all emotion to this wondrous splint in the earth.
| 2015-12-03T17:49:18
| 2015-12-03T15:09:10
| 32
| 18
|
[WP] You're the only Roman senator who wasn't briefed on the whole 'kill Julius Caesar' thing.
|
The blood was everywhere.
There are some things that do not wash out: blood and wine.
These thick liquids tarnish the symbol of our elite so easily.
Wine though, you usually expect it. You usually see it cascade over the brim of the cup.
But blood, blood is unexpected.
Today I did not expect it.
I did not expect the screams, the shrill feeling of betrayal that reverberated off the walls of the hallowed hall.
How could this happen?
How could my patron, my pater, be struck down in an act of malice?
He was bold, yes.
He was strong, of course.
But the bigger the giant, the larger the back to be stabbed.
When it was done, the silent chaos was filled with words of "Libertas! Libertas!"
Like a group of rowdy young men they burst out of the Senate Hall out into the streets.
Out to greet the surprised faces of the people.
Their togas still sticky with their vile act.
No free air that filled my lungs was enough.
This air was not free today.
This air was dirtied.
I went for water.
To wash this foulness from my pallet.
Blood though, blood from the actors of this scene filled the pool.
It spread like a cancer as I tried to wash it off.
But I could not.
For he was dead.
And Rome bled.
|
> "Alright guys, let's get this meeting started," I yelled walking into the capital building. Usually I would get a response, but today - - everybody seemed to talk right over me. "Excuse me . . . gentleman . . . GENTLEMAN"! My loud cry for attention was overlooked. I felt like nobody was listening. Could I have been exiled out of my own social life? What had I done? My mind flustered with doubtful thoughts. Well on the bright side, this isn't such a bad day. I have dinner with Caesar tonight. Best guy in the empire! And don't get me started on that special salad he makes, you'd think you died and went to the gods.
It seemed as though all the senators were arguing over some important guy. Who cares !? I walked over and with no hesitation declared, "Have fun with your 'democracy' boys, I'm going to have dinner with the Emperor himself!" The room that was once a Colosseum of shouting and howling became a room of pure silence.
"So . . . what happened next?"
"They put me in this 'special waiting room' with you. Dinner with Caesar should be ready in no time!"
"I've been in this 'special waiting room' for two years."
"I'm sure he knows. I just can't wait for the salad!"
| 2015-11-18T23:55:33
| 2015-11-18T20:03:54
| 27
| 20
|
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch
|
'But if the plosive is preceded by a nasal consonant, wouldn't they have the same place of articulation?' We had just reviewed the lecture on nasal place assimilation in our study group last night. I knew from experience that sometimes your intuition as a native speaker is just dead wrong. I tried sounding it out in my head. 'Honk!' Hmm . . . 'Hooooooonnnnkkk.'
I saw it before I heard it. Simon's jean jacket in front of me twitched up and down at his shoulders as he tried couching to cover his snicker. Odd. 'So if the k is velar, it should turn the n into an engma. HOOOOOONNNNNKKK. Yeah that sounds like an engm-'
The jacket bounced again. This time, the snicker verged on a giggle. What the fuck. There's no way. No fuckin' way. It is absolutely not possible that Simon heard me honking like a full on Canadian goose. I glanced at the clock. Shit, I needed to finish this exam. I did not have time to worry about what Simon did or did not hear. But just in case.
'HEY MOTHERFUCKER' I yelled inside my skull. I kept my eyes focused on the paper in front of me, but my peripherals caught his sudden flinch. Oh jesus this was just perfect. 'Look, asshole. You better be taking me out for coffee after this for all the answers I must've been giving you for the last hour.'
I wouldn't know if he'd heard me until I finished. Which I now really really needed to do. Shit. I scribbled my last answer and walked my exam up to the proctor's table. I grabbed my bag and waltzed out of the room to the bench right outside the door. I barely had time to take my phone out before the door opened again.
Simon turned to me. "Well? I hope you like Caribou. I'd offer Starbucks, but that's only for people who actually give me *correct* answers."
|
"Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch.
| 2017-11-13T21:06:00
| 2017-11-13T19:45:25
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever growing cluster of tally marks.
|
Dave came through the shop door. “The usual, Bill!”
“Been a month already? Time flies,” I grunted in return. His smile got noticeably wider as he jumped into the chair and pulled off his shirt. Honestly, the prep time for his new ink was more than the actual procedure, but who was I to judge? It made the kid happy (likely just starting college), and he paid just as much as a more elaborate design cost.
I finished within a few minutes, adding an eighth tally next to the seven I had drawn in the previous months. “One more,” he murmured to himself, looking pleased, then turned to me. “Thanks again, great work as usual.”
This continued for almost a year, sometimes he brought family or friends with him, who’d clap him on the back or hug him once I was finished. His mother would always be nearly in tears.
Near the end of that year, I had noticed Dave change. He lost weight, was far paler, and lacked the energy he showed when I first met him. When I asked him if he was alright, he just replied “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
That next month he missed his appointment. I nearly didn’t notice, except that his mother arrived. “Dave’s in the hospital,” she said. “Would you mind coming with your tools? He asked that he gets this last tattoo.” I would have replied that marking someone in a hospital probably wasn’t the best practice, but something in her eyes stopped me. I packed up my equipment and followed her out.
She brought me to the Oncology wing of St. John’s Medical Center, and to Dave’s room. It was filled with the people I had seen with him over those past months. There was not a dry eye among them. In the center of the vigil was Dave, a shadow of the vivacious kid I met so many months ago. And yet, he still wore that pleased expression. “I made it to another month,” he whispered. He grasped weakly at his hospital gown to reveal his previous tallies, but was unable to do so without help. When his chest was bear, he gestured to me. “The usual, Bill…”
------
Later that night, David Bradford passed away after a 20 month battle with leukemia.
|
The door opened and entered a familiar face, cash in hand. The 6'6" silent and solemn man waited patiently in the lobby for me to approach him.
"Hey Ed. The usual?"
He nodded.
"Sounds good," I smiled, "Just give me a couple minutes to clean up my work station, just got done with another client."
When I was ready Ed came and sat in my chair, handing me the cash up front. I didn't count it. I never do- it's always far more than I would ever charge for an inch long line on his chest. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever even gave him a quote, he just handed me money. Ed removed his black button up, revealing a chiseled, scar-ridden body. I drew the 30th tally mark.
As Ed is leaving I thank him, and turn to count the cash as he walks out the door. Somewhere around $180 I notice an odd stain on some of the bills. Was it... blood? Shaken, I go outside for a smoke. It was raining, and my mysterious client was still there. He stood under the protection of our covered entry way, watching the storm. I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longer.
"Hey Ed. You know, I've been tattooing you for a little over a year now, and never once have asked about what you do or what the tally marks are all about. Hell, I don't think you've spoken more than a dozen words to me," I laughed to cover up my nervousness, and waited for a response.
He stared a bit longer into the rain and finally said, "You really want to know?"
"Yeah... what are the tallies counting?"
"They're counting," he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose, "How many tattoos I have."
He walked into the rain, got in his PT Cruiser, and drove away.
&#x200B;
| 2018-09-20T07:42:58
| 2018-09-20T06:26:26
| 37
| 26
|
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads
|
*Newest in >for sale*
Jan 23: Sports Betting, See how easy it can be to be a winner. books & magazines - by dealer [x]
Jan 25: Between Fact and Fiction, Helping you understand the real life problems and removing the anxiety over the fictional.
Feb 23: Communication Breakdown Unleashed (MRR), When you and your loved ones lose contact, learning how to reopen that communication is key no matter the distance.
Feb 28: Surviving Assaults: A Martial Artist's Guide to Weapons, Street Violence, & Countervailing Force [Book]
Mar 13: Food Foraging For Dummies: Nibbling in Nature, prepare for the inevitable
Mar 28: I don't know who may still be here, I'm using all possible pages to find people. We're held up in a school and we are trapped, send help!
Apr 1: The Road *by Cormac McCarthy*
Dec 20: The steel coffin, Getting the dead to stay dead.
|
In search for survivers In the greater New York area, hell anywhere really. I am, well I was a sandhog and was underground working on the new water way in Manhatten when the Russians dropped the bomb. Never have I emerged from underground to such horror. Everything in ruins and no one in sight. I walked around for a bit shouting for someone to show themselves. I realized that there was probably a lot of radiation in the area seeing the amount of damage done, so I thought it best to head back underground. I have about a months worth of rations down here as it is protocol incase of a cave in.Please someone be out there and respond to this post. It's so lonely.
| 2015-04-29T09:07:02
| 2015-04-29T07:28:18
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
There’s nothing I can do.
He is stronger than me. Faster than me. And while my ability to influence people with music is strong, there are limits to what I can do.
He turns to face my city. Mine. Neighbors, friends, hell, even my enemies lives have meaning. He’s going to destroy it all, and I have only one option left; one that will take us both out of the equation forever.
With trembling hands, I reach towards the player knob, and select the “do not select” setting.
He turns, contemptuous, but as the music begins to play, his smile melts into a dawning realization.
“This is the song that never ends..”
Eternity awaits.
|
\[POEM\]
Quiet internal rebellions silenced,
The hero had inflicted his cruelest ability.
"What have you done to me?"
The late afternoon crowds drifted past,
With their childishly fresh eyes looking through him.
Slightly bewildered, he turned to the hero,
Anguish in each others eyes.
"A losing battle is raging."
Denial unravelling, he attempted to lash out
But his fist passed through the hero weakly.
"I don't understand - I still feel as though I am me!"
Surrendering to despair, he fell to the ground,
Sharing mournful camaraderie with the hero,
The only one who saw his gradations at arms length.
In the last moments of pure recall,
The hero watched as his adversary became misplaced in time.
"As your place in the world fades away,
All you will know is a confusion so thick you forget forgetting."
| 2022-05-17T10:44:20
| 2022-05-17T09:52:46
| 43
| 17
|
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