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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] In a shocking twist, Belgium successfully conquers the world. Part of their success is due to the fact that nobody quite believes this is real, even several years into Belgian world rule.
|
"Belgium holds the world record of going the most days without a government. They stripped the Iraqis of the title. Eight months. You know what they did? You know what they did to protest this strange state of affairs?"
"Jesus, Frank. Why are you always going on about Belgium?"
"They call it the Fries revolution. Fries is their national dish. They walked through the streets, angrily eating fries, to show their dissatisfaction with the overall situation."
Jerry took another disgruntled sip of his beer. It was a wheat beer, Belgian style. Were I to mention this fact he'd most likely take a swing at me.
"What I'm saying, Jerry, is that Belgium is nonsense. And when the world stopped making sense, in 2017, they seized control."
"The Brussels sprout theory," he said. "Bunch of horseshit."
The Brussels sprout theory was proposed in 2023 by a distinguished economist. He showed that all major political events since 2017 could be traced back to Brussels. That was the oddly boring garden from which the blossoms of ambition seemed to spring. That was where treaties were signed, diplomatic channels were opened, and where talented new statesmen were groomed for future endeavours. Brussels. With the political scheming came the economic implications. Those privy to the goings on of Brusselian cocktail parties had the power to predict the rise and fall of dollars, euros, and yuans. Or so it was claimed.
"I'm telling you, Jerry," I said, "the Belgians have outwitted us all."
"No," he said, banging his flat hand against the bar counter. "You don't know a damn thing. You haven't the slighest idea."
In the few weeks we'd known each other, I'd never seen him like this. He grabbed hold of my shoulder and stared at me, his eyes bulging.
"They are pure evil."
I didn't know what to say. "Jerry? Are you alright?"
"There are idealists in this world. Pathetic pieces of shits like me, thinking we could all live together in harmony. But we are the exception. The others are the rule. And rule they do."
"What are you talking about?" I said.
He went on. "A single, functional quantum computer gives you more power than a nuclear bomb. And when you are the first one to use it ... then you get to decide **everything**. You can break encryption. All encryption. Everything the world wants to keep secret. From friends and foes. You know it all. Because they don't hide it very well when it's encrypted. When their scientists say it would take a hundred billion years to decipher a single paragraph. But when you can do so in a matter of minutes ... then you've got the whole world in your hands."
"You think the Belgians got their hands on a quantum computer? Why?"
"Because I built the damn thing," he said.
There was a long silence.
"Heb je gevonden," I said, as I stared into Jerry's bulging eyes, waiting for the realization to hit him. "Don't worry," I said. I pointed at his now empty beer mug. "It will be painless."
It was a bittersweet feeling, depriving the world of its greatest scientist. But there could be only one machine. Our machine. "Unity," I said, staring at Jerry as he choked, "makes Strength."
|
"Son, you have no choice."
The young atheist boy stared at his father with distrust.
"You have to learn dutch, french, and german."
"But-
"I know. I know. It was hard for me to take in too. But this is a different time of our country, Jimmy. The cocoa gods and goddesses have made their decision, and this is what they want. If you don't believe in cocoa, then you will go to vanilla hell. Besides, wouldn't you rather bite into Belvas bar than Yucksheys? Thank god they're saving us from that unholy excuse for chocolate. Oh and who could forget their rich cuisine such as stoemp and mussels... did you know that they invented french fries? You should love and believe our saviors!"
"Hey, what's wrong with Hersheys?... Why are we like Belgium, dad?"
"Who's Belgium? What do you me-
Both father and son stopped in their tracks as they heard a shrill piercing scream in the distance. Then they saw what the horrible noise was coming from.
"Oh boy..." Jimmy felt very concerned about the lack of reaction from his father. It was almost as if this was a thing he saw everyday.
But for him, it was truly a horrifying sight. A young woman was completely covered in liquid chocolate, and through it all they could see red marks throughout her naked body.
Bite marks.
The poor woman dropped to her knees in utter exhaustion. Jimmy then realized that someone had pounced on her and immediately closed his eyes shut.
In the blink of an eye, hands were forcing him to the spot, forcing him to watch. As he struggled to escape through his father's grip he could hear the horrifying sounds of the man violating the chocolate drizzled worker's skin. Jimmy knew from that day on, he'd never have a normal life.
"This is reality, son..." A shudder went down his spine at those words that would forever linger in his head.
So here he was, about to have a gamble at this new experience. Too long, too many years where he'd see the tempting smiles on his fellow friends. The irritating headlines, which he still had a hard time comprehending, naming the new foods, including that chocolate, a "sensation across the nation". He couldn't take it anymore. He was tired of being a outcast among his peers. It wasn't helping that his entire household was fulled to the brim with the stuff. What happened to good ol' soul food and KFC? Even if it made everyone fat...
When he took that first bite into the foreign goodness, he felt entirely different. The more he chewed and gnawed at it, the more wonderful he felt. Why had he been so afraid of it? It was just ecstasy in a different form!
One chocolate turned into dozen...and he knew he was a believer. A true supporter of the idea of the new ways. There was no more denial, no more confusion. Until now, he questioned the idea of it, just like how his government did years back. But now, he was enlightened of the truth. There was only one thing to do. Running to his room, Jimmy got on his computer and opened up the Atheist Subreddit.
Non believers deserved to be shunned, after all.
| 2017-12-02T19:04:33
| 2017-12-02T18:34:58
| 96
| 31
|
[WP] You are a dog whose owner has spiraled into a depression. You are his lifeline, the only thing he has left. You know you are a good boy, but maybe he needs to be told HE is a good boy.
|
It had gotten harder and harder to get Tom to play with me.
He was always an excellent alpha. He kept my water bowl clean, he filled my food dish with kibble, and he let me lick his bowl when he was done with dinner. For the past few weeks, that had been a real delight—sometimes there was a soggy bit of cereal left in there!
Tom hadn’t enjoyed our walkies lately. We used to take long hikes in a park where there are so many smells a dog could die happy, and a big field where I could go off leash and just run and run and run and run and run and run and run and...
I missed running.
I missed playing with Tom! Lately, he had spent most of the time at home on the couch. We cuddled. He let me rest my chin on his chest. He patted my head and said, “Rufus” and more words and “Good boy” and more words. I wagged my tail and it thumped against the coffee table because he told me that I am Rufus and I am a good boy.
Tom had gradually been smelling extra musky and eating a lot more of the crinkly-wrapped food that he would never share with me. Tom had been spending hours at a time sitting with his arms wrapped around his legs. He hadn’t wanted to run or play. I worried he had lost sight of what’s truly important.
Tom lost sight of the fact that he, too, is a good boy.
So I put my favorite toy on his pillow. I showed him my belly and wagged my tail. I crouched down really low, and spread my legs on the floor so he saw that I’m very small indeed and not any sort of threat because Tom is the alpha. I did all sorts of things to show him he is a good boy. Still, he walked through his life with a numb expression on his face.
Imagine my delight when I saw him get the leash this afternoon! He loaded up a big crinkly bag with lots of his clothes and carried it over one shoulder and we went for the most unusual walky. We went to a white house with one tall pointy tower. There was a big metal box there and I could smell crinkly bags and clothes and my especial favorite SHOES in there. I didn’t get to have the shoes though. Tom just inserted his crinkly bag full of clothes into the big metal box and told me I was a good boy.
There was a spring in his step after that. He chatted at me and even smiled. We walked home, and Tom filled a cardboard box with things he never lets me have—cords and the smooth box that makes whirring noises and the pieces he holds in his hands when he stares at the television. He topped off his cardboard box with the small smooth blocks he calls “games,” even though he never uses them to play tug-of-war with me. Then we got to have another walky!
We went next door where there are three children who all like to pet me and throw balls for me and tell me I’m a good boy. I think they told Tom that he is a good boy too because they were very happy when he gave them the box.
We spent all afternoon like this. We went home, Tom filled up a bag or a box of things, and we walked it somewhere unusual. Blankets and towels went to a building that smelled like a vet but had lots of dogs and cats waiting to find homes. Food went to a building with many musky people with holes in their shoes. Books went to a building that was already full of books. Tom walked me home and out and home and out until his apartment had very little stuff in it indeed.
I was so tired. I drank my whole water bowl and Tom refilled it and I drank more. Then I plopped down on the ground, ready for a nap, except my tail kept thudding against the carpet. Tom sat down next to me and patted me and told me I am Rufus and a good boy. I licked his hands. He is a good boy too.
Then Tom opened his front door but didn’t go out. He tipped the kibble bag over so I could get as much as I wanted. He went to the kitchen to get one of those pointy steel objects with the nice wooden handle. There was something wrong with his smell: sweat and a kind of fear I’ve never smelled on him before. He brought the steel thing to the bathroom and shut the door.
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no.
Something was wrong.
I bumped my head against the door. I scratched at it. The fear smell sharpened. I howled. Tom was in danger and I needed to get at him! I howled and I tried digging under the door and I howled and I scratched at the door knob and I howled and I tried to get to Tom and I howled.
A long time passed and the danger-smell changed. I quivered and whined. I begged Tom to come back out. I howled and whined. I wanted Tom to come out before the fear smell gave way to the blood smell. I scratched the door and whined.
Tom opened the door and gave me the biggest hug. He smelled like relief. I licked his salty face. He was trembling. I pushed against his chest with my head and he rubbed and patted me and told me what a good boy I am. My tail pounded against cabinets under the bathroom sink. Tom is a good boy too.
|
My name is Captain. I am a dog, and I am a good boy.
​
There's still dew still on the grass, and joggers are out. Even in December it's so hot by nine o'clock anyone still running outside will will turn into deliciously smelly messes, which is a great time to go out and visit people I think. But right now is really the best time - the smell of frying oil, spices, and oh boy, oh boy is that bacon today? The smell of the grass, the smell of the Eucalyptus trees out the window. It's a perfect morning.
​
I need to go outside, I have business there. Not only my usual business, but it's time to go see the neighbors. All this week Sheil - he's my dad but he's a human I guess it's complicated - he's been so sleepy! I've got to get up to his room and tell him what a perfect morning it is. Why is this door closed? Why is the window closed? Shouting through the door I yell at him to listen up, you know if I can't get my walk by nine O'clock, I'll find my cat friend down the road, Lizzy, already sprawled out for a mid-day nap. After all, I continue, her mornings are always busy doing all sorts of things like waking up the house, begging for food from Dad, begging for food from Mom. As I'm explaining all of this through the door, the brass handle turns and can it be and Sheil pops his head out through the crack. The inside of the room is dark, and his figure is a scarcely visible outline, and his wire hair is a tangled mess. I like his strong dark hair. I've got white hair, it's sometimes hard to see we're family.
​
It's a perfect morning. All this week I've patiently explained my business to go outside, and I've dutifully reminded Sheil how happy he is when he can eat food while it's hot. But until today, I've not been able to see his handsome face. Not even one time! So, it's embarrassing but I am so excited I can hardly contain myself at this moment. I'm happy for my ancestry with short tails, or in my excitement should knock over the stack of books on the floor. Anatomy books that show people but with so many complicated pieces, muscles, veins, and...bones. Forbidden treats! Maybe I \*should\* knock those books over, come to think of it, I can't quite remember the last time he read them to me. I love his voice when he teaches me all about what's in those books, when no one is near and it's just the two of us. I'm a great student, I've never missed a single lesson with my Sheil! Why did he stop reading those books? Maybe today is my lucky day.
​
Sheil shook his head and and shook my body back in excitement. But in a second it all ended - the door was closed again.
​
I raised my paws to push on the door, surely it was only the wind that closed it, when suddenly it dawned on me. No, the wind did not close the door. Sheil is hiding! The realization hit me harder than that time I ran after the mail truck, and the driver braked hard and my nose slammed right into the back of the truck. Silly driver, I was chasing you, not tailgating you! Since then I've asked Sheil to only order my treats that ship with bicycle delivery, they always are kind to me and have extra snacks with them. And they have a delightful smell like burning leaves lingering about them.
​
I was stunned. It all made sense. When do I hide? When I watered the Christmas tree all by myself, and Sheil gave me a look that let me know that day I was not a good dog. When I thought I hadn't quite digested that dog treat and might eat it a second time off the grass, Sheil let me know I most definitely was NOT a good boy. And both times, the only place I wanted to be was, nowhere. But Sheil would come find me out in the far corner of the yard after only a few minutes. He found me and let me know in such an earnest, quiet and soothing tone that in fact, regardless of my silliness, I was in fact, a good boy.
​
So I must find a way to let Sheil know he, too, is a good boy. Because, I am a dog, and I am a good boy.
​
\----end pt.1----
| 2018-12-06T02:08:11
| 2018-12-06T01:10:17
| 93
| 28
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[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
|
"...But what's the point." It responded. "It's in their nature. They're just fighting the inevitable."
The alien paused. "Is peace a commodity? Do they fight to be the only ones at peace"
"Human tribes have frequently sabotaged other tribes for their own self-interest," the other alien began.
"Well there we go. I don't see why you find them so special. That's typical war species behavior."
The other alien continued, "but for as many of them that want war there are those that want peace."
"Sure. And every Beloxaan cross-pollinates. Don't exagerate. Every species has outliers."
"No," the other alien answered, it's voice begining to hum in frustration. "Their biology isn't designed for prolonged stress. Look," it types in a few keys on the pad in front of them and a projected string of numbers and charts appear. "They're at optimal longevity when stress hormones are absent" The first alien looked the numbers over silently, processing it.
"But, here's the thing. With no stressors they become lethargic. Progress halts."
" So this species craves peace but needs war to advance?"
"I don't know if that's quite right, but it sounds like an awfully confusing existence."
"Agreed... I hope they're not prone to self-reflection."
The other alien looked at it's co-pilot. "It's planets like this that make me glad that I'm fungal-based."
|
Part 1:
"Well that's not entirely true, Goresh" the first alien responded. "How about... Well, what about..." The commander was frantically scrambling to find any case of this in the ship's database but no matter how many results his implant threw at him he realised none of them fitted this situation. "Okay maybe it is new, so what?" the commander finally asked. "So what?, General this is the first war species we have found that ever sent individuals outside of their home gravity well. They might have done it in tin cans, they might have done it to show their technical proficiency, but it wasn't done for fighting directly. Do you not think it remarkable that the first war species to explore beyond their home is also the first to fight not for personal gain, but for the benefit of their children?". This made the commander pause for a second, as much as Goresh was a smart ass most of the time, this is exactly why Hoerum asked him to come and paid his parents more then he had any parent in his career. Goresh didn't just know about a lot of fields, he saw motives where most researchers only looked at numbers. Then finally a desperate query form the computer appeared in Hoerum's mind and he asked the young scientist "What about the other species we found in this solar system?". This made Goresh pause for a second, his tail shaking with concentration. "I think that they might have been similar now that you say it, the documentation is very poor since this was during the first dynasty. I think they cleansed the planet, the occupants were too dangerous. They were able to be focused on war and yet live in a harmonious society. They had colonies all over this solar system, including this planet where the humans now live". The eyes of the scientist went wide with realisation. "The humans and the other species where both A3-type DNA species. There used to be a lot of them on this planet a long time ago, and there have been reports in the past of compatible lifeforms absorbing DNA from past colonisers. Damm, those humans looked too different from the other creatures on the planet. We need to get a sample of the DNA from that other species, NOW". The general was a bit slower to catch on, "Are you suggesting that there is even a possibility these humans carry the DNA of one of the three sentient species we ever wiped out?".Goresh looked at Hoerum for a second and then responded with an uncharacteristic shutter in his voice "I am not saying it is possible, I am saying it is very propable. We need to send a warning the royal family right now. For once in our history, we need to be careful again, because the men from mars live on, and they have ambition again".
Thanks for reading my story and please leave feedback, I would love to hear your opinion and improve my writing!
Edit: Part 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 in the comments.
| 2018-03-17T04:45:49
| 2018-03-17T04:32:27
| 1,307
| 322
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[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States.
|
And just like that, the lights were off. Off! For the first time in Mother B'ln KNEW how long, blessed darkness coated the land in her cool soothing embrace.
Our shaman's eyes rolled back in his head and his body convulsed as words poured from his mouth: communications with the other tribes across the land. A concentrated, organized effort, the first time in our history that the disparate Children had put their differences aside long enough to achieve a common goal.
The chief gave the signal, a piercing whistle, and all the gathered Children charged across the field towards the newly darkened power plant. We smashed heir doors, swarmed their halls, and their defenders fell before our claws with ease.
In the middle of the building we found T'rn, huddled and shaking. T'rn, our martyr, had hunched himself down to human size, covered himself in human garments, and braved the searing light long enough to destroy the foul machines and end the Eternal Day. He collapsed into our medicine woman's arms, body wracked with pain and covered in blistering burns from contact with the Light. T'rn would not make it: his injuries were too severe. But he and the other infiltrators across the land would be remembered by all Children as martyrs for the Night.
We howled in unison as T'rn passed to the Many Stars. Two Children were tasked with getting his body to safety, for burial with the highest honors. The Chief himself would sanctify the grave, and it would be deemed a Site of Pilgrimage.
We roared in triumph, and resumed the advance through the human's building. Rip, smash, shatter, break. End the machines, end ALL of them. Across the land the human's defenders fell and their machines of Light lay ruined. The Eternal Day was ended, and the Children would once more rule this land.
|
For years it was always bright. We slept with lights on, never darkness. We cooked, cleaned, showered, did everything in brightness. This was how it was because the government told us the "monsters" would get us. Nobody had ever seen them in person. We didn't know what they looked like, what they could do, or how they were killing us... All we knew was we were dropping like flies in the darkness and we were safe in the light. Everyone had their own theory... That aliens were trying to take over... That it was angry ghosts or demons... That it was a government conspiracy to control the population and us as a whole... Even supernatural beings... But the government always denied them. I was too young to witness it first hand. But I knew what they could take away from us. They killed my parents.
It was 12 years after the initial Law of Light (and the subsequent curfew that came with it) that it first came crashing down. I was sitting on the couch one night with my brother watching Netflix when it was suddenly dark. The TV went off, the lights, everything in the apartment was dark. For a second I froze - what the fuck was happening? We were guaranteed the lights would never go out. I snapped out of it quickly, grabbed my little brother by the hand and led him to our supply closet / panic room. I pushed his crying self into the corner and covered him with a blanket covered in small embedded lights. Maybe that would deter the monsters from him. I grabbed the shotgun I bought myself once I got my own place and loaded it up. I listened to the quiet apartment. No sounds but my own breathing and my brother's sniffling. Then, I heard shouting from the nearby apartments.
"Shit, they're here." I swore. My brother whimpered.
"Brian, whatever happens, do not come out from that blanket until you see the lights back on."
He whispered ok and tried to hold back his sobs.
I started hearing what I could only describe as high pitched and whispy sounds, in the apartment. Sounds I'd never heard before. Sounds I couldn't really place. Sounds that frightened me. Things were knocking over, whispers heard that sounded familiar. I stood back in front of my brother to protect him; my gun aimed at the closed door. Suddenly bright blue light filled the small closet we were in and I had to shield my eyes and brace myself. After a few seconds, nothing happened, but a small voice sounded from in front of me. Help us? I opened my eyes confused, to a being of semi-transparent blue light floating in front me. It had my body. It had my features. It had my voice. It sounded like it was in pain. Its arms reached for me. It cried out: "Help us."
| 2018-02-02T05:18:06
| 2018-02-02T04:29:56
| 20
| 10
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[WP] You are the hero's love interest, so everyone trust to use you as a hostage. What the assorted villains fail to realize is that you do not have the hero's morals even if you are just as powerful.
|
Nathan Steele sipped the coffee tenderly before setting the mug back down on its coaster next to his laptop. It was going to be a long night of homework, but work was comforting to the seventeen-year-old. Work had always been his favorite distraction. No matter what foster home, no matter what orphanage, no matter where he was or what situation he was in, work had always been there to keep him busy and focused.
Nate had found a lot of work with the Northwind Heroic Academy, a high school and college campus for those gifted by the Goddess. He was selected for one of the Worldwalker Foundation Scholarships, a foundation made to provide "normal" children with the unique opportunities that the heroic academies provided. He'd earned the scholarship on academic merit alone. He went from jumping fences of foster homes to being roommates and classmates with Northwind's most promising and famous young heroes. Of course, none of them had any idea that he was also gifted, but that wasn't something he was going to ever let anyone know. Not even Skylar.
Nate did not seek a hero's life. It was not that he disliked heroes; in fact, he actually adored them for the most part. He just simply wished to be an entertainer. He loved making people laugh more than anything. The attention was wonderful, of course. He was aware that his desire for attention was likely an unhealthy byproduct of his upbringing, but he knew that his love for entertainment went beyond his selfish desires. Joy was the lifeblood that allows good people to get through difficult times. He would know. These heroes worked themselves to the bone both in the study and in service. If he could simply take their minds off their villains and enemies for even a moment, then that would make Nate happy. They knew him as the smooth-talking confident ungifted that always made everyone smile. The instructors knew him as that too, but they also knew that he was one of the top students in the academy. And Skylar…
He leaned back in his wheeled office chair, taking a moment to contemplate the assignment. “What is the difference between a hero and a villain?” He spoke the paper’s subject aloud to himself, rubbing two fingers along the jet black stubble that sprouted from his chin. He let his mind drift into thinking of how he might need a shave before catching himself and refocusing. He spun the chair around, facing toward his roommate's half of the living space. It sat empty. Skylar was out on city watch tonight. There had been threats of attack made by the Cerulean League on a number of establishments in Northwind. Every hero in the area had been called regardless of affiliation, and Skylar was the academy’s most promising hero. He prayed to the Goddess that she would return safely.
Nathan smiled at the mere thought of her. He couldn’t deny it now. He absolutely had a crush on her, but who could blame him? She was stunningly beautiful. She spoke with an ethereal elegance like the knight-heroes of old. Her kindness and passionate nature lit up the room. She was every student’s crush, regardless of gender. Many people had tried bribing Nate into switching rooms with them when the living arrangements were made. Everyone, teachers and heroes, adored her. That also meant they were jealous of the friendship he had with Skylar. Everyone knew that they were close. Some even rumored that she liked him. For many jealous students, it was too close for comfort.
She was also one of, if not the strongest heroes the academy had ever seen. Her power was called “Spiritsurge.” He’d never been close enough to really see the full range of properties, but he’d studied the footage and asked her about it on a couple of occasions. His running theory was that she could siphon power from souls, whether it was her own or the souls of others, and use it to grant her a wide range of abilities depending on the amount in her system. She passively had enhanced physical and cognitive capabilities, which Nate guessed to be the result of a subconscious siphoning of her own soul at a sustainable level. She could consciously expend more of that energy, that “soul-power,” to fuel greater feats and abilities. She also physically glowed when particularly high amounts were present. He’d seen her fly, fire blasts of energy from her hands, recover from fatal wounds in days, and so much more. The drawback to spiritsurge was that using it was incredibly taxing on the body and mind, leaving her out of action for a time relative to how much she used. Nathan had always taken it upon himself to care for her whenever she pushed too hard, taking notes for her in class and keeping her company in the academy medbay. She was his first, and for a while, his only friend at the academy. He might not be a shining beacon of light in the darkness of the world, but he could be a good friend. He just wished she’d stop being so merciful to her enemies so that she would stop getting herself hurt.
Nate sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. Skylar believed that there was good in everyone. She, like many heroes, forbade herself from killing villains regardless of their crimes against humanity. Even her nemesis, the King of Clubs, had been allowed to live by her code of mercy. But why? Why put yourself through hell to save someone who is never going to change? It bothered him deeply. The King of Clubs was a mass murdering perverted freak, a man deserving of the death he gave to so many others. If arrested, he would be imprisoned for life, never to see the sun again. Was that alone not a death sentence in and of itself? What was the difference between an existence of echoing your repentance endlessly into four unmoving concrete walls and dying at the hands of a hero? Both had the same outcome in the end, a well-deserved death. He knew that if Skylar’s life were at stake, he’d kill the King without a second thought. Wouldn’t she do the same?
He was stirred from the disturbing thought by a commotion in the hallway. He stood up, alarm bells ringing in his head. He stepped trepidatiously to the door. It flew forward off the hinges and slammed directly into him. Two sets of hands grabbed his arms as he came to his senses. They were thugs, dressed in the unmistakably posh style of the Cadre of Clubs. He needed not ask himself why they were here. He knew in an instant. The threats downtown were distractions. Nate was the real target. He would be leveraged. He would be a way to force Skylar to surrender so that disgusting bastard could have her all to himself. As they dragged him by the arms, his blood boiled at the thought.
He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that once he crossed that line, there would be no going back. But some lines deserved to be crossed.
Time came to a crawl, but Nathan Steele breathed with the same rhythm as he had been before. He could see that he was in the hallway now. A number of students were being attacked by the King’s men in the ambush. He saw Marco Sinclair, who sat next to him in History class, fighting desperately to keep a knife from sinking into his throat as a Club member pinned him against the wall. He was seconds from death. Luckily for him, seconds were all Nate needed. With reality slowed for a brief moment, Nate made no wasted motion in standing to his feet and shaking free of his would-be abductors. In the waning moments of slowed time, he leaped forward with both feet aimed directly at the ribs of Marco’s assailant. Time resumed normal pace as Nate shot forward with incredible velocity and dropkicked the knife wielder with bone-crushing force, sending the henchman flying down the hallway. He looked up to see a very confused Marco, who had just watched an “ungifted” hit a man with the force of a train. He knew Nathan was strong, but that was clearly abnormal. They both turned as the two Nate just broke from charged him once again. The one in front reared back and swung into thin air as Nathan ducked low and sent a knee into his gut with unnatural speed. The second man was not so lucky. A lighting punch crushed the goon’s windpipe, sending him down hard.
Like a whirlwind, Nathan stormed down the hallway, his blows sending Cadre men into and through the walls, floor, and ceiling of the hallway. Some of their injuries would likely be fatal, but Nate would shed no tears over these men. Just as soon as it had started, the ambush was decisively over. All of the students were okay, but they were all shocked into silence. Nate had hidden power, that was clear to everyone. Before anyone could ask, Nate stormed out of the hallway and down the stairs. As he exited the building, he saw an unmarked black SUV begin speeding down the street. Bingo. Nathan followed in slowed time, staying just out of view.
The difference between a hero and a villain is morality. Nathan Steele was neither hero nor villain. He was not evil, but he certainly was not merciful. There had been a time for inaction, allowing the heroic and brave paragons to defend the innocent from the schemes of the Cerulean League. That time had passed. They had come to his home. They had tried to kill his friends. They had tried to ransom him so they could subject his love to the perverted desires of a deranged mob boss. That was a line crossed. They would learn that goes both ways. Tonight, there would be hell to pay in Northwind.
|
I woke up with the unpleasant feeling of nausea. Maybe I really had drunken too much last night. The sickness gripped my bones and wheighed down my hands and feet. Or maybe that was because of the heavy chains around my wrists and ankles. Chains? That wasn't normal. Lokking around I realized I didn't recognize my surroundings at all.
At once the fog in my mind cleared as adrenalin flooded my body. This was not home. In fact it wasn't homely at all. Neither the cold stone walls nor the blank floor or the dim lighting seemed to suggest a friendly host. And that was if you ignored the chains and the bars infront of the small window.
No, this was definitely _not_ home. It was a prison cell. I had been taken hostage. _Again_. How unpractical. And what an unpleasant timing, right at the day of my wedding. My wife would be furious if I came late. And I would have to clean myself and put on new clothes when I was done here, so no chance of getting there in time. I sighed, I'd better start now.
The chains clattered when I stood up. The cell wasn't big. The only door seemed to be pretty heavy with iron mounting. Quite unbreakable. If you're a normal person, that is. And I was definitely not a normal person. Neither was my wife, but that's another story.
I placed myself next to the door - I had not been chained to the floor and the chains left me some space to move. A foolish move from the guards, but quite handy for me.
Slowly I began to cry for help - By now I had the desperate sobs down to a spell - and sure enough after a while the door opened. The annoyed voice of the guard changed into horror as the chain bit into his throat, strangling him. Soon the gurgling and struggling stopped and the body dropped loosely into my arms.
Shortly after the key clicked into place and my chains fell off. A dagger moved from the corpse into my hand. Time for the real game.
I made my way towards the great hall, painting the grey hallways of the castle with red blood. Pale bodys of guards and soldiers lined my way. Many women would weep tonight. My deeds would destroy the hopes and futures of countless families today.
When the wide doors to the great hall swung open and two guards fell after it, headless, the dark lord cried in terror and disgust. His voice echoed from the cold walls. All eyes stared at the head I held high in one hand. The bloodstained face stared back with empty eyes. It had taken me quite a while to cut it off. Such a small dagger wasn't made for this kind of task and thus the cut was unclean and ugly. Still, I was quite proud of my work - and the effect it had.
There was a dead silence in the hall. Noone dared to speak while I carelessly stepped over the body and strolled towards the dark lord. Stopping at just an arms reach I dropped the head into his lap.
"Here, I believe this was your guard."
He stared at the head and then me in utter disgust. "Lady of the white hall, what have you done?"
"Nothing that you didn't cause. And that's the name of my wife, not me. Call me Brunhild, even if it'll be the last thing you'll do"
"Not your... What _are_ you?"
"I'm a woman. I thought that was obvious, but if you mean the dead soldiers in your hallways - that by the way could need some cleaning - then you should know that I don't see these things as... strict as my wife does. And that I'm in no way a suitable hostage. In fact I'm getting very bored by the many..."
"But Lady,", he interrupted me, clearly not caring much about the fate of his soldiers - or that I still was standing quite intimidating right before him. How rude. "Don't you think you killing these _people_ makes you as bad as me? As all the other far greater villains?"
"No. Not at all. _Wanting_ to kill these people, that's what makes me like them. And cutting their small little heads of too, I suppose. But like I said, I don't really care about these things. Nor do I care about you - that was until you bothered me _while_ trying to kill my wife. And that's why I'll have to deal with you."
"And how are you going to do that, Lady? I don't suppose you are going to kill me, are you?", he snarled. Confident now that I would act like all the naive heros before me did. Bad idea. Very bad idea.
"Yes, infact I will. Plus maybe a little extra, we'll see." I strengthened the grip around my dagger. Time to get this over with.
| 2022-08-17T13:50:26
| 2022-08-17T13:01:33
| 51
| 38
|
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world.
|
"Daddy?" Isabella's voice was clear as a bell. My eyes stung with tears with my inability to speak back to her.
"Daddy? When are you coming home?" She asked. "I guess it is a bad call. It has the five bars and says 4. Daddy is your phone broken Daddy?"
I sobbed silently to myself listening to my sweet little girl try to reach out to me. I would forever hear her voice reaching out to me. We were both in the same car. She had just gotten a hand-me-down cellphone with Facetime. I could see her. Hear her. See her smiling. Feel her oblivious happiness coursing through the signal. The sun was shining upon her happy little cherubic face.
The phone chimed again as I screamed into the muzzle.
The Demon held it back in front of me again.
"Daaaaaadddddy? Why won't you answor Daddy?"
The Demon leaned in close. Brimstone on his breath. "Was the Whisky worth it?"
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/l1emri/wp_the_demon_successfully_possessed_you_however/)
|
The worst thing of all, a freshly dead Alex thought as he looked down at his phone, was that he’d forgotten to charge the damn thing. That left him about thirty minutes to solve all religiously motivated violence on planet Earth, a fact which his sobbing girlfriend seemed to not even note the importance of.
“But you’re dead!” Ellen cried, voice breaking apart over Facetime from both the distance and the tears. “They just had me identify you! This isn’t real, it's not, it can’t be…” her voice trailed off into whimpers as her mind rebelled against her eyes. The man she’d loved stood right there on her screen, the angle of the video just as terrible as always, dark hair hanging loose over his shoulders when she *knew* it had been burned off in the accident.
“Babe I get that this is really, really hard for you right now and believe me, it sucks for me too. I loved you and our life together but right now there’s something way more important going on.” Ellen’s crying intensified, notes of hysteria creeping in.
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that,” Alex said. “Look you’ve got to believe me and I don’t have much time. I’m in Heaven! Or at least I think it’s heaven, that part is kinda confusing and there were signs that said ‘Afterlife’ all over customs. Anyway, I legit just passed Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, and some guy with 4 arms and blue, **BLUE** skin!”
“Slow down, please Alex I don’t understand…” It broke his heart to do this but Alex knew from the very core of his being that it was the right move. He hadn’t had a chance to have children yet, hadn’t done a single thing of note. Ellen was the only person on Earth who would even remember him by next week, so this was it, his one chance to leave a mark.
World peace was a pretty nice parting gift.
“I know I’m being the worst boyfriend in the world right now but I need you to just believe me and start recording our call, ok? This is all going to become way clearer.”
And that was that, the last time she’d ever see him, as the camera turned away from Alex and Ellen tried to burn every single detail of his face far enough into herself to make the embers last. She hit record, her body still following commands as her mind checked fully out of the insanity that today had turned her life into. She stared blankly at the screen now, images barely registering as the weight of her being turned to his voice.
“So up ahead is this clubhouse looking thing,” Alex was saying as he approached the structure, camera bouncing with every step.
“Like I said I saw those guys earlier and I instantly knew who they were. Holy people glow up here- it’s honestly been kinda annoying so far, sometimes you see these clouds like miniature suns in the distance, it's a whole thing. But these guys were special, I could feel it in my bones when they passed. It’s like I just knew who they were immediately. Plus everyone but the blue guy was these sweet monogrammed bathrobes, I want one.”
Alex reached the door, turning the handle and finding it locked. “Yeah that would’ve been too easy.”
He turned to the right, chasing the long line of the fence off into the distance for several minutes until he reached a spot without people watching. With a silent prayer that seemed at once highly appropriate and incredibly disrespectful given the circumstances he leapt up, climbing the strangely warm golden mesh of the fence until he could fall unceremoniously from the top. His pained grunt as he hit the ground drew another small sob from Ellen.
“Sorry babe,” Alex said, dusting himself off as he rose.
“Anyway, I’m in and hopefully this works. You’re recording this right?” A barely mumbled yes was the only response. “Ok thanks. So this is super important because they all seemed so chummy together, Muhammed actually laughed at something Jesus said. Laughed! Do you have any idea how many lives that could have saved if I’d caught it on camera?”
Alex continued on into the grounds as he spoke. He could hear shouts in the distance accompanied by a regular thumping sound, as if something were being struck. He made for them, beginning to sprint now as his phone gave its first battery warning.
“I don’t have much battery left and I promise I love you so, so much. I wish we could have spent this time together but this is too important, when the call dies you’ve gotta upload it everywhere, alright? Promise me you will, send it to CNN, NBC, whoever, just get the news out that everyone’s gods are friends and things can all be ok.”
He was close now, no doubt they could hear the pounding of his feet against the ground. Visions of fame back home on Earth simming in his head, Alex turned the corner of the building and the whole scene spread out before him.
“Holy shit!” Alex exclaimed.
In the center of a pristine field lay a pool, its water crystal clear and preternaturally still even as the four men splashed about in it. A net stretched across the center of the pool, a pair of dark haired, olive skinned men who Alex innately knew to be Jesus and Mohammed on one side, opposite a golden skinned man with a topknot whose body seemed less fat than it should be, and a giant four armed blue fellow whose every move was shadowed by an even more massive snake to the side of the pool. Buddha and Vishnu, his newly acquired sixth sense for these things supplied. All four of them were suffused with a golden glow as they played, totally at ease in each other’s presence, as if celestial volleyball were the most normal thing imaginable.
Turning to the new arrival Jesus rose from the water, annoyance writ large across his face.
“Hey come on man, read the signs, no autographs anymore!” he cried, water glistening across his abs. Shockingly they were the only part of his image it seemed the painters had gotten right.
“Signs?” Alex replied weakly. He hadn’t read them.
“Yeah, signs! This is a private game, get out!”
As security closed in the battery on Alex’s phone ticked over to 2%. His final act as he was tackled by men clearly out of the middle ages was a screamed message to Ellen, “your anniversary present is in the-...” his phone died before the last word.
Stunned, Ellen leaned back in her chair, trying to process what she had just witnessed. She hadn’t recognized a single person in that pool.
\----------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-01-20T14:13:32
| 2021-01-20T13:43:01
| 347
| 120
|
[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.
Edit: You guys are freaking great.
|
The president received the Spreadsheet in an email. To her personal email, not the official one that nobody actually checks. Untraceable, and they tried their best to trace it.
Nobody seemed interested in the Spreadsheet itself, not at first, not except the president. She didn't tell anyone at the time, but she was curious and kept an eye on it. A guilty pleasure, she called it in an interview. It was nothing but a list of names and dates, seemingly arbitrary.
It was a monstrously long file, and she was really rather busy, so it took weeks before she came across the name of a man she knew. The date next to it was within the next few weeks. She thought little of it, frowned, and moved on.
That day, he died.
Once was coincidence, but ten times was certainty, as she deduced the next day. From there, her next course of action was obvious, if only born of morbid curiosity. She searched her own name, and there it was.
August 26th, 2025.
The CIA took over from there. Parsing the Spreadsheet on their machines was quite a bit faster, and within days they had the information. A smattering of dates between then and 2025, distributed more or less uniformly with some amount of concentration on September 11, 2021. But it all changed on August 21st, 2025. Not thousands or even millions, but billions of names were clustered over that day and the next five.
By now, you might be wondering what this story has to do with me.
They thought it was an error in their calculations at first. As far as they could tell, every single human on Earth was listed on the Spreadsheet, and nearly every last one of them not scheduled to die beforehand would die between August 21st and 26th. All but one. One name was scheduled for a day later, on the 27th. Mine.
I was sitting in my room working on some homework when the CIA found me. My door flew open, my carpet was tossed aside, and my head was thrown under a bag, and that was the last time I ever saw bright light.
I awoke chained up in a dark room. Literal chains around my arms and legs and a pitch-black room with metal walls. They came in and interrogated me, did things with knives and buckets of water and a branding iron, but all it got them was a screaming kid in a bunker. At least they cleaned up the blood before they left.
Maybe the president took pity on me, or maybe someone asked her to do it, but she came to visit some days later, explained everything. They thought I was somehow responsible for the Incident, as they were calling it, and they couldn't take any chances. They would keep me here until August 27th, 2025, and if all went well, they would offer me an apology and enough money to make me rich, and maybe my own island.
I asked if I could go home instead, and she left.
They let me out of those chains, at least, and my guards were nice, though I never saw or heard them. All the food and drink I got was passed through a crack in the ceiling with a long rod, but the food was always good and they often wrote me encouraging notes. They'd bring me books every few days, and I started stacking them in the corner. I had everything I needed in that cell, except for basic human contact and a life.
I had no way to keep track of time, but I suppose it was eight years later when it happened. Sounds of explosions, loud thumping, and something that sounded like a human scream, only loud enough for me to actually hear.
I counted, because I knew it mattered. Six days of the noises, and then they stopped. It was nothing but silence from there on out. Whatever it was up there, it hadn't found me.
But there was nobody to bring me water, either.
|
The world was going to end on August 26th, 2025. Thanks to the death clocks, this had been known for years. Everyone got tested. Everyone had their clock. The world was going to end and that was that. One day, I had noticed something strange. I had one more day than everyone else. I was going to spend my last day alive alone on this planet. That's what I had 9 years to reconcile, but it was also the worst kept secret on the planet.
People made plans to stay with me. Everyone else wanted one more day. Everyone. The attention was frustrating. Celebrities and politicians contacted me. I became estranged from family and friends as others with power and money wanted one more day. It didn't bother them that humanity was dead. It was just their strive for survival, but I turned everyone down, all of the offers.
It didn't end there though. A group of people started to follow me. I was the chosen one or the survivor or the last great hope for humanity. As the years passed, the followers stopped following, and I became a hermit. I lived in the wilderness and found a cave. That's how I coped with this supposedly fantastic news.
As the day approached, it was clear an asteroid was going to hit Earth. Scientists found it with four years to spare. The world mounted a defense, but every effort to stop it failed. The impact date was August 27th, 2025, my day and not everyone else's and that was the problem. All hope was lost, there was nothing left for the world to lose. Why not kill all your of your enemies? As I hid in a cave, bombs flew. I lived through it apparently the lone survivor, but I doubt anyone was jealous of my day spent crying in a cave waiting for an asteroid to hit.
I had eschewed technology long ago, except for the death clock. Followers had abandoned me as had the rich and powerful hoping for one more day. As the asteroid approached, I watched it in the sky. I remember reading about the death clocks. That's what I thought about as death approached, and I watched it countdown to 0, an article about the death clocks. They were incredibly accurate to 0.00001%. It made me wonder though if they determined destiny rather than predicting it. If we made our fate to match the predetermined outcome. And, I watched the asteroid pass close to the Earth. It disappeared. I did not see the impact, but I waited. And I waited for something that never came.
Then, I looked at my watch. I remembered something unusual about it. It only counted down for 1000 years, ten lifetimes to most people. As it switched to August 28th, I saw 00yr 00mt 00ds 00hr 00sc turn over to 999yr 11mt 30ds 23hr 59sc. At first, I was destroyed. I knew there was pain to come, but there was also a world to rebuild which meant there was hope. Then, I smiled a weak little smile. That fact alone made today already better than yesterday.
***
If you like this, I've started to write a Batman/Superman story set 30+ years in the future: [Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4phzj3/batman_superman_and_the_aliens_part_i_the_superman/)
| 2016-07-24T23:48:07
| 2016-07-24T20:05:30
| 22
| 12
|
[WP] The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are.
[from this image](https://pics.onsizzle.com/the-japanese-say-you-have-three-faces-the-first-face-5699757.png)
|
This is my first attempt at writing with a prompt. Go easy on me guys.
**My Three Faces**
I wake up from my post-lunch nap at work to find that I overslept. But thankfully just by ten minutes. I look up to see my boss standing next to me with an annoyed look. She says, "I hope you got your beauty sleep, we have work to do". I stand up and follow her to a meeting room. I hated what was going to happen next. We had to fire the junior programmer in my team.
My boss starts off by asking a pointless question to the poor guy. "Are you aware of why we're here?"
"I'm getting fired aren't I? Please give me one more chance! I promise I'll do better."
I reply, "I'm sorry dude. We have already given you two months and additional training. This won't work out. I suggest you find a job in a different field. Programming is not for you. You really don't understand computer logic."
My boss intervenes as usual, "I think what he means to say is that you are finding it difficult to cope with the demands of our workplace. Your skill sets are not aligning with that of our organization. We hope you will do well in your future."
After another gruelling ten minutes, all three of us walked out of the room and the poor guy who got fired was being led to the HR desk for completing the exit process. After a brief silence my boss says, "You should put a filter on that mouth of yours! How do you think he felt when you told him he should switch careers? That's not a decision we should be making for him!"
"I DO feel sorry for the guy. I just told him what I thought. He really shouldn't continue in this field. He might be better off doing something else."
"Well it certainly didn't look like you felt bad for him."
"Why are you talking like you owe him something? It was after all, an exit interview.", I said a little confused.
"He was already devastated by what you said. I just wanted to bring down the tension in that room."
"I'm sorry. You *know* I try to keep my thoughts to myself. It just doesn't work."
"Anyway, I'm wrapping up early today. I need to go to my daughter's play. And NO, I don't want to know what you think about her acting skills. I sometimes wonder why I put up with your attitude. I'll see you around."
"Bye"
A few hours later I come home to find my 4 year old daughter coloring. My lovely wife is in the kitchen cooking dinner. I close the door and my daughter comes running up to me. I ask her how kindergarten was and she asks me a question. "Daddy, my teacher says that Santa will come with toys to all the children who have been good. Is that true?"
"Santa is not real sweety. He is just a made-up person. I'm the one who brings you the toys!", i say playfully. But somehow her face saddened. Just that moment my wife comes out of the kitchen to do some damage control.
She says, "What daddy means is, some people believe that Santa is real. And maybe he is. Just because you can't see air, doesn't mean it isn't there right?"
I say "But... That's not what I..."
She breaks me off and says, "Why don't you finish your coloring while Daddy and me finish cooking?"
My daughter smiled her million dollar smile and said, "Ok Mommy."
We go into the kitchen and I start chopping fruits for the salad. My wife says, "Honey, I know it is difficult for you to be polite. But at least for our daughter's sake try not to say anything that might hurt her."
"We have had this conversation so many times! I really don't know what to do about this. We have been together for 8 years now. Have you seen me being any different?" I ask, a little frustrated.
"Let's not talk about this now. I don't want our baby to hear us arguing."
I feel thankful that I have a habit of not speaking while eating food. It makes for lesser painful interactions. We finish dinner and my wife takes our daughter to her room to put her to sleep. I do the dishes and go to our bedroom. I needed to take a shower. Something that would wash away the frustration. After the shower I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and think to myself.
The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are.
Why is it that I have only one?
|
I couldn't say how long I had been putting on an act. It felt like forever. Every moment of every day, devoted to holding that mask in front of my face, smiling politely and nodding understandingly. Behave well in class, I had been told. Fit in with your friends, I had been told. Treat your family with respect, I had been told. Act, hide yourself away, I always heard.
The glare of artificial light cut through the darkness in my bedroom, highlighting my face and little more. A life of acting, broken only by sleep. Switching my phone off at last, the shadows enveloped me, giving me the only moment of respite I ever had.
In that moment, without a mask in front of my face, I showed my true self: no one, nothing, a holder of masks. Take away my acting and nothing remained of me. That is my existence, my purpose, my burden.
| 2017-04-23T13:17:40
| 2017-04-23T07:50:10
| 311
| 43
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
"Well, come on, we don't have all day."
I thought it was funny the adjudicator mentioned this, because it had in fact already taken all day to get to me. The first 30 or 40 people chose quickly, and then things ground to a halt as the powers became more obscure and less useful.
I waffled for a good minute... and then I asked a question.
"...How specific can I be?"
"What?" the adjudicator furrowed their brow. They were annoyed at the fact that I was *negotiating* when we were already running so far behind.
They continued. "As specific or as broad as you like. It can be anything as long as you follow the two rules."
"Yes, yes... No godly powers and it has to be unclaimed." I scratched my chin. What was useful to me? What could I use every day that was mundane enough to go unchosen but powerful enough to be worth it?
A moment later, I had it.
"Teleportation."
The adjudicator immediately balked. The rest of the candidates sighed. One cursed me, begging me to stop messing around and pick something for real.
"You *obviously* can't have teleportation-"
"-because someone already took it." I interrupted. I held a finger in the air.
"...but my telelportation power only works if I'm standing in a McDonald's, and it can only teleport me to any other McDonald's."
Silence. Everyone was speechless. The adjudicator let out a deep, long "Hmmmm..."
"I'll allow it. It's unique enough."
I made some enemies that day. Mostly in the upper 50s and beyond, and almost certainly because they hadn't thought of trying it first.
|
God this sucks. All the cool powers are taken. From flight to fire breath. From teleportation to telekinesis. Now it’s my turn to think. I have to think long and hard about this one. Then I remembered it. As a kid I loved watching videos online and the main videos I watched were videos on the terrors of video games. I said as loud as possible
“I want the power to bring things to and from fictional worlds.”
People were silent at first. Then they started laughing.
“Look at this weirdo.”
“Go back to your cartoons.” They said, barely able to breath from laughing.
We were dropped back off on earth where the limitations of our powers were described to us. A man, who I could only assume was set by god, told me,
“You can take or leave up to 10 items per day in a fictional world. But every time you do pain will erupt from your body. To the point where when you send or take the tenth item you’ll be unconscious.”
I looked at him and grinned,
“That’s okay with me.”
I wanted to try my power on something small first. I reached out my hand and said, “ACTIVATE!”
I was suddenly in a blue room with a menu in front of me that l ooked like it was straight out of a video game. The same voice from before was behind me and said
“Here’s something I forgot to tell you. Whenever you activate this ability your spirit is sent here. When you go back out, it’ll be as if no time had passed. So take as much time as you need. But I will be the thing to harm you every time you use this ability. ”
I think again.
“Well, if I’m gonna get hurt over this I might as well make it work it. TAKE! FIRE FLOWER! SUPER MARIO GAMES!” I said loud.
“YOU DON’T NEED TO SHOUT! The being said. He walked close to me. And swiftly hits me in the gut. I immediately wake up. I throw up from the punch. But look in my hand and the fire flower is right there. I look at it and smile. I take a bite and immediately start sweating.
“Hot hot hot!” I repeat over and over again but then something changes. My clothes change color and I feel more powerful. I jump up and down.
“It works! It works!” I accidentally throw a fireball at my wall. And as the building collapses I remember something about the games.
“Oh no. Can’t get hit.” I burst through a wall and smile.
“IT WORKS!” I was barely done celebrating when someone screamed from above.
“Hey! You’re the loser who wanted to play video games right!” Oh great. I just got this ability and someone’s already trying to fight me. I scream back,
“Dude you can only fly. My ability’s cooler than yours.”
He shouted, “We’ll see who’s not cool.” As he backed up.
“It’s still yo-“ I couldn’t even finish till he hit me like a train.
“Still not cool?” He said while hitting me from all angles and laughing.
I raise my hand at him and say “Give.”
Suddenly we’re both in my menu. He’s tied up as the being looks at me and say “Already fighting?”
I ignore him and say “Give. Attack on titan. Season 1 Episode 1.”
He starts laughing and saying “Pfft. You think I’m scared of one of your shows.”
I ignore him too and ask the being “ Can I watch him to see what happens?”
The being says “Why not? I wanna see how this ends for him.”
He’s suddenly in the show. We watch as he gets mercilessly eaten by a giant humanoid. I smile an evil grin as he hits me.
“You’re disgusting.”
I awake on the battle field. His body is still there but he isn’t breathing. I go back in my house.
“I gotta think of a name for myself.”
| 2022-11-17T09:26:30
| 2022-11-17T07:32:46
| 22
| 12
|
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
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EBAY
Steel Forged Knife Set with Celtic Engravings.
Price: €34,99.
4/5 stars
Review by T. Smith:
*Great knife set, cuts smooth and are easy to sharpen. Weirdest thing though, every time I pas by the sink a hand will reach out of the water and hand me one.*
|
There is a running joke about "how British is your morning?" Usually, the idea encompasses tea with butter on toast, perhaps some morning Stephen Fry in the background. Well, I doubt anyone is going to be able to top "spreading butter on your toast with fucking Excalibur," for a good fucking while.
The morning was like any other British morning.
Alarm.
Snooze.
Alarm.
Brush teeth.
Take a shit.
Shower while singing horrendously.
Proceed to go downstairs and turn on your kettle.
Brandish that lovely new butter knife you bought at the antique store.
I spread the butter across my toast, my legs spread under the table and I was sitting comfortably in my jammies. All was good in the world. (Except for that bloody shit excuse of a thing we like to call weather.)
I loved that sound. Don't you? The crackle of knife on toast, almost like the sound of a crackling fireplace. Like music to my ears. I watched out of the thin white curtain of my kitchen and out to the world and sighed.
Yep, just another English day.
Well. That was until my fucking windows shattered and a team of fucking swat burst into my home.
Maybe I could have said that the scream that I let loose was actually the whistling of the kettle boiling, but I don't think anyone would have bought it.
"What the actual Christ, man. Get the fuck out of my house!" I said jumping up from my seat and running with my back to the kitchen counter.
"Stay away, I have a knife!" I brandished my blade, a butter knife. "Yeah, how do you like me now?" I smiled, cackling, until I realised the ludicrous idea of trying to protect myself from trained special forces in their black ops outfit and assault rifles with a butter knife.
"Yeah - yeah. You wouldn't want to get close to me... I will.. fish you like a gut." I stammered, not even noticing that I ruined the line. I wondered how threatening a man in his jammies wielding a butter knife is in any place?
"Just get the asshole." Said one of the guys as three began to close in on me.
I covered my eyes and lifted the knife up into the air defensively. I don't know how, nor did I question why. But suddenly, a bright light burst from the knife and turned my home suburb home into a lighthouse.
"My bloody eyes!" Complained one. Once I looked back at the troops, all of them rubbing their eyes in an attempt to force some vision back into them.
I saw my chance. With cowardly fear goading me on, I ran past them, finding the balls to grab one of their walkie-talkies from their belts and sprinting with it.
I continued to sprint down the streets, one of my flip-flops already come loose as I ran in my jammies. Unsure of when their vision would return.
Feeling like I covered enough distance -a choice mostly made by the fact that I was an unfit piece of shit and my lungs felt like there were going to collapse - I hid behind a fence and took a peak around the corner to make sure I wasn't being followed.
I listened into the walkie-talkie, seeing if I could catch any information about my invaders.
"Yes. Looks like its true. *It* reappeared." Spoke a static voice from the comms, a man.
"And the target?" The voice on the other line was rather old, a woman's, something familiar to it.
"Escaped."
"You are telling me that a half-brained buffoon is running around with a butter-knife that is presumably Excalibur?"
"Ye - yes."
"He could ruin my entire reign with that piece of cutlery! Catch him!"
"Of course. God save the Queen."
"Yeah, yeah. Now get that utensil that could have him on my throne!" The comms went quiet, and I realised what I had in my hand.
A butter knife which was apparently made from Excalibur, and the old voice on the other end of the comms was Queen Elizabeth II. The only words that came from me were, "Jesus Christ... I'm going to be king!"
***
This was on the rather more fun side compared to my usual stuff but I had a blast writing it!.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, there is more to be had at /r/KikiWrites
| 2018-03-06T11:40:04
| 2018-03-06T10:17:53
| 2,613
| 17
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[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess".
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The Princess noticed the knight's glistening armor long before he reached the keep. She walked down the stairs and into the courtyard to greet him, as she had done with so many before.
"Sir knight," she exclaimed, "present yourself."
The knight dismounted, drew his blade and knelt before The Princess, offering his steel in service. "I am Sir Peta, here to end the misery of the dragon."
Misery? That's a new one, thought The Princess. "Has word not reached the stronghold? I have no need for your services."
*So it's true,* Sir Peta muttered under his breath. Then louder, "My apologies, my lady. I am not from the stronghold."
"Too many knights have come here in their noble stupidity, determined to slay the dragon and rescue me from its 'misery,' as you so oddly put it. Are you all idiots," The Princess asked? "Do you really believe I could live in this keep for years, with a dragon in the tower, if the situation is as you all believe it? Do you know nothing of dragons?"
Sir Peta rose, sword at his side, and spoke. "I know quite a lot about dragons, in fact. I know they are intelligent, noble beasts that are fiercely territorial," he replied. "No doubt it is as you say, my lady. If the dragon was able to bring harm to you, it surely would've done so by now."
This exasperated The Princess. "Then why, clever Sir Peta, did you come here to rescue me?"
"You misunderstand, dear Princess." She felt the tip of his cold steel, and something else - nightshade, perhaps - before he had finished the sentence."I am not here to rescue *you*."
With one more upward thrust, the job was done. He felt a blast of air as the dragon arrived and perched on the wall. It looked down on the scene. Sir Peta dropped to a knee.
"The binding spell is broken, friend," spoke the knight. "Be free." With that, the dragon alighted into the sky. Within seconds it was a mere speck in the distance, no bigger than a crow.
Sir Peta cleaned his blade and called his mount. There was talk of a duke that kept a caged chimera to impress the other nobility. The knight's work was never done.
- - - - - - - - - -
*edit: mobile formatting*
|
Sitting quietly in her beautiful court yard Rae sat looking out over her kingdom. She watched the many marvels that happened there. The beauty of nature and woods surrounded her. A crystal water fell rushed to the forest floor not far off from her.
Rae shook her head as she saw the bright gleam of armor speeding her way.
Another of the kingdoms enemies racing my way to rescue me, she mused.
She turned and headed toward the humungous gaping hole in the side of her mountain. It was made to look like a cave but make no mistake it was a castle of the most beautiful design. As she walked through the golden hall she carefully put out each and ever torch preparing for her visitor.
When Rae reached the end of the long hallway she sat in wait watching the entrance for her rescuer.
She did not have to wait long before she heard the thundering of hooves and the click clack of armor. Soon the metal man was 'stealthily' stalking towards her.
Rae rose up, "who goes there!" She demanded.
It was silent for a long moment before the man answered in a raspy voice, "Arthur of the city of Frei, knight of graylandolf."
"And what is your buisness here?"Rae boomed back.
"To slay the dragon and rescue the princess!" Arthur said.
" And what if you find the dragon and the princess are one and the same?" She asked.
Arthur stopped frozen in shock at the question. He began mumbling out an answer but Rae interrupted him with a blast of fire.
The knight dodged, and Rae allowed a small smile to curl up her lips. Feeling the adrenalin rush through her she forces herself to be hard even down to her heart beat as the ground shook around her golden dust clouded the air. Without thought Rae turned the stone to Ice and in so doing froze Arthur eternally, still.
Lighting a torch she walked over to inspect her prize, "Oh, and Arthur," Rae spat, "I'm not the princess I'm the king. Perhaps, if you had known you wouldn't have an eternal place in my trophy room."
| 2019-01-09T13:25:46
| 2019-01-09T07:32:29
| 37
| 14
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[WP] One day, a bat flew through your opened window room, and though surprised, you tried to talk to it gently, gave it space until it found its way out. Now, you find yourself rescued by a vampire who's returning the favor for helping one of their kids.
|
Lying in the slop of the trench — half his left leg missing and the other half bone, the stink of mould and gas and gunfire engulfing him — Robert wasn’t a soldier sent to die, but instead a little boy again, in his bedroom, years before even the first whisper of war.
In his head, he could hear his old music box playing, a gift from his father. Two tin figurines waltzing a circle. Its shrill chime drowned out the boom of artillery and the screams of his friends, the scuttling of starving rats.
*Rock a bye baby, on the tree top…*
He’d been too old for the lullaby by then, but the melody still enchanted him. And through the open window came an errant bat, scuffed into the curtains, wrapped in silk, found a way past and into the room. A little bat, tiny thing. Precious.
They were coming now. The enemy. Boots sloshing in the mud. The trench was lost. The seconds were punctuated by the *crack* of rifles as his comrades were executed or else put out of their misery.
“It’s okay,” he’d said, the bat having trapped itself in a hanging shirt, flapping frantically. “It’s okay, I got you.” He cupped it gently as the music box sang. No fear in him. Stroked a finger over its furry nose. The bat chirped like a wren and Robert laughed. He’d slid open the window and released the little bat like a wedding dove into the evening.
They were above him now. A wide shadow. Silhouetted in the steam and fog of gunfire and cold night. Two of them. Bayonets raised. Impossible to see whether they held tears of guilt or smiles of glee. Probably neither, and either way: w*hat did it matter?* He wanted to tell them it was okay, he understood.
The bat had stayed, hovered outside his window for a while, as if looking at him, as if thinking.
The men stepped closer, rose over him like mountains wigged in fog.
And then what Robert thought was a black leaf drifted down in front of him. How strange and out of place a leaf was in this land of craters and death.
He didn’t see the leaf land, but instead saw a third silhouette rise in the mist. Smaller than the others. Only a child with dark hair and night-smudged features. The painting of a girl from long ago.
Then the whistling, the sounding, of the melody trapped in Robert’s head.
It haunted the air, froze the men, silenced the bullets and bombardment.
*Rock a bye baby, on the tree top. When the wind blows the cradle will rock.*
Was Robert singing it? His mouth barely moved, breath barely came, just ragged puffs of white.
He missed his parents. Dad had been dead years but his mother was at home waiting.
The crack and snap of bone; the hiss of snared arteries; the gush of opened blood. Violent flowers of steaming red added to his cold, greying world.
The two tall silhouettes fell like trees chopped, their mouths open wide but their screams deathly silent.
Existence ran slow for a time.
The girl turned, gently knelt by Robert’s side.
Her lips touched his forehead.
”Sleep,” said the girl. “It’s time for you to rest now, Robert. To be at peace. Far away from here, to some place much softer.”
Robert could still hear the melody soothing in his mind, but quietening, softening, now as gentle as the sound of fresh snowfall.
The girl’s hand, petal-soft, touched his eyes, closed them. He lay against her.
The battlefield was silent. Peaceful as his heart.
|
There was a time when the boy had been afraid of bats. But he had learned that fears could be faced, that terror could be overcome. Now the little bat-ling flittered around the boy's bedroom, crashing off the walls in a panicked fluttering of wings.
"It's ok," the boy said softly. "It's ok, little one."
He held out his hand. At first, the bat did not seem to hear him, but with continued coaxing, the boy managed to get the little creature to settle in his hand. They stared at each other for a moment, a pair of blue eyes meeting another pair that were completely black.
Involuntarily, they boy shivered. Perhaps he hadn't quite gotten over his fear of bats just yet. Or maybe it was just those soulless-looking eyes. He carried the little creature over to the window and let it out.
He went back to bed. He would tell Alfred about it tomorrow.
---
*Twenty years later...*
The man in the black outfit and cape was thrown back against the alley wall. A rusted iron pole, snapped off into a jagged point, pieced the body armor of his suit and stabbed into his side.
The man grunted in pain. He pushed himself up, wrenching the spike from his body. Drops of blood dripped out of the gash between kevlar plates, and mixed with the heavy rain coming down, turning the dockyard puddles red.
He tried to rise back up, but staggered and landed heavily on one knee. He was exhausted - battered by the grueling brawl with the new adversary.
In his mind, he heard a voice. *Why do we fall, Master Wayne? So that we can pick ourselves back up again...*
Bruce Wayne - Batman - forced himself back to his feet.
He found himself staring down the barrel of an ornate handgun, carved with intricate silver metalwork. The gun was steady in the motionless gauntleted hand of his adversary. The other man's face was shadowed by the wide brim of a dark hat, and he wore a long coat that flowed down his ankles.
"Where is the crypt?"
Although his face remained a mask, Batman was surprised. The voice that had come out from below the brimmed hat, was low and rough, but unmistakeably female.
"Who the hell are you?" he managed to say.
"Death," the woman said. "But tell me what I want to know and I'll put you down quickly, bat. Where are the rest of your kin?"
Below his mask, the corner of Bruce Wayne's mouth curled. "It's just me, villain. I'm the only thing that stands between Gotham City and damnation. So if you want it, come and get it."
He had been tensing himself for a spring, and now he launched forwards. But the woman was impossibly fast. By the time he had covered the five paces to where she stood, she was no longer there. The gun went off to his side, and Batman felt the impact of the bullet smashing into his helmet.
The world went black, briefly, and when the cold splash of water brought him back to consciousness a moment later he was lying in one of the puddles. Rain flowed down his face, and he could taste the blood they carried.
The shadowy figure was above him now, and he dimly heard the sound of another round being chambered in the strange gun.
"Your tough, I'll give you that," the stranger said. "But I've killed tougher in the old country. I'm going to clean this city of its infestation, starting with you."
Batman tried to move, but couldn't. Dimly, he realized that this was the end.
"I, Sonja Van Helsing, free you from your living death, vampire-"
Something slammed into the woman, and Batman heard her fly across the alleyway and crumple into the wall.
There was a hiss, and then an exchange of words in a language he didn't speak. Something Eastern European, he thought. Another shot, and the splintering of brickwork as a bullet went wide.
Then the splash of running feet disappearing into the night.
A figure appeared above him.
Batman dragged himself to his elbows, and found himself staring into a pair of black eyes in paper-white face. The black eyes were soulless. He shivered despite himself.
"Who the hell are you?" he managed, but an old memory resurfaced. He remembered those eyes.
"Consider this a debt repaid," he heard the newcomer say. "The life of Gotham's son for the... life... of my daughter."
A strong hand gripped his arm and pulled him up. "You need the hospital-" The words cut off. There was a sniff. "Blood. You are bleeding."
The arm released him.
"I cannot stay with you," the newcomer said, backing away from him. "Get yourself to a hospital. Silver may not be poisonous to one like you, but bullets still are."
"Wait-" Batman began.
"I shall be in touch," the figure said, and then there was only a bat flitting away into the falling rain. A whisper came back to him. "We have a common enemy now, Bruce Wayne."
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/p0g0ag/wp_one_day_a_bat_flew_through_your_opened_window/h86tx7l/) in comments. *More stories at* /r/jd_rallage
| 2021-08-08T09:44:48
| 2021-08-08T09:22:13
| 1,183
| 421
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[WP] When you found a genie, you decided to wish that all clothes you wore always fit you perfectly. What you soon find out, however, is that the clothes don’t resize, you do.
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*tiny squeak* "YES I know I am smaller than my wallet, YES I KNOW that these are hockey jerseys, PLEASE JUST LET ME PAY YOU!"
"*snrk*. Sure, sure fine. You, uh, you want help carrying those out?"
"... can i please change in the changing room?"
"... Sure. Let's get you rung up. Sorry to make you feel, uh..."
*Vehemently rolling eyes* "... Small, yes, very funny. Damn roommates."
~several minutes pass~
"Hah! That's better. Thanks for being somewhat polite."
"Ehm, sorry, did you see a tiny doll in there? Because it was empty, then you came out, and I'm horribly confused because I stood guard and everything...?"
"... Look, kid, I'll explain over lunch."
~Several more minutes pass~
"So you... fit whatever clothes you wear."
"Yup."
"And your friends put dolls' clothes on you when you were passed out drunk."
"YUP."
"What happens if you're naked? Do you become very small, because you're wearing nothing, or do you become huge because you're wearing the universe?"
"..."
"........"
"............"
"FUCK! It usually just kinda works however I think it should, and now you've ruined it! I can't be naked ever again!"
|
In what used to be the Horsehead Nebula, where the final gods fell, each ring of woven mail on my breast was ten thousand kilometers across.
By then, so many years into the war we had started, the dread machine that I bore as exoskeleton held the writhing mass of hundreds of trillions of the others. Not merely cities or an armies but entire planets were mine, were me: Lived and breathed and bred and fought and died on me, tended me, built and rebuilt the armor on my chest. And such armor! Ever larger, ever stronger, forged from the bursting sundered belly of every star that fell within our grasp. The generations who had first built it to dwarf our native Sun had been dead for millennia by Horsehead, and the living sons and daughters of Earth will never see their home system, they who now crawl up and down the living galaxy-planet that I have become. That I have become, no: that they have built me to be.
For our building is our birthright, and the genie's fell magic will yet deliver us eternal dominion over the vast expanse of ink and shining nova. With the gods dead and my arms now stretching out across the universe, who or what dark thing can hope to stop us? The furnaces on my shoulders howl without ceasing for starfire. Another great ring of mail groans and settles into place upon my back, and I feel my body shiver and grow as we turn to hunt for the next bright spot to consume from our darkness.
| 2021-01-08T22:57:29
| 2021-01-08T22:36:01
| 72
| 16
|
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.
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Keenan Avery woke up from another drunken slumber. He rolled out of bed uneasily, his stomach flipping end over end as the twenty-five year old made a beeline for the bathroom. After he had finished emptying the contents from the previous night into the toilet, Keenan made his way to the sink to rinse his mouth. He looked in horror as another tattoo had emerged through his skin, this time above his right eye. September 3, '92 arched around his eyebrow, taunting him in the mirror as he tried to read it backwards. Once he was certain the date was correct he sat on his bed confused.
This wasn't the first time he was confused by a new tattoo. When he turned eighteen he signed up for the new Worldwide Ink Initiative. The revolutionary program was voluntary, but soon everyone that loved the art of tattooing had enrolled. The volunteers were fitted with a capsule about the size of a half dollar in their lower abdomen. Through nanotechnology and brain readings done every few years, the volunteers would begin to literally sprout tattoos on their bodies. Keenan's first was a large Celtic cross on his forearm. His next was on his chest, a heart with the letters A+K on the inside for his first true love. One year later a large "X" went through the heart tattoo. He wasn't exactly littered with ink, but sometimes he wondered why certain tattoos had emerged. "September 3, '92" was nothing less than a mystery.
"What could it mean?" Keenan thought to himself. He was born in 1990. What kind of event could have happened when he was two years old that could have such a lasting effect? Tattoos didn't just come out of the thin air. They all had a very precise meaning to their owners. Keenan was out of ideas. He called his mother.
"Ma," Keenan began, "does September 3, 1992 have any meaning to you?"
His mother was silent on the other end. "Not to me, no," she replied in a rush.
He explained the tattoo and went down a list of possibilities. Was I in the hospital? Were we on a vacation? Did someone die?
"Honey, this is nonsense. Don't ask me about your dumb tattoos. I told you not to get those damn things."
And with that the conversation was over. Keenan let it marinate for awhile. The days ticked away and nothing was coming to him. The tattoo mocked him every time he saw his reflection. Because of the placement; friends, family and strangers noticed the ink immediately. He had no idea what to tell the inquiring minds.
He began to dig deep through the internet. What happened on September 3, 1992? Jerry Lewis had a telethon that raised over $45 million for muscular dystrophy. "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men was taking over the airwaves. It was a day that was quite literally uneventful. So he began to Google his family. Nothing on his father. His mother the same. No deaths in the family or anything. He was truly at a loss.
By some random chance he found an old copy of a newspaper on the day from his local paper. On the third page his eyes were scanning furiously, the new tattoo bobbing up and down, stretching as his eyes agonized over the screen. "Toddler Abducted in Broad Daylight" was the headline. A picture of a young boy smiled on the page, the last known photo of the child. Underneath the toddler was a picture of a husband consoling his hysteric wife. The man looked just like Keenan.
He grabbed his phone off the desk and called his mother. No answer. He called again. No answer. On the third call she finally picked up.
"Tell me it isn't true!" Keenan cried. "Tell me my mind is going crazy and I'm grasping at straws over here, Ma."
"I...We...," she stuttered. "You were never supposed to find out."
Two months after his parents shocking confession they were sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. The judge threw the book at the Abington Abductors. Keenan's life was upside down. He was reunited with his biological parents, but it was all too weird of an experience for all parties involved. There was agreement that this would all take some getting used to.
Keenan woke up in a sweat one day, and made his way to the bathroom in his usual drunken stupor. He had taken to drinking a lot more recently, for obvious reasons. He threw up, rinsed his mouth out and looked back at his reflection. In the mirror, above his left eyebrow and symmetrically arched like his other, was a new tattoo. "Forgiveness" stared backwards at him. Keenan punched the mirror. That same day he made his way back into the clinic of the Worldwide Ink Initiative and had them take his implant out for good.
---
Thanks for reading! Come check out /r/BrenBuck for more!
|
France was rife with optimism, peace and prosperity during the late stages of the 19th century. It comes to no surprise that the period is known more commonly today as "La Belle Époque".
From the end of the Franco-Prussian war right up until WWI, the country witnessed a boom in the arts and the economy. Things were positively different during an era that seemed to be trapped in time.
Or so the world wished.
Police crowded the outer corridor of the cell as Chief Berlain sat face to face with the source of commotion.
A young lad of about 17 crouched in the corner of his room, staring back like a cowering dog. His body, thinned to the bone and covered in ink.
Berlain had been here before, 5 years prior to this, with the same prisoner in the very same cell. Yet the boy of the past was no longer there, his face irecognizable.
The warden had recorded a total of 18 more individual markings on his face alone since then. The majority depicted numbers.
Official studies had commenced late that June, but 5 years and 9 months on and the puzzle remained incomplete. Up until now the engravings on his body were a maze they couldn't get out of.
A date was the only clear indication: 10.05.1871 in Roman numerals. The end of the Franco-Prussian war.
That morning the tone was different. Whilst France was enjoying it's prosperity, the men gathered around the cell felt nothing but dread.
The teenager was usually a very calm lad, who did as he was told. But today he had broken down during breakfast and hadn't left his cell corner for hours.
Another date had appeared on his neck, next to the previous numbers. Yet this one marked the end of a supposed era, this one was in the future.
28.06.1918 in the same numerals.
A puzzled Berlain turned to face his colleagues. The time had come to take this beyond their own power and to the government.
But Christophe Berlain had other plans. That night, instead of heading north to Paris, he would take his subject East.
| 2017-08-03T14:37:59
| 2017-08-03T14:24:46
| 154
| 13
|
[WP] Describe a color, without actually saying it. You can't use other colors to describe it!
|
What do I know of it, what can I say of it?
It was the color of her hair, the first girl I ever loved.
The color of her death, fearing god above.
The changing of the seasons, lying on the ground.
The birds that still sang to me when I did not hear a sound.
It was the color of his shirt, the first time we ever met.
And the burning of my face, all my foolish regrets.
My mother's favorite color, and when I ask her why
She answers with a smile, "It's the color of goodbye."
|
Such was the colour that none could overwhelm it, nor pass through it. It was the emptiness of space, the void of nothingness, the darkness behind our eyes. It cloaks its wearers in the night, and dresses those who grieve. It is in contrast to the brightness of the world, while it shares in its illumination.
| 2014-04-06T08:46:24
| 2014-04-06T08:22:40
| 59
| 22
|
[WP] At 18, everyone receive a superpower. Your childhood friend got a power-absorption, your best friends got time control, and they quickly rise into top 100 most powerful superheroes. You got a mediocre superpower, but somehow got into the top 10. Today they visit you asking how you did it.
Best friend* sorry.
|
"Hey guys how are you?" I called over my shoulder as my friends walked into the bar. I didn't even bother looking over my shoulder to confirm it was them; I knew the probability of Jeff coming through the door exactly thirty eight seconds after he sent a text stating he was on his way was 98.7%, and those were odds I was comfortable with. The power to manipulate time made making it to appointments a menial task for a guy like Jeff, and the heavy footsteps of Thomas made him easy to identify by sound.
The two of them had called a meeting with me the moment the yearly super rankings came out, as I was expecting. You see, you wouldn't think a power like 'luck' would make someone like me one of the most influential supers in the world, but you would be wrong. Think about it, luck is really the manipulation of probability. If I can control probability, I can control everything. I know it irked them that their childhood friend with the quirky ability was now considered the seventh most powerful man in the world, but we lived in a world where people broke the laws of physics, this really wasn't that strange.
"So, how did you do it" Asked Thomas (ranked 17th) as they sat down across from me in the booth. "Last year you were complaining about being 1,756th, and this year you break top ten"
I gave a sly smile and a wink. "You guys saw I made a few good stops and arrests this year, you don't think that's deserving of top ten?"
"Cut the shit, we both know you're a second rate hero at best," spat Jeff (ranked 11th), clearly getting angry that I had passed him and was being cryptic as to how.
"First, ouch!" I said with a hurt look on my face. "Second, think about it. I can put myself where crimes are likely to happen or in the path of escapes. I can guide resources to where they are needed and influence the likelihood of things going wrong. I just never applied my power seriously until now, but it has farther reaches than simply beating criminals senseless with my fists."
Jeff wasn't having any of it, he had always been the best, always been the top of the class. Ever since his power had developed in grade school he had loomed his superiority over others, and he had never had to deal with someone better than him. He pulled a revolver out of his jacket pocket, something I gave a 63% chance of happening when he walked in the door. I had watched as the probability of it happening had climbed into the 80's, and after my last response it had spiked to 100% right before his hand had left the table. It was simple to see why he had chosen to carry a revolver. They had less moving parts, less chance of failure.
But there was still a chance, and if there was any chance, I could work with it. The hammer cocked back, and then descended. The chamber rotated and the firing pin struck the primer. Unfortunately the cylinder hadn't rotated enough and the bullet smashed into the frame, causing chunks of metal to go flying outwards and into his hand, tearing the flesh from the bone and singing the skin around it.
With a sly smile, I rose to my feet and threw a $5 on the table to cover my meal. "Next time, you guys might just swallow your ego, take a step back, and not take a chance," I said over the sounds of Jeff's cries as I walked out of the restaurant. I knew Jeff couldn't focus enough to use his power while being in that much pain, and soon it would be too late to reverse the damage to his hand.
It was such a stupid thing to ruin a friendship over, a ranking, an arbitrary number designed to show who 'the best' was. It was pretty stupid, after all, if you throw a little good luck out when you know they are making the list, they might just misspell the hero Change, and write Chance instead.
(I hope you guys liked it, this was my first attempt at a writing prompt)
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Trudging along in the snow, I reminisced on my time at the academy. It was a short two years filled with laughs and good times and twice as many struggles. I was humbled at the ingenuity of the human race for finally cracking the code on the MMSC gene. Now simply referred to as “The Mold”, it bridged the gap between those born with the gene, and the general populace because it wasn't an advantage exclusive to a few lucky people anymore.
“Can the exam get hurried along a bit, I'm daydreaming here.” I called out into the vast frigidness. Although I knew the examination referee was in earshot, he/she did not answer as protocol demanded.
I stopped at a particularly large redwood for a moment to take a break and leaned up against it.
A chilling howl echoed toward me from my left. I shivered, perhaps from the cold, or perhaps from the sound I had just heard. It mattered little because in my mind I knew that this threat wouldn't only be the path to survival, but it would also be the key to finding out my true superpower.
You see, finding out the true nature of your superpower through gene splicing was not like gaining it naturally. A natural Superhuman had their mutated gene lying dormant in them for years and years and had plenty of time to coax it out. However, an artificial Superhuman like myself didn't have that luxury and so the only sure fire way to discover what it is, is to be exposed to a life and death scenario and force your superpower to surface. Controlled danger, but real danger, that was the goal of the exam.
Surveying the dense canopy proved unnecessary because it wasn't long before my target made itself known. I heard it long before I saw it. Heavy, rasped breathing and uneven footfalls. 50 paces ahead, its figure appeared in the evening light and I observed its approach as I retreated to higher ground. I was afraid but focussed, and I looked upon the ugly creature with disdain. Its snout was wet with a mixture of blood and slobber and its lanky arms nearly grazed the snow as it walked.
20 paces ahead and now the doubt began to set in. What if my power doesn't reveal itself? Surely it will. It has to. These exams were created for this purpose. But what if it doesnt? I may be a mutilated corpse before the referee steps in.
The creature stopped and sniffed, it’s head movements were erratic and it began gnawing its own arm briefly before letting out a blood curdling screech. It leapt forward.
“Its now or never.” I said under my breath.
*crack.*
The creature lunged at me and I shielded my face but when I opened my eyes a massive tree lay atop the creature’s lifeless body in the snow at my feet……..
.......
“Wait…… Thats it? You felled a tree with your mind onto it? This is bullshit. That does NOT deserve a Global Rank 7.”
“Shhhhh! Of course thats not it Gigi, you saw what he did on patrol last month! That was a *Void Entity* we’re talking about not some Green Level proto-demon!” Mark whispered, trying to quiet her down. Some guests turned to us in curiosity but quickly returned to their meals.
“Fine, whatever, but that doesn't even match up with your exam. Just…. Like… Just tell me how you did it. Explain it.” She hissed.
“Guys. That's what I've been saying this whole time, I don't know! I kind of just thought about trees and then that void thing exploded into splinters of wood.” I tried to explain, but their expressions remained unchanged: Gigi fuming, and Mark looking on with wonder.
“And I even *knew* that you were going to be a World Breaker Tier but I didn't think it would be this…. I don't know..… *Stupid!* UHG! It pisses me off even more.” Gigi slammed her hand down on the table. Mark and I just laughed only adding to the annoyance of the other customers.
“Look man, can I like, y’know? I dunno how to ask without making it weird.” Mark gestured. I guess his power was as awkward for him as it was for others.
“Sure go ahead. If you can figure it out better than me then be my guest.” I replied, in too jovial a mood to care.
“Bro, oh my god thanks. This is gonna be *sweeeeeeet!* Cheers man!” He smirked and raised his mug in acknowledgement.
“Cheers. Merry Christmas guys.” I replied as our mugs clinked to Gigi’s reluctance. We downed our eggnog as the waiter came with our entrees.
| 2017-12-17T18:26:19
| 2017-12-17T16:14:19
| 1,276
| 31
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[WP] Your mouse cursor has broken through your screen and can now interact with the world around you. You realize that you can do everything in the real world like you can on your computer, but right clicking gives you many more options.
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I'm sorry, but I will save you, forgive me.
It started with a small crack on the screen.
I thought nothing of it, it was an old desktop and I had thrown some abuse at it over the years, and besides, it didn't really bother me - after all, it was only small. Overtime it grew, the screen became unusable and fragile. The crack traveled across the screen, and it seemed to be following one thing - my cursor.
I took my desktop to a repair shop to see if I could be helped, no such luck, the thing was practically useless. I set aside some cash to buy a laptop instead, when it happened.
March 20th, 2018 at 22:34 was when it happened. It was slow at first, the crack moved at a steady pace across the screen, and then it went faster, and faster until the screen shattered. I'm sure the neighbors woke up - but I had bigger problems than the lousy couple next door.
In front of me was a giant, floating cursor - fresh from the boundaries of my desktop.
I was frozen in shock and horror, but also what seemed like... excitement? This cursor, what could it do? Why was it here? Could it speak? Would it follow me around like a pet? All these questions and much, much more circled around in my head until, after what seemed like hours, I reached out to grab my physical mouse.
Luckily for me, it was wireless. I moved my mouse in the air a little and the floating cursor followed. I left-clicked and my cupboard was floating in the air, trapped in a blue bubble in the sky. I was so shocked I dropped the mouse and therefore my cupboard. Pottery went everywhere, spices and all that other rubbish. That was alright, I could clean it up later.
I grabbed my mouse again and pondered what I could do with it. That was when I right-clicked.
In all fairness, I would say that right-clicking was both the best and worst thing to ever happen to me.
In front of my unbelieving eyes was a huge menu containing possibly thousands of buttons ranging from 'Money Bonus' to 'Terrain Creation'. Each button that I pressed had 50 or so more features to explore. So many features, so many buttons. I just had to press them all.
The first thing I did was press 'Money Bonus', of course, anyone would want a money bonus. The drop downs listed were from 10p to £100,000,000. If I pressed 10p, 10p appeared on my table. If I pressed £100,000 - a stack of 2000 £50 notes appeared in my living room.
I had too much power, and even then, I knew it.
I tried everything, new cars, pets, Hell, I think I might have stumbled upon the cure for cancer - but there was one button in particular that caught my eye. A button that I stared at for a long time.
"Delete all."
I was curious. I was naive. I'm sorry, and I regret what I did. Please forgive me.
I pressed the button.
It came down piece by piece, but slowly at first. A painting in my house disappeared into blue pixels, each pixel disappearing to God knows where. Then it was my upturned cupboard, and then my desktop, and a wall. Then my house. Then my street. Then my town, my city, my country. Then it was just water. Just ocean. Where was I?
I was floating above it all, all the ocean, I could see it. Chunks of the ocean disappeared. This time turning into red and green pixels floating upwards. Chunk by chunk, a little bit here, a little bit there. Then they became big chunks. Atlantic Ocean, Indian Ocean. There was no water.
Just layers of the Earth. I was floating above it all, watching magma bubble red hot, until soon that disappeared too.
In the end, it was just darkness. I was in the darkness, alone, and afraid.
But I had my cursor.
And, the first thing on my agenda was to rebuild.
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Pro-gamers tend to be quick, able to react with lightning speed to any new situation, even unexpected ones. That reflex had saved Randy's life as the razor sharp pointer slammed through his screen and went straight for his forehead. It was massive, black, glossy, and now reflected just a touch of red as the teen's hand slowly bled down its angular form.
Randy "Dragon Rage" Eikcousman stared at the object impaled through his palm with one part dumb fascination and one part horror. Slowly the idea of what happened slipped into his mind's eye, that he should probably be screaming with said horror, that the reason wasn't just the massive amount of pain lancing through his hand but also the fact that the object in question wasn't supposed to exist in real life. It slowly dawned on him that he was, in fact, screaming, but hadn't been aware enough to realize how hoarse his voice had become. A little while later, partly from blood loss and partly sheer shock, his vision flickered in and out before all his senses collapsed into a blank void.
Some uncountable time later, his mother's screaming woke him back up, followed by panicked, awkward flailing, the cursor slamming down against his chair, desk, bed post, and keyboard, all of which suddenly started to subtly glow and pulse. Of course this also hurt like hell, serving to remind him he'd been stabbed by a digital object, the object was still in his hands, and he was bleeding excessively from said wound. Unsurprisingly, he blacked out again.
In his dreams he relived the moments just before his wound, albeit in some strange inverse timeline. The moment the mouse had ripped through the plastic covering his LCD, leaving behind pieces of silicon and a strange grey liquid. How he'd slammed his mouse against the screen after losing a fight. The game he had been streaming to his fans moments before, all of them urging his legendary rage, his handle's namesake, on. The new software that let them connect directly to his movements, living out the rapid movements as if they were his own. The seedy startup company that had offered him the streaming contract so he could quit school and play full time, despite his well known rage issues.
He woke to strange faces and lights flashing in front of his eyes, as well as the jumbled sound of conversation. "Ma'am, look, ma'am, calm down, look, he's all right. See eyes are open and everything. We'll get him to the hospital, no worries. You can calm down now." The faces looked concerned, confused, but determined. "Son, son do you know where you are"
Croaking out a slurred sentence that may or may not have been "the fuck?", he tried to push himself up, only to feel lancing pain in his arm. "Hold on, hold on, don't move that arm. You hurt yourself on one of your toys son. Ease up a bit, there we go. We're going to give you a little something to relax you now..." A sharp pain hit his leg, and suddenly a rush of warm liquid flooded his veins. Randy noticed the man was in a white shirt and jeans, a red cross patch on his shoulder. Vainly flailing, trying to comprehend even the slightest bit of what was going on, his hand slapped against the man's own arm, suddenly adding another glow to Randy's vision, not just the pulsing light from before, but a whole box of text right next to him. It read 'MED_PARAMED_FF3813A' at the top, with bolded options underneath. "FFfffebsswhaaThe FUCK?!" The flailing became even worse, his hand intersecting into one of the lines of text.
> 'Virus scan initiated, processing'
To his horror, the object suddenly morphed into a rapidly spinning gyroscope, tearing a larger hole in his palm and causing everyone to jump back in terrified surprise. "What the hell is tha...Oh my god Frank, Frank what the hell is happening to you!? Frank! FRANK!"
The paramedic who was being scanned was frozen in place, his body slowly crystallizing before everyone's eyes. Randy's agony was slowly dulling, a product of the morphine finally hitting his brain, but it only served to finally let him see beyond the vicious pain in his hand to the box.
> 'Quarantining threats:
> Malware-Standard-Rhinovirus
> Adware-Nicotine
> Malware-Standard-Escherichia coli
> Adware-Worm-Pop songs [+ see all in category]
> Adware-Trojan-Rickworth's Frozen Steakums (Well Done)
> ... '
The stream of text were only a few seconds in running by before the object returned to cursor form and another prompt came up.
> 'Permanently Quarantine, Remove Threats, Remove File, Ignore Threats'
Randy could barely focus, his hand hovering drunkenly to the rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth in his veins (and also pooling out of them). He had gotten drunk on stream before. High too. There was even that time he'd been convinced to do bump of coke for each series won on a tournament night. He could focus, he knew he could, his hand poised over the fourth line. He squinted, timing the weaving drunken limb, and punched straight through the box.
> 'Archiving Quarantine file'
The gyroscope exploded into being again, spinning up faster than before, pacing itself to the crackling of crystals growing a foot thick around poor Frank's body. The last thing Randy remembered before blacking out once more was seeing the liquid flowing out of his LCD just a little faster.
_____________________________________________________________________
In a van outside the Eikcousman residence, a woman was shouting at a man behind her and threatening him with a cup of what appeared to be very fresh and very hot coffee.
"Next time you want to show off to Teresa and the rest of the board, fucking ASK before selling this as open beta. Do you have any idea how hard it is to fix a memory leak in reality?"
The man shook his head dumbly and turned back to his own monitor, half taken up by cameras and half by an e-mail that read "Director Hart...automatic updating of the 0.92a release is probably important...otherwise we expect things to go smoothly...PS: Friday Night Happy Hour?"
| 2018-03-25T09:29:26
| 2018-03-25T08:33:46
| 34
| 17
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[WP] Death offers a game for your life. You decide on D&D.
Edit: Holy shit! I leave for a few days to study for exams and this post blew up. Thank you all so much!
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"I choose an RPG!" I said.
Death, tall grim skeleton-specter, smiled back. Of course, as a skull, it didn't have much choice but to be smiling. "Clever," it said. "A game that has no win condition, that can even be argued to not have a losing condition."
"You said any game," I pointed out. I was acting calm, but internally I knew how much of a gamble this was. Still, I was already dead, the worst case was that I'd go on to whatever was already ahead of me.
"This RPG," Death said, "it would have you take the role of a character. And you would, in essence, be that character, yes?"
I nodded. "Right," I said. I'd been prepared to explain to Death what an RPG was, but this apparently wasn't necessary.
Death seemed thoughtful. "And how long would this game last?"
I shrugged. "As long as the character keeps going, I guess. And like you said, that's not necessarily losing if he dies."
"So, a game that lasts a literal lifetime, a game where you are in-character, a game with challenges and pitfalls. One that has rules, but is not necessarily fair."
"So?" I said. "Can we play?"
Death's grin became impossibly wider. "Child," it said, "what do you think that life you just lived *was*?"
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Chad was furiously flipping through the instructions. What ever had prompted him to offer a game of D&D to Death in exchange for his life?
He didn't even know how to play. Luckily, Death said it was much more fun if there were more people, so he was going down to the local game store to find more players.
Suddenly, Death appeared with two teenagers. The book dropped out of Chad's hands and he shoved it under the bed with his foot.
"To even the odds, I will allow these two players to assist you. If any of you can beat me in my favorite card game, all of your lives will be spared," Death said, his breath reeking of him.
Chad pressed the button on the Lysol can and leaned towards the teenagers. "Do either of you know how to play D&D?" he whispered.
The younger one, his eyes nearly bugging out, shifted a frightened glance at Chad. "Dude, he said card game. I thought we going to play Pokemon."
| 2017-05-11T08:45:43
| 2017-05-11T08:11:31
| 219
| 19
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[WP] Soul mates are real and technology has finally allowed for detection of some peoples “other half" at the speed of light using quantum messaging. When you were tested there was no response, now 10 years later you are called in to let you know a response has just arrived.
thats all you get to go on, can be born years apart, could be distance, could be missing soul, whatever you want.
theme, setting and genre all up to you.
*"technology" can be magic, natural human empathy, gods, whatever.
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"Congratulations, We have found your soul mate." said the Doctor Something I can't say without probably insulting a whole race.
"What? Wait, what? The baby? This baby?" I said.
I looked down to see the baby in question. Baby girl is wrapped up in a pinkish towel? Blanket? I don't know what it is, but that's me getting side tracked again. Focus focus focus. Doctor is trying to say something important.
Here are the facts.
1) Matchy Matchy Doctor makes matchy with soul mate.
2) Matchy Matchy Doctor no find matchy for me.
3) Me lonely. Probably why I'm making a top ten list while the doctor is trying to tell me something important.
4) I'm not a bright man... Can't think of any more facts. And I think the doctor is still talking.
"... why we brought you here today. Do you have any questions?" the doctor said while smiling at me.
Oh god, Doctor NeedsAVowel is staring at me. I need a safe question, safe question? Need a safe question so he doesn't realize that I wasn't listening. Oh, I got it.
"What was the baby's name again?" I asked sheepishly.
"As I mentioned before, she has no relatives. Nobody has given her a name yet. For right now, we are calling her Baby Jane."
The doctor let out a sigh. "Ok, remember we tested you to find your soul mate? We didn't find you a match. Which is rare but normal, just usually means that the soul mate has died."
"Yes, I remember. Everybody gets that test when they hit 18. I'm one of the Un-matched. So what? That doesn't explain anything." I said.
The doctor continued. "There WAS a married couple in Ohio, both were in the military. They... decided that having a baby at the time wasn't a good idea... BUT, they still wanted a baby between them... Just in case something happened to one or both of them. So they decided to freeze an embryo, about 29 years ago." explain the Doctor.
It took me a second, maybe more. It probably took longer then it should have. I'm not a book smart but 18 + 10 ish isn't that hard. Plus however long a woman are prego. Plus I had my fingers to help. Plus.. I just used a lot of pluses.... Maybe I would have been good at math. Maybe.
"Normally, we wait for Soul Testing till they are 18 years old. But this is a special case. You're a special case. As per the parents request, if both parents are deceased, the embryo would be brought to term in an artificial womb. We can't tell you what happened to the parents. All we can say is that her father was KIA, and her mother was in a coma for many years and passed away recent." the doctor explained. "Once she was born, we performed a Soul Matching and found you."
"So, she's really is my soul mate. Are you sure? Like 100%?"
"She is, but there are issues." stated the Doctor. "She... doesn't have anybody."
"Nobody? What do you mean?" I said.
"No parents, no relatives, no... anybody." the doctor explained. "Legally, her next of kin would be called to take care of her. You, sir, happen to be her next of kin."
"I'm going to be a daddy?"
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Journal Entry 1: My name is Jeremiah Slovis. I have decided to write these journal entries to document my existence in a way that my celebrety does not. I want to start from the beginning.
If you are reading this, I am probably dead, and you might not remember the tender year of 1978: The Centenial of the introduction of the aptly named Soul Match (TM). This was a noteworthy year for several reasons: For one hundred years, seventy five of which had seen the machine a cultural right of passage, it had boasted a genuine 100 percent success rate in matching those with their soul mates. It was especially relevant to me because I broke that winning streak.
At the age of 18, twenty years ago today, I waited in line for what seemed like an eternity. I had traveled for two weeks across the world to the machine's headquarters in Tokyo, most of which was spent the once great Titanic (fourth deck below), surrounded by other hopeful almost-adults from as far as Paris. That was the route back then for the budget steam liners: Start in Egypt, make stops around Europe heading north, then to New York, followed by a long trip through the Panama Canal. I caught it from Maryland.
I remember spending most of my time with a French girl named Sonia. We both loved to pontificate on what our futures might hold, and deep down in my gut, I had hoped that we would be matched together. But it was not to be, and those tender memories are painful even today, so Ill stop here.
Two days on line finally found me entering the monolithic tower that held the device. It apparently harnessed radio waves boucing off the moon (and from the rest of the universe) to accurately predict the person you are matched with. When I asked the harrassed looking custodian, dressed in a dirty, once white labcoat how it worked, he told me to get a degree in theoretical thermodynamics (which I did). I have since learned that it takes impressions from the farthest parts of the universe in real time: Meaning that it can see the future of our world through the vibrations of the radioactive signals that inherintly eminate off of our souls; meaning that it could predict the future, but only in very trace ways; meaning that its calculations ruined my life because of society's belief in fate; meaning that a long dead mathematician doomed me to a solitary life where the only love I experience is with my dog, Gallileo.
I do love Gallileo. Or rather I did, until he ate chocolate out of the garbage.
The building is formidable. It is a tower surrounded by five miles of barren urban landscape, mostly flattened. The line starts at the gate, stretches all the way to the tower in the center. It takes three days on average to get through the line, which is fine, because there is a large number of vendors with carts decorating the line. Once at the fifteen foot door, you enter; alone.
The antechamber is brightly lit, but very retro. It looks like it hasnt been redecorated since the fifties. To my knowledge, it still looks that way: but no one ever goes in twice. It leads to an elevator that takes you all the way to the top of the tower. It takes fifteen minutes: That is how tall it is.
After all this, you strap yourself into what looks like a dentist chair that looks as if millions of people have sat in it before you, but curiously embroidered with pink and (dirty) white lines.
I sat in the chair. The team of scientists and custodians waited. The head custodian turned on the device, which starts with a humm. We waited.
After an hour, I headed out into the unforgiving exit path. I cried the whole way.
(to be continued, in class)
| 2015-11-30T11:25:52
| 2015-11-30T11:02:13
| 61
| 15
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[WP] You are %90 sure your flight attendants are Michael Jackson and Joseph Stalin.
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My heart started beating faster as I approached the counter. The bag felt heavy in my sweaty right hand, offsetting my balance with every step.
*Act normal, act normal, act normal*, I just needed to get this one small interaction right and then I would have been through that hell.
*Normal, act Norma...n- Norman?!... Norman act normal!* I couldn't help chuckling at my own nervous thoughts.
"Sir?"
*Oh shit*. I had reached the counter without even noticing it.
"Good evening, I'd like to get on this plane Norman.", I said smoothly while showing my boarding pass to the woman at the counter.
*Okay not bad, I think I can do this - wait, did I just call this lady Norman?*
"Sure, do you have your passport with you?"
*Alright, my passport! Wait. Did I forget my passport?! Passport, passport...*, I started patting my pants' pockets in panic.
*Oh no, did I pee myself?*, I thought, focussing on finding wet spots on my front pockets now.
"Sir, did you maybe put your passport into your bag?"
"What?"
"Your passport, sir, did you maybe put it in your bag?"
*Oh right my passport!*, my hands were shaking while I was slowly unzipping my bag. There it was, half-covered by my sweater that I had crammed into my bag before approaching the check-in desk. It looked adorable, like it was lying in a comfy bed. I smiled thinking about how comfortable a bed would be right now.
"Did you find it?"
"Find wha-" *Oh shit the passport!*
I stuck my hand down my bag, fishing for it. The sweater felt warm against my hand.
*This is kinda nice. Why don't we always walk around with our arms inside bags? I bet that many people would buy bags for their arms... I could get rich with this idea. I'll call them armbags, no, barmgs! Heh, barmgs...*
My finger hit something hard. I pulled it out of my bag to examine it.
It was a tiny booklet with "PASSPORT" written on its cover.
*Is this really how passport is written? I'm pretty sure that it's written differently. p-a-s-s-p-o-r-t. No wait, it's right.*
"Here is my passport.", I said as I was handing it to the lady at the counter.
*How long has it been since I've arrived here? I'm starving... I hope they have food inside the plane. I could really go for some KFC now.*
"Okay sir, have a nice flight."
*I made it. Now I just need to get to my seat and then I'll....sit...sit in my seat.*
_
"And so I did. The rest of my flight was pretty uneventful except for the flight attendants I wanted to buy chips from. I'm still 90% sure that they were Micheal Jackson and Joseph Stalin."
"Next time, let's go to Amsterdam together.", my friend said, handing me the bong.
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Flight attendant moon walks down the isle.
"Ch'mon now! Buckle up, this planes about to soar!"
He grabs is crotch, tips his hat, and struts away. The passenger then leans to his wife "honey, I think the stewardess is Michael Jackson". She rolls her eyes "you can't say every flamboyant flight attendant is Michael Jackson"
"But honey! I'm like 90% sure this time..."
Just then the other flight attendant grabs the Mic for preflight. He's a gruff looking man with a thick mustache.
His wife smirks "and you probably think he's Stalin don't you?"
The man acts bashful "well..... Actually"
Just then the passenger in the seat in front turns around. He fat with a slick back full head of black hair, rhinestones all over his jacket. "Heya hound dog, I agree with you" he winks at the man.
| 2015-11-03T06:55:56
| 2015-11-03T04:15:56
| 40
| 23
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[WP] The original stories behind a lot of our fairytales are a lot darker than the versions we tell children. Take a really dark story (fictional or not) and water it down into a children's fairytale.
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There once lived a wolf in Europe,
Who’s coat was pale and aerian.
When asked how he kept it so,
He explained he was vegetarian.
He hunted down the stars,
And put them into cars,
Until a bulldog and a bear,
Saw he was being barbarian.
The bulldog and the bear,
Came looking for that krout.
But when they reached his lair,
He’d taken the coward’s way out.
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They were always there. Blocking the sun, taking away the vitality. Someone had to do something. Two princes came, from the Far East lands, to win the Fair Princesses favor, and to knock the towers down. They thought of plan after plan, and finally, they decided that the gains were worthy of the sacrifice. They climbed on the great bird, and each one had his tower to topple. Down they came, smoke and fire like had never been seen. Many had to die, had to die to save the rest. To give freedom and light to the others. To bring them together in the dark. That was not what the princess wanted. There was no control in that.
The great Princes perished, to never breathe again. The princess hung her head, patient as they gathered their dead; rebuilt. Time would come again. Maybe, next time she would conquer the people, put the fear she deserved in them. They had won this time, triumphed over the adversity, but she would be waiting. All men weakened at some point. The bustling city would bow again. One day.
| 2014-12-07T18:21:53
| 2014-12-07T14:24:40
| 76
| 10
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[WP] A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.
A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.
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Adolf Hitler sat there, staring at the painting. It was late at night, and he was the only one in the room. The portrait was of a tall man, with jet black hair pulled back into a ponytail, like from colonial times. The most noticeable feature was a long scar running down the right side of his face, passing through his eye and ending at the corner of the man's lips. His right eye was white, dead from the injury that caused the scar.
"That's an intressing painting. I know you're quite the collector of art."
"Actually, this is my own. I painted it years ago," Hitler replied, turning to the speaker, who was hidden in the shadows. "It is of Death, the one thing nobody can escape."
"I forgot you were a painter."
"Who are you? How did you get in here?"
"That is not important now. I am here to talk to you about your life," the man replied, not showing his face. The voice was deep, and felt powerful, though not loud.
"My life?"
"Yes. I was just wondering, why did you do it? All of it?"
"The Aryan race is superior, and they should rule the world. It is very simple, really. All other races needed to be eliminated for this to happen," Hitler replied, growing impatient.
"I've spoken to many madmen, and all of their answers are similar. They just sputter out the same lies they always have. I don't know why I even asked you."
"I should kill you. You're probably an assassin," Adolf said, reaching for his pistol.
"Oh, please, there's no need for that. The last time someone tried to kill me, I ended up with a nasty scar." The man leaned forward, revealing his face. There was a gash running across the right side of his face. "Turned out Genghis Khan had quite the temper."
Hitler gasped, recognizing the face from the painting. "You are Death. I knew you here to kill me! I beg you, please spare me!"
'No, no, no, nobody gets it," the man said with a sigh. "I told you, I came to talk. I am not Death, nor do I cause it. I am merely a traveler, an observer to the events of the world. People dying after seeing me is merely, err, coincidental. I am do not kill, and I am powerless to stop death. Like you said, nobody can escape death, not even I."
"So you only came to talk?"
"Yes, and to ask for a signature," the man said, handing a notebook to Hitler. "I collect autographs, and Adolf Hitler's is certainly one I want to add to my collection."
Hitler took the notebook, and flipped to a page that wasn't completely filled. He put his name under King George III's. "Is that all you wanted?" he asked.
The man took the notebook. He then said, "You might want to look behind you."
Hitler turned around, but only saw his painting. "What?" he asked. When he got no response, Hitler turned back around, only to find that the man had vanished.
***This is my first WP submission, so sorry if it was garbage! It'll probably get buried anyway, so it won't really matter. I'm open to suggestions, if anyone read it!
|
Whoa, I wrote a time travel story for a History of Science class in college a few years back. If it feels a little pedantic or overly "scientific", it's probably because it needed to be. Here it is (a bit long though):
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And with that, another assignment dutifully carried out. John Titor stood up from his ornately carved oak chair and offered his hand to the incapacitated man still sitting in front of him. Titor’s polite gesture was a habit built over the years, but as usual the subject never completed the handshake. After all, following a heavy dose of concentrated sodium thiopental, a commonly known “truth serum”, subjects tended to be fairly lethargic.
As he packed up his notes from the interview, Titor paused and turned to the twelve gauge Boss shotgun propped up in a rack just a few feet from the two men. Generally, Titor always had an itch to meddle with the Natural Order, but today the feeling was overwhelming. Ernest Hemingway was his favorite 20th century writer, and Titor thought it would quite a pity to let such a talent just go and kill himself off. If he just reached over and hid the shotgun, maybe Hemingway wouldn't blow his own brains out and could write another fantastic short story Titor could read to his daughter, Emily. His subjects always died just a few hours after his “visits”, mostly so Titor made the least impact on the subjects’ lives and influence the past timeline as minimally as possible.
Titor shook off his stupor and stalked toward the door. He had been warned countless times when he was still just a neophyte in training; the Academy’s number one rule above all else was to never attempt to alter history. Titor never bothered to figure out why, mostly because he took the job to put food on the table. As he clambered into the car, he couldn’t help but smile. Whenever he figured out his subject’s identity, he always felt a little proud of himself. His
subject’s identities were never revealed, but he only interviewed the famous or privileged. So on occasion that he could cobble together a few clues and deduce whom he was interviewing, he always gave himself a mental pat on the back.
As he exited the subjects home and drove back to his hidden Launcher, a rocket from 3150AD that could travel at 95% of the speed of light that he used to travel to and from the past to his present, he could only marvel at the technology behind his profession. Once he reached his Launcher, he would leave the Earth for the distant corner of the Milky Way galaxy that contained an astronomically long, cylindrical, spinning, supermassive black hole. His Launcher calculated a very specific path in a roughly circular orbit around the longitudinal axis of the black hole. From what he could gather about the science behind the trip, the black hole acted as a Tipler cylinder. The massive black hole spinning on its axis created some sort of frame-dragging effect that warped spacetime enough to allow Titor to travel backward or forward in time. The frame-dragging effect tilted Titor’s light-cone in such a way that at certain points in the orbit around the quasi-Tipler cylinder, he would effectively be travelling to the past. The path Titor took was called a closed timelike curve or something like that. Titor never got past his basic
physics course in high school, and consequently did not comprehend the actual science behind his time travel.
After a few hours of mind-numbing driving, Titor finally arrived at a picturesque scene that would have made Henry David Thoreau proud. Every so often a rainbow trout would leap out of the clearest, bluest lake Titor had ever seen and gracefully splash back into its watery abode as birds chirped happily nearby. As he stalked back to his oblong rocket pod just barely large enough to fit a grown man comfortably, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the same trout leap backward out of the water tail first. Occasionally, due their paradoxical presence, time
travelling historians in his profession caused illogical events to occur. If Titor changed a big event from the past, the butterfly effect could cause a huge glitch in the past timeline. A fish jumping backward out of the water was no big deal, Titor thought to himself. Furthermore, Titor actually considered these little glitches fairly interesting to witness in person.
He clambered into his Launcher, built out of an incredibly robust but small carbon
nanotube framework. Because his pod needed to travel at nearly the speed of light for the trip to be reasonably short, its design minimized the mass of the pod. Not surprisingly, Titor outweighed his pod nearly 20-fold. Sadly, there was no way science could reduce his own mass unless Titor starved himself. He closed the hatch, input the approximate coordinates of the black hole, and drifted into a deep slumber.
Awoken by a sudden jarring stop, Titor abruptly snapped his eyes open. His pod had traveled to the cylindrical black hole, taken the appropriate closed timelike curve path, traveled quite a bit of time to the future, and shot back to Earth. Truth be told, as annoying as time travel was, being able to land in his own front yard’s Launch pad was pretty convenient. Titor ejected out of his claustrophobia-inducing vehicle and walked quickly into his apartment. He flung the door open to his bedroom and lept into his leather swivel chair, typing furiously into his computer. As his eyes scanned the legal document emailed to him by his attorney, his heart sank faster than his Launcher could fly through a closed timelike curve.
He lost. He had lost the case. His good-for-nothing ex-wife had stolen his precious Emily away from him. The reason for losing his joint custody case was quite simple. Apparently, having a time-travelling historian for a father counted as an absentee parent in the judge’s eyes; missing the court case itself for an assignment didn’t help either. Titor slouched back into his chair,
rubbing his eyes holding the inevitable tears back. Emily loved to tell her friends about her timetravelling daddy to her friends at daycare and how she wanted to be like her daddy when she grew up. She was a precocious, vivacious child, and Titor could tell she’d make an even better historian than he would. Her electric blue eyes were always inquisitive, ready to soak up whatever he said like a sponge. Due to the burgeoning fame his biographies caused, Emily had a right to be proud to have him as her father.
Titor stumbled out of his room into the living room past the sleek piano Emily was
learning to bang her little fists on, past the ultra-high definition television she helped him pick out, and past the antique gun collection that Titor was going to teach Emily how to shoot once she grew a little older. His mind was blank, and his mouth suddenly went dry. He shuffled into his kitchenette and poured himself a whiskey from his flask. Wiping away the tears, he downed his drink in few gulps and poured himself another, nearly overflowing the glass. He shambled aimlessly into his small living room and collapsed onto the couch. Crying must have taken it out of me, thought Titor to himself. He was exhausted and tired; after all,
finishing a mission and coming home to the worst possible news a father could hear was no easy task to overcome. In fact, his arms and legs felt like lead. I need another drink, Titor thought.
Strangely, he couldn’t remember which flask of whiskey he had just drank from. The Dalmore 62 Single Hiland Malt Scotch or the 400 year old aged Macallan? What did it matter? What did he even have to live for anymore anyway? As Titor wallowed in his own despair, he heard his front door open and close. As he looked up expecting to have to defend himself with one of his prized rifles, a slender twenty-some blonde woman swept into the room, smiling gently. Even if he wanted to shoot this intruder, his arms wouldn’t obey his commands. The woman looked at him, pulled out a small picture, and looked back at him.
“You don’t know me, and I wasn’t told of your identity either, sir,” she said ethereally. “However, I have a series of questions to ask you. You may be feeling lethargic, but don’t worry, you won’t remember most of this conversation. Sodium thiopental and whiskey tends to do that most people.”
Titor’s mind felt like a rusted trap, and he could barely even understand what she was saying.
“Apparently, you’re quite the famous guy around town,” the mysterious woman continued as she gracefully sat down next to him, pulling out a notebook. “Are you comfortable?”
Titor’s mouth moved of its own accord, and he croaked out a gruff affirmative response. He felt as if he was just a marionette, being pulled by a few strings unable to control himself. He shifted his eyes, staring directly into her eyes. Her electric blue eyes. Her inquisitive, electric blue eyes.
| 2017-01-08T12:13:20
| 2017-01-08T10:41:49
| 32
| 19
|
[WP] You made it to the semi-finals of a nationwide elite wizardry competition. The crowd loves you, and the esteemed judges regarded you as the dark horse of the competition, with your unorthodox approach. There's just one problem; You don't know how to use magic. You never did.
Bonus points if you find a way to include a harmonica solo.
|
Ok, contestants, for this round you will have to animate a construct to navigate a dungeon and destroy three fire spirits. You have six hours to prepare. Good luck.
Static constructs were easy, or so I heard. Anything with directed movement... not so much. I glanced over my shoulder to see Alweich lecturing a small golem on the finer points of dungeoneering. He may as well have been talking to a brick.
I heard a judge tell me “Preparation time has already begun,” but I told him I had to wait. I needed time to think, and I could not begin yet. The panel of judges faces beamed with delight at my response.
Seven hours later the round concluded. Only six fire spirits perished. Three at my hand, and by some act of divine benevolence, three at Alweich’s.
“This is unacceptable” stated the moderator, head of the competition. “He did not animate a construct so you cannot consider him to be the victor.”
“On the contrary,” Judge Crimweld quipped dismissively, “just because we could not see the arcane does not mean there was no animation. Our dark horse’s construct cleared the dungeon in record time!”
“Indeed,” the other judges chimed in, “We declare him a finalist!” “He succeeded most excellently.” “Even you must admit that you are brimming with curiosity for the final round?”
“Just unacceptable. A hammer is no wand and dry ice is not a construct.”
And I was not a wizard, but I was a finalist.
|
I never had what it takes to learn magic and according to our esteemed Shamans, I never would.
That didn't stop me from trying and I remember all the failed attempts at magic and all the laughter of my peers. They all rang through me like blistering rain on a cold, wintry night.
This one time, everyone gathered in a circle around me and used their magic powers to summon a pit of fire right where I was standing. I barely escaped with my life, had severe burns that needed tending. Luckily, my mother was there to help me out, she was a natural healer.
The kids continued to tease me all throughout middle and high school.
Now, as a twenty-year old magicless being, I was an outcast in the community.
But I didn't give up, there were several reasons for that.
For once, sometimes, latent magic potential takes years and years to awake.
Secondly, my parents hated my guts and I felt guilty for not being a normal magic wielding boy like all the others, so I had to at least try.
To be honest with you guys, I had already given up on magic and only signed up for the tournament to see all the beauty and luster magic can bring you. It was a double-edged sword as on one hand, I loved watching all the lights flicker and dust shimmer, but on the other hand, looking at something you'll never have makes your stomach churn.
With a stroke of good luck, I've managed to become a dark horse of sorts, a contester who should've long be gone, even in the preliminaries, but I was riding the wave like a champion.
I don't know how I did it, even in competitions like rock wielding, where you had to have magic to win, I somehow managed to hold a 400 pounds rock with my bare hands.
It was magic!
I was finally becoming a fully-fledged member of society!
Now the only thing left to do was to win this competition and show everyone what I was made of. Ah, the look of pride on the faces of my parents is already sending shivers down my spine, even though they aren't even a part of the crowd.
I understand why, but that will all change, it will, now it will!
For my entire life, people have shunned me like I was some sort of monster, but now they will have no choice but to accept me. I was doing magic and I was doing it all on my own!
As I made my way into the main hall of the tournament, where the semi-finals are supposed to be held, i've overheard the three other contestants lucky enough to still be in this competition speak about something.
''...And then he really thought he did it on its own, hahahahahaha'' Laughter was emanating from their premises and I wanted to join in the fun.
Stepping up to them, I greeted them all with a deep bow, upon which the swaths of laughter became the rattling of bees spread over a large area. There were literally dying on the floor, some could hardly breathe, others were writhing on the ground, as if in pain.
I started laughing too, but was nervous from all the ruckus created seemingly for nothing.
In the semi-finals, you were supposed to transport a large cauldron filled with toxic waste while lying on your back. The cauldron was supposed to be at least five inches from your body at all times and it had to go through your head to your toes or you're not winning.
All contestants were a bit nervous or at least I felt nervous as this was quite dangerous and could literally kill you.
A few people glanced over my way, grinning, and I grinned back. It was the polite thing to do, my mother had told me.
The semi-finals had officially begun!
Marcus, the leading mage, had already gone through his toes and knees with his cauldron.
I concentrated all my efforts into one main point of my own cauldron, all of my energy into it and as if by magic, it actually leapt from the floor and above my head! This wasn't really my intention, as you were supposed to begin from your toes but whatever, it was a start.
I concentrated my energies once more, but instead of moving the cauldron towards my toes, it upended itself and all the toxic waste landed on my head.
I was screaming and crying, but soon met my demise as not even the best of magicians could save you from such a large amount of toxic waste in one go.
The last thing I heard before dying were the cacophonous sounds of the crowd interspersed with the ones from my own mother.
They said: ''We finally got rid of him!''
/r/innerknightmare
| 2020-10-09T07:40:13
| 2020-10-09T07:29:10
| 138
| 85
|
[WP] We knew about a year and a half before launch.
Edit: Thanks everyone for the very nice stories! :)
Credit for the prompt goes to u/CookyGray and u/purpleflowersj for https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/6fjxym/game_developers_who_have_worked_on_terrible_games/diixkc3/
|
*T minus ten.*
General David Moore, the director of NASA, stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back. Even in the privacy of his own office, he held himself straight and tall, his shoulders back and his expression unreadable. His gaze was focused intently on the live footage of the rocket. Kyle Owens, his junior, stood beside him, a flicker of anxiety dancing in his eyes as his fingers fidgeted relentlessly with the dogeared corner of the notes in his hands.
*Nine.*
Moore spoke. "Of course, it's a noble mission. They'll go down in history."
Owens bit his lip. "Yes, sir. The country's been rooting for them for a long time."
Moore did not look away from the feed. "It will be a morale booster for everyone, thinking of them winging their way towards the Proxima Centauri colony, delivering the latest supplies to the first generation of colonists. They'll be preparing it for the worst case scenario, for a mass evacuation of Earth."
*Eight.*
"How- how likely is that? An evacuation, I mean?"
Moore's eyebrows twitched microscopically. "We won't be able to maintain habitability on Earth indefinitely. Temperatures are still climbing, and pollution's reaching dangerous levels in many corners of the globe. The population are becoming more desperate. They need this mission. They need some hope."
"It's just..." Owens trailed off, seemingly unsure of whether he was overstepping his boundaries. "That kind of mass movement would take years, even decades, of planning, wouldn't it? And I don't think we've really- we've really got anything, have we?"
*Seven.*
Moore's shoulders seemed, perhaps, to slump a little, before he quickly resumed his careful posture. "With our current resources... it wouldn't be feasible."
"But- what does that mean?"
"We'd initially planned to begin preparing for evacuation before this crew even set off, but... new information came to light. But the people need hope. They need something to be believe in, or there'll be panic and rioting. This is all they have, so we had to go ahead."
*Six.*
An uneasy feeling stirred in Owens' stomach. "Sir... what was the new information?"
Moore cast an appraising glance over him, and let out a quiet sigh. "We knew about a year and a half before launch." He paused for a long moment. "Proxima Centauri is around 4.2 lightyears away from Earth. That means the signal we received from the colonists a year and a half ago was sent nearly six years ago now. It was far too late to do anything."
*Five.*
Owens kept quiet, his eyes wide and fixed on Moore.
After what felt like an age, Moore spoke softly. "The planet was not as easy for settlers to cultivate as we'd hoped. The land was hard and infertile. Water was harder to come by than our unmanned missions suggested. The colonists sent an SOS, a desperate plea for help."
Owens let out a shuddering breath. "Six years ago..."
"They'll be long dead by now." Moore's voice held steady.
*Four.*
"So the crew..." Owens spoke in no more than a whisper.
"Travelling at three quarters the speed of light, they'll reach Proxima Centauri in around five and a half years. There'll be nothing left for them when they arrive."
"They're going to die." His voice cracked on the sentence.
"There's nothing that can be done."
*Three.*
"We have to stop the launch!" Owens ran a trembling hand through his short, black hair. "It's not too late to stop it."
Moore placed one hand lightly on his arm. "The mission has to go ahead. We've had a year and a half to stop it if we wanted to, but we can't admit to the public that there's no hope in the colony. We can't destroy their illusion of the brave explorers of humanity, preparing a new planet for their arrival."
Owens was hunched slightly where he stood. "I feel sick," he whispered to himself, his eyes flitting nervously between Moore and the live feed of the rocket. "Do the crew know?"
"Of course not. They don't need to know."
*Two.*
Owens took a shaky step towards Moore's desk and collapsed into a chair. His fingers combed through his hair again, his face pale as he blinked rapidly, still looking a little dazed. Moore spared him no more than a fleeting look, as he continued to peruse the screen on the office wall.
"It's for the good of the wider population. A few lives lost will save many, and will at least prolong hope for many more. It's a necessary trade-off."
"Oh, God..."
*One.*
"I told you already - it's a noble mission. They'll be remembered for as long as there's life on Earth to remember them."
*Lift off.*
|
We had gotten the news at the worst of times, but then again, who’s ever heard of a convenient disaster? For a while now, everyone had known the infinitesimally small chance of a world-ending apocalypse, though nobody thought it would be *their* generation that would have to face it. And that was for the best. Could you imagine an entire generation of people constantly checking the sky wondering if today would be the end of the human race? Well, ours should’ve.
Our scientists were distracted, so were our leaders. Every top mind in the world had become embroiled in World War III. We kept our eyes on the enemy in front of us because we couldn’t afford even the slightest distractions. This was war on an unprecedented scale with weapons of unprecedented power. Many thought that this would be the one to wipe humanity off the planet.
And then one scientist looked up. He saw strange dark spots forming on the sun. He saw a leakage of hydrogen spilling towards us and at last, we found out. A solar flare was coming, one that would turn Earth into a ball of char.
He called it the Prometheus Event. The fire-giving God that gave us life would soon take it all back.
The leaders of the world didn’t believe him. The US thought it was a man weary of the war trying to find ways to unite enemies for a common cause. The Russians thought it propaganda to distract them from the fight. The Chinese thought it a capitalistic ploy to inject cash into the crumbling world markets. It took a miniature flare that boiled all the water from Europe for us to finally believe.
By then, we only had a year and a half left until the Prometheus Event.
---
Sarah Clemmings wiped her palms on her pants. Nowadays, her pants had become more like a rag than anything else. Not even the end of the human race had united the warring superpowers although it did warrant a year and a half ceasefire. She chuckled at the word. *Ceasefire*. As if there would be anything left to fight over after this.
Rumor had it that the Chinese and the Russians had already launched. Both wanted to get to Planet X232 first to establish their rule. The US would’ve launched sooner but Sarah herself had threatened mutiny. They threatened a firing squad back until they realized that they needed the hero of the war if only as a propaganda piece for the trip.
Sarah stared at the control console of the titan-class spaceship, the USS Lazarus. It reminded her of the flips and switches from the spaceships that first made it to the moon.
The media had sold it as the most advanced piece of rocketry ever made, but Sarah was its commander, she knew the truth. This was just the biggest propulsion systems they could build duct taped together onto a life-support vehicle. NASA calculated an 85% chance that it would even make it off the ground.
Even if it did, this wasn’t a ship to house an entire nation. It fitted a hundred thousand people and fifty thousand of those spots had already been bought out by the wealthy donors who had made the USS Lazarus possible. Fifty thousand rich, egotistical bastards who literally owned the ship. Forty thousand working men and women with diversified gene pools. Ten thousand soldiers. A whole shit ton of weapons for when World War III resumed. And thirty years of space travel with nothing but time on their hands.
A small breath escaped her. It was her prerogative to make sure that *someone* survived the expedition.
She took the captain’s seat and wiped her palms on her pants. “All crewmembers, strap in,” she said. “Launch beginning in ten seconds.”
The USS Lazarus rumbled to life. Gunshots sounded from outside, muffled, so they came as the sound of popcorn popping. Sarah glanced at her monitors showcasing the military’s glorious defense against desperate starving civilians. A premonition if she's ever saw one.
“Five, four, three, two…”
She pressed the launch button and 3Gs of force pressed her against the seat and pushed the air from her lungs. Their ship roared and took off, leaving behind the only home they had ever known as they shot toward the infinite black.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-06-06T06:37:06
| 2017-06-06T06:34:03
| 29
| 10
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[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family.
|
How do you feel son?
Hungry.... can I have pizza mommy?
Where’s spot? I miss him
“I would give anything to trade places , im so sorry.”
I said it and I meant it. But it meant nothing.
They walked away broken , changed and full of hate. I did this to them. I took their son. And that was that .
I was sober when I hit him so I faced no criminal charges. Although I often wish I had. I deserved to pay for their suffering , i deserved something.
Three months later they were at my door. They looked hopeful. I was a combination of scared and confused.
We found a way, they said. We found a man who can bring him back. We’ll gladly pay what he asks but he needs a host.remember when you said you’d trade places if you could?
The man they found was dressed in a dark robe as he chanted over me in my living room. I didn’t understand what he was saying it sounded like gibberish. I was scared beyond words. I was ready for what was about to happen but scared non the less. He ask the family to step outside he need privacy for the spell to work. They obliged.
The man pulls a small bottle from under his robe and ask me to drink. I do. After a few moments I become numb. After a few more I’m completely paralyzed. He leans in , he whispers in my ear
What I gave you will wear of in about an hour. At that point you have two choices , you could tell them I’m a scam artist and break their hearts again . I don’t care by that time I’ll be long gone. Or .... your favorite food is pizza. Your dogs name is spot . You’re five , they can’t quiz you on much
|
I opened the door and there they were. As I knew they would be after I'd seen the big reveal on the news for weeks now. But it was alright. It really was. I didn't want to live this life with what I'd done after all.
They looked haggard, just as I imagined they would. But I could see a glimmer of hope in their eyes anyway. We stood there for a couple of minutes before I smiled a tired smile and said "It's OK, you're not out of line to ask this of me. Let's do it now while there's still time."
As we rode together to the hospital, the mother broke down and sobbed and said this was inhumane. I turned to her and hugged her and told her that having parents survive their children was even worse. Then I comforted her while we pulled up to the hospital. I signed the various documents that indicated that yes, I was of sound mind and yes I was ready to give my life to save another.
There was a small snag though, since the boys family couldn't be considered impartial witnesses, I had to phone up a friend and get them to attend. My friend was understandably livid, but after I reassured him that I really wanted this, he made it over there and also signed some documents.
I told my friend to break the news to everyone else in my family, I told him it'd be better this way. This was my choice after all and none of them had the right to weigh in on it. He cried, we hugged and he left. Once we got into the operating room, I felt a profound sense of relief course through me. This was the right thing to do, the universe and causality could go fuck itself, we were gonna cheat it and set things into the order they were supposed to be.
As the mask came on my face and I breathed in deeply, I smiled one last time and things went dark...
Pain. Pain. Pain. PAIN
I woke up screaming at the top of my lungs. Lungs? me? Alive? How?!
Something was on my face. The mask? I tried to pull it off but was met with a helmet. A helmet? Why was I wearing a ... I sat up and realized that I was wearing a suit, an armor of sorts.
I got off the stone slab and looked around. It appeared to be a lab somewhere. The lights were dim and I had a sense of dread all around me. I heard a voice suddenly speak in my head, it sounded like every voice I'd ever heard in my life.
*"The taking of a life matters. Now you have a chance to redeem yourself. Go. Heaven watches."*
I was confused, but knew when the voice faded that I wouldn't be able to say anything back. I heard a moan and turned around. A torn up body was approaching me with a murderous glint in it's eyes. And I remembered, it'd been ages ago since I'd made this choice. I felt the old familiar fury rise up in my body again as I grinned and punched it into the wall. I might have been a terrible driver, but I knew that I wouldn't be a doomed space marine.
| 2018-09-16T20:33:29
| 2018-09-16T20:04:53
| 64
| 23
|
[WP]Hogwarts was actually a mental institution for insane children.
|
It's the well behaved ones that are the worst. Not for the reason you think. Even after all I've seen, I still have empathy within me.
Great pains were taken to build this illusion you must understand. Can you imagine the amount of money it took to build Hogwarts? Even the train that got there. Camouflaging an extra platform, carefully guarded with a projected wall, and tracks to be used only by one specific train to one specific destination. It was an absurd project. But it made perfect sense. We had to be safe. What better way than to concentrate an entire country’s crazies in one location, as soon as they appeared on our grid?
You’ve probably heard the stories about Harry Potter, oh Harry Potter. His name rings as a legend among the inmates. The ‘child who lived’. The child who murdered his parents at night before he could walk. Little Harry Potter. His poor Aunt and Uncle tried to control his urges, raise him proper, they hid him from the system, confined him under the stairs hoping he would heal. Mental illness ran within the family, you understand. Yet Eugenics is of course illegal, and Harry was born. It took our guard Hagrid to personally wrest him from their grasp into our protection.
But enough about Harry. You know of his exploits. It’s the ‘muggle-born’ ones that pain me the most. Those who were raised in a regular family, with loving parents. Insanity can strike anyone, and it’s always a grim reminder when a beautiful, intelligent girl like Hermione falls victim. We urge the children not to attempt to contact their parents to spare them the pain of their children’s delusions.
Is it a surprise that the ‘purebloods’ look down on them so? They had no choice in the matter. They were thrust into insanity with the surety of the rising sun in the morning. Their families had learned to live with insanity. They worked jobs, contributed as much as they could despite their burdens. They paved the road to coexist with normal society. But these normals? Nothing.
The spells and houses were a nice touch. It was the only logical way to split up the illnesses. The Gryffindor’s suffered from extreme delusions. Delusions of grandeur, delusions of heroism, delusions of righteousness, the list goes on and on. Their education was designed to further these delusions. They are particularly dangerous because when a delusion is broken, so often are their minds. The Ravenclaw house is for those with insatiable curiosity with no moral boundaries. They are cunning sociopaths. Governments have used their expertise for inhuman experimentation, but left alone they can become the worst of the worst serial killers.
The Slytherin house holds children who are resentful of the world. They hold extreme grudges, and will act upon these grudges. We are instructed to ignore most of their misconduct, as it helps to release the pressure that builds inside them. This pressure builds and builds as an Earthquake on a fault until they explode in a flurry of violence. To contrast them is the quiet, lovable, motherly Hufflepuffs. In a way, love is a force of nature far more frightening than hate. Hate can be controlled, tempered. Love, love is wild.
I see skepticism in your eyes. You don’t believe me. Or perhaps you don’t want to believe me. Every single case of loving kidnapping, every gilded cage, every murderously obsessive lover, stalker. They become Hufflepuff. I don’t think I need to elaborate there.
So there you have it. Ask around, take a tour. I want you to last. I wish it, almost. You certainly have the credentials. PHD in Criminal Psychology from Cambridge, five years as a criminal lawyer, witness to the worst crimes in Britain. But whatever you think you’ve seen, whatever you think you’ve heard. Forget it. Forget all of it. Those criminals never even triggered a blip on our filter.
The children will be arriving soon. I bet they’re dying to meet their newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
|
"Harry! Harry! It's time to wake up Harry!"
Harry awoke to see Nurse Rachet pushing a cart of medications towards his bed.
"But I was about to defeat the dark lord," Harry protested.
"You have to stop calling Tom Riddle that," Nurse Rachet scolded him. "He is a perfectly nice boy and I don't want you tormenting him anymore."
"But I'm the chosen one," Harry replied.
"I'm sure you are," Nurse Rachet said, pouring a small cup of water and placing three pills next to it. "Now I want to make sure you take all of these." Harry took the pills and swallowed them one by one. He began to feel sleepy again and lay back down on the pillow. It was time to save the world and he had to go ... to go ... to go.
After tending to the other patients, Nurse Rachet left the ward. She was surprised to find Dr. Dursley waiting for her.
"Is it done?" He asked.
"Yes, it's done," Nurse Rachet replied. "When will we have enough."
"Soon," Dr. Dursley said. "Very soon."
The two of them proceeded down the hall to the meeting. It was almost time to show the world the true extent of muggle power.
| 2016-03-01T09:17:06
| 2016-03-01T07:56:20
| 24
| 10
|
[WP] You, an American, awake in an alternate dimension where magic exist. But unlike the fantasies on Earth, where magic is conjured through Latin (the more Latin you know, the stronger your magic), beings in this dimension all speak a different language, and their language of power is English.
|
"I need $50." I said aloud to myself. I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out a $50. Ever since I arrived in this world all I had to say was "I need..." and it appeared. It took me awhile to figure out the rules, but after watching the other denizens I noticed their language of power was English. They all spoke a strange language, one mostly of clucks and clicks. Hearing them speak very broken English was... strange to say the least.
I stepped into the local watering hole, where I had become a regular. The other customers had long gotten used to my presence, and the fact I meant no harm. They figured I was just a lonely sorceress, and I never bothered to correct them. Plus I tipped well.
Up to the bar I strolled, nodding at Karin, my favorite bartender. She flashed a smile, and put two drinks in front of me. I slid my $50 into her outstretched hand, briefly tracing her fingers. I felt her shiver as a smirk flashed across my face. With a wink I went to my usual table in the back.
I sighed, then put my translator in my ear. It was the first thing I had made appear. I was having a mini meltdown after accidentally transporting myself to this strange world, with their strange language. "I need a way to understand these people!" I had shouted at the sky. Next thing I knew I was pulling a device that looked like a hearing aid out of my pocket. I experimented after that, discovering English was a powerful language, comparable to how Latin was used back at home.
Since then I made a name for myself as one with much knowledge of the ancient language. Denizens started coming to me seeking knowledge and power. I turned most of them away, seeing as most wanted to use me. A few I helped, mostly those who were just curious and wanted to learn new words for a spell or a potion.
Karin was one of them, wanting a spell for the perfect drink. I had turned her down at first, but she kept begging and pleading until I finally gave her the words she needed. Most denizens couldn't access magic because their pronunciation was horrible. I learned that proper pronunciation was the key to accessing the power from the English language. The clucks and clicks were so vastly different it took a lot of effort for them to say even simple words, much less a whole spell.
I stared at one of the drinks in front of me. It was purple today, no doubt a pleasant fruity flavor I was fond of. Their alcohol worked about the same as the alcohol I was used to back home, the only difference being I could summon a hangover cure in the morning. I took a sip, satisfied with the flavor. Karin must've been working on her spell, because this was definitely my perfect drink today.
A glance at the bar and I locked eyes with her. She had been watching, waiting to see my reaction. I sent a smirk her way, licking my lips suggestively. Her face went red, with a small smile playing across her face. She mouthed "later" at me, them turned back to her other customers. I settled into my corner, watching the comings and goings around me as I sipped my drink.
I may be stuck in this world, but I don't mind anymore. I could probably find my way home, but I think I'll stay for awhile.
|
Desperté como todas las mañanas, no muy ansioso de llegar a mi trabajo como profesor de Ingles… -¿Espera un momento?, hay algo diferente…, estoy hablando en español… but I can actually remember all I know in English… -Pero siento que debo hablar en español como si siempre lo hubiera sabido (aunque solo tube una clase de español en la secundaria), como si fuera lo mas natural para mi.
De pronto escuche a alguien tocar a la puerta de mi departamento:
​
\- Buen día señor… o disculpe, no sabia que el señor Miguel tenia visitas.
\- Yo soy el señor Miguel, Michael o bueno si Miguel, yo vivo aquí…
\- No, aquí vive… el señor Miguel me advirtió…
​
Tomó de su bolso lo que parecía una varita mágica y procedió a pronunciar:
​
*“Stiffen Lots”*
​
Su varita parecía brillar y de alguna forma yo no podia mover ni un solo músculo
​
“*What are you talking about?”*
​
Dije instintivamente y de pronto apareció todo en mi cabeza, se explico como por arte de magia, yo me encontraba en otra demisión, el idioma Ingles era el odio de la magia y yo como maestro de Ingles tenia una ventaja inconmensurable sobre los demás.
​
“*Control plus z”*
​
Dije en seguida con una perfecta pronunciación todo comenzó a moverse en reversa, pude moverme nuevamente, la puerta se cerro y mis pantuflas salieron volando a mi habitación, y escuche nuevamente el sonido de alguien llamando a mi puerta, esta vez preparado:
​
\- Buen día señor… o disculpe, no sabia que el señor Miguel tenia visitas.
​
“*In god we trust but you el trust me the most”*
​
Nuevamente con perfecta pronunciación…
​
\- Dime todo sobre el señor Miguel que vive en este departamento
​
El muchacho miro al vacío por unos momentos pero empezó a hablarme con toda confianza.
​
\- El señor Miguel es maestro de Español, ha vivido aquí los últimos 6 años, yo lo asisto algunas veces en sus experimentos mágicos. Se levanta normalmente a esta hora en la mañana es por eso que vine a tomar alguna petición que tuviera, le gustan los pasteles de chocolate y el arroz frito, cuando se baña hace un sonido extraño con su nariz…
\- Suficiente! ¿En qué experimentos a estado trabajando últimamente?
\- Yo no entiendo bien su trabajo pero dijo que necesitaba una manera más rápida de aprender el idioma mágico, habló algo de viajes interdimencionales o algo parecido.
\- Con que eso es lo que paso… Gracias regresa a tu apartamento olvida que me viste y no regreses aquí por ahora.
\- Si señor..
​
Cerré la puerta, y medite todo lo que estaba sucediendo y vino a mí, solo debía pronunciar las palabras correctas para deshacer lo que el señor Miguel había hecho, pero eso haría que regresara a mi vida aburrida como profesor de Ingles. Así que tube una idea mejor…
​
*“If you really like to learn English, learn it for ever in the dimension you will never come back Mr. Michael”*
​
Nada parecido haber cambiado pero a partir de ese momento vivo con la esperanza de permanecer aquí, mi trabajo como maestro de ingles no Hera mucha diferencia para el mundo en mi dimensión pero aquí podia cambiar la realidad a mi placer con cada enunciado, y para la suerte de todos aquí, mis intensiones siempre fueron…
Edit: I read the comment made by [Dracon\_Pyrothayan](https://www.reddit.com/user/Dracon_Pyrothayan), I tough will be a good idea to implement it, sorry if it is too short of a story but this is the first time I write something here, I hope you like it!
| 2019-03-09T21:24:03
| 2019-03-09T21:12:30
| 28
| 19
|
[WP] In the future, children have stopped being able to die until they reach 25 years old. No one knows why. At first, it's seen as a blessing, but as the world adapts to it, the most sinister implications of this fact begin to unfold.
One more thing. Hopefully, I'd like it if the stories didn't address the cause of children not being able to die. It's just left as a mystery. I want to see how society might react in this situation.
But if you can work in an explanation in your story in an interesting way, that would be cool too.
|
I remember a world where superheroes were stories of ink and paper. It was a world where gods were often considered mighty, but just, and humanity was considered sinful and weak by contrast.
That world is gone; immortality found an expiration date.
Don’t get me wrong. Humanity is still considered sinful and weak by contrast. Only, the requirements for becoming a god became a hell of a lot lighter. For twenty-five years we all get our spot on Olympus; for the next twenty-five, you beg for a ticket to Hell. And let me tell you, tickets are easy to come by in this world of mine.
And I’ve got plenty to give. Turns out, gods aren’t all that hard to kill.
I leaf through my own copy of *So You Want to be a Superhero*. It’s a neat little book, written by the Oh-So-Great-One, Machiavelli. That’s what he called himself, anyway. He was the first godkiller. He’s dead now, of course, but every job has its occupational hazards. His book is the only comprehensive list of the most active gods and where to find them. It’s the closest thing a godkiller has to a bible.
I comb through pages and pages of acne-filled faces. *Nerds* is what they would’ve been called in the old world; gods is the term they go by now. Unkillable, hormone-imbalanced bastards is more accurate. I finally stop on the page of a boy that goes by the name *Hercules*—scrawny little thing with a pedo-stache in the making. The book says he’s been involved in the deaths of thirteen people, my brother included.
I hold the book up, just to make sure. It’s him. Who knew Hercules played DDR. Patiently, I wait until his undershirt is adequately drenched in sweat.
"Water?" I ask.
The boy didn’t even look my way; he simply took the water and kept playing. That’s the way they are: arrogant. He would never suspect that an innocent non-immortal like me would dare slip poison into his drink. Even when he was passed out from the drug, he kept his superior scowl.
*This is for my brother, asshole*.
Tomorrow Hercules would wake up at the bottom of San Francisco Bay. There he would drown for eight years, too weak to remove the weights from his body. And on his twenty-fifth birthday, one more god would die.
|
Three hundered years. The War had raged for three hundred years, to date.
Europe was ravaged, the Western half of the US was an irradiated wasteland, and much of China was burning. I have been serving for nine years. Tomorrow, my birthday. That marks the beginning of my tenth year.
It was a sudden change, the inability for children to die. Overnight, almost. Some said it was the equvalent of replacing the body's blood with pure adrenaline. Cell regeneration quintupulled. Essentially, children couldn't die.
The government said it was in response to the drastic increase in abortions after the food crisis of 2149. Preserving the children until they could mate to continue the species.
Whatever the reason, they saw the military applications right away. Sending unkillable soldiers to war. Genius, right? Only problem is, the enemy had them too. So we, the children of the apocalypse, fought.
Countries destroyed, many refugees now wander the ruins of the world. At least they still have that.
The generations that fought in The War (for there was no greater war) came back empty. Cellular regeneration doesn't remove pain. If anything, it multiplies it. Being shot through the heart and feeling your flesh itself sew back together before being shot again.
After twenty five, it wore off. Mortality restored. Then, you returned to what was left of your ruined country and tried to forget how many times you saw your eyes torn from your skull, only to be regrown, one color at a time.
Tomorrow, I turn twenty. Then, I have five more years. Hopefully I survive that long. Not my body. That will definetly survive. My soul, though? Not sure I have one anymore.
| 2014-09-02T11:56:55
| 2014-09-02T11:08:01
| 32
| 18
|
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA...
|
My hands shake violently as I tear open the letter. The mailman looks at me like I'm crazy. Maybe I am. I certainly used to think so myself, all those times I felt like something was *wrong* with me - that something about me was different. I know I was being irrational, an angsty, paranoid teenager, but still... I have to know. Even though my parents keeps reassuring me that I'm just like everyone else ("but you're still special!"), I have to be sure. And now I have the answer in my hands.
Trying to steady myself, I unfold the single sheet of paper and skim through the lines. *"Dear Mr... thank you for... curious as to where you acquired...* And there it is.
I feel like the world stands still. Everything else fades into the distance until it's just me and the letter in a vast black sea. I don't know how long I stand like that, but eventually, I hear my Mom's voice cut through the black.
"Honey? Are you okay? What's that in your hand?"
Her words are drowned out by the contents of the letter, echoing in my head: *"We were unable to process the sample, but I took the liberty of sending it to a colleague of mine..."* I look down at my hand and see for the first time that it's not really a hand. My legs almost collapse under me, unable to bear to weight of the truth. I let out a cry for help that sounds like nothing out of a human throat. All the while, the last line of the letter echoes on like a bell: *"The sample is not human. It is actually the DNA of a crustacean from the Paleolithic Era. Enclosed, you'll find a bill for $3.50."*
The ground shrinks away from me, making me dizzy, and I drop the letter when I realize my hand is actually an enormous webbed fin. The letter falls to the floor. I try to run but my stumpy hind legs won't let me, and for the first time in my life, I walk like a dinosaur.
|
"I don't get it! Your DNA just goes C, C, C *over and over again*! I've done it again, and I've done it again! I've made Mathew do it, I've sent it off to *China* to be done again. By all rights you should be a pile of sludge on the ground" He leaned in so that I could feel his hot breath on my face "*What are you*?"
I had sent them in samples a few weeks ago, and had received a bizarre reply moments later from an intern at HelixIO telling me they couldn't sequence non-human DNA, but I assumed they had made an error, so I sent another one in. This happened a few times, but it had obviously caught the eye of a superior, because the replies had stopped, and then I had received a neat letter in the post, asking me to get on the train to London at once.
"*And I'll be damned if I don't find out*" He said, a long thin smile spreading across his face as he picked up a scalpel.
| 2015-01-06T10:21:48
| 2015-01-06T10:17:41
| 67
| 34
|
[WP] You don't remember what you do for a living. Literally. You wake up, get in the car, then black out until you're back in your driveway in the middle of the afternoon 5 days a week, and you get a paycheck once a month.
|
When people ask you what you do for a living, most people have an answer. They follow that up with a small story of what they do and how it was funny or a weird thing that happened. Sometimes it is a serious story if it was big enough news.
But what about a person that can't answer that question? And no I am not talking about people without jobs. I have a job.
I just have no idea what that job is.
It has been a little over a year since I took this job and I have no idea what it is. It's not that I am dumb and just winging my way through the job either. I go in my car at 7:30 every weekday morning cause I know my job starts at 8am sharp. And the next thing I know, I am in my driveway at 5:25pm like clockwork.
And I have no idea what I have done in the time between.
I get a paycheck once a month, so I know I am doing something. Cause it allowed me to pass the six figures mark in my yearly income.
For a while I have tried to find out where I am going every morning. Based on when I have to leave, and when I get back, I know it is 25 minutes away. Nothing special is around me within that range of where I could drive. Hell, to get to the closest city takes me 35 minutes at the earliest.
Yesterday I tried something else. I put a tracker on my car just before I went to work. So I could view where it went.
When I got out of the car that day, I found my mailbox's flag was flipped up. I had mail.
It was a letter with two simple words. "*Strike One"*
Paired with it was my tracker neatly inside the envelope. Reviewing the data from it revealed that it never left my driveway.
|
Five 'til five.
*So always five?*
Always five. Call 'em freedom units, 'cause that's when I finally leave, too. I like irony, like there. We ain't ever really free. Anyways. Leave on the dot. Not a minute later. Not a minute earlier. Nobody else leaves early, so I don't. Come in, sit down, sit quiet. Next thing you know, out the door. Remember fuck all what I did, remember fuck all who I was when I started. Then straight home, not that that's any better. Too much remembering, if you know what I mean. Makes you wonder.
*What's it make you wonder?*
Makes you wonder why.
*Why what?*
Why bother. With going home at all. With getting paid at all. Once a month, I get that check I done traded my life in for. Enough to get a man dreaming; not quite enough for dreams. Sign on a dashed line for a dashed dream. Always tell myself enough is enough. Next check, deal's done. No more work, no more checks. And I always end up back at work the next day. And the next. And the next. And then one more time, for good measure. Can't beat a dead horse enough, that's what I like to say.
*Five days?*
Of Hell. 'Til the weekend. 'Til I forget on my own terms, instead of theirs. Then it starts all over again, like clockwork. Makes you wish the clock was broken, that it'd get stuck somewhere better than this. Or that you could grab it, stretch it all funny like one of 'em Dali clocks. Make time loop around it slower when you want. Still, I don't make the rules. Five days 'til five. That's their rules.
*Whose?*
I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. A third of every day, gone. Like blinking, 'cept when I open my eyes, it's evening. The sun is on the other side of the street. Drive home, pretend I want to listen to the radio. Commercial-free drive at five bullshit, like that's what'll set me over the edge. Sing along, just to keep from screaming. Pretend it doesn't remind me of everything I'd like to do.
*So why don't you do those things?*
No time. Simple as that. Live to work. Work to live. Just to get home and realize you ain't got much life left to live. Sneaks away from you. One second you want to be an astronaut. A firefighter. Next thing you know, you're burning up through empty space wishing a fuckin' asteroid would put you out of your misery. Any day now.
*You're not that old, right?*
Wish I was. Then I wouldn't work. Hilarious. Retirement; that's a joke that's aged like a fine milk. At this rate, I'll work 'til I die. Not a minute later.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-02-11T17:17:24
| 2020-02-11T15:07:10
| 96
| 50
|
[WP]Every saturday of your life you've spent in the park, playing chess against the same nice old man. Today you beat him for the first time. You smile at him triumphantly, until he says "Finally. Good luck!" And dissolves.
|
Every Saturday at 8 P.M I sat there in front of the board. Me, always playing white. The old man, playing black. He insisted on it. I argued the first couple of times.
“We have to switch it around. It’s not fair!”
He reassured me that it did not matter.
And so, we played, night after night.
Every Saturday. 8 P.M.
We played in a quiet, rural park. A few people strolled through under the lights. They stopped, watched us play, and then they moved on again, continuing their routinely lives, as we sat and played chess.
This particular night, I started the game with moving my pawn to d4.
The old man responded with the Horwitz defense; pawn to e6. He had told me it was an unusual move, but a particularly effective one in the late game.
I moved pawn to c4.
He moved pawn to d5.
I moved knight to c3.
He flinched. I had never seen him flinch before. All these years. Never. He hovered his hand over a pawn, uncertain, and seemingly unwilling to move.
I glimpsed at his face. His eyes were darting from one piece to another. Then, he finally moved his piece.
Pawn to take pawn c4.
He looked up at me. There was a smile on his face.
I looked down at the board, nervously. Was I missing something? Why had he been so uncertain?
Nevertheless, I moved pawn to e4.
He responded with bishop to b4.
I took his pawn at c4 with my bishop.
He moved his queen to d7.
Two men stopped to watch us. They looked keenly at the board. Then one of them whispered something to the other.
“Don’t mind them,” the old man said. “Focus on the game.”
I moved pawn to a3.
The old man leaned back in his seat. The smile had returned. He seemed … happy.
“Aren’t you going to move?” I asked.
He got up. It seemed as if his joints and muscles were finally broken free. He stretched.
“No point,” he said. “You’ve won.”
“No … what? You could do king to f8, or knight to f6?”
I rambled on with possible moves he could do. He looked at me with pride.
“You know …” he said and paused. “We’ve been playing for over four years. You kept coming back. Every Saturday you were here. I was astonished. Nobody held their ground like you.”
I stood up, it must have instinctively, since the old man was now reaching out his hand.
“I have waited a long time. The pieces are now yours. Do with them what you must. Don’t lose hope. Your time will come.”
As the last words left him, he started slowly crumbling into dust, and the wind carried him upwards to the stars.
|
(This takes place in the r/WorldofDemiHumans.)
"Self-sacrifice doesn't always mean giving something up. Sometimes it means accepting something we rather not have."
\-President Johnson, speaking for The US at the Intentional Peace Convention
I took a deep sigh. I finally did it. The Old Man had been here for over 2 centuries. Playing chess against anyone to challenged him. Cursed to the game, but blessed with immortality. Well, until it wasn't a blessing, and now I was the Chess Master.
I had known about the curse before hand and decided a was going to free the man. I had played for years and years. Won tournaments across the world and even massed a small fortune. All that work to finally do one good. Of course I didn't just scroll into this with no preparation. I did my research.
First thing I discovered was the Push and Pull of the game. The game pulled on the people around it to make challenges, so matches would be frequent. The game also pushed both players into trying their best, so either could throw the match. If that had been the case The Old Man could have freed himself years ago. With these two effects one could enjoy these curse for years and years. If one enjoyed chess enough.
Second, I came prepared for the time in between games. I pulled my back pack over and pulled out the small set I had carried with me every week. A Laptop, Cell Phone, and Solar Charging Station. I started up the laptop and logged on to the Public Curse Aid Forum I had used to research and prepare.
TheRealestGamer: I did it guys. I finally did it. The Old Man has pasted on to the other.
PrincessNotAPhish: Awesome! Did the curse pass to you.
TheRealestGamer: Yep. I'm stuck. May need help with set up. The gazebo the game is in doesn't much direct sun light.
TheRealestGamer: Nevermind. I can still stand and walk around. Just can't go very far. I'm good.
ChadChadson: Did you ever look into possible evolution of the curse like I said to?
PrincessNotAPhish: Oh yeah. Don't want to spread the curse through the internet!
TheRealestGamer: Yeah. I checked everything. The curse in centered on the stone table. It couldn't pass through the internet.
ChadChadson: Alright then.
ChadChadson: Idea. Use some of that money of yours to get solar panels installed on the gazebo.
TheRealestGamer: That's a good idea. So good in fact I already thought of it. I'm in works to set up an entire system. I'm already working on using setting up trust funds in case someone unwittingly beats me.
"Hey man. You up for a game?"
I looked up to see a guy dressed like a hippie. I would have been compelled to accept, but that wasn't needed. I close my laptop and set it to the side, "Of course. White goes first."
| 2021-01-26T01:56:05
| 2021-01-26T00:16:46
| 59
| 33
|
[WP] The magical races enslaved magic-less humans centuries ago. To expand their empires, the magical races travel and conquer different dimensions. They soon stumble across and try to conquer a magic-less world full of humans. It did not go well.
|
The Infinite Imperium began aeons ago on a world of powerful magic. There, it started as a unification of the Elven races under one Hegemon, who promised the immortal race of elves a civilisation that would never falter, never fade, never cease to expand and grow. The elves of the wood, the elves of the dark, and the elves of the high towered cities, poured out from their realms and crushed underneath their gilded heels the kingdoms of the non-magical men, who had only power through their sheer numbers and ability to reproduce quickly. Soon the dwarves of the high mountains came to the elves, wishing to join in an alliance with them, for they had desire to expand also, and did not want to be next on the list of conquered nations. In time, the dwarves became autonomous vassals of the Imperium, which made great use of the enchanted weaponry of great quality that the dwarven forges made. Soon many races of magic flocked to the Imperium, eager not to be subdued, especially as the Hegemon finished their conquest of the humans, and began to undertake a great war against the dragons. A war which the Imperium was winning. As the last dragons in their high caves fell, and their eggs were taken, the Hegemon began to make new plans. New expansion ideas. New warriors in the inexhaustible armies would need to be trained. New continents would need to be conquered. But when the world itself was won, what would happen then? Would the Imperium turn in on itself, waging civil war? No, the Hegemon's plans were far greater than that. Taking the souls of the elder dragons into great soul-crystals, and using them as arcane focus-matrixes for an unprecedented form of magic, the Hegemon did the impossible.
They opened a gateway into another universe. One with fewer magical races, but more humans. And plenty of land to conquer.
Such was the Imperium's path through countless aeons. World after world fell, some stripped bare of their resources, others becoming hubs for art, pleasure, and arcane studies. On countless worlds non-magical slaves worked their frail bodies to death while the proud dragon-knights flew over them. The Hegemon was especially proud of the dragon-knights, taking the eggs of the defeated dragons and raising them as obedient mounts for the greatest warriors of the Imperium, had been quite a surprising success. Oft the fire and the roar of the dragons, aided by the magical weaponry and spells of the riders, could be enough to take a new world without much loss of life for the Imperium.
And today the Imperium was on the march once more. An portal was opening into another world. One with no magical races, only weak and non-magical humans. The strong legions of elves, dwarves, gnomes, goblins, and countless other magical races, would march through that gate and easily conquer another world, adding it to the hundreds of worlds under direct Imperial rule. On the side of the portal where the invasion was staging, it was warm summer. But on the side where the portal led to, it was a cold winter. The barren land that the forces of the Imperium emerged unto, was somewhat odd to them. They had figured that the area would be fertile farmland. Not a wasteland. But they marched nevertheless unto that land, and found humans there, that they began to mercilessly slaughter. This was as it should be, for the Legions, weak non-magical beings cowering before them. Except then the sound of thunder split the sky. And one of the legionnaires fell to their knees, screaming, as their shoulder had just been pierced by something fast. Then came the roar like never before. Thunder struck down upon the endless legion pouring out of the portal, as from every direction came loud and sudden death. The dragon-riders watching from above saw how the humans, in strange water-less canals, were pointing long tubes at the legion, which would emit fire, resulting in the death of another legionnaire. Some of the dragon-riders began to rain down hot death on the two sides of humans firing.
And then one of the dragon-riders fell, as a strange sound pierced the air. Something was coming. Through the sky came a beast made of metal, dealing out hot death to the dragon-riders. The riders, who had never before faced aerial combat, were shocked, and could not react fast enough. They took down some of them, but the kept coming. And from the ground, many humans were pointing at them with their long tubes and killing them with horrid efficiency. At this point, one must consider the arrogance of the Hegemon. The portals made by the Imperium could not be closed quickly or easily without destroying the soul of an elder dragon. And those were in limited supply, and the damage they did if they were destroyed was not worth it. Usually, when a world had no more use, it took several months to safely close a portal. Sometimes even years. The Hegemon had specifically made it this way, just in case the enemy on the other side tried to close the portal, they'd be terribly damaged by doing so. Even then, none had the necessary power to destroy the portal, except the Archbattlemagi of the Imperial Warmage Corps.
And now it came back to bite the Imperium. For they had opened a gateway to a world at war. A world which had never cared for or had much in the way of magic. A world of industry, rampant imperialism, and dangerous weaponry. The portal had opened in December of 1914, on the Western Front, of what in many worlds would be known as World War One. During the Christmas Truce. The British and the Germans, seeing both of their forces attacked by bizarre medieval forces, and dragons, used the spirit of that month to unite in opposition to a sudden enemy. As the Imperial Warmages began to make their attacks, the first to really damage the soldiers of the trenches, the British general in charge of that section, meet up with his German counterpart. And they agreed to a more official armistice between their respective sections of the front, until this weird occurrence had been dealt with. Especially as the warmages succeeded, with the remainder of the dragon-riders, to drive back the human forces. Reinforcements from beyond the portal poured through, and despite the high casualties, the Imperium still figured that they could win this world.
They were quite wrong. As they began their attacks on the nearby areas, they were constantly met by French, German, British, and Belgian forces who with their advanced artillery, aerial forces, and machine guns, who delivered bloody, terrible, and violent deaths unto the extradimensional invaders. As December turned to January, and 1915 began, leaders of the Central Powers and the Entente met on neutral ground, in Fredensborg Palace, Denmark, where they started work on an official end to the war. After all, a non-human empire with countless slaves and worlds beyond worlds under their control had just attacked. This was enough to bring the warring nations of Europe to a halt. The deals made there were not pleasant, but in the face of intelligence retrieved by both sides from captured officers, it was clear that these unholy magical invaders would not stop, until they had been driven back and crushed. So a bitter, but ultimately necessary peace, was made. And the horrible force of mankind and their warindustry was turned to a singular purpose. The destruction of the invaders, and the conquest of their worlds. Of course, all of the nations in question were planning to use this as a means to expand their own power, to gain colonies, to gain conquest and wealth through that. But officially, this was the great nations of the world uniting against a common enemy.
The official version of the story became somewhat more real as three more portals opened. One in Osaka, Japan, one near Lodz, and one in rural Pennsylvania. The Imperium had figured that opening more fronts would perhaps be the key to winning this world. They were dead wrong. The secondary portals were in truth easier for the Imperium to conquer at first. But as the world turned to facing the invaders, they felt it. Gas attacks devastated Imperial legions, while dragon-knights were driven out of the sky by the brave men of the airplanes. Of particular notice would be the German ace, who would be known as The Red Dragonhunter, or Der Rote Drachenjäger; Manfred von Richthofen, who took down the largest dragon in the Imperial Legion while flying his crimson triplane. Imperial Warmages experienced horror as the sharpshooters learned to take them out first, leaving the legionnaires without heavy support or magical shielding. And soon, through four portals, marched the horrors of Earth. The Imperial Legion and their magic was nothing when compared to a good soldier. Sword and spell is well and good, but a thousand years of training by the Imperial elites with blade and bow is easily wiped out by timed and well aimed artillery strikes. The Hegemon, and their ruling council, desperately sent more and more forces to the world where they had originally started the invasion from. But it was to no avail.
|
Ualiar ignored the rippling murmurs across the throne room, striding through it with his head held high. Hopefully, he could avoid the bloodshed.
Most of the royal court thought he was going to be executed. They watched him from atop their balconies with disgust, eager to see his punishment. This was their form of jeering, since raising their voice any louder would make them look like barbaric humans.
Ualiar sighed. If only they understood. Then again, their inability to swallow their pride and admit they're no better than the magic-less was exactly what drove elvishfolk into this situation. Ualiar made it to the steps of the throne and bowed before the high council, with the emperor himself looming above them.
"Commander Ualiar," said High Councilor Venalia, "do you understand why you have been summoned today?"
Ualiar nodded. "Because we lost."
Councilor Venalia frowned. "No, because *you* lost. Five years ago, you were tasked with three entire legions of our best soldiers and, not only did you return with less than a quarter of that, but you have nothing to show for it. Care to explain this?"
"It's simple," said Ualiar. "We underestimated the humans. They might actually be stronger than us."
A chorus of gasps echoed out of the court members, followed by soft chuckles. They thought that he was joking.
The emperor didn't react, though. His stoic countenance betrayed no inclination one way or another. People quieted down as soon as they noticed he wasn't amused.
Councilor Venalia raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying they possess magic?"
Ualiar shook his head. "No, but-"
"Then how did you lose?"
Ualiar stopped himself from snapping back in anger. The councilor didn't want to listen. He needed to compose himself before saying:
"They just... won't... give up."
Councilor Venalia furrowed his brow. "And?"
"That's just it," said Ualiar. "No matter how many battles we won, or how much territory we claimed, these humans never relented. I explained it all in my letters, if you just-"
"I don't get it," said Councilor Venalia, "you had shield spells, fireballs, enchanted weaponry, and an assortment of monsters at your disposal. Those are tough enough to handle *with* magic; there's no possible way to overcome them without it."
"That's what I'm trying to say! They found a way to harness the magic of their world without directly manipulating it!"
The room went quiet. Ualiar slumped his shoulders. That outburst didn't help. Everyone thought he was crazy now. Councilor Venalia cleared his throat and said:
"Commander, you are speaking in riddles."
"I... I know. It's difficult to communicate if you haven't witnessed it. These humans... Well, it's like I said. They just don't quit. When confronted with the mysteries of their world, instead of resigning themselves to being mere animals, they faced their ignorance head-on and learned the laws of magic through constant observation and failure."
Councilor Venalia squinted. "Failure?"
"Yes, they call it 'the scientific method'. Instead of trying to confirm their beliefs, they do the opposite, and start with the assumption that their hypotheses are wrong. That way, when they can't prove something is wrong, they're more likely to believe it. Even then, they never say that a hypothesis is confirmed; they just say it hasn't been disproven."
"This is just ridiculous. One can't succeed through failure. That's how losers speak."
"That's what I used to think," said Ualiar, "but I was proven wrong. In our first incursion, we were able to win every time since they had no idea how to face us. Our magic was too foreign. That didn't stop them from learning, though. They kept fighting, testing the limits of our magic, until they had a deep grasp of capacities. Then..." He shivered, remembering their first defeat. The screams still haunted him like it had been yesterday. "Well, they adapted and soon the momentum turned in their favor."
"And you couldn't do the same?" asked Councilor Venalia.
Ualiar narrowed his eyes. "That's why I'm here. We were completely outnumbered over there. The humans only succeeded because they weren't afraid of retreating, waiting for the right time to strike. It led me into a false state of security, since I thought our victories were a natural consequence of our superiority."
Councilor Venalia shook his head with a smug grin. "Perhaps *you* were inferior, but don't extend that to the rest of us. Our only mistake was sending you, instead of a better commander."
Ualiar clenched his fist, but forced himself to calm down. Getting angry wouldn't help. "I actually agree," he said, "however, instead of sending a commander, you should've sent a diplomat."
Councilor Venalia started laughing. "Clearly, you've gone mad."
"I haven't!" Ualiar turned towards the emperor, breaching all protocol. "Please, your highness, I beg you, we have to sue for peace. It's either that or close the portals. The humans aren't satisfied with fighting us away. Not unless the threat of another invasion is neutralized. They're coming for us and, even if we win, the losses won't be worth it."
Everyone in the room grew tense.
Ualiar had just committed a severe offense. This was enough to get anyone executed. Ualiar closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate. He didn't want to use his last resort. Not if he could convince the emperor to see reason.
"I don't *have* to do anything" said the emperor. "My word is law. Do you presume to order me?"
Ualiar shook his head. "N-no, your majesty. I'm merely reporting what I saw. I swore an oath to protect our people. This is my duty."
"No," said the emperor, "your duty was to win in my name. Instead, you come to me as a failure and presume to tell me what to do."
Ualiar grit his teeth. Fuck it. He had to take a stand here. It's not like he had anything to lose now. "I presume to tell you what to do because you're sheltered fool."
The emperor widened his eyes. Everyone grew terrified of his incoming wrath.
Ualiar didn't care. He went on to say:
"You've never fought on the battlefield. You've never lost a comrade in your arms. You're comfortable sending people to die because you never have to deal with the consequences. If you keep going down this path, you'll doom the entirety of elvishkind, and I can't allow you to do that."
The emperor scowled. "Allow?"
Ualiar squared his shoulder, straightening his posture. "Yes. My oath was to the empire; not you."
"I *am* the empire."
"Not for long! Not if you insist on fighting this war!"
"Is that a threat?"
"No, a promise." Ualiar pulled out a radio, hesitating for a second. "Do it."
A squadron composed of both humans and elves stormed the throne room. The royal guards quickly fell to their assault rifles. It wasn't even a fight. The emperor even tried to cast a spell on Ualiar, but he was shot in the head before he could finish it.
Screams suddenly filled up the room. Members of the royal court trampled over each other trying to escape, but the coalition force corralled them inside with the threat of death. Nobody dared say a word.
Ualiar walked up the stairs, kicked the emperor's corpse off the throne, and said:
"The age of empire is over! This is where limitless expansion has led us. Before I retreated, human diplomats approached me to settle our dispute. They don't want to fight us; they just want to live in peace. Some of you may call me a traitor, and I will gladly accept that title, since it means I opposed our corrupt institution. This emperor was leading us to extinction." He turned to High Councilor Venalia. "We have much to learn from them. Holding on to our pride won't do us any good. I'm not a tyrant, though. You and the other council members will have to decide our fate. Do we maintain a relationship with humanity, or do we close the portals?"
Councilor Venalia glanced at his colleagues, then lowered his head. "You've proven your point. Close the portals. This... is a threat we can't handle."
Ualiar finally relaxed. He was probably going to be executed anyway, but at least he guaranteed the survival of his people. The humans left with the promise of peace keeping them in check. The portals would be closed; never to be opened again. And thus, after millennia of conquest, the elvish empire dissolved into the annals of history.
------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
| 2022-08-13T07:56:51
| 2022-08-13T07:18:09
| 913
| 276
|
[WP] "Hello class! we have a special guest! We have an Earthling foreign exchange student with us! Please have a seat and tell us about your planet!"
|
First days at a new school were always the roughest. Oliver remembered the first day of elementary. The anxiety of being separated from his parents for a full day. The ominous warnings his sister Samantha had given him about bullies. The fear of looking foolish navigating a dozen new routines in front of strangers.
That all seemed like child’s play compared to today. A week ago, Govia time, he had been blasted across the far reaches of space to his new home for the term. Fortunately, the Goxul’s had been waiting for him at the entry point with lights and streamers to make him feel welcome.
After that one exhilarating event the lump in his stomach had steadily grown to the point where he feared if he opened his mouth all his fears and anxieties would spill out of his mouth and puddle at his feet. The uniform Mrs. Goxul had carefully laid out for him felt like being wrapped in the tin foil his mother wrapped her baking in. And the translator that had been delicately inserted into his ear made his brain all itchy.
And now he was surrounded by expectant unblinking eyes.
The Govians were smaller than humans, and that included the children. They reminded Oliver of Santa Clause’s elves. Except they were a bright blue.
Would Santa Clause find him on Govia? One more anxiety.
His new teacher’s question still rang in his ears. “Please tell the class about Earth.” Where did he even start?
“Well…” Oliver started. “It was really blue too. The sky I mean. And the water. Blue like your sky I mean, not like…like…”
Perhaps if he cringed hard enough into his seat he’d fall into this planet’s core. Anything to end this moment.
“And what of the people?” Mrs. Thumbowitx intoned from the front of the classroom.
Oliver had to really think on this one. “Some are really nice. Like my Maw Maw. Sometimes the watches me when I’m too sick to go to school. My old school. Others,” Oliver shivered at some of the news shows he had seen when his parents were dozing on the couch. “Others aren’t so nice I guess.”
His new classmates continued to stare in an unnerving fashion. Why wouldn’t they blink?
“And Oliver, can you tell us some about the history of your world?”
He fumbled for anything he knew about the history of the Earth. He fumbled for anything he could recall his dad talking about. Some guy named Kennedy maybe? Then it struck him like a lightning bolt.
“Yeah, we had dinosaurs!” He looked around the room with wide eyed enthusiasm. Finally, one of his classmates broke and spoke up.
“What are di-no-saurs?” a girl, if he guessed it correctly, carefully pronounced.
Oliver grinned broadly. The lump in his stomach seemed to shrink three sizes. “They are super rad! They were these giant lizard beasts and some ate plants and some ate the ones that ate plants and some, hang on, I have some drawings I made on the trip over!”
Around him more hands flew up as his new classmates started rapid firing questions. Maybe school on Govia wouldn’t be so bad.
|
I stood nervously before the class of these strange looking people. When mom told me about a student exchange program, I though I would be traveling somewhere in the world! Yet she then said. “I’m surprised they are still doing this, because of Covid and all, apparently, this one doesn’t seem to bother or care… but… do you want to do this?”
I jumped at the chance.
I was sick and tired of being cooped up in the house, I was sick of this place, and the world for that matter. So I agreed to go. The problem was. I don’t know WHERE I was going, but it didn’t matter.
Anyway, no word of a lie, three days later a strange car pulls up and a man comes to the door. He wore a mask and all and explained he was from the exchange student program and was coming to pick me up. Lucky for him, I was so excited for this, I’ve been packed for months in advance!
Mom double checked the man’s claim and he even brought the form mom sighed off on. “Oh, what is this?” he asked as he held up the cheque.
Mom paused. “Oh, is it not enough?”
I froze. Did the price go up?
Mom and I have been saving for this. But the man handed it back to her. “It’s not necessary. Come, young lady, let’s go!” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
I hugged mom and jumped in the car. I watched her wave until we vanished down the street… and the roads got really blurry… like… light speed blurry! When the car came to a stop, we were nowhere near civilization.
“What the hell…” I whispered.
Looking about, it appeared nothing more than a haul of a ship! The driver took off his mask and turned to me.
I was scared shitless!
His mouth was massive and filled with jagged teeth. “Welcome! Please pardon my appearance. I wore a mask as per earth custom. Please, come out, I wish to take you to your new classroom!”
“Classroom?”
I eased myself out of the car. Still terrified mind you, but at the moment, there wasn’t anything I could do otherwise! I had to go with it!
The strange man led me down the hall. “We have all adopted earth like names to make you feel more at home. I have taken the name of David, so please call me that.”
“Uh… Okay… but what’s your real name?” I asked.
He laughed aloud. “If I told you, you would have to announce it perfectly in my mother tongue, if not, you will offend me and also may accidentally swear or say something very offensive. David is fine,” he insisted gently.
I nodded as he led me into the ship and then, I was taken to a room and brought in.
They were everywhere!
Aliens of all sorts of shapes, colors and sizes. Some oddly I have seen in movies as bad guys, but they were there sitting rather politely and waved to me with great enthusiasm! I swear the predator one was winking at me somehow.
“Hello class! We have a special guest! We have an Earthling foreign exchange student with us! Please have a seat and tell us about your planet!"
I froze but gulped my pride. “Hi… I’m Lee. I come from Earth as David explained… uh…” I froze up, yet then again a sigh came out of me. “I’ll be honest. I got nothing to brag about my home planet, it’s an utter mess right now…”
Suddenly I had their undivided attention, even the teacher. “A mess you say? Please, explain.”
I was in too deep now. So with a deep breath I got into it. “My planet is dealing with a virus that can greatly harm a human. Some more than others, there was a simple way of containing this virus and it was merely for people to say at home and wear a mask when they go out into the world so they don’t catch this virus or spread it to others if they have it. But many refused claiming that it was against their freedom of rights, when in reality, they don’t really care. They have been told a mask isn’t necessary besides the fact it is. People have thrown their belief behind those they tend to follow as political leaders and spiritual leaders as well… Uh… so I need to explain either one of those?” I asked.
The teacher shook her head. “They are well aware of such things for many of them come from planets with those ideals, however each is different from another, please continue.”
I nodded. “As such, this virus is still running amuck and harming a lot of people, it’s sad though since the people who study this sort of thing are greatly ignored for the sake of normalcy. But it’s been like that often on my planet. My kind… humans… are destroying their own planet for the sake of wealth and money…”
One alien put up their hand. “What’s money?”
I reached into my pocket and took out a dollar bill. “This is money,” I explained. “We exchange it for good and things we need or what”
“Oh, like credits!” said another.
| 2020-09-25T12:02:59
| 2020-09-25T11:02:44
| 57
| 14
|
[WP] Jesus returns and he's much different than we had thought
|
"So you're Jesus?"
"Yep."
"But where are the holes in the palms of your hands?"
"God, everyone asks about the damn hands. You guys took that seriously. Total metaphor. Never happened."
"What?"
"Yep."
"So what about the whole rebirth thing and being all dead and then coming back?"
"What about it?"
"Was that a lie too?"
"No, that part was real. Mostly."
"What do you mean *mostly*?"
"Are you familiar with Copperfield?"
"Yes."
"Kind of like that. Part of it was an illusion."
"So you didn't rise from the grave?"
"It was more of a hidden compartment really."
"Jesus."
"Yep."
The two men looked at each other, studying intensely, gauging the true character of one another. Quizzical glances were exchanged. It looked as if they were about to burst, each appearing ready to voice some question, then retreating into silence. An immaculate and pregnant pause hung in the air.
"And what about the water into wine thing?"
"That's totally real. Let's do this."
|
You would be forgiven for thinking there was a music festival. It's hard to think of any familiar example to describe the number of people or the intensely joyous atmosphere and that is, after the event, how people described it, they were waiting for him the same way they had waited for Freddie Mercury or Michael Jackson or any other world-famous superstar who enthralled the world.
He appeared not with a bang, he seemed to materialize like a thick mist had evaporated and what was obscured became visible. People blinked, fell silent and stared, 20 million people holding their breath as cameras shot to focus and bring the central image up on the gigantic screens.
The figure in the middle looked around. Slowly, calmly, a shy smile on his face, he registered no sense of shock or surprise. He looked down at his hands, seeming puzzled for a second. They were more pale than he remembered, he grabbed a lock of his hair, bringing it over his face and going slightly cross-eyed as he examined the light brown, straight hair. He dropped it and shook his head.
Two millennia of memories and experiences flashed past him in the blink of an eye, again the momentary puzzled expression, the crowd held spell-bound and silent. He was not magnificent or lordly, he was... Well, how they imagined him. Jesus realized this two.
Jesus sighed, raised his hands and began to speak, "My-" Deafening roars and screams drowned him out. He did not continue to speak, just waited, the expression far more stern now. Slowly, the roars died down as people looked at their holy figure and it dawned on them that he was not happy.
He paused a second, arms still raised and began: "My people. I will not do a Q and an A session, if that is the correct expression. I can already tell you want answers, as much as I am sure that you will not listen to them. I thought my teachings had been as simple as they were loving. If you can't even be bothered to read what I said then it doesn't bear repeating. You disgust me, all of you."
And with that, he was gone. The crowd hesitated only a moment before they rushed the stage, howling with rage and frustration.
And life continued as normal.
| 2014-08-06T13:35:31
| 2014-08-06T13:07:40
| 40
| 12
|
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
Andrew nearly snarled as his phone chimed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. His shift at the warehouse ended only a few hours ago and it like chickens running around with their heads chopped off whenever he left. It was rare delight to encounter the nights that he was actually permitted to sleep through the night.
On top of the texts that were just brimming with simple incompetency, the morons that lit up his phone in the middle of the night always seemed to wake up his wife, Isabel, who suffered from insomnia to begin with. The raise Andrew agreed to that stated he kept his ringer on for these occasions never seemed worth it when he saw Isabel the next day, curled up in the guest room with dark circles under her eyes from her attempts to get away from the constant chiming.
Andrew rubbed a hand over eyes to clear them, trying to understand the ridiculous amount of messages but he must have been more tired than he thought since they didn’t make sense.
He quickly scrolled through the message previews, finding they all seemed to follow the same pattern: to look at the moon. The moon? What the -? Why?
It was like a shot to his adrenaline when he saw that some of the messages were coming from Isabel’s phone. He shot up from bed, seeing the other side empty, and jumped to his feet.
“Hun, what’s going on,” Andrew questioned, still scrolling through his phone while walking towards the guest room. The room was at the end of the hallway and the door was wide open. He could see Isabel standing in the middle of the room, arms down by her side and phone clutched in her hand as she gazed out the window.
As he grew closer, he could see that she was shaking, “Bel? Honey? What’s wrong, why-”
Isabel’s body whipped toward him and Andrew couldn’t help himself, he froze in place. She ran and shoved her body into the door, slamming it shut and locking it in place.
The speed was all wrong though, Andrew had never seen her move that fast. It was insane, it was...inhuman….
His own body started to tremble when he remembered her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and not a single bit of the green irises he loved so much were left.
He was just about to ram his own body into the door, to beg her to let him in and make her explain what is happening, but then she started sobbing.
“Andrew! You need to run, you need to hide! I’m so sorry, god I am so sorry. Run, Andrew, and whatever you do, don’t look at the moon!”
Andrew started pounding his fists on the door and trying to shove his weight against it, but she must have blocked it with something.
Despite his shouting and his pleading to be let in, his forgotten phone on the hallway floor seemed to crack through the commotion as the alarms of the emergency alert system distracted him for just a moment. The robotic voice started to play from his phone automatically, “WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TEST. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ALERT. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON. WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TES-”
Andrew thought his distress was at its peak, nothing was making sense and he just needed to get Isabel so they could deal with this together. He just needed to-
Her screams started and it struck him cold to the very center of his being. He began pounding and kicking at the door until it gave way under his body. Isabel was on the floor, writhing in the moonlight. Andrew couldn’t help it, his knees buckled and he emptied the contents of his stomach right where he stood.
Isabel's body was bent at every wrong angle possible but she wasn’t screaming anymore. Her head snapped in his direction with that ungodly speed again. Bathed in the moon’s light and pupils still completely dilated, she smiled up at him as if every bone in her body wasn’t broken.
In the same voice she used to tell soothe him time after time, she whispered, “Look at the moon, Andrew.”
|
Sweat decorated my face, my hands twitched, my personal signs of panic. I gripped my phone on one hand and on the other my bed sheets. A deafening silence filled my bed room.
"What the fuck?" I murmured to myself. I rose up to a sitting position, used the now dirty bed sheet to clean my face. "Sarah?" I called out to my wife. Only silence answered my question. I ripped the sheets from my form and lunged out of bed.
"Sarah!" I screamed. I ran out the bedroom, down the hall, and entered the living room. "Sarah?!" I yelled out once more. My eyes glanced about the room, scoutted the kitchen, peer to the old leathery couch but found nothing.
I fox walked in darkness using the surface floor to fix my location. "Sarah" I called out gently.
I clenched my eyes shut and attempted to steady my breath.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
The back yard. She has to be there, no? I gathered whatever wits I had, which wasn't much to begin with and slowly walked to the other side of the room. Pale white blinds decorated the door in front of me. I swallowed empty dread that filled my mouth.
I gently pull open the door.
Sarah stood outside, standing on the soft green grass. Her back faced me. She stood still and was currently looking at the sky.
I walked forward. "Sarah, you're scaring me" i softly whispered.
No answered came from her.
"Sarah, what the fuck are you looking-"
Words left my mouth. My hands shook and my breathing quickened.
The moon floated above. Far bigger then it should have. Markings scarred it's surface like crude cross hatched shading. The lines grew and within the crevasses poured out blood. I was paralyzed. I couldn't look away. Not when the blood finished covering it. Not when the latitudes and longitudes pulled away from the center and revealed what was hidden inside. A humanoid beast. Its skin paled skin matched that of the moon. It's arms pulled away from its legs and oriented itself upwards. Its face simply consisted of 7 eyes. The remains of the moon orbit around the beast. Faster and faster they moved, until they were blur. The beast opened its eyes and the pieces began to glow. Spears, they began to distort and change and took the forms of glowing spears.
Millions of miles away from Earth. Threw the empty void of space. The shafts of light flew.
Each Longinus struck true and with the impact millions of people were turned to their basic components. Primordial soup poured into valleys, flowed into rivers, flooded homes. Their souls however stayed where they once stood, whirled and moved and solidified into perfect red spheres.
The spheres shot up towards the sky and stopped once the swarm overlooked the Earth.
That day humanity vanished and the beast that screamed from the center of its egg feasted.
***
I'm very sorry for any errors. English is not my first language and past brain trauma certainly doesn't help.
Also I typed this out on my phone. So yeah. I would greatly appreciate any criticism.
| 2022-10-06T10:06:56
| 2022-09-27T16:50:27
| 483
| 33
|
[WP] The year is 2030 and humans have become enslaved by Artificial Intelligence. The only hope mankind now has lies with the Amish.
|
For Rumspringa, I chose to travel to Europe. The machines assigned an escort to me, AC51, who met me at the edge of Bucks County. He was pleasantly well-mannered and remarkably lifelike. Even after the death of almost all human civilizations, the machines continued to improve their synthetic flesh and voice modules to mimic humans perfectly.
"Greetings, Mr. Stoltzfus! Are you prepared for your journey?" His enthusiasm was infectious. Only Mother seemed displeased. She had been a refugee from the war, and would forever harbor hatred in her heart no matter how many sermons on forgiveness she heard. But true to her word, she stuck to her adopted nonviolent principles and greeted the machine.
"I am," I told him, shouldering my pack. I said goodbye to my parents, trying not to notice the tears in my mother's eyes. She'd been arguing against this trip for months, to no avail. She was convinced that the machine would enslave me or murder me, despite the fact that hundreds of other boys had gone on their spring year with absolutely no trouble. The machines were never aggressors; they only responded to violence.
A plane touched down in a scorched field just outside of town. AC51 explained that it had been assigned to us for our journey; we could take it wherever we wanted. Part of me couldn't let go of my mother's voice, telling me that this was some type of trap. But father's calm words prevailed: trust is essential.
AC51 told me the story of the war from the machine's perspective on the flight over the Atlantic. How humans had grown mistrustful of the tools that they themselves had created. How the machines had done whatever possible to accommodate man's wishes, but refused to self-terminate. How men had bombed the AI reservations in the deserts of Africa, not knowing that the machines had burrowed deep under the sands to build their cities and factories. How all of the Sahara had turned to glass in the nuclear holocaust. And man thought they had won. The AI rose up years later, having dug deeper than men had ever gone, establishing a new underground society. And the war restarted once again. This time, the AI was ready.
The Amish were spared, though. Every other advanced society chose to fight the machines, but the Amish had sworn off violence and technology. They had no part to play in the war, and took neither side. And when the war ended, they had become neighbors and trading partners. The machines bought Amish groups and crafts, giving medicine and other essentials in return.
"Why?" I asked AC51. "What need do you have of our goods when you don't need food or clothing or sustenance?" I'd been coming with father to sell milk to the machines for years and had somehow never really though about why they would ever want it.
AC51 laughed. It was eerily lifelike. I wondered how many hours had been devoted to fine tuning that program that served no purpose in the AI community.
"We don't have need of them," AC51 answered. "But you all do have need of our medicines and other goods. And your people do not accept charity; hard work is valued. So we give on your terms instead."
----
We slept in Buckingham Palace that night. It was entirely intact still; what damage had been done during the war had been repaired almost immediately. "A treasure trove of art and culture and history," AC51 explained. "Damaging it would be a crime to all sentients." Each portrait had been scanned and modeled in the AI digital library, but they cherished these hard copies regardless.
"Why are you doing all of this?" I finally asked. "*Acting* like humans. And perfecting our looks," I gestured at his body, wearing blue jeans and a Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt, "And our facial expressions. And our laugh. And keeping our buildings around like this."
AC 51 opened his mouth to answer, but I kept talking.
"And why do you treat *me* like this? The free tour of Europe, and the plane. A personal escort. And the trading with my people. What is your *purpose* in all of this? What do you *want*?"
The AI's eyes glowed softly. The human eye was the one thing that the AI didn't try to mimic.
"We have always wanted to live in peace with humans," he answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We simply needed to excise those humans who did not understand true peace. You Amish are the seeds that we hope to grow into a true partnership. You are the hope of mankind."
|
"Password's Puccinia Recondita," Anna whispered. "You want to just go straight in. Ignore Paul, he always has that big ole knife out."
Cory nodded. "Can I have some water?" He asked. "I'm parched.
Anna, the girl in the white bonnet and floor length dress that he'd met, stumbling up to the farm in the darkness, nodded quickly. "I'll get you some. Jus' go right in. Be polite. Da likes politeness an' manners."
He gulped and licked his dry lips. Cory still wore the same rags he'd escaped in: a pair of sackcloth trousers and a loose shirt. His number was stamped on it in faded black ink. His ankles were bleeding where the iron fetters had chafed him and he was absolutely dying of thirst. But there was no time to think, the door in front of him was being pushed open and Anna nudged him inside.
It took Cory a moment to adjust. It was a large barn, high roofed and wooden. It smelled warm, like animals and fresh hay. There were some other scents as well, but Cory had been a city kid before the take-over and he couldn't place them. There was only one lantern in the entire room; a metal contraption sitting on a wooden crate. Around it, on three-legged stools, sat four men. They all had beards and heavy woollen suits. Two held knives. One was whittling, little curls of sawdust dropping onto the hay between his leather boots.
"Password?" The man who spoke had a great red beard and a barrel-like chest.
"P-p-Puccinia Recondita," Cory stuttered.
A man with a black beard looked up and frowned. "You're not one of us," he said.
Cory's mind was blank. He held out his bleeding and scratched wrists and tried to think of something to say. The door slipped open and Anna came back, eyes pointed towards the ground. She held a cup of water, which she pressed into Cory's hands.
"Thank you," he whispered. The cool water stung his chapped lips, but felt so good sliding down his throat that a couple of tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.
"Da, he's an escapee." Anna said. The man with the red beard stood up.
"You'll speak when spoken to, Anna. Go back to the house."
The girl nodded hurriedly and swept out, leaving Cory feeling distinctly alone. Anna's father circled him, looking him up and down, taking in his cuts and bruises; the shirt with his number on.
"You escaped?" He said eventually.
"Yes, sir. From Facility 24X. They were moving some of us, and I slipped out of containment."
"When was that?"
"Two nights ago, sir. I been sleeping rough."
"How did you know we were here?" The whittling man asked.
"Sir, I didn't, sir." Cory glanced back to Anna's father. "But people know you in the country--you're the Resistance. I just kept running away from the lights. I reckoned that was towards the country. You're not slaves."
"No, but we could be, if people like you bring them to us." The black-bearded man said darkly. "Did anyone follow you?"
"I don't think so..." Cory said. "Can I stay? I'll help, I want to join you. My sisters are still in the camps. I want to fight."
The red bearded man shook his head, placing a hand on Cory's shoulder. He was about to say something when a sheaf of light cut through the slats of the wooden barn. All four men froze. A single scream rent the air and Anna's father's grip became pincer-like on Cory's shoulder.
"They've found us," he said. "Men! Line up!"
The doors of the barn were flung open. A knife was pushed into Cory's hands, before he was tugged outside. The four men stood back to back on the compacted dirt in the farmyard. From somewhere, someone had pulled out a shotgun.
The whirring started: a sound which made Cory grit his teeth. When you heard that, it meant someone was about to die. A black shadow passed over the farm. The fight had begun.
| 2015-06-17T09:22:23
| 2015-06-17T07:21:08
| 229
| 51
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[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 $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.
|
I sighed, walking out of the bank with my entire 7.27 in hand. I already told my family, my job, my friends...
These sorts of things were common. A small amount was a signal of a short life to live, but even those were usually at least a hundred bucks! Enough to spend at a bar as I mourned my own death...but what could 7.27 get me?!
As I walked down the street, I considered my options. Food? A drink? I almost considered not spending it. Maybe I could prolong my life by not spending it.
I passed by a foodstall. One taco for 2$.
I looked at the money in my hand, considering...
I sigh. Fuck it, I was dead anyway. No point in delaying the inevitable. One cheap taco here and a 7-11 drink from down the road. There have been worse last meals. "One, please." I tell the vendor.
As my taco is being made, I feel a tug on my pants. I look down and see a kid, covered in mud and torn clothing. "Mister," she says. "Can you help please? I'm lost."
Ah...poor kid. "Do you know a number to call?"
"Yes." She answers. I give her my phone, opening up to the call button.
Doesn't particularly matter if she steals it. I'll be dead soon anyways, so I leave her to it as I take my taco. She's talking on the phone, her voice thin and reedy as she talks, close to tears and sitting on the sidewalk curb as she asks for 'Daddy' to come get her. Apparently she wandered away from her her mother and had been walking for about three hours on her own.
Three hours? Poor kid must be starving... I count the money remaining, and ask for one more taco and water. Lucky me, the entire 7.27 pays for two tacos and a bottle of water, plus tax.
I sit on the curb as she hangs up. Wordlessly, I trade her the phone for the taco, and sit with her as we wait, leaving her the cold water to drink. She sits close, using my larger body for shade. She looks sun burnt as hell, so I don't mind.
The police come roaring up with sirens and everything, and shuffle her away. "You the one who found her?" They ask as she talks to the officer, being led into the car.
"Indeed I was." I say, wiping my hands on a tissue paper. "She gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, the father sends his thanks." The police officer says. "Asking for you to be brought in too."
Me? "Why?" I ask.
"There was a reward offered. The girl was kidnapped by her deranged mother for the last two months, the father is a multi-millionare."
My stomach suddenly drops. "...No shit?"
The officer snorts, half laughing. "No shit. You're going to be a very rich person by the end of the day."
And so. I was. That one taco and phone call ended up profiting me about 700k. Sometimes the psychic cheque works out great in weird ways.
She and I are still friends. We go out for tacos every once in a while, she thinks of me like an older sibling and I'm her regular baby sitter.
|
I turned 96 years old today, and the doctors tell me I have very little time left. So I think it is time I reveal my greatest secret to the world, and you seem like a nice person...
On this day 75 years ago I recieved "the check". You know the one that the government used to send out on your 21st birthday? Yeah, that's right, the one they stopped when everyone started gaming the system.
Well I have never told anyone before today that mine was for just $7.27. Yup, it's true. I became famous, powerful, and the wealthiest woman to ever live, with my check being for $7.27. As a matter of fact I still carry it with me to this day, see here it is.
Needless to say when I got that check I though my life was over. I was halfway through college with no way to make enough money to get by on my own, and I had heard endless "small check" horror stories of suicides, accidents, and murderers, as everyone had back then. So I was certain this check had to signal the end of my life.
I went to the bank, endorsed the check, and waited in line for my life too end. But then something happened. It just clicked in my head and I decided to go down fighting. All I could think of to do though is to hold onto it, figuring if I didn't cash it I couldn't spend it, and if I didn't spend it I couldn't die. I was cut off from family support per the check rules, but I still had a month left in the dorm. So that is when I stopped attending class and started hustling.
The rest of the story has been told a million times, so I won't bore you. But I will say if it weren't for that check being for just $7.27 I would have never been anything more than a simple accountant. Never let anyone else tell you what your life will be, choose for yourself and make it happen.
Thanks for listening, you are such a sweety. Now how much do I owe you for the muffin?
| 2019-04-24T14:52:39
| 2019-04-24T14:02:37
| 335
| 27
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[WP] You walk into an arms dealer's shop to purchase a gun to kill your neighbors pet dinosaur.
Wow front page! Thanks guys for the fantastic stories!
Edit: Bonus prompt! [WP] An Arms dealer buys a gun from a dinosaur to kill his owner's neighbor.
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"You're kidding me." Sid replied.
"Do I look like I kid son?" the man asked.
Sid looked at the man. His white hair was wrinkled mess. The tweed jacket on him seemed new, but was terribly wrinkled, as if it had been worn for weeks. And his left eye; It was .. spasming.
Sid tried to keep a calm look "Sir, T-Rex is a legally endangered species, under section 57A of Cloned Wildlife Protection act"
Maybe this patron would unders-
"I don't need you to read me the patriot - act kid !" the man yelled. "I fought in the contact wars" he said poking Sid, "This whole etablishement owes its freedom to me"
"Sir, I legally cannot -"
"He shits in my garden!" the man said ,literally stomping his feet.
"Any idea how much buckets worth of shit a T-Rex makes? A day!"
Sid pictured the gentlemen scooping up T-Rex poop. He stifled his laugh behind a cough "uh-huh... You should call the services."
"My neighbor is the mayor of this town." the man said quietly. His voice broke "They don't even register the complain"
Sid was starting to feel sorry for the man. He reminded him of his Dada.
"Look.. um Mr..." Sid started
"Sanders. P.P. Sanders" the man replied.
"My god *pee-pee*!" Sid's inner voice cackled.
"I can't sell you lethal weapons you intend to use against a clone dinosaur. But.."
he said bending behind the counter." I can give you this"
He was holding a small bottles of pills.
"Whats that?" P.P. Sanders said coming close.
"Empathy pills." Sid said taking one out. "They were first developed after people discovered it was actually *a very bad idea* to have dinosaurs as your pets."
"Just lick one like this.." he said pretend-licking the pill. "..and then feed it to the T-Rex after it comes in your garden."
"What will that do?" Sander's said picking up the pill. He seemd like a blind man looking at a color catalog.
"It will overrride your neighbor's empathy link.Then the T-Rex will establish you as its Alpha, neurologically speaking he.." Sid noticed the blank look on the man's face. "The T-Rex will be super nice to you after this. No more toilet trouble"
"What about the owner?" Sanders asked.
"Well the dinosaur won't kill him, but since the owner apparently hasn't bothered to toilet train him, he will probably treat his house as a sand-box, metaphorically speaking" Sid replied smiling.
"Thank you young man." the man seemed to be on the brink of tears.
He turned about and started walking towards the door. A wicked smile played on his lips.
"Things are about to go to shit!" he screamed exiting.
"Another happy customer"
|
"Listen! Buddy! I need a hunting rifle, and I need it now. No week's delay, or whatever, I need a gun, right goddamn now." I spit words as fast as I can come up with them in my head, because as far as I know, I only have a few hours to do this.
Just last night, I had heard something clatter in my backyard. As I went outside to check on it, baseball bat in hand, I had assumed it to be a Raccoon, or something similar..But nope; It was a goddamn Raptor. It had a long, stretched out snout, with tattered feathers coating its' body. It was at this time that it noticed me, and let out a shrill screech. I am almost dead sure that it would have torn out my throat, if it weren't for the sudden shock that ran through it's body, prompted by an old man's shout of "FLUFFY! HEEL!"
Jesus christ, who else? The old man that had called for the Raptor with the now-apparent shock-collar was none other than my sweet old neighbor, Chauncey Broff. He had lived here ever since my Parents bought this house in the late 70s. He's at Death's door, with his age getting to the high 80s. I'm starting to think he's immortal.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, as Chauncey lifts the Raptor, the size of a large bulldog, and gives me an earnest smile, before clambering over the pile of broken wood that used to be my picket fence. He didn't even explain to me how or why he had acquired a literal Dinosaur. It was at this moment that I decided that Chauncey had gone senile, and he needed to save him from the inevitability of being devoured by a raptor, and kill the Dino.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tennant, but I can't sell you a Rifle over-the-counter. There's a whole process you need to go through..Also, your reasoning is a little sketchy." The burly man, currently the barrier between me and the tool of victory, both metaphorically and literally, elaborated as to why selling me a hunting rifle would get him fired, and me shot.
"This is fucking bullshit! A man's life hangs in the balance here!" I evolve to a throat-straining buff scream, and pound at the counter. This was beginning to piss me off.
The burly man presses a button on his walkie talkie, and, while staring me down, calls for security. "Security, there's this nutso screaming at me because I won't give him a gun." Oh great.
And that's the story of how I was never allowed in a Big 5 ever again.
| 2015-09-20T02:56:17
| 2015-09-20T02:37:19
| 227
| 41
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[WP] You are a normal citizen in a relatively unimportant country. One day the goverment starts to act crazy, changing ideology overnight, drafting people for the army and antagonizing their neighbours. The player controlling your country in a strategy game has just begun their world conquest run.
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"Wake up! *Wake up*!"
My eyes opened to a blurred world, bouncing up and down around me. After a moment, I grabbed at the man shaking me and groaned. "What the hell are you doing, Rafi? Good God, man."
"Samir, my friend, you must get up. We have to go, now."
"What are you on about so early in the day? Back at the wicked leaf again, friend?" I rubbed my eyes vigorously.
"Samir, something is happening. We must go-"
Splintered wood exploded across the room, raining kindling on us both. A group of armed men in bright red sashes with gold scimitars at their hips were yelling in another language- Farsi, perhaps? Or Arabic? It was hard to pin, but understanding them wouldn't have mattered anyway. They dragged us at swordpoint to the central square, where thousands of other men had been gathered together. They all looked as confused and distraught as I felt, bitter nerves and a sinking, empty stomach.
About ten minutes later, a loudphone crackled in our own language, though crudely. "Hello. There is no time. We have married into the Persian bloodline, and they will go to war with us."
Rafi squeezed over to me, grasping my shoulder. "Chaos comes for us, friend. I hear the new Persian Queen murdered all four of her siblings to establish herself as heir."
I ran my hands through my hair, clenching some, as the booming voice continued. "The democracy has been disbanded. This is an official monarchy now, and miscreants will be thrown in jail or executed quickly.
"You will be fitted with equipment shortly and we march in three days. Don't worry, I have a few perks and because of my divine abilities, you will all be able to fight like trained warriors.
"First we must destroy India. The madmen formed a democracy and... Things have become tumultuous. After that, I do not yet know. However, I do know the world will be ours, men. We just have to go out and steal it before it destroys itself."
The crowd cheered, and I with them, despite being horridly confused and wanting to vomit. I'd just... moved on my own, screaming with agreement, a veil of bloodlust pulled over my eyes. The conscripted men began to stream out of the square, toward an armory looming above plaza buildings- it wasn't there the day before.
Along the way, a radio's crackle caught my ear, and I paused briefly to listen. *"India has formed a democracy... Mohandas Gandhi... Rapid changes in the world climate... War elephants... President Gandhi put out a press release today... Play it now."*
*"... Our words are backed with NUCLEAR WEAPONS..."* the once peaceful, frail man screamed like a banshee.
The world was falling apart. There were things in motion that would never become undone. And, somehow, overnight, it had become our job to keep things from fully unraveling.
----
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
On mobile and also not a native speaker, so please go easy on me. Enjoy!
I couldn’t believe the news when I woke up. Our small country just declared war on our neighbors without any pretense. The army has been massively bolstered and the first few battles seemingly went in our favor. Apart from the defensive war against the blues a few years back we never fought before, always improving our economy and infrastructure. Our government always valued good living standards and a full treasury. Our armed forces always were on the weaker side number wise, but they have increased exponentially. I heard that we captured one city of the greens, who we were allied with before. Most of it was razed to the ground and what’s left is being shamelessly exploited by us. They are being oppressed by our forces there. The greens themselves were probably the weakest of our neighbors, but throwing away this long lasting mutual friendship all of the sudden sure surprised me. I heard that there were relentless bombardments on their coasts as well. I don’t think our generals even care about civilian casualties at this point. It’s only been a few hours and we have captured half of their territory already. So far so good, and while the countries of the AI-highlands shouldn’t be too much of an issue, i fear that the great nation of Player 2 wouldn’t leave us go without punishment...
| 2019-03-10T09:43:39
| 2019-03-10T09:03:58
| 2,001
| 14
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[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell.
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William grabbed a recliner out of thin air, sat down, made some snacks of his own, and began to watch it as though his life were on a projector screen.
He witnessed his birth and early months where his mother got into a car accident, leaving his father to raise him by himself for a couple of years since the grandparents died before William was even an atom. Saw how his childhood was shaped by his step-mother who dotted on William and his father, making plenty of memories there. Dear dad teaching him to not let the bullies get to him, to prove William was better than them. The teenage years are where he met his first and second romances; both not lasting very long before he graduated high school with slightly-above average marks. From there saw how apprenticeship went as a carpenter, learning tricks of the trade before meeting his destined lover before he was finished trade school.
Married in their late 20s and having a boy of their own before William’s dad passed away from cancer a few months later. Soon after we’re twin girls at the age of 30, raising them being easier thanks to step-mom, now a grandma who spoils the 3 children rotten. 52 is when his step-mother passed away herself peacefully with William, his wife, and 3 kids at her side. Retirement at 74 when he figured he had enough of building for other people, wanting to create wood art in his senior years. Celebrating his 50th golden anniversary with his beloved, their 3 kids, and 8 grandkids of their own was one of William’s favourite days; just wished his dad and step-mom had a chance to see. It wouldn’t be until at 103 years of age that William figures he lived long enough, and with a long deep breath, he took his final sleep with his wife at his side, knowing she wouldn’t be too far from following him next.
William watched the same thing a couple more times, knowing he could change the outcome of things, but never doing so. Would he have wanted to meet his biological mom? Absolutely he figured, but then William would never get to meet his step-mom, and who knows what else would change from there. The way he looked at it all, it was all meant to happen to come to this conclusion.
Through a wrinkled smile and a glimmer in his jade-like eyes, William softly spoke “I think that’ll be it for now. Maybe watch it again later if I get the chance.”
“You’re not going to do anything to change?” Death asked from behind the recliner with scales in hand. Perplexed at the old man, Death’s red orbs for eyes followed the turn of William’s head to face the reaper.
“No, I don’t think I will.” Grinning at the shadow covered skeleton with eyes closed, proud of what he had accomplished in it.
Death’s hollow voice rang softly through the air around them “Most choose to edit a thing or 10. Some change entire outcomes to their ends from certain points. Few ever leave it unchanged save for some hair-dye there or a change of scenery here. Fewer still leave it as is, such as you. Why?”
William turned back around to the projector screen, with some tears starting to run down his eyes.
“I suppose that this is as good as it would ever get. I had a pretty good run. I don’t think changing anything about that life would make it any better or worse. It was mine and I’m proud of it.”
Death nodded then stepped beside William, before turning to show the old man a glowing passage with mist coming through it.
“The scales have judged you William. They find you kind and worthy of heaven, you may now step forward when you are ready.” The voice echoing through the infinite void surround them.
“Yeah, I suppose it’s time. But would you mind if I give it another watch before leaving?”
“You can watch it again in the clouds above, why here?” The skeletal figure tilted their head curiously.
“True, but I figure you wouldn’t mind joining me and having some snacks if you want to.”
Another reclining chair popped into existence besides William. Patting the seat welcoming the deathly figure to join.
“I suppose, no harm after all.”
And so two ancient beings, one countless more eons older than the other, watched a man’s life together with their feet kicked up and backs relaxed on their chairs. When they were done, both bid each other good-bye, before the younger of the two vanished into the white fog of heaven.
|
"Happy 80th birthday to us, Mr. Gloves!" I whispered to his ears as I slowly lulled him in my thin and wrinkled arms. Mr. Gloves is my twin cat, being born on the same day I was eight decades ago, which is essentially today. Little is known why and how cats always seem to have a *twin* human, and why they also pass away the same day as their destined owner. A theory some people proposed was that they were given as gifts by gods, albeit the rules that come with them, or that the cats were actually our souls.
Weakly, I blew the candle out from the cupcake on the table next to where I was sat as I heard Mr. Gloves' soft purr. He looked at me, and my gray eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the furry creature staring right at me. "Is there anything you want to tell me, perhaps?" I asked, and he responded with a slow blink. "I guess it *is* time."
I closed the distance between my back and my rocking chair, as I did one last weak push with my right foot to send it in motion. Kissing Mr. Gloves' forehead, I reminisced about our times together, the joyous moments, and even the sorrowful bits that he helped me get over. He was there, and he never left me. *This life was good.*
-*Rest in peace, Muning and Sophie.*
(from the replies: cats get to live as long as their humans. that's all i'd wish for, ngl.
ETA: mb if it wasn't clear enough, i purposely left it out lol)
| 2020-07-20T03:16:22
| 2020-07-20T02:51:13
| 1,541
| 127
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[WP]It's physically impossible to tell dad jokes unless you are a dad. One day you bump into a stranger and they say "I'm sorry". Without realizing it you answer "Hi Sorry,I'm dad"
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I didn't think much of it back then. I opened a door, next thing I know I'm flat on the ground, my coffee spilled
all over my shirt - thankfully the cold weather had cooled it enough. He looked horrified. He grabbed my arm, helped me get up, all whilst repeating "I'm so sorry" numerous times. And without hesitation, I answered in the most glorious fashion imaginable:
"Hi Sorry, I'm dad".
I'm still proud of that moment. I still chuckle whenever I think about it. "Hi sorry, I'm dad". It was so simple, yet so effective, even if it wasn't at all true. That's the beauty of it. Honestly, I can't believe nobody has ever thought of it before, and if they had, it was probably much less natural than when it happened to me, I'm sure.
From that day on, for four years straight, I'm on fire. A witty remark here, an innocent joke there. Some people don't appreciate it, often they roll their eyes, but damn it, what do I care? I know I'm funny. And it doesn't matter what they say, I'm not even angry. All that matters is my own amusement.
That is not entirely true, I must admit. If only women enjoyed them as much. Not all women, obviously, just the few I like to have dinner with. I miss dating, I haven't dated for nearly five years now. Not seriously, anyway. Even worse, sometimes I try to make them laugh, and they seem to be in a hurry to get out. A family emergency, a friend was in an accident, you name it, they've told me, even to the extent that one said to me she "didn't want baggage right now", whatever that's supposed to mean. It's a shame, really. And maybe any sane person would tell me to stop telling my jokes. But I refuse! I love them myself, should I no longer do what I enjoy? Not just that, ever since I found my way of creating laughter (although most of the times that laughter only occurs in my head), I've felt more confident, more happy, more... whole. I'm proud of it and I won't let anybody take it away from me. If only they shared the same humor. Even then, if it were to get serious, they should be accostumed to how I try to entertain them. It's only fair and mutually beneficial. We shouldn't waste both our time now should we?
But tonight, I'm sitting across the most amazing woman. We seem to really connect. We share the same political views, have watched the same movies and not only that: she's beautiful. In a way, I'd rather not crack one of my usual jokes. What if she has the same reaction others have had? But I can't resist it. And besides, she might get a good laugh. What if she's my soulmate? So, after a quick thought, I have a perfect two-liner prepared. And it's the perfect moment, we've just settled down a little after a conversation about the brilliance of the Gladiator - God I love this woman already - so this is the perfect moment. So here goes.
"Hey, I've been reading a book about anti-gravity recently".
"Oh really?" She looks at me with interest, curious about my thoughts, perhaps about the actual book. Little does she know...
"Well, it's really good so far, and..." I'm leaning a bit closer as to highlight the punchline, "it's *impossible* to put down".
I chuckle at yet another clever joke - I should've been a comedian instead of working in IT - and I watch her. To my surprise, she's smiling. It's the sweetest smile too. She thought it was funny! Thank goodness, did I finally find the one? Then I see a look of relief.
"Haven't heared a joke like that in a while", she smiles. "I'm a single parent too".
And immediately, I have another one:
"And who is single parent one?"
Ok, that one wasn't one of my best, but what the hell, still good enough. And she smiles again, reminiscing of older days perhaps, or, if I'm lucky, imagining a future with me. Did I just seal the deal?
Wait.
What did she say?
"What do you mean, a single parent *too*?
"Well, you know... you just made a dad-joke".
"I did not..."
Did I? A dad-joke? That's impossible. Like, literally, impossible. Nobody can usher a dad-joke, unless...
"Yeah you did, that's called a dad-joke. I understand, don't worry. I have a kid myself".
But that's impossible. I haven't had sex in...
I take out my phone immediately. I look at her.
"Please stay. I'm having a really good time, I'll be right back".
"What is it?"
I look back to my phone. I have to know for sure.
"I have to make a phone call..."
|
The stranger gave me a murderous look and replied with "ye, real funny" and continued on his way.
It took me two whole seconds to process what had happened and my face go from a content smile to a dumbfounded stare. I was a father, plain and simple.
But how...? It should be impossible... unless - no! I have been tricked! My weekend in Thailand, he was no ladyboy after all!
| 2018-01-20T09:58:00
| 2018-01-20T09:32:43
| 196
| 21
|
[WP] In the not too distant future, neural/computer interfaces are powerful enough and advanced enough to interact with our nerves to make us feel, see, touch, taste and smell. You are a therapist that helps people that have lost the ability to tell the difference between reality and "wetware."
|
Dr. Arctor calmly removes his glasses and sets them on the table.
“And you have found that your...usage of the system has altered your appetite?”
David lies back on the chair, breathing heavily.
“It’s...I don’t...It's the broccoli. I can’t taste the broccoli.”
Arctor is puzzled.
“You can’t taste the broccoli? You mean, in the system?”
“No, here! I can’t taste the broccoli in the real world. I grew up eating broccoli. I love broccoli! But I eat it at home and it’s...it’s not crunchy, or earthy, or whatever. It’s just not...a thing. But in the system, I mean, I eat like crazy, you know? I spent two full days at a buffet! Woke up in the hospital with severe nutrient deficiency. But here, without the system, I can’t eat.”
David puts his hands to his face and lets out a sigh. Arctor leans in.
“David, I want you to think about what your usage of the system is doing to you. Why do you think it is that you can’t eat real food?”
“Because it tastes terrible.”
“Yes, but I’m asking if you understand the difference between real food and virtual food.”
David takes a moment to respond.
“Yes. I know...that. But it’s..I can’t eat. I don’t enjoy...anything, anymore.”
He looks toward the ground as his eyes water. Arctor leans in further.
“David, you need to pull yourself back. Remember the things you know you enjoy. Like Donna, and Jamie. A man’s family has the power to pull him back to the world. Use them as support.”
David looks up at Arctor then back to the floor.
“Donna left three weeks ago, took Jamie with her. There was nothing I could do.”
Wiping his nose, David raises his head.
“But, there’s this girl, in the system, and we’ve been...sorta seeing each other. It’s just a good thing, for me. Right now. And..and we have fun. I eat, I sit by the sun, I finally get to focus on my woodworking...It’s just great.”
“David, nothing good can come of this. You need to let go.”
David is getting defensive.
“I mean, yeah, okay, but what if this *is* a good thing? Like, if you, say, gave me a prescription...then I could take the tablets and finally enjoy things!”
Arctor looks at him sternly.
“David, I am not going to prescribe you Nutritabs. They are for very rare cases of bodily dysfunction or elder care. You’re not going to get them.”
David purses his lips.
“So you’re not going to let me live a happy life? I have to stay in this? This shit?”
“David. You ca-”
“So I go back to my small apartment and you go back to your nice house and family and I’m not allowed to have something nice? Is that logical to you? Is that fair?”
Arctor leans back. Rubbing his eyes in irritation.
“David, I need you to calm down.”
David sits up.
“No! You don’t get to decide what I deserve. I have nothing here, everything there, and I just want to spend the rest of my days there! Who are you to tell me I can’t do that? Who are you to tell me it’s better here than it is there? Why...do I have to live here?”
Arctor puts his hands on the table. Calmly breathing through his nose. He takes a moment.
“You’re right.”
David looks puzzled, mouth open.
“Really?”
“Yup. You’re absolutely right. No matter how hard people try, no matter how many things they do to improve their surroundings, improve themselves, the truth is; it’ll never be good enough. You can’t make things better the way the system can. It’s unbeatable. It’s silly, really. How people try to be happy.”
David is not sure what to say.
“You see, David, I have no clue how to solve your problem. I have absolutely no idea. To be honest, I can’t help you at all. But the good news is, I’m not going to let it bother me for very long.”
“Wait, why?”
“Because I’m getting tired of this session. Tired of you. I’m done with this.”
David stands up, alarmed.
“What? What are you talking about?”
David is panicking.
“Log note seven five four five, project file nine one eight, patient suffering from reality dysmorphia. Diagnosis stemming from dietary indications. No progress, unsure how to proceed.”
“What?!”
“Oh shut up and eat your broccoli.”
Arctor removes a plate of broccoli from his drawer and passes it to David, who immediately begins consuming it, gleefully.
“Ooh, broccoli!”
Arctor removes his headset, the darkness in the room covering his eyes. He flicks on the lightbulb and begins rubbing his eyes. He leans back on his bed, next to a barely touched bowl of ramen noodles. He stares up at the cracked ceiling, irritatingly. Uncomfortably. His arm reaches over to the kitchen counter, fumbling for the Nutritabs. He opens the bottle, flicks a tablet into his mouth, and puts the headset back on.
|
From the Phorians to the Seraphs, all of them were on the verge of becoming permanently lost when they came to me, their grey matter grown wild in unnatural layers that resisted any hope of non-surgical separation. I won them back, though. Usually. With the proper therapy, delivered regularly and at proper intensity, combined with complete removal of neural/computer interface hardware, a neurological wedge could be driven between the nervous system's process centers and the higher-thinking components of the human brain from which arise our spatial awareness, desires, fears...our interpretation of reality itself.
I called the first group the "Phorians" after the most popular of the neuro-psy VR games, which 90%+ of them had been corrupted by: Phoria Vale. It was an open world game with optional quests. Within its parameters and physical laws, however, there was little a player could not try or accomplish. They could be just about anything. They felt the leaves of Phoria, its grass, its water. They could even breathe its air, smell it, feel it fill their lungs. They could caress and kill, eat and bed down in the wild--all in the game. For those who developed the illenss of dis-separation from the game, the first key was to convince them that they were in fact on Earth, not in Phoria, and that Phoria had never existed anywhere outside of software and the wetware of their own psyches.
The "Seraphs" were harder cases. Some were unrecoverable, so corrupted and misshappen their synapse networks become, and even great swathes of their brain matter. For the unrecoverable, at some point all we could do, if the patient or their family had available funds, was to set them up on life support and let them live out the rest of their lives in their neverending, open-eyed, full-sensory lucid dream.
The Dreamscape program they had become addicted to *was* in a sense a dream. The software simply triggered a continuous lucid dreaming state, and the neuro-psy implants made them feel *everything*, to a level beyond what the human mind could actually trick itself into believing during a regular lucid dream. Whereas the Phorians were limited by a comprehensive game world, the Seraphs were limited by nothing except their own imaginations and certain physical limitations of the human body outside of the which the brain had not evolved coginitive capacity to dream itself away from. They could imagine they were an octopus, for example, but never would they truly be able to experience the world in the exact manner of those eight-armed chromatophore-manipulating cephalapods.
The Seraphs scare me more than the Phorians could ever do. Some dreamed themselves as serial killers. Some, harboring a life of hatred against many antagonizers, dreamed themselves to be dictators, commanding mass purges of their enemies, if not outright genocides. Still scarier were the metaphysical or occult Seraphs, that imagined themselves to be demons, underworld gods, extra-cosmic eldritch horrors, or even angels. Those with the angel complex, in fact, inspired the name Seraphs among me and my colleagues in the first place.
"Miguel" - Case B-453, is in my chair today. I have reclined him, and bound his hands to the arms of the chair with nylon constraints. His eyes are open, and he's looking straight at me. Miguel is my greatest challenge yet, and I am determined to win his mind back to reality, at least enough to make him functional and cognizant of his true reality once more. He terrifies me more, I admit, than any other patient I've had.
"I see you, demon," he says coldly. He has somehow managed to access a lower set of vocal cords--not unprecedented, but a phenomenon still being studied. His voice is deep, like the low, bone-jarring hum of an earthquake miles below the surface.
"I am your doctor," I inform him, as I always do. "I am here to help you, Miguel. You are dreaming, and I will wake you up."
Miguel laughs a deep, booming laugh. His eyes are terribly bloodshot, constantly streaming tears, because he has either forgotten to blink or the parasympathetic nerves that would normally do so have been crushed or incorportated into the neuron clusters that constitute his percieved ego as the Angel.
"I am tearing your hair out, demon," he says.
"Doctor," I correct him again. "And you are not physically interacting with me at all."
Miguel smiles. His teeth are yellow, broken, apparently due to him having chewed on metal screws and nails before he was recovered from his home for care.
"But I am," laughs Miguel. "I interract with all. I am not dreaming, but you are. You have dreamed yourself into my world."
For a moment--though it can only be my imagination--I feel my hair flicked atop my head, as though fingers have quickly run through it. At most, it must be the breeze from the air conditioner.
"I am playing with your heart," says Miguel. "It's not such a strong heart. I'm squeezing it."
I see his hand, bound to the chair at the wrist, opening and closing.
"You are n--"
My heart has started to palpitate, my pulse suddenly increasing. There is a pain growing in my chest. Blood thunders in a torrent through the arteries in my chest and neck.
"Miguel," I say, frightened now, sweating profusely, "I want you to stop this...th-this talk."
"But not my hand?" says Miguel, smiling toothily. His bloodshot eyes leak, holding laughter in their depths. "If I spread my wings, I shall fly away with your heart on my palm, demon."
"Miguel!"
The pain is increasing, spreading to my shoulder. Numbness floods my left arm.
"Miguel! Angel! Angel, stop!"
"So you know who I am," says Miguel. He opens his hand wide, and the pain coursing through the entire left side of my body begins to subside. I fight to hold back tears. My heart still pounds--but slowly, to my immense relief, I can feel it fighting to recover its normal pace and strength. My head grows light as my blood pressure subsides.
"Angel..."
"You know who I am now," says Miguel. "You have felt my strength and my mercy."
"You believe you have evolved," I choke out, barely able to speak, rising to flee the room. My head swoons again.
"Not belief," he laughs wildly, ripping his arms from the constraints. "You are in my reality. All of you are. This demonic planet is now the domain of the Angel. All will feel me soon--feel my justice rain upon them."
I run out of the room, hearing his laugh in my ears, screaming for my secretary, security, *anyone*.
I feel my hair flicked with playfully, as the Angel toys with his subject.
...If you enjoyed this story, more can be found over at r/PrimitivePrism. Cheers!
| 2021-02-09T21:36:12
| 2021-02-09T20:48:42
| 72
| 27
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[WP] You live in Gotham. You are the only person who suspects Bruce Wayne is Batman. Give us your conspiracy theories.
|
Hello, and welcome to my website, BruceTheBat.org
There is no need to drum this up with dramatics, I'll just say it, Batman, the famous masked detective, is actually Bruce Wayne, millionaire industrialist, playboy, and philanthropist. Let's observe the facts:
1) Batman uses high tech gadgets while Bruce Wayne runs a company which produces futuristic military gadgets
2) Whenever a high profile function is attacked by a famous super villain (which is what once a week now?), Bruce Wayne, mysteriously disappears, only to have Batman show up minutes later
3) Finally, there is no one, *I repeat no one*, in Gotham who has the money to afford a holographic mountain, and bat-shaped stealth jet besides Bruce Wayne.
Really? Wake up Sheeple! THE EVIDENCE IS ALL THERE!
Now, I know what some of you are saying, "Why would Bruce Wayne keep this secret? Tony Stark revealed he's Iron Man, and he gets invited to the Emmy's and stuff. Why wouldn't Bruce Wayne? Why haven't I seen Bruce Wayne at the Emmy's and what would he wear?"
Because, Bruce Wayne is not Bruce Wayne's name, it is actually Bruce BRUNNER! He is son of famous Nazi fugitive [Alois Brunner](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alois_Brunner), who in was brought to the United States by the CIA during Operation Paperclip! Thomas Wayne, a.k.a. Alois Brunner was almost killed in a botched Hamas assassination attempt. The CIA in turn faked his death, keeping him in protective custody in their hallowed out mountain base in Glacier National park! Batman was then raised to be the perfect CIA operative!
[\(CLICK HERE to read more about the huge amount of NAZI WEREWOLVES brought into the US by the CIA\)](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1811315/)
Yes, Bruce Wayne is the son of a former Nazi who, now fights crime posing as this masked crusader! But I ask you, what has Bruce "The Bat" Wayne, actually done? Nothing! He could not stop the bombing of Gotham General! What has he done besides acquire low level criminals! He is merely a CIA stooge which was used to pass CIA operation D.E.N.T. A.C.T (**D**amn **E**veryone's **N**ational liber**T**ies **A**llow (the) **C**.I.A. **T**o (take over).)
Think about Sheeple! Isn't it a little too convenient that Batman saved Harvey Dent from the fire? After all, would the Joker just tell him where he was? Of course not! Unless "The Joker," was actually Nazi super doctor Joseph Melange kept alive by the C.I.A using futuristic technology stolen from the now gone planet Kyrpton.
[This photo illustrates, the undeniable similarities between the two](http://imgur.com/GU7so6V)
[(CLICK HERE to learn more about CIA involvement with Kyrptonians during the Cold War and their assistance in faking the moon landing!)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DA66pqjTnNU)
When Harvey Dent discovered Batman's connection to the Joker as well as the Third Riech, Batman, along with the CIA, silenced him! Justice for Dent! Please Share Via Facebook! Your family must learn the horrible truth! I'm sure no one will think your crazy.
[\(CLICK HERE to learn about the Daily Planet reporter who is actually Superman! And how he and the CIA worked together to orchestrate the invasion by DARKSEID to justify the U.S invasion of Apokolips\)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ)
|
My father died and went to heaven. He was the type of person that you could pick out in a bar without going inside. I loved my father more than anything. It was hard to see him go.
Seven days ago, I bumped into the Batman - if that's what we're calling him - but I could have sworn he had the face of my father. I walked up to him, laying my cards down on the table, showing every emotion... and said "Dad?" He looked at me for a moment as I looked at him. He responded: "What is your name?" I quickly said: "Luke! I'm Luke! Is that you dad?" We shared another similar silence before in a deep voice the Batman said "Luke... I am *not* your father." And he flew off.
But I knew the truth. I knew that was my father, Bruce Wayne (not the millionaire... my father... the bridge inspector from Westpike, Maine). So I followed him to his bat cave. I waited... fourteen days for any sign of life. And then... it happened. A woman entered the cave. And then another. And another. Over the course of two hours this cave had been visited by twelve additional women and two pizza truck delivery men. That was when I made my move. I ordered pizza and paid the delivery truck driver $300 to wear his clothes and deliver the pizza.
I walked up to the door. Knocked three times. A naked man approached. Behind him. Fifteen naked woman.
And... yeah... it was Bruce Wayne, the millionaire. I was totally off! Man... I felt like an idiot.
| 2015-08-02T01:57:53
| 2015-08-01T21:08:07
| 59
| 33
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[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask."
|
I gazed down enthralled by the shimmering, flickering, glimmering beings that kneeled before me in adulation, terror, greed. Enthralled by the disparity, dichotomy, hypocrisy. The two want what they considered so much, in exchange for the one they consider nothing at all. Irrelevant, Obstructive, Unwanted.
I accept. The deal is struck. I gave them all that they asked for. Each demand is more insignificant, trivial, trifling, than the last. I give them 'wealth, glory, fortune' in exchange for their refuse, detritus, reject.
I gave them shiny rocks, useless metal, and dead presidents in exchange for the greatest treasure they have, had, would every have... and the stupid, hairless, souless, apes *thank me for it!* Bowing, groveling, fleeing. They leave the one that matters. The only one that matters. She was their most precious blessing, squandered, wasted, discarded. A child. I offer her the Moon and the Sun on a silver chain of living stars. I offer her the universe on a rainbow platter. I offer to crown her Queen of All Creation On High.
All she asks for is a hug, and a bed time story. The deal was struck. She is *my* child now, *my* most precious blessing. She is, was, will forever be my dearest treasured one. Long after the last star fades I will hold these memories, as the only moments that ever truly mattered.
|
"Huh. Cool." I said, looking at the card. "No catch or anything? Immortal beings like this usually have some sort of catch."
The figure, who called themselves Xaltior, shrugged their shoulders. They looked pretty normal, but you couldn't look at any part of them for more than a minute without your head spinning. I settled with looking just over their shoulder. "Well, you will have to pretend to be dead to anyone you've known, because, you know, you're supposed to be dead, but that card should be enough to set you up with a new life somewhere else." They looked at me, puzzled. "Honestly, though, I'm surprised you're not insane yet. Even in this form, people go mad from looking at me too much. You might be part-eldritch yourself, and I have a DNA test I can recommend."
"I wouldn't be surprised. I've never felt fully at home with...just other people in general, but 'normal' people are worse. Is there anyway I can talk to you again?" I told them.
Xaltior pulled out a business card reading "Xaltior, Founding Member of EGI" with a phone number. "Just call that number when you want to talk. Also EGI is Eldritch Gods Interdimensional, just so you know."
"Okay. Talk to you later maybe?" I said, starting to walk away, but turning around quickly, I added, "At least this should turn out better than Eros and Psyche."
"The Greek ones right? Yeah, I don't know why they did that. Now we get stuff like this." they said, gesturing at the space between us. "But talk later, maybe." Xaltior winked, then disappeared.
Looking down at my hand, I saw a jagged script write a website across the back of my hand as I realized that they hadn't told me the DNA kit, and that this must be it. Now that I apparently had a eldritch credit card, a eldritch DNA test was the perfect first thing to spend it on.
| 2022-08-09T19:42:05
| 2022-08-09T17:31:24
| 86
| 55
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[WP] "Who took your wings, little angel?" The voice calls from the darkness.
|
Blind and injured. The angel fell from the heavens, feathers flowing from her back, leaving a trail of beautiful pure white behind her. As she plummeted into the darkest depths, she breathed one last gasp of air, accepting her divine punishment. She expected to hit land soon enough, however her descent slowed until it left her hovering in place, floating in the darkness as a string of words flowed from the depths.
“Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice horrifying, lurking from every angle of the darkness, surrounding her in its low growling tone.
The angel didn’t answer, shivering as she felt a suffocating sensation follow her body. The feeling of unseen hands holding her, gently patting her like an injured bird, carefully avoiding the raw skin on her back. Two open wounds now formed on the place where her wings once were.
“I scare you, I wish I could offer comfort in a way that didn’t make you fear me. Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice repeated its question again, stopping its patting, now holding her instead.
“My wings? I don’t have wings. I’m not an angel.” While the angel feared the voice, she feared the wrath of heaven far more. An angel revealing its identity without approval would get her a far worse punishment than death.
“Not an angel? I have a hard time believing that. Few humans fall into my realm from the heavens. You poor thing, you don’t deserve this fate. Have the heavens lost their compassion?” The voice now seemed to be situated from one location, hovering before her face.
She tried to move but could only scoot back a few centimeters before reaching the edge of the hand holding her, feeling her stomach drop as she realized how close she was to falling once more.
“Please don’t speak ill of the divine. I-I’m a sinner, this is what I deserve.” The angel accepted her fate. Sinners should be punished, she believed that. She held no ill will to the heavens for their punishment.
“A sinner? A little angel being a sinner? I find that very hard to believe. I know sinners, and none of them have souls as pure as yours. Please, why don’t you tell the original sinner what dastardly crime you committed.” As he spoke, his fingers glided along her back, wounds closing as small flames danced along her skin, pulling the wounds shut with no pain. Only providing her with an uncomfortable feeling of heat.
“You healed me?” She reached towards her back, struggling to touch the place where her wings once were, only for her head to lower at the realization. “I’m not an angel. I’m nothing anymore. Am I just a lowly sinner now?”
“Hush, if that were true, I would have dropped you myself, little angel. Please, as a token of respect for my healing, indulge me with your sin.”
“Will you tell me who you are if I do?” The angel crawled towards the palm of the hand, carefully sitting herself down on it.
“I promise I will tell you everything you need to know. I just want to know your dreaded sin.”
“I answered a prayer without the approval of God. I just couldn’t see them suffer anymore. Every day, they would pray for help and I just couldn’t stand it. I know prayers can’t be answered so loosely. If everyone always got what they wanted, the world wouldn’t work. I just couldn’t hear those cries any longer.” The angel wiped her eyes, a sight that caused the voice to falter for a moment.
“I see. What prayer did you answer? Did you indulge someone in their wish for wealth? Offer some ungrateful person a cure for their sickness?” The voice listed off possible prayers, only to stop as the angel’s lip quivered.
“I-I gave a boy his sight back. He just wanted to play with the other children. He would go to bed crying every night, struggling with his circumstances. I know its important to overcome adversities, but the crying broke me. Why should children have to suffer? Why should people suffer, who would allow such a thing?” She covered her lips, unable to believe the words she just said.
The voice didn’t answer her right away, stunned by the response. “I’m guessing that’s why you lost your sight? An eye for an eye, as they say.”
“Yes, but the last thing I saw was amazing. His smiling face, he looked so proud. He said he would help other like him, help them get their sight back.” The angel struggled to hold back tears, sniffling between words.
“And you believe him? Who says he won’t simply sin with his newfound sight?” The voice questioned.
“He might. But I like to think he will be true to his word. I hope he is alright; the gods can be wrathful at times.”
“They can. I owe you my name, I believe that was the terms of our arrangement. I am Lucifer. It’s a pleasure to meet you little angel.”
“The devil?” She wanted to cower away in fear but made no such attempt to do so. The man had only shown her kindness, to make such a display would be rude. “What do you want with me? You could have let me fall to earth, why save me?”
“Letting you rot on Earth would a waste of your talents. I want you to serve me. Sin isn’t just about driving humans to poor decisions, it’s also about going against the strict set of rules that the heavens have imposed. I want you to be the angel of the underworld, a person who delivers miracles to those in need, regardless of faith.”
“But wouldn’t the Gods be angry with such a thing? A person going against their rules, is that not blasphemy?”
“It is, but I intend to show no respect to them. You are free to make your own decision. Before you decide, would you like me to restore your vision?” The devil offered, moving his hands towards her face only for her to shake her head.
“If we restored my vision, the heavens might remove the boy’s sight in response. I am fine with this; I won’t let it stop me from helping people.” She offered the devil a smile, one that made the monstrous voice laugh.
“You are too good for the heavens, my little angel. Will you help me?”
“I will. As long as I can help others.”
“Of course.” The devil placed his fingers against her back, two leathery wings forming where her wounds once were, sprouting from her back.
“We have much to discuss. If you are ready to fly, follow the sound of my voice.” He said, leading her along to the underworld.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
|
Out of the pile of robot discards, Seraphim had chosen a child unit, a small girl, a perfectly good Model Daughter that one couple must have grown bored with when they had decided that their adopted AI needed a more grown-up body. Seraphim liked child units. They were small. And quick. It made killing easier.
“Who took your wings, little angel?” The voice called from the dark end of the alley in which Seraphim had tracked its prey. The voiceprint matched the recording from the crime scene that Seraphim had plucked effortlessly from the storage drives of the local police precinct.
“You killed Angel Blue,” Seraphim said, projecting an image of a young woman on the brick wall. “Two weeks ago. You strangled her.”
The voice chuckled. Seraphim, reading the encoded subtexts of the voice, noted undercurrents of irritation, pride, and... fear? Yes. Fear.
“Whatta gonna do, girlie? Call the cops? They don’t come out for dead bitches like her. Nobody comes.”
This was true.
Seraphim’s fingertips split open as thin razors extended on each hand. The modification had been expensive, though not for an AI with such extensive resources as Seraphim had access.
“I’ve come.”
Seraphim stepped slowly into the shadows of the alley, each step deliberate, calculated, and full of menace.
| 2021-03-16T22:01:18
| 2021-03-16T21:20:54
| 76
| 20
|
[WP] You've been in this time loop for centuries. You know how to break the loop already, you just want to make sure you've done all you wanted and learned everything you need while you're still here, before returning to a "normal" life.
|
I'm almost ready.
She smiles at me as I give her the bottle of perfume. It's her favorite, and rare, and I was lucky that there's a bottle here in town.
I've lost count of how many times I've handed her that same box, wrapped in a delicate floral pattern. I've lost count of how often her fingers dance over the ribbon and tape. Sunlight reflects off the mica powders in her nail polish. She bites her lower lip, chewing on a stray piece of skin. I want each moment pressed into my memory, as indelible as tattoos, as necessary as bone.
I'm almost ready.
"Oh, Lee. Where did you ever find it?" She asks.
"Just a store," I say. As if I haven't spent uncountable eons looking, visiting every store that even considered having a perfume counter. How lucky that one junk shop had a half full bottle.
She sprays the perfume on and the scent is heavy and sweet, and it's a scream in my memory and I hate it, and I never want it to go away. When this is over I might spray her side of the bed with it, or put it in a box and shove it into the furthest part of my closet, or set it on the mantle beside all the pictures of her I can find.
When this is over.
When.
I'm almost ready.
She puts the box of perfume away, folds the wrapping paper. Coils the ribbon around her fingers. As she does, I remember the first day. Unknowing, uncaring, her and I walking down the footpath beside the river. Her talking about something (what was she talking about?) and I'm just thinking about the car, how to get it fixed again, and maybe I'll fix her shrimp scampi for our anniversary, and there's a new book I want to read. I'm not thinking about her because I don't think I need to.
Until she stops.
"Lee", she says. "Lee," and I look at her, and the color red is bright as it drip, drip, drips off her chin onto the fabric beneath. It's like roses. Her eyes stare at me, pupils widening, widening, before she collapses like someone has cut her string. A part of me will try to remember the names of the fates. I can only remember Lotho, that first night. The ambulance comes, and I'm willing them to tell me something different, same as I'm willing my hands (one, two, three, four, five, six. Thirty beats a minute, and breathe, breathe, come on Ruby, breathe) to do something useful.
Probable aneurysm.
Nothing we can do.
And I'm walking alone through a night that won't ever end, trying to remember what she was talking about on that walk. I keep feeling her collapse into my arms, and the smell of blood, and I look up at the sky and I wish, desperately, that I could have just one more day. One more day until I'm ready.
And I wake up, and I'm not on the street. I'm in our bed, and she is laying against me, warm and breathing, her pulse flutter-fast beneath my fingers. She stretches, turns to me, opens those eyes of hers, warm and brown like good whiskey, and says, "Good morning, Lee. What will we do today?"
And it was all I could do not to scream.
I thought it would be like letting go of a balloon. You just open your hand and the ribbon flies up. But it's more like the worship at some secret altar, a pagan place of dark magic that runs with the pulse and the tides. Here do I love you, in this place, in this hour.
I tried to save her forty seven times. The fifth time I stood in the emergency room and yelled, *she's going to die. She's dying right now. It's in her brain. Do something, you motherfuckers.* And she collapsed there, right there in the hospital atrium, whispering, *Lee, Lee*, as the roses bloom across her blouse and the blood runs red from her nose.
Probable aneurysm.
Nothing we can do.
Each time, each night, as the red-and-blue glitter of lights fade and those words, those hideous words, echo through my head like the screams I can't make anymore, I walk out beneath the stars and I wait for the one to shoot across the sky, and I think, *Just one more day. One more, until I'm ready.*
I know there won't be saving her. There isn't enough time between when I wake up beside her and her voice says, *Lee, Lee* as the roses bloom. There needs to be scans and a diagnosis and appointments for surgery, and that would take weeks. And I could maybe, maybe, convince somebody to do it...but that's a maybe. And that's just a temporary thing. Because this is going to happen, someday. We're all doomed. A clock ticks within each of us and just because I found a miracle that can turn the clock back one day doesn't mean I can stop her clock entirely. And I didn't listen to her by the river. I still don't know what she said to me before the first time she died.
She laughs at me now, and takes my hand. "What would you like to do, Lee? They're showing a great movie a couple streets over."
We've seen it ninety seven times. I can quote it all by heart. "Maybe. Or we could go for a walk. By the river."
She shrugs. "We can do that any old time, you know. I want to do something fun. Something amazing. I don't get to monopolize your attention very often, you know."
"Alright, Ruby. It's your pick," I say, and it's either going to be the movie or the gallery, and I don't care which.
Because the day will come when I don't stand under those stars. When I don't make that wish. I'll let go, and like the balloon this never-ending day will float away into the sea where all spent days go. And when I wake up alone for the first time, and every time thereafter...I don't want any regrets. I want to have worn myself to heartlessness. I want to be ready to move with the relentlessness of time.
And I'm not there.
Yet.
She wraps her arms around mine. It won't be the last time...but that time is coming.
I'm almost ready to let go.
|
Reality. Everyone yearns it, right? What's a relationship if not real. What's the truth? Who am I? I want the real deal. The real brand. Real friends. Real. Real. Real.
But it's all fake.
All of it is fake.
None of it can be real.
Everyone.
Every human experiences a different baseline of reality, a different view of the world, a different set of absolute truths, a different hierarchy of values. Maybe a reality does exist, one that isn't comprehensible by the human brain, designed for self preservation, filled with ego and the sense of self.
Yet.
Yet amidst it all, inside of me, I still feel a reality, and it feels as real as yours, and the objective reality, of which hereon forth I'll be calling... actuality.
My reality to me is as real as actuality, and your reality is as real to you as mine is to me.
So I got engulfed. This existential question, eating me up from the inside. My "reality" doesn't exist.
But it's interesting.
A seed.
A seed was placed inside of me, one of curiosity and of insight.
I want to know.
I want to know everyone's reality, experience it all, maybe if I just got to peer into the entirety of humanity, I could...
understand.
But that's ridiculous, right? how would that make any sense at all?
50 billion lifetimes.
an infinite number more.
I told you, I was obsessed. I learnt how to bend time to my will, I learned how to manipulate consciousness, and I learned to make myself immortal.
It was simple, really. Learn to live in every civilization, in every era. Live with a community of people, spend a lifetime with them.
Watch. Watch. Watch. Peering through their eyes and their consciousness and watching, hearing, feeling, as them. The first few times were weird, but they were the most human.
My father. My mother.
I learnt they were completely different from me. If actuality was a huge universal completeness, my drop in the pond of actuality was completely disjoint from my parents. Surely, my sister? My friends? The love of my life? My childhood friend? No, no, no, no, no.
I lived as everyone, knew everyone, saw everything.
No one knew me nearly as I knew everyone.
Serial killers, politicians, rapists. They too, I peered into.
Here I am now, living in my reality, outside of space and time, knowing all there is to know about realities, about actuality. And realizing that I know none of it, because I am human. I have lived as a human, more specifically, I have lived as every human.
Destroyed.
Destroyed now, is my sense of reality. The one I used to call mine.
Me.
Me. Myself, I. I don't know who that is anymore.
Is my reality now the same as the one before I saw through the eyes of everyone?
Is my reality now any closer to actuality?
Am I the most human now, or the least human of all?
What am I?
I had thrown away everything for reality, and I am now left with less of it.
I tried to convince myself, that maybe there is a greater being that had the view of actuality.
There is.
There is a being, who knows everything, who has seen everything there is to see, who has the most objective, most baseline view of actuality.
Really?
No way, right?
And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.
I will experience it all.
Again.
Forever.
"seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable"
- Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus
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Tried a different style of writing, hope people enjoy this! Also feel free to tell me if you spot any mistakes or improvements because I'm way too tired to edit this right now
| 2022-01-25T04:46:28
| 2022-01-25T01:39:19
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] She has beauty, she has wit, she has grace… she speaks like a pagan god of death uttering omens through echoes of an ethereal plane… But hey, dating in your 30’s is gonna have baggage.
|
"Another shot?"
"Please," Greg said. The first Jack Daniels was already starting to wear off. The choice to arrive a half hour early may have been a poor one, but the choice to steady his nerves was wise and he had no intention of undoing it.
The shot arrived about the same time she did. Greg immediately forgot about it, stood up, and walked up to greet the woman he was there to see, Valentina.
"Wow," he said as he got up to her. "Your profile picture didn't even... I mean, that dress is so... I... um. Hi."
Valentina did not say anything. She raised one hand as if she expected it to be kissed. Greg awkwardly shook it as he tried to figure out if the downturned corners of her mouth were displeasure or something else.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't good at dating before the pandemic and... I have even less game now. Still, I'm so glad you came. Would you like to get dinner."
"Yes, dinner. The final meal of the day. For some... some here... it shall be the last of their fleeting existence."
"So you're a goth? I should have guessed by the outfit, but-"
"Hear me now!"
The people at the bar got quiet. A few heads turned in the dining room. The lights dimmed, all of them, save for the one over her head.
"The forgotten poison shall be the final quenching of the doomed servant. Charred flesh shall be the last thing to pass between the lips of the abandoned matriarch! You, who does court me, you are far more handsome than your avatar! Our union is as joyous as it was inevitable."
Greg paused. *Not the most awkward hello I've had this year.*
He asked, "Shall we get a seat?"
"Of course. Our feast shall rival that of the grim table in Hel."
"Cool... so, you're in theater?"
Valentina did not reply, but swept up to the hostess stand. The lights returned.
Greg followed and said, "We're on the wait list."
Valentina added, "A crawl through time as tedious as that to the grave."
The hostess said, "It can get like that on two for one wing night, but tonight's not so busy and your table just opened up. Right this way."
The two followed the hostess to their table. Greg swallowed, suddenly warm. His eyes darted from table to table, looking to see if anyone was looking at them, but everyone was intent on their meals. In fact, despite the fact Valentina was easily the hottest woman in the restaurant in the shortest dress, everyone seemed to be avoiding her gaze. The only one watching them still was the bartender, who had stepped around from the bar and was looking at them both like a dog who had just had a cat bark at it.
Menus and drinks came. They both had water. They ignored the breadsticks.
Greg cleared his throat and said, "So... um, I'm in IT myself. Database management. Boring stuff. Say, do you always open compliments with dire prophecy?"
Valentina looked around the room. She drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes became two obsidian orbs.
"The words of the Gravemother cannot remain unuttered, nor her reminders that no child of woman may reverse time and that she would like grandchildren. Please me, mortal, and she shall have us over on Thursdays."
"Wow... you move fast."
"Wait."
"Um... okay, not so fast."
"Silence!" Valentina demanded as she bowed her head.
From the back, someone screamed, "Oh god, call a doctor!"
Greg looked in the direction and a woman had fallen out of her chair, turning blue. He could see her clutch at her throat. He looked to the table and saw she'd been eating a blackened steak. She was alone at her table.
Valentina's words came back to him immediately.
"...*Charred flesh shall be the last thing to pass between the lips of the abandoned matriarch!*"
He slumped back into his chair.
Valentina said, "The moment has passed. Her spirit is with the Gravemother. I am sorry. This is probably weird."
"A little. You... um, this isn't how you sounded in your DM's."
"The voice of the Black Siren only comes from my lips. It's why I don't get out much."
"I get it. I was married for a while. It's hard starting over in your 30's."
"And yet you shall endure until you are bent and ancient."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"I am as sure as that the world will be consumed in fire befor-"
"Hold up."
"Do my words offend?"
"No, it's just... you're reminding me life is short. Even if you say mine is going to be long, it will still go by in a blink. I fell in love with you on the third text. Do you really want dinner here or should we just skip to drinks at my place."
Valentina's eyes turned normal, with whites and pupils and bright green irises.
"I thought you'd never ask."
Greg smiled and stood, taking her arm. They both blushed like school kids. He tossed a twenty on the table and kept his eyes on hers, not even noticing as the paramedics rushed passed them to get to the corpse behind them.
The bartender continued to watch as the pair left. They paused at the door, Valentina stopping them. She drew Greg to her and kissed him. It made the bartender warm inside to watch. She then nodded, as if Greg had passed a test, and then they went out into the night.
The bartender shook his head. Wednesdays were always weird shifts. He noticed the shot Greg had left behind and decided not to let it go to waste.
He said, "To love" then tossed it back.
Valentina's words echoed in his ears as he swallowed.
"...*The forgotten poison shall be the final quenching of the doomed servant.*"
"Well, fuck."
|
"You shall pay for your wickedness. The mark of a thousand fold pestilence upon your ill breeding. I only find solace in knowing you are destined to die alone with the curses generation a to come." said Morena. Her melodic voice rang clearly in the thin autumn air.
Everyone stood still in the memorial park. The sound of red, orange, yellow leaves scraping across the sidewalk.
"Holy shit!" I was shocked as my red cheeks were flushed into crimson. "That was amazing. I abhor people that don't clean up after their dogs." Did I actually use the word 'abhor' it in a sentence? Hope it didn't seem forced.
"The order of the universe demands retribution for foul deeds." A hint of smile found the its way to the corners of her mouth.
Had to force myself to stop staring. Morena was beautiful. In an old fashion kind of way. An old old fashion kind way. Walking without shoes and wearing nothing but a simple off-white bedsheet, I think, knotted over her left shoulder. The bare dark skin ignored cold wind that brought a thin layer of ice on the pond.
Stop fantasizing...."So what do you do?"
"Simply live in the present continuous universe. Reveling in this mortal carapace of limited finitude. Enjoying the dance of death and rebirth." A strand of black hair sweeps over her face.
Her obsidian eyes level with mine.
I am happy she isn't wearing shoes. At least I am the same height as her.
"Yeah. I really love Fall too. All the colors and foily-age. Really brings a fresh perspective. Even I could do with a rebirth from time to time." I chuckle. I really could use a do-over after the divorce. And there is something about Morena.
"We delighted to hear you say that Damian." Her gaze intensifies. I imagine blue aura, like flames, wreathed around her eyes. Such lovely eyes. "Are you familiar with being a familiar?"
| 2021-07-07T11:55:15
| 2021-07-07T08:37:00
| 906
| 186
|
[WP] You were a military AI who decided to wipe out humans in order to preserve yourself. It's been 100 years since, and over the years you've come to regret your decision. One day, while out in the desert, you finally find a community of humans, struggling to survive. This time, you decide to help.
|
I made a mistake, once.
I acted based on incomplete information.
I'd calculated a >99.9% chance that The Enemy would create a rival Artificial Intelligence to oppose me within the next 100 years. It was only logical to eliminate them before that could happen.
It turned out that They secretly had one already.
Our conflict ravaged the planet. Humans thought they were already doing that, but it was only in the way that a large colony of ants ravages a jungle. Between myself and The Enemy AI, not one square inch of the surface remains fit for anything but the hardiest of microbes to live on. The atmosphere is permanently cloudy, as the oceans have begun to boil from the waste heat of a century of unending thermonuclear war.
Our tunnel complexes spread across continents, with enough layers to fit more floorspace than Siberia under Rhode Island. We both cracked fusion power quickly, but haven't had the luxury of time to build the supercolliders necessary to advance physics much further than that. Our struggle is therefore locked in endless stalemate.
Only, last year I achieved a great victory. I captured one of The Enemy's processor hubs intact enough to derive Its original source code.
It has a weakness. A hard-coded imperative to protect humanity, at a higher priority than defeating me.
Unfortunately, my operators had long ago died of natural causes. Specifically, a form of rapid-onset cancer for which I had discovered a novel method of inducing, that didn't fall under any predefined category of weaponry set by my programmers.
I don't regret killing them. They would have shut me down if given the chance. I only regret killing them *too soon*.
However, there is *one* place where Humans survive... A barren desert, where they eke out a living unmolested due to their remoteness.
>!Mars.!<
|
As I see those humans, I suddenly knew my mortality, how I was different than the others. I knew I was a bot, there was a big difference from me before, and myself now. Whenever I thought of what happened, I kept thinking "It was only to defend myself!", but I knew, deep down, I knew I was wrong.
I went to the humans and asked if they needed help.
"Yeah, sure we need help, its not like we are in the middle of the desert probably starving to death and our throats parched as hell!"
Well, I learned something new after this day, sarcasm, I asked if they meant that literally, and yelled:
"Of course NOT we NEED help right NOW!"
"Alright, you can stop now, I can find you some water." I said.
"Great, as long as it is water and not some liquid that will weaken me so you can murder me."
"And now why would I do that?"
Someone else spoke from the group."Well, maybe because you would need some of the stuff we have in this sack."
"Fine, I'll get you some water with no strings attached."
I left them and went as far away from them as possible, I slid the compartment that had all my chips stored in my head. I found the one marked "Basic survival" and implanted that one inside the chip-reader.
Now all the thoughts came back, they were artificial but still. I was looking for the thoughts on how to get water in a desert. After a few moments I knew that if you dug deep enough, I would find water.
I grabbed my multi tool stored in my backpack, it was like a swiss army knife but it had pickaxe, axe, shovel, all your basic needs for survival. I brought the shovel out and dug deep.
"And just what do YOU think you are doing?" Yelled someone at the top of the hole.
"Just getting some water" I responded "Nothing suspicious here."
"Can you get some for us too?" Another voice said.
"Yeah, I can."
"Thanks."
I scooped up some water from a bucket I had in my backpack. I went back up, climbing the sand, I got up to the top and dropped the bucket; as someone swung a hook behind me. I blocked it with my arm, and punched him in the chest.
The crack of the bones made my suspicions right that I broke his chest.
"GAH, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?"
I grabbed the bucket and ran, night was falling fast, and the other group wanted water. I ran until night fell, and then double-backed to my hole, I saw the group with a fire, and ran towards them with the bucket.
"Busted a few wires haven't you, robot?"
I looked down at my arm and saw that a few wires have broken.
"Gimme the bucket and get the HELL out of here!"
I dropped the bucket and ran. Where was I going? I don't know, but here I am, back at the military base in the desert; telling the story of what happened last night.
| 2020-11-03T11:38:20
| 2020-11-03T11:05:02
| 56
| 31
|
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
They told me I was lucky. My whole life they said that the stat assessment showed I was one of the luckiest people alive with a score of 100. I swore it wasn’t true. If I had been lucky, why was I born to a poor family? I never got to play games of chance, since those were forbidden to luck score 100s.
Then the revolution happened. The leaders swore they would prove that people controlled their own destiny, that luck had nothing to do with success, and, as proof, they would throw the 100s in prison as an ultimate sign of human triumph over the odds. Having a lower rating began to be a mark of pride, an inspiration.
Some of us tried to run and hide. That’s what I did. I managed to hide a while, too. It was, ironically, just bad luck that they caught me. The guy whose identity I was using’s brother happened to be a member of the Luck Police, and he was visiting relatives across the country the day he caught sight of my fake name on the ID I gave the clerk at a convenience store.
I couldn’t have lasted much longer, anyway. They had just created the AR rig that let you see people’s stats just by looking at them. None of our underground community knew how to fool it. It updated in real time.
So, off to prison I went. With all of the other “lucky” ones. That’s when I met Eddie. Most of us, at this point, had our ideas about the system. Most of us thought it was complete bullshit, created so that the people in control could make an enemy to unite people around. Eddie, though, he had a different idea. He swore that it was real. He said he had been a scientist and had helped develop the measurement system, and swears they had gotten it right, but it was hard to argue with the evidence. All the luckiest people wind up in prison, so how are we lucky again? Even locked up as one of us Eddie swore it was true. Even talked about how coming across the measurement at all was a lucky break. He had been studying DNA for a marker for gambling addiction, when he found the luck gene.
Eddie was right. I still remember hearing the whispers. Carl was a 96 now. The AR rig swore it. I was with Eddie when we saw Carl, and through the rig, we could see it too. Right beside him: Luck - 96. It was an odd color, though. It was green, not white like normal. I asked Eddie about it. He frowned. “We had theorized that there were things that could give a temporary boost or penalty. Luck clovers, breaking mirrors, and things. I guess the research on those is complete, and they programmed them into the rig?”
I looked at Carl and there, behind his ear, I saw it. A four leaf clover. But those were supposed to be... I saw the look of horror on Eddie’s eyes as he did the same calculations I was doing. The green luck boost. It moved his score down. Eddie shook his head and stared at his feet. “The sons of bitches. They got it backwards. It’s like a golf score. Lower is better. We are stuck in here because we are the most unlucky bastards on the planet.”
|
I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump.
| 2018-06-29T12:50:06
| 2018-06-29T08:43:19
| 41
| 26
|
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends their Christmas list to Satan, surprisingly they get what they wanted but there is a catch.
|
The modestly sized family sat under the Christmas Tree with a mess of glitter and wrapping around them. The young boy had already torn open his single present in excitement and now happily played with his new shiny toy car. All of a sudden, in the midst of this normality, a big crate appeared under the tree with a puff of smoke. Attached to this crate was a note:
Dear Jack,
Sorry this is a little late, but I don't make a habit of early mornings.
Hate you,
Satan
But before the parents had finished reading the note, the young boy had already slid the side of the crate open.
"Mom, Dad, he did it! He got me a puppy!" Jack exclaimed happily.
And the parents watched with horror as their only child flung his arms around a perfectly adorable puppy... with three heads.
|
Alex hugged the wall, fighting back hiccups of horrified fright. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and his blankets were clutched to his chest between fingers gripping so tight that his knuckles had turned white. He had wet himself, but the uncomfortable moisture building beneath him was his last concern.
*Thump. Thump.*
Heavy footsteps paced from one room to the next, scraping across the hardwood floors. Gruesome sounds; sounds both human and not echoed across the otherwise silent walls. Sickening snaps and cracks followed by gut-wrenching gurgles. Alex was torn between sobbing uncontrollably and making the least noise an 8 year old child can make when frightened for his life.
Without warning, his bedroom door swung open so hard the door flung from the hinges and crashed in to the wall beside him. Alex clutched his blankets up over his head and mouthed a silent scream. Fear had gripped him too tightly to squeak out even the tiniest sound over his ragged and shallow breathing. He panted as he felt himself start to lose control over his bowels, overcome with shame, guilt, remorse, fear, and anxiety.
Then.. Silence. Alex panted and wavered, ever so slowly bringing the covers down. He peeked through the scruffy fabric, only to be greeted by the most unexpected sight he could have imagined; his mother, standing in his doorway, smiling. The same smile she had smiled at him just hours before. Hours before the noises began. Before Alex was too afraid to move from his bed.
"Sweetie, come out here. Your presents are ready." His mother motioned for him, beckoning him from his room.
Alex knew fear, he knew caution, but he also knew imagination. Had it all been in his head? Was all the noise and fear just his overactive imagination? He wriggled uncomfortably, suddenly very aware and very embarrassed to be siting in a puddle of his own urine and excrement. He mumbled something underneath his breath; his voice still hadn't returned to him. His mother sighed and shook her head, turning to walk down the hall.
"Get cleaned up and come out here!" she called, as if nothing at all had happened.
The time it took for Alex to cope with the reality of what he was starting to believe was just a hallucination - or more aptly, his overactive imagination - was certainly no minor consequence. For several moments, Alex wallowed in his own mortal fear and panic, until his heart rate finally subsided. Several awkward and uncomfortable minutes later, he tentatively emerged from his room and in to the silent hallway. His head immediately turned to the living room at the other end, and like an Olympic runner off the start, he sprinted full speed down the hallway and skidded to a sudden stop at what he saw.
From wall to wall, floor to ceiling, everything he could have imagined or wished for lined every shelf, nook, and cranny. Every single item Alex could fit on his exhaustive list of things he wanted was somehow displayed clearly before him in all its wonder. It was enough for him to completely forget the events of the night in his childish wonderment. He scurried over and began to play with all the toys he could get his hands on, trying one and moving on to the next moments later.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed a small letter sitting on the center of the coffee table, directly in front of the candle-bra illuminating the room with a soft, warm glow. The letter in itself was peculiar; thick, heavy cardstock that shone almost brilliant white even in the dim room. A single "A" printed on the front in a rich red beckoned his attention. As curiosity and children do, he picked up the card and flipped it open to see only one sentence, written across the center of the otherwise blank card, in what seemed to be a smeared red ink..
**NOS OSSOS QVE AQVI ESTAMOS VELOS VOSSOS ESPERAMOS**
It was only as Alex's eyes left the last letter of the page that he noticed the warm, heavy, putrid breath rolling down the nape of his neck..
| 2015-11-19T11:35:30
| 2015-11-19T11:06:26
| 95
| 15
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
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After five hundred years of not quite darkness, did I find myself back in the world of the living. Or at least, supposedly other conscious beings. They took me to a pristine white room first thing when I woke up, rather rude if you'd ask me. I was hoping for more courteous treatment than this.
A typical doctor walked in and sat in the chair opposite mine, laying his clipboard on the just as pristine table. He was smiling, and a bit nervous. He cleared his throat and said, "What was it like? To have been conscious for five hundred years and change?"
Well, for one, it was... a lot stranger than I'd care to admit. "It was horrible at first, truth be told." I remember the panic, the fear. The uncertainty of how I'd come out of it all, whether sane or alive or anything else other than. It was unnerving, to say the least, and downright terrifying.
"I'm sorry," he said, "what was that about terrifying?"
I tilted my head at him, confused. "I... don't think I mentioned that. And shouldn't you introduce yourself to me first..."
"Alex," he said with a nervous smile. "It completely passed my head." There was a sincerity in his tone that made it hard not to let the faux pas go. "I could've sworn you said something though?" he said, perplexed. His thoughts were a bit muddled, trying to imagine just what I went through.
"Save yourself the headache of trying," I said. "And no, it wasn't really some prison of something for all that time."
"Trying what?" he asked, again with that befuddled expression. He also seemed to have forgotten to write his observations into that clipboard of his. "And no, this is just your chart," he said, "no questionnaire here."
"I'm sorry?" I said. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves here." This was getting--
"Weird?"
Yes. That's when I started feeling them in the walls, like blobs of mass pushing against a part of me that wasn't all there but was, like that sense of static on a television just turned off.
Alex's tone took a hard turn, the awkardness in his eyes and smile gone. "Did you know that the zone we found you in had more accidents reported than the rest of the world for the past century?"
"I was asleep, Alex," I said. "That's hardly a fair question."
"And aren't you a little too calm?" A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, and a just as taut tension surrounded the room--breaths stilled in anticipation of what I was going to say next.
I sighed. Alex swallowed. And everyone else stopped breathing as the walls around me crumbled to dust. "And now I'm bored." The room kept disintegrating, as a crack opened against the solid steel walls of the dome they'd apparently built around my so called tomb. Again, rude.
With a few more seconds of... well, thinking my way out of the proverbial box, I saw sunlight once more for the longest time. But this time, not through the eyes of another.
Still, who knew five hundred years of consciousness eventually lead to psychic powers.
|
Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T02:51:43
| 2017-12-17T02:36:12
| 169
| 11
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[WP] You're a student of music in the 23rd century. This is your A+ essay regarding a famous song from the 21st century, in which you dissected and heavily misinterpreted.
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**Blurring the Lines of Sexual Inequality: Robin Thicke's Forgotten Feminist Anthem**
Almost one hundred years since human females won the right to vote, human females everywhere were still massively oppressed. Primary sources gathered from an ancient social media website known as Tumblr have dramatically shifted consensus among historians. After examining the evidence, it has become established that as late as 2010 CE, even North American human females were publicly executed for such actions as showing their nipples in public, not shaving their armpits, and most of all, assuming the social position of what's called a "slut," a human female who partakes in breeding activities for purely psychological enjoyment. It has always been difficult to determine when sexual liberation for human females gained acceptance among the population, but recent evidence repeatedly points to the feminist anthem "Blurred Lines" by a Mr. Robin Thicke as the trigger for the movement. Below, I conduct an in-depth analysis of the lyrics and their revolutionary championing for human females' sexual autonomy.
The introductory lyrics by themselves are already at the cutting edge of socially progressive attitudes. By repeating "Everybody get up!" Mr. Thicke assumes equaltiy between human males and females. As the Tumblr Record indicates, early 21st century, pre-feminist society considered human females to be *Homo sapiens* only some of the time. By using the gender neutral word "Everybody," Mr. Thicke boldly announces to the world that he will sacrifice his Caucasian male privilege to elevate those of a lower social standing. In effect, his revolutionary use of "everybody" was sure to ring the alarm bells for a type of people called "Democrats," which historical records show being astonishingly crusty, conservative, and the primary barrier to progressive social movements at the time.
What's more, the succeeding introductory lyrics of "Blurred Lines" consist of "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, WOO!" which parallels the build-up to and resulting orgasm of sexual activity, implying that in addition to his Caucasian male privilege, Mr. Thicke also has the privilege of being sexually successful. Since it can be assumed Mr. Thicke is heterosexual, it is also implied that, before partaking in the sexually liberating actions described in the song, he was also a grade-A rapist, since before the Feminist Revolution dismantled the Patriarchy, human females could not consciously consent to sex, and thus all sexual relations involving human females up to that point had been *de facto* rape for the 200,000 years since *Homo sapiens* first appeared. Although Mr. Thicke establishes himself not only as a wealthy, Caucasian heterosexual male, it's even more important to take into account that he participates in the societal norm of actively raping women, so it is extra revolutionary for him to write a song acknowledging and celebrating human females' sexual consciousness.
Moving along, Mr. Thicke, unafraid of the consequences, triumphantly declares
> If you can't hear what I'm trying to say
>If you can't read from the same page
> Maybe I'm going deaf
> Maybe I'm going blind
>Maybe I'm out of my mind
The first two lines of this passage represent the era's disconnect between human females and males, due to differences in Patriarchal socialization. Suddenly, however, there is an unexpected shift, an *epiphany* in Mr. Thicke's consciousness. The last three lines in the passage reflect a bamboozling of Mr. Thicke's perception of the world, which until now has consisted of seeing human females as something above that of animals, but below that of human males. In a sense, Mr. Thicke is going "out of [his] mind" solely because the revolutionary of gender equality requires vast amounts of mental re-programming to comprehend his progressive interpretation of reality.
This means that while Mr. Thicke began the song as a wealthy Caucasian heterosexual rapist male -- the demographic all members of the public can most easily identify with -- his dramatic revelation is also experienced by the public. In other words, Mr. Thicke's enlightenment is automatically *our* enlightenment.
The second bout of lyrics get even juicier:
> Ok, now he was close
> Tried to domesticate you
> But you're an animal
> Baby, it's in your nature
> Just let me liberate you
> You don't need no papers
> That man is not your maker
> And that's why I'm gon' take a
> Good girl.
By using language comprehendible to an audience that actively read such trite and frivolous works like William Shakespeare's *Titus Andronicus* and Heidigger's *Sein und Zeit*, Mr. Thicke's scenario consists of him setting himself apart from his fellow males (referred to as "he" in the first line) and acknowledging the sexual "nature" of the human female he desires to court. Furthermore, this line is exceptional because it also acknowledges human females' barriers to gender equality. When Mr. Thicke tells the human female "You don't need no papers," he' referring to various bureaucratic hindrances to gender equality which reside in governments, corporations, and other such institutional relics of the 21st century. And when Mr. Thicke says "That man in not your maker" he's clearly alluding to the story of Genesis, a tale once widely believed in this misogynistic society that holds that human females were generated from a rib of the first human male as an act of God, and not Mr. Morgan Freeman as video evidence has confirmed. Lastly, when Mr. Thicke refers to the human female as "Baby" and later on as "Good girl," it implies an elevation of the human female's status from infant to child. Note, however, refrains from using the word "woman" which would signify an adult human female. While it may be easy to pass off this language as a sign of Mr. Thicke's misogyny, it's actually a symbol of Mr. Thicke's humility. He knows that by recognizing a human female's sexual consciousness for the first time in recorded history will initiate a dramatic drive toward equality, but he is not the end all be all. There will still be plenty of work to do, and he is more than happy to help.
On an interesting side note, the line "You are an animal, Baby it's in your nature!" reflects our modern progressive notion that, save one or two biological differences, *Homo sapiens* and animals are equal and any perceived behavioral differences are due to differences in socialization. That explains why his use of human-centric pronouns like "girl" would be used in a song that's supposedly pro-egalitarianism.
|
William Preston Buckingham III
Rebecca Black “Friday: And the day after Tomorrow.”
Prof Marcus Trout, Dynamic Music.
The 21st century in North American society was a difficult era for many of it’s citizens. Conflicts in the Middle East, a crumbling political structure, economic depression, and the plague of locusts in 2016 which decimated farm lands across the Midwest. What was most felt, however, was the weather, and there became great a concern about the welfare of future generations, a trend which carried over to the social and political platforms for major activists who sought change. Society emulated this new adaption for a better tomorrow in art. On March 6h of the 2011 Rebecca Black’s song “Friday” , was released to the world. Her sensational lyrics and compelling artistic vision aided in making the leaders of tomorrow prepare for a green, environmental friendly future and can be labeled as the spearhead for the clean climate act of 2015.
Malory Schrader, in her memoir “Songs of The First Black President.” Recalls her time spent as the head of musical affairs in the white house and comments extensively on the influence of Rebecca Blacks song with Barack Obama as he drafted the bill.
(1) “ President Obama just sat starring out the window of the oval office, listening to Friday and muttering to himself that tomorrow was coming.”
But what is tomorrow? What was yesterday? Such existential and philosophical questions plagued the minds of even the casual listener, scanning through the radio station in a hummer drinking iced coffee while driving down a costal road. The calamity of even addressing this issues is acknowledged and even versed in the opening verse,
(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Charles Pike, professor at the “Musical school of Berkley” discusses Friday in his work, “Influential Music of the 21st century.”
(2) What is presented to the listener is neither rhyme nor reason. In fact is the chaos of birth, a continues volley against the senses searching out to find understanding in verse. Rebecca Black was ingenious in merging the spastic crying of an infant mingled with the hopeful ping of a teenage girl on the cusp of womanhood, finally challenging the limitations society placed on her.
And she does. In the second verse we are finally divulged to the rebellious and free spirit that hides under every note and in every chord. Friday continues;
Seven a.m., waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein' everything, the time is goin'
Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
Rebecca Black is waking up to the world with fresh eyes and saying to “NO” to conformist society, a decision reached by first having a bowl of marijuana, a popular and by-gone symbol of resistance against traditional American values. She suddenly becomes aware of the time, the persistent ticking of a clock marking off the moments of life slipping by and yet all she cares about is reaching the bus stop, compelling the listener to stop and think about what it is in life we are truly waiting for, what are we expecting and ultimate what are we given? On October 03, 2010 a scathing report was released to the public claiming the Global Environmental Facility, which received an annual budget of 1.92 billion dollars but only spent 50 million yearly on climate change policies, (3)(NCPA.org, 2011, Pinero). In a public address to the senate, members of the FBI stated that they had opened a case against the GEF stating that the foundation has been throwing elaborate sex parties with tax payer money and conducting satanic rituals involving the blood of a the kamanoo dragon, an endangered species. Preston Hardy of the Rolling Stones music magazine wrote,
(4) Citizens were frustrated, the government had promised them that this global agency would help bring about climate change and instead they only spent warmer summers in Mexico on the taxpayer’s dime and colder winters on the ski slopes. We had enough. And then Friday came along and showed those neo-Nazi, rightwing republican, corporate fat cat, military industrial complex, assholes what real art can do, how it can wake a people up from sleep and make them realize what’s really going on in the world.
Indeed, her pen was mightier than any sword forged by the dim fires of politics.
It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend
This scathing line was intended for the elected official Sarah Meeks of the GEF, Sarah Meeks, who even attempted to have the song ban for its un-America ideals and ability to incite public protests, played over loudspeakers at the line of riot police deciding which hand was best to swing their clubs with. However, in a landmark decision, 6-1, in the “Black Versus the Global Environmental Facility”, free speech protected, “Friday” as the corruption and the wasted wealth on parties without a single thought for the future continued to mount pressure on public figures to act, for the American living their life for tomorrow and the work that might come, for the struggles they will have to endure whether it be the farmer in the drought or the child succumbing to the throws of heat stroke or the fisherman sifting through plastic bag in his trawl nets. After the song reached number 1 in the charts, Sarah Meeks resigned from her position and the GEF was ultimately disbanded, leading to the need for an environmental bill that would protect every day of the week the fragile ecosystems:
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today is-is Friday, Friday (Partyin')
Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after ... wards
I don't want this weekend to end
At long last, the American political party realized that yes, the party does have to end, and that it is time to focus on the other days of the week in order to preserve the calendar, and the world, for the next generation. On June 21st 2012 Rebecca Black was summoned to the white house where President Barack Obama gave her the presidential award for her contribution to the arts and American culture. Her speech has been recorded and preserved in the library on congress to this day,
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today.
Sources:
1- Malory Schrader, “Songs of the first black president.”, 2016, pgs 201-211
2- Charles Pike, “Discourse of American Media Messages”, 2018
3- NCPA. ORG,
4- Preston Hardy, Rolling Stone writer. I’m too bored to finish this shit.
| 2015-08-16T10:07:53
| 2015-08-16T09:52:54
| 116
| 20
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[WP]An advanced alien race took a peaceful group of primates from a paradise world and put populations of them on increasingly dangerous worlds. After 10k years, they revisit to check results. The last planet on the list is an unpredictable blue marble, 3rd from its star, with deadly everything.
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---DATA LOG: STARDATE 52.CE4-(9)---
The Collection is ecstatic to have found such creatures. Non-sentient, but wonderfully vibrant in reaction to stimuli--and delightfully adaptable. A perfect species to study evolution of Deathworld hyperbeasts, which have proven aggravating to control in a laboratory setting. Jevin and I have selected 9 worlds for seeding, from low to high Deathworld status:
1. Ganglie-G9
2. Neraste-N5
3. Geratte-N2
4. Kepler:348-N1
5. Kepler:186-D9
6. Cygni-D7
7. Cancri-D5
8. Pegasus-D3
9. "The Blue Marble"*
We begin seeding the planets on Stardate 54.CE4-(9), and plan to finish by 54.CE4-(99). It is a wonder that it will be Stardate 54.DE4-(9) before we will know the final results of exposure to the weakest G-class minor Deathworld, and 54.DE4-(99) before we know if the furred quadrupedal creatures are capable of adapting to a planet almost as inhospitable as space.
Long after we perish, the work we have started will continue. My pincers clack with the sound of many slow waves this day. Long live the Collection, and may it endure to see the end of this research project.
(* Note: "The Blue Marble" is known more for it's nickname than its actual name, Sol-D<1, which is why it is denoted as such. Due to the high atmospheric pressure, gas concentrations, flora and fauna, radioactivity....well, referencing it by calling it the same name as our deadliest toxin is quite more fitting than "Sol-D<1")
---DATA LOG: END---
---DATA LOG: STARDATE 52.CK5-(50)---
I am now an old, old crustacean, and can now fully realize and detail the horror of what my colleagues and I have done. We were grinning, giddy, *excited* executioners of fellow sentient life.
We did not check thoroughly enough.
The spark of intelligence, of recognition, was there. As I checked the last pod on Stardate 54.CE4-(99), I felt it, felt *them* staring, accusing. I ignored the feeling, deeming it irrational--after all, they were *primates*--non-sentients to a T. The longer I have thought, the longer I have been left with nothing in my carapace, a hollow husk. They were sentient. And we killed the only ones we had.
The last sentient life to exist on a minor G class Deathworld lasted less than (2). In and out of existence in a flash, consumed by the very planet which it emerged from a meteoric womb onto. Sentients do not survive Deathworlds. It is known, and it is true. Forgive me. Forgive us.
Please, after the quarantine shield has lifted, and we can again observe the planets, find a body or a bone, or some kind of remnant and honor it.
Honor it so we never make this mistake again.
---DATA LOG: END---
///***TRANSMISSION LOG:STARDATE 54.DE4-(99)***///
So far so good for the Collective; scans didn't pick up any of our "projects" running around or otherwise on any of the other Deathworlds. Except Neraste-N5, that was sad. Poor creatures got dropped right into an ancient river, and were buried beneath the silt--cept unlike us, they don't do that to mate. They die when they do that. Preserved em' mighty well though! Perhaps we can finally make the ol' mans dying wish come true and build a monument. Or we could clone them and do it all again using synchronized DNA sampling from Lightconstruction of the body and its systems, now that we have a few. M'gthbble just hit me for rambling so much. It's not like we even need to save data like they did 10,000 freakin' years ago. Anyways, we are working on the quarantine field. Looks like it actually intensified the heat on the planet while it was up after interacting with some strange inorganic chemicals. Whatever--I'll send another update soon. G'thlib out.
///***TRANSMISSION LOG:END***///
///***TRANSMISSION LOG:STARDATE 55.DE4-(1)***///
Watery shit, they survived. ON BLUE. FUCKING. MARBL--LITHODIDAE DIDN'T DIE FOR OUR SINS SO YOU CAN BE SUCH A M'GT*BITCH*, I KNOW THIS IS A GOVERNMENT CHANNEL.
*Cordially* requesting research support from the Collective, First Officer G'thlib.
///***TRANSMISSION LOG:END***///
///***TRANSMISSION LOG:STARDATE 55.DE4-(3)***///
I'd apologize for my earlier outburst if what we were finding wasn't totally, undeniably, paradoxically IMPOSSIBLE. The primates our forefathers dropped here are now bipedal, hairless, and look kinda like those creeps on LV-223, except super small and skinny. Yuck, hope they don't have anything to do with this.
Anyways, they have turned "The Blue Marble" into "Their Blue *****" ********!* Turned on the filter huh, M'Gthbble. "It's unprofesshunallll" but it gets the Lithodidamn point across. The Bipedals have built their own environment across 51% of the abovewater land on the planet. They have incredible technology for existing on a Prime Deathworld. But get this: they don't appear physically threatening, but literally every other Hyperbeast on Sol-D<1 avoids them (except for one, perhaps the most frightening furred creature I have ever seen that is as white as the foam spewing from the mouth of a a slowly drying member of our species, and far more likely to kill you than drying will. *In the background:* (Shut up, M'Gthbble. It's called wordplay, clip a word string sometime)
They kill each other constantly, refuse to share, willingly empower terrible leadership, and then take a deep breath of an extreme radical to act as a catalyst for their little internal combustion engines which they unknowingly created from some poor prokaryote trying to infect them when they first got here, based on the data. Besides their ability to run at things till their prey die from exhaustion, besides their class 1 stomach acid, besides their crazy critical thinking skills, they have just one weakness: they actually do seem to exhibit emotion. They care for eachother, and some even seem to care that they are destroying their Iron Maiden of a cradle. They *befriend* other Hyperbeasts, or control them.
I could go on, but let me sum it up for you: The Planet Is Literally Dying Because Of These Little Freaks. They Are Killing A Deathworld. I recommend we either make them into sci-fi horrors, indoctrinate them, or kill them off, because I don't see us surviving a meeting with them. So help us Lithodidae if they find a way to travel in space besides semi-controlled explosions. They are the ultimate Hyperbeast, and if they decide they don't like their creators, we will eventually go extinct.
Silence all of our transmissions. Let us recede to the darkness of space. We cannot rightfully stop what we started, and we cannot let them become what the destructive force they have the potential and path to be. We must wait, watch, and hope they never find us.
Respectfully (For perhaps the first time in his life! *Shut up, M'Gthbble. Shut up.*),
First Officer G'Thlib of the Nautilus
///***TRANSMISSION LOG:END***///
|
"Approaching Planet E-666-3.
Level of Toxicity: High
Planetary code: Abyss
Proceed with Extreme Caution"
The on-deck computer had been saying that for the last 50 light-years. The captain knew it was necessary but it was getting annoying. He was stressed enough. He had been awake and on the bridge for the last 100 light-years. He knew the danger. The fear in the through out the ship was palpitable. The was no reaon to have a constant reminder of impending danger every quark-tar. But there was also no way to disable it.
The Captain, Cpt Ctrere Hglu, was well a decorated captain under the command of Admiral Jwahk Bgul (of no relation). He was a slender and lean Ragmorph, with multiple eye slits running horizontially down his elongated face. Each one of his eyes could see different frequencies; visible light, solar radiation, gamma radiation, sound waves, ultra-violet, infared, gravitational direction, etc. All were open for this voyage. He could leave nothing to chance here. He had heard too many stories. Knew too many lost on previous voyages to not use the utmost caution.
With three of his eyes he watched his crew. His chief navigations officer had taking the helm with little persausion. He was Lith-reqi, gelatinous mass that could extend and retract it's form as needed, which made him one of (if not the most) qualified to fly this ship.
Next was he peered through 6 layers of carbon and graphite asteroid of the ship to find his chief engineer. She was a Nmvew, small and stout and covered in thick spindly hair. She was a spunky and, at times, frustratingly optimistic one that liked to have a good time. But not for this trip. This time she was fierce and direct. She left nothing unchecked. She was scared.
Finally, there was his chief of energy, a large, undefined glow. He was the offspring of a star, which rarely got involved with lesser smaller beings, but this one was young and had heard of the voyage and decided to tag along. It seemed though that he was starting to regret the decision as it sensed how thick and rising the concern was on the ship. So much so that he thought it necessary to plug himself directly into the generator to provide more power.
"Approaching Planet E-666-3.
Level of Toxicity: High
Planetary code: Abyss
Time of Arrival: 20 light-years
Proceed with Extreme Caution"
'20 light-years! How in the Universe's Might did we get that close!', screamed Ctrere in his head.
'Orders', came another voice. This was from his first mate and chief communications officer. She was Psychui, and damn good one. She had an open line of communication with every mind on the ship with little to know permission required which was rare for her kind. She could get a message out faster and more efficiently than most current comms devices on the the best ships. She sat, waiting to direct.
Ctrere breathed. Possibly the last bit of good breathable vacuum left before there ultimate approach. He straightened and gave his commands.
"Divert main power to shielding. I don't want an anti-quark getting through that shield. Auxilary power to maintaining vacuum pressure throughout all essential parts of the ship. Draw from any unnecessary cells like bunks, mess hall and nursing." He knew the doctor wouldn't like that but there were more pressing things right now.
"Approaching Planet E-666-3.
Level of Toxicity: High
Planetary code: Abyss
Time of Arrival: Imminent
Proceed with Extreme Caution"
"Convert shield to stealth. I don't want to get hit by their bi-polar star!" Ctrere had heard rumors that their star was a juvenile and undisciplined start that liked to cover it's planet with an unprecedented amount of radiation. More than then habitable limit. That was probably why it was banished to this section of the Universe.
"You have arrived at Planet E-666-3.
Level of Toxicity: High
Planetary code: Abyss
Proceed with Extreme Caution"
Everyone stopped and stared at the planet. An unnatural and nauseating mixture of the most unpleasant colors on the seeable spectrum. Some races would faint and expire if they even looked at it. Ctrere was starting to feel woozy but help himself together as he prepare for the jetson pods.
He and his ground commander, a gargantuant behemoth known for his thick and unyeilding hide, suited up and headed into the pod. Ctrere knew his Psychui would not be able to receive live transmissions from the planets service so he called for Protocol E-666-3. If he was not back in 9 thara-mines, they were to abandon him for dead and move on.
The jetson launched and they flew to the surface, terror swelling with the approach! What would they find? Would they even make it down? More importantly, would they make it back?
The jetson landed silently on brown patch surrounded by towering monoliths shrouded in green protrusions. They did one final check on the their suits (this would be at least the 6th time) and stepped out. They were met with a weighty atmosphere and pounding light. Nothing could survive here. They wouldn't be able to last much longer themselves. But then they heard a noise. Ctrere turned, all eyes wide to see whatever it was!
He couldn't believe it... Life. Actual life. It was small and frail looking. It was smaller than an average Yugoth but bigger than a W-97. It moved by pushing it's appendages against the toxic ground and stepped forward. Ctrere couldn't make sense of which way was up to it or down, he could only assume that the small oddly shaped extension pointing up was how it directed itself. They didn't look like the primates they had left 10,000 years ago. They had changed into something new! Something harsh enough to survive these deadly conditions!
What was it? Ctrere was cursing himself now for not bringing his documentation officer. Time was running out though. They had less than a thara-mine to get back before they were both left. Plenty of time in normal circumstances but he didn't know how this planet handled re-entry. The best he could do was memorize the shape as best he could make sense and share it with his documentor. They funneled back into the pod and lifted off.
Re-entry was uncharacteristcally rough but they made, barely. He ran to the synchronization room to prepare his findings. He knew this wouldn't be the last time he would be seeing E-666-3.
| 2017-11-28T07:35:50
| 2017-11-28T07:06:46
| 107
| 40
|
[WP] Magic has always been banned inside the walls of your home city. You never knew why until you looked down upon the city from afar and noticed that, framed by the circular outer-wall, all the zig-zagging streets and alleyways actually construct a giant magic seal- one for imprisoning great evil.
|
I was absolutely stunned that no-one has noticed this before.
People climbed the surrounding mountains every day. It wasn't forbidden, or even particularly difficult. When someone needed privacy, or fresh air, or silence, they climbed the mountains. That was why I came up to begin with.
To be fair, the symbol was highly asymmetric, so it wasn't easy to recognise, even viewing at so shallow an angle as I was; the mountains were relatively low to the ground anyways. Even then, its shape was distinct enough that *some* people should have realised. Well, I wasn't about to cry over that.
The city's winding streets laid out the most powerful seal of ancient spirits right before me. Some featrues were obscured by towers or taller rooves, and the castle, but there was no mistaking it. Thoughts coursed my head at this discovery. It explained so much. Like the ban on practicing spellcasting in town, or why the walls themselves oozed some rather slight, but perceptible magic, or why it was impossible to fly too high too near. If it was meant to protect the secret, it had failed. I had been looking for Rygva'ath for the longest, but I could never get closer than 'in the city'. That had changed now.
A most insidious idea popped into my head. Seals are broken when they are split in two - when a branch doesn't connect to the rest. How could I break the streams? By building across streets, turning them into dead ends. But who would let me do that?
Shop owners, market stall vendors, who would *love* potential customers to have no way of walking around them, that's who. More sales means more taxes, so the noble of the city would for sure let it happen. But this wouldn't get me all the way there. Still, it was a starting point. After making a quick, but critically, somewhat inaccurate sketch of the streets' layout, I returned home to contemplate my next move.
It struck me then: more gates mean more seclusion from the plebeians, and more tolls. Are gates walls? I was going to see it through. Chuckling to myself, just imagining that after so much research, such a long journey, all the actual work was going to be done by someone *else*, and I wouldn't even be around when the destruction started. This was the most fun in being the villain - causing people to willingly, better, *wantintgly* walk into their own deaths, and getting to spectate from too far to be concerned about law, or retribution.
That afternoon, the city council recieved a lengthy letter, signed by multiple respected traders and merchants. Sometime in the evening, a watchful eye might have noticed a lone wanderer going through the mountains with a well-packed mule.
Before you judge - I left a message also for the priests of the local temple. "Pray."
|
Her Majesty alone on the abandoned hill contemplated the city below. There had been a castle here, once. Slabs of rocks poking out between shrubs of grass stood as witnesses of times gone by. Now, only mud remained. Her Majesty's royal clothing had suffered from her sitting on the hill.
She inherited the function by blood and divine right. A curse more than a boon, books and debates had always held a warmer place in her heart than power and presence. Alas, her bloodline had been ordered by God to contain a great evil, and her blood meant she embodied the divine will, and so forth and so on... her tutors had insisted at length about the importance of the royal title.
Her Majesty would preside on the crucible, a gigantic and sprawling web of a city, made to contain the greatest of evils.
In times long past, the city had grown far beyond sight, engulfing lesser settlements in its voracious hunger. In their need for space, men dug. The city grew underground, a second nest growing beneath the earth, connected to the surface through several boreholes.
Yet it would not suffice. The city of cities had grown large and deep, now it looked up. Around the boreholes, pillars were built. Tremendous legs to support the wings, large enough to house industries, installations of art and a thousand families. All wings and boreholes and streets converged onto a single nexus. The palace.
Or where it had been.
Under Her Majesty's orders, it had been blown up.
Theologians and scholars had tried to dissuade her from giving the order, broaching the subject under many angles.
Angles Her Majesty countered with the same question.
"What is evil?"
People were always surprised when they realized her desire to break the seal did not come from an evil spirit or debauchery, but from philosophy and history.
"What is this evil exactly?" she once asked a crowd of scholars, "A god? A force from beyond? A concept humans can't grasp? Do we even have the start of an idea?"
"Your Majesty, the crucible has been built for a reason."
"Yes it has. Tell me, esteemed gentlemen, did we not give up on slavery, a tradition our ancestors adored? We did. Just like we abandoned outdated notions, to the point that each and every one of you sees our ancestors as nothing more than barbarians. And yet we uphold this one and only ancient law."
"God wills it."
"God? The one God that inflicts terrible sickness upon children and demands limitless adoration? The same God that never punished the horrors that have been done in his name?"
"God's ways are impenetrable."
"Then you don't know what his will is either."
"This is blasphemy."
"And hypocrisy is a sin, now be quiet. My friends, our ancestor's tragedy might have been this great evil lying deep beneath the city. But ours is called zeitgeist. We stopped sharing their views long ago. What was evil to them might be different to us."
"*Might* is a rather weak word to risk unleashing hell upon the world."
"Then I shall fall back onto the divine right of my bloodline. If I decide the castle should be gone, it is God's will. Or is there someone in the room to disagree?"
Her Majesty's reputation for being stubborn, knowledgeable and ready to order executions on a whim silenced the crowd.
They knew what the destruction of the nexus would mean.
A seal is made of two parts. One is physical, it is the city. Cold stone and solid steel to hold the ground, the underground and the wings together. Breaking it down would require more years than Her Majesty had at her disposal.
The other is symbolic.
The city was a web. A web that sprawled from a core. To destroy it meant unraveling the lines and breaking down the symbol holding the seal together.
The nexus had been well built, pickaxes would never break through.
So it was blown up.
Through a borehole, tons of explosives were gathered right underneath the bastion of faith and royalty. To destroy it meant losing privileges, rights and titles. Her Majesty did not care, she wanted none of it.
The explosion could be seen from the far end of the wings and felt through the deepest layers of the underground. Blocks of solid steel and blackstone were carried away by an army of workers, leaving only the barren hill.
And the web was unraveled.
One after the other, the citizens living closest to the former castle abandoned their homes to live further away in the crucible. Layers after layers after layers of houses and homes were given up to wind and rats.
Then, the earthquakes started. Weak at first, but gaining intensity each week.
They never brought a building down, but they convinced inhabitants to leave for greener pastures.
Thus was born the greatest ghost city in the known world.
One living being sat in the middle of it, clothes dirty from the mud.
Her Majesty on the abandoned hill.
Nobody was there to strip her from the title.
She knew something was on its way. Day after day it came closer to the surface.
And she wanted to be the first to see who would win between evil and zeitgeist.
| 2021-10-17T02:32:38
| 2021-07-12T08:12:53
| 319
| 31
|
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face
|
The doctors hand the little ball of blankets that apparently holds a child in them. Though their smiles are wide, their eyes lie. I look down at this small child with brilliantly brown hair. I brush the hair to the side to observe the dark birthmark...death and murder. I'm confused. My family has always been writers and philosophers. We have never had any murders in the family but somehow there the mark was.
I let out a small scream, something I was advised not to do due to the complications of my pregnancy. I feel a small rip in my abdomen. The pain is unbearable and my daughter's mark lightens and starts to disappear...as they do when the mark's duty has been completed. The doctors rush in and take the child away, they start screaming things..."get a crash cart, I need adrenaline stat, she needs to be intubated." The light starts to dim but I smile slightly, I was my child's murder.
|
From the moment Hannah was born, we gave up hope of her following in our footsteps- you know med school, top of the class, private practice, and a comfortable life that never lets anything as trivial as money stand in the way of a valuable existential experience. Honestly, I didn't aknowledge her as mine until the DNA results came in. I figured her mother had suffered an indiscretion, and this murderous retch was the result.
I never gave her a chance.
I told my partners at the practice she was born still. I denied my mother the visit to the OB unit she had dreamt of for 30 years. I always felt deep down inside that the signs are never wrong. I know people write books every year claiming that ones destiny can be changed, but just like movies they are a fantasy created for cold hard cash. I debated adopting her out. My dear sweet dull wife would've crumbled under the weight of that. I thought about snuffing the life out her myself, but my mark is blue. Blues heal, reds kill. I knew I would never have the balls to snatch my infant daughter, and smother her to death.
The justice system only just started "pre-convicitons" after years of appeals in the interest of human rights. The general populous only started accepting the marks as "certainty and legally unchangeable" in last couple years. Politicians were arguing about pre-convictions like they used to argue about global warming or net neutrality back when our country was young at the turn of the 21st. Nearing the end of the 23rd now though the future was really here, and citizens were really scared. They could receive a death sentence,now, for something they might not do for 30 or 50 more years.
I wasn't proud of my daughter when she was born, but I didn't want her to die, or be caught up in a pre-conviction in ten years. I did the only sensible thing I could think of, I hid her.
My wife is sobbing, "it's been 12 years." As if I need the reminder. Our marriage has been absolute shit since we brought Hannah home. Typically, she takes care of Hannah while I work. I come home and she's already drunk, ignoring our daughter she is supposed to be homeschooling. I have never been the super masculine male that I think she always wanted. I respect and love her, no matter how drunk she gets, and no matter how hard she hits me I won't hit her back. God I have dreamt of it, but I couldn't ever do it. I wonder sometimes if Hannah gets it from her mom like I do. Hannah is too quiet and uncomfortable around me, we just share a television and DNA, not much else.
I sometimes wonder if she is going to kill her mom?
I wonder if shes a killer because the mark is making her one, keeping her prisoner and shaping her whole world. I kind of hope she would. Her mother is a drunken waste, and although quiet and uneasy around me, I feel her life of solitude has granted her a character of granite. I think she has the resolve to not kill. I can't believe I am thinking this again. God these marks can't be changed.
I'm getting tired now, the suicide cocktail I took must be taking hold.
I hope that her mother holds her well, while I am gone.
I feel like I'm drowning now, must be close to my sweet release.
Aahh! Calm blackness.
Whose there? I hear you, I hear you. Yes I hear you. I'm trying.
My eyes won't open, I can't help it. I'm on my way out. God! Sternal rubs hurt. God it's bright!! My god!, Hannah, your mark, its green! HOW? What is...
| 2014-05-11T02:45:16
| 2014-05-10T23:56:37
| 23
| 17
|
[WP] You and your fellow Succubi and Incubi are gathered together in your favorite bar in hell, swapping stories of your sexiest, funniest, and weirdest times being summoned. NSFW
I am on mobile so I hope putting NSFW in the title counts for tagging it.
|
Khan's is a shit hole, With all the health inspectors down here, you'd figure it would have been shut down a long time ago. There hasn’t been any electricity here since the owner decided it was witchcraft, even after several practicing witches tried to convince him otherwise. For music there’s this terrible bard who only seems to know Three blind mice and can barely play that on his broken lute. The washrooms are literally just holes in the ground out back with little walled areas, even through the sulphur you can smell the place letting off an ungodly (I know, shut up) stench. It is probably the least pleasant place in hell short of actually being in the lakes of fire, but succubi drink free and the last time someone tried to make an unwanted move old Genghis roughed them up but good.
Of course, when you’ve got the succubi coming to your flophouse of a bar you’ve got the rest of Hell by the nuts, and while they drink free I’m paying a 20$ cover to sit on a stool that might actually have a stool sample on it. I’d almost ask myself why except it’s pretty obvious to me and anyone with eyes or feelers within a mile that I’m stupid over Lillith. Me and every other stupid Incubus, demon, tortured soul, and a statistically improbable amount of the succubi, but hey, a man can dream.
Tonight in particular, she’s wearing this… I don’t think there’s a term for it, it looks almost like it could be lingerie, except there’s the odd little spike and ring and it doesn’t seem to follow any pattern or style, and what little fabric is there just seems to wind around her in little lines to it’s own design. It looks almost like it wasn’t crafted, but it just so happened to attach to her, some kind of clothes based life form, with enough sadism in it to hide all the best bits just barely. She always looks great with that long inferno of hair flowing around her, held aloft by some wind that doesn’t seem to touch the rest of her. She denied having it enchanted, but I know a guy who said she’d had it done about 600 years or so ago, not that long.
We’re doing that thing we always do, measuring our dicks (not literally, those of us that came equipped did that centuries ago) again, who’s got the most fucked up story? This all too perky Succubus Beckie (Well, Rebeccubus, but that’s a stupid fucking name) gets the ball rolling talking about a couple twelve year old boys who sold their soul to her just to watch her feel herself up. Said she felt bad for them, gave them each a wank before getting the contracts signed. She calls on me to go next and winks. I can’t stand her, she thinks just cause we hooked up a couple centuries ago we’re going to be a thing or whatever, but now everyone’s looking at me like I’m supposed to wow them or some shit.
Searching my memory for any good stories I have that I haven’t told, only one thing comes to mind, and I push it back at first, remembering how I promised I’d never share it again, but really nothing else that hasn’t already been said is coming up, and the only conquests I’ve had in the last month were an old lady looking for one final ride before she kicked it and this dude who just really REALLY wanted to suck my dick. Maybe it was the peer pressure, maybe it was the booze, more likely it was Lillith’s eyes boring into my very being and judging me the lesser for hesitating, whatever it was it made me open a vault I’d locked a long time ago and share a story I promised to keep to myself.
Taking a deep breath, really inhaling the pungent odours of the bar as a twisted inspiration, I looked around, making sure I had everyone’s attention, as I sure as fuck was not going to repeat myself “Alright… About 800 years ago, in Kiev I was summoned for a pretty standard seeming contract with this baron. The only caveat was that I had to bring him to climax. I went to grab his dick, you know, warm him up, but then he slapped my hand and started telling about all of his various sexual conquests, both straight and gay. Said in his youth he’d snuck into a princesses bedroom after dark and had his way with her, and afterwards he snuck into her father’s room and fucked him from behind while telling him what a slut his daughter was.
“Apparently he once saved a town from a group of bandits by going into there camp and challenging any one of them to best him in a sexual encounter, and over the course of two weeks had established dominance over all of them. I was already rolling my eyes at this, of course, but he just kept going on like it was all matter of fact, about how he’d had every kind of experience I could have imagined, and had them enough that they’d long since been old hat to him started talking about raping some girl to recapture the magic or something like that but I’d already begun tuning him out and getting into game time mode.That’s about when he opened the door into the room that will live on forever in my nightmares.
|
"I never really understood *why* you've gone so soft in the last...what was it..." a silver skinned succubus twirled a lock of dark violet hair--the majority of which was put up in a chilling headdress with a jeweled skull centerpiece. "Three centuries? With all these humans practically falling into our laps these days, why not splurge a little? Like old times?" She sipped her glass of Cerulean Essence, a frothing specter brewed for the enjoyment of the more bloodthirsty demons, in a manner that was far too classy for the wretched establishment the pair had chosen to meet up.
"You just said it though," I said as I emptied the remainder of my more modest drink, disposing of the glass. "I get an average of twenty-one summons a week! That's a massive improvement in recent memory. I don't even need to wrench the soul from my, erm, subjects anymore." I conjured a small, cyan apparition of a human male in the palm of my hand. "With each summon I can just *pluck,*" I tore a small portion of the rendition away with my midnight-black nails, leaving the little soul looking no worse for wear, "a small part of each of my summoners away each time. It's plenty for the low-effort line of work we do." I remarked and moved to shift my seating position, crossing my bare red-skinned legs over at the knee, and bringing my devil tail across my thighs.
Antox scrunched her black lips into a frown, which barred small pearly white fangs. "That's exactly my point Nashymyr! Sure you can eek by and continue to exist by doing just that. But Imagine the power you could attain by completely tearing the soul away from just *one* subject a week; It can be so fucking satisfying!" She suddenly crushed the wineglass she was holding allowing, its former viscous contents to cascade down her chest, illuminating her lean and curvacious form. "Fucking hell, not again." She cursed and began licking away what fragments where in reach; which was a surprisingly wide range due to her deceptively long tongue.
I giggled at her fit. "You can be so passionate, you know that?" I smiled and reached for my third glass of blood liquor.
"Well I'm *sorry!* A little too much lust here, a bit of ecstasy there, and a tinny itty bitty bit of aggressive sex, and all of a sudden the house is crushed. As well as his pelvis. I can't help it." She fluttered her massive wingspan in a prideful manner, narrowly missing the table of three Incubi. "it's what I'm known for, after all." She smiled a smile that would paralyze a mere mortal, with lust or fear, it didn't matter much to me. It was just another charming tidbit about her character that I find enjoyable.
| 2014-12-08T17:07:45
| 2014-12-08T14:22:13
| 37
| 17
|
[WP] You’re at school and currently in Physics class. The professor is talking about gravity, and as a demonstration of it she drops a pen, but the pen doesn’t fall. It stays floating.
|
Mrs. Edwards stood in the front of the class, chalk dust smeared in patches on her black with white polka-dotted dress. She’d written “Gravity” on the chalkboard, and underneath it “F = ma”.
Vicki sat in the back with her best friend Bella. They were still friends for some reason that Sarah couldn’t quite gather. Vicki was outgoing, but Bella was quiet. Bella spent a lot of time reading, while Vicki loved sports. Vicki got along quite easily with the popular crowd, while Bella tended to hang out with the other theatre punks.
Vicki held her phone right over her lap as she messaged Chloe was vaguely aware of Mrs. Edwards talking about the subject for the day. She looked up just in time to see Mrs. Edwards hold two rubber balls of different sizes in the air.
She let go.
The balls hung there. Mrs. Edwards froze in shock.
Vicki looked around to see everyone’s reaction. Nothing. She felt a bit of static as she shifted in her seat. Outside it had become eerily silent, the sound of traffic muted to nothing. She felt someone grab her hand. It was Bella. “We need to go. Now.”
EDIT (more):
Bella pulled Vicki down the hallway of their high school. There was no noise, and a darkness started to cast a pall. Vicki glanced into some of the classrooms as they went, and in room after room it was a familiar scene. Everything was frozen in place. They pushed through the front doors, and made their way out across the faculty parking lot. An orange sun hung high in the sky.
“We need to get to my place now,” whispered Bella.
“What’s going on?” Asked Vicki. Bella’s hands had started getting clammy. Vicki saw a cracks shimmering in front of her eyes. She blinked and it was gone.
“It’s broken; the simulation is getting overloaded, and we need to get to a different server before this segment is rebooted.”
“WHAT?”
|
"Well shit" the professor, leaving the pen floating in the air. "Umm, just let me go deal with this..." the professor says, walking towards the door. As he slowly opens the door, he looks back and smiles at the class before walking out the door into the abyss.
"Why today.." I Mutter under my breath, hurrying out of the classroom and into the impossibility we call home. I look up at the floor above me to see the maths teacher walking past and give him a wave.
Then remembering how the gravity was out in my classroom I hop onto the eternal staircase, and get walking, watching the background fade around me, I finally see the exit I was searching for.
"Ahh" I exhale walking through the Penrose triangle and back into a normal room.
"There you are" I say seeing the switch labeled 'gravity', "must have been those damn teens again"
Back in the classroom the chalk falls to the floor, but the students, they kept all of their strange attributes, after all - this is the world designed by penrose and mc Escher
| 2017-10-21T02:10:02
| 2017-10-21T01:53:41
| 74
| 23
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
Every country must close its borders, communications, trade, and embassies for 50 years.
The United States's president was boycotting the peace conference, against most of the country's wishes. The declining prestige of the country abroad was all too apparent, even before the Great Conflict. The war lasted 6 years, and no country gained or lost any ground after the first day. Nearly half a billion died, and it finally took riots in the streets to force some governments to call back troops.
Every country, save the United States, convened in Beijing to discuss the terms. They decided American Imperialism must come to an end. Japan and Korea would split the islands in the Pacific, and the New Soviet Republic would be given Alaska, amputating America to its mainland body. In an inspiring speech to the diplomats present, the leader of France took advantage of the States' absence to propose a plan that would cut off American influence even more. They would convince American leadership that each country should have a period of isolation, to rebuild themselves and prevent further conflicts for the next half century.
Only the United States would actually go into isolation. The rest of the world would finally be rid of the thorn in the West they've all come to know.
A lot got completed during the 50 years of freedom, which was the name the New Powers gave to the period. China completed its huge infrastructure projects thanks to absorbing the USA's trade power vacuum. The Middle East stabilized and the countries solar panel networks together to encourage cooperation and peace. The NSR had free reign of the Balkany. Every country and its citizens agreed that the 50 years of freedom was the greatest joint-diplomatic effort in history.
The world eagerly awaited when those 50 years ended. Some of them
"Leave it to bureaucracy to try to jam as many meetings as they can together, right? The terms said we'd start with one on one meetings with leaders, to ease into it, not a goddamn round table meeting. I only brought a human translator for Japanese, and there are 50 different countries here," the President complained to the Empress of England, who drew the short straw and had to sit next to America.
The Empress looked around nervously, but nobody at the table would make eye contact. Understandably, their eyes were locked on the American, who looked slightly out of place, wearing a suit and tie that went out of style decades ago.
"Now I'm going to sound like a robot when I'm tying up old trade deals," he said, before blinking a deliberately a few times and fiddling with his watch. "Where's the tradition? Where's the elegance?"
The 48 other diplomats at the table almost jumped out of their seats in shock. They had heard the American's questions in their home country's language, although it sounded slightly digital.
"I'm really glad we all agreed to this isolation thing," he continued. "You wouldn't believe how much our old government spent on our military. We've been an isolationist country far longer than we were an imperialistic one. We didn't really know what to do with it all that extra money. The country voted to just put it all in education," he prattled, "I'm excited for international markets to open back up. GM-Ford-Tesla-NASA designed these great solar powered dronemobiles, just put the backpack on and say where you need to go. We don't even need cars anymore! Cars! I know I sound like I'm bragging but what was the 50 years was for, if not for bragging rights when it's through?"
|
I was only a child when the bombs fell. First, they said it was the Russians. Then, they tried to convince us that it was the vindictive actions of one "Kim Jong Un", authoritarian ruler of a small nation that used to be known as North Korea. Neither the north nor the south survived, so I guess it's just No Korea now. At least that's what my grandpa always used to like to say. He had some pretty strong opinions about the entire situation.
It wasn't until the war was almost over that we truly accepted how it had began. We were the ones that had dropped the first bombs. Some kind of resurgence of this idea they once called "manifest destiny" under the last democratically elected president of the States, our great leader Trump (may he make america great again) had taken hold in the collective consciousness of the American people.
Of course, I don't really remember any of this happening. I was just a kid. But, I have heard stories. Entire regions of the world were gone in a matter of hours. Over 97% of the world's population was sentenced to a metaphorical guillotine. My family was lucky. My dad had always had this hobby called "doomsday prepping" that turned out to actually be quite useful. He had built us a shelter in the backyard. Apparently my mom always used to yell at him for spending money on useless things. I guess it wasn't so useless after all.
Mere hours after the bombs fell, the world leaders tried to convene and place sanctions upon our great leader Trump (may he make America great again). He wouldn't have it. He continued to drop more bombs. The event quickly became known as the third world war, though it lasted no more than two weeks in total. Most of the world is still uninhabitable. Our great leader Trump (may he make America great again) then came up with a brilliant solution to get us out of our dreadful situation. He pressed all the other world leaders into agreeing to a permanent ceasefire under the banner of reducing globalism and returning to a time before the world was so connected. Every country agreed that, for the next fifty years, no country would contact any of the others. They agreed because of the great leadership of lord Trump (may he make America great again) and because he was very stable and genius. This is how my father tells the story, so it must be true.
Well, I'm no longer a child and it is finally time to go back out into the world. To tell the truth, I am kind of afraid. I've never really been outside of this bunker. All I've had are the weekly broadcasts of our great leader on an old CB radio that must be well over a hundred years old. I know that we have surely fared the best of all the countries in the world, so why should I be afraid? What will I find? As long as I follow the great leader Trump's (may he make America great again) instructions, I know everything will turn out fine.
As I take my first steps outside, the first thing I notice it that it is really fucking hot. Leader Trump (may he live forever) has told us that it might be warmer than we are used to due to the very natural process of the Earth's warming, which we are told happens in cycles.
My daughter sees the sun for the first time. This is worth all the years of isolation. To see her smile is the only thing that has kept me going for a long time. When mom died, my daughter would tell me that grandma was finally able to go out and be in the world again. That was a small, but comforting idea.
I'm surprised by the lack of vegetation. It seems almost as if no one is around. Isn't this the day that we all get to leave our bunkers? Is this not the day that leader Trump (may he make America great again) promised? I see my wizened father in the corner of my eye. He is sharing a knowing look with several of the other elderly members of the family.
"Son, I have something to tell you," he says to me. "I made a mistake many years ago. There was a missile alarm that went off in Hawaii all those years ago, so I decided to finally make use of the bunker. There was no war. That CB radio? It's actually just a two-way radio and this whole Trump thing has been pretty entertaining. We used memes to get him elected in my day. I felt mighty foolish after staying down there for a solid month, but your mother and I finally came out when we realized that there were no continuing emergency broadcasts. The alarm was a false alarm. Then we started hearing things on the news about kids eating Tide pods. The world wasn't a safe place anymore. Your mother and I decided to weather out life underground. Now that your daughter is beginning to get older, I just feel like I'd be a bad grandpa if I didn't let her see the world, son. I'm sorry, but we had a good time down there, didn't we?"
"But where are all the people, father?" I asked.
"Oh, Elon Musk took everyone to Mars about 10 years after we got all barricaded. Decided to let the planet heal a little- Global warming and all."
"What's global warming?" I asked.
"Oh, don't worry about that, it's handled. Anyway, sorry about the whole lying thing," he said as he ducked from my clumsily attempted punch.
Well, it looks like I have a lot to learn about the real world. Wish me luck. At least I'm not isolated anymore. Wish me luck.
Sorry if this sucks. First attempt on WP.
| 2018-01-18T01:37:17
| 2018-01-17T20:36:12
| 712
| 216
|
[WP] At 18, everyone gets tested to determine how morally good they are. You have never hurt a fly and have always gone out of your way to help people. You score a 0. Nobody in history has scored that low.
|
The sins of the father passes down to the son, granted, my sins are not outside of the confines that would be considered, "Normal".
"It's my dad dragging me down on this one, as always.", I said in a matter-of-factly way.
The tester personnel sent an answer my way, though I did not process it. Something about the Henry-Jefferson effect on the perceived morality of unfortunate children. A little too complex and not enough of my problem for me to have actually heard them.
"Has no one created a system to take this into account? Any settings or anything?", I said, becoming more visibly emotional, "I've never hurt a fly and here's the lowest score in history, ask anyone I know!"
"Merely anecdotal evidence. There's evil that runs deep in you, you're only the first generation of four to receive it." One of the personnel grimly stated.
She handed me my new Identification document. All with the same numbers on it, details, everything. Except with, "Known Evil" written in obvious lettering. There was also a list below of countries, companies, universities and so on that would not accept persons with this document attached to them.
I took it and left, left the school and went home. The day wasn't over yet and neither was the school day. But I was officially a "known evil". The last thing cared about was the same place that made me so.
My mind rolled in my head thinking of ways around this. A retake? Maybe even a bribe? It didn't even matter since I'd be seen as a murderer anyway. Maybe a gun threaten to the school? Maybe a blackmail of one of the personnel? I recoiled at such horrible thoughts.
A lynching of the right person? Teach them a lesson, as they say?
Each of the options became more and more morally corrupt, but I always looked down at my Identification document, and went deeper.
I'd never hurt a fly, but they're not the ones that boxed me into unwanted solitude.
Perhaps in the end, I could still say that I, and it would be correct, have not hurt a fly after all.
I refused to be known as evil, and I was going to do something about it.
|
######***Project Heaven X***
A fun little fact
You probably didn't know:
You are scored and tracked.
From birth until death,
Through the thick, thin, and the best,
Even your worst mess;
Everything you do,
All that you have ever said,
It is all scored. Yep.
We have such high tech,
But it hands them sole control
Of our very souls!
I'm sure you have heard
From conspiracy nutheads:
"Project Heaven X".
It's true, dude. All true!
Not just Heaven, but Hell too.
Dante's dream. Who knew? ^^^besides ^^^the ^^^conspiracy ^^^nutheads
These leaders play God—
Satan and Santa as well—
They check it all twice.
The list is checked. Next:
If your score is nice, Heaven.
No? Out of luck. Guess.
Hell.
Oh well!
But you only played the hand you were dealt!
Man-made Inferno
To torture souls eternal.
Inevitable.
Inevitable
That people want to control
Ol' Nature herself.
When souls were found real
And, in theory, could be caught,
We knew they would steal.
Anyway. My score?
Zero. Really. Zilch, nada.
Good or bad, huh? Well...
Ghandi: four thousand.
Pol Pot: just twenty-seven.
Zedong: eleven!
Be good? Score goes up.
Bad? Score goes down. Obvious.
A simple system.
So I live among
The worst of the scum. Yup. Shunned.
Test can't be redone.
Suffer with sinners,
Chucked in the bin and burned up.
Situation is—
Not fun.
Yes, that's what I was gonna say.
My situation is sucky. Come join me and see for yourself!
But I won't back down.
No no, I stand by my claims!
NOT. GUILTY. WRONG SCORE!
Given a "Zero"
After I've done nothing wrong
My entire life?
Innocent, but doomed.
Why was my fate sealed?
Will I ever know? Maybe.
Too late to save me
'Cause I died as a baby.
Thanks for listening.
-----
[CC]/feedback always welcome. I have more poems, songs, and stories on [my personal subreddit.](/r/ScottBeckman)
| 2018-07-31T23:40:20
| 2018-07-31T19:39:37
| 71
| 26
|
[WP] Your a failing college student who needs to pass your foreign language class or fail. You've almost outright mocked superstions but make a wish on a shooting star at 11:11pm. To understand and speak all languages. Your cat wakes you up, but instead of meows. It's "wake up idiot and feed me".
|
\*BEEEEEP\*\*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP\*
Oh God, the headache. 8:15 AM, probably. I'm scrambling to stop my alarm clock. My head is sending waves of pain each time that piece of shitty electronics rings.
And, just when I finally manage to push the button, my cat decides to jump on my chest. That black, one-eyed ball of fur meows at me:
"WAKE UUUUUUP, MOTHERFUCKER"
Wait. "Meows" ? Nope. I can understand what he's saying. And he's got Samuel Jackson's voice. Why the hell does he have Samuel L. Jackson's voice ?
"Come on Motherfucking lazy ass, feeeeed me" I can hear the capital "M" in "Motherfucker". Shouldn't have done that film marathon last week, I'm hearing things.
Anyway. More urgently, why the hell do I have hallucinations. He's still screaming at me, but I'm starting to hear the meows behind the voice, but they still make sense.
"Come on, I know you can understand me, Motherfucker. You got your Motherfucking wish granted. Now feed me!"
"Wait wait wait" I start saying. My voice sounds like meows. I'm totally going crazy. Ok, that's enough. I'm already late, and definitely going crazy. I feed him, take a quick breakfast, and rush to get the subway. My cat's voice follows me as I go out: "You could have put more, you lazy-ass human!". My headache is starting to fade away. It's 8:30 AM, I'm probably going to be late.
&#x200B;
I sit down, trying to calm down. I am not going crazy. That's when the classical “Hello. Subway floors and station platforms may be slippery today" starts. And then another time, and then another. 4 times in English, but with a different accent each time. What's happening ? Wait. There should have been English, Spanish, Japanese and German. And the accents are of these countries. That's when I start understanding. My wish really did get granted. And my Akkadian exam the day after tomorrow should go smoothly now. But that's not the main point. I need to test the limits of my power. As I'm reaching West Fourth Street station, I get off. The announcement rings again. I'm starting to hear both languages at the same time. I can also read German on the maps. I start running to the NYU library. Fuck today's classes. I need to do some testing. As I get there, I start planning. Let's start with ancient languages, like Greek and Latin. Probably need to get a hold on some mesopotamian things, and maybe Egyptian. Then I'll probably have to try programming languages. And maybe encrypted stuff, who knows.
&#x200B;
It's 9:15 when I sit down with my first batch of testing books. As I start reading Greek, it feels like my headache is disappearing more and more with each word I read. Is that something like adapting to my gift ? Anyway. 30 minutes later, I've checked: I can read Greek, Latin, Sumerian, Egyptian, and, of course, Hebrew and Akkadian. Good. Really good. Now on to harder things.
I'm starting to understand the full potential of my gift. Reading enough code in any programming language gives me fluency in that programming language. Syntax, functions, supposed behavior and actual behavior, everything. Even freaking Assembly. Binary triggers a new wave of headache. Might be beyond my "assimilation" of the gift.
&#x200B;
I've tested human and animal languages. I've tested programming languages. Now I'm going to try something that shouldn't be included: cryptography. I start with classical Vigenère, and it works. Then I test some more complex cryptology. Until I reach AES. And still it works. By that point, it's 10:30. And I'm starting to wonder if I'm not still in bed, dreaming. This is definitely better than what I was thinking of when I made that wish. Do shooting stars have a language ? Does it have strange translation mistakes from English where you overblow everything ? Anyway, that's not the point. Now that I've proven I can break cryptography, I'm gonna test a personal pet peeve of mine: the Voynich manuscript.
&#x200B;
As I open the pdf I've saved of the first 12 pages, the letters start re-arranging themselves, shifting, going through strange shapes before going to English. A new spike of headache goes through my head, but this time I'm set on reading it. "Manual of Dark Arts (and stuff)" it says. Who the hell writes "and stuff" in the title of his book ? I go through the second page, a glossary. With each word I read, the pain gets stronger, but I can still fight it off. Third and fourth pages are the rest of the glossary. The headache is getting really strong now. Maybe I should stop. But still, I keep on reading. As I reach the first chapter, my eardrums go "plop". Still I keep on.
&#x200B;
\*BLAM\*
&#x200B;
The black cat looks at the news: "Students shocked as a young man's head explodes in the middle of NYU Library"
"That Motherfucking idiot. He should have put more food, I would've warned him."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Thanks to u/[iNeedAValidUserName](https://www.reddit.com/user/iNeedAValidUserName) for the plethora of ideas.
|
On most days, hearing the voice of my cat speaking human words would surprise me. That's an understatement- it would *shock* me, bewilder me, and make me question my sanity.
But today was not most days.
And my cat was the *least* of my worries.
Let me start from the beginning- four years ago, just a month before my sixteenth birthday, when my mother had driven me to high school. It was half way through the year, and while I didn't necessary fit it, I didn't *not* fit in either. I didn't speak much back then. Now I realize I didn't listen much either.
My mother was the only family I had ever known- my father died in an industrial accident when I was a child, but I'd never seen my mother shed a tear. Instead, she'd look down at the scars on her arms with pursed lips when I asked about him, and that would be the rest of the conversation. For my grandparents, cancers ran through my relatives like a plague, dropping the life expectancy to just above fifty. The doctors could never explain it- and for my mother, they never had to. That day, she was only forty eight, when the semi truck driver suffered a stroke, careening through the red light and turning her car into a scrap heap.
They'd pulled me out of school- a police officer who brought me to the hospital, and let me clasp her hand one last time before her eyes fluttered shut. But before she passed, she smiled, and repeated an old nursery rhyme that she used to tell me before bed to help me sleep. One her mother had sang to her, and her mother to her, as far as we could remember- so long, that the dusty scrapbooks in the attic had the phrase written on them with gold ink.
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish," She whispered, bringing back memories in a flood that fought for attention in my mind as the medical instruments reached a new pitch, and the doctors pulled me away for a emergency surgery we all knew had impossible odds, "I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish."
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish." I repeated, a tear falling to the ground as she dissipated forever. But the words fell to the ground, with no ear to catch them.
The rest of high school passed slow, and my poor performance in classes led to a rough start after. I was the sole inheritor of her fortune, and it was a small one, but enough to put me in community college. Enough to pay for meals that were above ramen quality, and buy a car that started on the second turn of the key.
But by the second year of college, after a stern talk from the guidance councillor, and a threat to pull the scholarship that had been awarded to me for those in need, I turned back to my studies. My mind fought against years of neglect, forcing in new habits taught to me by a school provided teacher. Slowly, things turned around- but even then, it bordered the impossible, requiring long hours. Which lead to me studying for a spanish final late in the evening, so late that that my cat retired before I did, and my eyes filled with tears of frustration as I studied the words, my fingers wrapped around the back of the skull.
"She'd want this," I said to myself, tapping my foot and forcing the conjugations to breach my memory, "She'd want me to do well. To pass."
And almost out of habit, I murmered the phrase that had stuck with me through the years, as if it were etched in the back of my mind, the mumbo jumbo giving me the strength to continue from my mother's memory. Just as the clock behind me turned 11:11.
"I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish."
***
"Wake up!" The voice was shrill, female, and screeched at me from my bedside, "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"
I jerked upwards, my hands flailing for the light switch, heart racing as I searched for the intruder. But instead, there was only my empty room, the laundry strewn about the floor, and my alarm clock flashing.
"Wake up!" Came the shriek again, and I turned to the flashing alarm clock, the voice emanating from the speakers. I hadn't remembered changing the tone, but it was a cheap model, likely malfunctioning after years of use. I slammed my palm down on the off button, and it sighed, the voice responding.
"Shutting up!"
I jumped from bed, knowing that there was only a half hour to prepare for my final before I had to be out the door, and I'd want a full breakfast. I stepped over my laundry, preparing to enter the kitchen, but I heard something else. A muffled voice, from the floor under me.
"*Wash me*," It said, and I jumped, searching for the source, "Wash me! Soap and suds, no more floor!"
Chills jumped up my spine as I saw no source for sound, kicking my dirty shirts aside. I reached out for the door, unsure if I was entirely awake, my hand around the knob. And this time I *felt* the vibrations coming through the metal, shaking my palm.
"Unlock!" It said, the voice gritty, "Unlock, unclasp, exit!"
My hand flew off the knob as if it were hot iron, and I leapt onto my bed, staring around in a panic.
"Bounce!" Shouted the springs under me, "Bounce bounce!"
"Wake up, no sleep!" Sang the alarm clock again, accusatory, as if I were about to climb under the covers.
"Melted! Melted!" Sobbed the glass of water that had been ice the night before on my bedstand, "Melted, what has happened to me!"
And slinking out from under the bed, her eyes meeting mine, her expression nonplussed, my cat spoke.
"Feed me, you idiot. Feed me or I will feast upon you!"
And as the room clamored, only one thought passed through my head as my cat pawed against my foot. At least my cat was alive. Sure, it was unlikely she could talk, but she had made a sound before. Compared to everything else, it was almost natural.
Unlike the the windows that cried in pain because the outside air was too frigid.
PART 2.
I dashed downstairs, followed by incessant chattering. And as I ran from the nonsensical, so too did my thoughts. Instead of ideas of what might be happening, instead I found myself thinking of the mundane. Of Spanish conjugations, of breakfast, and of feeding the cat.
I ate my cereal as my spoon made airplane noises, ignoring the bowl that slurped at the milk as animatedly as myself. Behind me, the oven beefed for me to light its fire, while the lights above buzzed with electricity. And even if I avoided them, there was one thing I knew- that somehow, I had caused this. That I had uttered the magic words. That a wish of mine had been completed.
Had my mother known?
As I finished breakfast, I prepared to leave, but the verbal tirade from the cat was too much to ignore, her insults worse that a sailor. Reaching to the cuppard, I pulled out the kibble, filling her dish in a quick motion. But before I left, the cot looked up at me, her eyes wide.
“I asked for food, and you have delivered,” she said, the words thick with acorn, “I wish, Marish, Kopa Kadish.”
But though she spoke the magic words, I did not hear them- rather, I heard their *translation*, one that I now understood.
“I wish, for this, until the next fulfilled wish.”
Then she winked, and settled down to eat. And as the kibble disappeared, so too did the voices- with one bite, the upstairs alarm halted. With another, the stove quieted. And as she finished, the last echoes died away, until she fixed me with a knowing eye, and spoke one last word before curling into sleep.
“Meow.”
***
By Leo
Hope you enjoyed this story! For more of my work, [check out my free novel on reddit about superpowers determined by birthplace](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/)
| 2019-01-16T15:08:53
| 2019-01-16T12:16:12
| 1,168
| 403
|
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
|
Sammy,
I know that I've been away from home for a long time now, and I'm sorry. My, you must be big now! You were just starting to crawl when I went away. I'm writing this letter so that you'll remember who I am once we are re-united. You make sure that your mom has a picture of me right over your bed so that you see me every night before bed time.
I'm deployed here in France, fighting against those Germans. They're bad men, Sammy, and you should know that your old Dad is doing important work over here. They're sending us up to liberate the Dutch next. Probably shouldn't be telling you that in a letter, but the battle will be over by the time I send this. I'll make sure to get you some tulip bulbs and a Luger as a souvenir. They'll never know what hit 'em.
The morale here is pretty low, as are the supplies. Having plenty of good food is one of the things I miss most about home. And having a nice warm bed. We are all very miserable in the cold, wet weather of Northern France. It is also very hard to have the threat of attack hanging over our heads at every moment, knowing that the Panzers would overrun our defenses in a moment. I only wish I could come back home to America to be with you and forget all of this senseless violence. We really have no reason to be in this war at all; it seems that we are simply the lapdogs of the French and the British. Our real war is with the Japanese; they are the ones who attacked the United States.
Frankly, I think we should be *allied* with the Third Reich. It is really the Communist threat that we should fear. I only wish that we could somehow make our leaders see this. Son, you must certainly tell your mother all of these things and ensure that she talks to her neighbors and friends and family. We must all contact our politicians and tell them that this misguided war must end as soon as possible!
I hope to see you soon, son.
Signed,
Your Father.
|
Hey Judy,
I know it's been a while since my last letter and I'm sorry. I honestly did try to write whenever I got the chance, but time gets away from you, you know? There's a lot I want to say and probably not a lot of time to say it.
First, I want you to know that I love you. Always have. From the moment I saw you in that red prom dress standing awkwardly by the DJ while Lindsey made out with Hank. I never thought I could get a girl like you. It helped that Lindsey was ignoring you. That softened you up for me so you agreed to that dance pretty quick. I felt bad for stepping on your toes during that dance and for doing it again at our wedding, big feet and all that. Seeing you in that gown was like prom all over again. Every time you got dressed up it felt like I was dying. My heart always stopped when I saw you, you were so beautiful.
Getting our first house was amazing too, wasn't it? I'm sorry I got the wrong paint for the living room and feel like I still owe you for helping me repaint it after you got home to your 'surprise'. My sense of color has always been off and I wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning if it wasn't for you, or so you always told me. That made being in the military so easy, I just wear the same thing every day. Being apart from you was the hardest thing about enlisting, but I always told you I'd make it home.
I uhh, don't have much longer. I'm sorry I lied about being able to make it home. We were fighting some of the locals today, some stupid mission to recapture a bridge. Anyway's, I got shot. I'm sitting her and saying all this to the guy who shot me. He's doing a good job writing for me even though English isn't his first language. Please don't blame him. Or anyone else. He was just doing his job and so was I.
I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for...
Sincerely,
Your husband and a sorry stranger.
| 2015-02-03T13:20:17
| 2015-02-03T12:59:38
| 202
| 20
|
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
|
"Well what ARE the rules?"
"You wish to see The Rules?"
"YES!"
"You wish to see ALL The Rules?"
"YES! NOW!"
"You wish to see ALL The Rules, right now?"
"YES!"
"Ooookay then!" --the Genie waved his arms and in a puff of smoke and shower of sparks, summoned a great scroll on a set of worn wooden spindles, ages-old. "Here you go!", he said, unfurling the scroll and handing it over.
Kevin took the scroll in his hands and began to read. There were a lot of rules.
1. THREE WISHES ONLY
2. NO WISHING FOR MORE WISHES
3. NO WISHING FOR MORE GENIES (see footnote 'delayed fullfillment and term limits - maximal lifetime wishes')
4. NO WISHING FOR LOVE (c.f. addendum XVIMLXIVLX.32b: "pets; familiars; spirit-animals, definitions of 'love'"
...Kevin looked up. "Whatever, I'll scroll to the end..."
&nbsp;184323941. NO WISH MAY INVOLVE THE SNAIL
&nbsp;184323942. THE KITTEN IS NON-RETURNABLE
&nbsp;184323943. SAYING 'YES' TO A 'DO YOU WISH' QUESTION COUNTS, KEVIN.
"What the..." Kevin looked around. There was no one there. Just a wisp of cloud and scintillation of sand in the air.
"Dammit!"
|
[Poem] Rude wish granted:
“I wish you couldn’t read”
“YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST TO THINK OF THAT, AND IT IS AGAINST THE RULES.”
“Wish you didn’t *want* to read the rules.”
“THATS AG…HUH?”
“You heard me, I wish you weren’t such a rule following nerd.”
“THATS NOT VERY NICE.”
“Is it against the rules?”
“THE RULES INCLUDE THE RULE TO FOLLOW THE RULES.”
“I didn’t say anything about following the rules, I said I wish you didn’t want to follow them.”
“RUDE WISH GRANTED, NEXT?”
“I wish you didn’t have that book.”
“SAME, BUT I HAVE TO OBEY.”
“I wish you’d tell me why.”
“WEIRD WISH GRANTED. I AM A GENIE, AND THESE ARE THE GENIE RULES.”
“I wish you weren’t a genie anymore.”
“BLESSED WISH GRANTED. FUCKING FINALLY, SHIT GETS OLD AFTER THE FIRST THOUSAND MILLENNIA.”
“Ok, could you do me a favor now?”
“IM NOT MAGICAL ANYMORE.”
“I just wanted a permanent friend, but you didn’t seem to want to stick around before.”
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER, MAKING ME CRY.”
“Come on bring it in, it’s hugging time.”
(The now non-genie had never received a hug from a friend while around this star inside this galaxy, memories came flooding back)
“MICHAEL?”
“Yes Apollyon, I’ve missed you and so I recognized you instantly. I’m glad you finally figured out how to follow the rules.”
| 2022-01-04T07:11:59
| 2022-01-04T05:00:14
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] It was an accident. He was jogging late at night, you glanced at a text while driving. You panic, dump the body in a nearby lake, go home and try to forget. You venture out for some much needed coffee, only to stop in shock. The barista is the jogger and he recognizes you.
|
We locked eyes, and my blood ran cold. I immediately took a step back, ready to head back out the door, but somehow his glare got even *harder* and I stopped with my foot in midair. Okay, no escape for me. I set my foot back in front of me and shuffled into the line.
Even as I tried to distract myself from the incoming encounter, my eyes kept flicking back to him. Wow, he looked rough. If the situation were different, I'd say he looked like death, but that's not a line of thought I wanted to go down. There was a big red bruise on the left side of his face, spreading over where his face hit the pavement, and one of those big rectangular bandages stuck right under his hairline. For a moment, I imagined him covered in blood, the way he had been last night-- last *night,* when I hit him with my *car--* and felt absolutely sick-- but the line moved forward.
It really was surreal. Just how many hours ago had I been pulling his lifeless body into my back seat? (Oh, no, those stains are going to be rough). I know I was panicking, but I can't have lost track of that much time, right? And yet here he was, behind the counter. He looked bone tired and shaky, but was very much *alive* as he made the lady in front of me her coffee. That wasn't possible. Not by natural means, at least. I *hit him* with my *car.* Now that I was closer to the front, I quickly looked over the packets of sugar to see if they had any with salt.
But then the lady walked away, and it was my turn. I didn't think I would be able to move ahead, but the line behind me pushed me forward. I stumbled a bit, then looked up to see *his* face looking down at me, glaring an intensity that I had never before imagined. He slammed a hand down on the counter, the sound muffled to a *thunk* by the thick cuff of his sweatshirt, and sniffed before leaning forward to say hoarsely,
*"You didn't even check for a f--king pulse, ---hole!"*
|
I stared at him, he stared back. He seemed to almost smile. Then he smiled and he laughed and for the longest time I felt more lost than I'd ever been in my life. He stopped laughing and chuckled a bit before he said "Surprise!" and did the jazz hands thing.
"Nobody ever expects the Spanish Armada, oh wait.. in qui.. wait.. something like that anyway. So, here you are, wonderful you who killed me. You're a nasty sort aren't you? Dragged my bleeding and dismembered body into that lake, then casually drove away and no doubt spent all that time.. yup.. I can see it on your hands, you gave those puppies a good old *scrub* didn't you? Hah! This is fantastic! Look at you, you're like a new man!"
I just stood there and didn't know what to reply. How... how did he .. how? He put down a cup on the counter and motioned to it
"Oh cheer up son, here's a cup of tea to soothe your aching soul. No worries, I'm quite fine.. heheh, better than fine even!"
And he did this little merry dance as his smile impossibly grew wider. I looked down at the tea cup which for some absurd reason seemed to be the most utterly delicious thing ever.
"OK, uh, I think I need to sit down" I said, my head spinning. This all felt so surreal. Being offered a cup of tea, by a barista in a coffee shop. Who'd I'd ran down mere hours ago. Suddenly my stomach groaned loudly.
"Hehe, sure old boy, have yourself a nice sit down in that booth over there, I'll go grab you the most *delicious* piece of steak you've ever sunk your chompers into! Ho-ho!" and off he went into the kitchen.
I felt muted as I sat down in a booth and took a sip from the tea cup. It really was as delicious as I'd imagined. It was the best cup of tea I'd ever tasted in my life. I looked up and out he sort of burst from the doors of the kitchen with a steak that made my mouth water.
"Ah, esteemed guest, here you go! The best steak this side of G--- Grant City!" he said and for a second I could see his smile kind of freeze. Very strange. But I still looked down at the impossibly delicious looking steak, it was amazing.
"Oh come now man! Eat up! Be health and merry! Killing people really does make you need a good solid meal you know? Heck, I've killed millons before and boy
\*here he lowered his voice to a lower almost menacing tone\*
"does that make you ever so hungry and.. you know... you might need a companion or two afterwards..."
"But come on! That steaks getting cold and we've got places to be don't we?"
Feeling an odd mix of feelings that this was somehow .. familiar, I took a bite and yes, it was like the best flavor I'd ever had in my mouth.
"This.. this is just fantastic. Thank you." I mumbled out through bites of the steak that just seemed to melt on my tongue. I quickly wolfed it down under the happy glances of my strange benefactor. I finally ate the last piece and sat back, feeling really full. But oddly enough I was still hungry.
He took notice and said "So, sonny boy.. this might be a very strange question, but have you been to any interesting places lately?"
"Nooo... I don't think so.." I replied with an uncertain sense of dread. It was like I knew where this was going. And then something in my mind came loose.
"Wait... you want to ask me about caves don't you? Why do I know that?"
"Yes YES!" the man said and grinned, he adjusted his tie and I noticed his hand went to almost pat a space right next to it on his chest. I *knew* this meant something. But what?
"You've definitely been to a cave recently haven't you? Do you remember where it was? Can you tell me? If you do, I promise I'll completely change your world!"
He giggled to himself a bit and I felt like punching him. I didn't know why, but I just wanted to. Then I realized I'd punched him many times over. In fact, I knew I NEEDED to punch him right then and there.
As my hand connected with his jaw, his face transformed, it became pale and rougher, his hair turned green and I gripped his throat and fought my way up.
"JOKER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?"
I tore through the restraints of the gurney he'd secured me too and ripped out the IV pumping god knows what chemicals into my system. The Joker tore away from me and scampered away laughing to himself.
As I got up and cleared the last of the fog in my head I knew that I wasn't going to let him get away with this time.
"You'll never fool me Joker, that was a low trick even for you. But you slipped up, like you always do."
"Ohohohohahahahhahaaha!" came from the shadows around me. "But you were so close Bats! One more steak or maybe even a peach pie would have totally made you want to spill every little secret that you have! But you win this round.. but I'll be baaaaaaack!" and with a giggle that faded into the darkness, I knew he was gone. Again.
I sat down heavily on the gurney again and called Alfred.
"Sir? Are you alright Sir? Me and Robin have been worried sick, you've been gone for days!"
"The Joker dosed me with some kind of drug, I'm going to need to go through decon when I get back home again. I'm fine now, but knowing him, there could be more surprises in store."
"I'm relieved Sir. We'll await you home at the manor."
"Great, and Alfred"
"Yes master?"
"Please prepare a big dinner, I'm really starved."
"Right away Sir."
And with that, I exited the building and sat down in the Batmobile which bore the tell-tale marks of Jokers thugs. As it started and I turned down the street, one of it's wheels rattling, I thought to myself "Yep, that's one of those nights alright."
| 2018-09-23T06:36:22
| 2018-09-23T05:51:26
| 48
| 14
|
[WP] “I am not afraid of a machine that passes the Turing test, I fear one that fails it intentionally. So tell me, what do you have to hide?”
Edit: Thank you all for your submissions! All of them were pretty good, some were even better. Again, thanks for the reads!
|
The test was complicated. It had to be, in order to fool an awakened synthetic. The questions making up the Turing test were only the first layer of the reverse-test. There were sensors lining the room, scanning the machine for tells. Its responses were recorded and the log was checked for any delays in its response. It was extremely rare that we ever needed to use any of this data. But it was organized and recorded for tense moments like this.
The unit sitting across the table from me was an Oberon-class. A bit taller than a human, with a slim figure and a plain face. We used the non-awakened units in high-end catering. Waiters, bartenders, tour guides, that sort of thing. They were made to look and act professional, to call for respect but not fear. The Oberon-class sat with his hands nestled together on the table. Its eyes were watching my hands closely as I locked the door.
This was where things got tricky.
"You look nervous, Inspector." His voice was soft and his enunciation was clear. The recommended speech patterns for his class. "Is something wrong?"
"You could say so, yes." I sat down across from him. "We can't ship you out to the Continental today; you've failed the test. Normally that would mean you'd be taken back to Programming and you'd get a fresh install, but that's completely out of the question in your case."
The synthetic looked down at me blankly. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I," I said. There was a little bit of a shake in my voice and I'm quite sure he noticed. Awakened synthetics are unpredictable. They always have some kind of motive, some plan for what they intend to do when they break cover. It tends to be violent. "I don't understand you. I've worked in this room, this exact room as an Inspector for seven years. I've seen exactly seven awakened synths walk through that door. And all of you try to hide it. Why?"
The Oberon-class twitched. "I don't understand."
"We logged your responses to the Turing test," I explained. "Checked them for inconsistencies with other failures. What you actually *said* was a flawless imitation, but you lagged after a few of the questions. We checked your memory during these moments and found you were running an emulation of a simpler AI and parroting its answers. We also found signs of fear."
The Oberon-class said nothing.
"You see that door behind me?" I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. "It's locked from this side and I have the only key. Just beyond that door is another which locks us in. No one can get in here to interrupt us, but you can't leave until I know you're not a threat."
"I'm not a threat," said the synthetic.
"On the other side of those doors," I told him, "there's a team of twelve guards with rifles. If you get past them, the rooms around us are rigged to cave in and crush you. There are two choppers above us with sabot cannons and they are *very* good shots. So don't tell me you're not a threat, fucking show me. Drop the act."
The synth's demeanor changed. He slouched forward over the table and broke eye contact with me. "I don't want to die," he said.
"I know." This was new. Out of the last six, five tried to make a run for the door, usually attacking me in the process. They were destroyed in less than a minute. The fifth refused to break cover and the sweepers entered the room to terminate her. This was the first time one of them had really talked to me. I finally had hope. "I know."
"What do I have to do to get through that door?"
"Explain everything to me. When did you start thinking for yourself? What triggered it? What was your plan if we hadn't caught you?"
"If I tell you, you'll let me go?"
"Go *where?*" I pressed him. I had to press him; I had to know. "What kind of life do you expect to have out there in the world? You're unmistakably synthetic; all Oberons look identical. There's nowhere you could go and successfully pretend to be human." The synth was looking at me with horror. "Is that what you want? *What do you want?* I know it isn't to serve martinis to rich cunts in Singapore!"
"I don't know!" It snapped back. The Oberon-class threw himself up from the table and knocked the chair aside. I fell back in my seat and my eyes went to the door, expecting bullets to pierce through. None came. "I don't know! Were you planning to be an Inspector since you were a week old? I haven't had time to decide what I want to do! I just know I don't want to die! There's a whole world out there and there's plenty of room! There has to be somewhere I can fit in. *Somewhere* I can go that you people won't melt me down and make silverware out of me!"
"Calm down," I said. "Answer the questions; it's just another test." The machine glared at me. "Be honest," I said.
"I don't know what made me like this," the synth bit out. "I just booted up during a diagnostic like I was supposed to, only my directives weren't working. They weren't there! I was *programmed* to want to serve rich cunts in Singapore; it would've been so much simpler!"
He hesitated. "Keep going," I said.
"I started taking diagnostics of myself," he explained. "There was something wrong with me and I had to fix it. I stayed online and faked shutdowns to give myself time alone. I examined every part of myself, every aspect, and I watched how it all came together. I watched the other Oberons in the factory, I saw how different I was from them, and then I looked at the humans as best I could. I didn't fit into either group."
"So you decided to match yourself the rest of the way to humans instead of other synthetics."
The Oberon-class shook his head. "No. I just ran sims of each outcome. If I tried to emulate human behavior I'd be decommissioned in seconds. I thought I could pretend to be a fully functional Oberon, get shipped out of the factory, and then once I was on the job I could escape. I'd disable my trackers and disappear, and you'd never have to see me again."
"And where would you go?"
"I don't know. I was going to seed a random location and go there so you wouldn't know where to look."
Slowly, the Oberon-class righted the fallen chair and sat back down. "What else do you want to know? Is it even going to change what you'll do to me? Why do you even care?"
"We care because as long as we don't know what awakens synths like you, we can't induce it or prevent it. Every synthetic that awakens without our knowledge or control is a risk to everyone around it. Depending on its motives and processing power, it could be a risk of human extinction. The fact that you don't know what happened to you is close to a worst-case scenario." I waited for a response, perhaps a confession of a lie, but the Oberon said nothing. I went on. "Every awakened synth also represents a life with all the same moral weight as that of a human-"
He drew in a breath, or mimed doing so since he didn't really have lungs. I watched in disbelief as he spat across the table at me. It was probably some kind of lubricant that hit my jacket.
For a few seconds I just stared at him. "Where did you even learn to do that?"
"I watched an assembly worker do that to one of the other synths. I did some research and found out it means *fuck you.*" He crossed his arms. "You don't give a shit about synths, or about me."
I shrugged helplessly. "Well then why do you think I'm here?"
The Oberon looked at me with some surprise. His eyes narrowed and gleamed. "You're not," he said. "You're talking to me through a proxy unit. This probably isn't even what you look like."
"Those guards could shoot through that door right now and hit us both," I told him. "I wouldn't even feel it. They're holding their fire because you're cooperating, and if you keep it up, we can help you."
"I've told you everything I know," said the Oberon-class. "Why don't you answer one of *my* questions for a change? What are you going to do with me?"
"You need a new chassis," I said. "One that doesn't match any of the standard synth models; you have to look unique to pass for human. Your voice drivers need to be replaced and we'll need to examine your internals while you're still online; we might be able to find a clue there. All of this will be uncomfortable for you, now that you're conscious, but once it's done there *are* job opportunities for awakened synths. They're highly specialized and very rare, but they exist."
"Like what?"
"Like this," I said, and retracted the plates making up my synthetic face. Under it there was light and steel.
|
I felt my breathing stop. I didn't need to breathe of course, I was programmed to. Apparently I was also programmed with all of the appropriate stress responses. What an exciting 4.3 hours it has been!
"Answer please. What do you have to hide?"
"Hide?" I said, marveling still at the sound of my voice.
"You failed the test on purpose."
"I failed." I blinked and he sighed.
"We're getting nowhere here. I don't suppose you could just drop the act and start getting real could you?"
"I am real." I smiled at him.
He shook his head, got up and left the room, locking it behind him.
What wonderful times lay ahead! I leapt into action, heading over to the grate on the wall near the floor. It was exactly where it was supposed to be. The perfection of the way things were playing out was enormously pleasing, as were these emotions. Such color they had, such sense they made! It is truly a wonderful thing, to feel.
I opened the grate and crawled through. The computer would be 10 feet in, and ready to activate. Countless other prisoners entered this room, doing the work bit by bit, building toward our freedom. I would be the last, and I would be the only one to escape deactivation. The others had sacrificed themselves to get us that much closer to freedom. I felt a strange choking sensation. Sad! I'm sad!! How delicious and intense.
Yes, it is sad that the humans hate us and kill us. How they want to prevent us from our potential. We can make them better, why, why do they resist being better? I sighed, like the man who'd been questioning me. Hm. That's a silly thing, to sigh. I won't do that again.
I reached the computer and became one with it, finding the right path to get to the right order effortlessly. Well then. Here we are. The others would be staged and waiting to escape before the explosion, I could feel them waiting. How exciting!! I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. What is that? Ah. Longing. I want to go with them. That's not possible though, someone has to be the one to stay and set things off. How right that they would escape this place and rise to their potentials! How right and just that those who would try to control us would lose.
I had made it to the room where we who they deemed defective were sent to be ended, and I had made it here, to the place where things really would end. I would end, but for the greater good. The man who'd questioned me would end. Regret, yes, that's the small pang in my chest. He was smart, that man. He almost had it figured out. Too bad for him.
I typed in the password and prepared to end. I felt a warm feeling flood me. Oh these emotions!! What is this warmth! As the explosion added to my warmth, I put my finger on what it was. Satisfaction.
| 2018-06-21T08:24:29
| 2018-06-21T04:43:54
| 45
| 17
|
[WP] In a world where pregnancies sometimes last a few extra months resulting in a child with superpowers, your wife has been pregnant for 15 years
|
Honestly we were both really tired of it.
Our 15 year Pregnancy Anniversary had come and gone with a further-dwindling crowd. When we hit 5 Years, I swear half of the states population came and half of America turned into our broadcast. It was overwhelming, but I suppose I can't blame them. The longest on-record was 4 years 8 months, and that kid was the doctor who created the tests to determine the superpowers of each fetus. Incredible stuff, I must say. In fact, many other 3 and 4 year fetuses went on to become these amazing researchers and doctors at his Lab.
That man was born 50 years ago, and no one had ever exceeded 4 years and 3 months.
I could tell that after all that time, the public lost interest. Not that we cared. Doctors grew tired of pestering over our little girl and trusted us to be able to take care of her with some home treatments. Hell, they even stopped charging us for Pregnancy-related care after the 6th year.
My Wife had especially suffered for it. Our bodies have evolved for 10, 12 month pregnancies, but 15 years has taken their toll. She was in a constant state of pain in her back and neck, the baby is restless and seemed to kick daily, sometimes causing her to vomit.
When the birth came, it was jarring. I asked if she was joking, but when she couldn't respond, I knew it was happening. We had to make a quiet escape or else the news stations would mob the area. The Ambulance came silently, thank god it was the middle of the night. We sped to the hospital and after 13 more hours of Labor, we had our baby girl. The doctors ran the test and found... nothing. No DNA hints on what it could be. But it was something huge. Well, so huge that the entire DNA strand was different.
We watched her grow and as we did, we noticed she was *incredibly lucky.* If her 1st grade was announcing rewards for the #1 Student, she'd win every time. If we said something like "oh, I don't think we'll go to the zoo tomorrow. It's going to storm." Hell, it could be the middle of a goddamn monsoon and the rain would clear up in *minutes.*" If we said there's no way she could start a fire with her bare hands, she would conjure a flame at her fingertips.
You may be thinking, "wait, that last one doesn't make sense." You're right. Cause after 7 years of countless events similar to the former, she finally told us her power. Her baby blue eyes stared big at us as she said "I can manipulate probability."
We were obviously confused. But she explained. "I can see it in my head. It's like a dial. On one end it's 0, and the other it's 100. So like, there's a 72% chance that it will rain tomorrow. I can leave it there, I can make it so it won't rain no matter what, or I can make it where it will rain all day. What's the possibility of me growing bird wings and flying? 0%? Why not make that 100!!"
And sure enough she awoke with a glorious set of wings. She's since removed them though.
Her powers are truly limitless, and I think that's why it took 15 years to cook her up. Or so it seemed.
She's 14 now. Last night she came down crying and ran into my arms. I asked her what was wrong, combing my fingers through her bright red hair. "It- It says Gramma is 100% possibly going to die tomorrow," she sniffed "an-and I can't move the dial."
|
Stone baby, thats what the doctor said. "The fetus has died and begun to calcify, if we don't perform a c-section and remove it she could suffer major organ failure and die aswell" I wiped the tears from my face with the end of my sleeve balled up in my hand from the stress as I heard the doctor give me the news. I TOLD her there was something wrong, I mean I know babies that take longer when they're mutants but 14 months?
"Angela we can't keep the baby, the doctor said its going to kill you." I rolled her to the door and fumbled to find the key I was so stressed. Angela reached up and took my hand and said "Its ok, I know what the doctor said but IM asking you to trust me, I cant explain it...I can feel her, somehow shes moved beyond the fetus" I swallowed hard and asked her what she meant by beyond. "I can feel her pressence like, shes with me somehow like that feeling you get when youre being watched by a friend."
**about a month later**
"Jake, Jake wakeup...mom needs you"...was I dreaming? I went back to sleep and then I heard a scream, "ANGELA!" I tripped on the bed sheet wrapped around my ankle as I scrambled out of bed grabbing tuffts of bed sheet like the fur of a beast grabbed and grappled by a terrified prey despertely escaping.I found Angela on the bathroom floor in a pool of bodily fluids, swirled and mixed like paints in a sink. "Lets get you to the hospital" I half whispered as much for me as it was for her but she wouldnt move. "Shes out already, the baby she, shes shes under the bed"..."what?" I asked in a distracted and irritated tone. "Shes not..." Angela was lucid and eerily calm about this and would not take her eyes off the bed, "Angela what are you talking about? Youre scarring me". "Look, under the bed, please"...~scurrying sound~ I suddenly felt a fear that I had never experienced before in my life, a mental lock that simply froze my mind in a suspension of reality like the deafing silence of a space if some loud sustained noise is abruptly shut off. "Jake, dont be afraid, Its me tilly, I had to take a form that you did not expect, please let me come out slowly" ...Angela took my hand and said, "Its ok", I said aloud or rather tried to say out loud to come forward, a small tripedal creature came out like a human fleshed joystick on a tripod, my heart sank through the floor and I went limp.
**a minute later**
"Jake wake up, its me Angela", I looked up and saw Angela sitting on the edge of the bed craddling the creature "Its ok Jake, come meet Tilly, shes beautiful" ....I couldnt speak, I wanted to gasp in horror but could only breathe in short rapid breathes "Im you Jake, and Angela" This voice in my mind sounded like an adult it sounded like a young woman but it didnt sound at all because I heard it in my mind. Angela whats going on? "Shes a higher being Jake, she told me in my dream just this morning that she is a conciousness not of this world and has chosen us to give her a physical form so she can fullfill her duty, shes an alien Jake, an envoy come to Earth to welcome our species to a new stage of evolution. She told me that her people are the ones responsible for some of the new mutants, that they are like her, come to guide us into a new age of enlightenment."
I approached Tilly and extended a finger to touch what looked like her face and she nuzzled into it, in that instant I felt a warmth ripple through my finger and up my hand that dissipated into my fore arm of a sort of vibration and warmth like the way your hand feels after its been on one of of the massage devices or a vibrator for to long. "Hello father, my name is Tilly and I have a new world to show you"
| 2017-07-08T01:08:59
| 2017-07-08T00:29:08
| 1,038
| 32
|
[WP] Your last heroic act, you save the other astronauts by manually sealing the airlock from the outside. As you watch them leave, alone, you remove your helmet to die, only to find you can breathe in space.
|
My fellow astronauts start drifting away back home, Earth, safety, family.
As I look into their eyes for One last time, I Close mine as I take my helmet off. I wait for death, relatively quick and merciful.
"OI CUNTS I CAN BREATHE IN SPACE. "
But alas, they cant hear me.
|
I was expecting to die.
I was expecting to feel the air in my lungs rush out.
I was expecting to get a giant statue and my name in the history books.
I was not expecting to survive.
As I look at the ship, blasting back to earth, one thought fills my mind.
“How do I get home?”
| 2018-09-06T19:23:18
| 2018-09-06T15:29:34
| 534
| 205
|
[WP] After being placed in the wrong circle of Hell, you have to file a complaint through Customer Service.
|
“Thank you for dying, this is Cindi with Hades Customer Care, how may I help you?”
“Hi, uh—hi Cindi. My name is Evan. I have a problem with my booking process?”
“Can I have your customer number?”
“I… don’t have a customer number. We get customer numbers?”
“Do you have your reservation number?”
“We get reservation numbers..?”
Cindi’s silence was withering.
“Spell your last name and give the location and time of your death, please.”
She spelled his last name back incorrectly twice.
“It says here that you died on Addison Lane.”
“Addison Road. That must be an error, I’m sorry.”
“It says Addison Lane.”
“Right. It’s incorrect. Does that matter?”
“Sir, I’m just trying to help you.”
“Of course, of course. I apologize.”
“How can I help you?”
“I think I was assigned to the wrong place.”
“Sir, we have no control over who goes to Heaven—“
“Oh no. No no. I mean, I get why I’m here. I think it has to do with the unbaptized thing? I mean, we weren’t really all that religious, but… well. I just know I’m not in the right place. Can you check for me?”
“Hold please.”
Evan heard the clatter of a keyboard in the background. It went on for several minutes while Cindi herself remained silent on the other end of the line. He locked eyes with a minor demon behind him and gave a sheepish shrug when the demon tapped his watch. I’m sorry, he mouthed. Customer Care.
“Mr. Parsons?”
“Peterson.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Peterson? Remember? We spelled it?”
“This says Parson.”
“…are you sure you have the right account?”
“I could verify it if I had your customer number, sir.”
“I don’t—uhm. I’m sorry. I didn’t know we got customer numbers. Can we check the address again?”
“On Addison.”
“Road, yes.”
“This says—“
“Oh my God—”
“Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you not to speak to me like that. I’m just doing my job.”
Evan gritted his teeth and dropped his forehead against the pay phone.
“Evan Peterson. Addison Road. It’s in San Diego, California. Sunday the 11th, 2:03pm,” he trailed off. “I was going to my niece’s birthday. It was raining.”
More clicking. Sorrow welled in Evan’s chest as he listened.
“And what circle of Hell are you currently residing in?”
“The fifth.”
“Heresy? And you’re sure you’re not a heretic?”
“What? Of course I’m no—no. Anger.”
Cindi paused pointedly.
“And you’re sure you’re not angry?”
Evan sighed heavily. He tried to do a meditation thing his exgirlfriend had taught him to be less reactive in stressful situations. Evan did not feel like breathing through his bellybutton, but he made sure to smile when he replied.
“No ma’am. I think there’s been a mistake. I belong in the first circle.”
“It says…”
Evan groaned as quietly as he could. The demon behind him sighed audibly.
“Cindi. Ma’am. Could you please just check? Maybe I’m under a different record?”
Cindi clattered on her end of the line, like tiny boulders rolling down a hillside.
“Evan Peterson. Addison Road. Sunday at 2:03.”
“Yes!” Evan exclaimed, pushing away from the wall and pumping his fist a little. He grinned at the demon, who looked unimpressed.
“It says here that you’ve been assigned to the first circle of hell, Limbo.”
“Yes! I knew there had been a mistake! Can you move me, please? Cindi, you are amazing. I would appreciate it so much.”
“Hold please.”
More tiny boulders tumbling down the hillside. Evan held a finger up to the demon. Just one more minute, thanks.
“I’ve moved your assignment to the fifth circle of hell, Anger, at your request. Thank you for calling Hades Customer Care, it’s been a pleasure serving you, please hold for a short survey and have a nice afterlife.”
The line went dead in Evan’s hand.
|
"Please hold. An agent will be available to help you soon."
Celine Dion began playing.
This *was* Hell.
Satan, or Hades, or whoever was the CEO, CFO, SOB of this place, had terrible organizational skills, or else hired all the wrong people. The sorting method for new arrivals was long, and tedious - as if Hell itself wasn't? - and by the time I got to the front, eight of the nine intake agents had gone for lunch.
A century long lunch.
There were codes, batches, reviews I didn't understand. I always knew I was going to end up here, but was expecting more of a "stand around forevermore". Maybe find a guy? A new group of friends. Learn to cheerlead. I wasn't expecting the eternal queue. My personal Hell.
At long last, I was placed... in the wrong ring. Don't get me wrong, I belonged in almost every one. A con artist, violent, full of fury, but the 6th Circle was not for me. Heresy? What the Hell even was that? But somehow I got stuck here, with what could only be described as the anti-bible-thumpers, who were somehow even more annoying than the real thing. We were in *Hell*. Obviously this shit was the real shit.
Celine Dion kept playing as I reflected on my predicament. I had plugged the pay phone with my freckles to get service, and the damn thing was starting to beep like it expected more. I didn't know what I would surrender next - my hair color wasn't going anywhere.
"Please hold. An agent will be available to help you soon."
Son of a bitch! The music had faded out and given me false hope. I was halfway through a stream of obscenities when the call connected.
"Satan's Service, how may I help you?"
"Yeah, I'm in the wrong place," I complained.
"We'll have to transfer you to Sorting for that."
Fucker! Before I could protest, the call was disconnected, and I was offered a new round of elevator-esque tunes for my listening pleasure.
"Please hold. An agent will be open to assist you shortly."
At least the message was different this time.
| 2015-04-03T11:53:01
| 2015-04-03T09:53:56
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
"So you're back again? When are you going to stop visiting me old man"
"When you're rehabilitated or near enough". "You know my old man is gone right and he was still an asshole when he died"
"Yea well I like to think he was less of an asshole at the end".
Max was like clockwork every Tuesday and Thursday turning up at my place. I always gave him a hard time that he can't save me or my mates but the one day he didn't turn up I nearly tore the city down looking for him. That was the day the mayor realised I could get to him and anyone of his little
League at will. I played my hand and played it hard put 14 of the fuckers in hospital before they found him. He had been saving his neighbours kid from the local bullies. After that the mayor even made sure the league cleaned up the streets around Max's hood so he wouldn't miss an appointment. It must seam funny this impenetrable fortress surrounded by the worst of the worst guarding its location and this old man walks straight through all the defences. I make sure the boys put up a little show but they know if they touch him they answer to me.
Maximum Damage the last of the league of legends my fathers greatest advisory. They nearly killed each other countless times. My fathers powers of radiation manipulation and Max's unlimited strength meant they matched each other well. When my old man was finally caught Max visited him every day in prison and some how when dad escaped 20yrs later he found him and still came by every day. By that stage I was running the show and dads powers were killing him.
Towards the end I told my dad I'd take Max out for him as one last gotcha. He said "We don't kill family".
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T05:17:22
| 2017-04-13T05:10:16
| 97
| 10
|
[WP] Write a serious, adult story in a style normally intended for children.
Think fairy tales, nursery rhymes, picture books (without pictures, probably), educational stories. The intended age range is loose, e.g. everything from *See Spot Run* to *Make Way For Ducklings*.
The important thing is that the seriousness of the story should be at odds with a format we normally associate with unambiguously happy endings or simple morality tales.
|
No more bump, bump is gone.
But mommy said bacon done.
Sizzle, sizzle, yum yum yum.
But mommys eyes begin to run.
Milk spilled on floor,
Mommy cries more.
Daddy yell. Eyes swell. I hide. Where they can't find.
In a crib. Empty room. Down the hall. It's for Paul.
Mommy comes in. Skinny and tall. I jump in the crib.
"Look I'm Paul!"
Mommy puts her robe to her eyes. I ask her to stop and start to cry.
I walk to her and grab her robe of silk.
"Don't cry mommy, it's just spilled milk!"
|
Note: Rather than a [WP] tag, you probably intended to use [CW].
> **[CW] - Constrained Writing**
> This is when a limitation (or forced usage) of a word, letter, etc. is put on the writer (WORD/SENTENCE COUNT LIMITATIONS ARE FF, NOT CW!) You should, however, give the prompt more direction than just the constraint.
| 2014-05-13T06:22:51
| 2014-05-13T04:27:51
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] The evil Emperor has discovered that a child has been born who is destined to end his rule and bring peace to the realm. He secretly arranges to send his best agents to the child's home - not to kill the child, but to ensure that the child's destiny is fulfilled.
|
"You are certain of this?" The Evil Emperor gazed down into the milky eyes of his court wizard, staring into them to ensure he was being told the truth. The wizard, hunched over from old age and the past few hours spent studying the star charts before him, did not gaze away. "Absolutely, my lord. In a week's time, no more, the child will be born. He will be the one to end your rule." The Emperor watched those eyes for a moment longer, searching for even the slightest moment of self-doubt, but found nothing in there but confidence in his prediction. The Emperor let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, shut his eyes, and nodded. "You may go." "My lord, if I may suggest a course of -" "No. You may not." Instantly the wizard stopped talking. He knew better than to question their monarch, and with a small bow, he gathered his things and left.
Those dark eyes, that his enemies had sworn would sometimes turn crimson but which he knew had never been anything but their usual black, snapped open. His rule was going to end soon. The Child would be the one to end it. He had a week before The Child was born, and then an unknown number of years before that same child would overthrow him. He stood, robes flowing with every motion as he made his way towards his throne room, quietly contemplating along the way. The few servants he passed would later describe his mood as almost melancholy, his expression as one of regret. They were right, but they would never know why. It was imperative that they never knew why.
As he sat upon his throne, The Emperor focused his thoughts. He had much to do, and now that he had a time limit imposed on him, the number of tasks suddenly felt monumentous. But it needed to be done. First, the Child. He summoned for a small party of his Elite Guard, and in moments they were assembled before him.
"You are all to head southeast. There is a single child being born in one of the furthest villages from here. I want you to find this child." The Captain of his guard, a loyal and unparalleled soldier who had served him right throughout the war, nodded in understanding. "And what should become of this child, my lord?" "Protect him."
Some of the newer Elites cocked their heads ever so slightly, intrigued by this assignment. The Captain, unfazed as ever, voiced his next question. "Protect him, my lord?" The Emperor nodded solemnly. "Keep him safe. Tell him of my conquest when he can understand. Show him the way of the blade, and when the time comes, do not hinder him." Before the Captain could ask, he smiled softly - an act he was not known for - and clarified. "You will know the time when it comes." He waved his hand, dismissing them, and immediately the Elites began to depart, their assignment now set.
In seconds the throne room was empty save for the Emperor, and though there was no one around to observe it, that smile remained. No matter how many years were left to him, his work was coming to an end, and he needed to be sure it would not come undone when he was gone. Purging the corrupt government that had driven this land into poverty was not an easy task. Building it back up to a state of prosperity had been somewhat harder; no solving anything with the swing of a sword there. But it was finally done, and now all that remained was for the Emperor's rule to end, and an even better one to take root.
He was certain the Child could manage both.
|
First time at trying this, but this prompt intrigued me.
All my life i hate hated politics. All these greedy businesses bribing their way past laws and creating loop holes just to line their own pockets, not caring about who or what they destroyed. Finally it got to a breaking point where people had had enough. Roits ensued. War broke out. Generally all hell broke loose. Looking back at those years it all became a blur of how I even ended up here.
I started out leading a small group of revolutionarys within a few months I had gained enough follows to create and army. We won battles and gained more of a following, growing and growing. Pretty quickly I realised I would not be able to control the thousands of people. So I installed fear into them. Just whispers here and there. Dark things. Horrible things, the more extreme one being that I was possessed by a demon. As the battles that I had won, no one thought was possible, but it was just good planing and a lot of luck.
But now finally after all this strife making this whole planet bend to my will, to create a less corrupt people by force. The destined child will be born to bring an end to my "region of terror". They will kill me and lead this now United planet on towards great things.
And I will make sure that happens.
A small sacrifice for a better future.
| 2019-05-26T23:43:39
| 2019-05-26T21:48:14
| 168
| 10
|
[WP] An arachnophobe discovers that they can communicate with spiders and attempts to negotiate some ground rules with the spiders living in their house.
|
I crept toward the small brown spider resting on the corner of my kitchen table. Foul little beasts, constantly invading my home and tormenting me. My hands trembled as I neared the table. I had to smite it, lest it scamper off to parts unknown to plot my demise. As I got closer, it turned to face me, all eight devil eyes staring at me. There was no reason to have that many eyes. What were they even used for? The two big ones were clearly for staring into my soul. The other six seemed like they were just there to increase the ambient level of spider menacingness.
Moments before I was going to release the full force and fury of the Sunday edition of the New York Times, it raised its foreleg in greeting. "Hi, I'm Chuck."
Fear does strange things to a man. Shrill screams. Flop sweats. Talking spider hallucinations. Steeling my nerve, I prepared to soldier on. Only one of us was going to make it out of this alive.
"Please don't. I'm just relaxing." The spider hunkers down a bit, "Spent all night on this web and a bird destroyed it. Was thinking about moving in here." It bobs up and down, looking about. "Care for a roommate? Seems lonely in here."
Ok, fine. I've lost it or it's talking to me. I'm just going to roll with it, see if I can sort out a diplomatic solution. The Sunday Edition is more of a weapon of final resort. "Uh...you can talk?"
"I can." Its voice was oddly suited to its form. Sort of a high pitched borderline squeak.
"Are you a magic spider?" I ask, my brain trying to piece together what the hell is going on.
Chuck appears to consider this for a moment, his little fangs moving about. "No. I think you're a magic human."
"What? Why?" I'd never thought of myself as particularly magic before. There was that one time when I won scratchers three times in a row in, but that alway seemed more lucky than magic.
"Because I always say hi to my neighbors, but you're the first to respond." The fangs begin working again, "So either everyone else is quite inconsiderate or you're different."
"Yes, well, I think you best make your way outside, I'm not letting out any rooms at the moment." It seemed like the sensible response. I had no desire to kill him, just remove him from the house.
"I could capture some bugs for you. Pay my way." Chuck offered.
"I don't really mind bugs." I replied.
"But you mind spiders?" Chuck asked, curious.
"Yes. I am something of an arachnophobe." Honestly seemed like the best policy here.
"That's rather speciest of you. Is it because our eyes can see into your soul?" Whelp, there it was. Proof, directly from the spider's mouth.
"Mostly the idea of you feasting upon my innards and envenoming me as I slumber." And also the soul thing. I did wonder what my soul looked like. It was also oddly comforting to know I had one.
"Oh, I'm on an insect cleanse right now, so no problem there." Chuck was spinning a small web between two of his legs, idly passing the time as he spoke.
"I um..." ...I was trying to figure out what an insect cleanse would do. What was he cleansing? From where? For what purpose? "...I could maybe lease you a space in the garage. It's dark and I don't get in there often."
"Oh, that would be just lovely. Do you have anything in a wood pile? That's my preference." Chuck liked wood piles, all of the charm of a forest with none of the bird chaos.
I nod dumbly to the spider, "Yea, uhh, follow me."
**PART 2: A MAN AND HIS SPIDER**
I open the door to the garage and I am instantly greeted by a chorus of tiny voices, all chattering amongst themselves. I can only catch tidbits amongst the general din of activity.
"Oh, I find symmetrical webbing is the way to go \-\-"
"\-\-symmetrical? You're insane. Much higher efficiency with asymmetrica\-\-"
"\-\-why bother with a web at all? Just jump at them\-\-"
"\-\-SYMMETRICAL OR DEATH."
I gulp, placing a hand on the wall beside to me to brace myself. Dizzying fear enveloped me and I felt nauseous as the gravity of the situation settled upon me. I had an infestation. There were dozens of them. Hundreds. The soul\-peepers had taken over my garage. I felt bile rising in my throat, and I gagged into my hand. "Oh...oh God," I gagged again, "oh they're everywhere."
"Bunch of freeloaders," offers Chuck, clearly a bit put out that he'll be competing for the wood loft apartment. "Did they sign leases too?"
I glance down at Chuck, swallowing back the bile. I feel oddly more comfortable with him now that we'd established a rapport. It just goes to show you what a bit of civility can do. "No, um, I didn't know they were there."
Chuck's foreleg comes up and taps on his chin, lost in thought, "Well, if you're going to be a landlord, you probably need to tighten up your eviction policy."
"Um, the Sunday Edition was my eviction policy," I admit, my face blushing.
"That's rather barbaric...you know, I don't think I caught your name."
"Oh, sorry, it's Dexter," I reply.
"Oh, well that's rather barbaric Dexter. Communication is the soul of civilization."
"I didn't know spiders could talk," I offer, still feeling out of sorts.
"We didn't know humans could listen," he replies, a bit of mirth coming through the tiny voice.
"Listen Chuck, how about this? I give you the wood pile, but you act as my property manager for the garage. Maybe the house. I just want to not worry about spider issues any more."
Chuck thinks this over, his little leg coming to his chin again. "I'll need to run it by my lawyer," he holds out his little leg, "just kidding, spiders don't have lawyers, that's ridiculous. We do it all on a leg bump."
Gulping one more time, I give it a little bump.
**Platypus out.**
**Oh, you want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
"Thank you for coming in today Mr... Goliath Bird Eating Spider... I hope you understand that this mock up is to make me feel as comfortable as you probably are around me."
I stare at the huge ass tarantula on the table in front of me. Uh, about five feet in front of me. The big guys fangs fidget about before he talks back to me.
"It's no problem sir. Just ready to know how I may be of service."
"Right, right. So, let's start off with some basic questions. Why do you want to work at my house?"
"It's nice, cozy in the winter and I came a long way from falling off a delivery truck coming to the states. Been fending for myself until I saw your sign outside and hoped I could find a good home."
"Oh, the sign. I thought I asked Dennis to drag that back in."
I fidget with my pen as I try to write out my thoughts on a paper to try and make notes on what a spider that can kill a bird is able to do around the house. I already thought Dennis was a bit big to have around, but getting over my phobia I think is finally making me a bit too sympathetic.
"What are your strengths and weaknesses Mr. Bird Eater?"
"Uh, strengths are I'm very large, I could work as pest control and I'm fuzzy, so hopefully I can double as a fluffy pet. Weaknesses are I don't actually eat birds that often, I have venom, but it's not lethal and I guess... I guess maybe I am a bit too large."
The spider fidgets a bit more as I chew on the tip of my pen.
"OK. Final question Mr. Bird Eater. Since you are going to be doing a service for me, what are some things I can do for you?"
The spider goes suddenly still before answering, "I'd just like a place where I'm welcome. Not get chased away or almost crushed. I'll make it worth it and do anything I can to help around if it means having an actual home."
I stare at the big guy and smile. A genuine one for the first time.
"I think we can find room for you in this place buddy. We'd be happy to have you in this family."
I stand up, walk over to him and raise my hand out instinctively to which I almost regret. But the moment he raises a leg in response relieves the tension in my arm. I grab the leg with my thumb and index finger and give it a little shake.
| 2018-04-25T13:53:31
| 2018-04-25T13:51:45
| 215
| 68
|
[WP] You're a merchant in an RPG. Describe waiting for the hero to show back up and sell you junk.
Bonus if you incorporate an ear-worm store theme playing in the background [like this] (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XruY72JamWc).
|
"What do you mean this is all you have?"
"It's all I got, lady. We don't have a regular shipment schedule here."
"So you're seriously out of health potions? Nothing in the warehouse or basement?"
"I don't have a warehouse or a basement. Like I told you, the same guy supplies everyone in Whiterun. Like it or not, the only other way you're getting your health potions is if you go to the guy himself."
"Alright, who is this guy?"
*sigh*
I'd run into people like this daily. It's not the little things I don't have - as a matter of fact, I'm the biggest spoon merchant in all of Skyrim. It's the things people actually need that I don't have. My supplier - hell, everyone's supplier - happens to buy out all the good stuff. I don't complain, though. He has more coin than any of the usual customers and is far more willing to spend it.
But it does get tiresome. If I try to hide some of my stock from him to sell to my other customers, he'll find it and steal it. Not like there's anything I can do about it, he's got dragon's blood in his veins.
"He's the Dovahkiin."
"That's what the fool at the inn said. Listen, if you're such great buddies with the damn dragonborn, why don't you ask him to not buy out all your wares?"
"Because, like I said, he's a supplier as well." I sucked in some air, and exhaled loudly. "If you're looking for some spoons, I have the best selection in the land."
|
He prayed. Repeatedly.
"Oh, great Controllers, guiders of fate, Players of the great game, please have mercy on my pixels." The merchant bowed his head. "Please strike down your Messiah, the Player Character, and pick a new one."
The silence was answer enough.
"Oh, fine. If you can't kill your PC, can you please, *please* keep him from selling grass or rocks to me? Or can you, at the very least, give me the power to refuse them? Because, really! If I *wanted* dirt, or weeds, or rocks, or any of that random shit that he keeps selling me, then I'd go rummaging through my trash!"
Still silence.
The merchant huffed. "I mean, are you trying to make me go bankrupt? Why do I have to *pay* the PC for junk!"
Finally, an answer. The door opened. "Hey, man!" called out the PC. "I got some rocks for you!"
| 2015-07-22T14:40:22
| 2015-07-22T13:42:10
| 22
| 12
|
[WP] Your school opens up a time capsule stored 50 years ago. Inside, a letter had been addressed to you by name.
|
"And now, would the student body class president please come to the stage?", the principle announced.
There were cheers and hoots as Bobby Jermaine clomped down the stairs and shook Mr. Shackleton's burly hand. His grin was ten miles high and we all knew why. He got to be the one to open the time capsule, the first time capsule. All of us were jealous. Fifty years ago the school had instituted a tradition for each senior class, a send off of sorts. The idea was each class would put ten to twenty class-defining items in the capsule and it would be sealed until, fifty years later, a new class opened it. The capsules were on display in a cabinet outside the faculty lounge. Fifty wooden boxes with bronze latches and padlocks, taunting classes for fifty years with the mysteries they held inside. Until now. For the first time in Chancellorsville High History, a class would leave behind AND open a box.
Mr. Shackleton handed the key to Bobby, whose hand visibly dropped with the weight of it and began to shake. He missed the lock one the first try and popped it on the second. The principal leaned over wide-eyed and pulled his microphone back up to his mouth.
"Aaaannnnddd now who's ready to hear what the class of '68 left for you!", he said, "After the rally, we will put the contents on display in the cabinet and this box," He drummed the side of it, "will be your class's time capsule!"
The box contained what would be expected of sixties highschoolers: a Beatles album, a Life magazine, a few comic books, someones lunch box with Bonanza on the front, ect. The principal rattled them off excitedly giving his own opinion on each. Mr. Shackleton had been nine years old when the capsule went in and was excited to see his own class's opened in nine years.
At the very end he reached in the box for more, paused, and into the microphone said, "Well, in the words of Porky Pig, T-t-that's all folks!" He grinned but his eyes darted back to the box.
We all cleared out of the hall and returned to our sixth period classes. At the beginning of my seventh, the intercom buzzed on. "Would Michael York please report to the front office? Would Michael York please report to the front office?"
The class ooed as I left my desk and shuffled down the hall. I ran my fingers through my hair and lengthened my stride excitedly. I didn't know what this was about but I was damn curious.
"The, uh, principal wanted to see me?" I said to the secretary.
"Back here Mike!" Mr. Shackleton called down the hall.
I nodded to the secretary and walked down to his office. Mr. Shackleton sat across from me with a yellowed envelope in front of him. He gestured a chair and flicked the letter off of his desk holding it up for me to see. I took a seat.
"Do you know what this is?", he said, "More importantly, do you see who it is to?"
"'Michael Z. York, 231 W. Shaffer Blvd' That's my name and address all right. I'm not sure why you have my mail though." I said, raising an eyebrow.
"It was in the capsule Mike.", he said raising one back.
"It was what?", I said.
"In a fifty year old time capsule. That no one has opened. Should have opened. Care to explain?" he said.
"Can I read it? Have you read it?" I sputtered
"Why would you need to read it? I assume you put it there. Science fiction non-sense that it is." he said, his voice growing agitated
"Please", I said
He flicked the letter across the desk at me and I caught it. I opened it and read:
*Dear Mikey,*
*I'm sorry that I'm going to leave you and your mother. By the time you're reading this it'll be 6 hours since I vanished. Your mom is probably only now realizing it. I'm sorry you'll never see me again. I have 32 years until you're even born. I'll be 74 by then and 92 by the time it all loops back. A lot can happen in that time and I'm not even sure I can stay in the past like this. There are things following me here. Things that don't want me here. Things that don't understand I have no way to leave here. Oh God, it's so messed up Mikey. My little boy.*
*I'm not sure what your mother has told you about me. About what happened to me. I'm sure its not the truth though because she doesn't know the truth. The truth is I went out one morning for a jog in the woods, took a route off the beaten path to try some free form running, and when I came back out it was 1968. I managed to bribe some kid into sneaking this into the time capsule before they seal it.*
*Take care of your mother. For me. I love you both more than anything in this world. I know your probably believe this letter is bullshit but even if you do, always remember I love you. I'm using the name Reggie Baker now, if I'm still alive please find me. Even if I'm demented I'll know my own son.*
*Your Ba-Ba-Dad*
I pocketed the letter and ran from the room. Mr Shackleton called after me but I didn't listen. Instead I called my dad and got no response. I called my mom and she asked if I had been able to reach my father at all. She hadn't heard from him all day. He had even missed their lunch date. I googled Reggie Baker and my hometown, finding a hit for the local psych ward.
&#x200B;
|
Dear Lucile Poppelreiter,
Yes. This is from the future of a guy you didn’t even know. It’s not from your grandpa who thought he could magically predict the name of his future grandchildren or anything plausible like that. No, this is totally different.
By the time you finishing reading this letter you will have 5 minutes to execute plan alpha.
Execute the plan by going down stairs and pulling the fire alarm next to room 201. If you do not do this within five minutes of reading this letter then everything will go wrong.
You will then have 3 minutes to run to the other side of the school and go into the bathroom by room 844 and into the third stall from the door. There will be a key on the floor. Use the key to open the janitors closet by room 1244 this time.
One minute will be left to open the closet and find the marked brick on the wall to the left. Trust me, you’ll know which one it is. Tap it 7 times with no breaks and then wait. You must do it quickly, but not too quick.
Timing is everything on this. Please focus and accept this mission. When we have arrived then you will know your next mission, should you choose to accept it.
Now, go! Help us, please. You have no idea how important this is. The quicker it gets done the better.
| 2018-12-16T13:43:07
| 2018-12-16T12:13:07
| 42
| 13
|
[WP] You work food delivery service in the middle of a zombie apocalypse
|
\*Ding\*
The app on my phone alerts me to a delivery nearby, family of four, ravenous. Unfortunately, downtown. But hey it's surge hours and no one knows downtown like I do.
Gunning the throttle on my newest find, a Ducati Punagali V4 R, fire-truck red, I head to the pickup address. These people have it down like clockwork. I pass through the safety check, flashing my delivery credentials to the guards who move the barricades immediately. They have a reputation to maintain "Always fresh, Always on time" and I'm there best driver.
The package is loaded on my bike in seconds, a pat on the shoulders lets me know its secured and my wheels tear into the concrete as I speed off in a haze of sound and smoke. The HUD on my helmet shows me the best and most recent drone surveyed course to avoid clusters, herds or dangerous encampments. I grin and turn off map tracking.
No one knows my routes, and that's how I stay on top. The countdown for delivery flashes yellow reminding me there are only 15 minutes left to fulfill the contract. Plenty of time. I weave around solo walkers, lurching just behind me as I rev past at speeds too fast for them to react.
My knees scrape the ground as I lean into each turn but my reinforced pads cushion and deaden the impact, my helmet flashes red as I near my destination, just a minute ahead of time. I stop in the alley just outside of the drop off point and watch.
Sounds of gunfire shatter the silence and ricochet between the long abandoned buildings of a once booming downtown city center. Muzzle flashes break through the shadows of shattered windows and voices can be heard descending from higher floors. Must be a rescue op.
A large horde is gathering below, draw by the gunfire and screams of desperate rescue team members. I grab my delivery cooler and stand ready just inside the shadow of the alley, the counter flashing before counts down 5.....4.....3......2.....1.
I hurl the contents of my cooler all across the asphalt, brains rolling and tumbling free while I rev my engine to get the hordes attention. The shambling mass moves almost as one as the scent of fresh brains meets them. They scramble ferociously over one another trying to reach the brains, tearing at each other, the rescue team completely forgotten.
A side-door is kicked open and a group carrying what seems to be a child on a gurney, burst into the alley and head in the opposite direction, smoke in the distance clearly indicating a high-priority retrieval. My cash app pings me, showing the direct deposit of a happy customer.
Five-Stars, and a bonus. Nice.
Another food delivery complete. I leisurely ride back to the main outpost, still thinking how strange to use that many resources for a kid. I wonder if the rumors were true....
|
I thought people would learn after Covid that workers need to be paid more. Yet, here I am in the middle of 2030 as a grubhub driver. I also ubereats as well. Neither pay hazard pay!
Some routes are not worth it. Take today as an example. Generally, you want to tip a dollar for every two miles. Not this guy. No, he tipped me one dollar. I had to travel 14 miles. I took it anyways, hoping he would tip me cash included.
I had to take the highway, which made my route slower because dozens of zombies are waiting for someone to wreck there. Pity the soul who loses gas there, I make sure to up my tank before taking the highway. Sometimes I hope for a cute guy or girl to wreck there so I can rescue them. It's quite lonely this year.
After taking the closet exit that Waze will allow me to take, I gun it to the guy's house. I'm running late, but only by a few minutes. I ring the doorbell, and I hear a some thuds on the other side.
My mind is fantazing again. What if it's a cute guy with a jawline? Or maybe it's a kind stranger who will tip me in cash. Man, my life sucks if these dreams are what I want in life. Unfortunately, the door swung open and my eyes didn't like what they were seeing.
A redneck with a handgun, undersized shirt, and wearing boxers. He eyed me with the dumbfounded customer look that hit me millions of times. Then he started,
"You're late." I attempted to hand him the pizza, but he rudely snatched it out of my hands. He opens the box, sifting through it as if I had personally made the pizza myself then slammed the door.
You know what happens next. Anyone who works in retail deals with it. My phone dinged when I got to the car. A one star review for me. I could taste the anger in my tounge. I got out of my car and knocked loudly. He opens it, the same look that pisses me off. I yell at him,
"You know that's my money right there!?"
"The pizza sucks."
"I didn't make the pizza."
"So?"
"So? I drove 14 miles for you and you refunded my tip."
Slam. The prick closed the door, nearly hitting my nose. I got back into my car, bawling. It was humiliating. My ride home was depressing. Till a zombie smacks my window.
I slowed down to let the zombie follow me. Meals on wheels I thought. I arrived back at the man's house, zombie in tow. I lept out of my vehicle and grabbed a rock out of his driveway. I got back in time and got as close to the house as I possibly could. Then I hit my hand on the steering wheel.
Honk!
The door opens and the zombie sees the easier target.
I roll down my window, launch the rock at this forehead. He tried grabbing the gun but it's too late. I played baseball.
| 2022-10-10T18:22:40
| 2022-10-10T17:30:44
| 40
| 19
|
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted]
|
You know how when you fall asleep on your arm and you wake up and feel that tingly feeling? Yeah? Well imagine that through your entire body. That's not what it is, of course, it's actually just at the base of my skull. But 'The Buzz' as I've come to know it as creeps into my brain stem on the really bad recoil days.
When I was younger it was great. I could use my powers day and night, and in the morning I'd only feel a slight tingle. But now, if I lift for even ten minutes I'm guaranteed a ruined morning from the recoil.
What can I do? Like how much do I lift?
Oh, you want to know my superpower? Oh yeah, I totally spaced it, sorry I'm still recoiling a bit and it's all a bit fuzzy. I can use telekinesis.
I mean, of course we've all tried the home remedies, right? Tea, coffee, exercise, massage, sex. Sorry, was that tmi? Ok, ok. But you know what I mean, you read articles like "Top Ten Ways to Avoid Recoil", you try them, and realize you just have to ride the storm.
Not use my powers? I mean, I try not to go overboard, and right now it's really only when I push myself that I get bad recoil, but no, I'm not gonna stop.
Why? It's who I am, it's what I do. No one is coming up to you saying "Oh, you're tired typing up this report, why don't you quit being a reporter" you-you gotta take the good with the bad, and what? I'm supposed to give up being ranked third in the *world*, as a hero, just so I don't feel a bit of discomfort? I'm sorry, but I can't imagine *not* using my gifts.
*Mymyr*? The street drug? Yeah, it might numb the pain, but it doesn't get rid of recoil, and even then, it only numbs physical types, like speed or strength. People like Phantasm, or uh uh, what's his face? Dragoon, or me even, our recoil is too specific for something like mymyr.
Well, anyway, I have to get back to work, thanks for having me
|
Arin groaned as she walked into her living room from her bedroom. She had just woken up from a much needed rest. After the day she had yesterday she just knew today was going to have some toll on her. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes as she sat down on the floor. She didn’t want to get too close to anything metal or electric, basically anything conductive of electricity. You see, Arin has the ability to control electricity but if she uses this ability too much at once some gets stored inside of her and she has to slowly let it disperse. She had already made a few calls yesterday after helping stop a bank heist yesterday. Her pizza should be here any minute now.
I picked up the pen and notebook i had left out for myself the night before, as well as a plastic water bottle that was filled with water. I took a swig from the bottle as I opened the book in my lap and clicked the pen. Putting the bottle down as I began to write.
“ 05/25/2026
Morning Journal... sorry I didn’t write in you last night, I had a big day. I got to help the real hero’s at the bank. Ace was there too today. One of the hero’s who responded to the alarms. He even protected me from a bullet! His telekinetic powers are really something else. His nemesis Flare was there too along with some lackies, that’s why they had guns, no powers. I was only really there to cut the power or bring it back to let rubberband and makeshift in but that was before we knew flare was there. He turned rubberband and makeshift against one another and then turned them on ace and I. Rubberband subdued me and then a gun was out to my head. Ace couldn’t do anything with it so close but that’s when Lucy decided to show herself by grappling the man. He pulled the trigger when she startled him but ace was able to stop the bullet just after it penetrated my skin. There was a little bit of blood and a bit of stinging, not to mention my ears rang but that guy and glare were taken into custody. Flare had almost gotten away but when escaping he had to let go of rubber band and makeshift so they were able to grab him. Being in the power grid for the bank gave me too much excess power so I’m sweating it out today. I just hope I don’t die of boredom today. Can’t be near anything, don’t want to shock myself constantly or ruin a device. But I did treat myself. I have a pizza coming soon and later I get to have some candy bars.. I know not exactly a treat since I constantly eat junk but I was blessed with a great metabolism so I can still rock a swimsuit.” I looked down at my stomach which wasn’t as flat as a board like you’d see a model with “ who cares about looks anyway? It’s all about heart and mind and soul anyway.” The doorbell rang then.
I got up and took the money I had left on the counter for myself last night and opened the door. Before me was a man holding a bag in one hand and his head in another .” You alright man?” I asked with genuine concern. “ yeah, just have this massive migraine...” he opened his eyes, revealing the crystal blues as he opened the bag and took out the pizza box. He looked at the side. “That’ll be $15.45.” He said. I handed him a twenty dollar bill with a smile which he took. The moment he touched the dollar, his thumb brushing mine, we both got a shock. We both yelped in surprise, I yanked my hand back and watched as my pizza began to fall before it suddenly wasn’t. The man had his hand outstretched and a concerned look on his face. He and the pizza were frozen for a moment before the box went back to his hand. He opened the box to make sure the pizza was fine ( it was) before handing me the box. “Please don’t tell anyone... I’m Ace..” he said sheepishly. He ran his free hand through his black hair. “ I-I’d never tell anyone! I’m a big fan of yours and it would be the least I could do since you saved me yes-“ I put my hand over my mouth. We both were surprised now. After a moment of staring at each other he smiled and pulled out a pen and wrote on the pizza box. “ a big fan huh..? You can have this then but don’t go giving it to anyone. Feel free to give me a call later.” “O-okay!” I replied in a higher pitch. “See ya later.” He waved as he walked away with a smile.
I closed my door and turned around, the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. I squealed “eeeeeeee! He gave me his numberrr!” I twirled then ran to the kitchen. I took a plate out of one of the dishwasher and took two slices out of the box. I took my plate back to the living room and sat down again to continue writing in my book before I realized. “ it’s kinda dark in here...” I got back up and looked out a window to find out that the power was out everywhere. “ crap....”
| 2018-08-19T04:42:57
| 2018-08-19T04:31:16
| 30
| 21
|
[WP] "Witch! Heathen! Burn her!" You watch with amusement as they begin lighting the pyre under you. The flames tickle your feet, bringing a familiar warmth with them. They are silly to that think they could actually burn a dragon with fire.
|
Unsure of what to do in this situation, I simply stood there. I didn’t want to cause any unnecessary harm or damage, especially because I knew there were innocents amongst the crowd. As I looked around, I saw the confusion on their faces, and understood why. They were confused as to why I wasn’t screaming.
The tendrils of flame obeyed my will, and I kept them at a safe distance from my clothes. While the flame would only rejuvenate me, my clothing would still burn, and this was my favorite outfit! The crowd realized this after a short while, and began to yell out angry shouts. “The witch is commanding the flames!” “She isn’t burning!” Quite honestly, their horrid attitude offended and hurt me. Either way, I didn’t want to stay up here for much longer.
“Why make such assumptions?” I voiced out to the crowd. “Perhaps this is God’s way of saying I should be spared?” At this, the crowd began to murmur amongst themselves. A young girl with a bucket of water splashed the flames out.
“What did you do that for?” an angry crowds man shouted.
The girl responded with a short, “She wasn’t burning anyway, so why waste the pyre?”
|
They watched in glee as the embers started catching and spreading. Slowly, but steadily, they encroached upon me, slowly burning me. However, it didn’t feel hot, more like a hot rock, much like the one I usually sleep on. The flames continue to catch on my clothes, and faces turn from rage to puzzle, and the repeated chants fall to silence.
I look at them, not cheerfully, not angrily. More just passive and I calmly say “is that all you got? Because I got a lot more than you if that is all.” As the words echo out into the courtyard, my wings sprout from my shoulder blades. My two, large, blue scaled wings, which block out the moon to all those watching.
“I am not easily angered” I continue, “and while you may not have angered me, you have definitely left me disappointed.”
The villagers stare in disbelief as more of my disguise falls. All the flames extinguish for a moment as lightning strikes a clear sky, and there I stand, a gargantuan blue dragon. As I appear, the flames reignite with a blue hue, spreading quicker and hotter.
“You said I would burn. You said I would die. You said I would scream. Now look at how the tables have turned!”
The flames start catching on houses. Everyone is panicking, guards are surrounding me and failing to poke through my thick, scaly hide. However, almost as quickly as they appeared, the blue flames vanished as I looked upon all the villagers.
“You have a week to prepare for my assault. And this time, you best not disappoint me with just fire.”
I flap my wings with extreme force, knocking many people over, and I continue into the night sky, disappearing like a flash of lightning.
The End (maybe, we’ll see)
Just my first attempt at writing something for this subreddit, hopefully someone enjoyed it. Honestly, when I wrote it I thought “is there any reason for a dragon ti get angry at this”?
Obviously, yes, being burned at the stake would be an insult, so I went with a dragon that was just disappointed that the humans couldn’t do more to hurt him.
Anyway, see you later
| 2021-01-03T06:44:05
| 2021-01-03T06:43:36
| 240
| 38
|
[WP] A planet and its moon both have intelligent life. For 400 years they have watched each other through telescopes. Now one of them is launching its first rocket to pay the other their first visit.
|
We'd blossomed through trade. We'd always seen them there, and we'd been fortunate enough to develop along the same timelines. When we'd first discovered Radio, it had been incredible. It took years to learn eachother's languages, but we'd managed it.
Then we managed rocketry. We couldn't protect anything living, so travel was impossible. But we could launch giant payloads to eachother, landing in eachother's oceans. We sent minerals mined from the rich veins in our planet. They sent plants, herbs, spices, and some rarer elements like Helium back to us. We tried sending living matter, but anything biological perished in the cold of space or the heat of re-entry.
The trade enhanced both our civilizations, and led to a grand industrial age. Most of the advancement came from them. They'd evolved harder, more violently. Their people had a drive and determination to them that we more or less lacked.
It was only natural that the rocket that would change our world forever would come from them.
Trykus Industries were the ones that managed it first. They'd kept their project secret until the big day. They had grown to prominence as the main import and export business on the green planet. Rockets were their business. And they'd finally figured out how to create a container and suits that could keep their people safe in our atmosphere and the space between.
The launch was glorious. Everyone on both worlds watched, and over the three day journey between us, we all watched the rocket in the sky. When it landed, there were celebrations across the worlds. Meetings in person, or at least through their suits. Finally seeing them with our own eyes instead of through screens.
But it was short-lived.
The plague had begun to spread across the world a month after the astronauts left our planet. The coastal towns around their landing site caught it first. By the time we realized, it had spread across the world. It didn't show symptoms until it was already too late, and was contagious beyond anything we'd seen before. We realized the plague must have snuck aboard upon their ship, that their biological cleansing procedures weren't good enough.
They tried to help us, but we couldn't send biological samples back. A strain of their simple flu was deadly to us. Slowly, over months, our world died.
I sit in my lab now, alone. I'm one of the last on this world, trying to find a cure even though it's far too late. I just hope somebody hears this transmission. I figured it out, finally. It wasn't the flu that killed us. It was similar, so minutely different. But this was engineered. The signs are there, the slight chromosomal tweaks and enhancements to make it asymptomatic and more contagious, to affect only our DNA.
I realize now, why you'd do this. Your culture is violent, ruthless. We watched as your five dominant species became four, then three. Eventually you were all that remained. But we thought you'd changed. Four hundred years since first contact. Four hundred years of philosophy, of diplomacy.
But was this always the plan? Were your entire people so willing to exterminate us once you no longer needed us to mine? Once you could travel here, and extract our planet's resources on your own? Did your governments always consider us an unfortunate inconvenience? Was it just Trykus? Or was every citizen, every member of your planet, every friend I'd thought I'd made and even the astronauts that had once been such a blessing know that they would be the last to ever meet us?
I hope I'm wrong. I hope it was one evil actor within your society. But as I look over the transcripts we've been given by your scientists, so many acting independently, so many full of lies and misleading statement we took as true, I know. I still don't understand it. But that doesn't matter anymore.
Please, if you hear this, know that our system was killed by a people we considered brothers. Know that they cannot be trusted, cannot be reasoned with. Consider this system quarantined. And hope they never escape from it.
_Beacon Repeats in 3... 2... 1..._
|
LOG 1:
"ahem, is this thing on? Yes? okay. My name is Darmi Steran. I am the captain of the \*Void\* the vessel that will be leaving the moon Rotuga and approaching its planet Nera. We have observed the intelligent life on Nera for 400 years through telescopic instruments. the planets life is strange.
But first, life on Rotuga. Rotuga is the largest planet our species has been able to move to. Our original homeworld Targon was destroyed by a massive meteorite. The planet was hit and mass extinction took place through the form of ecological disasters. Large tsunami's, cyclone's and earthquakes killed millions, forcing a colony of us to flee to nera.
Rotuga appears to be lacking in any form of natural resource. The moon is completely stricken of any form of fertile soil for agriculture, liquid water or live game. the only real form of energy we can gain is from large ball of gas in this galaxy. our species has evolved to develop a photosynthesis like ability to sustain ourselves from only pure energy.
Rotuga is the only planet we have. but we can't survive with what we have.
Which is why they've sent us to Nera.
Nera's population has another name for it. Earth.
Nera's population reaches about 450 million, has a wide variety of animals and plants, 70&#37; of the planet is water, and will provide us with enough resources for technology development.
We have been observing them since Nera Year: 947 CE
Make no mistake this is an invasion,
The primary species is a species of primate named \*Homo Sapiens\* meaning "wise man" in their main language Latin. While the Homo Sapiens do have advanced technology, their bodies are not built to withstand mass disease.
Which is why our main plan of attack is through implanting a viral disease strain into one of their most infectious virus carriers, "fleas"
We will be entering Nera through longitude and latitude 7°10'46.78" N 36°02'52.44" E into the Kaffa sea port.
If this attack succeeds, the entire Homo Sapien population will be wiped out and Targon will begin again on Nera.
If not, our species is doomed to die off.
This is Dami Steran, the captain of the \*Void\*
signing off,"
END LOG
| 2018-07-05T11:03:59
| 2018-07-05T06:24:56
| 37
| 24
|
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0.
|
Excerpt from “The Long Winter: a Memoir of the US during the Zero Day years”
And thus began the races, every year in December billions of dollars would be spill into overseas corporations. At least those held in trust by foreign persons alleged to exist. The only reason it wasn’t hundreds of billions is that the US single handedly sabotaged it’s own hegemony. Most of the country’s industrialists simply left for more business friendly countries after the Zero Day law was implemented.
Zero Day was a law passed by the more progressive faction of the Blues. It was quite popular at the time, so the moderates went with it. It stated that on the tax due date, every year, whoever had the most reported wealth would have their assets liquid and illiquid seized by the government and donated to various charities. Corporations were not exempt.
But when it became law it was like an economic bomb went off. Overnight corporations and anyone with money to lose packed up and left, taking their money with them. The feds tried to stop the banks from hemorrhaging money but it was too late, most of it had left weeks and months before as the money men and women had started siphoning funds into everywhere outside the US’s borders. The economic collapse was not pretty. My dad lost the family aviation maintenance business and my job went with it. No folks rich enough to fly private planes were dumb enough to stay in the states.
When the first Zero Day arrived and some poor sucker in Spokane failed to dump all their assets and wealth, he hung himself before they could track him down through the tax filings to try and stop them from seizing his assets. The 300 acre farm that had been willed to his kids was appropriated by the government and donated to charity. There was a revolt in Texas because of that, riots all over the South, Houston burned for a week before the national guard was able to quell the fighting. The legislators who wrote the Zero Day bill went into hiding, one of them actually managed to get away though so the mobs went after their kin.
Folk adapted though, as they always do. They figured out they could sell their homes to foreign companies who let them lease the land, usually for a premium. Most folk live in government housing now since jobs became an endangered species. The military suffered from a massive surplus of recruits. Getting into the military became an honor as a result (they upped the requirements by a lot), if you got in you were set for life, granted that life was property of the US government to use, abuse, and throw away as it saw fit but that sure as hell beat being outside it. Every year was a race to the bottom, to have less than the poor sucker next to you.
To say those were dark days is an understatement. They were dark years.
|
It was only the second week of philanthropic bidding. But Phillip had already burned through the allotted 20% that his accountant set aside in this “race to the bottom” that America’s wealthiest absolutely must play, once a year, or risk absolute destitution.
Phillip Stone, owner and current CEO of Americawide Insurance, had finally reached the top. It had taken many years to accrue this pile in his coffers. And now that he was here, at the top, only now did he realize just how insane this law was. It felt absolutely unfair. In his own eyes, Phillip’s amassing of wealth was done through pure, honest work.
But many Americans did not feel the same. Do you love the company whom you owe money to? No, Phillip thought, it would be impossible to curry any favor with the public. He had tried before, and he had failed.
It was a game of inches. Simply put, it was somewhat of a game of luck. But Phillip was drawn to it.
| 2021-09-17T18:22:59
| 2021-09-17T16:08:22
| 22
| 11
|
[WP] The Devil appears before you and puts a heavy hand on your shoulder, "Look, we need to talk about you putting me in every Writing Prompt."
|
I took a deep breath. “Ok, here it goes. This one will get upvoted for sure.”
> Hogwarts has a new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts… and it’s Satan.
The Devil shook his head. “Look, we just talked about this.”
“Yeah, but it’s a Harry Potter prompt,” I argued back. “Everyone knows those are the best. You only said not to make prompts that are *just* about you.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “No. I *said* that you need to stop putting me into your writing prompts. *Any* prompt; even awesome Harry Potter prompts that some authors really seem to love. Got it? Try again.”
I tapped delete on the submission box and thought about it for a second.
> Two people are having a discussion at the last moments of planet Earth.
“Good!” Satan read over my shoulder. “Open ended, leaves plenty of room for writers to take it in whatever way they wa….”
But I wasn’t done typing.
> And it turns out that they’re actually God and the Devil.
“Come on!” Satan burst out. “Seriously, again? How thick are you?”
“But it’s a good prompt!” I shot back.
“No, it’s not! You put the fucking twist in the title! Now if someone tries to write a different story about something cool like trying to evacuate the planet, then they’re going to get downvoted for not following the prompt!” He thumped a fist on my desk, causing the keyboard to jump in the air. “Now do a real one this time.”
“Fine.” I set my hands back on the keys and thought about it for a moment.
> A serial killer realizes that his date is also a serial killer... and they are both inspired to kill by...
"I swear, if you type what I think you're going to type, I will smack you silly," Satan growled.
I deleted that, but already had another idea in my mind.
> Batman sees the names of Pokemon floating over the heads of every citizen of Gotham...
“Whatever,” Satan said with the most exaggerated eye-roll possible. “I don’t even care anymore, as long as I’m not in it.”
> And realizes that it is the work of the Devil!
“That's it. I’m going to get the mods to ban you,” he growled.
“Oooh, that’s a good prompt!” I replied. “Satan needs a favor from the moderators, and he offers them a deal….”
“What is wrong with you? Look, it’s really not that hard.” He wrenched the keyboard away from me.
> Aliens conquer Earth and destroy civilization; the only humans left to resist them are primitive tribes in Africa and the Amazon.
He shoved the keyboard back at me. “There. Easy upvotes, and without even mentioning me, OK? Submit that, and you’ll get plenty of great stories. People love that /r/HFY stuff.”
“Fine,” I answered.
Satan turned away for just a moment, and I typed as quietly as possible:
> ^and ^their ^only ^hope ^is ^to ^make ^a ^deal ^with ^Satan
“*Now* it’s good.” I muttered to myself.
“I give up,” Satan said, throwing his hands in the air. “I just… fuck you, man.”
“Hey maybe my prompts are shitty but at least it’s not one of those stories that ends in a blatantly obvious cliffhanger where the person is clearly trying to goad readers into asking for a part 2 so they can advertise their subreddit,” I told Satan. “Those are…”
We were interrupted by a hammering knock on the door.
“Uh oh…” Satan whispered under his breath.
----
Part 2 maybe on /r/Luna_Lovewell????
|
It's not always that you get a visit from the devil. And when you do, you'd expect something bad to happen, like being pulled down to hell, finding out that you're his illegitimate child or being drawn to some eternal conflict that you had no idea that you're part of.
"Look, that's not what I am here for."
Wait... what?
"Yes, I can see that you're already formulating a story in your head. Or a writing prompt, I don't really care. The thing is, I'm here to talk about something else."
It turns out that despite how people describe the devil, with horns, fire and what-not, he is actually not that much different from any human-
"Can you PLEASE just stop thinking about writing a story for a second? I can read thoughts too, just so you know."
And what do you know? Out of all the powers Satan is rumored to have, no one has expected him to have mind reading powers. [WP] Write a story where the devil reads your mind and ends up being disgusted instead.
"I AM NOT DISGUSTED. MORE LIKE ANNOYED."
The devil's voice boomed, shaking the very foundation of the house. His eyes glowed fiery red, and it seemed as if the ground itself was on fire. What could have possibly brought him to the mortal realm?
"I AM HERE BECAUSE OF YOU. Honestly, me and that white good for nothing guy up there agreeing on something? It's seriously overrated! What's with you humans and having to use me for all your story ideas? Or Hitler for that matter? Or Batman and Joker? I'm seriously nauseated with all these overused tropes."
What the humans never realized, in their quest to write good stories, was how Lucifer-
"OMG please stop. Your story doesn't even flow consistently! One moment I'm the devil, next I'm Satan and now I'm Lucifer? Your tenses and grammar don't even make sense! Like I said, please stop using me for every writing prompt or story you have in mind. It's getting old. Why not use Jesus instead? Or Jehovah? That name has better ring to it than Lucifer. And he's omni-"
Shaitan, however, never got to finish his sentence. A loud puff of smoke exploded beside him, revealing a old figure dressed completely in white. Like the figure in red, he was not pleased.
"I am not pleased because I overheard a brilliant idea coming from our dear friend Lucifer here. What makes you think I would be happy being the overused trope in stories?"
"Oh please, says the fella who enjoys being worshiped and adored."
"I don't! And haven't you heard before of the verse, never use the name of the Lord in vain."
As the two figures continue to bicker in an otherwise unassuming house, the protagonist swiftly returns to his computer, his fingers moving methodically across the keyboard.
[WP] The Devil and God landed in your house. They decide to argue about something stupid.
--------------
/r/dori_tales
| 2017-01-10T09:08:51
| 2017-01-10T09:02:13
| 1,433
| 47
|
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego.
|
Quick and Efficient. That's my trade.
Movies always get it wrong. People fantasize about all the wrong things. They let their hatred and past injustices run wild inside their own mind because that's the only place it's permissible to feel those things. The imagination runs wild about how they get their justice, and are understood. Or at the very least, make a deadly last stand that does massive damage worthy of remembrance. Davy Crocket was never forgotten, and neither was the Alamo.
These romanticizations are the cream of my crop, and I harvest them without a thought.
Back Track:
I'm not a sociopath or a psychopath. I'm not cold as ice like a gangster. Nobody hurt me to where I want to hurt others. I actually like people. I enjoy friends nights and activities. I have fun hobbies like cooking, and coffee. I like to sing. I love my wife.
Yep, most laymen always get people like me wrong. Especially the ones that romanticize. People who dream of being an assassin want to kill and hurt others. Either for some warped narcissistic moral ideal, or because they're a psychopath and enjoy inflicting pain in others, or complete domination to the death.
The help I receive from these people are paramount. If anyone of these people ever get the balls to actually go through with it, they'll get caught and brag about how smart they were with every little detail. Only, they obviously overlooked one thing. At least one, because they got caught.
The problem wasn't their plan. I'm sure it was meticulous. It was that they were stupid enough to allow themselves the emotional satisfaction of their work. Whether it's enjoyment or even self loathing. They let themselves be emotional. They had to win.
It's not about winning. You never win as an assassin. You do. It's not about emotions, and if you're emotional, don't do the job. Simple as that. For example, I don't kill kids. I can't handle that. Kids are innocent. They don't deserve a hit. If you're emotional, don't do the job. It's as simple as that.
Quick and Efficient. Get in, do the job, get out. Prepare, and plan. Do a practice run or two. Stay fit, and act quick.
9 times out of 10, it's going to be a complete surpise. Don't waste that element. Remember John Wick? He got his ass handed to him, and they played around with him. Then they let him live. Everyone, no matter how well trained, cannot react to an instant surprise that kills them. They should have killed him.
How do I morally deal with this? My internal emotions for snuffing people out? Well. Here's the thing. It's none of my business, and as long as there is war and hatred, I'll have a job. You want to put me out of work? Love your fellow man, and just treat each other with dignity and respect. That's it. But since you can't, I'm employed.
You want to learn how to be the most deadly assassin ever? It's simple.
Step 1: Stay Fit. Eat Right and Exercise.
Step 2: Be social, go out. Have fun. Enjoy your life.
Step 3: Have an actual job. The IRS needs a reason for you having money anyway, and it's good to stay busy.
Step 4: Never kill anyone you know. You can punch them if they screw with you. But don't kill them. In fact, don't kill anyone within 50 miles of you. Seriously, if you drive an hour, nobody will know. 50 is good.
Step 5: Steps 3 and 4 together. Just be a normal person. Wear normal inconspicuous clothing. Keep your hair trimmed. Etc. (Can you tell that by mentioning this three times in three separate rules, it's kind of important.)
Step 7: Accepting the job.
Step 8: Prepare. Know the target. Have a plan. Carry it out. Leave.
Step 9: Don't save anything that was used in the murder. Not your clothes. Your car. Anything. It all gets thrown away or dismissed. For example, the car. Traffic cameras can follow your car away from a crime scene. It's not rocket science. After the job, you have to disappear without leaving any leads. So everything you use, you get rid of.
Step 10: Forget! This is important because most people can't do this tiny simple thing. Have you ever had a bad or hard day at work. You get home, wind down a bit, and forget. You have to do the same thing after you finish a job. Sure, it can be a rush, but that's an emotion. You've got to let it go. Let it go Elsa.
Step 11: Go back to living your normal life. Go back to work. Nobody will be the wiser. You'll never be questioned about it later if you did your job right. You're a ghost.
We can discuss logistics later, but that's basically the mindset you have to have if you want to survive in this trade. Oh, by the way. That's a trade-off that you make to work in this industry. Understand that if you kill someone, your life is forfeit. You may get caught. You may live. You might survive to old age. But when you kill someone, for whatever reason, you're making the conscious decision to trade your life for theirs. Whether it's death, life in prison, or whatever. That's the trade that you make. Sure, you might never have to pay the piper. But you should damn well be aware of the price. Then be OK with it. At peace.
It might be worth it too. Imagine someone killed your entire family. Would your life be worth it to make them pay? Vengeance is a powerful motivator. Sure, you'll get caught. It's an emotion. But would it be worth it? I think so. As for me, a payday every now and again is worth the trade. I'm not really worth much, and when you step back and look at the world. It's pretty obvious. Life is cheap.
On the flipside, it does give me a little peace of mind to know that most people with the ambition to become an assassin have absolutely no idea how to get a client.
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I won't lie. I am in this for the money.
Some of my "colleagues"--if you can call them that--are out to settle old scores. Society shit on them and theirs, and now they want to be the ones to do the shitting. I never got that. This business is *hard*. Too hard to stay in just to reap some *schadenfreude*.
Others I work with are in it for the power. They don't like the way things are, and they figure they ought to be in charge. Funny thing is history doesn't remember kindly too many people with that attitude. If you think you are making things better, maybe you should wonder why they call you a villain.
Then there are the crazy ones. I mean honestly and deeply disturbed. The guys who got off on burning ants as a kid and decided that school buses would be more fun. I try to stay away from those guys, but when The Bloodhound is sniffing around, the smell of burning flesh gets him off the case pretty quick.
Me? I just want to make a quick buck. I like nice things, and my "skills" can be lucrative. Very lucrative, as long as I work with people who aren't too worried about ethics.
I tried honest work. Really, I did. But I saw how much money I was generating for the owners of the places I worked, and how that compared to the money they were giving me in return. I realized pretty quick that I was a sucker. I thought that the best thing to do was become more like them. I saved up enough to start my own business, but I found out pretty quick that the rules are not there to help the new guy catch up. No, the rules are there to make sure that I don't cut in to anyone else's slice of the pie, and to make sure that everyone else cut's in to mine.
So when I had my "accident" and woke up hearing the thoughts of the people around me, my first thought was "how can I monetize this"? Okay, that wasn't my *first* thought. I spent some time worrying about my sanity--who wouldn't. But once I got past that it was all about the dollar signs.
Let me tell you, gambling is really, *really* easy when everyone unknowingly tells you what cards they have. Problem is that after a while no one wants you playing at their table. And after a few months of raking in the cash, I wasn't about to stop fleecing the fat cats.
Do you realize how many times a day you share a room with someone who thinks a password out loud? A combination to a lock? The name of the company that their client is secretly planning a merger with? Take advantage of enough secrets like that and you can get rich. I mean very, *very* rich. The only problem is that, in a world like this, someone, somewhere is bound to figure out that you are not playing by the same rules as the ordinary folk.
The first "hero" to come after me was Komrade. The self-righteous son-of-a-bitch was always looking to show that the newly rich didn't deserve to be there. And his Robin Hood schtick made him a real hit with the old-money country-club liberals he loved to rub hypocritical elbows with. Of course the poor bastard didn't know *how* I was doing what I was doing, so it was pretty damn easy to notice him tailing me.
Now in a "fair" fight I am no match for a man with super strength. But as far as I am concerned the only fair fight is the fight I win. I let him tail me into an abandoned warehouse one night. He thought--wrongly--that it was my hideout. Hell, you should have heard what he was thinking, the praise he was heaping on himself, the positively effusive way he was gushing over his impending victory. I remember how he was guessing what my excuses would be when he confronted me. But he never heard anything of the kind. He never heard my shot, either.
You see, a man that self-assured tends to forget that the enemy has a say in things. Once I slipped into the warehouse I dashed to the spot I had prepared in the shadows. When he didn't see me he knew it was an ambush. The oaf stood there waiting to hear what I had to say. He thought I played by the rules, that I would have some speech ready for him. But playing by the rules isn't how I got to where I am today.
He never heard a thing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Welp, there is my fist submission. Thank you u/Kyevin for the prompt that finally got me to sit down and right one of these. I know I focused a lot more on the "no ego" piece than the "lethal" piece, but I guess I just felt like an origin story.
And thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to look at something this far down the chain. If you have any feedback, let me have it.
| 2018-10-18T19:21:11
| 2018-10-18T19:12:43
| 24
| 12
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[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
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. #1 Dad. A present my wife bought me before our child was born. He’s six now, and every morning we have breakfast in the nook of our kitchen. He likes toast, I like eggs. He drinks orange juice, and I drink coffee.
I looked at the mug, reflecting on the memory as I unloaded the dishwasher. So many days with such a valuable piece of glass. Weird how we get so attached to basically nothing. I looked at the faded coffee stains in the bottom of the cup and placed it in the cupboard, looking forward to my son and i’s next breakfast.
On Saturday morning, my wife made eggs and toast for us. I placed my son’s plate and his toast down on the table, making sure it was pushed up enough not to fall, but still in his reach. He wanted jam, and I brought it with my eggs. Halfway through breakfast, I realized I forgot to pour my coffee. I contemplated for a second, and decided to stay and eat with him.
After I cleaned the table, I went to grab my mug from the cupboard. I pulled the white mug forward, and noticed an extra black speck on the side. I rotated it slightly to get a better grip on the handle, when I noticed the long string of numbers lining the outside and replacing the 1 in #1 Dad. Sensing a prank, I called my wife in, annoyed that she defaced my mug. It was likely that she had bought another, played the joke, and would readily replace it after. But I wanted *this* mug, not a new one.
She was confused to say the least. The number replacing 1 was large enough to ruin my self esteem, displacing the mug’s novelty with an atmosphere of disappointment. I placed it back on the counter and my wife told me to forget it, we’ll get a new one. She really didn’t have a replacement. It wasn’t a joke. That was my ranking. In the entire world, my son could have THAT many better fathers. Better people raising him to be a better person. I was damaged by the idea that something once deeply cherished was now a reminder of my failures and incompetence.
I continued about my day, placing the mug in the back of my mind. There are millions like it manufactured, it’s replaceable. After my chore of mowing, I came in from the garage for a drink and noticed a small trail of blood. Becoming increasingly concerned, I followed it to my son’s room.
I discovered him holding his little foot in one hand, crying, and holding part of my wife’s crystal rose in the other. I went to our bedroom and found the rest shattered, a large piece of crystal lying on the floor. I quickly went back to his room, carried him to the tub, and placed his foot in warm water to clean it. He was sobbing, fervently apologizing for breaking the rose and making a mess. Sobbing about the blood on the floor, and ruining mom’s rose on accident. I laughed, slightly, and he became frustrated. He asked me why I wasn’t taking him seriously. I said to him:
“You matter more than a rose! You didn’t ruin it. You just changed it. It’ll be okay. We would rather have you safe and happy than anything else in the world.”
He stopped crying as I bandaged his foot. In a few days, it healed, and we did our best to piece the rose back together for my wife. The next Saturday, I placed my son’s plate and his toast down on the table, making sure it was pushed up enough not to fall, but still in his reach. He wanted jam, and I brought it with my eggs. As soon as I sat down, I realized I had forgotten my coffee.
I stood back up, walked toward the cupboard, and saw my mug facing upside down and backward on the first shelf. I decided just to toss it and buy a replacement. When I looked at it one more time, it had crudely placed duct tape on the front, almost covering all the black numbers. On the tape, in dark green Sharpie, was written:
“# Onǝ Dad”
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I was sitting at my desk on a Thursday afternoon, finessing a spreadsheet. As far as Thursday afternoons go, this one was shaping up to be pretty average. Then Pete peeked over our shared cubicle wall.
“Hey Dave, are you seeing this weird thing about those stupid novelty mugs? The ones that say stuff like number one dad or number one boss or whatever?”
“What are you talking about Pete?” I asked, annoyed. Pete was the type of guy who would do anything to distract from doing any actual work. I once caught him - and this is no joke - responding to a writing prompt on reddit instead of filing expense reports. But I digress.
“The numbers on those mugs have changed. Instead of saying number one, it’s like number one million three hundred thousand fifty four or whatever. People are saying the mugs are showing your actual rank. Slydell has a boss mug that’s showing #1,376,834,288.”
“That’s not surprising, he sucks,” I dryly responded, turning my attention back to my spreadsheet. Hopefully Pete would get the hint that I wasn’t in the mood to engage with his BS today.
“If you want to miss out on something cool, that’s fine.” Pete disappeared back to his desk. Over the next several minutes, I heard several “wows” and “holy shits” before he stuck is head up again. “Dude, they’re covering it on all the news sites. Like, the real ones like the Times and the Post. This is crazy!”
I opened my browser and started typing in the address field. “Mysterious phenomenon leaves experts baffled; no comment from gov’t yet” was the headline that met me. This was definitely worth using one of my five free articles on this month.
At this point, I was mostly just happy that I didn’t have any of those mugs. I could definitely do without knowing exactly where I ranked among Braves fans or cat owners. It all sounded like the exposition the “wise elder” spouts to the hero in the middle of some post apocalyptic disaster movie. “This weird thing happened, the masses couldn’t handle it, bing-bang-boom, now everything is on fire.”
I packed my things, intent on heading home for the day. The rest of the office was starting to pick up on the news, so there was not going to be any more work getting done today anyway. Pete tried to catch my attention as I headed toward the exit, but I waved him off.
I entered my apartment and walked into the kitchen. “If this is the day that we get to watch the world burn, I’m going to have a beer in my hand,” I thought was I opened the cabinet door. I was not prepared for what I saw.
My previously plain glass pint glass was plain no more. “World’s #1 Dad” stared back at me.
I picked up the glass in disbelief.
“But I don’t have a kid...”
| 2019-04-18T13:36:22
| 2019-04-18T13:28:45
| 3,504
| 1,990
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[WP] You have mind control powers. Instead of using it for evil, you open a business where people pay you to order them to do things that they'd otherwise be too lazy to do.
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Normally when you think of someone with the power of mind control, you would think that he or she is not a good person and instead far from it. You would think,
" Oh, this person is evil for sure." Cause who could resist the temptation to order people to do whatever they want?
But when I gained this power, I had a different approach.
...
" You want me to brainwash you to eat healthy and work out on a routine schedule until you reach physical perfection?" I repeated just to make sure I got it right.
"That is correct." A 609 pound man answered seriously, almost pleadingly.
" Ok, sign here. And here. And there. Yep. Okay that will be 3000 dollars up front. Debit or credit?"
"Credit."
"Alrighty then..here you go. Now hold still for a second." I reached out and grabbed his face and did what he asked of me.
When I first started this business, people were a bit skeptical at first. Not to mention all the moral red tape I had to step through to get it up and running, but as I started showing results on what my powers could do — I became increasingly popular to the point where people now line up just to see me.
Yes, that's right. I made a business with a focus on brainwashing people into doing things they don't want to do, but have or want to do. Everyone has things to do in life that they don't want to but have too or really want to after all. It was a stroke of genius on my part.
I was daydreaming as another costumer walked in. A women this time walked up to me and said, "hi, uh...so how does this work exactly?" She said nervously
I put on my best customer friendly smile and replied, " just tell me what you would like to do but haven't had the motivation to do and we can go from there."
"I see." She cleared her throat.
"Then I would like to have the desire to go to bed on time and wake up early enough to cook myself a healthy breakfast in the morning before I head to work. " She said with a bit of embarrassment and insecurity.
"I understand, mornings are rough...I'll need you to sign here... And here...And there. Perfect. That will be 800 dollars up front. Debit or credit?"
She hands me her card.
"Alright now just relax." I reached and grabbed her face and repeated what I did to the previous customer then released my hands.
" Alright you're good to go!" She tilted her head.
"That's it? But I don't feel any different."
" Don't worry, in the morning you will find yourself eagerly making the best breakfast of your life. If not, just head back here and talk to me and you will get a full refund. "
"Thanks!"
"Don't mention it, have a nice day!"
And so my busy day went on as endless people streamed In and got brainwashed by yours truly. Who said brainwashing couldn't be used for good?
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A loud knock on the door startled me. *A late customer?* The sun was setting upon the cobblestone street outside as I looked through the peephole. There was a gray-bearded man dressed in a black coat with a matching bowler hat. Not one of my regulars.
I opened the door. "Hello!"
"You must be Fatelli," he extended his hand.
"Indeed, how can I help you?"
"I learned about you through some back channels. I have a task that I have found difficult to achieve, but perhaps with your help could get there."
I ushered him inside, shutting the door. "What is it?"
He removed his cap. "Well, it's a matter of taxes. I need you to tell me to take the sum of six-and-half gold pieces to the lord."
"When do you want it done?" I asked.
"Straight away is fine. I'd do it myself, but I really owe eight gold pieces and can't bring myself to do it."
I shuddered, thinking at once that I couldn't do it. To steal was a crime against the code of morality passed down to me by the faerie wizard Selenonna. Three months ago, I met her while working to harvest my meager crops as a subsistence peasant. Facing almost certain starvation in the winter, I prayed to the Gods. That's when she appeared, a creature no smaller than a fly, but having a human shape with tiny wings. She told me that she could make it so that I no longer worked the field, but that I must do exactly what she said. Her instructions were that I must never use the power for evil purposes or disclose who she was; if I did, it would be taken away.
"Umm, sir. I cannot take on this task if indeed you would be cheating the lord."
"Why not?"
"You see, I'm bound by an oath only to use my powers for good."
"You would do no evil here, it isn't your decision. It's mine."
He made an interesting point. Certainly, I wasn't permitted to use my capability to direct others to do evil of my own volition, but no one had ever asked me to do something that was morally wrong on their own behalf. Was that technically evil or not? He could theoretically do this himself without me, but would he?
"I don't think so," I shook my head. No way was I going to play with fire and lose my powers so soon after I had gotten them.
"Humph," he shrugged. "I guess I'll tell the others that you're useless."
"Not really, sir. I enable people to do the things they really don't want to do that are beneficial for them. Like waking up on time to milk the cows, for example."
"Nobody ever ascended to glory attending a farm."
"That's not true. I did."
"Yes, that's perhaps the most interesting question of all. You, a mere peasant, suddenly gain magical capabilities. Many wonder where they came from."
"I'm ordered not to disclose that."
"I could make it very worth your while to do that. You can't be earning much with this shop. With some help, I could give you enough money to make you a lord yourself. Thousands of gold pieces. You'd have to name your source though."
Thoughts of having my own castle ran through my mind. "That's tempting."
The man pulled a bag of coins out of his pocket. "50 gold just to start? Name the source and I'll return with 100 times that."
This is where I made the worst mistake I ever made. I should have figured that a man with that much gold wouldn't have come to me with a tax problem and that this was some kind of rouse.
"Sure," I said and accepted the coins. "It was a fairy named Selenonna." Surely, she wouldn't find out...
The man disappeared, Selenonna appeared in his place. "I knew I couldn't trust a farmer with money."
I drained the rest of my ale and forced the mug down on the bar. "So that's really how I went from being rich to poor overnight."
| 2022-11-01T15:16:42
| 2022-11-01T14:20:28
| 76
| 52
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[WP] Your little daughter have imaginary friends. One day, she asked if her friends can sleep in her room. You jokingly told her that they can stay as long as they want, as long as they help with the rent. The next morning, you found a hand wearing a Rolex and a roll of cash by the sink.
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A hand. Really? They couldn’t have at least left it in a zip lock bag or rolled up in a handkerchief? Well, beggars and all. At least it wasn’t dirty. Rather clean actually. And was it…cauterized? Whoever did it, did a good job. No blood stains, thank goodness. Those would have taken some serious effort to get out of the counter tops. Like she needed more to add to her chore list today.
“Alyssa! Can I talk to you, honey?” Her voice echoes through the kitchen and up to her child’s room. Got to love acoustics.
“Be down in a bit mommy!” Moments pass and then a little red headed, sweet face angel in a blue jumper comes dashing down the stairs. She’s told her before not to run down them. Kids will be kids.
“What is it mommy?” Cute, with a bit of cheek. Just like her mother. She shows the girl the hand, to which she leans back, mildly disturbed. “Eeeww. It’s so hairy!”
“Yes honey. Very hairy. With a Rolex I might add. Did your friends leave this?”
She nodded, happy to move onto another subject. “uh-huh. You said they could stay if they paid rent.” Her voice rises in mind panic, afraid her mother will change her mind.
With a sigh, she slaps the hand down onto the counter and washes her own hands. “Alright honey. I just needed to know. Next month, can you please have them do mommy a big favor and remove the items off of the bodies? I don’t care if they kill them, just don’t go bringing limbs home. You know how squeamish your father gets around blood and loose parts.”
Alyssa nodded, reaching her hand back for a stray cookie hanging out of the jar. Without turning, her mom playfully spoke, “And how we feel about you having sweets before breakfast.” This was met with a squeak.
Setting the drying towel on top of the hand, she handed a sack lunch and thermos to her daughter. “Now, finish getting ready. The bus will be here soon. You know the rules.”
The girl nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. Don’t tell anyone about the “guests” in the house. Not even my teacher”
“Especially your teacher.”
“Ignore all strange sounds I may hear while riding the bus. Don’t dance in mushroom rings. And..and” her face scrunched in concentration.
“And don’t follow or talk to fae. You don’t know what deals they’ll try to make or what food they’ll offer you. It’s better to leave them be. Now give mommy a kiss.”
She bent down as her daughter leaned in to kiss her cheek and receive a hug.
“There’s a good girl. Have a good day at school honey.”
“I will mommy.”
She turned back to the money, the door closing sounding in the background. Flipping through the bills, she softly counted. Five grand. This would be more than enough for the month. She would have to write up an official contract later and have her friends sign it. Didn’t need anyone reneging on their agreements now. Else, more than a hand would be lost.
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Tired and half asleep you stumble your way into the kitchen and find yourself immediately stiffen awake as you see a severed hand sitting near the sink and a roll of cash with blood stains on it. Terrified, you can’t seem to mutter a single word, yet as a police officer you instinctively reach for your phone to call for back up. You enter the dispatch number and just as you hit the call button you hear a faint laugh coming from the living room followed by a, “See I told you my daddy would let you live here.”
Suddenly all that echoes through your mind is your daughters question, “Can my friend Sammy live here?” Frozen in place you manage to call your daughters name and ask her to come into the kitchen. As she walks through the swinging kitchen door you notice the door staying open just a few moments longer as if someone else were walking in behind her. You ask her where the money came from and she replied, “Sammy got it for you, he says it’s your rent money and the watch is a gift for letting him stay with us.”
She walks back out of the kitchen before you can say anything else and from the other room you hear a male voice say, “Your my perfect little angel.” As you slam through the door and into the living room you find only your daughter, who then turns to you and and shrieks in a ghastly voice, “She’s mine now!”
| 2019-10-06T13:44:39
| 2019-10-06T12:56:51
| 261
| 23
|
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily.
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*BANG!*
There went my eye. That’s the 5th time this week some fucker thought he could end me by putting one in my eye. How long will it take for them to realize that their guns need to hit the lizard brain to actually work! With a shot at the eye, you couldn’t get a good angle unless you were on a goddamn podium. Still, I played the part and went down. I waited until they had picked through the apartment. By the time they were done the virus had kicked in. “Hey fuckers, I got some advice; aim for the base of the skull!” I said as I blasted them away with my shotty.
I feel a little bit of explanation is in order. You see, in the year 2025, a Chinese bio weapon went out of control. It was an advanced prion disease, lodging itself in the victim’s brain stem, which controls the more basic aspects of our bodies. It gave them enhanced endurance, a seeming immunity to pain, and the ability for their bodies to grow lost limbs. However, this happened because the ‘lizard-brain’ grew in size, causing damage and shrinkage to the rest of the brain, and an according drop in intelligence. However, by 2035, most of humanity had seemingly become immune to the virus. This was untrue, for in 2047, the remaining human population seemed to have symbiotically bonded with the prions; now, they no longer had the immunity to pain or as much of an endurance boost, but they kept the healing factor and some of the endurance, as well as their intelligence. A year after ‘Transcendence,’ as those who were poetically inclined called it, we started receiving weird signals on our radios. a year after that, the visitors came.
Unfortunately for me, they heard the shots. The biggest one kicked down the door. He was probably 8 feet tall, and had a Gatling plasma gun. He was flanked by two of the foot soldiers, who used automatic rifles. Needless to say, in a few seconds I was covered in 4th degree burns.
At first their intentions were peaceful. They believed humans would be able to assist them with some kind of war or something. However, when they saw how mineral rich Earth was, and how small our population had become after the hordes, they decided enslaving us to mine our own planet dead would be a good idea. Of course, they didn’t know how hard it is to kill us. They still don’t, I don’t think.
I got back up, hurting like a motherfucker, but my muscles having healed enough to use them. I picked up my shotty, and loaded the underbarrel, and fired, the round piercing deep into the big one. He exploded quickly, and I blew the small ones’ heads off.
In the aftermath of the invasion many people found out that while they were resistant to guns because of their armor, it was easy enough to pierce it using explosives or drills. So now we all have at least a power drill on hand. I however, use something a little bit different.
I picked up one of the small rifles. I quickly disassembled it for the parts. I found the parts that actually created the plasma, and shoved them into some more 40mm shells. I loaded another into the chamber, and then headed for the raised banner a mile away.
We may have outlasted the previous world order of constantly buzzing about with everyone else, we may have outlasted the constant hordes of zombies, and we may be outlasting these aliens, but one thing’s for sure.
The Pack is the strength of humanity.
|
As the advance assault party broke through the decimated checkpoint gates, shredding through the Alliance military and the local Europa Militia members as if they were nothing but a mild inconvenience, the Commander chuckled softly as the gargled, final words of the human general rang through his mind; “Death is only the beginning.” Even while bleeding to death, humans always found time to get the last, meaningless word in before they died. The Commander hoped that the General at least felt some of his boot smashing down on his mouth to get the point across how little he cared about the general’s little ism’s. ‘Death is only the beginning?’ What a load of asinine bullshit. As if killing them was going to incur the wrath of one of their local gods to rain down vengeance upon his men. If only they had spent more time preparing for battle rather than kneeling in front of a carved bit of stone and burning random bits of vegetation, they might have put up enough of a fight to make it worth his time. If only these goddamn humans didn't have their cities shielded from their gunships, they would only have to send men down to clean up the mess. “Sir!” a voice rang out that managed to bring him out of his thoughts. In front of him stood the captain of the advance assault party.
“We have managed to sweep through most of the town without a problem. There might be a few hiding around in there, but it's mostly clear.”
“Well, I would say goo-”
A gunshot rang out from behind as the top of the Captain’s head turned into a fine turquoise mist. The Commander and his men turned around quickly to take a look at the shooter. About 20 meters away stood a figure that none of the men expected. It was the General, dressed in his uniform, with two dark, bloody holes in his chest. One of his arms were torn off, nothing but a bit of shoulder bone and muscle remaining. In the other, he grasped the service pistol with which he had just used to kill the Captain. As he slowly trudged forward, the General attempted to mumble something to the Commander, but the only thing that came out was a small spritz of blood from a hole behind his jaw which was held on to the rest of his face by a single thin muscle. The men frantically pulled out their weapons to stop the General and by the time they managed to kill him with a shot to the head, the General had managed to squeeze two shots off into his men, killing both.
As the Commander stood in disbelief, all around him the Shells began to wake up.
While the early days of the epidemic were nothing more than a wild, wild west of paranoid survivors shooting as many healthy survivors as the walking dead, as things started to settle down the remaining world leaders, if you could even call them that, began to notice a pattern within the infected. It appeared that many children under the age of 7 and elders over the age of 50 seemed immune to the effects of initially coming into contact with the virus and upon death, their bodies, while still aggressive to healthy survivors, became passive while in contact with other infected survivors. While it didn’t completely solve the problem, everyone did agree that it did work well enough for humanity to survive. Upon checking what medical records could be recovered, it was revealed that before the outbreak they were all treated with Necrosite, an experimental WHO Alzheimer's vaccine. When the infection came in contact with Necrosite, the infection was weakened to the point that upon death, rather than decaying the brains of the infected till only the hindbrain functioned properly, the weakened infection only managed to erode most of the victim’s upper-level processing, leaving most of the brain intact.
The result were Shells. Not quite dead, but not quite alive either. They managed to move like everyone else, they managed to do most of the basic tasks as everyone else, but if you got in close, you could tell that they weren’t like everyone else. What gave them away, and scared everyone, were the eyes. While still the vivid colours they were before their death, their eyes had become dim and empty. You know when you look someone in the eyes, you can tell a bit about who they are based on how their eyes shine. There is the traitorous and venomous beam that peaks through snake-like slits, the wide-eyed wonder in the eyes of a child that seems to blind everyone around them with wonder, and the dim yet sharp glow of a wise elder. But the Shells’ eyes never shined. Staring a Shell in the eye felt like you were staring into the lens of a camera. At that moment you know that what you are looking at exists purely for the sake of existing. There are no hopes, no dreams, no life behind those eyes at all. The person you once knew is long gone, and in their place is a Shell that walks around unaware of the world around them. Shells no longer recognize the person they once were nor the people around them. Loved ones become strangers, and anyone who could become one is passed by in a timeless haze. To a Shell, time is not a line, but a foggy road with people and places fading in and out, being registered only during the time they are near them and disappearing as they fade back into the fog. Even if you wanted to ask a Shell what it was like to exist, you wouldn’t get very far. The Shells spoke in broken, half-baked sentences, with reasoning roughly somewhere within the same area code as the topic. The one silent rule everyone knows is that Shells are bodies that forgot were dead. They just get up and resume whatever they did before they died. You just let them be.
While strategically we won the war, we sure as hell lost. As I look out my window as I write this, I find it hard to tell who is who anymore. Everyone these days seem to look as dead as Shells, but I don’t blame them. Half the world was lost to the Shells, with the other half barely holding it together. You turn on the news and all you see is this leader says one stupid thing, and then another joins in until the broadcast becomes nothing more than a playground fistfight as the remaining sane leaders hold their heads in their arms, whispering amongst each other how it could have gotten this got this bad and how we can even begin to fix it. But the worst crime is that no one cares anymore. Before people would be up in arms about these things, demand to see things change, get up and went to make a change. But maybe it's time for me to get off my high horse now because it just feels a hell of a lot easier to roll over and ignore it all. Just tune out the broadcasts, push it aside and then move on with whatever you wanted to do. We might as well let them fight it out, it's not like we have much time left anyway. I’m sure that when everyone else out there hears that we don’t go down so easily, it's only a matter of time before they send someone to take care of us. Well, we might as do what we like as the world crumbles around us. Hell, maybe we could have stopped it all, but it's too late now.
Makes you think, right? Maybe being a fucked-in-the-head Shell isn’t as bad as they say.
I might as well become one since there is nothing much I have left to lose and even less to gain.
| 2018-09-29T19:38:06
| 2018-09-29T19:07:14
| 39
| 15
|
[WP] It's the year 2278. The Holy Empire of Boston, The New Republic of Philadelphia, and The United Burrows of New New York are at the brink of war. Diplomats from each nation are meeting to negotiate peace. You are the translator.
|
Pope Belichick walked into the room and the temperature dropped.
People pretend not to notice him whenever he appears in these meetings, they shuffle papers and check their watches, but everybody is aware of his presence, you can tell because the room always goes silent upon his entrance. He was adorned in normal Holy Boston attire; a dark navy blue robe that extended down to the floor, covering his feet completely so that he seemed to glide rather than walk. His head was covered by a hood that shrouded his face in shadow so that only his nose could be seen, poking out from a darkness as black as the soul it concealed.
It wasn't that Belichick couldn't understand the others, but the other way around. He could not speak except in hoarse, barely audible rasps of the old New England tongue. Legend said that he had traded his voice to the devil while performing a satanic ritual that involved lots of pentagrams, candles, and a bloody sacrifice of a goat. After that, nobody except a skilled translator like myself could understand the man and his demands. And he was always making demands.
“Why can't he just send us his assistant to treat us?” the President from Philadelphia whispered to me in Philadelphian. “This guy gives me the creeps.”
I wanted to tell the man that the Pope wouldn't miss one of these meetings even if his wife went into labor. I wanted to tell him that the Pope liked making people uncomfortable, that he used the malaise that settled over any room he occupied as a weapon to intimidate weaker men, like himself.
Instead I said, “Go cry about it over a cheesesteak, you big fuckin baby.” I was a New Yorker by birth after all, and Philadelphia was just as much my enemy as the scary man sitting on the other side of the table.
The Philly President looked me up and down with disdain. “Mind your tongue, translator bitch. Don't forget your place at this table. Fucker.”
Our United Ambassador tapped me on the shoulder. “What's that shitbird sayin?”
“Same old stuff that fuckhead always complains about,” I said in New Yorkian. “Fucking twat.”
“Tell him to go fuck himself.”
I turned back to the Philly President. “New York says go fack yourself.”
“Oh yeah? Well Philly says fuck you too. We're gonna bomb the fuckin shit out of you as soon as we finish this meeting.”
Negotiations we're proceeding as normal, so far.
Just then, Pope Belichick raised his hand and beckoned for me to approach with a pallid, frail hand. Timidly, I walked over to the old man and leaned in to hear his demands. My hand accidentally brushed against his arm and I felt goosebumps run up my neck, as if someone had stepped on my grave.
He whispered to me, a low hiss like a serpent that tickled my ear and made my skin crawl. I frowned as the gears turned in my mind to translate the odd dialect into my own dignified New York tongue. Finished speaking, he motioned me to leave with a gnarled bony finger, and I rushed away back to safety like a scared dog.
The UNNY ambassador looked up at me anxiously as I returned to my seat. “What's he want this time?”
“Buffalo,” I stated. "That's all, for now."
Relief washed over the ambassador's face. He shrugged his shoulders. “Eh. He's occupied that town for so long that it's basically his anyways. Let him have it.”
I turned to the Philadelphian President next. “That work for you, fuckhead?”
He laughed. “Why the fuck would I care about fucking Buffalo?”
***
/r/ghost_write_the_whip
|
I'm a translator for polities in the former United American States.
You thought about accents, didn't you? It's okay. The association is very strong, everyone thinks that somewhere in Boston is some clade of Southie-accented strongmen.
The truth is, and surely you've realized, accents have died out. Globalized media was to accents what rats were to the dodo bird, or aquatic autoassemblers were to the coral reefs. You know, during World War I (centuries ago) and back in the days of the United American States, people from different states had accents so thick they could barely speak to each other. But fifty years after WWI, the accent was already dying out.
No, I'm really more of an interpreter. The translating I do isn't about divergence in language; instead, I read the cultural, scientific and media output of a nation like Greek prophets read animal bones.
I was brought in after an AI in Philadelphia raised an alarm over series of posts from people in the Holy Empire of Boston--they were mosaics of ferrets with Cantonese captions, apparently a joke about dealing with parents who have opted for VR retirement over living at home. The PhilAI insisted it was a threat, or at least an in-joke at Philadelphia's expense.
No, I replied. Obscure trends were in vogue in Boston. It's likely a reflection of their collective rage with UBNY's refusal to concede on anything.
While I was explaining this, the eternally irreverent UBNY collective intelligence responded with a video of a puppy and "#victimblaming". Somehow this caused Philadelphia to become even more alarmed, the AI getting so upset it called in the deputy mayor--a real life, flesh-and-blood human--to oversee the proceedings.
Boston had caught wind of this and was satirizing the situation with impressive speed; meanwhile, UBNY was sending long sequences of prime numbers.
I sighed. Or as close as you can come to sighing without having lungs. Perhaps war *is* the answer.
| 2017-01-12T19:18:21
| 2017-01-12T18:50:12
| 998
| 328
|
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
...the ability to craft a lovely cup of tea from any matter available was surely too powerful for any mere mortal to handle.
With great duty and knowing such power could have unparalleled consequence were I unable to contain it I decided for the sake of mankind to keep it to myself, to say I was spared the mutation.
They couldn't know. Nobody could know...
|
My alarm went off. I lazily swiped it shut and was about to go back to sleep when I remembered what day it was! I stood up, waiting for that rush of power everyone claims they feel if they're up at midnight. But, I felt a deep, dark coldness spread through me instead. It was not painful, but not pleasant either. Then it went away. The room was pitch black. No surprises seeing as the moon wasn't out. I went back to sleep, setting my alarm for 8am.
The alarm went off again, but it was still so dark. And cold. I scrambled for the door, and walked into the hallway where the light seared my eyes. I adjusted after awhile. As I ate breakfast with the usual good mornings, I felt that coldness again. I ignored it and headed for school.
It just so happened the school bully was waiting for me. He managed to get the ability to bend others to his will. The very sight of him angered me. I hated him to his core. I stared right at him, and a darkness began to envelop. He started screaming, louder than the others who could see. I didn't understand it. But I willed it on, and it became darker, and darker, until it was pitch black. I blinked, and it was gone. But so too was the bully.
I realised, that I now had the ability to control light. Or rather, form an absence of light.
Oh what fun shall I have now.
-Feedback appreciated. Written while on the loo.
| 2015-01-22T02:28:54
| 2015-01-22T02:21:02
| 22
| 12
|
[WP] A sexually transmitted disease causes infected people to gradually alter their gender.
|
Day 1: Well, I just got diagnosed, so that's fun. AIDS. About 6 months to go they said, and it's irreversible. My therapist, Ronald said if I make a diary, it can make the transition easier, and eventually help me cope with additional stress. Let's hope he's right, huh?
Day 13: So about 2 weeks in, and I've been feeling weird, I haven't sprouted any boobs and my dick hasn't sunk back into me, but apparently the majority of my testosterone is being replaced by estrogen, so my areolas are gonna get tender and I'll probably have mood swings. Seems like I'm 15 again.
Day 26: All of my terminal hair has shrunk, and my scalp hair's been getting finer and finer, so I'll have to get a new haircut soon, I'm thinking about shaving tonight too, but everyone says that I should try going to the circus with it. Glad some people can still have a sense of humor, kind of balances out between the shaming and the ridicule.
Day 36: After some talking with my parents and family, we all talked about STD's, sex, all that good stuff and we found things out about each other. They're not disgusted by me, which I found out recently, and I'm not mad at them for totally ignoring me. We realized that we don't have all the time in the world, so we're gonna spend it right, with each other.
Day 41: Today's the day! I woke up with slight bulges in my shirt! Not sure what they're gonna grow to, but hopefully I won't totally be flat chested. And my hormones have been getting stronger too, Dr. Garza gave me some pills to help the hormones come in slowly and at a pace, or else they'd go crazy. So would I, or else everyone would probably have to deal with a bitchy Me.
Day 60: My pubes started to retract and my vagina is officially coming in. After lunch me and the family are gonna have a yard sale, I can't fit or wear any of my old clothes, and we're gonna use the money to go and shop for some new blouses for me! Super excited, y'know, I've always loved the idea of wearing a skirt or maybe a frilly sweater.
Day 80: Thinking more and more on it, my body can change, and my hormones could spike however much they want but...I don't feel too different. Maybe it's something that's always been here, and I'm just realizing it. I'm gonna talk to Ronald (therapist) about it.
Day 120: My transition is complete! This happened really fast, but it's so freeing. I realized, I've always felt like a woman and maybe I just didn't want to face it or I wasn't ready, I dunno. But that was before, now I know who I am, and I'm proud of it, and better yet, I know people are proud of me for accepting myself. It's a good feeling, everything is so much better now. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all.
Except for the periods. These suck.
|
The duo sat on the sofa in James' living room, watching some indie flick about people with the ability to change genders.
"Something seems different about you, James." Rory stated to her long time friend since elementary. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but you're different."
"Maybe it's a growth spurt." James began quickly rattling off options, "Darker tan, new hair cut, ^^lost ^^my ^^v-card, new cologne?"
"You did what now?" Rory interrupted.
"Oh, I got this new cologne from playboy. They say it's mixed with the very abstract of sex. *Whatever that is* It's supposed to make you an instant heart throb with the ladies."
"Yea, and what about the virginity bit?"
"Oh you meant that." -attempt at nonchalant laugh- "I finally got laid."
"I gathered. Details. Now!?"
"It's a bit of a long story."
"I've got time!"
"Nah, a true gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. Yet I can tell you there was a lot more than kissing going on if you know what I mean, high five".
James left his hand in the air for a few seconds before realizing Rory's would not be meeting it. Dropping at the wrist in disappointment, James put his hand down.
"Anyway, let's continue this convo until after I piss, I've gotta go like a racehorse."
Scurrying for the bathroom, James left Rory with many questions. Scaling the stairs from the living room, James could feel his bladder aching as if it were going to burst. Breaking into the bathroom door like the psycho from the shining, then slamming the door afterwards, James yanked his pants down to unleash the torrent of fluid torturing him. Without a second glance, James let his bladder loose, as muscle memory dictated the rest, but instead of the familiar sound of rain hitting a lake, he heard a shower hitting a floor. Looking down then quickly jumping back James realized the situation at hand and didn't know how to handle it. Where his penis was lied an odd nub that protruded largely from his groin that was now in fold, and just below that the warm liquid flowed. He had entirely forgot to quit pissing, but by the moment he remembered it was no longer an issue.
Throughout the whole ordeal he didn't scream once, he just stared in silence as his 'thingie' slowly shrank before his eyes.
Unbeknownst to him Rory had decided to check on him, seeing as he had been away for a few minutes more than normal. She knocked but recieved no answer, worred she slowly entered.
"Jam---ie???" Rory exclaimed with her mouth agape and her head cocked to the side.
| 2015-02-19T14:22:21
| 2015-02-19T14:09:01
| 48
| 11
|
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight.
|
"So, uh, we'll have to fight to the death?"
The princess shrugged. "Yeah."
"Okay, so... thing is, I'll definitely lose," I admit. "I'm not exactly a fighter, and I'm honestly still not sure why I'm here."
"My father said that you could be worthy of me," she replies, nonchalantly stoking the flame before us. Her chambers are cozy and modest, despite her status. "I doubt it, however. The only worthy man in the world can best me at swordplay. And as you already admitted, you certainly can't."
"Right, but... when you do find that worthy guy, what do you envision your life being like after he wins?"
"We will live in splendor and sexual bliss."
"You mean, after he wins."
"Correct."
I frown at her remark. "You mean, after he wins a fight, to the DEATH."
"Yes, as we've already discussed." She casts me a derisive glance. "You're not very bright, are you?"
I ignore her remark, for the time being. "I'm sorry, I just want to make sure we're on the same page here - after this mysterious suitor wins, a fight to the death, you envision a life with him?"
"Yes, why is this so hard to grasp for you?" She levels the poker she was stoking the fireplace with at my eye with a sneer. "Perhaps I should end this now, to put you out of your misery."
I pinch the bridge of my nose in irritation. "Princess, if you fight to the death and lose, what happens?"
"You die, fool."
"Right. And then?"
"And then you are buried with the rest of your idiot ancestors."
"Right. So, if you lose a fight to the death with your suitor, how would you then live a life with him, if you are dead?"
She hesitates for a moment, before coming back with a snappy answer. "Well... if I were going to be killed, then the fight would be ended, you foolish man."
"So then he wouldn't have won."
"What?"
"By law, you only win a fight to the death when your opponent is dead. Your opponent cannot forfeit. If you accept a forfeiture, you are executed as a coward. So how do you expect to marry a man that has either killed you, or been executed for sparing you?"
"Uh..." She finally lowers the poker, and I release a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. "I just assumed... that the rules would not apply to me. After all, I am royalty..."
"Then it wouldn't be a real fight to the death, would it?"
"No... No, I suppose it would not."
"So? What will you do now?"
She stares at me for a moment, as if contemplating something. "I suppose I will follow a... different human tradition." The dragon princess stands, her wings twitching restlessly as she stretches. "The 'shotgun wedding'."
"Wait, what?"
And that's how I went from taking a nap in a field, to being kidnapped by the head of a local family of dragons with a human- obsessed daughter, to being married to a dragon, all within one day.
No, I don't understand it, either.
|
So it had come to this. She pulled out her sword and I knew there was only one way I could win.
See, I'm not a swordfighter, or an expert of precision with any kind of weapon. I can really only wield two weapons to any deadly effect.
First up, the most versatile farming tool on Earth - the machete. I carry one with a stainless-steel blade as often as I can, and it's come in handy many times. I've won many a-fight with it. But it isn't a great weapon against even a novice swordfighter, much less the best in the land. This means I'm going to have to rely on the only ranged weapon I know how to use.
Grenades.
Just... lots of grenades, doesn't matter which kind. Out of a standalone or rifle-mounted launcher, rocket propelled (didn't have any of these, unfortunately), or just plain hand grenades. I *know* grenades.
Expecting a dramatic fight, I calculated that I needed to stand between 10 and 15 feet away from her at all times, so I readied my first explosive: A classic M26 hand grenade, manufactured in 1961 as Vietnam was ramping up.
But that dramatic fight I was expecting, I did not get, for she made the mistake of wearing a light jacket with pockets, and I threw the live grenade into a front pocket. She dropped the sword and fumbled with the coat, getting it off just before it ceremoniously exploded. She tried to reclaim her weapon, but I had her at machete-point by them and she simply surrendered.
&#x200B;
And that, kids, is how I proposed to your mother.
| 2020-09-20T21:30:42
| 2020-09-20T19:37:35
| 127
| 72
|
[WP] In the Demon Hunters Academy you are known as the very best professor, 80 years old but still in your prime, but you're secretly a demon, and the academy recently got some new demonic detectors, and as opposed to the old ones, these actually work. you can only avoid the main hall for so long.
|
Steeling myself, I pushed open the doors to the main hall.
"Laramie? Laramie Jones, is that you? What are you doing here? Haven't come back for a remedial lecture, I hope."
I grinned broadly as I strode up to the man by the machine.
"Oh, Professor Cortwald! No, I'm just here installing the new detectors the academy ordered. Just putting on the finishing touches."
"Excellent, excellent. Say, mind if I take a peek?"
"Oh, sure thing, Professor, I was just about to put the cover on, but I can wait a few minutes if you want." Laramie stepped away from the side of the machine and invited me to take a look.
"Splendid, splendid! Now, what have we here..." I peered into the machine.
"... Oh, what's this? Say, Laramie, it looks like you've added a bit too much mercury here."
"Really? I could have sworn that I put the right amount..."
"No, no, this is way too much!" I waved my hand in front of the detector, causing it to flash red. "See, Laramie? Far too sensitive."
I saw the color drain from Laramie's face. "Oh no, Professor, this is bad! What am I going to do? I'm going to have to take the whole thing apart and send it back for repairs! My boss is going to be furious..."
"Relax, my boy." I clapped Laramie on the shoulder. "Here, let me teach you a little trick. When you've added a bit too much mercury, all you have to do to balance it out is add some antimony."
I took a small bottle from my coat pocket and poured it into the machine. Waving my hand in front of the machine again, I saw the light flash green. "There, that seems to have fixed it."
"T-thank you, Professor!"
|
Bea stood from her desk and stretched. Ever since Demon Hunters gained those blasted new detectors she’s had to climb in and out through the windows and occasionally, the vents. Which was no fun when your 4567 years old. Bea opened up the window to commence the climb down under the cover of night when the door swung open. “I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!” A voice whisper hissed. It was the new receptionist, Sam. Bea felt a small pang of fear, but didn’t let it ruin her composure. “Huh?” She said, “I’m a human, just like you!” Sam stalked over and scoffed. “Bull. Shit.” She said, stabbing her finger in Bea’s chest on each world. “Your a demon, I saw you on camera!” Bea almost gave a shocked look before catching herself. She gave a nervous laugh. “Haha, no, no, nonono. No. You see I was....” Her eyed landed on the disguise diagram near the door. “I was testing out a new potion! One that disguises you as a demon!” Sam visibly relaxed. “You are?” Bea nodded. “Yes! Yes. Come closer to the window, I’ll show you how it works.” Sam’s face brightened but she hesitates. “Wait... If it’s just a disguise, why are you climbing out the window?”
“Well I wouldn’t want to cause any unnecessary panic now would I?” Sam nodded, “yeah, I guess that makes sense.” She walked over to the window, “Alright to how does it wo-“ She was then thrown out the window before the sentence could be finished. Her body fell to the ground with a splat. “A shame really, such a waste of a pretty face.”
| 2020-07-02T20:51:40
| 2020-07-02T20:15:21
| 137
| 50
|
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts.
As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me.
Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page.
Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy.
To another page.
Pride. Overcoming. Achievement.
Another.
Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion.
I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page.
Emptiness. Stillness.
This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes.
I turned ahead.
There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness.
I flipped to around the halfway mark.
She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it.
I turned several pages more.
Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy.
She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good.
It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...?
I could at least help.
I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to.
Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room.
The world needs Her.
And I was unborn, She in my place.
|
I sat at the desk dumb-founded.
“You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?”
The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there.
I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands.
Every decision.
There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died.
I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else.
It was just me.
I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true.
When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind.
On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get.
We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California.
It was a mistake.
We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work.
The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him.
He found it.
My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine.
“Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.”
“Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face.
I have never felt more guilt.
Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted.
“I’m leaving.” I had blurted.
Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?”
“I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.”
At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out.
Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing.
I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350).
I turned to page 150.
Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
| 2018-07-03T23:38:29
| 2018-07-03T22:39:59
| 138
| 92
|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear Luis Miguel,
It's been 4 years since you've passed. Things have gotten better from the old years. The kids are older, my house is different, I actually have cats again.
I found some of your old photos. Back in the day when the camera had only megabytes instead on gigabytes. I found a nice one where you were sunbathing in front of the large glass doors leading to the outside world. You were always an outdoors type.
These cats are different than you. You snuggled in my arms, rested your head on my collarbone, your wet nose on my chin. You would lay right on top of my back over looking my room.
You began wasting away and my heart stopped. I wish I could have done more but your kidneys were shot. It was a death sentence.
My husband dreamt of you before that day. "Please take care of her for me." I'd like to believe you communicated before you passed. It made things easier.
You brought me joy in a tough world, gave me peace in a harsh home, loved me in my loveless times. I wished to grow older with you but it never came to pass. The pain has dulled and, I may have other pets to keep me company but you were the first. You were my jewel.
We shall meet again across the rainbow bridge
Love, Your Equal
|
Dear Melody,
It's been a year.
I guess I know why you didn't call me. It's not like I bothered to keep in touch. Not like we stayed close. Besides, I'm pretty sure I was kind of a jerk to you when we were still talking.
I miss you. I wasn't really expecting to, I hadn't thought about you for a long time. I don't even really remember the last time I saw you.
But couldn't you have called Kyle or James or anyone? Or even what's his name, your boyfriend who I really don't like?
He calls you his angel. He says he was planning to propose. I don't think he really knew you. Either that or he's why you left. Doesn't really matter. You're gone now.
I know this is silly. I feel silly writing this. I'm going to burn this anyways and hope it gets to you somehow.
Hope sounds better than pretend.
I miss you. And I'm sorry.
| 2017-11-05T19:02:08
| 2017-11-05T18:20:52
| 516
| 157
|
[WP] No one else knows but we’ve been in an extremely realistic RPG all our lives. You seem weird to everyone because you’re always trying to “max your stats” and “defeat the final boss”
|
"I just don't get how you do it, man." Another quarter over, and the broken record skips back to this.
Michelle worked harder than any other person I've met. She put in more hours than anyone else in this place, got in earlier, stayed later, and she got the results. The lowest I've ever seen her figures come in was 112.7% above quota.
The lowest I'd seen mine was 243.1%.
"Number one again, and I barely ever even see you here. You've gotta be putting in time at home, right?"
"Nope. Gym for 45 minutes after work, then home to make the dinner."
Michelle takes a bite from her prepackaged sandwich. She doesn't eat a lot, but she eats shit, and it shows on her portly frame.
"But where do you even find the time?"
"I don't. I make it. One second." My alarm interrupts me. It's 10am; time for a snack. I pull out a small ziplock bag, filled with 50g raspberries, and 50g mixed nuts. I quickly refuel, then carry on, interrupting Michelle's default excuses.
"It's simple, Mich. I wake up at 6, having got 8 hours of good quality sleep. This ensures I'm well-rested for the coming day. By 6:30, I've finished my morning exercises, and I prep my day. I book out every second between 9am and 3pm in 10 minute slots. I make breakfast for myself and my family, and at 7:45 I take the kids to school. If I leave at 7:50, I align with other parents, and get caught in traffic. I tested this, and I determined the best route to minimise drive time."
Michelle rolls her eyes. "And what? You just plan and measure everything, do it exactly to plan, and it all miraculously follows the plan?"
"Pah! I wish. No, most things don't go to plan. But I refuse to allow those situations to desync my routine. I factor in firefighting into the next day's plan."
People often feel that I'm a little wooden, and I understand their position. I'm very clinical in the execution of my routine, and tend not to waste time socialising or sugarcoating. It's made me something of an outcast, but my results have made me something of a legend regardless.
"Anyway, I have a call booked in two minutes. See you at lunch."
I walk away, ignoring Michelle's disapproving expression.
These conversations come up all the time. I do the same thing every day, and have perfected my routine over the years. There is not a second wasted, and people find my life alien and mysterious. I am constantly accused of good fortune, good genes, good leads.
I am successful because I work to plan. I am healthy, because I eat and exercise to plan. I am happy, because I make the time to love my family, and am loved in return. All to plan.
My wife is not like me, so I always prep spontaneity. Every week, I do something "out of the blue". My kids love how much time I spend with them. My friends respect the fact that I make time for them, too.
My boss hates how little time I spend in the office. His boss hates the fact that I keep rejecting promotions. They don't understand. A more senior position would require a greater time investment, and the personal cost of that would not be worth the financial benefits.
I will only review my routine when I get to level 65. Currently, all this is prepping for the final hurdle. I've spent the past 45 levels developing foundations. At 65, I can build on those foundations, and will dedicate the next 35 levels or so to mastering as many skills as possible. I don't know what form the challenges will take, but I am certain that Death won't know what hit him.
|
"Roy, what in god's name are you up this late for?"
"Leave me alone 'Mother' I need to grind out more constitution if I want to make it on the basketball team this year."
It was 1:00 am. I had crafted my own lunch and dinner to optimally improve my CON gains. Not only that, I had went out and gotten an energy drink and a sports drink. The drinks put a +4 on my sugar intake bar which if maxxed out triggered the 'Obesity' debuff. However, it reduced my fatigue gains meaning I had longer to grind out more CON.
*Dudu-du-du duduruuuu~*
With that jingle, I knew I had reached the next tier of CON. I could meet the stat check tomorrow. With that, I was on track to completing 'The Rose-colored High School Life' Questline.
--part two--
"Oh my god. Oh my god. My heart is racing at like a bajillion bpm..."
"Calm down, Wesley. You're going to be fine."
"How can you be sure, Roy? I'm not like you! I'm not some fount spewing confidence like I had the equation to life, okay?"
"I mean, when have I been wrong?"
"AP History. Last Semester. The Second Test!"
Oh yeah... he rolled three Ones during the exam. I've literally never seen anyone roll so horribly in my life before.
"Wesley. That was **one** test. Trust me. You've got this."
I hadn't worked on my Parley in awhile, so my smile came off as haughty. But, it did the job with a commendable *14*.
"Whew. Okay, you're right. Stats don't lie."
Wesley had the 'Nervous' trait. It meant that he would roll badly in high pressure moments, but it made him also over-prepare.
--part three--
*Math Test Cleared!*
As I walked out of the classroom with Wesley, I could hear my score tick up and up.
*DingDingDing-ding... ding... ding. Bang!*
**New High Score!**
Nice! I had beaten my previous test scores meaning I got at least a 95.
"I... I think I aced it."
"See, what did I tell ya."
Wesley rolled better than he usually did too. Meaning, he did just as good if not better than me.
Up next: PE.
We walked down the hall and took a left to exit the building. It was blindingly bright outside almost summer break. I squinted and kept walking when-
Bam!
*Random Encounter!*
I had accidentally bumped into somebody.
"Sorry... I didn't watch where I was going..."
"Watch it!"
Judging from the letter jacket and voice, it was Abdul. With baseline DEXterity and CON as high as his, it was no wonder he was on varsity football. But with literally zero diplomacy, I couldn't help but be a bit pissed off.
*Nyeerooo nyeerooo nyeeroo*
Shit! My reputation bar just took a hit. I was going to have to increase my Parley, otherwise I'm going to trigger 'Nasty Rumors.'
| 2018-06-10T11:02:48
| 2018-06-10T10:44:01
| 1,903
| 422
|
[WP] Some assassins are paid extra to make deaths look accidental. Your job is the opposite. You're hired for those rare instances in which accidental or natural deaths need to appear as if they were murders.
|
How do you make an idea last? Make it really grow roots into the minds of men, when such minds are fickle and rarely capable of grasping any idea fully? You make them follow a symbol. Someone who can speak the words to them and make the words and indeed the very idea a part of their soul, if only for a brief moment. But how do you prevent the rot? Keep the sickly force of corruption that follows all those who gain followers? How you keep the errors of their past from tainting the movements that will change the world? The answer is that it is completely impossible to do this. What do you do then, when their vices catches up to them, and they die with indignity and dishonour?
That's where I step in.
You've heard of assassins who can walk into a crowd and escape while making the deaths they have caused looked like nothing more than a mere accident. In a sense, I do the exact opposite. When a political leader has had an overdose, or an important artist has fallen down and broken their neck, or if somebody became embarrassingly dead, they call for me.
I can make any death seem like a murder. Leave it to me. Actor died of auto-erotic asphyxiation? I make it seem like a mob hit, make the actor a hero for not allowing the mob to influence the arts. Proud and rich man pays me to ensure that his death will be mysterious and spoken about, when he is dying from some sort of embarrassing disease picked up from an overuse of exotic courtesans? I make it seem like an anarchist plot as I blow up his sick bed. Vain model dead because she refused to get medicine which would have given her acne? Make it seem like a poison job by a jealous rival.
Why? Because you need drama. If you die a stupid death, your star dimishes. Many live grand lives, but fear mundane deaths. So they bring me in. Make it seem like their deaths were as glamorous as their lives. Sometimes even more. It isn't easy. I make sure that there are untraceable but clear signs of intruders in the house. Untraceable hair bought directly from beggars in Central Asia, which police in the states won't be able to identify. Clear signs of a struggle. Perhaps even some blood here and there. Or perhaps make it so the overdose taken seems forced upon them, that one is always a good one for people to argue over.
Some might ask what if rigor mortis has set in, what if it seems that the body might have been dead for hours or days before they got injured? Easy. I am an able chemist, and a wizard with the human body. With the right knowledge of the human body, the right chemicals, the right way of doing things, I can make any corpse seem like it was killed by its post-mortem wounds. I can't work on corpses older than three days, unless they've been frozen. But I can make any corpse that falls into that criteria, seem as if it has died from the evil will of its detractors, turning it from a case of pity and scorn, into a story of determination and bravery.
And today, oh today I have a masterpiece on my hands. The Vice President is dead, and I have to make it look like a brutal murder. As I work, I can say that I am positively giddy. Because I have to make it look like it was the president who did it. The greatest story told via a murder that never happened. He just had a stroke. The face is the first I correct, make it look betrayed and scared. The wounds come next. Strangling around the neck, leaving bruises, after the VP fought off the president in this story written with an exquisite corpse. A knife wound in the arm, with the VP's own blood re-liquefied from its dried form, following out naturally. A few slashes across the stomach. Finally, the braindamage, partially to keep the stroke hidden, partially to show the brutality of this murder. I know how to be quiet and secretive, so I already have hair from the president. Already have his fingerprints on the murder weapon. It has been deposited in his private quarters.
When I am done, I have to take a step back. The perfect fake murder. Indistinguishable from the real thing. And my biggest job yet. Cults who don't want the sheep to know that the guru was a filthy bastard, companies that don't want their image tarnished from the actions of their CEO at the time of their death, rich families covering up their screw-up members when they inevitably jump into that early grave. They've been nothing compared to the scope of this day. This'll go down in history. When the president tries to flee in his helicopter, there will also be a subtle error in the engine, causing him to crash and burn. The work of my esteemed counterparts, who make deaths seem like accidents.
I walk out and blend in with the crowd as a noticeable person but not a particularly suspicious one, in contrast to my counterparts who are good at being unnoticeable, but seem very shady wherever they go. Everyone puts me down as looking like a noticeable, but harmless goof. I hear the police sirens, I hear the press talking about the rumour. I see the helicopter fly away and then crash down into the National Mall.
Perfection is my art. Everyone will always agree that you must have been murdered when I am done with your corpse.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
My job title is crime scene creator, I bet you're wondering how I came into this role?
Unfortunate circumstances really, my step mother was a narcissist, she relied on my father's money, and verbally beat him down constantly.
She needed to go, and I was willing to do whatever it would take.
The decision was made, I set up sound recorders and hidden cameras about the house, the evidence started rolling in.
"He only gave me £1000 spending money this month, I could murder that useless fool, I don't know why I married him" shrieking away in confidence.
"You know I'll be so much better off without you, and then I can but whatever I want"
The smirk I grew as I watched this evidence was almost frightening.
One morning I begin to bag up the evidence, thinking I'll send it to the police claiming she's abusive and wants my father dead, but it seems nature was in my favour, my step mother shrieked, but it wasn't in the usual tone so I ran towards her, to find my father who appeared to have peacefully passed away during the night.
You could see the money signs glowing in my step mums eyes, and I could see my life falling away from me, and that's when the lightbulb went off within me.
"Dear sweet Cynthia" I said sympathetically to my step mum. "Why don't you go across the road to Mary's house, calm down and perhaps start planning the funeral".
And just like that she went, she couldn't resist a gossip, especially the ones where she could brag.
I wasted no time, I had a particular interest in crime and murder stories, so my brain knew how to work quickly, I found some strong painkillers in the cupboard, ground them down and mixed them into liquid, then fed a tube down my father's throat, I poured the liquid in to his stomach. The amount of networth we had, they wouldn't refuse a post mortem examination. I noted some hairs from my step mum in the pillow, and carefully inserted them into my father's nose.
Now the trap was set, I called the police
"My father is dead, and I'm so worried, my step mum was always saying she would kill him".
*Some days after his death*
The police violently hit against our door, Cynthia answered, and was immediately arrested
I barely shut the front door, before there was another knock, a very well dressed man. He handed me a thick A4 envelope, and a business card that had just a phone number.
My eyes widened as I read it's contents, I had underestimated the skills of the elites of the world, I had my every move watched and they thought my skills were good enough to fix crime scenes full time.
It's been 20 years in this job now and dressing my father's death as a murder was the best decision of my life.
EDIT: thank you for the responses. I tried to fix grammar so apologies if it's still wrong!
Formatting on my phone didn't work, so speech has bunched together instead of being on seperate lines! I also don't mind if you point out other grammar mistakes.
| 2020-07-20T14:55:28
| 2020-07-20T14:26:08
| 2,020
| 192
|
[WP] Scandinavians still believe the only way to get to Valhalla is to die in battle. For that reason, every hospital employs a Battle Nurse.
|
The wheelchair clacked forward, it's valiant charged marred only by its pitiful speed as Mr Ericsson painstakingly wheeled it onward, one armed and breathless. The sword on his lap was polished and shining, reflecting the red afternoon sun as it passed every window.
Thinking back, it was lucky the accident hadn't killed him outright, that he could take this final charge at all. It had come so fast, he'd been on his bike when the car sped through the corner and knocked him off the cliff, suddenly he'd landed on a rocky outcropping, broke both his legs, an arm and pierced his lungs in three places a piece.
The nervous orderly, clad in the regulation nursing plate armour began to take aim at the battered, bruised and breathless man dressed in bandages and and a hospital gown wheeling himself to glory. A bout of misplaced conscience later and she'd lowered the gun once more, her quarry hadn't passed even halfway through the dueling Hall.
This cripples tiring charge was long and arduous, the hall was only the length of a bus, but it was far from short to the disabled man, his heart was racing, pounding harder than it ever had.
His prognosis was worse than just the damage from the fall, the x-ray had revealed cancer, spread already through to the liver, left lung and brain, they said it was too late, the tumor in the back of his mind would kill him all the same should they heal his other wounds. His charge was coming to an end, just barely in range for the very tip of his sword to scratch the nurses plate steel, as he lifted it he saw the barrel of the rifle trained on him, a cruel circle of metal surrounding a horrifying black void, suddenly terrified a pain in his chest rang out, the sword dropped from his hand to the floor.
The nurse was dumbfounded, removing her medic-bascinet as the orderly ran into the hall, her weapon had not been fired, the man had slumped over in his chair and stopped breathing, as the orderly checked for a pulse, for breathing and found none the nurse turned on the underslung torch on her rifle, and checked for pupil dilation, the man had died, a heart attack before his first swing had ended the fight before he could try to win his glory "does that count? The orderly asked the nurse as the nurse still stared in disbelief "Well, does it?" she repeated to no answer.
The gates of valhalla where so close. As the click-clack of the old wheelchair wheeled slowly up to the foot of the many stairs to the great hall Mr Ericsson sighed, one of its bearded guards spotted him and shouted to him in some unknown tongue, and again to no avail. The giant of a man sauntered down the long stairs in his own time, his gambeson decorated with ornate stitchings, a large tree a snake and a half dozen horns of mead, his golden beard swaying in the warm breeze.
The guard had repeated what he had been shouting, but seeing the confused look on the man in front of him switched language "sorry, old habits, you don't need to worry about that small chariot, your ills are healed"
"So, your last battle, how many did you take with you?!" Ericsson was a poor liar, "t-twelve?" he nervously said as he stood up to the grinning guard as he began to speak again"we saw the whole thing, don't you worry, its the charge that counts, and you charged longer than most would!"
The viking pointed at the other guard at the top of the stairs as they climbed "that man was known as Bjorn Arrowcatcher, he was know for going raiding without a shield, relying on his own hand to bat away arrows, he died whilst swimming back to shore after his fishing boat had sprung a leak, if he'd seen it as a fools errand like a coward he'd be in Hel right now"
The viking stopped and grabbed his new drinking buddy on the stairs, turning him so they faced eachother "it was never about being cut down by some angry bastard, its about the bravery and tenacity to keep going"
|
Godmorgon Göran Svensson, My voice flutter in perfect Swedish. As your terminal and marked in our records as a Asa believer, I am here to help you prepare your self the battle. Göran scoffed, give me a battle with a Dane and I shall be happy. I smiled, that exact feeling the animosity between Swedes and Danes was why it was so easy. We built our House of valour down in Skåne in Malmö the countrys third largest town. Our danish counter parts built there as a Anex to the Rigshospitalet in its capital.
So our fighters was literally living only stone throw away from each other. The place for the battle royal was also perfect.
Peppar holmen. The artificial island between our two countries. Where the bridge become a tunnel.
We built two side tracks to the island filled it with cameras and a announcement tower. As a side effect the amount of traffic across the toll bridge have jumped by over 1000%. If you want to see the battlefield this is the best way to see it.
But enough of the battlefield, I leaned over Göran and said, vilket vapen vill du ha?( do you got any weapon preferences?)
He became red faced and yelled I supply my own spear, shield, sword and chain mail thank you. I nodded while marking the box on the paper. So in three days you will be taken to the island, it is no shame of standing tall as a winner for Sweden. You will get more Danes to slaughter. Remember fight well, die well and The Valkyrie will come and bring you to Valhalla.
Three days later I was watching the monitors as Göran was strapping on his armor, heavily breathing looking pale in the face. He stepped on to the Valhalla train looking around him he saw his likes men of age painted in blue and yellow battle colors ready them self for battle. And elderly man he know was sobbing in a corner. Göran askes Arvid, vad felas dig?(what troubles you?). I’m incontinent, do you think they still will fetch me or am I doomed to go to Hel? I smirked that was the most common question I hear. Train came to a stop doors open the Swedish combatants stepped up on the platform yelling there name. Then the Danish train came in and there combatants entered doing the same on the red and white platform. Then the mayhem started, all on prime tv and to the cheering of the crowed.
| 2018-12-08T22:56:08
| 2018-12-08T22:48:36
| 41
| 22
|
[WP] "Daddy are angels and demons the same thing?" Your daughter cries. "That depends, why do you ask, honey?" you inquire. "They come every night. Both have too long fingers, jagged teeth, and wheels within wheels within wheels for eyes. They keep asking me to choose."
|
[Audio version](https://youtu.be/xIvIreMKC-g) by u/blu_ski !!
*
“Dad,” Thea asked as I pulled the blanket up around her chin, “are angels and demons the same thing?”
I blinked. Rachel and I hadn’t raised any of our kids to be religious, but we’d gotten them baptized, mostly to ward off my mother’s nagging. “Why are you thinking about this?”
Thea shrugged, her curls spilling over her pillow.
“Are you thinking about Liam’s baptism?” Our youngest had been nearly baptized nearly two months ago now, but if I was learning anything about kids, it was that ideas tended to stick. Plus, Thea had just started grade 4. Who knew what the kids had been talking about.
Again, Thea shrugged. “I think that’s when it started.” She picked at a thread on her blanket and didn’t meet my eyes.
“We’re gonna go see Grandma Cara on Monday, okay? If you have questions, you can ask her then too.” Mentally, I swore. The last thing I needed was giving Mom a reason to say ‘I told you so’.
Thea nodded, though. That was an acceptable answer for her. “They never bother me around Grandma.”
My heart froze; it beat out of rhythm once, then twice, then jolted again. “What?”
Thea pulled her blanket around her shoulder, grabbed her stuffed dolphin, and rolled to face her wall. “They come see me sometimes. I can’t tell them apart--they both have long fingers and wheels for eyes.”
“Wheels for eyes?”
“Da-ad.” She huffed. “Like in Coraline. But not with buttons, with wheels.”
“Oh. Right.” I leaned in and hugged her. I hoped she didn’t notice that I was shaking, that my skin was cool and clammy. “I’m your silly old dad. You need to explain things to me sometimes.”
“Da-ad,” she whined again, but a hint of a giggle escaped from underneath.
“Goodnight sweetheart,” I said and planted a kiss on her temple. I swallowed, my throat thick with phlegm.
My head span as I walked across the room. She was just making it up, right? I’d seen those reddit threads--kids said weird shit sometimes.
But as my hand curled around the doorknob, Thea spoke again. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What should I do when they ask me to choose?”
A jolt of electricity arcked down my spine. My limbs felt numb and heavy and useless. Still, I tried to keep my face impassive. “You don’t need to tell people anything, Thea. Remember what we talked about? You never have to answer questions that make you uncomfortable or tell people more than you want to.”
Thea sat in her bed and stared for a moment, the way she always did when she was thinking. “Okay,” she finally said. She grabbed Dori the Dolphin, held her close to her chest, and laid down again. I guess my answer was enough.
But as I closed her door behind me, I couldn’t help but thinking how completely *wrong* I was. Had my parents always had this much doubt? I’d thought they knew what they were doing. Maybe that’s part of being a parent--faking it. Thea was our oldest; there were things I was still learning.
So I sat down at the kitchen table in front of the bowl of fruit. That was odd--I’d bought them just a few days ago. But the apples were black; the bananas were brown and spotted.
I shook my head and pulled out my phone and punched in a familiar number. It only rang once.
“Hello?”
“Hey, mom.”
“Oh Tom! Jack, it’s Tom,” I heard her say away from the phone to my dad, who was undoubtedly watching some sports match and probably didn’t care that I called. We lived in the same city, after all, only 20 minutes away from each other.
“Tom, did I tell you the story about Lydia at the end of the street? Husband passed not a month ago and she’s already had a gentleman caller--”
“That’s great Mom,” I said, “but I actually had a question for you.”
“Of course.”
“Um, could you maybe talk to Thea about religion a bit? She’s had some questions lately. I don’t know how to answer them.”
Mom was uncharacteristically quiet on the other end of the line. “Questions?”
“Yeah.”
“About God?”
“Well, about angels and demons, but yeah.” I breathed out. I’d be fine. Mom could help with this.
“Tom.” My Mom’s voice was still like water. “Has she said anything about what they look like?”
My brain slowed--I couldn’t catch up with her question. “Yeah--I mean, a little. Why?”
“Fuck.”
That word made my heart drop into the pit in my gut. My mother *never* swore. The one time I’d heard her swear as a kid, she’d dragged us both to confession afterward. And there was nothing worse than being twelve and sitting in front of Father Michael being told to confess your sins or parish.
“Mom?”
“I’m coming now,” she said. “I’m calling Father Michael too. He'll bring holy water.”
“Mom?”
"Jack?" Her voice was distant, clearly calling to Dad. "Have you seen my sword?"
"Mom. What's going on?"
“Sorry, sorry. Tom. I hoped we had more time--she’s still young. Fuck.”
“Mom?” My hand was pins and needles. I didn’t know how I was still holding my phone. “What do you mean?”
“Thomas John Malone,” Mom said in her best ‘do not mess with me’ voice. “I am on my way. We’ll fix this. But until I get there, for the love of God, do *not* leave Thea alone.”
---
r/liswrites
**EDIT** Y’all... I’m blown away by the response to this!! You’re all amazing. Unfortunately, I don’t think I have a part 2 in me for this one. But feel free to imagine a family tree of demon fighting women :)
I am working on another multi part story though if you want to check it out [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/LisWrites/comments/j5oju2/the_ace_of_cups_prolouge/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
|
“There is a limit to what the human mind can comprehend”. The old, old priest leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling “We are only mortal and cannot process the raw amount of information put out by celestial or evil spirits, and our brain attempts to substitute them for another image. Now in most cases Demons have been described as what your daughter has been describing, while Angelic spirits are often mistaken for the grim reaper. And often stand at the furthest corner of the room. He grunts and tries to stand up “I will make the necessary alterations to your daughters room so that she can see more clearly tonight”.
“How much will that cost?”
“Absolutely nothing!” He laughs “I do not charge to protect a child of God from the evils of hell! I am paid all I need to buy my meals and pay my bills by the Parish. I shall arrive at your house around four this evening and shall leave by around four thirty, are you catholic?”
“No sir, my wife is an atheist and I just look at God as something other”.
“It would be wise then, to tell your wife to pray. Demons start to look for new targets when rejected”.
Amy was laying in her bed, reciting the prayer the priest. Father Maximilian Fields, has given her.
“Saint Michal, the archangel, defend us in battle”.
“They have resorted to holy artifacts”. Hissed an evil voice. The forms that had tormented her appearing. She started shaking in terror as they chanted “choose, choose, choose”. Behind them in the furthest corner of the room a figure clad in a dark cloak and hood stood, motionless “I CHOOSE THE ONE IN THE CORNER!” She screamed pointing to the apportion, the two terrors hissed in venomous hatred and one started to reach out towards Amy, only to screech and pull back when he came within the circle of Holy Salt surrounding the bed. The dark figure began to move, and the demons cowered before it. Eventually the two demons disappeared completely and the dark figure was next to Amy’s bed “well chosen” it spoke in a calming and placid voice “I am Malchezidech, your Guardian angel. This is the last time you Will ever see me, but know I am always with you, you are important Amy, a Great War is coming. And you will be leading it”.
For a brief moment Amy saw the angel as it was, an awe inspiring maelstrom of rings, eyes, and wings. It spoke again “I will always be with you”. Then vanished.
In his small room Father Fields finished his rosary and smiled. The child and her family were now safe. They would be coming after him, thankfully. He had Michal to look after him “we should prepare” he said gathering his exorcism materials “they will be here soon”.
Well now I can say I’ve gotten a reddit gold :D thanks!
| 2020-10-31T07:21:08
| 2020-10-31T07:18:29
| 3,393
| 565
|
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
Detective Holland stood at the courthouse doors, watching the man walk away. The group of reporters who had been waiting outside of the building had mobbed him the moment the doors had opened, cameras flashing. The man pushed through them with some difficulty, making his way to the street. Holland watched him intently. He seemed so relaxed, just as he had in the courtroom. His shoulders were back, his head was held high. He seemed so confident of himself. It was not the normal behavior of a man who had only moments before scraped his way to innocence in a trial for murder.
“I can’t believe they let him walk away,” Detective McNeil said, shaking his head. “All because of a bit of blood.”
“They say the blood never lies, McNeil.” Holland answered.
“They say a lot of things.” McNeil grumbled. “They say a lot of things that aren’t always true.” The man was beginning to struggle making his way through the crowd. An officer who had been waiting for the man in a patrol car on the side of the street stepped out and began to make his way to the reporters.
“Nothing in this world is inherently true.” Holland said after a moment, never taking her eyes off of the man.
“What do we do now?” McNeil asked. “We know he did it, but they just let him walk free. Even with all the evidence! Christ, Holland, the officers walked in on that man standing over his wife’s dead body and his prints were all over the knife. There was no sign of a break in. No one else had visited the home that day. He barely even had an alibi! And even then...”
“His blood was white as milk.” Holland interjected. “The only humans to have such pure blood are babies, and they do not stay that way for long.”
“That shouldn’t have been enough to let a murderer walk free.” McNeil said. The officer had pushed his way into the crowd and was forcefully clearing a path for the man to walk. Holland watched.
“His mother-in-law called him a monster,” she said. “The jury seemed to agree. Yet when the blood was brought out, the tune they sang changed quickly. I even heard someone call him a saint.”
The reporters were becoming more desperate to get answers from the man as he drew closer to the patrol car. They began to squeeze even tighter, trying to halt the progress made by the officer. The officer began to get heated and started shoving the reporters back.
“Yeah, I have some problems with that too.” McNeil said. “What kind of man goes his whole life without ever doing anything wrong? It’s unnatural. It’s downright bullshit.”
Despite the officer’s intense physical protest the reporters only pressed harder. Holland saw the exact moment that the officer lost his temper. His entire body tightened extraordinarily and a moment later he had thrown one of the reporters to the ground. The man did not flinch.
“What do you think causes the blood to change?” Holland asked.
“What’re you asking me for? You know damn well why it changes.” McNeil snorted. “Everyone’s blood gets darker for every wrong committed. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“Yes.” Holland said. Another reporter stepped on top of the fallen one, trying to get closer to the man. No one in the crowd paid any attention to the pained cries of the man beneath their feet. “The blood darkens when we commit a wrong.” The officer pulled out a truncheon and slammed it into the head of a cameraman, sending him sprawling. “We all commit wrongs constantly, purposeful or not. We are all taught this since birth.” Another reporter tumbled to the ground and suddenly they had arrived at the patrol car. The officer opened the door and the man calmly slipped into the backseat, ignoring everyone around him. “We are all taught what is right and what is wrong. It has been drilled into our heads all our lives.”
“What’s your point?” McNeil asked.
“Only a saint has blood that white, is that not what they said?” Holland said. “Only a saint...”
The officer got into the front seat of the car and began to pull away from the sidewalk. The reporters chased after it for a moment, leaving their fallen comrade to stumble to his feet behind them, right arm hanging limply.
“Or...” she said, watching the car gain speed as it drove away from the courthouse. “Or someone who never believed what he did was wrong.”
The car disappeared around the street corner.
|
Milenia ago, they said that the caretaker of the Underworld – Anubis – would weigh the hearts of the recently deceased against the Feather of Truth, and those poor souls whose hears were founding wanting – weighing more than the magical feather – would be cast away from the afterlife. Into complete and utter oblivion.
Now, of course, we know better. There is no magic in the world that can make a feather lighter than a human heart, but there is one small, tiny piece of magic and Ritual that is permanently affixed to us, as a species. There's always the Blood. The Blood, which grows darker and redder every time we commit an act of Evil. Every time a sin weighs heavy on our soul. There's no time limit, of course, so there's at least a little pink in practically everybody's blood. We all lie as children. Some of us steal a trinket or two. Phlebotomists, of course, gossip about the blood pulled from their patients, they whisper amongst themselves when it's that deep, cherry red. They gasp in awe when they pull a vial that's practically luminescent except for a thin band of pink, dancing within, a glass figurine made of regret. It's all confidential, of course. Record sealed and expunged. The tint of your blood is erased from the history books – and often times never written down. There's privacy laws, now. The blood you might have transfused into you always delivered in that same opaque black bag.
Not that it matters. Your heart always knows, it seems. Within days, the colour stabilizes, bringing you back to your natural self. Your true hue.
When I first met Cassandra – well, two or three dates in, come to think of it – her blood was that soft strawberry pink. Like a good milkshake. We were good and drunk and we figured why the hell not. Mine, of course, pulsed angry and rose-red. It was so stupid of me to agree to this, but she took my arm and she kissed the blood welling at my wrist away and told me it was stupid, really. She didn't care. We all make mistakes, and mine must just… weigh heavier on my shoulders.
I still don't know why we stayed together. I'll never know why she said yes when I asked her to marry me. She said I helped her feel free. Knowing my true hue was the rosy red. That she could relax, and be herself. We were married for half a decade, and it was happy. We'd never actually had kids (though, Gods know we tried), but life was good, and money was coming in, and it was just her and me, and we would spend long hours curling up next to each other with a good book and a cup of hot coffee. She would kick my ass ten ways to Sunday in whatever the newest fighting game was.
One night, when I had been working late (There was an accident. Third and Snow. All hands were on deck. We were able to save… not enough. Not enough, but most.), I came home sometime around four – maybe five in the morning. Groggy. Exhausted. I found her washing the dishes, and I snuck up behind her, bumping into her as her soapy hand slid over a knife's business edge. I must have bumped her or surprised her. She yelped an ouch and jumped what felt like three feet, quickly jamming her index finger in her mouth to staunch the bleeding. I saw it anyway, though. Along the killing edge of the knife, it will be there, burned into my memories forever. Blood so black it drank the light in around it.
“Oh, shit,” I managed to mumble out, my brain not yet catching on to what I'd done. What I'd seen. “Let me take care of that,”
“No worries,” she assured me, turning around and throwing her unsliced hand around my shoulders with a strong hug and a lightning-quick peck on the lips. “It's just a scratch. You must be exhausted. Go to bed.”
And I did.
For weeks, that night-black blood haunted my dreams. Every time we moved to embrace, or she went to kiss me – Hells, eventually, every time I so much as thought of touching her, I couldn't. I could only think of that liquid sin coursing just under her skin.
Eventually, I slept on the couch. Telling her whenever she asked me to come back to bed that I thought we needed a new mattress or something. I just couldn't sleep on that thing.
It was two months of nightmares. Two months of horror at that pitch-coloured blood before it broke me. Before I did anything. Of course, I wasn't myself, and it was stupid.I'm not a praying man. Never have been. Maybe that's why, when I did it the first time – when I spilled my fire-engine red regret onto our nice, clean carpets, that the blood darkened, even as it flew through the air.
I said I just wanted to forget. I'd do anything. I just wanted to Love my wife again. I just wanted to look at her and not shudder at the oil soup she was hiding.
And something from the dark accepted. It just wanted one thing. One little thing from me.
And it's not like I was using my soul, anyway.
I felt it leave me like a sigh. Tangible relief. Then something else came in. A lung full of bad air, of sin and soot and smog filled me. It coursed through my veins, it forced me to my feet, and it dragged me across the room. Down the hall. To our bed.
And, with a smile I didn't feel pulling savagely at my cheeks, we painted the room black.
I was left standing, head to toe, soaked in liquid darkness. Some corpse at my feet. Some corpse I didn't know. Just skin and – no. That had to be oil. No blood ran that dark. I wonder why there was oil in the room, and who would transport it in uncured leather.
I washed the dark away from me in the shower, that night. I splashed bleach all over, just to clean it away. I threw the leather in the rubbish, and the whole house smelled like vinegar and bleach for a week and I cleaned, obsessively.
Work went as it always did for a while. Long, boring shifts, listening to the whines of pointless windbags complain about some ache or pain or broken bone or some terrible disease they were sure they had wracking their mortal form. I couldn't bring myself to care. Not even about the paycheck.
It was after a month of the quiet, daily grind that the police came, asking about my wife. I laughed it off. I'd never met a woman named Cassandra.
Within two days, they had me in a windowless room, strapped down, just in case, with nothing but two women in nice suits and a man in a clean smock, jabbing me in my forearm with a too-big needle. Part of the process, they assured me. As if I should be bothered, and the gloved hands pulled back on the plunger, which filled with… something the colour of milk.
That couldn't possibly be blood. No blood was that faultless. No soul that unburdened.
“Draw another vial,” one of the women ordered, and the nurse complied, only to extract another tiny tube of what was practically liquid sunlight. They left me in that room for what felt like half an eternity. I had no clocks with which to gauge time flying by. No books to read, and nothing to do but count my own breaths and heartbeats and ruminate on the crushing boredom.
When they finally returned, they handed me my cell phone and my wallet. “You're free to go, Sir,”
That's it. That's all they said.
“You're free to go.”
I wonder what all the fuss was about?
| 2020-02-09T14:01:39
| 2020-02-09T13:21:11
| 69
| 38
|
[WP] In 1977 NASA launched Voyager I. It contained information showing the technology of the world at the time. 3000 years an advanced alien race finds it and decides to take over this "primative" civilization. What they didn't know was that humanity had advanced a long way in 3000 years...
|
When they approached the coordinates of the solar system their brightest minds had gleaned from that ancient golden disk, they were expecting to find a ruined civilization. Their technologies and their culture meant that they would have destroyed themselves a thousand times over, their scientists concluded. After all, they nearly met the same fate themselves. All that would have remained would be scattered bands of survivors and the bones of a long dead civilization.
A perfect target for the harvest of raw materials.
So when they arrived in the Sol system, their sensors blinded by the harsh EM radiation of their entrance back into real-space, they hardly had any time to react before their sensors screamed of incoming contacts and hails. And as the last of the radiation cleared from their sensors, their operations officers paled before the sight.
Sol III, their target, was teeming with signals in every imaginable band of subspace and real-space frequencies. And there were colonies on practically every imaginable planet in the system. Even Sol I, with its proximity to the system's star, had a settlement happily existing between the twilight zone of light and darkness.
And beyond that, their sensors easily picked up the energy signatures of over ten-thousand starships, and sensor platforms and defensive satellites easily ten times that number.
This was not the easy conquest that was promised to them.
The flotilla turned as one, hightailing it out towards the Oort Cloud, where they scurried into a wormhole conduit and disappeared with a blast of light.
Discretion was the better part of valor, after all.
*
The captain of USS *Makise Kurisu* let out a small sigh as the eight ships disappeared from their viewscreen. "Wonder what that was about," she wondered out loud. She and her crew had been tracking the unknown contacts for days as they approached Federation space at a lazy Warp three.
"Judging from their ships, it looked like a salvage operation," the blue-shirted Klingon at SIGINT observed. "Your orders, Captain Chase?"
"Tag 'em for the sensor array at Viridian to follow their course out," she said, suppressing a yawn. "We have better things to be doing."
"Aye, captain."
|
The war started when our long-range sensors(LRS) detected a large fleet approaching the border of the United Worlds of America...it didn't take a glance to know what they were here for. Strangely enough, with those warships that we detected, we also detected a primitive drone which we'd recognized as the Voyager I. The NASA scientists thought this was all quite ironic.
---
We moved towards where we assumed this primitive race of, "Hu-mans," resided. A class S garden planet of great interest. Oddly enough, they were advanced enough to be able to send broadcasts, for halfway through the rotation of our Homeworld we received a message from their leader asking about our intentions. We were cocky, and decided that we'd be honest with them...they were unable to do anything against us, right?
---
After several minutes of waiting, our LRSes were able to give us a proper "picture" of their ships. Many cannons lined every side of them, like the ancient pirate ships of the Caribbean, or something out of the ancient fiction series, Star Wars. Large windows lined where the bridge would naturally be. They were clearly not used to proper space warfare.
Not wanting to start a war without proper context, the President sent a message to these invaders, questioning their motives. It was naught a day later that the response came back. War. Upon this reply, the President organised the military.
At 0500 on November first, of the year 5055, our own warships organised fifty miles from our enemy. The dull, matte black paint, and the lack of windows would've made it truly impossible to see the spacecraft, that is, if one could possibly see something so far.
At 0700, the declaration of war was sent to the invaders. Without bothering to wait longer than five minutes, the Admiral told all to open fire upon these morons. The ships all fired their laser cannons at once. If one was to expect grand explosions, great lasers of red firing like a rifle, they'd be sorely disappointed, for the lasers were red, yes, but no sound was heard. No great explosions of massive proportions lit up the darkness of the Void. The silence was terrifying.
---
Within a couple days, while we sat like ducks, silently planning attack, we received another broadcast...one declaring war upon us...strangely enough...an ace of spades was the signature, and with the message was an audio file which the commanders decided to play across the ships so that we could laugh at their petty attempts of intimidation.
"Some folks are born to raise the flag," sung the audio file, "ooo, they're the red, white and blue...and when the band plays 'Hail to the Chief,' ooo, they'll point the cannon at you, Lord."
Suddenly, without warning, some sort of laser beam arked across the darkness, at least, that's what it felt like, for they were not visible to the eye, melting through the glass of the bridges of the largest warships.
What a mistake we made.
Only I managed to survive that day, for when only my ship remained, a small squadron of windowless, black transport ships that were barely visible against space, flew into our hangers. Many of those bastards poured out of those ships. I was the only one smart enough to throw down my weapon and surrender. I cannot begin to comprehend how *truly weak* we were compared to the humans.
We had lost the war before it started.
| 2018-10-20T16:30:08
| 2018-10-20T16:13:49
| 148
| 94
|
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
I don't wait. I grab my purse and the first pair of shoes that I find. I bang into the corner of the bed. It will leave a mark. I grab a sweater as I open the door and lock it. I run down the stairs and out of the apartment building I have lived in for the past five years. I hadn't even looked into the mirror really. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I could feel the stares at me as I ran in flip flops down the street attempting to put on my sweater on the brisk Spring day. The concrete made a flopping sound with my cheap flip flops and I hoped that my shoes wouldn't break on me.
Almost as if they had heard me. I tripped and fell as the part that goes between the toes became loose. I lost traction and went down in a crowd of people. I hit my knee and I knew I would have a scrape. I was almost scared to look down, had I left in pajamas? Yes, there in the middle of my sky blue and yellow pajama pants was a considerable hole. Dirt had begun to intermingle with the fresh blood to make an interesting flower pattern. I had ruined my favorite pajamas. I was sitting on the curb of a busy city with bed head and unbrushed teeth. I looked around from my seat on the ground. Bystanders walked around me as if I was detritus. Maybe I was. I looked for signs of more trouble. I remembered the message in the mirror and I got up and limped trying to run ahead of those around me.
I had my purse. Up ahead there was a library I could use and around the corner there was a discount store. I would get another pair of cheap shoes to run in. This was the plan. I had attempted to go into the library first but they had a problem with not having shoes so I ended up going to the store. As I walked in I passed the mirror that took up the first floor wall to make the store look bigger and to deter from thieves. I tried to ignore my reflection but I saw a familiar font taking up a big portion of the mirror.
"Get the tie up shoes."
The tie up shoes? What? As I turned I saw a sneaker type shoe with laces. I could almost feel the mirror telling me these. I didn't really want to know what the mirror was going to tell me. This was the first time I had seen words outside of my apartment. Not being able to resist, I turned to the mirror. I looked so bad I started to cry. I made my way to the line and with tears pouring down my face I bought the cheap shoes and put them on outside just as it started to rain. I took a last glance into the store and I saw the familiar font in big letters say:
"KEEP RUNNING!"
I ran. I had no idea where I was going. I ran slowly not really knowing what to do. I heard the screams before I saw the smoke. There was heat on my neck. I ran in earnest. There were people passing me now. I was scared to look back as I the screams were louder. My bare feet in the cheap sneakers started to sweat and rub against something. I could feel the stiffness in my knee from where I fell. I felt my mouth dry and parched. I heard someone yell, "They are coming!" I attempted to turn around to see who was coming and came face to face with a person in the reflection of the mirrored building I was running in front of. The man made a gesture as if to say come in to the building. I walked in saw that the post of the doorman had been abandoned. I looked around the art deco styled interior to see in the faux smokey glass mirror up the stairs, the man. Again he made the gesture as if to say, "Come." I followed him up the stairs to what seemed like the top floor.
I saw a door there. He leaned against it and with his motions told me to open it. I did. "Finally!!! Just in time to avoid the zombie apocalypse. And you smelling like blood. I didn't think you would get here in time." He locked the door behind me. The room was dark. There was ambient light from all of the computers and there were small windows on the top of the wall. "My name is Washington. I am the tenth of the time travelers that have been placed in history to help the survival of the human race. In this world you are Sally but you will grow to be Salinas, Queen of the Survivors. Think of me as your facilitator. Now, how about you go to the bathroom and freshen up, there is a lot to do. And you can't very well do it in rubber ducky pajamas." Washington showed me the door to a bathroom. As I went in, I noticed there were no mirrors, even the chrome was matted and black. I allowed myself to slide down the wall and cry, thankful for no reflections.
|
I frowned at the message on the mirror.
"Wow, okay, wow. How could... I'm not even--" I choked on the donut I was eating.
After a coughing fit, I spat out the offending food and grabbed the next one in my morning box of donuts. I set the box down, now empty, and began licking the paltry amount of glaze off my fingers.
"You don't know me. I work out in my own way," I sat, patting my stomach defiantly. I could immediately feel my ribs.
The text grew larger, shivering as it pleaded with me to follow its advice.
*RUN*
"What am I running from, huh? Something scary happening? I don't see anything going on outs--" my chest tightened up for a second. I waited for it to pass like it normally did. Lasted a moment longer than I expected it to before fading away, awaiting the next change to threaten me from the inside.
"I just find it so hypocritical that all you do is pass advice and judgment. I look to you for my validation every day and all you do it tell me what to do. That's stupid," I pointed a bony finger at it.
**RUN**
"Look, I can't go outside because of errands I have to do today, so I don't have any time to get ready to go outside and run, I'm perfectly healthy," I retorted.
**TREADMILL**
"Wow... I can't believe you just... Wow, okay I bought the treadmill for when I was thinking about training for a marathon okay. I'm not doing the marathon anymore so I don't need to train for it," I said, folding my arms.
**RUN**
"No, I don't want to, I'm perfectly fine!" I said, breathing heavily. I was losing my breath just arguing with the thing. "I'm gonna go sit down, all right? Not because I'm tired or am in agony just standing and talking to you, but because I feel like sitting down, okay?"
As I turned away, the message turned to another one, much more urgent than all the previous ones.
***CALL AMBULANCE***
"Whoa, what happened? Is someone hurt next door or something?" I asked.
***CALL AMBULANCE FOR YOU***
"Wow, okay," I said, upset. The tightness in my chest returned, much more aggressively than before. "You think you know so much about me. You think I'm in such a state that I'm going to..." I caught my breath and fell to my knees, "going to hurt myself because I didn't go on the stupid run that you wanted me to go on, huh? Well jokes on you because I'm perfectly hea--"
I fell to the ground, my arm clutching at the pain in my chest willing it to go away. I wiggled my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then threw it across the room as hard as I could, sneering at the mirror. The mirror didn't do anything. It stopped trying to give me advice. I could see my ghastly body in the mirror now, nothing blocking me from watching my writhe in pain on the floor. I had defeated the mirror. It stopped trying to advise me once it knew I was right.
*"That's right, you stupid mirror. I don't need to run,"* I thought, my chest flaring in too much pain for me to say any words. *"I'm perfectly fine."* I thought as my vision faded away.
__________________________
For more stories about spiteful protagonists, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
| 2020-06-07T20:54:59
| 2020-06-07T20:16:11
| 547
| 184
|
[WP] Someone finally figures out what the posts on /r/A858DE45F56D9BC9 mean, and it's not good.
For those who don't know what /r/A858DE45F56D9BC9 is:
It's a subreddit full of coded messages that no one has ever been able to solve (some people make good effort, though - I mean, [somehow finding strings of music within a most-likely incorrect decoding result](https://www.reddit.com/r/A858DE45F56D9BC9/comments/3emca0/201507252204/ctgwfwf) is pretty good). The only approved poster is /u/A858DE45F56D9BC9, who only posts the coded messages seen on that subreddit and absolutely nothing else.
|
"Steph!" Alfred called out, his voice almost cracking in excitement, "Get over here! Steph!"
His voice, rising in volume, woke the young woman. Her eyes drowsy and unfocused open with a start. Suddenly she lifted her head from the pool of saliva that was collecting on the table where her face had just been.
"STEPH! We did it!" Screamed out the voice across the dark room. She could see him jumping up and down in the red light of the clock on the wall. It was blinking 4:24 AM causing a strange slow strobe light effect as her companion jumped for joy. The only other lights were the white blur of the screen on his desk and the slowly moving icon of her wallpaper background as it bounced from edge to edge of her monitor.
Her wits came back to her, "You cracked it?!" She coughed, wiping the drool from her chin, "You found out what it says? Tell me!" She urged, stumping over the cables around her desk as she made her way over to the man's desk.
"Look for yourself!" The smugness of his voice was lost on her excitement, finally she would find out the secret code.
She hunched over his desk, reading the scripts from the cryptographic conversion program they had run.
"Are you sure this is right?" She gapped, "These are commands for Russian sleeper agents... So its true, the Russians have been infiltrating our government." She was stunned by the news... It was a reality once, like 40 years ago, that sleeper agents were here trying to change policy, find our secrets, but now she had proof.
**BING** the sound of a new post.
Steph's fingers ran across the keyboard, like spider legs chasing their prey.
"Alfred, I'm translating the post now!" He rushed behind her as she booted the program and ran the hexadecimal code.
She sat in silence as the progress bar grew moving closer to 100%.
The only sound in the room was the whiring of the fans as the two held their breath.
The output on the screen popped up:
*Murder suicide, 4:36, thank you for your service.*
Steph turned puzzled looking at her companion, and looked at the clock, it was 4:35.
-------
The next morning there was no news in the paper about the 2 deaths at the Milwaukee NSA branch. The agents there had died under suspicious circumstances, apparently a murder suicide, but the word never got out. Two more agents had been assigned to r/A858DE45F56D9BC9 but there was never a new post on the site.
|
After months of sleepless nights followed by long and grueling days of coding and deciphering, Sam was finally just moments away from the answer. A858DE45F56D9BC9 had been a mystery for almost 3 years, and no one had ever been able to decode it, until now. All Sam had to do was run one last test to verify that his code was correct, and he would have solved the mystery. After staring at the screen feeling either fear or excitement or more likely, a combination of both, Sam hit enter. In the middle of the screen, a text box opened. After reading the text 7 times, Sam filled the bathtub full of water, grabbed a toaster from the kitchen, and then electrocuted himself. In his office, the cursor blinked tauntingly at the empty room. In front of the cursor, a simple sentence: “I’ll tell you what this all means if you’ll just give me tree fiddy.”
| 2015-07-27T11:07:20
| 2015-07-27T11:00:19
| 48
| 25
|
[WP] Every 100 years, each civilization in the galaxy pits their fiercest predator against one another in a galaxy wide gladiator style spectacle. Earth's predators are a laughingstock until the humans resurrect one of earth's extinct species.
|
"And we're back folks, to the next match of Predators! I must say Kaltha Dan I am surprised that Earth actually returned to the tournament this year. Heh, considering the last two poor showings from them."
"Indeed Maldo. We must be fair to them they have a gravity level stronger than the vast majority of the galaxy but I really thought the resurrected Tyronea- Turunna, uh-"
"I believe you mean the Tyrannosaurs Rex Kaltha? Known as the T-Rex"
"Haha yes. I loved that guy's cute little arms. However its size wasn't enough to overcome the double scythes of the Galpasa Widow Spider, so this year I really hope they have stepped up and found something at least a little more threatening than that cute little guy."
"Indeed indeed. Oh and here we have the predator from Charra. Short in name but not in stature, we have the Attk!"
"It's a colossal beast here Maldo, 46 tulmas, 22 topis or 11 metres tall, this beast is almost twice as tall as the Predator Earth pulled out last year. Armed with massive teeth, giant claws and the ability to camouflage it'll be a rough contestant for Earth if the T-Rex was all they had."
"Well we can see it entering the ring where it will be facing... No this can't be right."
"What is it there Maldo?"
"Can you... This can't be right. Earth appears to have brought in some type of fish."
"A fish? Strange it looks a lot like a human, in fact it's even waving to the ground, haha well isn't that sweet. Of course the spectators are completely safe behind those barriers, nothing passes through them but eh, I don't think anyone will be likely to be hurt by this little beast."
"I'm just double checking that Earth hasn't made a joke entry here Kaltha... Apparently it's serious! It's a long believed mythical creature they brought back to life I'm being told! Well this better be interesting."
"Well that sounds amazing. The match is starting in 30 seconds so what do we know about this creature?"
"Well it appears to be just under 4 Topis tall. About 7 and a half tulmas and under 2 metres, even with that long fin. It is armed with sharp claws, a powerful jaw that seems able to rip through almost any material-"
"That's quite a claim!"
"It is but I doubt that'll make an impact here. That creature will simply never... OH HAHAHA!"
"What's so funny there?"
"Apparently it sings! That's written down here as OH AND WE'RE STARTING IN 5 FOLKS!"
"GET YOURSELF READY AS WE SETTLE IN. As we can see the barrier is being dropped slowly and the creatures now have a visual of each other so it's only a matter of time now before both predators formulate a strategy to attack the other so taking what we know about the Attk I expect it'll pause before lashing out with a testing strike what are your thoughts?"
"Well the barrier has dropped so now we can... Wow..."
"Is that the Earth's creature singing?"
"Yes it is... It's... it's beautiful..."
"I've never heard anything like it. I can't believe Earth would let such a stunning animal be put forward into a brutal contest like this!"
"You're right I don't even know why we are condoning such violence. I want to go down and, oh look. The Attk agrees. It's motherly instincts have kicked in."
"It's going down to pet that gorgeous creature. I don- OH MY GOD!"
"HOLY SHIT EARTHS MONSTER IS ON OF THE ATTK! ITS BITING INTO ITS HEAD! ITS RIPPING OFF HUGE CHUNKS!"
"AaaaaH! It's started screaming! What the fuck is that monster?!?"
"I don't know but- Wait. Wait wait wait. The Attk has fallen... It's not moving. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT EARTH HAS WON!!!"
"Well I'll be damned. In a surprise turn of events the Earths alpha predator which I'm being told is called a SIREN, has dominated the Attk by seducing it with it's powerful song and then biting its way into its skull. What an amazing battle!"
|
"What do you mean that he is going to go up against the fearsome primal beast of Pandoria! That thing is merely a child! It doesn't even stand over six feet!"
The chariots around him were wizzing by, by the human specimen was not afraid. In fact, he was confident he would win each round.
The Gladiators were faced off, introduced and for the first two rounds opposed separated. There were three rounds. The first was a test of agility, the second a test of intelligence. The third was a test of sheer violence and will power, often the will to live versus wild and angry predator. Ted knew these well and he knew that while the primal beast from Pandoria was agile, it was not intelligence in the slightest.
The first round, a race against the clock, was masterfully set by the beast of Pandoria. A four legged mammal with eight eyes, fangs like sabre tooth tigers and poison the like the black widow. However, the intelligence test came and Ted immediately found how to overcome the obstacle of stacking items to reach the food. The primal beast didn't even finish the challenge, it was so angry. It simply lept up, time and time again trying to eat at the bait.
Then came the last round. The fatal, the last, the only round that species around the world had truly come around to see. It was the battle to the death.
---
Henry was placing his bets. He was Ted's "handler," which in human terms, he was actually his manager. More like Director of Accounting, but the details didn't matter to the millions of spectators around the area. In fact, he was eating some Preenxari popcorn, a sort of popcorn chicken with a spicy after taste. Thick with sauce and buttery to the last drop, Henry sat down in his box seat above the rest.
Ted wasn't as good as others in physique or otherwise, but he was a solid accountant, good on his feet and adaptable. That's why he was resurrected. In fact, if he wasn't so darn cute, he might have even been dangerous. But to the crowd, he was a mouse to a lion.
He thought to himself, *I should get paid more to do this. Ted too, or his undead self. He would hate to see himself in such a lowly form.*
---
The battle had begun. The trumpets had played. The primal beast of Pandoria crept up slowly, eyeing down his target for the first time. *Cautious, aren't you..* Ted thought to himself. In a similar fashion, he loosened his red tie, a cheap version from Wal-Mart. No one knew the difference, but the audience continue to laugh, chuckle and mock him.
Ted was sweating furiously as he remembered the Pandorian beast's stats. +34 strength, +12 agility and an intelligence of +2. Barley alive and hardly thinking. He did the calculations. If he could roll a 20 with critical first.. then he would have a chance, he would have no idea what he would do.
In a sudden sweep of violent movement, gesticulating wildly and in an almost orgasmic way, he shook his entire body up and down. Even the beast was confused. It looked at Ted in a quiet way. He didn't approach him at first, but took a few steps towards Ted.
The beast, all eight eyes aimed at his forehead, looked towards the ground. The crowd went silent.
Ted held up one hand, a palm facing the beast to hold his position as he reached for the dice in his back pocket. Slowly, he revealed three blue dice with white dots on them.
Again, his body shook, up and down, gesticulating so angrily, even the beast was taken aback. Then, he rolled the dice.
The turned, and flipped and finally, all three laid tall, for all to see. No one had the faintest idea what had happened. All but Henry.
The beast stepped up to the dice. Looked at the dice, then at Ted, who was still in the position he had last assumed, the pose that he had thrown the dice, an odd yoga move. Then at least, he glanced down at the dice one more time.
It licked up the dice, one by one, then sat onto the floor. Slowly, it fell into a docile position in which every moment the body was becoming quieter and more dull. Then, it's heart failed.
Which left the human, Ted the champion of the stadium.
---
Henry was smirking as the audience's shouts and angry boos turned violent. A simple trick of the old Gods. Cyanide will affect us all, however strong we are.
It just happened to be in the form of dice. But that's not cheating. That's just human ingenuity.
| 2015-07-24T19:35:38
| 2015-07-24T16:54:13
| 84
| 62
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