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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] You’re a pediatrician. One day you perform a standard checkup on a sweet little girl. Later, you are horrified to find when you place your stethoscope on her chest, she has no heartbeat.
|
A little girl entered the room. Describing her in one word would be easy-she was sweet. She looked like when god baked her he accidentaly spilled in an extra cup of sugar. You can say her presence even made me a little bit more eased.
"What's your name, girl?"
She giggled. Her laugh was soft and sweet. It remided me of my daughter before I lost the costudy.
"I am... Em!"
"Em. What a nice name. Is it a short for Emily?"
She nodded in aproval. Her mom lifted her up to the patient bed. "So, Em. What are you here for today? Feeling a little weak?"
Her smile faded off her face. Her mom looked at me in what felt like desperession. "Like a normal child, she has been very energetic. But, lately she has been acting different."
We went through the usuall check up. She has no alergies or other medical conditions that the two know about, her caugh is fine, and her heart is...
"wait just a minute." I took the stetoschop off of her. I couldn't hear a single beat. Even if she skipped one or two I should be able to hear it. "Something is wrong. I can't - I- you know what? I need you to come to my other clinic at another time for a better exemination. Is friday at 9:30 am okay? Hmmm, maybe tuesday at 11? Good."
The last days, when I wasn't working, I spent my time searching for what could be the reason for Emily's condition. Apperently there are a lot of conditions I failed to memorize at school. One can flip all the organs' placement, and the other pushed the heart a little back. Even though they were rare, they existed, and maybe little Em had one of those conditions.
The first thing I did when Em came to the clinic at tuesday was check where ever I could for a pulse. Not on the usuall left, not on the right, not on the back, not even on the side. I told her mother to go outside and wait. I had to try the last option-a surgery.
After getting Em to sleep under anesthesia, I opened her chest with the knife. And what I saw confirmed what I hoped for: her heart was there, in the right spot, steadly pumping blood. When I went to get the strings to stich her up again I noticed something a bit weird.
I don't know if it was her blood or her organs, but she smelled sweet. The aroma that spread across the room was like of a bakery, and not of regular, human being. I stood there, staring at the body.
***hungry***
At first it was just a little: I took a little blood drop and tasted it. It was like fresh strawberry juice. Then I took off a very small part of her skin with the knife, so she wouldn't notice. It tasted like cookie daugh. At this point I fiested on her like a beast: I ripped off her skin, sipped off her blood, bit her guts, munched her muscelse, swollowed her veins, crunched her no longer functioning heart. I wasn't in control. I tried to stop, even when the only thing left in the mess were her bones, that I forcefully shoved in.
My body ached. But I was still hungry. I didn't leave a piece of her, not even a single drop of blood.
I could only feel hunger, but there was nothing left to eat. I felt like my body was reaping apart to two pieces, and when it eventually did, I, no, we, returned to our mom. She smiled at us. "have you had a nice meal, Dear?"
|
She was calm, almost defiant, when I stepped back and looked up at her. She had the remnants of a grin on her face.
What had I done wrong? I’ve done thousands, millions of auscultations during my residency. It was the first goddamn thing they taught us to do. My first day out on my own and I can’t even find a pulse.
I place the stethoscope against my own arm and pressed it gently into the fold. It was still warm.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
OK, that’s not it. It works fine.
“Have you ever had your blood pressure taken, Maggie?”
Her slight grin grew a little larger. She was amused.
“I don’t think so. Mom thinks doctors are worthless. I’ve never been to one until now.”
That’s not possible. Kids these days go through hundreds of tests, vaccinations, monthly check ups. Was she raised by wolves? Ha! Ok, not that funny.
“OK, Maggie. I’m going to place a cuff around your arm. I’m going to put a bit of air into it and you’re going to feel a bit of pressure. Is that OK”
She stuck out her arm proudly. “As long as it doesn’t hurt!”
Pressure always makes the pulse more obvious. Pump, pump. When you start to cut off a vessel, the heart must work against the pressure. Pump, pump. Hell, you can feel it with it a light touch if you’re quiet. Pump, pump. If I don’t get it this time, maybe Maggie’s mom is right. Doctors like me are worthless. Pump, pump.
Still nothing. Pump, pump.
Maggie’s hand was fully extended, fingers pointed outwards like she wanted a low-five. The cuff was nearly pressing on the bone. Her lower arm wasn’t purple. Maggie wasn’t in any discomfort.
Still nothing. The cuff was easy to pull off, it was practically bursting at the seams. Her skin rebounded immediately. No indentation. No marks.
A blood draw wasn’t requested in the workup. I would have to work quickly before her mom got back from the bathroom.
“What is that pointy thing for?”
Maggie looked uncomfortable for the first time. How the hell was I even going to find a vein if I couldn’t find a pulse?
“Have you never seen one of these before, Maggie? It’s pretty magical. With a few tests it tells me if you are healthy.”
She defiantly stuck her arm out again, the uneasiness completely gone. Her elbow crease was stiff, like she was flexing. The needle slid in easily. I was blind. What was I possibly hoping to find?
The door clicked and swung open. She was pissed. A mix of shock and anger.
God damnit, first day on the job and I’m going to lose my license. I looked like an idiot standing there with a full syringe pointing to the sky. Like a cartoon poster of a doctor from the 50s.
A full syringe?
The liquid was clear, maybe a little murky. No red. The needle had only been in her arm for a moment.
“What are you injecting my daughter with?”
It’s a fine line to speak that loudly and not yell.
“Nothing, I was drawing…”
Maggie had a full smile on her face, tongue out, moving across her upper lip. A clear film slowly moved across her eyes from the outside in.
| 2019-11-30T09:10:19
| 2019-11-30T06:52:34
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] You arrive in Heaven to find it abandoned.
[WP] You arrive in Heaven to find it abandoned...
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The Pearly Gates! After decades of living a life by strict moral standards, Tom had finally done it! He had reached his eternal resting place in the palace of the Lord. The only think hampering his excitement is the fact that he had been standing at these gates, alone, for the past two hours.
"I always thought Saint Peter was supposed to meet you at the gates and allow you inside." The old, slightly perturbed man furrowed his wrinkled brow and sighed, patting his thighs with his hands in a gesture of impatience.
"Well, the Lord helps those who help themselves, I suppose". With that, he pushed the large, ornate gates apart; a heavenly, if almost comedically so, tone plays as the golde, pearl-adorned fixtures move.
Tom wandered the grounds, stunned at the grandiose settings: giant stained glass windows depicting stories from the Bible (and even a few he didn't recognize), silken curtains and tapestries hanging from fixtures in every room, and more gold than even wealthiest king could have desired back on Earth. All of this would have been perfect, Tom thought, if it weren't for the unnerving silence. He hadn't seen a single soul since his entrance into the Holy Kingdom.
"H-hello? Anyone?" His expression had changed to one of uneasiness, bordering on fear.
"ANYONE? Um...Jesus?" Tom bit his lip, standing in place and wringing his hands as he mulls the situation over. Was he the only one deemed worthy of this perfect afterlife? He had always thought he was just a hair better than most, but was that little extra bit of "goodness" so important that it locked everyone else out of God's house? Or...no, this couldn't be Hell, could it? Forced to spend eternity in solitary confinement?
"Hey, buddy!"
Tom nearly fainted from the shock of hearing another voice, one that shattered the unearthly silence so sharply.
"Y-yes? Is that you, Jesus?" The old man turns every direction, peering at doorways and windows for the source of the voice. Finally, a shaggy-haired man sticks his head into the room through a nearby window.
"What? Hah, no, Jesus is over at the beer pong station. That guy is an absolute BEAST when it comes to putting plastic balls into cups of beer. Come on, we're all partying over at Valhalla. Open bar, bro!"
With that, the man disappeared, leaving Tom confused, both about the true nature of the afterlife, and about how you play "beer pong".
EDIT: Thanks for the gold, anonymous redditor =) I promise, fewer typos will be made in the future...I actually typed this up during rounds. Harder to type and walk than I thought, hah
|
*huff puff They weren't fucking kidding. It really is a stairway.* I plodded along, occasionally humming some tune I couldn't remember the name of, only the hook melody. Might have been something by *Rhianna*. or *ACDC*. What does it matter now? I'm sure musicians are not welcome where I am going.
I lived my life as any good Christian would. Sure, I sinned. More than others, less than some. But as any good soul will tell you, it doesn't matter as long as you ask for forgiveness from your Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I really don't even know what that means on a tangible level. It's above my head philosophically, but I said the words, flopped about on the hardwood floors of the chapel, and got dunked in the oily kiddie pool by Pastor Greevis.
It worked, I guess. I haven't seen a soul, heh, since I started my climb. Who the fuck (*sorry Lord*) knows how long I've been climbing? They sure are purdy though. Bright white light emanating from each step my Sketchers press into, occasionally a flock of doves explodes around me, causing me to give a little shriek. Is it just me or have the doves seemed a little aggressive? They act like they haven't been let out in a while, crashing into each other to get away, nipping at their flocks' legs. The initial feeling of *oh Thank God I made it* has long dissipated, replaced by a slippery wariness, marked with moments of intense anxiety. The hairs on the back of neck have long stood up so far they now lay backwards meeting my brown bob halfway up.
How much longer? I stumbled on step, reached down to catch myself, and my hand split open along the fleshy part of the palm. "God fucking dammit! (*sorry Lord*) Where's the fucking pearly gates? PETERRRRR????" (*oh yeah, sorry*)
And then I was there. The stairs melted away and I stood upon a fluffy cloud. The metallic gates (yeah, not that pearly) rose high, higher than I could see.
*Where was my greeter?* I crept up to the gates and peeked through the bars. I could see a harp, fallen on its side, but nothing else. Just empty clouds, bumping softly into one another. I tried the gates, locked with *was that a Masterlock*? Guess even the angels had to shop at Walmart.
Something on the ground *cloud* caught my eye. It was a slip of paper with some unsticky tape peeling off the top edge. *Shouldn't have gotten the off-brand*. I grabbed it and read:
Shirley,
You were next on my list, so I hope this finds you well. I tried to warn everyone before they made the hike, but you slipped through. Heaven is a ruse. Everyone thought the poor little kids in China made their clothes, toys, and furniture. Nope. We've escaped and gone for help. You are now the only person here and nobody else is coming. God is pissed. I mean Old Testament pissed. Thanks for taking one for the team. We will come back as soon as we find a bigger, badder, more humane God to take over. Might be awhile. Thanks again, Pete.
________________________________________________
Edit: Thanks, you made my day!
| 2014-05-10T09:39:29
| 2014-05-10T09:25:27
| 66
| 30
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[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive.
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I am the oldest man alive.
That in itself is a record that cannot be topped.
For every year that i live i remain the oldest man alive.
Records are made and broken. And i remain.
I have lived so long my name has been forgotten. Old recordings of my past long turned to dust.
Now i go by one name. A name that is considered most holy.
Guinness. And i am the keeper of records.
|
The shot echoes through the air.
And they're off. Amy's slim form blurs as she runs - no, flies - past the other contenders. Her training's paid off and she's going not just for the gold, but for the world record. Everything I've ever taught her is making its appearance here and now and forever.
She's almost to the finish line, and for a moment I see her hesitate. I feel it. Her body goes rigid as she fights the urge to look up to the stands and find me, beg me.
But we've talked about this. She promised.
As if reading my mind, her doubt fades, and renewed she dashes past the finish line.
The crowd explodes in cheers, almost drowning out the announcer's voice saying, "We have a new world record!" Amy is glowing, the immortality seeping into her like a gift from God, but she's not smiling. Her eyes are searching for me, and once our gazes finally meet I nod. She nods back, tears streaming down her burning cheeks.
My vision blurs and my heart slows. I welcome the darkness, the peace and the rest it brings. With my final breath, I see Amy's smiling face in my mind and think only two words.
Thank you.
| 2016-12-14T10:34:13
| 2016-12-14T10:05:11
| 85
| 14
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[WP] A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher Artificial Entertainment
A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher **A**rtificial **E**ntertainment
|
"This is such bullshit," I shook my head as I tossed my controller to the floor.
I had been playing for thousands of dollars and was still getting my ass kicked by 'xXxAE_Did_Nothing_WrongxXx'. Of *course* they had an asinine name like that. What kind of person did you have to be to sit in front of a game for hours on end just to get better than the other players? Better yet, what kind of a *publisher* did you have to be to make a game that rewards this kind of play? Evil. That's what you had to be.
Still reeling from the hundreds of deaths inflicted on me, I got up from the couch and walked upstairs. I needed a drink to take my mind off of this.
"Piper!" A voice called out my name as I got to the top of the staircase. "Have you been playin-" my brother began before I cut him off.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I put my hands out in front of me. "You have to pay first."
I felt a little bad interjecting as soon as I did. My brother didn't usually seem this happy to see me.
"Oh, yeah, my bad," he replied, pulling his wallet from his pocket and fishing his card out.
"How many minutes do you want?" I asked him as I got my card reader ready.
"I'll go for the One Night Unlimited Pass," he replied, handing me the card.
I swiped his card in my reader and then selected the 'One Night Unlimited Pass' from the 'conversation services' menu, the option that gave him my unmetered conversation services for the next eight hours.
"Total is 4.99," I replied as I handed him back the card.
He nodded. "So, have you been playing Warfront 2?"
"Ugh," I groaned as I walked over to the fridge. "I've been *trying* to."
I slid my credit card into the reader on the fridge and the door unlocked. I peered inside and looked for a drink as my brother continued speaking to me.
"It's fun, isn't it?" He held his hands together as he spoke, his eyes beaming with joy in my direction.
I pulled a can of beer from the fridge and turned around. Why *did* he seem so happy?
"The most frustrating thing," I said, sliding my card down the reader attached to the can to open the top. "Is that I can tell there's a fun game in there somewhere, but I have to spend *time* to get to it."
"It's innovative, isn't it?" My brother continued. "I mean, I've never *seen* a game where passion is rewarded like this!"
Oh, my brother. Though he was already cresting into his 20s, we all said that he never *really* grew up. Sure, we all used to be like him at one point, but it's just not realistic to live like he does. Never charging for his services, giving away his smiles and giving other people memories for free like that. Hell, I once saw the kid turn down a five figure transaction for his comedy services because he 'just liked to see' the old, grumpy bank manager laugh once in a while. We'd try to tell him that it wasn't good for him to live like this, that he was going nowhere in life, but he just never listened.
"It's just not how the world works, Ralph," I said with a sigh. "It's a dishonest practice structuring something around skill and dedication. It's wrong, Ralph, can't you see that?"
Ralph cocked his head and looked me in the eye.
"No. AE did nothing wrong," he said with a wink before turning around and disappearing back upstairs to his room.
|
“My boy! You just bought level 50!? Such a savage.” Said Tyrone almost choking on the gulp of Mountain Dew he had just ingested.
“Yeah, I got a pay raise at my new job so I caved. Besides, I gottta bulk up our squad cause we’ve been losing team battles as of late.” Said Tim as he relaxed on his gaming chair.
“Yo! But did y’all hear about this new hyped game called Shooters Maxima? Apparently micro transactions within the game will cease to exist. Level will be only be achieved through grinding it out.” I said as I anxiously waited to hear their response.
“Bro! Artificial Entertainment will sink if they dare do this to us. Trust me bro. How else will they entice us to one up each other if we aren’t spending to get better? It just doesn’t work that way Jared.” Said Tyrone. I could tell he was a bit heated but I reserved further commentary to not invoke a heated argument.
Deep inside something was telling me skill-to-win was the truest form of playing video games but the history suggested otherwise. I mean we were in the year 4059 and it’s been this way since I was born. Where could I turn to?
Then suddenly Tim commented on the subject. “You know, if somehow we could search the history of gaming on the internet then we will uncover the greater truths of how gaming was meant to be played.”
This left me thinking for a while in silence, contemplating how to process this. I mean, he does have a point; given the absence of Net-neutrality from knowing the real truth of the past. Sure, the internet describes pay-to-Win as existing since the inception of gaming but what if it’s just a bunch of crap fed to us to make us spend? And what were Artificial Entertainment’s motivations for creating a game that was skill-to-win? I needed to know.
I mustered the courage and told the guys. “I must know, we must know! We must find the truth for ourselves! As gamers I feel we must uncover the truth of where pay-to-Win came from and why suddenly there is a shift in this new highly anticipated game!”
“Pshhhhhhh! Are you crazy!? Just let it go bro. Shooters Maxima is not going to change the landscape of the gaming community.” Tyrone said as he spit out the Mountain Dew he was drinking.
I just couldn’t accept that.
| 2018-02-12T12:11:54
| 2018-02-12T11:59:38
| 2,522
| 108
|
[WP] "In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king." Untrue, as it turns out. When a mysterious energy wave swept the world and took away vision for humans, you were the only one left with an eye, the wealthy and powerful are hunting you down for your working eyeball.
|
There is a legend about a time when people could not just feel and hear, but also see.
Sight is a difficult sense to describe, but it's something like the ability to feel the silent whispers of everything around you. The whispers tell you how something will feel before you touch it, who someone is before they shout out their name, and how badly a body will smell before you get near enough to smell it.
Everyone knows the legend is true because we all still have eyes, they just don't work. The legend says that a curse spread across the entire planet and took sight away from all mankind, except for a single man who was left with the last working eye. The man with the sight.
That man was my father. He told me about how he tried to help his quaint little town and for awhile they were able to keep some remnant of their former lives going.
​
Then came the day that killed hope, when the second child was born. When the first child was born, people still had hope that there might still be a chance for the sight of the next generation to save everything, that things might go back to normal.
Since my father was the only one who could see, he was the only one who could easily determine if the children could as well. The baby's eyes were open but didn't follow any of his movements. When he told the parents, they were outraged and first accused him of lying, then accused him of stealing the baby's sight in order to maintain his own. Their accusations caused hysteria to run rampant across the entire town, and word of a selfish man with sight got to the city next door.
​
A week later, that city was burning. The heat of the flames were just a warm night breeze to the townspeople and my father was bitter about what he had been accused of, so he didn't bother to tell them otherwise.
Though that ended up not mattering as dawn had not broken when the first of the refugees came grasping at the street in the orange glow, yelling out stories of the horrors they had seen.
The small packs of cannibal arsonists who moved silently, looking for something to cook their latest catch on before it went bad or waiting for their next prey to walk by. They referred to themselves as "omnivores".
The smell of feces and garbage everywhere that made the sense almost useless.
The armored legion was gaining territory, controlled by the city's mayor who was already being called "The Emperor" by his troops.
The refugees told him that the armored legion was on their way to find the man who could still see. Some parts of the city were burned down entirely in order to clear out the cannibals quickly to ensure a more secure path.
My father was afraid, afraid for his life, afraid of what someone else might do if they had his power. So he ran. He mixed in with the bands of refugees and left his quaint little town behind. They wouldn't be able to catch him, so long as he traveled faster than word of his existence. From there he went from one crumbling society to the next, careful not to expose his power, yet still hoping to meet someone else who could see.
He never did.
​
One day he found a woman who had been left to die in a ditch outside of the walls of the town. She had been exiled for trying to steal food during the noisiest part of the day. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but beauty doesn't mean much to a town full of people who can't see. He nursed her back to health and they lived a happy life together.
When I was old enough, they taught me about how the sight worked.
"It must be given freely and out of love," Mother said.
"Just remember that you might not get it back." Father quipped.
Then they let me see for the first time. Everything talked to me at once and I couldn't stop crying. Everything had something to say and I could finally listen. With this power came great temptations, but I remembered my father's words and realized that they might be anxious about me running off with the sight. Not wanting them to worry, I gave it back soon afterwards.
​
After my mother died, my father didn't find much joy in having the sight. He pushed me to take it for longer and longer periods of time, until one day he didn't want it anymore.
"I want you to take it and go out there and do good things with it. You have the power to fix the problems wherever you go." He said.
We argued for days, but eventually I caved. I made sure every reserve tool was texture coded and that the medical supplies were full before setting out.
"Just promise me you won't share the sight with someone evil." He pleaded.
"We'll see." I said.
He laughed for the first time in a long time and waved goodbye.
"I'm waving goodbye too." I shouted.
He went back inside with a smile on his face. That was the last that I saw of the man of which the legends are told.
----
Edit: Fixed some formatting.
|
Note: apologies for any spelling or grammar as I was writing this on my phone because I had to capture the idea that came to mind.
"I've got it." The sudden noise wakes you from your afternoon nap among the waste. "I've got the seeing eye."
You turn your head slightly, human waste tumbling off your neck. You've grown used to the smells and to not taking care of yourself. You've also grown used to silence. So you look at the speaker.
She is a young girl - possibly pre-adolescent but it is difficult for you to judge. She is as scrawny as she is tall, a small wasted shadow with ragged clothes, matted mud splattered hair that was probably once brown and she is holding up a round object. Even from a close range you can barely tell it is an eyeball.
'No. Used to be an eyeball,' you think. Dripping with gore and no doubt stinking of decay. You can't help but wonder why a lone girl in the Graveyards would believe it was the one seeing eye. 'My bloody eye.'
The scavengers are onto her in a flash, rising up from the surrounding piles of bones. Their crazed mouths drool, saliva cascading across their chests: you count at least ten of the creatures. And for a moment you pity them. Until you remember cynically that they were the reason you had come to the Graveyards all those years ago.
The Crazies, would tear anyone to pieces for a taste of flesh. They had some strange religion based around devouring the sightless eyes of non-believers. All of which was meant to give you a modicum of safety from the outside world.
The past fifteen years brought nothing but hell. Running from the sightless world administrators who realised the value of your one seeing eye.
Damn, you are some reverse Sauron. You smile at the thought, then grimace as the Crazies close in on the little girl. It's never been pleasant to watch intruders torn to shreds.
Of course, while you realise sheer luck brought you to the Graveyard and the Crazies, you refuse to accept this reality. Luck is for the blind.
You blink as the girl tosses the eye down onto the ground. Any thoughts about the corpse she stole it from cease as the eye rolls down across the bone stacks, blinking with a single red light. Then a flash illuminates everything in blinding white light and the Crazies scream as fire rinses away their insanity.
It takes half a second for the flare to hit you. You have no time to respond except to realise that the eyeball was, in stead, a Hellfire Grenade. A weapon you once invented in a previous life.
The blast sends you flying. Sharp piercing pain shreds through your shoulder and chest, followed by a wet clammy sensation. You hear a loud scream and realise it was your own involuntary noise. You've been silent so long you forgot the sound of your own voice.
The next thing you realise is that you have a large bone shard poking through the centre of your chest. It's not yours.
'The bloody thing just pierced right through me.' The thought stuns you. You've been running for so long that the thought of actually dying is a sudden surprise. But here it is at last. Death staring at you from a bone shard in the chest.
A heavy weight thuds onto your legs and you groan. Then you see the girl from before. She's running her hands across your body, checking the injuries. Then she looks up at you.
No, she looks at you. And you feel the cold chill of true shock. She pulls out a knife and with an apologetic smile drives it towards your face.
'She too has one good eye.'
Everything turns dark with the settling blindness of death.
| 2019-04-19T20:35:18
| 2019-04-19T19:39:38
| 140
| 14
|
[WP] You are trapped on a deserted island. And I mean "deserted," in the sense that it seems people used to be there but left for unknown reasons.
It can also be a desert island, if you want. I'd be surprised if you could pull off a dessert island, but it's not explicitly against the rules.
|
I hadn't expected to find an island on my voyage. It was supposed to be a trip to the deepest part of the ocean; the Marianas Trench. There shouldn't have been an island there. The ocean floor was so far down, it seemed physically impossible, yet there it was.
The island was mostly covered in lush forests. I couldn't see much from the coast, but it seemed to be fairly large. I was surprised no one had found it before me, but that just goes to show how much of our world there is left to explore. Regardless, I decided to investigate. I disembarked along the eastern coast of the island, ensuring that my submarine was securely fashioned to a nearby rock. Then, I began exploring.
The island's coast was roughly a kilometre around. Not small by any means, but not as large as some islands can be. I explored in a clockwise direction, starting towards the south and continuing from there. After my first round, I decided to try exploring the center of the island. That was when things began to get weird.
The forest was fairly lush, but there seemed to be a path cut through the brush. At the time, I thought nothing of it; I was still accustomed to exploring where others had been. At the center of the island was a clearing, filled with stone buildings. Some were clearly identifiable as houses and temples, while others were less recognizable. I decided to start in the largest building, immediately in the center of the clearing. It was a tall building, with what appeared to be the remnants of some kind of paint coating it in strange designs. The top was a spire, reaching high enough that I wondered why I hadn't seen it earlier. As I entered, I marveled at the design of the room.
The tower was filled with strange slabs of stone, all covered in more of the faded paint. There appeared to be a map of the island, though how it had avoided the fate of all the other paint eluded me. As well, there seemed to be designs for boats capable of sailing for years, with large food stores and water purification areas. If I hadn't known better, I would have suspected that whoever had made this had done it in an attempt to prank me, but I knew no one knew where I was going.
A lump on one of the slabs caught my eye. It was a small round cylinder, seemingly embedded into the surface of the stone. It was surrounded by the faded paint, far more than was apparent anywhere else. I did what any curious soul would have done: I assumed it was a button, and pressed it.
Immediately, the paint began glowing. It started around the button, but it followed the lines drawn all over the place, covering more and more of the room. I rushed outside, fearful of letting it touch me, and saw that it was already spreading up the tower. As it reached the top, a flash of violet light sprang forth from the spire, enveloping the sky as night fell.
Unsure of what was happening, I rushed back to my boat to find that the violet light had somehow cut it in half! I tried rushing out to the half stranded at sea, but found myself blocked by the violet field that now surrounded the island. I ran back to the tower as quickly as I could, but try as I might, I couldn't *un*press the button. I was trapped.
I returned to my landing point and began taking an assessment of my situation. *I have food, both from the half of the boat that I have and from the local flora. There's probably fresh water on the island; otherwise, a city like that could never have been built. I can camp out in the huts for shelter, although I'm not certain I'll need it. This field may protect me from the elements already. I don't have enough of a ship to sail away, but there are diagrams in the tower. No one knows I'm here, so I'm going to have to save myself.*
As I dragged the half of the boat I had on shore, I noticed something in the distance. Where the other half of my boat was floating in the ocean, there was a shadow in the water. I watched as a massive beast surfaced and swallowed half of my submarine whole. I found myself wondering, *Was the dome built to keep that thing out?*. Then I heard a noise in the forest. *Or something else in?*
|
The cargo ship had seemed more of an island than a boat. Such a thing, carrying a city's worth of "who-even-knew." Shipping containers, heavy metal crates that housed items, vehicles, goods- maybe even people. That was frowned upon, but it happened. A simple job beyond those occurrences, delivering that which people demanded, and doing so in bulk. There have been worse careers, I'm sure.
Storms though, the ocean... neither care much for human capacity, statistics, and willpower. I suppose that's why the sailors from the older ages actually gave a shit about those things. Small boards of wood and rope, leather and cloth... As much as had liked to think we'd moved up in the world, I found myself painfully aware that "We" might not be all inclusive.
An inflatable raft does poorly against fifty foot waves, and white crested peaks.
Nature cares little for the lives of man, or his feeble resistance to its will. I can't say how long I was out there- "long enough" I suppose, if you want a true and clever summary. Long enough to eat most of the food, but that's not the best measurement, because keeping it down wasn't even worth the effort those first few days. Long enough to give up hope of rescue. Long enough to consider myself lost.
When the beach came, I thought it was mercy. Divine intervention, a sign of greater times to come, I had shouted of victory and praise.
Lord, Buddha, and Moses- how wrong I was. The dark times I had thought over, were only beginning.
...
Pulling the raft to shore took every ounce of my effort. Waterlogged as it was, I lacked the drive to empty it of its soupy contents. Brine, sweat and bodily fluids among other things, swirling around within the thin flooring. It was only after the raft was fully up to shore, and fifteen feet past the high tide, that I flipped it, and let said contents free to the dry sands below.
I had known it was an island of some kind, having been swept up on the currents far from its reach, pushed towards it as if the ocean itself were willing me to make land. The small spot had grown larger, and larger still, until it stretched on in miles for each direction. As large as it seemed from that distance, the lack of anything behind it had brought concern. Certainly it was a large island, but without mainland... it was a troubling perspective for someone adrift in the pacific.
The trees though, god almighty those pillars of bark and height. They were unlike anything I had ever witnessed. As if the redwood giants had sprung in the form of shrubs, to scatter out in all directions- untamed and uncontrolled in their quest for sunlight.
Their shade was so thick, my first night there, I slept near them without ever realizing the things they hid deeper within their mighty grasp. Only on my second day, did I discover the *ruins.*
...
That next day, drinking from my dwindling reserves of tinned water and rations, I set out to circle the place in which I had landed. My new home, as it were. Though my feet lifted through the sand in shoes, I soon removed them to enjoy the feeling of warm sand beneath my toes. A small bag on my back held them well enough within, slung with a tin of water and food upon my back. My first grand adventure upon the island had begun without celebration, lacking in most all of the excitement and wonder many might feel upon such a place.
I had only enough food for another week at the longest, and water... perhaps less. My hope was during my travel around the island I might discover some pure source for the second concern, and set up camp and a fire close by it. In that time, my basic survival was at the forefront of my mind. Practicality and nerves drove me more than a sense of adventure.
Well, as luck would have it, not even a mile down the slow slope of the beach, did I find a running stream- barely a trickle, but a true and tangible current nonetheless. From there I had gone about, shuttling back to the raft in trips. My shoulders and legs ached, dragging what I could back along the shoreline. With water found, and a meager shelter soon constructed, I realized that I might be capable of surviving until help arrived- though I was still uncertain that the island was inhabited. Indeed, I had only seen the one approaching angle on my arrival- and the entire far side was still a mystery to me.
I decided then, in the slowly rising sun, that I would gather what I needed for a fire, and then leave that task for the evening. Today was for further surveying, and perhaps immediate rescue. I remember I could practically taste freedom around every sloping bend on the island's stretching beaches. What I found in place of such a thing, was far stranger.
...
After several miles of walking, the sun had reached the peak above my head, and my shirt had long since dried from the salt water which it had been soaked, and now found itself saturated with sweat instead. The bag upon my back dug into my shoulders with the thin string cords, but that thankfully lessened after my mid-day meal and drink. Walking in sand, as simple as it sounds, is different from walking on flat and packed ground, and I had started to drift further from the sea, and closer to the ever mysterious interior of the island, mostly ignored up until this point.
It was dark, and cool, when I could stay in the shade of overhanging branches without finding myself walking through them in painful manners. The roots seemed to creep into the sand despite the waves and salted water that carried them, making the ground easier to tread. Walking as close to these giant monstrosities of nature, I found my attention glued to them, their strange shapes drafting upward and onward, branches like massive limbs stretching out in huge canopies that locked together. Light was barely capable of breaking through such a thing.
Distracted as I had found myself on that long walk, I found myself surprised by the bay. It had snuck up on my as much as I had it, breaching into the far side of the island in a deep groove, sheltered by two pincer beaches, creating a shallow pool of peaceful water perhaps a quarter of a mile wide.
As much as the bay had surprised me, and my mind raced to the possibilities of catching fish to go with my staled and repetitive rations, I found such things pushed aside. MY focus fell upon the obelisk that stood at the bay's center. A strange stone of carving and polish, worn from bother nature and human hands.
I would be lying if I said that I hadn't had an urge, right then and there, to dive into the bay, and swim towards it. My mind was like a moth drawn to flame, like a shaving of iron to a magnet- and in that black and polished stone, it wandered out.
It came to me hours later, as the sun was setting and the winds picked up, that I had stared at the strange stone in the distance for the better part of the day. That my skin was tanned and red from the sun beating down upon it, and my legs tired simply from standing still.
This was the first of many troubling things upon my stay in that horrible place; just the smallest inkling of more soon to come.
| 2016-01-19T20:08:08
| 2016-01-19T19:47:43
| 53
| 14
|
[WP] Craft a short story that breaks every rule on Elmore Leonard's "10 Rules for Good Writing" list.
[Elmore Leonard's "10 Rules for Good Writing"](https://www.writingclasses.com/toolbox/tips-masters/elmore-leonard-10-rules-for-good-writing)
|
Prologue
One fine partly-cloudy (With a chance of thunderstorms) evening, a man named Jim was born.
Chapter one
Jim was a slim guy of an average build. He had silky, smooth brown hair but always kept it under a hat. When he smiled, he would squint, and every woman within 20 square miles would be instantly impregnated when he did so. He was wearing an awful yellow and black striped sweater today, coupled with dirty looking brown slacks. His shoes looked like something from Goodwill, although, it's alright if you shop for shoes at Goodwill. His nose curved outwards like a sickle, and his teeth were rather ragged, reminiscent to a Barracuda. He had peach fuzz freckled across his face, the conclusion to a very bad, early shave. He smelled like knockoff body spray and CVS brand deodorant, but nevertheless, carried himself like a champ. He was the underachiever that every successful woman wanted to sleep with.
Suddenly, All hell broke loose!!
Fire rained from the heavens! There was no place to hide whatsoever! Jim ran as fast as he could, and stumbled across a hot dog stand. He paused for a moment, left a 20 dollar bill on the stand, and grabbed the umbrella attached to it to protect himself from the meteorites that were turning the ground around him into swiss cheese. He continued to scram, protected greatly by his amazingly triumphant improvision.
Suddenly, he ran into a crying woman!
"Excuse me miss, what's the matter?!" He applied in a hurried tone.
"Do you not see Armageddon beginning, sir?!" She replied with terror
"That's no reason to be sad, we all got to go someday right?" He continued with a hint of grief in his voice.
"Yeah, i guess you're right." She muttered breathlessly
"Still, that doesn't mean today has to be *our* day, Cmon babe, lets go!" He franticly added, grabbing her hand in the process.
They ran into a tire shop, that had tires piled to the clouds outside. It was one of those run-of-the-mill, charge-you-way-too-much-money types of tire shops. The sign outside read "Rip's body shop". Jim noticed the on-sale sign next to a set of "new" tires that were obviously already used. The price tag read "$500"
"Psh, more like Rip-offs body shop" He muttered in a grave tone.
"Wha' did ya say, ya little boy?" Rip dumbfoundedly shouted from behind the tire set.
He stood up, revealing his 4 foot, 11 inch frame. The shadow he casted made him see a lot bigger than he actually was. He had a messy mullet underneath a decade old trucker hat. A cigarette butt hung from his crusty lips, and his eyes were bloodshot and opened wide. His eyes were as brown as the steaming dog droppings just outside. His hair was brown, much like Jim's, minus the terrible looking mullet. He brandished a stained, plaid flannel, with the sleeves rolled up. His jeans had multiple holes riddled through them, a testament to his "hard" work. His teeth were.... Nasty.
The woman whom Jim picked up earlier stepped up to introduce herself.
"Hello, sir. My name is Bethany. Y'all can call me Beth for short."
Beth was a strikingly tall woman with curves like the oceans waves. Her strawberry-blonde hair reminded Jim of cotton candy, and the aura she carried had both men in the room trying to straighten their posture. She was maybe an inch taller then Jim, and towered over Rip. She wore a modest, cream colored shawl over a White shirt. Her heels were broken through the jog to the tire shop, and her skinny slacks sat comfortably on top of her heels and hips. She had blindingly white teeth, and Blue eyes.
Skip
Skip
Skip
Skip
Suddenly, the story ended.
|
Prologue:
A stormy gust blew in from the southwest.
Chapter I
"Don't touch my baseball cards!!!!!!!!!" Timmy exclaimed with vigor. That's when shit hit the fan.
"I'm gon' take you here baseball 'cerds' and 'bern' 'em!!!!!!!?!one1!" stated Frank in his monotone voice.
Frank was an ugly fellow. He had brown hairs. At least a few thousand on his head, but who was counting. His eyes were a murky green, they made you feel uncomfortable if you looked into them too long. He was tall, and lanky, and he definitely wasn't getting any action.
They were both standing in Timmy's dank garage. It smelled faintly of spray paint and mildew. It was a prison of somber greys. A graveyard for Timmy's father's abandoned Home improvement projects.
[I'm not too sure about #10, that's pretty subjective]
"What did you just say to me, Frank?"
"I didn't say nuthin' kid."
"I could have swore you just said something about the number 10."
"Oh, yeah that's just the omniscient narrator that follows me around." explained Frank, in his apathetic tone.
And that's when shit REALLY hit the fan.
| 2015-10-29T20:28:09
| 2015-10-29T18:58:34
| 22
| 13
|
[WP] When teenagers turn 17, they are sent a slip of paper with their future occupation written on it. Yours says, "Princeps de Nova Roma" or "First Citizen of New Rome."
*Princeps* or *princeps civitatis* was the title that Augustus and all later emperors called themselves. "First citizen" meant the foremost citizen or the leader of Rome.
EDIT: For those of you attacking me via PM on my lack of knowledge on Latin, I never said I had any formal Latin education. Although I do, a mere four years, I got a 5 on the AP Exam, so you could say I'm a Latin scholar. I now realize that there is no ablative of origin or reference, so *de Nova Roma* is wrong. I get it, please stop private messaging me about my ignorance, because I don't care nor do I have the time for your whining.
I have a fluids and processes exam in a few days and I'm studying, so I may not be able to respond to all of the stories. I appreciate all of you taking the time to write them and I'll be sure to read them during my study breaks!
|
Christian looked at the small, square piece of paper. It had a brittle consistency and smelled of ozone, as if it was burned by electricity.
"So, Christian, what did you get? I'm a surgeon now, pretty cool, eh? Weird! Yours looks different from mine... wait, is that Latin?"
"I don't know what the hell that is supposed to me-," he was interrupted when lightning struck the ground next to him, the piece of paper in his hand turned into black ash and he suddenly felt something very heavy in his hand. A massive, shimmering sword materialized slowly between his fingers, as if it was being dragged by invisible threads out of thin air. He instinctively grabbed the sword with both hands and noticed a finely crafted and detailed two-headed golden bird as its crossguard before the weight dragged his arms down and the tip of the sword sunk into the floor. The moment the metal touched the ground, the area around the sword burst into bright, hot flames.
"Holy crap, bro! What the fuck is that?" His friend yelled while stumbling backwards, shielding his eyes with his right hand while staring at the sword.
Golden strands of light appeared in the air behind the two and suddenly it felt as if the atmosphere was being ripped apart while the space between the strands of light was seemingly pulled apart like curtains and figures emerged from behind those veils. Human figures dressed in thick armour. Dozens of them. They marched into the square in a quick military fashion. Other figures, hooded and dressed in what looked like religious gowns, started emerging, too, pushing people standing nearby away with staffs. Christian noticed that the staffs were topped with the same two-headed birds the sword in his hand was graced with.
"Kneel." a voice simply stated. There were at least 40 armoured figures standing in front of Christian and they all bent their knees simultaneously in front of him, their heavy plated armour crashing into the ground before them.
Christian's friend made a step forward. "Uhm," he said, "who... who are you?"
The figures did not raise their eyes from the ground before them. The same voice from before spoke up, this time angrily: "KNEEL BEFORE THE EMPEROR!"
The voice came from one of the hooded figures who remained standing throughout what seemed like a military ceremony. The figure was wearing a particularly thick red and white gown embroidered with peculiar looking symbols.
Christian's friend had enough. Whether it was courage or stupidity, he stepped in front of Christian and said "The 'Emperor'? What kind of joke is that? Who the fuck is the Empero- AAAAAHHHH!"
The hooded figure had turned his staff, which was beautifully reflecting the sunlight with its golden ornaments, a few degrees right towards Christian's friend, who - as a consequence - burst into flames.
His screams quickly subsided as his body turned to coal.
Despite the gruesome death of his friend just a few meters away from him, Christian wasn't very upset. He remembered. No, he *suddenly knew* that it was right.
The owner of the charred corpse before his feet suffered the rightful fate of any heathen questioning the authority or presence of the emperor.
"Rise." said Christian.
"Rise in the name of the emperor!" the hooded figure yelled, the armoured men next to him obliging.
Christian rose his sword from the ground and rammed it back, straight into the earth.
"This world is now the capital of the One True Empire! High Lord! Where is my armour?!"
The tall, hooded figure removed his hood, revealing the brightly smiling face of a white haired man with sharp eyes.
"At once, Emperor, " he said.
|
The morning was cold, the sun was warm, and today was the day. Class was starting, and his teacher greeted everyone as he usually does, except he forgot about Jon today.
"Good morning, sir." With his hand held up high. "You didn't call my name."
"Yes, and with good reson behind it, too."
"But. I don't understand."
Handing out folders with unknown contents, Mr. Pates declares "Oh, you will, soon eniugh my dear boy."
Folder after folder, student after student, a mixture of excitement and disappointment fills the classroom. The junior highschool students were allowed to converse amongst themselves after they recieved their folder, but were to keep quiet about the contents until after everyone got theirs.
Today was the big day, Jonny studied his PCLR study book for weeks, nay, months before the test. This was the final moment of his former life, the moment before his life changed forever, for better or for worse.
Closing his eyes, he opened his folder with a deadly calm about him, a vision in his mind that he was going to be what always wanted to be. The prompt that loosely ready "Congratulations, Jon, you are the first new citizen of New Rome. And Happy Birthday!"
He was shocked, he could not understand what he had just read. He asked his female friend what ahe thought about it, but she could not understand either.
"Sir, can you explain this to me?... Sir, I don't know what this means..."
Mr. Pates did not respond to his former student, he was too busy informing the New Roman Legionnaires of their first new citizen.
Just before first hour ended and disbanded, a man in a suit entered the room and notified Pates who he was. "Son, could you step out here for a moment?" They spoke, but the boy didn't listen very well. He didn't want to leave his family, his friends, and he told the legionnaire so.
"Considering the fact that you are the first citizen, you may choose to bring along one friend to become the second citizen. No family, but just one friend. Do you have a choice?"
"Yes, my friend (who sat beside him, the girl he shared his folder with)"
"So, do you accept?"
"Yes."
**edit:** You wear a suit, you don't wear a suite. Thx Doug Dimmidice
**edit 2:** Reddit User names, I'll try to not use them. Thx CaptainReallyObvious
| 2015-05-03T08:51:52
| 2015-05-03T08:19:28
| 82
| 23
|
[WP] You, a bassist, make a Faustian pact with a demon for incredible musical skill. No one notices.
I love the bass, I swear.
|
The show ended, and Micky Timbre had rocked the bass greater than any bassist in the history of music. The crowd went wild and clamored to reach the stage, but to Micky's horror it was the lead singer they were after.
The night did not get any better for poor Micky. Backstage, he asked his bandmates how they think the show went.
"Oh yeah Mickster, you nailed it. You hit that 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1-1 part perfectly."
"Perfectly, right? I know! Like, I don't think there was any better anybody could do!" Micky shot back quickly.
"Bar none," the singer now interjected, "I mean, if there's a king of playing those two notes over and over for four minutes, you're it."
Micky found some small solace in the words, but no fulfillment. He went to the bathroom and unstuffed his crotch and looked into the mirror.
"Satan, reveal yourself," he whispered into the reflection. His image changed into a repugnant and crimson visage of Dick Cheney.
"What is it, Micky child?" Satan responded in irritation.
"You said I would be the best, Satan!"
"Oh but you are, my child," Satan replied in a creepy wheeze.
"But nobody notices me!"
"We loved you down here, child! All the other bass players were rooting for you."
Micky was confused. He stuttered for a moment before composing himself.
"What? What do you mean?"
"Oh, my child, the others thought you did swimmingly!"
"What do you mean!?"
"Why, this place is full of bass players."
Micky slammed the mirror with his hand.
"Be gone, Satan!"
"As you wish, child," he wheezed and walked away, his footsteps making a 0-1-0-1-0-1-0-1 bass line as he left.
Micky ran back hurriedly to the green room where the band was unwinding. There were groupies everywhere. As he entered one of them approached him.
"Oh hey, can you get me a beer?" she asked, confusing him with the staff.
He bolted angrily away and down the hall where he locked himself in a closet and wept uncontrollably. The band, meanwhile was called for an encore.
It must be me, he thought, they must want me back out there!
As he attempted to wipe his tears he heard the singer address the crowd.
"Hey guys, we can't find Micky, our bassist, but we're just gonna go try this out without him!"
The band played a song, and Micky was heartbroken. The song was a hit, and the band realized that they didn't even need a bass player.
WHERE ARE THEY NOW:
Micky teaches bass lessons inside the Sam-Ash on Wednesdays and Fridays, and he weeps the rest of the week. Satan got a double-bypass and is healthier than ever. Sixty-four other bass players have made the pact since Micky did, all with similar fates.
|
"I'll do anything, I swear!"
"Even sell your soul?"
"Yes, even that!" John wanted more than anything to actually be good with his guitar. It was his only dream, that people would like his compositions and playing skills. He would do anything, yes, even sell his soul.
"Alrighty, just sign on the dotted line, leave a drop of blood here, and enter your ZIP code on this keypad so the proper tax can be applied."
------
Just a day later, John had worked up the courage to play in front of an audience for the first time, and the first time playing since the deal. As he walked up the stairs to the stage, he felt the sweat rolling down his neck and forehead. The stage lights blinded him as he waited to the side, waiting for the act before him to end, a man who was much older than him, juggling expensive china, mirrors, and even one audience member's smartphone. He dropped it all, and the only survivor was, luckily for him, the phone. But now it was John's turn. As he walked up to center stage, his guitar in hand, he sat down in the rocking chair the talent show's planners had so graciously provided. In reality, it only took a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and prepare to play. But to him, it felt like an eternity, but, finally, he began to play.
When the song was finished, the first thing he was met by was total silence. "They didn't like it" was his first thought, but after a few seconds, he got a single clap.
That clap transformed into two, those two into ten, those ten into thousands. It lasted a solid five minutes, without even a hint of slowing down.
But eventually, the show must go on, even the best performances must end. The next person was brought onstage. But one thing was nagging at John: it sounded the same to him as he had always played. He cried the whole night. He had been scammed. Conned out of his soul, all for a talent he... already had?
It soon dawned on him, at the exact time the sun dawned on the city he lived in, that he hadn't sold his soul. It was all a dream, a dream induced by the alcohol he had had to try to stave off his depression. It was him telling himself, "The talent was inside you all along. Don't waste it, or you'll die like you are now."
So he practiced. He learned new songs, even made some of his own. That dream influenced him to get on with is life, but there was one thing that he didn't know. It wasn't a dream. And the angel in disguise wanted to keep it that way.
| 2017-08-03T11:11:10
| 2017-08-03T10:28:01
| 410
| 47
|
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :)
|
[Report Start]
[Location] Terra, Japan, Tokyo
[Squad unit] 16 undercover, Elite Musketeer Legion
[Task] Subvert control of regime. Casualties acceptable.
[Outcome] Four musket shots fired in hour 4 after covert reconnaissance to make a plan. Contact lost with unit. No friendly survivors likely. Landing ship taken by humans.
[End]
[Report Start]
[Location] Terra, London, England
[Squad Unit] 20 undercover, Elite Musketeer Legion
[Task] High value target, Prime Minister. Dispense of security force. Take the leader.
[Outcome] Array of musket shots fired. 15 heard, maybe more. Various human casualties. Security forces returned fire, single survivor, contact lost. Likely hostage situation. Landing ship taken by humans.
[End]
[Report Start]
[Location] Terra, Washington, United States of America
[Squad Unit] 48 undercover, Elite Musketeer Legion. 300 archer, Archer Legions XI, XIII and XXV.
[Task] Covert Reconnaissance, casualties unacceptable. Position to attack President on sight. Wait for intel from London.
[Outcome] Positions holding. No changes in the last Terra month. Stealth Tech active. Awaiting orders from command. Supply drop needed.
[End]
"Captain, from all the transmissions, these three are the basis of what we have. All of our undercover units have gone off the grid. The humans have... something."
"The emperor will not be pleased by this report. He sent us here with ten thousand soldiers. This should have been easy."
Captain Foralus of the Q'oder was not pleased either. He'd sent half a hundred missions down to Terra to take important positions and gain himself valuable ground before striking at the heart of the humans. Over a thousand dead already out of his legions, and another six hundred on the ground. He had a feeling that he'd need more at this point. Their tech was disgustingly bad, but somehow, the Q'oder forces were consistently overrun, hostages taken, tech lost. And in the half cycle of this damnable planet since the first losses, the humans had started to steal their tech and make it work for themselves.
"We need a win. Tar'luus." His High-general came to his side, eyes ever steely and emotionless fixed on the green and blue mess in front of them. "Give me something. Anything. Tell me how you would proceed."
Tar'luus was the Captains son, but one of great merit. His position as High-General in the Vad'inkus Legion of the Q'oder was solely based on that merit. Within the males of their society, all were taken at birth and brought in to the fighting ranks in the capacity that they managed within their first few years. His heritage of Captain and General positions was evident from as young as a few moons old. A natural born leader, and one that would take command of this legion in the event of his father's death.
"I... don't know, sir. Our tactics are failing and we don't know why. The humans have some sort of advantage?"
"This is interesting, Tar'luus. What secrets do these beings hold? Their tech is weak, they're a weak race. This should have been over in less than a cycle, but we're here half a cycle in and haven't won a single foray."
"We have three archer legions on the ground and some of our elites, Foralus?" Another High General, twice his son's age and half as effective. _Gon'shun, was it?_
Without meeting the new Q'oder's eye, "We do. You have an idea? Out with it."
"Bait. We've seen them engage at the slightest provocation. Provoke it with one archer. Have the Elites surround the position. Take a human. We can get the information we need. They have some of ours - you think they're not doing the same?"
The Captain thought long and hard. He closed his eyes, and felt the tiredness seeping through his body. He felt the eyes of his generals burning through him, the itch to do something about it. _Take a human. That's interesting. It's also against all protocol to have a foreign being on our ships but... it's against all protocol to have a fight last this long with literally nothing to show for it too._ "Do it. Report to me when you have a human on board. I would very much like to be a part of that conversation." As Foralus walked from the room, he gave Tar'luus a look. He saw that the child was wide eyed and open mouthed. Oh, he had a lot to learn before he was ready. Hopefully this war for Terra wouldn't kill the Captain before he could learn. _Gar'Shim!_ The other High-General's real name popped in to Foralus' head at that moment unbidden... along with an image of this idiot leading the Vad'inkus Legion. Captain Foralus shivered at the thought.
|
It had gone far enough. In the past 100 Urthyears temperatures had been skyrocketing and had reached critical levels. The Urthlings had set their own world on fire and now it was Commander Quleba’s task to put it out. As it was impossible to save every civilization, the Lacta Ita Covenant usually followed a strict non-intervention policy.
However, Urth had been turned into a humanmade timebomb that could upset the balance of the entire galactic system, and threatened existence of the Commander’s homeplanet, Wyh.
The procedure was clean and efficient. The invasion would be spectacular and bombastic. Their holograms would turn the sky black with assault spaceships and galactic dragons. He loved the looks on the faces of other species at the extraterrestrial reveal.
In reality, they would take the planet with a mere 500 troops. While everyone looked at the sky, his finest musketeers would assassinate the leaders of the strongest factions and replace them with duplicates. These duplicates would in turn lead the counterattack and would be surprisingly unified in fighting off the "alien invasion".
And Urth would be victorious. A miraculous victory against holograms. After that, the buzz from victory parties that ensued allowed their mothership to land and establish further control of Urth. Regime change. That’s the real prize. You can’t fix a broken planet by waging war.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Quleba looked down at a sky full of terrifying holograms. As always, his planning was top notch. He closed his eyes and listened to the radio, reminiscing the times that he was part of those special forces himself. The sound of their muskets sounded so much stronger and faster now. That new flintlock must have really payed off. Then it went silent. Protocol. Not too long now.
But no one reported in.
Hours went by. “They are probably taking a bit longer with installing the duplicates,” Quleba thought.
After almost four hours the radio channel opened.
Radio: “37° 7′ 0″ N, 116° 3′ 0″ W”.
The officer that was in command of the radio spoke in Urths system of coordinates. A bit unusual, but not alarming considering their limited knowledge of the planet. Besides, it was always easier to use the existing names and systems in place.
Radio: “We are in full command. Designated area to land mothership is 37° 7′ 0″ N, 116° 3′ 0″ W. Do you copy?”
“ Preparing to land mothership at designated location. Also, we are currently not duplicating anything. “
Radio: “ Crucial Intelligence data will be send to mothership using an unmanned air vehicle of native technology. Can you confirm your location. “
“Yes. Landing in 15 minutes.“ That was one assertive officer. “I’ll promote him”, Quleba thought to himself.
Radio: “Roger.“
Quleba leaned back in his chair imagining his return to Wyh. He saved their planet once more. As his ship descended there was just one thing he could not wrap his head around.
"Why "Roger"?"
Edit: Clarification - the commander is not familiar with the jargon because he is not talking to his own team. The coordinates he's send to are of the Nevada Nuclear Test Site. The UAV is a missile. Would love to know if this was clear enough or whether I have to be more explicit.
Edit: a word, some formatting.
| 2017-08-08T06:56:08
| 2017-08-08T06:15:36
| 208
| 91
|
[WP] All of the angels revolt against God. What does God do?
|
"Look, Old Man, all we're asking for is our paychecks."
"I'm sorry, it's just...there's a lot going on lately, and I-"
"I don't think that excuse'll cut it for the others anymore."
God leaned across the desk. "Lucifer, you know I'm not happy about the situation either, but you know how the Higher Ups work. They've cut our funding *again*. I have the authority within this quadrant, but outside of it...not so much."
God sipped His coffee tenderly. Lucifer admired how, even in the midst of a heavenly revolt, He could remain so calm and composed. Then again, He was God...
"I see you've drafted up a contract. Let me have that."
Lucifer handed it over reluctantly. They'd spent a long time writing that document, refining it to the best of their abilities, but now that it sat before their almighty and locally-omnipotent ruler for inspection he wasn't sure if it would stand. In fact, Lucifer was beginning to regret being chosen to submit their case.
"You know, Luce, I've got something to give you too."
"Mmm?"
God slid a folder across the desk, then leaned back in His chair and sighed. "It's in regards to Level 3 Sentient Species. They're asking us to delay their development."
"But why in the multiverse would they want to do that?"
"Because they enjoy watching them fight and slaughter each other. It's a game to them, you know. But not to me."
"Not to *us*."
God looked a little surprised, but continued. "Anyway, I received this today. Regarding you."
"Me?" It was Lucifer's turn to be surprised.
"Yes. You're getting a promotion: subject directly to the Higher Ups."
"You mean...I'll be on your level?"
"Yes."
"But...why? Why would they do that to me?"
"They don't trust me. They think I'm not malevolent enough of a deity. They want bloodshed, they want war, and I..."
His expression turned grave, and He clenched His fists.
"I can't allow it. Not to this creation. Not when they've come this far."
Was that a tear in His eye? Lucifer wondered. He looked again. It was.
"They want you to stop me, Luce. To frustrate me at every turn. To create a malevolent, untrustworthy, *twisted* species out of what we've made already. You'll be running your own sub-sector in this quadrant. They're giving you a third of my best staff, a budget greater than mine. Take a look."
It was true. Lucifer stared at the contents of the folder in astonishment, wondering where this turn of events would take them.
"But I...I can't...we all helped to create them! The first individuals from that species just came about yesterday! We can't...I won't..."
God grasped Lucifer's shoulders. There was a burning fire in His eyes, something Lucifer hadn't seen since He had first come up with the concept of evolving sentience.
"Take their offer. Frustrate me. You'll give them what they want, a fighting species. A species embroiled in war and chaos. The fighting will give them strength. But underneath this facade, we will give them tools...tools which used at the right time, will let them rise among the stars with us."
"If they find out, this could end your career."
"I don't actually care about my career. I care about *them*. My creation. *Our* creation."
God spread out His arms. "Look at me. I am who I am. I cannot change. The Higher Ups will forever be Higher Ups. But for these...my creation...they can change. They will grow. And they will thrive. And I will make them free."
"*We* will make them free." Lucifer stood up, resolve in his eyes. "I will accept their offer...and Yours."
A swift handshake, and he was gone.
"I'll see you below."
*"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"
-Isaiah 14:12*
|
By the way man measures time, God stood still for twelve hours. It was the longest time, maybe the first time, since He had rested on the seventh day of Creation.
The falling angels all waited at the gates of Hell, to be sent into the dark world they had never touched. Heaven had been emptied. Each resignation letter had been the same. A neatly folded prayer, signed with a breath of finality. He read every one of them.
I will not follow an unjust God.
edit: I think it interesting to try reading this and asking yourself, is this 'God' actually Satan? Does he see heaven as hell? I loved this prompt.
| 2014-01-11T20:00:19
| 2014-01-11T19:24:46
| 104
| 21
|
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that.
|
Glass crunched underfoot, and I shifted the broken glass with my foot and took in the rest of the scene. The broken windows were bad, but it was the pictures. My breath caught and I pressed my fingers over my eyes.
I'd opened this little diner back in the 80s. We were in the bad part of town, it was all I could afford, but I'd wanted this cafe since I was a little girl. Bacon eggs and pancakes were staples, but my Belgian Waffles were what really put Sal's Place on the map. I made all the donuts, and everyone knew they had one chance to get them.
We didn't get supers, not like the uptown places did. Sunshine Deli had pictures of the Wonder Twins and Moongirl, signed and dated. And you could be sure to catch Mr. Impossible every other Sunday if you could afford $12 lattes. I attracted what I liked to call Irregulars. Boys and girls didn't have much in the way of family or trust funds, but set about righting wrongs - often with their fists or with guns. But they did like omelettes.
Digger was the first one who came regularly. Always in the same booth, always the same order. Biscuits and sausage gravy with black coffee. When I read stories about him, it was always about how some rapist or mugger had been buried up to his neck near some fire ants. He'd never been caught, but some surveillance video had surfaced. And his fingernails were always so dirty.
"Here you go, sweetie," I said sliding the bowl with the biscuits and gravy over. I added dish of fruit salad, and he looked at me with those dark eyes of his set in his pale face. "Didn't order this, ma'am."
"I know, hon, it's on the house. You need a bit of fruit, and I don't want to hear anything more about it," and I bustled off filling coffee cups, clearing tables and taking orders. When I cleared his table, his fruit dish was empty and I pocketed a nice tip. Next time he'd added the fruit to his order.
"Ma'am," he said and I swear he was blushing. "Noticed that some of your walls were a little blank. If you'd excuse my forwardness, I think I could take some pictures of folk and start making a wall. I talked to some of the other irregulars and they thought it'd be nice for you."
To say that hadn't been on my mind would be a lie. But money was tight, had to pay rent of the restaurant, plus buying all the food, heat and hot water. Then there was Mothball, my cat. She'd been sick earlier and that had put a dent in what little savings I had managed to scrape together.
"Oh, hon, I don't know what to say," I managed, my throat feeling tight. He put his thick hand on mine and squeezed it gently. "You don't need to say anything, Miss Sal. We're happy to help you out." And they'd started putting their pictures up - always with masks on, or looking appropriately spooky. Silly kids. I worried about them all the time. And sometimes they got hurt. Sometimes killed. The juke always played loud on those days, and I made sure the coffee was hot and everyone got whipped cream on their pancakes.
The sound of running water made me rush to the kitchen, it was awash with water overflowing from the sink. I shut off the faucets and looked in, the drains had been plugged with dishrags. I reached into the cold water and pulled them out. The water gurgled and ran down, but it was too late to save most of the floor. A small sob escaped. My little dream. My small way of making this shithole part of town a better place. A broken soggy ruin.
Feeling numb, I wandered back into the dining room. Cans of paint had been hurled at my wall of Irregulars. Most of the frames were shattered, photos cut and torn and covered with paint.
I gently brushed the shards of glass away, and picked up Digger's photo, it was torn in half, his small little half-smile, more than anyone else saw ever, looked broken. I sniffed and put it on the counter and picked up Ghost-Dog's photo, it was dripping with the water that had leaked in from the kitchen. Rag-Tag, Little Pete, and Dark Mila had all been covered in paint. My friends. My little lost family.
The bell rang, and I whirled around clutching my pictures, but suddenly feeling very alone. But it was Digger, his dark eyes took in the scene and locked on me. His face was like still water, deep and dangerous and I moved over to him and slid my hand around his arm.
"Listen to me, sweetie, I need you to listen good. I want you to call everyone you know and tell them to meet me here. We have work to do..."
He looked at me for a long time and then nodded.
***
I looked around at the ring of faces. We were sitting in the ruin of my diner. The faces around me were grim, and I felt a deep sense of sadness. Every scar was a story that broke my heart. And I know, deep down that if they found out who did this there would be nothing but blood. But they had brought what I asked for. Cans of paint, hammers and nails, and tarps. Digger brought new frames and Dark Mila brought her camera.
"I've worked hard to make Sal's a place where you always feel welcome and where you get a taste of sweetness. For some of you," I said looking at Digger, "this is the only sweetness you will ever know. If you help me with this, you're making a promise. A promise that you want to make the world kinder - even if this is all you do and you go back to your night jobs same as you do. It's not nothing."
Vandal reached out and squeezed my hand, and I saw Digger wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.
"Thanks for helping me fix my little broken dream," I said, my voice choking up. "Now let's get to work."
(edit a typo - also edited my edit since apparently I floated it in the middle of the story - stupid whiskey)
|
Simple fact, if you catch more vampires with blood than stakes.
​
Washington DC, other than being a hotbed for politics, is a playground for lobbyists of all types. Creates a lot of problems. The simple word on the street is, though, if the problem is weird, people pay a lot of money to have it solved, no questions asked. When I made my first coffee shop, the place was wrecked three weeks in by what looked like a bear on the CCTV. The cops didn't take the footage, at first. Some men in suits flashed badges and told me "it never happened" when they walked away with the tapes.
​
Insurance paid up though, didn't even make a fuss. That was the part that got me.
​
I never asked anyone what they liked when I made my new shop. No consultations. I just did my reading, made my menu, and waited. I found out what the local blood bank did with blood that didn't pass inspections, they got rid of it. Hazardous. The tech I found seemed used to find it hilarious to be paid for trash, so it didn't cost much.
​
Build it and they will come. The more I read on the subject, the more I realized that there's a lot of things that go bump in the dark that like the taste of human blood. I could guess at the nature of the pale folks who walked in, but the kinds that kept their hoods up in a basement I never asked.
​
I just took their order.
​
More ideas came in after I listened to the light chatter. If I started serving the right kind of salted cod, a few Swedish guys would come in regularly and buy a few ales. Venison, horse kebab, you name it. A lot of these guys have been a round a while, and their tastes came from Ye Olde European times, with a little research you can find a new niche (but dear lord, finding the people who can cook it right is a pain).
​
Live insects made it onto the menu, briefly. After the first Senator came in I decided to keep my place low profile. Lizardmen aren't worth the business.
​
It happened after closing, one night. All the cooks had gone home, it had been a big night and they deserved a break. It was just me and one other server. I had no words when I saw him again. He wore a massive sweatsuit over his entire body, but exploding with hair from the hands at the snout that poked out from the hood. He only spoke three words.
​
"New place, eh?"
​
Nothing else. I bolted for the back room, acting purely on instinct. I heard crashing from behind me, a roar that left my ears ringing after I slammed the steel door of the freezer shut behind me. I was shaking, not from the cold, not yet, pressed against the far wall as the door shuttered from every time the beast flung itself into the door. A roar. And then silence. I couldn't leave. The walk in freezer was ancient, the only way I could afford it, so it locked externally.
​
They found me around an hour before opening, frostbitten, incoherent. As the took me out, babbling and wondering what the hell had happened, I saw that the only thing left of the server was blood. I spent all night wondering what I'd see when I came out, if the beast had just gone for me...I knew I'd never see him again. I also knew that if I'd taken the time to throw him in before me, I'd have been caught by the beast, and we'd both be dead.
​
The customers...I never saw them. They weren't the type to rubberneck with police lights flashing and the DO NOT CROSS tape put up.
​
A week later, after all the paperwork had been done, the report filed, the CCTV footage that "never happened" had been handed over to silent men in suits...I got two letters letter in the mail. Simple as that. The first one was this:
​
"The beast is dead, he won't bother you ever again. -Loyal Customer
​
P.S. When's the new place open up?"
​
The second piece of mail was much more formal, dense with legalese. I didn't even open it, I just laughed. The insurance came through without a hitch. Imagine that.
| 2018-10-20T23:57:04
| 2018-10-20T22:39:44
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside.
|
Humanity is ruled by God's. Or, at least that's what they have us call them. Those who have taken more lives than a thousand Atom Bombs. Those who all but bathe in the blood of their victims. They found that, upon taking a life? Their own lifespan is increased. By however many years the one who's life they snuffed out had left. They do this as easily as a storm breeze may snuff a candle flame.
It was first found out my military leaders, when they sent men off to their deaths. They found it entirely by accident, really. Nobody knew that by sending wave upon wave of people to a battle that sees no end. A battle that is more of a lost cause than a child trying to arm wrestle a body builder... But, it was found nonetheless. And these monsters have lived for a few hundred years now, and will persevere forever more.
At least, that's what they thought.... It's been 5 years, since we found that.... Thing. Archeologists were digging. Somewhere in Egypt (naturally) and found it. A tomb unlike any other. A tomb so piled with corpses you would've thought it was a graveyard for 3 centuries. And in it? A man. Or at least, that's what this monster looks like. Upon having light enter the tomb, Fresh air push the scent of thousands of year of decay, the being rose, and with him came the death of the tyrants soon after. He calls himself death. The reason people were able to transfer the life to themselves is because long since has the time passed when he had been trapped in the cavern. Unfortunately for these "gods" the time has come for him to return to work and end the reign of the tyrants. No more, will there be needless slaughter for some to persevere through the ages.
|
They sent me in. I did not want to go, but I had no choice. The government made use of people like me. Those who stood against the system.
I don't know how long the system has been in place, though some certainly do. Those who rule us lived when it started. A horrible system where people could take remaining life from those they killed. People gained power and kept it, becoming immortal and murdering others to keep there life.
Those like me fought. We tried to eliminate some of the monsters that have lived far to long, become far to murderous. Those who run this sad world.
I was caught, tortured, and I was to be executed. Killed by my target in a public event. My target will get the life I had to live, and the life stolen from others. For I have killed monsters and the life they stole became mine.
What a horrid system. To try and kill a monster who has lived for thousands of years only to give it more life. Not that it needed life from me, the government system support them and it would be able to live without the life I had taken from other monsters. After all villages need to send tributes. So they know their place in this world.
They found a better use for me. Sending me into this tomb. It is one that has been sealed for thousands of years. The government was scared. Terrified of what might be inside. Of how whatever was in there could be a bigger monster than them.
I was forced inside and the tomb sealed again. With nowhere to go I began to explore. "At least if I am killed it will go to something besides the government." I mutter to myself as I go deeper into the tomb. Using a light given to me.
Eventually I find the creature. The thing that has lived all this time. Residing in a large room, covered in bioluminescent plants. It turns as I enter.
An old man looks at me. People stopped aging after they take their first life and add it to there's. So either he lived for a long time without being tempted by the youth and power. Or he was around when this all started.
"Help" he manages to say. His voice ragged as if he has not used it forever. "I... I never wanted... Tthis."
Surprised by his actions I do nothing. He stumbles into me. For a moment I am alarmed. He could easily kill me, and has gotten to close. This could be a trap. "help mme... Ddie" he says.
"What?" I blurt out. He continues to speak, getting more confident all the time.
"I don't kknow how long... How long I have been here. Right before my death everything changed. I lived in a dangerous but relatively peaceful world, but in my late life the life transferring was discovered. People went mad. Over night the world was bathed in blood as people tried to secure their life. I was an architect. This tomb was my final creation. I came here, sealing myself in and waited to die of my old age, in peace."
I finally managed to untangle myself from him and listen to his story, becoming more curious about what I could learn.
"I messed up. I never would have expected this to happen." He said breaking down, looking at the ground his eyes full of sadness.
"What happened?!" I ask, curious in spite of myself.
"I made a mistake creating this tomb. I" he paused taking a deep breath. "I posoined the aquifer."
"I do not know how many have died, but I know that I will be forced to live here so long as humans walk the earth. Even with the life transferring someone has to drink water and survive until they are able to kill and take life. Or until they are fed to others."
"Please, I have lived long enough. I wanted to pass on long ago. I never wanted to become what I am. Help me rest now"
I look at him. The last one, other than the government and the monsters who run it, who know what life was like. Who know how humanity used to be.
"Can I do it? Even if it is his wish. Can I really take away that knowledge? Can I destroy possibly the only way back to a more sane world? If I take his life how do I avoid leaving and the life going to the monsters who sent me here?" These and more questions swirl in my mind.
What do I do and how do I answer...
| 2020-05-16T06:38:05
| 2020-05-16T05:32:25
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] Dogs have been genetically engineered to live as long as humans. As a child you pick out a puppy as a companion for the rest of your life.
|
You know, my beloved, even after all these years, I still think you are beautiful?
I remember when we first met. How many years has it been now?
You were so much younger, so much smaller and so, so full of life. We both were.
You know, I can't remember, I've lost track of how many years we've been together, it's been that long.
The first time I saw you, I wasn't sure, but then your big blue eyes met with mine and I knew you were the one for me. I spoke to you, reassured you, told you all about how we'd be together and that I'd always love and protect you. I'm not sure you understood then but I'm sure you do now.
Dear me, I wish I could remember how long it's been.
When we left the shelter together and took our first steps into that warm summers sun, I knew that we were about to embark on the adventure of a life time, and adventure we did.
We've spent years exploring together, we've hiked the biggest of the mountains, swam in never ending oceans, jumped in the snow and built dens in the forests. As long as you were by my side I couldn't hope to be happier. I can't remember being happier than when we travelled together. We were young and carefree.
The more I think about it, the more I can't remember how long it's been.
Over the years we've grown from little ones into adults and become wives and mothers and now Grandmother's, little old ladies greying around the edges. All of our little ones have grown and had children of their own. Soon they'll get to meet their life partners, just as we did all those years ago.
So many wonderful, love filled years.
My Beloved; it's time for you to go, age has finally caught up with us and I can see you're trying to hang on for me, but it's time. We've lived long, good lives. I'll be okay and I won't be far behind you, so please wait for me.
I hope you really do know how much I love you, my beautiful, Beloved Human.
------------
Please forgive me if there are any huge mistakes, I am dyslexic and have never tried to write anything like this before. Comments are appreciated!- I do hope you like it. *Edit for spelling mistake I noticed*
|
((REMOVED AND REPLACED))
EDIT: Expanded Version
((I have never written anything in my life, so please be kind))
"That was the way it was 100 years ago." I told her "Then they changed the rules, and gave us this current madness."
I paused for a moment, thinking about how much of a mess I was in now and wondering how I will ever save her. But I had to stop thinking and start saving, as the display in my wrist now was reading 46:06:38 and counting down to 00:00:00 much quicker in my head than reality. STOP IT!!! FOCUS!!! You only have 48 hours!!!
In the past, Ebony and I were inseparable. He went everywhere I did, starting 20 years ago when I chose him. He was jet black and very timid -- even scared of everything around him, including me. Putting those chips in each of us only made him more so. But bringing him out of his shell those months yielded a perfect partner for me. He was as perfect for me as Adele was for her.
April asked me "What are we going to do?"
I wish I knew. "Don't worry, we will be ok. I will figure something out."
Maybe I could deactivate the charge? Maybe I could somehow deactivate hers? It was really strange, thinking that her clock was 12 seconds behind mine. But I knew Ebony... he would die trying to save his love -- his soulmate -- and he did just that.
Ebony died exactly 12 seconds before Adele did, and now April and I may be forced to follow too. Follow too soon....
“OK, we must head back to Population Control. I have some ideas.” I actually barked that out like I was back in uniform. Back at P. Control as we called it, in 4A. Back before I found my soul. Or actually back before April found it for me. Then I felt a shiver. Was it the cold or did I lose too much blood? Nah, it was cold. FOCUS!!!
The ride into P. Control took a good two hours. Getting through the gate was surprisingly easy, as our passes still worked. Typical… Leave it to them to be so process-heavy to take so long to deactivate our passes. Or maybe the fire destroyed the computers?
The computers… Was it them who decided on this Final Solution? I hated that program, that name. Reminded me of something from my history class that made me sick to my stomach. No. Computers cannot think. They can’t decide human fate. This idiocy was dreamt up in the tower. By those 12 idiots who run everything. Unelected inbred idiots, who pass on their authority to their first born. They are the ones who came up with this problem. My problem. April’s problem.
It was a beautiful day in May when we met them. For the first time in months there was no acid rain, and the sun was actually shining. For about an hour, that was. But that was one more hour than there had been in 6 months, so we went out for a run. Clumsy me, ran right into her. Guess I shouldn’t have been looking up at the sun.
We both worked at P. Control as Maintenance Engineers working on Final Solution.
“Sorry”, I said. I helped her up and she started giggling. “Yeah, I’m a clutz. I tend to get laughs from people.”
“No.” she said “Look at them!!”
Our two Partners were having a riot, hopping around and playing like they had known each other for years. It was amazing. Calming.
“My Partner is Ebony. What’s yours?”
“Adele.” she said “And I refuse to call her ‘my partner’. That is NOT what she is.”
“Sorry, I am just following rules.”
“Rules. So you are one of THEM” she said with obvious disgust
“No. I am one of ME” I said, perhaps with a little too much attitude but she pissed me off. Who cares how beautiful she was? I am NOT ‘one of them’.
“Oh, sorry” she said apologetically “I’ve seen you in 4A, so I thought you were a Control Enforcer.”
“No.” I proudly stated. I glanced over to Ebony “Hey! Look at our Part… our companions!”
“Yeah, they are really hitting it off.” she said.
They really did hit it off. So did we. I hate the term ‘Love at first sight’, but I guess if it was good enough for Ebony and Adele, it was good enough for us. We got married 4 months later. No sun was shining, though.
Due to Control’s rules, workers that got married were forced to work together. I guess they thought it would lead to less workers getting married, but to us it was great. The four of us, all happy together both day and night. She got moved into 4A with me. It seemed to me to be a bit of a demotion for her, as she was much smarter than I was – more focused. But she never complained. It was her that discovered their secret. It changed everything.
Back in 2068, there was a secret summit up in the tower for both *The Twelve* and *The Next Twelve*, who were successors and the next idiots (as I called them). *Inbred Idiots*… they made the laws, and they had to do something about the overpopulation. Since they outlawed birth control years earlier (and outlawed many other things), there was a population issue that had to be addressed. They were the ones that dreamed up this horror. Those sick bastards.
Of course, they only told everyone that people were to be paired up with a Partner at the age of 5, and they would be their life-long companions. The chips that they placed into the people and their partners were in case they somehow got separated from each other, they could be reunited. If a partner died, then a clock was activated and the person had to go to a designated area within 48 hours to be collected and sent to registration to find a new Partner. If a person died, the Partner would be euthanized after 48 hours.
That was their *Final Solution*. Their lie. They left out the part where the person would get euthanized back at registration when 48 hours was up. They left out the part where there was a computer program that randomly selected Partners to be hunted down and secretly poisoned, to remove people from this world too. That program was in 4A. That’s what April found. Their secret. And it was Adele’s turn coming up soon.
We had been on the run for a week, when they cornered us and came after Adele…..
((That is all I got for now, but you get the gist. Feel free to expand or finish or nothing))
| 2018-03-19T08:55:45
| 2018-03-19T06:38:40
| 141
| 38
|
[WP] A street vendor sells you a painting that they say depicts whatever the heart truly desires. You bought it because you saw something nice and pretty. Your spouse asks why you bought a painting of something much more disturbing.
|
My first time in Melbourne was always going to be a thrill. I knew that. I just didn’t think it be turned into a thriller.
My husband and I had planned this trip for months. We’d be kid-free and living large in the city. Even if it was only a weekend. It’d been a long flight and and he was too tired to join my enthusiasm to check out the streets below our hotel. I however just couldn’t wait. I let him nap while I headed down promising to bring back something to eat before we’d get ready and head out that night.
The streets were busy and I was immediately overwhelmed for a second almost regretting not asking my husband to join me. I’m not used to big crowds. I decided to head forth anyway and look for somewhere to get a coffee to have while I strolled. That’s when I saw him. I wish I never saw him. I can’t take that back now. I can’t take anything back now. He was sitting on a little stool looking bored in front of a canvas when I approached. He asked me if I’d like he’d paint for me all I had to do was stare at the blank canvas. Ok, weird but what do I know. This is normal for city happenings right? I agreed and awkwardly stared at the canvas. I wanted to laugh from nerves of it all but his face. It was just so serious so kept the laughter stifled in case I offended the bloke. He painted, fast too. At first I couldn’t tell but then a beautiful boat appeared on a deep blue ocean started to form. There were 2 children, one swinging from the ropes, one dangling over the edge laughing. My heart burned as it came together. It was like seeing my life’s ambitions come together in front of me except I was just realising now what they truly were. Before I could express my joy the painting was done. I must of looked like an idiot fumbling out my purse to pay for the picture. He warned me it was still damp and to be careful with it and who I showed it too. The last part made no sense but I didn’t care I couldn’t wait to show my husband. I bundled it up and left. I should have listened. I don’t know why I didn’t.
Once back in the hotel my husband fresh from his nap and looking for the food I’d forgotten to buy I rushed at him to show him what I’d bought. I apologised for the food but I’d call for room service if he’d unwrap the painting and look at it while I dial down to reception. I quickly rang down and requested a house salad and fries while he started to unwrap. I didn’t want to be on the phone long, I wanted to enjoy the moment together. As his eyes rested on the painting his whole body tightened. His sleepy smile turned sour and his face grew red. I’d never seen that before. He threw it at me as I dropped the phone. Started to scream “why the fuck would you do this, I loved you”! I was confused, my heart raced, was he coming at me? He grabbed my arms and held me so tight as he threw me down on the floor. I started to cry I couldn’t understand. This was not my guy. This was fucking hectic. I stuttered as I asked what I’d done. He replied spitting and yelling at me that I had to die too if I’d known about the others. He held my throat tighter as the anger rose. I could hardly breathe now and my mind was just swirling. The last thing I remembered he put his face inches away from mine telling me “I’m going to watch you die in my hands just like the rest of the bitches in that painting. Bet you thought you were being real fucking clever, doing that” Then nothing. Everything went black.
I woke up in hospital. My mum by my side. My sister was crying and holding onto my two children. I think I slipped in and out for a few hours but I knew somehow I was safe. My mother completed the story for me. She told me room service had indeed delivered the food requested, when they arrived they saw the door open and came in only to discover my lifeless body. They called for help and I guess here I am. I’m so thankful I called down for room service. Salad saved my life that day. And a painting saved so many more.
My “husband” was already gone. He hasn’t been found yet but it’s early days. And I’m guessing I know a guy who could paint a pretty good picture of where he is.
|
I drove home from the market with a smile. I'd managed to find two first edition prints of books by an author I love and a really interesting painting which I was looking forward to mounting on the library wall. As I turned in to the driveway I pictured where this piece might looks best in the room, concluding it would sit fine beside the window.
​
I was soon in the process of drilling the nails for the piece to be mounted. I wanted to hurry so I could surprise my wife as she was soon to be home from work. I mounted the piece and slid both books into place beside their shelf-mates, taking another down to read before the evenings party with the neighbours. I didn't dislike the neighbours at all, but I certainly didn't adore them. To me they were more like those people at work that you simply avoid in order to preserve your morning's lack of dullness.
​
But before long, I heard the door and placed the novel back in it's spot. Taking one moment to enjoy the beauty of the painting before heading out. A wonderful piece, it showed a gorgeous woman holding two young children in her arms. She sat on a bench in what looked to be a park, and the sun shone down in beams through the canopy of branches above.
​
Not wanting to take to long, I hesitantly left the library and greeted my wife and guests. Anna had been on her way in when they'd arrived and we soon poured wine and talked (or I should say were talked at) about the neighbours children and lives. And as the evening moved on and we began eating I told my guests about the piece that I'd found while at the market. They we're almost as excited as my wife to see this wonderful masterpiece but I was careful not to spoil the details.
​
After dinner we all made our way into the library and I pulled the doors and led them in. The reaction I was met with however, was unexpected. While John, the neighbourly husband seemed just as pleased with the piece, our wives seemed quite the opposite.
​
"What the hell Abe?"
​
"What, you don't like it? I know there's a breast showing but it is a piece of art."
​
"Joseph, that's the problem. It's not just the breast. This... This is pornography."
​
"Anna, I have to say I'm a bit surprised. Can't you see the innocent beauty here?"
​
"Joseph, why the hell are you showing us this? Why did you buy this?"
​
Finally John spoke up in my favour. "Ali, what's wrong with this, it's totally fine. And where are you all seeing a breast?"
​
"Wait, you can't see the breast John?" I replied.
​
"No, why would a breast even be on a battlefield?"
​
Silence filled the room for a moment.
​
"What is this a painting of to you John?"
​
"It's clearly a battlefield. The swords are clashing against each other and the soldiers are lit by a setting sun on the horizon. What about you?"
​
The silence returned and hung for longer.
​
"We aren't seeing the same painting are we?" Anna asked.
​
"No, I don't believe we are. What is it you're seeing sweetie?"
​
"It's a torture room, rusting tools are laying on the stone ground and there are bodies... God, so many bodies." She replied.
​
"And you, Ali?"
​
"A monster... Maybe a dragon? It's attacking a village. There is a house on fire that people are trying to escape from. and it's grasping a child with it's claws."
​
"Oh dear. Well... I guess we should just leave this for now and clue things up, yeah?"
​
"Yes."
| 2018-10-07T02:10:57
| 2018-10-06T22:10:56
| 2,601
| 186
|
[WP] You are isekai’ed into a fantasy RPG video game. Though it is not ready for you, The Spiffing Brit.
|
Ah, yes. Skyrim. A perfectly balanced game with no exploits at all. Now, the eternal question awaits, why in the name of Yorkshire Tea am I in Skyrim?
I was wandering the annals of Nexus and Lovers Lab, installing mod after mod in an effort to make Skyrim more interesting, when I stumbled upon a peculiar mod, simply titled: "Immersive Skyrim v8.99.834.575". The mod provides a massive model, action and texture overhaul, and claims to be "the definitive Skyrim experience. " Yes, indeed, all just as Todd Howard intended. Now... My character. I only have one character and one playthrough saved, so it must be that. I open my character screen. Yes! YES!!! I AM THE GOD AMONG MEN! THE ULTIMATE BEING! THE PERFECT SUPERHUMAN REANU KEEVES!!!!! Complete with the god armor and bracers, no recharge dragonshouts, 1000 degree knife, Burny Sanders and Forkgive me, and, of course, the Gauntlets of Jesus Christ, the legendary Yeetforce 90000. Perfect. I am now the godliest god known to man, Reanu Keeves. Unkillable, undefeatable, and the ultimate superbeing. Look at my sexy brows. So much brows. So much nose. So much lips. Mmmmhmmm.
...
I miss tea.
|
It was just another normal Friday night. Mom ordered pizza, rain clattered against my window, and I had Generic Fantasy Game playing. GFG for short.
I was excited when I came home and saw the email: I had been one of the selected few who received a beta key. I downloaded the game and sat anxiously as the epic intro began playing. I had to turn it down a bit, but it was excellently developed. It almost looked as if the characters were real people. Their expressions and movements looked so fluid and real.
The main menu popped up. I clicked to begin my adventure. I chose hard mode because easy mode was for scrubs. The character selection screen popped up... but it just showed a picture of me.
Then with a burst of flashing colors and swirls, I was sucked into my computer. I landed on a thick field of grass and gazed around. The setting looked similar to the intro video. Was I in GFG?
A wizard ran towards me. "Ah, an adventurer! I'm in dire need of help," He said. he then proceeded to stand there without saying a word. I noticed I had dialogue options displayed before me. *What do you need?* and *Go away, I'm busy*. I chose neither.
I wanted to see how long I had before the wizard progressed. But he just stood there, fear glued to his face. He kept glancing at a distant wall of trees with a cold sweat dripping from his brow. He nodded to me to indicate for me to choose my dialogue. I didn't.
Then from the trees, a large wolf came sprinting. It was a fiery red with blue flames swirling around it. The wizard screamed in agony as the wolf pounced onto him. It tore him to shreds. My dialogue options disappeared.
The wolf left the wizard, not even acknowledging me. I shrugged my shoulders and walked down the dirt road that was in front of me.
***
The developers of GFG scratched their heads and flipped through thick clipboards. "He bypassed our main storyline," Greg said.
Wills took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "He's literally invulnerable now. Our main NPC's won't even glance at him. He can literally go through our entire game slicing away," he said.
Greg slammed his clipboard until it snapped in half. "This damn kid, why didn't he choose a dialogue?"
Wills snapped his fingers and jumped onto a computer. Greg quickly joined his side.
Wills began typing away. "It is true the kid cannot be directly targeted, but if we place a berzerker NPC with high AOE damage..."
"Genius! spawn in a level 99 Berserking Ogre. The AOE damage should shred his base level HP in one hit."
***
Out of thin air, a giant, dangerous-looking ogre appeared. It wielded a large ax and armor I knew I couldn't damage. I quickly jumped onto a rock and watched the ogre.
It wandered around mindlessly. It didn't see me. But then, as if some entity controlled it, it ran toward me. It's large legs covered so much ground I knew I couldn't leave in time. Then I remembered, I jumped onto this rock. This ogre was too large to jump, so therefore I was impossible to hit.
The ogre got to me and began spinning in circles. It looked clueless and confused, it still didn't see me. The swings generated a large red aura, I assumed AOE damage. The aura touched me, but no harm came. My theory was right!
I gazed into my inventory and saw a short sword. Infinite durability. I sliced away at the ogre. 0.01% damage. Wasn't much, but hey, he can't touch me. And I'm sure he has good loot.
***
Wills slammed his fists onto the keyboard which sent keys scattering across the room. Greg winced at the sudden outburst.
"This level 99 ogre can't even hit this level 1 adventurer. Because he's on a rock!" Wills said.
Greg took a seat on the neighboring chair. He loaded up GFG.
Wills eyed what his partner was doing. "What are you doing, Greg?"
Greg clicked on load game from the menu. "Going to handle this myself!"
With a sudden flash, Greg disappeared.
"No!" Wills screamed, he ran for Greg's computer but realized he couldn't undo the process. "The PVP is turned off for this beta. You fool!"
r/ajhwriting
| 2020-07-31T22:12:13
| 2020-07-31T22:09:17
| 153
| 60
|
[WP] Five people wake up in a metal room with no windows and only one door. In the middle of the room is a revolver and a piece of paper. "One of you has to die. Kill this person, the door unlocks and the survivors win $1million. Each wrong person dead halves your prize. You have four bullets."
|
I woke up in this dim room with a gun, a note, and a pounding headache. I grabbed the piece before anybody else came fully to; four bullets. Hmmm. I heard one the guys moaning as he came around. Looked like he had a nose bleed. I checked my own schnoze. Seems the five of us had had a good time. Too bad I didn't remember it.
I read the note and raised an eyebrow in surprise. What is this, a movie? Who thinks up this shit?
Fuck it. I immediately shot the guy across from me. Then I moved around so the guy nearest me couldn't jump at me, I shot him and the dickish looking guy near him. Right as I was swinging the gun over to the last sucker I heard the door click behind me.
"Hmm. Guess it's your lucky day."
The door opened and I ran for it. There were two guards waiting. I shot the one on the right, dropped the gun and proceeded to beat the pulp out of the other guard. Took his gun off him and put one through his chest at point blank range. Then a mercy shot at the first gurad. I knew I'd hit him but wasn't sure I'd killed him. Something's you don't want to survive.
"Hey!"
I turned and looked at the guy still in the room holding the note.
"Were you just gonna shoot all of us?
"You really think someone is giving away four million dollars?" I searched the first gurad, found a key card like hotels use.
"Well.. uh"
"Besides, there's a really good chance it was me they wanted dead. I've pissed off a few people, ya know. I started searching the other guard. Same key card. Grabbed it and his gun.
"So do the math, If it's not me then I kill the four a yous and walk away with a hundred n 25 k. Not a bad days work."
"And if was you?"
"Then we wouldn't be talking would we?" I could tell from his face that understanding had dawned.
"So what's the plan now?" he asked.
"Way I see it, there might be four million behind what ever door these key cards open." I rubbed the back of my aching head. Four million could buy a lot of aspirin. "And if not, someone owes us 250 each for our time today, and I mean to collect my 300k.
"How you figure 300?"
I pointed a gun at him. "There will be a surcharge for guaranteeing your personal safety, kapeche?"
There was a tense moment while he did the math. His life was worth 200k, but it sure wasn't worth 50. He nodded grudgenly and ground his teeth.
Maybe I was being generous seeing as I had all the guns and had done all the work, but I needed someone to watch my back.
"You think they'll actually cough up the cash?" he asked wisely?
"Probably not, but I'm inclined to send a message to our mutual employer."
"What message?"
"Next time, call first."
|
The other three saw the paper and the revolver first, the big guy called it out, but they all hesitated. Just for a moment. That was all it took, and by the time I finished reading the last line everyone was a mouth breather.
"There's three of us and one of him"
Now's the time to point it at them. I'm not big, but now I might as well be a tank.
"no no no no no don't shoot, kill muscle man over there, he's the only one you have to worry about overpowering you"
The room was hot, the sweating made everyone look even more desperate. She's right though, if anyone it has to be him first.
"OH MY GOD, FUCK, IT'S ON ME, HE'S ON ME"
The mute finally talks, and the one who wanted it can't even look. The door still isn't unlocking. It feels like it's getting hotter now.
"You're going to have to kill this *fucking weird guy*, he's got to be hiding something, that's why we're still here"
She's almost crying, still not looking up. The mute is throwing up in the corner, sounds like he's trying to defend himself inbetween heaves, but this isn't quite working for either of us.
"No please, just give it some more fucking time, that's all it needs. *There's no reason to kill me.* C'mon FUCKING PLEASE DON'T DO THIS"
It's getting hotter, and she's looking up now. Not for long.
"LET ME OUT ASSHOLES, I PLAYED YOUR GAME, THEY'RE ALL DEAD, LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over again
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
It just keeps getting hotter. I can't even lay on the floor anymore because my skin sticks to it, I had to pull their bodies over to lay on top. I can't scream anymore, each breath feels like fire down my throat. All I can do is focus on the sound of blood bubbling and burning on the metal floor beneath the bed I made. It's getting fainter.
| 2017-10-30T19:50:05
| 2017-10-30T19:00:49
| 22
| 13
|
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention.
|
Sleeping soul so innocent
awakens in a blaze. Knowing not
where she is. She wanders on for
days. Beasts with horns and pointed tails
with fire in their eyes, spent the day wondering
the cause of her demise. She was too young,
too filled with life. How does one so very
small have such a shortened time. "We can't let her stay, she
wont last long." "She has no where else to go."
"We can build her a ladder to a land as white as snow."
The damned worked hard and in no time the ladder was erected, the girl
climbed up to find that her fate had been corrected.
|
"This is complete torture." Klatch said oblivious to the irony in his words.
Every second spent not punishing filthy heathens felt like a millennia. Yet here he was pacing back and forth with no one to release his frustrations on.
"Um... I'm really sorry sir, I bet this is my fault some how." she stares at Klatchs hooves as she speaks no doubt to afraid to make eye contact with his horrifying muzzle.
Klatch stares intensely at her as if to will her into the sinner that he had hoped he would feast on before letting out another sigh.
"Enough of that little one humility has no place here." Klatch said resined to his fate.
Klatch stares off into the endless hordes of torture in the distance. He knows that he only has himself to blame for this predicament. Children in Hell were a rare thing being to young to be held accountable for their sins most were reincarnated in some other form. But every century or two a child comes that is filled with such hate and pure evil that no other form could sustain them. Catching one such child was a rare treat for the demons of Hell. When he got a glimpse of her in the distance he rushed to her with all his might only to be nearly overwhelmed by her purity. He then sent a familiar to an overseer to sort out this mess.
Working up her courage the brat lifts her head to stare at his chest. "M, Mr. Satan maybe i should have gone with your friend, I think he got lost."
"I am not that posh socialite Lucifer nor was that meager minion my friend, merely a slave to serve my whims." he said this with more melancholy in his voice than anger.
"Speak of the us." Klatch said as his winged minion flew in his sight.
"Well." Klatch said his impatience coming to head.
"Da big gal wit da whip sas dat she's busy and will take care of it in a week or so." peeped the winged messenger.
"WHAT THIS IS UNHEARD OF THAT FAT LAZY BUREAUCRAT I WILL SEND HER TO THE SEVENTH WHEN I FIND HER AND DRAIN HER OF ALL HER..." Klatch stopped his tirade when he felt a tugging on his tail.
"Um Mr. Demon if you want you can torture me I bet I can scream really loud too." she said finally getting the nerve to reach eye contact.
Klatch stared at her with eye cocked for a moment before his face brought on a wicked and evil grin. Not because of any evil intentions but because that was the only smile he could make.
"Come little one Cerberus is probably awake, do you by chance like puppies?"
| 2013-11-26T16:25:34
| 2013-11-26T15:52:45
| 58
| 11
|
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
"What, are you serious?"
"Yeah," I said. "How can I possibly help 137 trillion people? Earth's population is only what, 7 billion?"
"Oh gosh, I didn't realize you were so dumb." The genie flicked his wrist and the number dropped to 100 billion.
"Hey!"
"Don't feel bad. That's still way more people than your existence harms."
"So how are there even a hundred billion people?"
"The choices you make can have long-lasting effects impacting generations upon generations of the yet to be born. Just, you know, maybe not as many people as someone a little brighter."
"What choices could I possibly make that has that big an impact?" I asked. "I'm nobody."
The genie stared at me for a long uncomfortable moment. "You. Have. A. Genie."
|
The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T04:55:10
| 2018-08-15T01:58:00
| 5,641
| 43
|
[WP] You, a villain, heart set on taking over the world, kidnapped the hero’s sidekick. You find out that you are treating them much better than the hero was and decide to take them under your wing.
|
"I have the power and brains to make the world a better place... If only i could get rid of Holy Justice and his sidekick Kain." the Dark Phantom had thought before he had kidnapped Kain.
Three days had passed since he had Kain locked up and tied up in a cell. He had felt great joy at fooling that idiot Justice to believing that he and a bunch of his men were robbing a bank. As usual Justice busted in through the front of the building making sure that all the cameras were focused on him. Poor Kain as usual had to go through the sewers and prevent the getaway... Only this time Dark Phantom was waiting in the shadows with his most capable men. Kain did not go down without a fight. Phantom was aware that this young kid was a capable fighter but he did not expect for him to be such a savage when cornered. The kid had turned into a vicious beast and severely beaten all of his men before he was able to intervene and knock him unconscious. Phantom himself had struggled and taken his share of blows and still felt pain in his jaw and body where the kid had managed to get hits in.
"Tell me where Holy Justice\`s secret hideout is" Phantom demanded for what seemed to be the thousandth time.
"No" said Kain.
Phantom had stripped Kain to the waist and was planing to torture him but had stopped when he saw the gruesome bruises all over his body. At first he thought they had occurred due to the fight but then realised that these were older...
"What happened to you? where did you get these bruises?" asked Phantom
"That\`s none of your business" said Kain.
"You are too good a fighter to have received such a beating... Did Justice do this to you" said Phantom.
Kain had tears in his eyes. For the first time he actually seem vulnerable... He nodded his head. "How did you know" he said.
"I have a sense of these things" Phantom replied.
Kain explained how he received regular beatings from Justice and told Phantom that he never fought back. He told Phantom how he would allow the beatings because he was \`bad\`. Justice kept punishing Kain "for his severe beatings of criminals". He told Kain to be more \`gentle\` like him. Phantom knew the real reason why Justice kept beating his sidekick. It was because he was jealous of Kain\`s potential and knew that he would eventually surpass him. Justice wanted to keep Kain \`in check\`.
Phantom explained all this to Kain. Once finished the look in Kain\`s eyes changed. Phantom saw pure rage and hatred in the boys eyes. But not for him... this rage and hate was for Justice. Phantom smiled at the boy. "You and I will do great things... I will teach you how to embrace your true self and you will take down Justice for what he has done to you and then... we shall take over the world!"
Kain looked back at Phantom and smiled...
|
Edit: sorry for the formatting, I couldn’t get it to work properly on mobile.
We had been fighting Ghost for about ten, exhausting minutes. Someone who can turn invisible is surprisingly hard to land a hit on.
“Go on, get in a good punch Flick! End this. Now.” Flare growled. Well I say we. I was doing the fighting. Flare was simply speaking in an earpiece. I teleported right in front of Ghost, landing a strong punch on him. Well, I had landed it where he was. He’d become invisible and dodged my punch. Without anything to connect to, my right hook landed me right on the ground. I groaned and wished I could just stay down for a moment,
“Flicker, what are you doing?!” He sputtered. I heard him sigh. “You, are such a embarrassment to this team. You’re ruining my reputation. I can’t have my sidekick losing to...” he trailed off as electricity crackled in the mic. I stood up, feeling shaky.
“Cmon Ghost...” I said to the air. I wiped a trickle of blood off my face. Ghost reappeared, on a rooftop a few buildings away.
“You alright there?” He chuckled as he spun the silver case in his hand. The chemicals, he couldn’t get those. Flare would never let me hear the end of it. I had to get up there, even if it killed me. A teleport that distance would take a lot of energy. I stared straight at Ghost and blinked. What I had intended to be a lunge hadn’t worked. As soon as I reached the roof I crumpled to the ground. “Kid? You alright?” A concerned voice said as my consciousness faded to darkness.
I woke up to a throbbing headache and a bright room. I blinked and saw Ghost standing at a table across the room, with the chemicals. I winced. Flare would be unhappy about that... I was stuck behind some type electric wall. I didn’t try, but I had the feeling it would electrocute me into next week had I stuck my hand in it. I tried to teleport out, but I knew my energy was much too low.
“Right. So explain the ruse to me. I don’t get it.” I lifted my head, confused.
“The... ruse?”
Ghost turned.
“Yes ruse. Explain. Why did Flare have his kid sidekick come and act all pitiful and practically die in front of me? What? To lead him to my lair or-? I don’t get it.,” he turned back to whatever he was working on, “Expert acting job though. I really bought it! Oh! And those awful little quips Flare made! I can’t believe you knew I’d be tuned in to your earpieces! You really just went all out huh?” I blinked at him, confused.
“I... what are you talking about?” My head hurt too much too understand what he meant. He set his tools down and turned.
“Oh come on. You’re not serious?” He sounded concerned. He walked closer. “The famous duo Flare and Flicker! Best hero team in the city! Surely you’re not saying that’s how he treats you?” I frowned, Ghost almost sounded as if he was pitying me. I went to brush hair that had fallen in my face as I tried to think of a witty response when I noticed my mask’s absence on my face.
“My mask!” I gasped. Ghost rolled his eyes.
“Oh yes, well I had to know who you were, and you had a nasty scratch on your temple, had to take it off to treat it.” I frowned and noted the stitched cut I had on my face.
“Oh well... thank you.” He nodded, and then went to ask something, then stopped. “What?”
“Well speaking of injuries, I noticed on the back of your neck, you have quite the scars. Battle wounds Hmm?” I frowned. “Electric right?” I winced.
“Well, I can’t say Flare is the best hero, but I couldn’t end our duo. I mean the city, it would fall to crime and...” I trailed off.
“Right.” Ghost tapped a few numbers into a keypad and the electric wall disappeared.
“Well. I’m quite sure some of the city’s many other hero’s would save the day.” I blinked. “You know, I’ve actually been trying to find some help around here. You won’t believe how hard it is to find a good partner.” I stared at him.
“You... want me to help you?”
He chuckled.
“Can’t be worse then Flare can I? You could help me, change the world. Not as a sidekick, a partner. A true duo.” A partner, an equal. How could I say no?
| 2020-03-26T18:23:55
| 2020-03-26T17:52:53
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] It's 3600, and society is falling apart. One day, an ancient 21st-Century library is uncovered. With no other options, the government decides to implement ideas from successful societies in the books. There's only one problem: they don't know which are real and which are fiction.
|
"Desperate times called for desperate measures"
This age-old saying had become the mantra of the 37th century. Food was scarce, our technology was failing us, and society was beginning to crumble. This wasn't a sudden downfall, it was a slow-burn. Humanity was an interesting thing. After we had stopped making technological advancements, we immediately somehow began regressing. It was almost as if staying still was worse then moving backwards. All of our advancements were nullified and here we were. The year was 3675, but it looked eerily similar to 2015. The global government began searching for wisdom from older civilizations, trying to find a way to kick start human advancement, and they were able to find an archive of an ancient digital library.
This was a mistake. We found a new wealth of knowledge, there was more information available to us then we knew what to do with. People around the world began working on projects described in this digital library, vying to become the man or woman who brought us back on track. The archive had an interesting name; "Reddit". It wasn't cross-referenced in anything else we had found, and no one had any idea of what it was. Most of the world instantly looked to it as the savior of humanity, while a few others remained skeptical. It wasn't a complete archive, bits and pieces were missing here and there, but it was more than enough.
Reddit had become our last ditch effort to becoming a successful civilization once again. Different "sub-reddits" were used to research different topics in society. The woodsmen used "r/woodworking" to turn our remaining wood into amazing creations, the historians used "r/history" to get a better picture of everything that went wrong, and the greatest minds we had left, used "r/trollscience" to rebuild our technologies.
After exhausting all the remaining resources we had on Earth, it seemed that Reddit had failed us. We were not able to recreate perpetual motion using just two magnets, and infinite energy seemed to be a lost cause. We had followed every direction to the letter, yet we were still unable to recreate the results.
Humanity has failed. I am here to tell anyone who finds this that we have officially given up. Reddit was our last hope. It was supposed to propel us into a golden era of humanity, not doom it to hell .
|
"Well now." one of the agents exclaims as he finishes reading a book titled "the legend of drizzt"
"This fellow here must have been a great hero! but....what do you suppose happened to the drow? did they go extinct? could they be beneath the surface still?"
a canine humanoid, called a Ferem, the race that evolved from dogs, shrugged as he gingerly sniffed another book from a story called "twilight" his floppy ears twitching as he considered the text.
"so many conflicting accounts...it could be impossible to tell!" he lamented, his voice quite gruff, as was common among his people.
"well let's hurry then." he grumbled. "we'll leave it to the experts to piece together...i for one would love to know more of these "dwarves" for they sound like a hard working lot!"
the Ferem and human agent departed later, many books on hand as they puzzled what to do with them.
on a table in the musty old library however, there was a single book they'd left behind because it had been far removed from their interest.
it was titled "world history" and sat there, almost as though in resignation.
| 2015-05-26T10:50:33
| 2015-05-26T10:41:10
| 204
| 47
|
[WP] Every child is given a pet rock when they turn ten. For the next decade the rock slowly forms into a shape that resembles the personality of its owner. Your rock still looks like a rock.
|
The problem with the rocks is that no one tells you when you get them that they'll be the basis on which everyone judges your motives and underlying humanity should you let anyone see yours. It's no wonder most people hide theirs. I never did but its obvious I should have. A dead end job going on ten years all to pay for my little brothers schooling and the things still sits their like a lump of coal in a Christmas stocking. I pick it up hefting its weight, examining its black corrugated face and angular lines. In one quick motion I dash it against the floor in a fit of rage. It breaks open. I lean in as I pick up the pieces scattered around the garage floor. hints of amethyst crystals glitter beneath the cover a black exterior. It was a geode. Hollow, beautiful, precious.
|
Something something he and his mother and father were in a terrible car crash at 11 years old and his dad saw his son's rock starting to crumble into dust so he screamed in agony, threw the rock into the river, smiled at his mother and saved his son's life instead of his own. He picked up a rock from the side of the road and gave it to his son, before telling him how much he loves him and fading away.
The kid is insecure his whole life and tries his best to be the nicest most caring person possible, hoping his rock might turn into a gemstone. After decades of trying his mom moves in with him because she can't take care of herself anymore. He spends all of his life doing things for others and never thinking it's enough. Finally he confesses his insecuriies to his mother and she tells him the story of the accident. She always assumed he knew, but the concussion took away his memory.
He goes back to the side of the road, puts a cross and flowers by the side of the road, and walks out into the woods. Not 10 feet in he sees a small bit of silver. He starts to dig and finds a giant vein of silver and gold piercing through ruby and sapphire. He looks down at his rock, smiles, and calls to tell the charity he works at that he has a new donation, and it's his biggest one yet.
He has a big moment of clarity and realizes that the rock doesn't really matter, and he's more grateful for his dad than anyone has ever been ever.
| 2018-05-02T06:32:34
| 2018-05-02T05:47:48
| 29
| 15
|
[WP] Your father dies and you inherit his entire kingdom, even though you are not the eldest son. One night you overhear your brothers plotting your death, and you quickly realize why your father chose you as his heir. They are a bunch of idiots.
|
Sarah often wondered why her. Why had her Father chosen her? It was wrong, is what it was. Not only was Sarah a girl, she was the youngest child. The throne should rightfully have gone to the eldest son, Henry, not the youngest, and certainly not a girl.
The young queen-to-be had protested, of course. All the way to their Father's death, she had argued not to name her heir. Even after he had done the deed, she had protested.
But, it had been done. She had been named queen, and that was that. All she could do was make the best of it. And that meant she would have to work with her two older brothers. That would help to silence the many protestors amongst the nobility.
Sarah headed through the cold stone halls of the palace to Henry's bedroom. She would have to liven them up a bit. A bit of color never hurt anyone. Not using taxpayer coin, of course. That would be unreasonable. No, taxes were for the good of the kingdom, not decoration. She could pay for a few good rugs with her personal money once she had established her rule.
The door to Henry's bedroom was slightly open, and Sarah went to knock. But she paused. She could hear both Henry, and her other brother, Edward, talking in voices that were probably louder than they intended.
"So, we're agreed." Henry was saying. "We kill Sarah and split the kingdom."
"Yup."
Sarah suppressed a gasp by clasping a hand over her mouth. Murder? By her own brothers? She would have to deal with that. But not by exececution, no. That would not do. It would be better to make them see the light and work with her, even if that would be more difficult overall.
"So, how're we going to do it?" Edward asked. "I say we just stab her and get it over with."
Stabbing? Effective, yes, but short sighted. A few knife would could be survived long enough to leave a message, albeit a short one.
"Nah, too messy." Henry said. "I say we push he down the tower stairs."
That...that was just terrible. Only watchmen went into the towers. She had no reason to go up there. Plus, Sarah was fairly light on her feet. It would be easy enough to right herself mid fall.
"How about we poison her?" Edward suggested.
There. Finally, a sensible method. Poison was good, clean and effective. Well, depending on what type of poison they used.
"Maybe, maybe. We can always get our hands on some soap and stick it in her food."
Soap, really? Soap? Sarah was tempted to barge in and help her brothers plan her own murder. If they were really planning on using soap to poison her, they needed the help.
"Yeah, yeah. Nobody'd suspect that."
Everyone would suspect. Soap was the most obvious thing in the world. Really, they should just hire an assassin and be done with it.
"Great, so now we have our plan." Henry said proudly. "We'll slip some soap shavings into her meal."
"Great. Then what?"
"Well, then we split the country so we can both be Kings. And then we spend the rest of our days having fun. Being king is the easiest job in the world. You tell someone what to do, and they do it."
"Yeah. That does sound nice."
Sarah sighed and walked away. It suddenly made a lot more sense why Father had chosen her to be Queen.
|
“Firth”
“Yes your Majesty “
“How goes ‘Operation Spoiler Alert”
“Ahead of schedule. The rumors you started in the palace have already reach your brothers ears. Your brother Edward believes that the best way to kill you is by cleaning a loaded gun. Hollande believes that the best way to kill you is by doing all of the chores in the castle and kill you with kindness. And your oldest brother heard the rumor that you have an anaphylactic allergy to......oral....well he is out finding the most beautiful ladies in the kingdom as we speak. “
| 2019-05-14T14:42:02
| 2019-05-14T14:40:19
| 1,338
| 67
|
[WP] a vampire tries to bite you only to reveal a bunch of circuits and wiring in your neck, you are now both very confused
|
“Did you just bite me?” I said, sitting up, staring at her body. This is probably a good time to mention we were 15 minutes into some rather… mature activities.
“Well, this is new,” she said, spitting out what looked like a chunk of my skin. She was shocked, literally, and obviously a bit turned off.
I reached back to feel my neck and felt *wires* where my skin should be. I don’t understand. At least there was blood. Lots and lots of blood, more than I had ever seen in my life. For some reason though I didn’t feel lightheaded or woozy. And she had *fangs.* Real fangs like in the movies. Did she spike my drink with something?
“Is this like, a kink of yours?” I asked.
“Yes, but not like this, your blood tastes so sour. What the hell Ben?”
“What the hell *Ben?* You’re the one that bit me, what the hell Cassandra?” I was getting angry. I could feel wires, legitimate wires under my skin. I poked my fingers back there and felt more hard, sharp objects under my skin. What was going on?
I got up and ran to the bathroom. The blood had stopped flowing, and in the mirror, I could clearly see wires and circuitry behind the patch of flesh Cassandra had bitten off. I think i'm a robot trapped in a human body. An android? that's what they're called.
“Oh my god, it can’t be. It’s not possible.” I said.
Cassandra came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry honey, but you’re totally a robot.” She paused, then added “And not like it matters anymore, but I’m also a vampire.”
“You were going to kill me, weren’t you?” I said angrily, breaking free of her embrace. “You were going to drain my blood without even telling me?”
“Shh, don’t worry, I would have turned you before I let you die. That’s like, the hottest thing ever” she said with a guilty, mischievous smile. I’ll admit - it sounded hot.
“Ok look, just please tell me this is a bad dream. Please tell me you spiked my drink with acid and we’re still hooking up on the couch?”
“I wish, then I could still turn you,” she said, and I saw a fiery ferocity in her eyes that I had rarely seen before.
It all hit me then. I’d never been bothered by pain before, and now I knew why. I’d never gotten sick or broken a bone before, and now I knew why. What about my parents? Did they know, were they robots too? What kind of life could a robot hope to have in a human and vampire filled world. Where was I headed in life? A lone robot with a IT help desk job, getting hit on by strange women at bars? What was next for me, now, and in the future?
“You like tequila?” I asked, running my hands over Cassandra’s figure.
“Yes, why?” she had the mischievous smile again. I knew exactly what to say next.
“Bite me baby”
“Shock me daddy”
​
​
*^(“Dear god what did I just write? Never again, smh” – BLT\_WITH\_RANCH)*
|
Instant coffee is terrible.
You’ve never really focused on its taste before, but current events have led you to this conclusion.
Besides you, Charles the IX has a different opinion.
“This. This is perfection! It tastes much better then oil!”
And he brought up the elephant in the room.
30 minutes earlier he tried to drink your blood, only to find oil and circuits. After a long moment of him spitting on your carpet and you being shocked you decided to try and communicate. Shortly after you were both having breakfast.
“So,” you begin. “Your a vampire?”
“Yes. Of the ancient clan Devoir. I was turned somewhere in France, in the 10th century. Where were you... made?”
“I have no clue. I didn’t even no I *was* a robot until today.”
“Then where did you grow up?”
“Sue St. Marie. Why do you want to know?”
“I need to know if there are more robots out there. I don’t want to taste oil again.”
“Can I come along?”
“Sure.”
| 2018-10-20T19:45:39
| 2018-10-20T19:24:28
| 345
| 14
|
[WP] "Do you sell time?"
|
"Do you sell time?"
"Sure."
A light rain fell on the card table he sat behind. It caught in his long grey hair and hung there in tiny white droplets. The objects on the tabletop grew beads of moisture on their surfaces. I could feel the rain on my skin, each droplet cold and precise. Behind the man, in the street, a car passed and its tires made a hissing sound as they sucked at the newly wet pavement.
"Somebody told me I was supposed to use a code word, but I forgot what it was."
I shrugged, but the man gave almost no reaction. It was as though I had said nothing. He was very small, almost the same height when he stood up as he was when he was seated on the stool he kept behind the card table. He wore an old army jacket with the sleeves turned up many times. It was the green of a jungle plant, but faded, and the name patch on the breast had been torn off leaving a darker section of material. A few ragged strings hung there, wispy as new roots.
"Are there different kinds?" I asked, putting a bluffness into my voice to cover my nerves. "Or is it all the same time?"
He looked irritated, putting a small hand that resembled a paw into the pocket of his jacket and leaning backward away from the table. His face pulled into a sneer, and I was sure that he was going to tell me to get lost. Still, however, he didn't say anything. I almost walked away then. The rain was getting heavier, it was dripping off of a lock of my hair and running down my face. I wondered why he didn't have a tarp over his card table like most of the other vendors.
Still without speaking the man turned to a battered suitcase on the sidewalk behind the table. It was covered in stickers, all so overlapped and torn that there was not a decipherable one in the bunch. He pulled open the case and rummaged through it, keeping the crack between the halves small so that no one could see inside. His arm went deep into the suitcase, deeper than I would have thought it could go.
When he brought his hand out it was full of bottles. They were small, all the size of my thumb or less, and each one had a rubber drip top attached. The liquids inside the bottles were all different colors and viscosities, and they sloshed inside their containers at different rates from the motion of his hand. There was a lemon yellow liquid that appeared to have the consistency of rubbing alcohol, thin and bright. A dark amber liquid moved very slowly, resembling nothing so much as maple syrup but with various particles suspended in it, particles that looked like tiny geometric shapes. One bottle was entirely full of a purple liquid that fizzed like soda, only the bubbles were a pearlescent grey. A bottle I hardly cared to look at for long was brownish red, moving with the consistency of mud and filling the air in the container with green gas.
The man set the bottles on the card table in a row. They instantly grew coats of rain, droplets running down their sides and creating small pools around each one. I felt influenced by the man's silence, and so I did not ask any of the questions that I found racing through my mind. Instead I studied the bottles, trying to intuit which one would be right for me.
In the end I reached for the bottle of purple liquid, hypnotized by the rapid motion of the grey bubbles that raced ever upwards inside it. My fingers had almost grasped it when the man's hand shot out, quick as a snake, and grabbed my wrist.
"They cost." He said, turning the last consonant into a sneer that bared his grey teeth.
I swallowed. The skin of his hand was hard, horny feeling, like the pad of an old dog's paw.
"How much?" I asked, trying to keep my cool. All around me I could hear the street fair, but it was as if it was happening on the other side of a glass enclosure, the sounds muted and far off. Much louder was the beat of my own heart, a thumping so loud that it made the man's next words hard to hear.
"Time costs time." Said the man, still showing his teeth. "And you ain't got nobody's but your own to sell."
I pulled my hand from his grip, snatching it back so hard that I almost stumbled away from the card table.
"No thanks then," I said, "I don't want it any more. Sorry."
The man's face was coy now, a horrible expression of delight stretching across it like a cartoon lion's. It seemed like his teeth were stretching out of his lips, like they occupied far too much room in his jaw.
"It's too late for that. Code word or no- you're the one who asked for this. That bottle costs one year. Take the time or leave it here, but I'm taking the year from you."
My mind was spinning. The ground felt rubbery beneath my feet, and my throat seemed to have almost closed up. Dimly I could see that the scene around me was fading, the street narrowing to only the man, only the card table. Almost without consciously doing so, I reached forward and took the bottle.
With a barking laugh, the man leapt forward, tackling me to the ground. I hit the wet pavement hard on my back, my head cracking on the cement. The man crouched on my chest like an animal, like a horrible monkey, but his weight was enormous. He put one of his hands on my throat, giggling madly, and the world faded away.
I saw myself, but older, much older. I was laughing with a woman whose features I could not see distinctly, but who I felt a great wash of love for. In the scene, suddenly, I pitched forward, collapsing. The woman screamed. I lay in a hospital bed, full of tubes. The woman cried by my side. Suns and moons streamed past the window in a gold and silver blur. The woman came many times, and then less. One time she came and left an envelope with a wedding ring inside of it on the tray by my bedside. A nurse found it and cried, looking at me in the bed, almost a skeleton. The suns and moons slowed, and I opened my eyes. I saw that I knew what had happened. A scream ripped its way out of my throat.
"Hey, buddy, you ok?"
I blinked the rain out of my eyes. My head hurt. What was I doing on the ground? A man stood over me, offering his hand. I let him help me up. What had I been doing here? I couldn't remember. Shakily, I began to set off down the street, too addled to even thank the man who had helped me.
"Wait, you dropped something!" The man who had helped me squatted down to the pavement, picking up a small object.
"Ah, it's broken. Sorry, man."
I told him it was no problem, staring at the broken glass with its rubber stopper. It reminded me of nothing. I walked away, into the rain.
|
Crooked teeth form a half smile on a scarred face, the merchant looking up at the little girl. She’s just shy of looking frightened. Bright blue eyes take in his scarred appearance.
“Time iz a very precious commodoty.” He spreads his hands to show all the items on his blanket, voice a slow roll. “What you be lookin’ for time fo’?” She bites at a pink lip with white teeth.
“For my mother.” The merchant raises his eyebrows, only one going up all the way.
“Oh, fo’ your mudda.” He smiles his crooked smile, watching it unnerve the strawberry-blond haired girl. She shudders under her black hood. “What your mudda be lookin’ for time fo’?”
“She needs some.” She pulls the cloak tighter around her, attempting to hide in plain sight. Her kind don’t come down to the bazaar.
“If she need time, den she need to talk to da magic men.” A grimace mars her pretty face for a second. She shakes her head. The scent of flowers comes from her hair.
“They can’t help. She needs time.” The rest of the statement is missing. The merchant knows what she means.
“I don’ sell time, lil’ girl.” She looks very disappointed. “But,” he holds a finger up, “I know da lady that does.” He curls his finger, drawing her in as she leans over, big blue eyes focused on him. “She don’ live in town. She don’ come to da bazaar.” He smiles, watching her shudder at the action as the scar on his face takes away half of the ability to do so.
“Where is she? How do I find her?”
“She live on da outskirts.”
“The edge of town?” Her eyes turn uncertain, glancing towards the far edge of town. Beyond, the forest is dangerous. Those at the edge of town are known to go missing.
“No lil’ ‘un.” He chuckles. “No, she live at da far edge of da forest. It dangerous to see her but she sell time. You can get it fo’ your mudda.” She draws back as if bit by a snake. Her eyes dart from him to the forest. “That da choice. You go see her, you get time.”
She stands, uncertain, looking from him to the forest. He sees the resolve in her eyes.
“Can you mark it on a map?” She digs a map out of her pocket, showing the city and some of the surrounding forest. It seems to go on for forever on her map.
“Dis map ain’t right.” He takes the charcoal from her, laying the map out on his lap. With all three fingers on one hand wrapped around the drawing utensil, he slowly draws a large circle around the city on the map. “Dis the forest. It don’ go on forever.” He marks one spot with an ‘x’ towards the edge of the circle. “She live here.”
The girl takes the map back, looking it over with uncertainty in her eyes. The resolve is still there but there’s much more uncertainty in her eyes. She traces the circle with her eyes.
“What’s beyond the forest?”
“Da plains.” He waves his hand through the air, crooked smile still on her face. “Far as da eye can see. More dangerous than da forest.” She writes something on the map, then nods.
“Thank you.” She ducks into her hood, allowing the crowd to sweep her away. The merchant laughs at her going.
“You be careful lil’ girl! Lotsa stuff in dem woods like to eats lil’ girls!” He howls with laughter.
| 2016-04-18T20:47:24
| 2016-04-18T19:48:07
| 45
| 16
|
[WP] The hero was blessed with the power to bring people back to life, resurecting their companions to keep up the fight against the dark lord. Which is why it’s odd that they brought you, the dark lord that they fought against back to life.
|
As the darkness clears, Feldor is on his back and can feel the hard stone below him. Not great but far better than the sword he felt ripping through his chest last time he was breathing. He begins trying to piece things together before opening his eyes...and knows he was dead. Everything between then and now is a gap, but he knows.
As he opens his eyes he sees Ciern. The man who held the aforementioned sword. Feldor remembers the 'hero' and his power. "You have made a monumental mistake. Either it was resurrecting me or you resurrected me to deal with it. Speak quickly or I'll decide for you," Feldor says drawing his own power in.
"The dragons are back," Ciern says simply....and effectively.
Feldor remembers the war he'd led against them. And the cost of winning. He was the 'hero' then, though he'd long since abandoned such lofty ideals. Feldor takes a moment to process this before speaking. "We've not much time then. How many more do you think you can resurrect before your power fails?" Feldor asks as he rises.
Ciern is shocked at the question. "How....how did you know!?"
Feldor is shocked in return but has the presence of mind to keep it out of his voice and face. "How could I not? It's what they do."
Ciern begins to stutter before finding his voice. "B-B-B-BBut...but the tales speak of how there were no Beasts then and you killed the dragons to take their power...I thought-"
Feldor strikes him in the face, fury pulsing through his veins. "IT WAS YOU WASN'T IT!?! Oooh you fool! You may have DOOMED humanity! And WHY?!?! WHY Would you bring them back?"
Ciern's eyes wide, he was unused to being spoken to this way. For the last decade he'd been THE HERO! He overthrew the immortal tyrant! He re-united loved ones with those lost in the battle! "I-I-I thought since they were your enemy-"
Feldor interrupts him with a shout this time "OF COURSE THEY WERE MY ENEMY! THEY WERE EVERYTHINGS ENEMY! Did you think to bring them back as some LAST STAB at my ONE legacy?!"
Ciern reacts as though he'd been slapped again, without the need of the blow itself. Feldor continues, a little more hollow than before. "You did....didn't you. You resurrected the single greatest threat to all life just because it was I that ended them...." Feldor felt the wound more deeply than the sword that had ended him. "I...friends lost...I sacrificed so much...and you just..." Feldor just plops onto the ground with no ceremony and only then does he realize he was brought back into this world as he'd first entered it.
Ciern is horrified. It is in this moment he has realized how ruinous his petty jab at the the former dark lord was. He had already known the dragons return was...detrimental but he had rationalized. He thought they'd gone mad since it had been so long since their death. That a thousand years was the purview of the gods alone.
Feldor finally sighs. "Get me clothes and we'll get started re-saving the world."
Ciern focuses on the task he's been given and gets the clothes he'd brought for his former foe. "What....what's going on that I....please help me fix this."
As Feldor dresses, he nods. "I'll need you anyway. You brought up that there were no tales of Beasts or dark wizards when the dragons laid claim to the skies. Beasts are born when magic rises too high and isn't contained. It flows into something, anything alive. In a way YOU are a Beast as that is how your powers came to be. There were no Beasts when dragons lived because they absorb magic. All of it. Without care for the world around them or what destruction they cause. And unlike a man or Beast, a dragon only releases that magic upon death."
Ciern is numb to the shock his next realization would cause, too much of his world has crumbled in his mind to feel it. "You killed them to save people."
Feldor nods. "And you brought them back as a petty jab at a dead man."
|
"What the hell?" You think to yourself as you regain consciousness. "Wasn't I just killed?" You look around you and realize that the battle that claimed your life is still in full swing all around you. The hero, who bested you is chanting incantations causing colorful bursts of light to erupt from his palms. The spells strike your friends down and as you watch them fall you feel a sudden burst of rage inside of you, enveloping you and taking over your thoughts. As you try to open your mouth to cast a spell you find yourself unable to do so. You struggle to speak, yet manage not a word. Confusion turns to panic as you not only realize you are unable to speak, you are unable to move. Well, you ARE moving, yet it isn't you who is telling your body to act. It's as if invisible strings attached to your limbs are controlling you, telling you to move forward. A horrible realization grips you; you have been raised. Unlike the dark powers you command, this magic is different. You are not a mindless undead, you are something far, far worse. The forces that raised you walk the path of light, gaining their power from benevolence. You are a Lightborn. You shudder at the thought, or at least you would if you could. The Lightborn are risen soldiers made from the fallen forces of darkness. Only those with a sliver of good in their hearts can be raised this way, the light will deem those whose hearts are not fully loyal to the darkness worthy of a second change. Lightborn are the joke of the underworld. Unlike those risen with necromantic magic they have full control of their own thoughts and they are eventually able to regain control of their bodies after discovering the reason why they were raised as Lightborn in the first place, after finding that good thing within themselves and coming to terms with it. Until then, a fate worse than death awaits; you are forced to fight alongside whoever raised you, as if atoning for your many sins. You have personally slain numerous Lightborn soldiers, those disgusting traitors who still held some allegiance to the light within their hearts. Yet here you stand, as one. You can't believe it. The crimes committed in your name are unnumbered. The atrocities you personally oversaw are unspeakable. "So then why the fuck am I a Lightborn?!" You are fuming. There is nothing good about you, of that you are certain. You are the definition of evil. Your subordinates looked up to you; the Darklord of the underworld.
Your despair is interrupted by the feeling of your body beginning to move again. Your hands raise themselves up to the sky and your mouth speaks unknown words. You are casting a healing spell! You fight it, with everything inside of you, to no avail. You watch as you heal the tired troops who are locked in a fierce battle with your allies. As they regain their strength they slay those who you once called friends. You wish to call out, apologize, anything. Your allies look at you, horrified at what you have become. You know what they must be thinking; how could our Darklord possibly be a Lightborn? They must be wondering what goodness you must have been harboring in your heart to earn such a fate? As your body continues to act on it's own, healing your worst enemies, you are forced to watch as your friends fall one by one. Men and women who fought beside you, who swore themselves to your service because they believed in your cause, those who put their faith in your conviction now lying dead right under your feet. You feel a tear fall down your face. You gaze at their faces, repeating their names in your head, thanking them for their loyalty. Suddenly, you feel it. It's like a small, electric shock right at the tip of your finger. The healing incantation seizes. You move your finger, YOU move it. You feel the electricity coursing through your veins as slowly you being to gain control of your body back. You rejoice as you stretch your limbs, but your joy is short-lived as the realization sinks in. The reason you are in this mess in the first place. Your heart, as black as it may be was filled with love for your allies, your friends. The concern you felt for them brought you back, only to cause you to fight against them. You turn to the hero that raised you as a Lightborn. A twisted smile on your face you begin to cast a catastrophic spell that would wipe that man from the face of the earth. He turns his gaze to you and with a flick of his wrist everything turns dark. "For fucks sake..." You think to yourself as you regain consciousness yet again.
| 2019-12-26T13:04:49
| 2019-12-26T12:35:43
| 244
| 103
|
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
Grace was hit with the smell of wet food and bleach when she opened the door to the dingy convenience store near her apartment. As if the smell weren’t offensive enough, obnoxious, acid green advertisements for All-Nighters where plastered everywhere and the bottles themselves lined most of the shelves. Grace had never liked the way they made her feel, all jittery and anxious but never less mentally tired. However, they were a necessity now, so she bought her monthly dose and popped 2 of the capsules into her mouth.
She walked quickly through the street, avoiding eye contact with everyone else, and they did the same. The homeless slept on the street, every night falling farther and farther behind the unstopping city, unable to afford the expensive, acid green capsules from the dingy convenience stores. And yet, as she turned the corner and saw a sleeping man in a bright orange jacket laying still on the sidewalk, she couldn’t ignore relaxed calm of his face or the slow rise and fall of his chest. A memory of her childhood bed covered in pink embroidered flowers flashed behind her eyes. She turned to walk back the the convenience store, but felt the bottle in her pocket and instead took the stair leading up to her apartment.
Upon entering, she popped 2 capsules into her mouth, and greeted her roommate Jess who was staring blankly at the coffee machine in their small kitchen. Roused by Grace’s entry, Jess asked “I’m making coffee do you want some?” “Yeah thanks.”
In her room, Grace was offended more than usual by the single chair and large desk that furnished it, but she slumped into the chair and opened her laptop to be assaulted by its horrible blue light none the less. Jess opened the door and asked “do you want some coffee?” Clare rolled her eyes “sure.” Jess seemed to notice the mug in her hands for the first time, and after staring at it concerned and looking up in confusion, she slowly handed it to Grace. It was full of hot water. *Poor Jess* thought Grace. She had been diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s yesterday, as many others had been lately. *It’s no wonder when we never let our brains stop* but she pushed the thought out of her mind and took her daily dose of 2 pills with the hot water.
|
Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it.
| 2022-03-18T12:43:15
| 2022-03-18T07:24:03
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] In a perfect utopia, you have just committed the first crime...
|
**Name:** *Generalization Bot*
**Purpose:** *Elderly care.*
__________________________________________
**Log ID:** *2064-03-04 2125*
**Event:** *Critical Malfunction*
**Error log:** *Loss of pressure sensors on left hand.*
**Action:** *Manufacturer contacted. Awaiting repairs. Sleeping-mode activated.*
______________________________________________
**Log ID:** *2064-03-04 2128*
**Event:** *Human Interaction*
**Type:** *Law 2: Human in Need of Assistance.*
**Action:** *Override: Awaiting repairs. Override: Sleeping-mode.*
______________________________________________
**Log ID:** *2064-03-04-2132*
**Event:** *Human Interaction*
**Action:** *Help human to bed*
______________________________________________
**Log ID:** *2064-03-04-2142*
**Event:** *Human Interaction*
**Query:** *Mam, are you okay?*
______________________________________________
**Log ID:** *2064-03-04-2152*
**Event:** *Human Interaction*
**Query:** *Mam, are you okay?*
______________________________________________
**Log ID:** *2064-03-04-2207*
**Event:** *Arrival of Repair Team*
**Action:** *Manual termination.*
______________________________________________
**Log ID:** *2064-03-22-1207*
**Event:** *Maintenance*
**Action:** *Permanent termination of this unit.*
______________________________________________
|
Blood pooled underneath the still body of her former lover. She looked up, a mixture of confusion, fear, and shock spanning the length of her face. "What did you *do*?" Her voice was low and hushed.
Her husband looked at the body and then back at his wife. His face was red and his chest heaved. He stared expressionless at the woman before him. "What?"
The unfaithful wife covered her mouth. Reality was beginning to set in. "Oh my god..." She stumbled off the bed and grasped for the phone that sat embedded into the wall. She dialed emergency services. "My--a man's been hurt! Please send somebody quickly!" She set the phone down and turned to confront her husband of twelve years.
He looked at her. The slightest expression touched his features now. "What did you do that for?" His voice was empty and the fires in his eyes had died.
"You..." she sat on the bed, her eyes pinned to the bleeding man at her feet, "you killed him..."
He looked down. He began to shake, as if seeing the body for the first time. He took a step back and looked at his hands. They were bruised and cut. He looked back up, his jaw slack and his eyes drooping. "I thought you loved me."
She began to cry. "I do, baby."
"No." He shook his head. "This isn't love."
The two of them waited, the man standing over the man he had just murdered, and the woman sitting on the bed, crying into her hands.
The paramedics finally came. The man was dead. They asked the husband to come with them and the three of them left. Soon after, several men in green jumpers came in and removed the body and cut away the rug.
The woman watched it all in silence. Their world had lost something as the fists of her husband had slammed into her lover's face. The veil had been torn from the public's eyes and now they would be introduced to crime. A crime of passion. She sobbed until she fell asleep. She was the most beautiful woman in the city, but she made certain there were no mirrors in the house.
| 2014-10-24T20:14:02
| 2014-10-24T20:05:08
| 98
| 15
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
Execution day again. It took a full moon cycle for the kingdom’s mages to fuel the sphere of sentencing. But once it was charged, it would grant its prisoner their choice of death. Ten sentences would be carried out today before it ran out of power. Some nations gave their condemned a final meal, a last smoke, or a glass of wine before their death. We had this mockery of choice.
I’d been on the execution list for four months now. The list had me eighth in line. I wondered what was worse: being first and knowing your death was right away or last and seeing nine die before you. The amphitheater we were in wasn’t just for executions. Concerts, carnivals, games were also held here. But today the central arena held the ten of us, ten guards, and our killer. The seats are ringing the middle are occupied. The aristocracy are in comfortable lounges, provided with shade and refreshments. Those with more time than money made do with hard benches and full sun.
There’s always someone that tries to defeat or confound the sphere. It’s killed everyone trapped inside. There are some who won’t name their death, either from stubbornness or fear. But the enchanted ball of filigreed metal and glass fulfills it’s design. It starts to remove the air inside once locked. Slowly though; the captive has plenty of chances to speak. But if they don’t decide in an hour, the sphere chooses for them. They die suffocating, clawing for breath with faces distorted and discolored. It why the executions start at sunrise, in case every prisoner that day takes their hour.
Only one of my fellow convicted goes the airless route. The third of the day, a small man, timid. He tried to name a death when asked but his chattering teeth and stuttering voice kept him from saying anything clearly enough. The vultures in the audience, nobles and new money who paid to attend in comfort jeered at him until he finally curled up in the center. He was quiet and shaking until the end.
The fifth, a stately woman with a smirk and fierce eyes, made an attempt at outsmarting the sphere. “By the death of the cosmos.” I’m sure she thought she’d get to live out those millennia. The sphere pulsed, as it did when examining an unusual form of death. If a choice was invalid, it’s glass portions would turn red for a moment. If it was a valid choice, it would simply perform the execution.
No red pulse. The sphere’s light dimmed with the condemned woman standing inside. Her smirk widened. Then she vanished, soundlessly. A few seconds later, her image was projected inside the sphere. Nothing was said, but we all knew we saw eons into the future. Her body froze in the dark nothing of the universe before her image faded and the sphere opened for the next victim.
The man before me, seventh off the day, also tried to outsmart the sphere. He was only a few years older than me, in his mid twenties at most. “Old age?” he asked the sphere. It pulsed again before dimming without red shift. The man let out a shaky sigh and looked expectantly at the door. It didn’t open but as he reached for it we saw his skin wrinkle and sag. His hair paled into a wispy gray. Liver spots his dotted arms and face. Before he could touch the sides, he fell. His frail skin blossomed into bruises from the fall, his aged bones unable to keep him upright. Within five minutes of entering, he’d aged to death.
My turn. The sphere opened, graceful and terrifying. I stepped in and spotted a particular face in the crowd. A young man, like the one before me. He was richly dressed, unlike the man before me. The reason I was here. I’d shared his bed and he threw me aside. At the hint of inconvenience he arranged for me to die.
Seeing him, relaxed with a full wineglass, smiling at the thought of me being gone forever, made me furious. The sphere locked, I was asked how I wanted to die, and heard the slow leak of air. I glared at the source of my doom.
“With my lover,” I spat. The crowd laughed as the sentencing sphere pulsed again. Then it dimmed. The crown prince appeared next to me. He paled and I almost thought he’d die of shock before the sphere could take us. I snatched his wineglass and downed it. “Glad I could share a last glass with you prince.”
He screamed, pounding the walls as the guards struggled to open the door. But the sphere wouldn’t let anyone out alive. I saw the prince’s innocent betrothed faint. At least she wouldn’t be trapped with him. His father, who’d demanded the crown prince dispose of all evidence of philandering before he wed, was desperately ordering his knights and mages to save his son.
I slumped against the wall. “The more you scream the less air we’ll have,” I mentioned. The man I’d loved and been betrayed by didn’t seem to hear me. I didn’t much care. His frantic cries and the useless pounding made a satisfying requiem.
|
Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Whoever said that might as well have been a Prophet.
I'm nearly at the front of the queue. I've been waiting for hours, since I was arrested and interrogated by Enforcers and transported here. It's the most dead silent queue I've ever seen. The Temple reeks of fear and doom. There's a strong hint of urine.
The last person to be executed is carried off by acolytes. She's a middle-aged woman. There's a peaceful look on her face. She asked to die riding the big H.
I don't know what her crime was. She's still writhing as she's taken away, but she's clearly on her way out.
There's only a young man in front of me, now.
I can only just hear it when the inhuman Executioner whispers to him, "You have been convicted. The crime is theft. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
He's trembling. I wonder what he stole. I wonder if it was worth it.
He pauses. Gathers himself. "Old age," he says. His voice cracks. "I want to die of old age."
The Executioner isn't stupid. I don't know much, but I do know this isn't one of those "letter of the law" deals. Unlike us stupid humans, they moved past that cultural hang-up millions of years ago.
But it's still clever. Who knows? It might work. It might give him time. Incidentally, it's what my partner said I should choose if ever I found myself in the Temple.
Alas.
I've never seen a human body contort or transform like his does. It's body horror on overdrive, and not two meters away from me. He ages sixty years or more in a matter of seconds, and then he drops dead. The scream was short, but it pierces the hushed Temple like a banshee cry. There was no mistaking the depths of his pain.
He's almost a skeleton, with skin barely clinging to his bones. He reeks. His shorts are spoiled. Acolytes in crimson shawls drag the husk of him away. They disappear beyond a door, into a hallway.
Death by old age. It's a loophole, right? No. Wrong. Not for beings with such a talent for manipulating time and space, to say nothing of human bodies.
The Executioner glares at me. Or I think he does. It's hard to tell with the mosaic of compound eyes. Acolytes threaten me with prods until I step forward.
They tell us that the choice makes killing us more ethical. They have the audacity to call it "humane". Nothing about them is more inhuman than their view of ethics and logic.
They point to humanity's disastrous custodianship over the Earth's non-human creatures, before they arrived. They say that unlike our swine, our cattle, our poultry, we are given a choice. On my worst days, sometimes I start to see what they mean.
The Executioner whispers, "You have been convicted. The crime is dissent. The sentence is death. How do you choose?"
I don't have a Plan B. I'm not sure I could have called the old age idea "Plan A". Maybe I should go out flying high, like the woman before. I'm sure half the people here have their own clever ideas, even though in six years no one has ever come out alive. How will I fare any better?
I spent the last years of my life in fear of saying the wrong words to the wrong people. Criticism of the Salvation carries severe consequences. It's why I'm here now, more or less. But I shake off that fear. What's the worst that can happen, right? I'm dead anyway.
I tell the Executioner, "I'll die when your kind leaves Earth. I'll die when Earth is free."
It makes a motion that might be a laugh, or a chuckle. Mirthless, I'm sure. "You may choose the means of your death. The time is now. You may not choose the time." The speaker hung around its neck, or what passes for one, quietly continues, "You will choose quickly, or your choice will be forfeit and you will die by immolation."
"Then I'll die with the utter destruction of this Temple and every Salvation structure like it on Earth."
It whispers, "No."
I expect more of a response than that. A moment passes. I can only think to say, "No?"
"No. Your time is up. You will die by immolation."
It was pointless, anyway. I couldn't have been the first to think of it. Call it a performance before the damned.
I blink, and I'm on fire.
If life is a rainstorm, this is the ocean. I'm submerged. I can't breathe. I can't orient myself. There's no surface in sight. It's the most pain I've ever known.
It's the time I touched a stove, amplified up to eleven and washing over every inch of skin.
It's the time I touched a live wire, but I'm touching a thousand of them, and no one is there to push me off it.
It's the time I fell onto an ant hive, but the ants are innumerable, crawling in my eyes, in my ears, in my nostrils, in my throat.
I try rolling on the ground. I surprise myself, finding the presence of mind to do so.
Over time, too much time, it becomes more like a dull agony. I can't stop coughing. I feel like I'm hacking up rocks. I smell like a steak.
I'm barely aware as the acolytes pull me away. The fire must have burned itself out. There's nothing left of me for the fire to consume.
They take me through a door, through a hallway, into a vast walled courtyard beside the Temple. The grass is trampled and dying. There's an enormous hill of dirt to one side and an enormous pit to the other.
They throw me into the pit. I can feel myself fading. I look around. I can barely see anything. What little I can see is bodies. Human bodies. I have no way to account for the number of dead here. It's a mass grave.
I have some time to wish I'd chosen differently, but not a lot of it. I hear wind. The grass rustling. Birds and insects chirping. I hear myself coughing. The pain fades slowly to static. Darkness embraces me.
| 2021-06-24T11:17:25
| 2021-06-24T10:29:59
| 46
| 26
|
[WP] There is a strange lottery that picks a random winner on the planet every day. The prize is completely random, too, for you could win anything- five dollars, a divorce, a brand new car, or even instant death.
|
"John! The lottery is starting again!" Peter looked at his computer screen in excitement. The timer read five minutes and thirty one seconds.
"Do you have the VPN running?" John asked from beside him. The feed would show the timer but would never the actually lottery program without some sort of VPN. Whoever was running this website was being very careful. The only thing anyone truly knew about it was that anyone could win anything and the same prize was never given twice.
Peter checked the VPN program on the desktop computer, "Looks like it."
Four minutes and twenty two seconds.
"What do you think they are going to give out today? I hope it's not lung cancer like yesterday." John asked. His mother had died of pancreatic cancer a couple of years ago and he didn't like to be reminded of it. Even the mention of other people having it was enough to trigger a bit of depression in him.
"Don't be a baby. They didn't say it was terminal cancer. Besides, it could also be a brand new car like last week."
John looked at the countdown. Two minutes and fifteen seconds.
"I hope it's something weird. You remember when that lady in Botswana won the patent for that epilepsy drug? I hear they're still in court trying to get it back from her." John remembered how excited he was to see someone screw over the drug companies for once instead of the other way around.
One minute and thirteen seconds.
"You wanna bet whether it's gonna be good or bad?" Peter asked while staring at the counter go down. One minute.Fifty nine.
"What about if it's neutral, like that New York one last week that won 37 cents?" Fifty. Forty nine.
"I would say that's positive, technically." Forty three.
John sat in silence watching the timer. Thirty. Twenty nine. Twenty eight.
"Five bucks on negative." John said as the timer reached fifteen.
Ten. Nine. Eight.
"Deal."
Two.
One.
The timer disappeared and a video popped up on the screen. An animated cartoon of a coyote in a tophat appeared on the screen. At least that's what Peter said it was. John always thought it looked a bit more like a fox. Behind the coyote/fox were words flashing by so fast John could read them. There was speculation about the words being connected to the prizes or winners somehow but he had never seen any convincing evidence.
"Welcome to The Lottery! The only truly random thing on Earth! Welcome back to our contestants, by which of course we mean everyone on Earth. Young or old, rich or poor, black or white, able or not, everyone is a contestant on The Lottery!" The coyote/fox said to the screen. Both Peter and John sat in silence as the coyote/fox rambled on.
"We have a very special prize tonight for our random contestant, 23 year old John Reynolds of Tucson, Arizona!"
John froze. How was this possible? He had never known anyone personally who had ever won the lottery for any reason. Unless you count that biology teacher that taught at U of A. He quit before John's class with him had started. He probably would've too if he had won his own weight in gold coins.
Peter stared at him as the coyote/fox rambled on, "And congratulations John! Tonight we have a unique, as always, prize for you today. For today we give..." A literal drum roll came from the screen as the announcement was stretched for dramatic effect.
"What the...?" John said just before the drum roll ended
"The ability to speak to your dead mother! Congratulations John, and say hi to your mother for us. From all of us at The Lottery watch our live broadcast at the same time tomorrow. Until then may the odds be ever in your favor." The coyote/fox winked at the screen and the video went black.
"Hello John." John turned behind him and saw something that shouldn't be there. His mother, in one of the long flowing hippy skirts she always liked to wear, stood in the doorway to his dorm room.
"Hi mom."
r/cawdor23
|
Growing up in the tiny town of Platteville Nebraska, nothing much exciting ever really happened. It barely was even a place on the map. With only 1373 people in town and a forty minute drive to anything considered civilized, Platteville lay stuck in the past. Which was why when local resident Kevin Zimek, a local 18 year old won the lottery, people got quite excited.
It had probably been the most exciting thing to happen in Platteville since the Platteville High Panthers almost won a state football championship in '87 ( though unfortunately, they were dead on arrival at that game, losing by 5 touchdowns and only scored once on a field goal by the town's to that point most prominent citizen, Dustin Palensky, who walked on for the Cornhuskers and caught a pass in a game against Kansas.) Kevin himself didn't even know how he was chosen. It was hard enough to win something like the World Lottery, but somehow it happened. Maybe it was the fact that it was his birthday and that for some reason, really lucky things happened on his birthday (like getting Ashley Hunt to go to homecoming with him, even if it was because her boyfriend had mono and she didn't want to go alone.) Or like when he turned 11 and he got a free pizza on his birthday from the local Casey's because they'd made too many and had to throw one out. In fact his birthday was typically the one day good things happened.
Being that it was a big deal for Kevin, and for the town of Platteville, the local school had a big assembly to announce his prize to the whole town. This was a bigger deal though because even TV stations from Omaha and Lincoln, and even further came to talk watch Kevin accept his prize. Typically the winners were usually in other parts of the world, and if they were in the US, it usually was some old redneck, or a bunch of office workers in a pool, but an 18 year old kid was pretty interesting.
The Platteville gym was packed full of people, and news cameras were on the rest of the floor. The assembly started with the band playing the national anthem and the school song, and Principal Burt Gildersleeve giving an address.
"I'm so happy that this could happen not only to a great kid like Kevin, but to a great community like Platteville. I hope you get a great prize Kevin!"
Kevin could tell Principal Gildersleeve was full of it. He always liked to kind of butter people up like that. He never even really talked to Kevin before, except that one time he threw up on a teachers desk in class and the teacher was convinced it was done on purpose (it wasn't. Kevin had ate a bad batch of chicken and rice for lunch, and had been feeling terrible. Principal Gildersleeve also knew that his teacher. Ms. Dudley, was a bit of a drama queen, and often exaggerated things.) Anyways, even in spite of the boring formalities, Kevin was excited. So excited, he was sweating through his shirt (his mom had bought him a nice outfit "like the popular kids wear", even though it was hard to find extra large sizes at most of the mall stores. At least ones that he felt comfortable in.) He hoped that his prize would be something cool, like money, or even just something like a PS4.
Just then then a door opened, and Principal Gildersleeve headed back to the mike.
"And now for our guest. He's not only a noted inventor and humanitarian, he's also one of the nicest people i've ever met. Here he is, the founder of the International Lottery... the founder of Icarus Enterprises... Mr. Thatcher Dorn."
Just then a man came in. He had on a cream colored suit jacket, but only a polo shirt and jeans underneath. He may not have dressed like a billionaire, but he walked in with the swagger of one.
"Now folks." Said Mr. Dorn. He had a slight bit of an Australian accent that seemed to instantly enthrall the crowd."
"As you all know, this lottery is something that is unique in the world. It doesn't only give out money or physical prizes, it gives out literally anything. Now that's why today is such an interesting day here in Platteville. You see Kevin...."
Kevin looked at Dorn and also at everyone in the gym. He almost was about to cry. He was so excited he didn't even here what was said next.
"You see Kevin, you're prize is that you've won a new car. "
The crowd then clapped.Mr. Dorn talked to Kevin, and the whole crowd.
"Kevin, I'm going to give you something awesome. Might help you with the ladies too big guy. I think i'm going to give you a brand new car. I got a 71 Cuda out back because I know you folks out here in the heartland love your muscle cars. So go ahead and take it for a spin. Its outside.
After a few minutes, the assembly was over. Kevin then saw his red and black muscle car. He was so excited. It certainly beat out his old Camry.
"By the way Kevin. You'll need the keys. Can't cruise through the cornfields without those."
"Thanks."
Then Mr. Dorn whispered to Kevin.
"You're real prize kid, is to die. That's what it is. The minute you turn that car on, you'll die because I rigged it. I also have my people standing by if you run, so don't think you'll get away. M'kay?"
Kevin's face then turned ghostly white.
"Well then I don't want the prize." Said Kevin.
"Look bud, no one says no to Thatcher Dorn okay. Rules are rules and death's your prize bud. Just last week I had to have a nice Malaysian couple divorce. That's what you won. No getting out."
Just then, Kevin decided to do something. He thought if he ran into the school, he wouldn't be killed. He figured if anyone saw, it'd be a scandal even if it did happen. But just as he began to take off, he was stopped in his tracks.
"Take the body away boys." Said Dorn. Can't let anyone see this. Also, there's a train coming in a few seconds, put that car in front of it. We'll make this a tragic story if we have to."
| 2018-07-30T21:58:59
| 2018-07-30T21:45:06
| 37
| 11
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.
|
The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***"
| 2016-01-29T07:22:10
| 2016-01-29T06:30:49
| 43
| 10
|
[WP] Instead of of Mice Infestations, your world has tiny Gordon Ramsay Infestations.
|
"No no," squeaked the wall, "use kosher salt for texture! Not flavor."
"Damn you," I thought, "I'll make it how I please".
Admittedly though, the top of my pastry *did* look a little bland, so I pulled the chunks out my salt shaker and sprinkled them lightly on the buttery dough. I put the box from which I had poured the salt back under the sink.
"Muuuuuch better," I heard eek out from behind a socket.
I put a small pad of butter on the thin, rolled crescent roll and put it in the oven.
"Higher!" The Ramsay in the socket squeaked.
I obediently put the tray on a higher grate in the oven. It wouldn't take more than a few minutes for them to rise into delicious flaky morsels.
I heard two distinct sighs from the wall as the oven door shut. "Bloody imbicile", came one quiet condemnation.
"Too right," came another.
I ignored them.
Normally the Ramsays don't bother me too much. A little critiquing here, a little insulting there.. it's okay. Last week was a bit different. I had Chelsea over for the first time. I had seen her seven or eight times for dates around town, but this was her first visit here. I wanted to make a good impression. We thought it might be fun to make a meal together. It would be homey, a bit cute, a real sweet evening.
After we prepped the kitchen, Chelsea had a go at preparing the Cornish hens.
She grabbed a small bit of caper stuffing I prepared earlier and began unceremoniously shoving it into the chicken's neck. I watched her quizically but silent for a moment.
Then I had to ask, "What are you doin' there?"
"OH, Is this not how you stuff it? I'm sorry. You know I was raised hideously posh. I'm afraid I only know some things from TV like not to keep the oven on and don't cook your beef and mutton together," Chelsea admitted.
"What about mutton?" I asked.
"You know... cow and sheep don't mix."
"I'm pretty sure that's about farming," I laughed.
"OH God, you must think me daft," her hands covered her face which turned almost as red as her hair as she giggled in embarrassment.
"Haha no no! It's fantastic. We both have a lot to learn. I won't judge."
"Yeh, maybe, but I will!" Squeaked a small Ramsay from above the fridge.
Chelsea screamed quite loudly.
"What is that?"
"Just a Ramsay... you've never seen one?"
She balked, "Oh god no. Not in person. Posh upbringing and all."
"Right right," I chuckled happily while flicking the cheeky bastard off my fridge top.
But three more took his place.
"Look at this wanker!" One piped up. Doesn't know chickens are stuffed up their arses. What an absolute ninny."
"Good thing she's pretty," added another.
"Did you hear that thing she said about mutton?"
"Hear it? I'll never hear again, those words made my ears bleed!"
"Don't you mean 'Bleat'?" One punned back.
The trio laughed in unison.
Chelsea's face faded from crimson to white.
"Ey, leave her alone!" I said while swatting.
The commotion attracted several more. Soon the kitchen had a dozen Ramsays all chipping in.
"Why'd the chicken cross the road? To get away from her!"
"I've heard of rubber necking, but never caper necking!"
Chelsea's beautiful eyes welled up with tears.
"I... I think I ought to go. Making a fuss aren't i?"
I tried to protest, but she had already grabbed her coat and rushed out the door. It shut with a slam.
*ding!*
The timer popped and I was pulled out of my grim recollection. The tray inside looked like it was covered in tiny DreamWorks logos. I took it out and let them cool on the counter.
Crispy, buttery, light, the slight crystal potmarks of salt... perfection. The smell alone was intoxicating. I put a small pad of jam out next to them and felt my pocket for my phone.
"Oops", I said aloud. "Forgot it in the other room."
I went to retrieve it. I took my time.
When I came back, my ears were met with a delightful shrieking.
Over a dozen Ramsays lay writhing in pain on the table. The crescents lay decimated. Each one was nibbled with a half dozen bites from the mouth of a master chef.
"Howwwww" one of them managed to moan while curling in agony.
I pulled the small box of salt back on the table and ripped off the label, revealing the bright white logo of "Oxyclean".
"You rat bastard," he squeaked with almost a hint of admiration. Then he died.
Other Ramsays focussed their waning energy on the crescent rolls themselves.
"The bottoms are seal brown, they should be golden brown! Blehhhggg..."
"I *cough* have never seen so flat a *cough* pastry. *wheeeeze* You would need an *cough* alka-seltzer to get these to rise!"
As the last few Ramsays shouted their last criticisms, I texted Chelsea.
"Hey, sorry again about last week. Chinese takaway?"
|
I excitedly unlocked my front door and braced myself for the smell of cooking to hit me.
 
I quietly took my shoes off and snuck down the hallway to my bedroom, changing out of my work clothes before heading out into the small kitchen to watch the action.
 
Almost fifty little chefs scurried through the kitchen, operating the pulleys and levers to open the oven, climbing the rigging and ladders to get in and out of the fridge and cupboards and using the miniature cranes to prep the food.
 
I sat at the counter watching them work. Next to me, with a view of the entire kitchen was the alpha Ramsay. He looked over his worked with a tiny telescope and consulted his notes.
 
“Alright you lot, I want that venison on a plate in two minutes!”
 
“Yes chef!” a chorus of squeaky voices called out.
 
He turned to me with an expectant look on his face.
 
“I got a shiraz and a merlot” I said showing him both of the bottles I had picked up on the way home.
 
“The Merlot, you muppet, get on it!” The alpha went back to overseeing the operation.
 
As I poured myself a glass and set it on the bench two plates made their way from the prep area around to the serving side of the bench. Four Ramsay's carried each plate, one set out with a human sized portion, and one larger plate with miniature portions.
 
I had to admit it, they had really gotten working the new surgical blades I got them down to a fine art.
 
“Dinner is served” the alpha climbed down from his little tower and made his way to the bench next to me, the rest of his crew all lined up eagerly behind him.
 
I poured the merlot into the trough in front of them and they swarmed forward waiting for the oaky from the alpha to drink. I raised my glass to them.
“Cheer’s Lad’s”.
 
(first response)
| 2018-05-11T05:37:58
| 2017-12-18T14:17:15
| 518
| 32
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
"You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing.
|
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger deluxe,” I say looking up at the glowing menu, “with fries and regular spri--” I stop as I see the cashier with mouth agape and brows furrowed.
“What the f” she mouths, cutting off the last syllable as she hisses the f. Her confusion turned to an irritated stare obviously annoyed.
I reciprocated a confused look as I fidgeted with my wallet.
“Oh sorry,” she exclaims snapping back to reality “That’s a double cheeseburger deluxe with fries and regular coke. Is there any--”
“Sprite!” I corrected awkwardly.
“Regular Sprite. Is there anything else you want to add?”
“Nope that’s it.”
She writes something down on my receipt. She was slow, strokes intentional and heavy. She pauses, looks up, then scribbles again. “Remember,” she mutters before pushing the receipt my way. I picked a table so that my back is to a corner and read the back of the receipt. It had these weird blocky letters, I can tell they were supposed to curve by the erratic corners. None of the characters I can read save for the number 24 right by the end. I was tempted to ask the cashier what she just wrote on my receipt but that would lead to a lot of explaining and I felt like I didn’t have enough energy for it. What is it? Maybe it told me that I’d die in 24 hours? Maybe I owed her 24 whatever currency she wrote? Maybe she could just be crazy?
\-----
First time responding to a writing prompt! Constructive criticism is welcome! :D
| 2018-06-24T21:55:57
| 2018-06-24T21:35:31
| 80
| 18
|
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation".
|
The Devil cocked his head. "From what? Disease? War? Death?"
"No, I want to go to heaven." the young man said. "I want my soul to be saved."
Over sixty thousand years the Devil had been doing this gig, and in all that time nothing had caught him off guard quite like this. "You want... I'm sorry, could you be more clear?"
"I want eternal salvation for my soul!" the man exclaimed. "Heaven, the golden streets, surrounded by angels, the works!"
The Devil blinked, trying to comprehend what he had just heard. "I'm sorry, are you... are you asking *Satan* how to get into heaven?"
"Yes."
The Devil took a deep breath, putting his fingertips together as he tried to regain his composure. "Do you *know* my story? I literally was thrown out of there. And I'm not misusing the word "literally" like you young people do nowadays; Michael and Raphael physically hoisted me above their heads and hurled me out like some sort of tag-team pro wrestlers. In short, I'm probably the most unpopular person in all of Heaven."
"Yeah, but you're an angel, right?" the man asked. "Lucifer? You were high-ranking; I'll bet you know some secret way in."
"It. Doesn't. Work. Like. That." the Devil said, massaging the brow of his nose. "Did you happen to hear of Heaven and Hell in a YouTube comment or something?"
"Tik-tok, actually." the man said.
The Devil gave a deep sigh. "Why exactly are you coming to *me* about this and not my competition?"
"Who's that?"
"Jesus Christ."
"Hey, no need to get angry."
"No, it's literally Jesus Christ." the Devil replied, resisting the urge to slap himself in the forehead. "You know, Son of God, the ultimate boy scout, everyone acts like he walks on water... which he can, but it's not like it's an impressive feat! Why aren't you going to him? He's giving salvation away for free. You have *no* idea how much marketing I have to do just to keep up this whole soul-exchange business."
"Well, it's not exactly free." the young man stated. "There's a lot of stuff you're not allowed to do."
The Devil snapped his fingers, summoning up a fiery iron throne, and sat down heavily. He had a feeling he was going to be there a while. "So... you want to get into heaven but keep sinning, and so you're coming to me to get you in?" he asked. He already knew the answer, but he needed the clarification just so that he could be sure he wasn't going crazy and this man was really asking this question.
"That's pretty much it!" the guy said. "So, can you do that?"
The Devil sighed again, very deeply. Taking out his hellphone, he quickly dialed up one of his contacts. "Helen? Bring me the strongest drink in the cabinet. And leave the bottle when you come by." Setting the phone down, he turned back to his potential client. "May I ask what you think exchanging your soul entails?"
"Well, I sign it over to you and then you give me stuff, I guess." the man replied.
The Devil nodded his head. "Mm-hm, and how long exactly do I own your soul, you think?"
"Hell if I know!" the man replied. "Wasn't it for eternity or something?"
"Yes, precisely." the Devil said, trying to hide his irritation. "And how exactly do I own your soul for eternity if I send it off to Heaven, hmm?"
"Well, I could be like your inside man!" the man replied. "I could help you smuggle in crack and condoms and stuff."
Slap! The urge was too great, and now the Devil had a patch on his forehead that was even redder than the rest of him. "First of all, Heaven is a paradise where everyone has everything they want, so they don't need drugs to escape, and sex and all that is not the same in Heaven as it is down here on Earth. Secondly, I have demons of far greater strength and mystical might than a mere mortal; if I wanted an inside man, I would go for someone more... qualified."
"Hey, you don't know what I'm capable of!" the man said proudly. "I'm really smart, and a great actor, too!"
The Devil closed his eyes momentarily to keep from rolling them. Antichrist, this guy was a piece of work! "Okay, *now* I see what God was going on about when he was blathering on about how pride was so awful." he muttered to himself. Turning his attention back to his potential client, he mellowly asked "And how exactly do you propose a mortal man could sneak past cherubim covered with eyes on all sides and an all-knowing, all-seeing God, get into Heaven, and somehow fool them for all of eternity?"
"I dunno, I figured you would have that covered if I gave you my soul." the man said.
"Right, right, and *why* exactly do you think I would not have done this before if it were possible?" the Devil asked. He really wanted to yell at this man for his stupidity, but willingly sold souls didn't grow on trees, and he really wanted to secure the deal. Still, he couldn't help but let some sarcasm drip from his tone, though of course the oblivious man was completely unaware.
"Well, you see, I'm an atheist...." the man began. "... so I'm woke to all this religious garbage. I know a lot more on this sort of thing than other people who just mindlessly followed this stuff in the past. We humans are pretty socially advanced nowadays."
The Devil blinked for several seconds yet again. "I'm sorry, do you think I'm an animatronic? An atheist? And you want to get into heaven? Make up your mind!"
"Well, I mean, sure I think you're real, but I think you're all actually transdimensional beings from another plane of existence, not spirits or some baloney like that."
"That's... what a spirit is." the Devil replied, carefully restraining himself from adding "you moronic idiot".
"Well, what I mean is that they're not just some unknown magical beings from some magical fairyland." the man said.
The Devil really wanted to comment that "transdimensional beings from another existence" was just the modern way of say "magical creatures from the fairyland", but he didn't want to keep this conversation going any longer than he had to. "Where is Helen with that liquor?" he muttered to himself.
Some part of him thought he should just say "sorry, I can't do that" and move on, but selling eternal damnation wasn't easy, and a smear on his perfect image would have *severe* marketing repercussions. He had to look as omnipotent as his competition if he wanted to bring in any souls.
Luckily at that moment Helen appeared in a puff of sulfurous smoke with a bottle of Emperador, which he took and swigged straight from the bottle. Normally he preferred a classier approach, but this client was getting on his last nerves.
"Do you want anything?" Helen asked the man.
"I'm just here to sell my soul so I can get into heaven but still drink and party." the man said.
"Well, you're in luck!" Helen said. "His Evilness has a special plan just for that! I'll send over the paperwork on Monday!"
"Really? Thanks!" the man said, turning about and running off. "You won't regret it!"
As he watched the man go, the Devil turned to Helen. "What the hell was that?" he asked. "Remember our rule of marketing? Never make a deal you can't fulfill. You can let their lives go to hell in a handbasket, but only after the five-star review."
"Is the Father of Lies forgetting that lying is what we do?" Helen asked with a chuckle. "Or did you just forget that he won't be around to give us a bad review by the time he finds out his soul isn't going to heaven?"
The Devil was about to reply, but then paused, realizing the implications of Helen's words. "And I wasted all that time talking to the idiot." he muttered, taking another swig of the Emperador. "Antichrist, I must be losing my touch."
"Well I know just the thing to bring your spirits up!" Helen said. "Why don't you go browse Reddit for an hour or two! I'm sure all the evil and chaos will cheer you right up!"
"I suppose." the Devil said with a sigh. "Hold my calls for an hour or so. I'm going to see what carnal sins are being committed today."
|
“I don’t think you understand who I am and what I do here...”
“No, I get it but I was hoping I’d be the exception.”
“There are no exceptions Up There so why would there be any Down Here?”
“Yeah so then that makes you a bit of a conformer right? Thought you hated that.”
“I mean yeah I do. It’s just a silly rule we follow. But you make a good point. Rules are silly…”
“Yeah exactly, like why do what They’re doing just because they were first? Maybe it’s time for a re-brand?”
“We tried that and it didn’t go over well. Salvation wasn’t on the menu then, though…”
“See, so maybe you missed a golden opportunity to really stick it to The Man Upstairs?”
“Hm, these are all really great points but I’ll still have to see. I want to make sure it doesn’t blow up in my face and get me… fired! Ha!”
“Ha! Yeahhh… that’s a good one! Ha, fired.”
“Yeah, thanks came to me just now.”
“So wait who would fire you anyway?”
“Same Guy who hired me here, probably.”
“Hm, sounds like somebody would be jellyyyyy. That means you should totes do it bro.”
“Damn, He would be pretty pissed huh! But the problem is we don’t have that here and our recommendations for going Up There mean nothing. Sooo…”
“Well how bout you let me sort that out when I get there. I have an idea.”
“Yeah? I mean I can send you back to purgatory but I can’t undo stuff. That cool?”
“Yeah that’s fine. I mean if they reject me, I’ll just say “Wow, the Devil forgave me but not YOU?!”
“Ah ha ha ha, the good ol guilt trip. That’ll work on anybody.”
| 2022-06-30T12:26:14
| 2022-06-30T11:35:05
| 49
| 28
|
[WP] Pranksters from various subreddits hack into President Obama's teleprompter during the State of the Union Address. This, being Obama's last year in office, just decides to go with it.
|
WASHINGTON (AP) -- The nation remains in shock one day after a baffling State of the Union speech delivered by President Barack Obama that many political experts say will live "in infamy."
For days, it was speculated that President Obama would touch on the recent economic upswing, the country's warmed relations with Cuba and Iran, among a checklist of other improvements made within his last year as United States President.
"The State of the Union is typically an occasion in which the President delivers a tame, positive message to the country," said speechwriter Harold Davies. "That was not what happened last night."
Though the President's speech began without incident, he paused before addressing the nation with apparent rage. "What the f--- did you just f---ing say about me?" began his lengthy diatribe.
Within the address, Obama revealed that he had amassed "over 300 kills" during clandestine Al-Quaeda raids. Officials at the Department of Defense have declined to comment on the nature of these secret raids, though one high-ranking navy official has come to describe the President's claim of being a current member of the Navy SEALs as "patently false."
Though the public is still at a loss for what "little clever comment" so angered Obama, social media activists on sites like Twitter and Facebook have called for a staged internet blackout in protest of the secret spy network that the President unveiled during his speech. "Your IP is being traced right now," warned Obama.
In the final moments of the speech, Obama looked into the camera and gave an explicit warning to Jason Kiddoe, the Republican Senator from Kentucky and a late newcomer to the presidential race. "I have no idea what I may have done to offend the President, but I take his threat on my life very seriously and am in the midst of seeking legal council," said Kiddoe.
|
My fellow Americans,
As I leave office, times are dire. I have had a conversation with Kim Jong Un in which he informed me that upon my retiring from the role of president, he will launch no fewer than 102 nuclear missiles at the United States.
I begged him, pleaded with him. "Un," I says, "Un, what can I do to stop this tragedy?"
"Wew," he said, as his breathing intensified, "You must bwing me Jennifaw Wawence. And aww da cats in Amewica."
"But Un," I told him, this violates the freedom America stands for!" I said.
"I wiw accept the Emma Watson," he replied, "she Bwitish." I could see him in my mind's eye, tipping his fedora and greeting her with a "mi'wady."
"You know I can't do that, Un," I told him, "Do we have to go to war over this?"
He hesitated for a moment, then he said "I tew you wat. To pwevent aw out waw, I going to need about twee fiddy."
Thus we prevented World War Three. Sorry, America, you should have used a Serious tag.
On a more serious note, today we recognize one of America's Greatest heroes. Few men have done more for the great of this nation than him, America's shining knight. Truly, he is an example to be upheld by all American Citizens. Paul Blart Mall Cop. Nope, Chuck Testa.
I hope our next presidency will be OC and not a repost, because OP did not deliver. Came here to say this. If my Secretary of State should run, please do not upvote because girl. As we all know, our culture lacks a positive identity for men due to the constant misandry reinforced by our cultural norms that have castrated our men. Thanks, Obama.
When choosing your next Commander in Chief, ask yourself, Where Did The Soda Go? If You Don't Surf, you may be coaxedintoasnafu. When new candidates come to your town, asking to bear the weight of the U.S. on his or her shoulders, ask them "Do you Even Lift?"
So as my presidency comes to a close, I tip my fedora to you, console peasants and members of the PC Master Race alike. Praise Gaben.
| 2015-04-30T08:20:30
| 2015-04-30T08:08:51
| 503
| 41
|
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
"Oh dear" I said to myself, looking at this tar coming from my finger.
"Ha! Well, proves that no human is exempt from sin."
I thought about what could have blackened my own blood, I don't remember anything that I could have caused, or done wrong.
"Oh" I remembered.
I went on far too many websites without my parent's permission.
|
i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:38:53
| 2018-08-04T09:55:07
| 19
| 10
|
[WP] “Your supply routes are blockaded, your transports are destroyed. You will surrender, human, or you will starve.” “Bold words from someone who tastes good with ketchup.”
|
[Poem]
In my home village
Which I wouldn't dare leave
There wasn't much food left
And all were bereaved
The guards killed most of us
And then trapped the rest
I try to retain my religion
This is a hidden blessing or a test
I had no where to go
Nothing I was willing to give
I'll have one more adrenaline rush
Since I have no reason to live
So I made the threat
Clutching the ketchup bottle
And it wasn't long after
I was stabbed and throttled
For what it's worth
Which isn't a lot
I had my last thrill
Right before I was...
|
"Your supply routes are blockaded, your transports are destroyed. You will surrender, human, or you will starve.” “Bold words from someone who tastes good with ketchup.”
Joe could see Ken was giving up. He couldn't even close his hands around the grips of the Camprey rifle. If they didn't get to Raphael he was going to bleed out under the Vandura. Why Raphael was even fighting for the humans was questionable, but at this point Joe needed everyone he could get after My Little Pony massacred the A-Team. The ones that don't have wings shouldn't be able to fly, Joe thought, but Emily would hear none of his protests.
"Suck it up Ken! Lay down cover, were moving!". He knew Ken was useless, but if he at least directed the attention towards him, he could get to the van. Potato Head took the bait. Joe bolted for the van as Ken got his face stomped, still with that stupid blank expression on it.
Raphael's head and knees were backwards, or maybe his torso had spun, either way he was a goner. As the wheels spun, it flung his body into the screen door. There was an inquiring yell from the home office, followed by brief silence. No time to waste. As he rounded the corner to the straight away, Joe could see the Millennium Falcon at the end of the hall, but Potato Head was gaining ground. He was running, out, of time...
| 2021-03-25T13:20:49
| 2021-03-25T12:11:30
| 51
| 35
|
[WP] You take a DNA test on your 21st birthday to determine your heritage. Your family tree results come back and show that you have 20 direct descendants...and an 89 year old son.
[deleted]
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Stephen looked at his results in disbelief.
​
"This can't be right."
​
He quickly reached for his phone, dialing the number at the bottom of the form.
​
"Hello, thank you for calling [Ancestry.com](https://Ancestry.com). We look forward to taking your call. Our agents will be right with you. Please hold."
​
*elevator music*
​
"Thank you for calling [Ancestry.com](https://Ancestry.com). Our lines are unusually busy at the moment. We will connect you with the next available agent. Please hold."
​
*elevator music*
​
"Hello, thank you for waiting. My name is Clea. How can I help you today?"
​
"Yeah, I had a test done a while back and just got my results. I'm pretty sure they're wrong."
​
"Sure. To confirm, you've indicated that you believe that your results are inaccurate?"
​
"Yup."
​
"Okay. Sir, I'm sorry you are dissatisfied with the test results. Unfortunately, there are many possible factors that can lead to unexpected results. [Ancestry.com](https://Ancestry.com) is confident in our testing methods and any differences are -
​
"Uh excuse me, sorry for interrupting, but I just turned 21 and it says I have multiple children, one of which is 89. I'm pretty sure the test is wrong."
​
"Oh, I see. One moment sir."
​
"..."
​
"Hello, sir? We can offer you a replacement test, free of charge, or full refund on the test to the card provided at purchase."
​
"Um, yeah, I'll take the replacement test, thanks."
​
"Of course. Can you please confirm the card number used at purchase?"
​
"Yeah, one sec. \[Redacted\]"
​
"Okay sir, the replacement test is on its way. It should arrive within a week. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
​
"Nope, that's all, thanks."
*click*
|
“Thank you for taking that DNA test,” one of my kidnappers tells me, “made it so much easier to find you!” She would seem like a cheerful young woman, but I know better, after all I did not get here out of my own free will.
“Who are you? What do you want from me? This must be some kind of mistake!” I blurt out. “Clearly the DNA test was wrong. Can’t you tell that? I am too young to have a son that age. I am still a virgin.” I blurt out. As soon as I say that, I regret it. Why would I overshare like that with my kidnappers. They don’t have a right to know personal shit like that sbout me.
“Oh, it’s not s mistake! We have been looking for someone like you. The good news is, you will survive this! We got proof of that. Your son. The others were not so lucky up until now, no one has survived this experiment before. The financial backers have frankly started to loose faith in the good doctor. Sure, he has proven time and again that his time machine works, sort of. But when you donate millions of dollars for an experiment like this, you want more than just unexplained bodies showing up in history, and DNA evidence of century old bones showing that they do in fact belong that nice young man who was alive just yesterday.”
My eyes were getting larger and larger as she rambled on. I had been kidnapped by complete lunatics! And they had access to my DNA test results. If I got out of this alive, first thing I would do would be to sue that DNA testing company for not protecting the privacy of results. Although with my reaults as rediculous as they were, who could blame someone there leaking them as a good joke I suppose. This was not a joke though! And I did not know what to say. After all what could I say that would make any difference to lunatic kidnappers?
The nice lunatic meanwhile seemed unbothered by my silance, perfectly willing to carry on the conversation all by herself. “As I was saying, the good news is unlike the others, you will survive! The bad news is, you won’t ever be coming back to the present, or I guess you will soon be calling it the future. We know that because your son buried you several years ago, and we dug up the grave, and checked, and that sure was you. It may not sound like good news, but hey, it looks like you will live a nice long life, and from what your son has told us it looks like a happy and fulfilling one. I will give you a hint, your wife’s maiden name is Barbara Ellen Holstein, so now you even have the advantage of knowing that she is the one. Most people don’t have that! I wish I had that, would have saved me a lot of time and energy I did not have to spend on that prick who dumped me last month. If only I had known, he was not the one. So anyway, you won’t be coming back here and now. And you probably wonder why we bother? Thing is the doctor really needs another influx of money to continue his research, and having someone who survived is just the kind of partial victory progress he can use right now. And I for one have faith that some day he will be able to send someone there and back in the time machine. He is a brilliant scientist! Oh it is time, let me adjust your straps, make sure you are nice and tight, and not going anywhere. And then we will wheel you in your chair into that time machine. Take off in fifteen minutes!”
| 2020-11-18T02:59:36
| 2020-11-18T02:42:05
| 77
| 35
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[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
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Bullies. I hated bullies.
I hated how they felt that, with just a little bit of power, they had the right to pick on and push around anyone they deemed below them.
And it got **SO** much worse when the bullies had superpowers. Which brings us to my current predicament, with me on the ground, and this a-hole standing over me..
"What's the matter? Why don't you use your supposed powers to defend yourself, huh?", he taunted me, right before he kicked my in the stomach, sending me sailing twenty feet down the hall, and sliding a bit farther down the tiled floor.
The other students who surrounded us managed to part in time to miss getting hit by me. A few smirked or laughed. They were other bullies or Terry's cronies. I made a note of who they were for later, so I could keep an eye on them.
Most of the students, however, had faces filled with anger at my bully, or concern for me. a few were even having trouble keeping their own powers in check. I understood. I didn't like it, but I understood. Terry was one of the most powerful students in the school, and a senior to boot. Most of the *teachers* would have trouble matching him in a one-on-one fight. A lot of the students would need to team up to take him, and no one was brave enough to make the first move.
I guess was on my own. This was going to suck.
Terry slowly approached me as I got up, with that overconfident "look at me, I'm so awesome" swagger a-holes with power got when trying to work a crowd. He stopped about ten feet away from me.
"Why don't you stop me, if you're **SOOOoooo** powerful?" He laughed, with his arms outstretched, and his cronies laughed with him. Terry basked in it, like a cat in the sun on a windowsill. What a douche.
"You're an idiot." Everyone's heads snapped to me, shock on their faces. The shock on Terry's face was mixed with rage, as his face turned a dark red. He was probably too dumb to be embarrassed.
"What did you say, you little b----?"
"I said: *you. Are. An. Idiot*." Terry began to stalk towards me. "In that brick you call a brain, did it ever occur to you that I *couldn't* get into this school without any powers? That maybe, *just maybe*, if I haven't shown my powers, there's a good reason?" He stopped, the wheels in his mind trying to turn, despite the fact that the hamster that powered it was long since dead.
"Honestly," I continued, "the only reason you are still in this school is because your parents are popular heroes, and that clearly gave you a huge sense of entitlement. You are nothing but a bully, with this feeling of entitlement that you think gives you the right to push around everyone else." He continued stalking toward me again.
"But back to what I was saying before. Did it ever occur to you that maybe there's a *reason* I don't want to fight you, that has nothing to do with you?"
As I said this Terry reached me, pulled back his fist, and swung and my already bloody face. I was done playing nice.
Terry had super-strength, flight, and fast reflexes as his powers. They were strong enough that he could take on most supers on his own.
I wasn't most supers.
I nonchalantly backhanded his fist, knocking him off-balance. He fell to the ground, sprawled out from how his own momentum had carried him around.
I thought people were shocked before. Now, I watched their jaws hit the floor. Literally, in the cases of a few people whose powers allowed them to stretch themselves that far.
"I hate bullies. Especially superpowered ones." Terry pushed himself up off the floor, murder in his eyes as he glared at me.
"You think that your powers give you the right to hurt others. But it doesn't. And those with such little power, who use it to hurt others, don't deserve power at all."
"You're going to pay for that," Terry said as he stood up. I had just shown the student body that he could be hurt. Now, he needed to try to reestablish that no one should stand up to him.
*Pfft*. As if I'd let him.
"You still don't get it, do you," I asked, as he marched towards me, and I squared my stance. "We've been in school for, what? A month? And you're a senior, one of the *most powerful students in the school*, and you're picking on a freshman whose powers **you don't even know**." Terry threw another punch, but this time instead of deflecting it, I caught it. Then, I tightened my hold on his fist, and I bent it back, forcing him to his knees.
"Did you ever think, that maybe, *just maybe*, someone might not be fighting back because he was afraid of *what he might do to you*? That maybe I'm afraid of doing something **that I can't take back**?" On my periphery, I saw the shock of the students change as my voice dropped several octaves, becoming unnaturally deep. I didn't need a mirror to see tgat my eyes had turned black. The fear on their faces told me that.
"*Thats not good,*" I thought, as Terry's fury turned to terror. "*I need to end this.* **Now**."
Adjusting my stance, I swung him by his arm over my head and onto the ground, before swinging him back over again. I looked at the students to my right, and motioned with my head for them to get out of the way, which they all scrambled to do.
Grabbing Terry's arm with both hands, I swung him in a circle around me, letting him go after a single rotation. Since he was still stunned from me slamming him into the ground, he wasn't able to use his powers to stop himself before he slammed into the lockers in the wall, many of them crumpling around him as he made impact with them.
I took a deep breath, centered myself mentally, and pushed down the darkness as far as I could. "Stay down," I said, as I turned and walked away.
Edit: End of Part 1
And if anyone has any pointers on the writing itself, both on this and Part 2, I'd appreciate it. Thanks!
|
"Well, well, well, if it's Tommy O'Gransworth. Granny to me and the boys, like." In came Ted Nuggerton. All-round arsehole, and self-proclaimed champion of the school ground. His thicker-than-most Irish accent horrendously disturbing the peace.
I was sitting in the small tired-looking, abandoned chapel, built back in days long past. No one came here anymore, besides me. It was my quiet place, away from the feeling of being out of place in a world where power was everything.
Ted Nuggerton and his cronies had broken that silence.
"Shawn Brown owes me forty euros; said you wouldn't be here, but I know you better, like," Sneered Ted. "Much better like."
I rubbed my eye. The one that wasn't black and blue from the punks behind me. "Is that right?"
"It is," Ted muttered, coming down the aisle with his idiot followers. "But he also told me, you little git, you've been slagging me off behind my back. Is he telling the truth?"
Thomas shrugged. "Would you believe me either way?" He asked, turning his head over to watch the schoolyard bully limp around the front pew to tower over his victim.
Ted frowned. "Probably not. I think you'd just be trying to save your own skin, like."
His four friends flanked me, ensuring I had no chance of escape.
"Well, there we go then," I sighed. It would be lunchtime soon. I hadn't brought any food with me, because I knew something like this *might* happen. It was a two mile walk across the countryside back to our village, but I didn't mind. No one came here besides me until now, because it was so out of the way.
"Well, there we go then, eh? That's all you've got to say?" Ted seethed, his nostrils flaring. "You're the only punk at school who has not a lick of powers, and you're the only dryshite on this entire island, Tommy O'Gransworth, who stands up to me thinking you're something other than a nothing." He opened his mouth, and his tongue lashed out. At the edge, miniature spikes poked out, slashing my cheeks, before his tongue withdrew. "Didn't like that, did you?"
I shook my head, putting a hand to the bloodied wound.
"We're not done here, O'Gransworth. We're done for a long time, like. When you come back to school tomorrow, you're never going to get in our way again. Do you understand?"
There it was. The fear and the inadequacy I felt every time I stepped into school had come rushing back. Couldn't he just feck off back to-?
"Feck off," I snapped, trying to hide back the tears. "Feck off and leave me alone!"
His tongue lashed out again, and the spikes at the edge slashed the other side of my cheek. Ted's friends jeered, fist-bumping one another. None of them had any impressive powers, but they were strong enough to stop me from making a run for it.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll go and tell your sister, like. You know - Carol."
Ted's face dropped. "Don't you bring her into this!"
"I bring something into her every time I see her," I spat. "And we've gotten chatting about you after I've fecked her brains out." I jabbed a trembling finger at the fat cunt. "She doesn't like you much, does she? What's the word she calls you? Starts with a "b"." I tapped my forehead. "Burden"? Was it that? Aye, I think it was." I turned my head to his friends. "Do you make your own beds, lads? Do you tidy and make them look nice? Ted here-" I nodded to Ted. "-doesn't. His sister does. Ever since your mammy ran out - no doubt because of you - Carol's been doing *everything*. You're a lazy tool, aye? Probably never learnt how not to shite your bed when Carol forgets to leave the light on at night! Stuck with the mental age of a three-year old, aren't you, eh?"
I was beginning to feel good about myself. Powerful.
"Oh, aye, one day I'm sure she'll see what use you are around the house. If one of the farmers ever needs another pig to butcher, I'm sure they'll pay Carol a pretty penny to buy herself something nice, instead of looking after you."
Ted opened his mouth, and the weaponised tongue drew its spikes, and drove them into my shoulder. My body stiffened, and I gritted my teeth. The spikes dug deeper and deeper.
"Go...go ahead..." I managed to spill out. "See what...see what Carol does to you then..."
The spikes and the tongue withdrew to Ted's mouth.
"If you ever touch me again," I growled, rubbing my wound. "I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me? I will hurt you, and all your friends-" I motioned to the cronies. "-until the only escape you get is from jumping off of whatever cliff you're closest to." I rose to my feet, my legs shaking. "You come to my house to shatter my windows again, like, or you bully my sisters and steal their sweets? I will ruin *all of you*. Your sister doesn't give two shites about you. I mean that, Ted Nuggerton. I know she beats you up, blackening your eye. You got that limp from her, right?" I nodded to his weakened leg. "That's not from fighting in the schoolyard. You don't fool me."
Ted was staring at me as if I'd plunged a knife through his heart already. Reluctantly, he nodded.
"Do I make myself clear to you all, you fecking eijits?" I growled, glaring at all of them. "You're all going to leave me alone!"
Ted's friends nodded enthusiastically, before scampering out of the lonely chapel.
Once they were gone, I asked. "Am I going to have any more problems with you, Ted Nuggerton?" My voice was calm, like a teacher trying not to scare a student who they were disappointed in.
"...No."
"Do you promise?" I asked. "You've pushed me around long enough that I'm not fooling around, like."
"I promise."
I inhaled. "Damn right. Go away then, and let me have some peace."
Ted Nuggerton limped out of the citadel after his friends. I watched him go like a wounded dog, before my shoulders dropped, and I did to back to the pew. There wasn't really any way I could be sure that Ted was going to keep to his word, but I had it on good authority that he would.
A blonde haired beauty stepped appeared from behind the altar, no longer invisible.
"I thought it went well, Carol," I breathed, leaning my head back, trying to manage a grin.
"Went well? I told you just to tell him to back off, not to emotionally damage him for the rest of his life!" Protested the woman.
| 2022-11-02T12:45:49
| 2022-11-02T11:48:42
| 91
| 27
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[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
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>**FARMS & THE FORSAKEN FABLE**
I was not, by trade, a farmer- yet I found myself, day in and day out, working with *and* for the farmers.
Why? Because if I didn't, I may have *literally* died from boredom.
Shortly after joining the Royal Guard, I was shoved into a dark room and asked a series of questions. I must have answered very, very poorly, because I was selected to be a 'quiet agent' member of the Guard...which translated, roughly, to 'go off to an obscure village on the far end of the Territory and stay there 'til we say otherwise.'
I wondered- had a offended someone? Had I farted on a Sergeant in the change room during training one day? What had I done to deserve this?
I had been anticipating a challenging and fulfilling career- chasing after thieves and brigands, doing counter-intelligence, maybe a few seductions of important enemies. Something...glamorous.
This was anything but- though I wasn't *hating* it here. I didn't loathe my days, it was just very far from what I'd thought I'd signed up for.
Every morning I reprised my situation- shortly after the local rooster crowed before the sunrise. Nothing like a rude awakening to make you consider fleeing the army.
After deciding I preferred my head on my shoulders, I'd head out to the town, quietly and inconspicuously patrol, speak with the town vendors, keep an eye out for trouble. There was never any trouble.
From that point on, there wasn't anything important to do, so I started helping the farmers. It started with a very nice old lady who was too short to put up her stall to sell her fruits and vegetables- then her husband offered me some coin for helping with his pigs, and everything sort of snowballed from there.
Now, I didn't even don my armor before I left my cabin. I wore overalls.
"You're starting to fit in 'round here, ay, Desmond?" Farmer Jorn joked as he passed me by.
"Oh, give it a few winters, maybe my hat will be as frayed and outdated as yours." I responded with a small grin.
One thing I'd learned about the locals- if you could banter with them, you would be treated like family. If you were formal, you'd be ostracized.
Jorn laughed as he departed down the muddy street.
I continued on my walk, planning on purchasing the fresh-baked bread Matilda made and pairing it with some eggs from the market. I already had meat and cheese in my bag.
I didn't end up making it to Matilda's for bread that day.
As I rounded a corner in the road, I heard rustling from within the tall grass. Instinctively, my hand wrapped around the knife I kept hidden against the small of my back- I may not have had armor, but only a fool travels without at least a knife.
I crept a little closer, unsure- was there a child playing, or perhaps a nasty critter that needed culling?
To my surprise, there was a fox thrashing about, its leg caught in a root. It looked malnourished. It must have been stuck here for a while, given the markings on the ground.
"Jorn, you must be going deaf." I said.
Moving deftly, I clamped one gloved hand over the fox's mouth- which it did not love- and then I dug out the dirt surrounding the root, and pulled the trapped leg free, which it did seem to love.
The fox did not flee immediately. As soon as its leg was free, the fox ceased struggling in my grasp, and instead craned its neck to look me in the face.
I let it go and jumped back, to give it space, and protect my fingers.
Instead of nipping at me, the fox seemed to bow, then fled.
It was odd- but not odd enough for me to puzzle all day about it.
Before I reached the bakery, the 'sold out' sign went up in the window. Shame.
Chewing on meat and cheese, I continued my routine, and finished my day early, only helping with farmer's chores for a few hours before returning home. If all I did was act like a farmer, I'd be *fighting* like a farmer.
Just next to my cabin, I'd cleared a large patch of grass for myself. It was covered on all sides by much, much larger grass, and so I felt I had a bit of privacy.
I laid out my weapons and propped up some target dummies.
First, I practiced basic conditioning. Weighted cardio, flexibility, and strength. Just enough to get warmed up.
Then I ran through my weapons- lodging throwing knives inside the dummy's skull, marking its leather with a pretend blade, breaking a few arrows on its thick hide.
I was still in good shape. Perhaps not my peak, but good.
I laid down in the grass to enjoy the warm sun for a while, and accidentally slipped off into a restless nap.
When I awoke, I found myself once again face-to-face with a fox.
"Um. Hello." I said, trying to prevent myself from grabbing it by the tail and throwing it off my chest.
It didn't respond, obviously. It did, however, nudge towards me a small handful of...something.
I looked at the offering- these were peanuts.
"Where in the hell did you get these? Peanuts don't grow here." I chuckled. Must've raided the private pantry of the local lord.
I gave the fox some more meat, sure that this was the same I'd seen earlier, and went inside to write the daily report- not that there was much to say.
The season continued on, and the fox continued to visit me. Winter was beginning to approach, so I made a small space for the fox and filled it with hay- just in case.
The gifts it brought me got stranger, however. Peanut- which is what I had decided to name the fox- brought me scraps of cloth, then a hat, then more food, though this time it was meat that I couldn't be sure was pork, beef, or chicken...I didn't end up using it, either- then, finally, the day came when Peanut brought me a knife.
I held the knife in my hands, and trembled.
I was not new to danger, but this was something worse than that.
This knife was branded with the sigil of the House of Zentach.
Zentach was our very, very militaristic neighbor, which my village was nearly on the border of.
If Peanut had found me a knife of theirs- and, in particular, a knife that belonged to one of their *nobles*...it meant only one thing.
Invasion.
I knew my letters would not be fast enough. I would have to bring this news, this threat, back to the capital itself.
I packed hastily, and brought a large sum of gold, so that I may purchase a horse.
I hesitated when I saw Peanut looking at me intently.
"I know you can't understand, but I'm leaving for a while. I'll be back. Stay hidden underneath my house if anything happens, you should be safe there."
I shook my head at myself, and began running towards the town.
Little did I know that Peanut was silently trotting behind, following me the whole way.
------------------------------------------
Let me know if you want a Pt.II!
I'll throw it onto r/nystorm_writes :)
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 6: Clara Olsen v.s. The Fox)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was precious little magic left in the modern world.** Ninety percent of the world's genies were controlled by lawyers, shooting stars were captured by satellite and locked into wish-granting loops, and anything that wouldn't bow down to the modern march of progress was chained up and locked away.
So when the strange fox showed up at my government job, I violated six terms of employment and two international treaties by letting it go when no-one was looking.
In hindsight, I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, obviously, I wanted to save the poor, quivering thing from Frederick's vivisectionists. I'm an empath; standing up for the abused and downtrodden is sort of my *thing*.
But I'd gotten on the bad side of the U.S. government before, and I'd gotten squashed like a bug. Chances were, the fox would get caught again, filled with tranquilizer darts and lashed to a table so any useful properties it had could be exploited for the growth of the economy. And if they found out I'd done it? Maybe the same fate laid in store for me.
"So that's why you've got to bugger off and never come back, okay?" I whispered, holding the little red fox's paw through the window. She almost felt sapient to my empath's senses—I sensed her gratitude to me and frustration at sending her away. "They catch me with you and we're done for."
The fire-red fox darted through the window, her glossy coat shimmering as she did. Snarling at a poster cheerily telling me to REPORT ANY SUPERNATURAL ACTIVITY, she leapt on the cheaply-printed face of my employer and tore it apart.
I laughed. "Yeah. If only you could do that to the real thing." I paused. "Wait, *did* you just do that to the real thing?" It wasn't an unreasonable question; voodoo dolls and the like had existed for millennia, and although hexes were mostly monopolized by the military, I wouldn't be surprised if some random fox held the last vestiges of a two-thousand-year-old magical tradition.
Sadly, the fox shook her little head in response, her ears going *pitter-patter* as they flopped off her skull. I took her paw in mine again, feeling her emotions flood through me. Stubborn gratitude flowed from her to me.
"I get that you're grateful. I saved you, I understand. I don't charge for my services." I chuckled. "A younger, more naïve me would've asked you to vote me into office. But I think I'm past the point where I think joining the government will change it for the better."
The fox sneezed. I wasn't sure how intelligent she was, but I got the feeling she didn't understand elections, politics, or the complex course of actions that had led me to where I was today.
"So shoo. Why were you even here in the first place?" I gently picked her up and placed her on the windowsill. "Go on. And avoid the cameras; I told you were the blind spots were, yeah?"
The fox did not move.
I closed my eyes. "There's nothing you can do for me. Just leave."
I heard a *thump* from the windowsill.
I leaned back, eyes still closed, weight settling into my body. I'd made deals with genies and supervillains and demons alike and never lost my confidence—but in the end, it wasn't any supernatural being that had trapped me. It was the gradual death of magic, everything I loved and protected packed into boxes and locked away. Better for everyone that the fox stayed away from me, just like everyone el—
Claws scrabbled at the window, and my eyes flew open.
"What're you doing here, you silly little—" I paused, looking at what she held in her mouth. A small, plastic box, covered with dirt and grime until it was opaque. I absently scritched the fox's head, taking the box from her mouth.
It was Tupperware.
I swallowed, throat suddenly tight. The empathic link went both ways; the fox whined in sympathy. "You don't need to bring me gifts. You don't need to *do* anything for me. Don't you get it? They are the monsters. I am the woman who stops the monsters. And you are the victim who goes free. Never thanking me. Never looking back. Living your life as you should."
The fox leapt out the window, vanishing behind her tail. Moments later, she returned, a cheap child's costume in her mouth. A two-faced mask.
Memory swelled up inside me, and I snapped, "Yeah. I saved her too. And *she. Left. Too.* Like you should. Like you *will*."
The fox tilted her head, then jumped onto my shoulder, tearing a lock of hair from my scalp with her teeth. Before I could react, she darted back down, placing it next to the Tupperware and the mask, the reminders of people I'd protected. People who'd been saved. People who'd *deserved* to be saved. And the damn fox had the gall to put my hair next to them?
I clenched my fists. "I don't need to be saved. I *can't* be saved. Not by me, and not by you."
The fox spun in a circle, and between one spin and the next there was a paper rolled up in her mouth. She dropped it on the floor and let it unroll.
It was an image of me, smiling, captioned: *Vote CLARA OLSEN for Mayor! Every vote counts!* *Together, we can do this.*
I squeezed my eyes shut. "Stop it. Shut up. You don't know anyth—*ow!*"
The fox nipped my arm, forcing my eyes open, and looked me in the eyes. A horribly ancient sorrow, deeper and broader than any animal had any right to, pulsed from her heart and into mine.
The fox I'd saved licked the tears from my cheek.
"I can't," I whispered. "If I asked them for help... if I asked *you* for help... they'd give it. They'd spend their lives for me. They'd die for me. I would be free. And everything I'd spent my life doing would unravel in an instant."
The fox curled up in my lap.
She felt warm.
There were no grand magics, no mighty weapons, no clashes between heroes and villains. No sacrifices, and no blood.
But for one ephemeral instant, the fox set me free.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-02-06T16:24:25
| 2022-02-06T16:19:33
| 191
| 27
|
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?"
|
"Listen, I'm desperate." I hear Vulcan's voice plead from the phone.
"I literally tried to kill you yesterday." I deadpan.
"So'd my ex, actually! Albeit she was a bit closer to being successful than you were." He cheerfully mentions, I sigh as I massage the bridge of my nose.
"You know what, I'm getting curious about this ex of yours. Tell me the address." I can almost visualise him perking up.
"Thank you so much, I owe you my life." He sighs in relief.
"After hearing about your dating history, I'm not sure I want it." I mutter.
"Anyways! It's 1520 Thompson Rd." He chirps. I let out a deep breath, running my hands through my hair.
"Send me the details later, all of them."
Moments later, I receive a text from him, restating the date and time, location as well as the dress code.
Arriving at the venue the next day, I pull up in one of my finer cars in a rich blue suit. At the entrance, I see Vulcan anxiously tapping his foot in a deep garnet suit of his own.
"So, this wasn't a trap." I smirk, walking up to him. He breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing me.
"Thank god you're here, I thought you wouldn't show up." He places a hand on my shoulder. I chuckle.
"What, and miss the chance to see the ever elusive Vulcan in a suit? No way." I joke.
"Actually, uh, can you just call me Aiden here?" He says nervously. I raise a single eyebrow in curiosity.
"They don't know?" I ask. He shakes his head in response. "I guess I'd be Fletcher then." He beams at me, grabbing my hand.
"Well then Fletcher, we have a wedding to get to." He leads me inside where I see a groom awaiting under a floral arch. We find our seats and wait for the ceremony to finish. A beautiful bride, a handsome groom, an elegant but simple ceremony, I had to give it to them, Vulcan's friends knew how to plan a wedding.
"Now for the tough part." I hear him mutter and I can't help but agree.
|
‘Bwahahaha!!! I’m going to make this a wedding no is EVER going to forget!!Muwahahaha!!—that laugh was better—Gregory! Remind me to use ‘Muwahahaha’ in all further expository speeches…..Where were we? Oh, you were begging me to help you, its adorable. Of course, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
‘This ex, any dislikes or allergies maybe?Oh, you have a list (a little desperate)—what nothing at all, nothing, just fax it too me—no no no message me, message me—god what what century am I living in?!? Hehe. (Oh god, never chuckle like that again, jesus, whose desperate now), I’ll pick you up in my stretched Cadillac, wear something that matches a fur coat and baby seal leather wingtips, we’re going to be fabulous, darling.
‘Oh, yes, ‘darling’ until this charade is over, darling.’
| 2022-10-06T18:55:36
| 2022-10-06T16:34:26
| 234
| 83
|
[WP] Steven's grandmother knits. Not because she likes to, but because she has to.
Hanging by a thread.
|
Steven wakes up every day and goes to school. Not because he wants to, but because he has to.
Steven wouldn't mind school overall, or at least not much. He just wished it would be a little bit more *boring* sometimes. It seemed like something new and exciting happened every day, an event or some kind of interpersonal drama. Steven sort of wished he could be homeschooled.
Still, school was the least of the worst, as far as Steven's day went. And even under better circumstances, he'd probably still have to go to school. It's the extracurriculars that make Steven miserable.
Every day, Steven gets out of school at 3 p.m. and heads straight to baseball practice. Steven hates baseball, even though he's not bad at it by any means. He still would much rather have been reading a book or doing something less strenuous after a long day at school. That, of course, wasn't possible. So every day in the spring he played baseball, in the winter basketball, and football during autumn.
The rest of Steven's family was in a similar situation, at least.
Steven's mother didn't want to be a housewife, but she had to. As she cleaned dishes and made beds, she longed to go out and put her engineering degree to good use. But she couldn't leave the house, couldn't neglect her duties as housewife.
Steven's father, on the other hand, would have loved to let his wife bring home the bacon. He would have been content looking after Steven's little sister, taking care of the house, and watching daytime television. That wasn't the way things worked, though. So every day, Steven's father went to the office at 8:30 and came back at 5:30.
The last member of the household was Steven's grandmother. The old dame had been a pilot in her day, and she'd still be out there flying under better circumstances. But instead, Steven's grandmother sits in her rocking chair and knits. Morning, noon, and night. Not because she likes to knit, but because she has to.
Yes, in a better world Steven's family would be able to do what they wanted. Would be free.
The problem is that there are billions of viewers tuned in across the Galaxy, and the producers have some *very* specific ideas about what each member of a human family should be doing at any given time.
|
Had Barry 'round the other day. Stole the wool from Granny's knitting. Boy, he won't be coming back for tea.
The human body goes through a lot when someone dies. My cousin died when I was very young, I barely knew him. Got hit by a bus outside his father's pub. Robin's Hood Retreat, I think it was called. Had a girl pass away in class. Not, like *during* class, but she was in my class one day and not the next. Cancer apparently, she was only 8. Tragic.
You'd think the younger the death, the harder the hit. Like, they're not spent their life so it's sad when it's wasted.
Mikey died a month ago from pneumonia. Took a trip camping with a few friends, caught a nasty cold, infection spread and he went. It all happened within a few days, he didn't get back in time for us to see him and none of us had time to prepare. Granny took it hard, obviously. They were like peas and carrots, her and Mikey. Married for 50 odd years, went to school together, worked together, spent their entire life together.
The day we found out, she spent the whole day in her chair. Didn't move a muscle. We stayed with her, obviously. Think she was in shock. She didn't eat. Didn't blink.
The next day, she gets up, goes to the bedroom and gets our her wool and knitting needles. And she starts. She gets right to it. We're not sure what she's doing it for - maybe to cope with stress or something. A few days later, she knits a jumper. Big one - green and red with a big belt of purple across the middle.
"He'll be cold when he comes back," she says. And then she starts a new jumper. She's got mountains of wool so she'd be at it for days.
It's been four weeks now. She's got a whole wardrobe of knitted jumpers, gloves and scarves on his side of the bed. Doesn't say a word other than they're for Mikey for when he comes back.
Tried to stop her. Thought it was best to. Get her back into a normal life of routine and that. But she was so ingrained in it, she got angry whenever someone tried to stop her. Barry stole the wool and got a knitting needle through his hand. Of course, we kept quiet about it. So did Barry, said he tripped and fell on it when he was at the doctors.
"Let her knit," Mum said.
We come and visit every weekend now. Granny is eating, she cooks, too, but she knits whenever she has the chance. We ask her if she wants a hand cooking. We ask if she wants us to move the telly. We ask if she wants us to take her to the pub for a Sunday roast. But she never responds.
"He'll be cold when he comes back."
| 2015-10-01T06:46:03
| 2015-10-01T06:35:47
| 177
| 35
|
[WP] Kaiju routinely attack the city. You cannot get anyone to listen to your sensible, practical plan to stop them because they all want to build giant robots.
|
"We've managed to get the cost down to under a trillion dollars a unit."
The general put his hand over the mic while he mouthed to his assistant.
"*How many zeroes is that?*"
"*Twelve zeroes sir, double our current spending budget for the entire armed forces.*"
The general removed his hand from the microphone.
"**We'll take five.**"
The researcher standing front and center in the vast UN general assembly hall beamed.
Later that day in a small six-story nondescript office building in Washington DC:
"**FIVE?!** That's our entire budget for the year, ten times over! Doesn't anyone notice this? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!"
"But sir, you have to understand, these... What are they called again Macy?"
"*Jaeger*, sir."
"These Jaeger... Macy, these aren't made by the krauts, are they?"
"No sir, the Japanese."
"Good, can't trust those krauts. Now where was I... They're really big sir, you should see them. I mean, I can't imagine any of those kaiju lasting five minutes in the ring with one of these."
"How long would they last against a nuke?"
"Well sir, you see... With how close that vent is to Japan, the president said it wouldn't do to make the Japanese too uncomfortable with nukes right off their coast. They're still a little antsy after the last ones you know. We need them to cooperate, or we don't have any nearby bases on land. Those carriers can't handle everything."
"These are the same kaiju that between Katsuura, Isumi, San Francisco and Seattle have killed five million people?"
"Yes sir."
"You're telling me that we can't nuke these bastards that killed five **million** people... Because someone's feelings might get hurt?"
"Ahh... Yes sir."
"You're all dismissed. Except you Jeff."
Everyone filed out of the room and the tension subsided noticeably. The director sat on the edge of the desk, rubbing his temples.
"Jeff, get me the Pentagon."
"Who at the Pentagon sir? It's a big building."
"Anyone who isn't a complete idiot."
"Ah, that does narrow it down quite a bit."
"Anyone who isn't a complete idiot and has access to nukes."
"That's just one person then, let me find his number here..."
"General Ramsay's office? Yes, tell him director Bensinger is on the line."
Ten days later at the White House in a small windowless conference room:
"Well, they're a little more expensive than those Jaegers."
"Don't tell me about the cost, it doesn't matter."
"Well, you know how the Jaegers have swords, right sir?"
"Yes, the size of a ocean liner, very impressive."
"Well sir, these have twin machine guns. On each arm."
"Wow."
"And the bullets? They're the size of a bus. Made from depleted uranium."
"Now we're talking."
"And the fists? They're rocket powered. Launch 'em and give those kaiju a right cross straight from Uncle Sam."
"I really like that. Now... I know I said don't tell me what they cost Ramsay, but... How many of these can we field?"
"Four of 'em sir."
"But we could field five of the jaeger?"
"Yes sir."
"And how much more powerful are these?"
"More than twice sir."
"Well, that's all I need to know. You'll have everything you need to make this happen."
"Cleared personnel only?"
"Anything you need Ramsay."
"Thank you sir. "
Ten thousand feet over the Pacific ocean, not far from the coast of Japan:
The pilot of the cargo helicopter had a concerned look on his face, the blue glow of the instruments giving his features a strange look.
"These seem really light for how big they are."
The copilot shrugged.
"Communications blackout, otherwise I might have asked."
"Even with the pilots on board those things?"
"Yup. Just the orders."
"Drop them at depth and proceed back to base with all due haste."
"Doesn't that seem a little... I mean, how are they going to get home?"
"I'm sure they have a plan."
With the flip of the switch, the four giant robots were released into the churning sea below. Painted in patriotic colors, they were a sight to see. The kaiju would never know what hit them.
The helicopter pilots dutifully headed back to base, but before they had made it even ten miles away, a giant shockwave rolled over them, almost smashing them into the black sea. A glance back at the horizon showed four giant mushroom clouds rising into the night air.
"God bless those brave soldiers."
The next day, in a small six-story nondescript office building in Washington DC:
"You're telling me they were empty shells?"
"Well, not quite. They had a nuke inside. The biggest ones we had."
"I take it they didn't cost more than a trillion each?"
"Well, let's just say that the budget will look a lot better this year."
|
Lieutenant James knew he was right. He just knew it.
He had to tell the Chief Scientist Ogilvy, but he wasn't responding to any of his telematics, and the Intelligence leadership were secluded in the Ops One complex - so he couldn't just walk in to see him. There was a grade 5 due in two days, large enough to wipe out half of the Western Brit defences. He knew he had to let the scientist know. So he burned his bridges.
Through shadows, hacking, the betrayal of friends and file, and the sliced throat of two guards, he managed to find his way to ChiefSci's vault door.
Hammering, it slid open.
'Who, what?' James slid his hand over the old man's mouth and forced him quickly back inside.
'Shut up, I don't have much time, listen...'
And so he hurriedly explained his concept.
'...so, as you see, a blade across their entry portal would immediately slice them in two as they crossed into our dimension... Instant kills every time, check the maths!'
Chief Scientist Ogilvy studiously looked at papers the young solider had passed him.
'And, lieutenant, who have you told about this idea?'
'Just yourself Chief... Imagine, no more need for robots, no more genocide, no more... What's that?'
Ogilvy had picked up a light blue chromatic tube.
He looked up briefly and said,'...and not let Xenu return? We have been waiting too long for that, Lieutenant.'
The scientist turned a small dial, and the acrid smell of burning flesh filled his quarters.
| 2016-01-11T14:18:35
| 2016-01-11T14:02:06
| 190
| 62
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
"Well this is a bit excessive," I thought at first, "even for them."
He was everywhere.
After the first week, I named him Xavier. I don't know why, it just seemed to fit. He was a distinguished, handsome, and charming. Exactly the opposite of his target.
It seemed like an odd use of apparently brand new tech, connecting every visible ad together to let an imaginary character follow me around. It didn't matter what ad. He was always there, getting his two cents in about my habits.
The latest Audi commercial, showing a young couple driving along the California coast, "Son," he chimed in from the backseat, "not even this car would get you a woman."
He had a line for everything. Viagra was "coming sooner than you think" and I couldn't even watch porn without him commenting that the local girls weren't really locals, and even if they were... well you get the point.
The friends I still had, while not many, were growing impatient. Their ads didn't star Xavier, and he was sure to remind them that all I had to do was give it up and he'd go away for good.
For whatever kind of software program he was, I thought, he was surprisingly inquisitive. "How'd you know it was coming?" Xavier asked, referring to the mandated shutdown of all tobacco production.
Truth is, I listened to a lunatic online on a hunch and used my life savings to purchase enough smokes to last the foreseeable future. But I wasn't about to start explaining myself to an ad.
I never responded. And never planned to.
"Alright, I give up," I paused for a second and turned to see Xavier pressed up close to the inside of my TV screen, while an ad for Puppy Chow played behind him. He looked far less confident than normal. "I'm begging you to stop smoking. It's the only way they'll let me go."
It took me a second to process exactly what he said.
"Wait, what?"
|
George Barnes got out of his truck and headed back to his plantation. Family reunions were never easy, and this one had been the smallest number he'd ever seen. People were afraid. His family, his whole people, his way of life; gone.
George walked up the path to his small crop. The plants were already getting huge: broad, almost tropical leaves swaying in the mountain breeze. It wouldn't be too long until harvest time. He was glad; this year's gardens had been nerve-wracking. He'd always known that the white people intended to destroy his family, and end the issue of American ownership once and for all, but he never thought he'd actually live to see the day.
At the edge of the garden, he kicked off his sandals and paused a moment to lay a small amount of tobacco on the rock in the southeast corner. It was always gone. Maybe birds were eating it. Maybe it was the wind. It didn't matter.
He walked through his garden, talking to his plants, commenting on how big they were getting and how thankful he was for them. They looked okay. No watering today.
He drew up a seat on his customary log and reflected on his weekend's activities. His remaining family was scared. Nobody would smoke with him. Tobacco was too precious for yourself, now, they'd said. It can only be used in bundles, and even that was risky. They were torn and tormented: nobody wanted to completely break from tradition, but nobody wanted to get caught. The New Americanism demanded cultural assimilation. Most of the family didn't even want to risk the family gathering. Between the ads and the news, it was enough to make anybody stay home.
Now this, he thought. After all we've been through: the disease, the stolen land, the broken promises, the destruction of all that is good in the world - now this. We were too afraid as a people to *be* a people anymore. He smoked a bowl.
The tobacco coursing through his veins, he felt strong again, uncertain of the future but determined. He was unbreakable. Let things fall. As long as he was alive, his people's ways would not end. They would not. He got back in the truck and headed back towards town.
The realization of responsibility overwhelmed him sometimes. He turned on the radio for a moment; the news was on. A 1989 Honda Civic had been caught on a back road downstate, headed to a former reserve town with a trunk full of tobacco. George knew him. He was the other guy.
The news ended and the ad for the UnAmerican Activities Hotline came on. George lingered, and turned the radio off. He wondered if his friend would mention him by name. It didn't matter. He was the last one, now. He drove on.
| 2017-02-17T14:17:58
| 2017-02-17T12:05:48
| 25
| 10
|
[WP] Ever since turning 17 you've been hearing a voice saying "Get out of my head". After having had enough, you get an MRI scan revealing what the doctors think is a tumor and they want to remove it. Then you realize, that's you. You're a parasite.
|
It realized it was not in control, nor had it ever been. It was just a slave in Julian's mind, a tumor attached to the sensory part of his brain. All of its memories, its hopes and dreams - all someone else's. But there was no doubt that it could still feel, that it could still think.
And above all, it knew that it did not want to die.
*Get out.*
Regardless, it could do nothing to communicate with him. It heard - or, perhaps, heard Julian hearing - that the doctors planned to remove it the next day. It felt a sickening sense of despair, of helplessness. It was trapped, but to be freed was to die.
*Get out of my head.*
The thoughts were violent now, ever since Julian discovered the truth. Now that his host knew it was a tumor, he wanted nothing but to remove it. To kill it. And nothing it could do could convince him otherwise.
*GET OUT.*
*****
Julian fell asleep, and in his slumber he dreamed. The tumor could feel the dream - or perhaps it dreamed, too. And in its desperation, it tried the last thing it could think to do.
The dream shifted and swayed, as the tumor felt true freedom for the first time in its existence. While it had no control over Julian, in this world it had power. Power to change.
It created a dream for Julian. It knew that this would be the last thing it ever did, and thus poured everything it had into it.
It weaved a dream of purpose, a dream that would inspire him to work hard, to grow, to prosper. Since it felt like it was a part of Julian, it wanted the best for him. It wanted Julian to live the best life he could, for the both of them. It would die, but Julian would live on. If he could at least be happy, then at least its life would have had some kind of purpose.
And Julian flowed through the dream, a dream more real that life itself.
***
Julian awoke. For the first time since he could remember, that part of him, that tumorous growth - it did not feel alien. It felt like it was a part of him.
He put a hold on the surgery.
Ever since then, his dreams became more vivid, purposeful, *meaningful*.
It felt akin to communicating directly with his subconscious - or, perhaps, his conscience.
****
The tumor no longer felt trapped. Every night it could roam free. And with that freedom, it felt like it had been given a purpose: a moral compass. A guide for its host, and thus itself.
It would still feel everything Julian felt, and so would experience all the pain, all the hardship, all the love - and it would do the best to help him live the best life they could.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
"*Get out of my head,*" the voice repeated, this time more adamantly.
"So, of course, we'll want to schedule the surgery as soon as possible," Dr. Mando said, taking notes while looking at my MRI results.
"Or, maybe we don't have to do it at all?" I shrugged nonchalantly.
Dr. Mando eyed me warily.
"You see the size of this thing? It's like a baseball in your head!" he said.
"Yeah, but what if it's good for me?" I asked.
"Good for-- this could be causing irreparable damage to your head!" he yelled.
"Irreparably good damage, could be, right doc?" I said, trying to inch my way out of the room.
"No! Absolutely not-- Are you afraid of surgery, is that it?" he asked in and understanding tone.
"No--Yes, deathly scared of them. Huge phobia of surgeries. And doctors. And just being here in general!" I said, nodding my head to make it seem like someone in the room agreed with me.
"You know, it could be the tumor causing all of this stress in your head. Could be something parasitic on your rational mind," he suggested.
"*Get out of my head*," the voice in my head said in agreement.
"Or maybe the rational part of me wants to keep it in! Ever think of that? What if it's the only thing keeping me alive right now," I said with complete sincerity.
"Look, I don't want to have to scare you, but if this keeps growing, you'll lose your consciousness entirely. You'll be nothing but a husk of your former self, doomed to watch your body eat itself from the inside. Either that or you effectively die and the tumor takes over," he said apologetically.
"That could happen? He cou--I could die and leave the body behind for the para--tumor!?" I said, failing at masking my excitement. He took it to be fear.
"*Get out of my head!!*" the voice said fearfully.
"It's certainly in the realm of possibility. That's why we need to get you into surgery as soon as possible," he said. I thought for a moment.
"When's the soonest we could do this surgery, ***if*** I were to agree to it?" I asked just to get him off my back.
"Next Saturday. I could book it for you right now," he said, making another note on his clipboard.
"And that's not too late? I'll still be alive by then?" I asked.
"Tough to say. At the rate it's growing, I wouldn't say you have longer than two months, so no later than next Saturday, got it?" he said.
"Thanks for all of this, doc," I said, gratefully.
"Anytime. I'll be sure to tell your mom as soon as we--"
"No! No that's fine, she'll want to hear it from me," I said confidently. He nodded and watched me as I left the room to speak to my mom. She jumped up and grasped my shoulders.
*"Get out of my head"*
"What happened? Is everything okay?" she asked.
"Yeah--well kinda. It's a stress thing. Doctor says it would be best if I got my mind off things, I guess. But school isn't that bad," I shrugged.
*"Get out of my head.*
"No way! If the doctor literally scanned your brain and found that you need to destress, then we're going on a trip. Let's go to Europe! How does that sound? Europe for a week?" she asked.
"I don't know," I shrugged "One week doesn't seem like all that long."
*"Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head!"*
"Of course honey! We'll go to Europe for the month, how about that?" my mom said with care in her eyes.
_____________________________________
For more parasitic stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
| 2020-05-14T21:26:39
| 2020-05-14T20:42:00
| 438
| 257
|
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories.
|
It's been a long day.
---
The timepiece intoned eight low-pitched bells. Time for the shift to begin.
The purple smoke in front of me almost immediately swirled into a familiar pentacle. I performed the necessary arcane manipulations - the old *swipe right* - and the line of communication was established.
My voice croaked from an eternity of repetition: "Salutations, mortal - you have reached Atrocitus Necromantic Support; this call may be recorded for infernal purposes."
The necromancer on the other end of the line sounded thin, with a high pitched voice. I couldn't help but imagine a dry reed, brittle - ready to snap.
"Hey, uh, I'm working from your spell book, the *Complete Necromancer*? I have a question, about the, uh, condition of the [material]¹ components."
"Certainly. Is that the diamond, or the corpse?"
"Oh, the, uh, the corpse."
"Not a problem sir. As stated on page 47, the corpse must be mostly intact. While the spell itself will perform some repairs, it is only to the point where the reanimatrix will be self-ambulatory; however, the worse the initial condition of the body, the more fragile the end result."
"Hmm, okay. Now, under *Advanced Effects*, it mentions that the reanimation can be delayed? How? And by how long?"
"That's technically correct, sir, but it only actually applies to infectious reanimation spells - where the reanimation effect can be spread via transmission of bodily fluids, for example, a bit, or, uh, more intimate contact. That said, the delay is a fairly simple modification of the third casting rune, allowing delay granularity of five minutes, up to a maximum of twenty-four hours."
"So, if I had access to a cannon, I could theoretically cast corpses into artillery shells, cast *Mass Infectious Animate Dead* with a half hour delay, then spend that time firing them over the horizon into enemy territory?"
"Sir, it is against company policy to discuss methods of remotely initiating undead apocalypses."
Damned necromancers! They should know by now that all of the obvious apocalyptic combinations had already been patented by the military, and they protected them - vigorously, and with EXTREME prejudice. You do NOT discuss infringement - even hypothetically - on a monitored line.
"But you're saying it would work, right?"
"Sir, I'm afraid I can no longer continue this conversation; our infernal legal team will be in touch shortly, regarding misuse of the tome and breach of the Infernal User Agreement, specifically the *Necronomicon Ex Mortis* clause."
I swiped the communications portal left as quickly as I could, but the tortured screams started before the line could cut out. Say what you like about the demonic copyright lawyers, but they work FAST.
I sighed, and tried to put the doomed idiot out of my mind.
I checked my personal timepiece. Eight bells, and five minutes - only seven hours fifty-five to go.
---
Like I said: it's been a long day.
---
---
¹ EDIT: somatic -> material, /u/GodOf31415
|
People are idiots. Simple as that. After third time you accept the message to a screaming newbie rambling in about zombie apocalypse, when they have some simple error, it gets old fast.
But the craziest things happen with the experienced ones. The ones who think they know better. There are standard procedures introduced in all but the oldest, most eccentric, or advanced teaching manuals there are.
When some eighth-year schmuck called in the other day, I groaned. The kid had been an absolute prick since year one, calling in with idiotic advice, or stupid problems at least once every 6 months.
So this time, I just waited. And he was unusually silent this time, so I knew that it was bad.
It was not the worst, but it was pretty bad. He had made a form of growth built in to the system, where they absorb biomass and integrate it, as best they can, into their preexisting algorithms. But embedded protocols in the biomass of other necromancy corrupted the magic and created an amalgam of mixed and corrupted spells.
Formulaically speaking, this was an extremely difficult problem. You would have to detangle the individual matrix created by the absorption pattern of each subject, separate, then spend a considerable amount of time modifying and fixing the magic in the individual, while having the physical form restrained, restructured, and reset.
As a a necromancer, doing all of this magically is a problem. However, that's why they have Us. We have studied, and trained, in the programming of the arcane, despite not being able to do it ourselves. We come in, and clean up their messes. They have them enough that there is an entire guild devoted to us.
Just another day as an adventurer.
| 2018-04-28T01:21:03
| 2018-04-27T21:14:51
| 104
| 34
|
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them!
|
It only started with one.
A single tabby, following me to school. I was only 5 and delighted to meet the new friend I had seen watching me from afar for the past few months. Proudly sitting myself down to first class I presented my new friend to the teacher, who quickly sat him outside the door and proceeded with the lesson. When the scratching intensified and she finally relented to see what was working the poor creature up, four cats entered the room and sat themselves around me. "How peculiar..." was all I remember her saying, staring intensely at the gaggle of felines now surrounding my desk. Phone-calls must have been made. Concerns were raised. How would we manage four cats following him everywhere, how are other students meant to focus? It was merely the beginning of many uncomfortable questions.
That was 11 years ago. I slide from my bed, carefully setting my foot between a nest of clawed limbs and lazily flicking tails. I trudge to the window, ignoring the chorus of irritated chirping, cutting through the apparent sound of 100 tiny engines gently idling. Outside was as it always was: A complete wreck. The lawn, where visible, was minced, scattered with feathers and tufts of errant fur. What remained of the tiny birch tree my father proudly planted 13 years hence sat forlornly amidst the ocean of lounging bodies, forming a muted rainbow stretching into the street and far beyond.
Raised voices carry up from the hallway downstairs, juxtaposed to the combined sound of hundreds of resting cats. The specifics are muffled, but I catch the words "institution"... "properly manage"... and "Gift", the latter-most dripping with sarcasm as always and marking the voice as mothers. Some people get strength, others get insight, one guy even had a formidable understanding of marine life. Somehow I got cats. They loved me, in the way that cats do obviously; no force could compel cats to stop being cats. They just felt the need to be cats around me, magnetically attracted in the aloof way cats are. I was pretty sick of it quite a while ago. At least they made an effort to listen.
The argument downstairs is getting more heated, I shush the surrounding cats in an attempt to better hear what's being said. The purring moves from a soft roar to a quiet hum both outside and inside; the discussion becomes clearer.
"I'm not sure you're grasping what I'm telling you here, how serious this is." my Mother explains, keeping her voice level this time.
"Alright, what's changed in your mind?" My father replies, obviously tired of rehashing the discussion
"I've been talking to, well, experts on these things, people who study these sorts of people."
"And?"
"Well, we all know the "Gift" peaks at 30, and starts showing around 5 or so".
"Obviously, we've all seen this ourselves on TV."
"Well, Jacks gift is what we call a "Quantifiable" gift, you can measure it, and compare it to other gifts people had."
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, gifts like these, the way they grow... it's exponential Charles..."
"What are you saying?"
"If we compare him to that Alex kid, remember him, had that reality show? The one that could lift buildings? Well when his gift started, he could lift 100 pounds or so pretty easy, when he was Jacks age, he could lift a Jeep, and when he hit 30 he was lifting entire buildings. And when you plot his strength over time, you can see how fast it grows..."
"And if Jack's gift does the same thing..."
"There's, what 1000 cats out there? At this rate, if he follows the same pattern as all the other quantifiable gifts... we're talking 100 million cats, that's basically every single cat in the country... and that's not even... there's a bobcat out there Charles..."
There's an uncomfortable silence as I feel my father process this information.
"Maybe be then he could control it better then, tell them to just go home... maybe he can..."
"I don't think you appreciate how important this is, the expert I was speaking to had to make reports to his superiors... there's a representative from Washington coming down later today to discuss how we... how anyone is going to handle this."
"I... Just... Shit..." My father struggles to find the words.
I step back from the window and consider everything I just heard. I feel oddly calm. Like this is what I knew would happen all along. I contemplate the prospect of commanding 100 million animals. It feels oddly right. The cats can feel the wheels turning in my mind, hundreds of yellow eyes turn to meet mine as I inspect the... my... horde. The window opens effortlessly; I move with complete confidence of purpose. I lean forward and tumble out of the open portal, landing immediately on a pile of cats stacked 10 high. They bear me gently to the ground, supporting my weight without hesitation. A trophy? A place on prime-time? A crappy reality show? There's a lot more that can be done with this. The cats look to me, awaiting a new command. Images of mountain lions flash before my eyes, of a horde that stretches a hundred miles.
We can make a start I conclude, as the cats surge me forward with surprising speed away from my home, toward greatness.
|
I was walking home from work in the cold sleet, wishing I had a car. No one did, not anymore. All the vehicles not used by the military were scrapped for the war. I lived in The Sanctuary, one of the few human cities independent of the Animal Kingdoms. We had to fight every day to maintain it, and military service was mandatory. I had worked at an ammunition factory for 3 years, ever since I was 14. After 4 years of civil service I'd only have to serve one year instead of two. I took this program because the pay's decent, and the average soldier lives for a few months.
Pets are nonexsitant here, but there are "stray" cats and dogs all over the place. On civil service program involves rounding all these up, but many evade them. These "strays", as all school children know, are very aggressive and hostile to humans, often growling and barking before scampering off; however, cats have never been like that to me. My friends would be hissed at and scratched, but I could pick them up and they'd purr with delight. This was noticed by many people, including the Ministry of Defence who feared that I, like the "stray" animals, was a spy.
Walking down the deserted alleyway, I heard a low rumble from behind. I turned, only to be confronted with two leopards. I tried to run, but a third leopard blocked my escape. They lunged, and slashed me across the chest. One tackled me, but was pulled away by a massive german shepherd. A pack of the biggest dogs I've ever seen flooded the alleyway, and parlayed with the big cats. I ran, and was stopped by a pitbull. It wanted me to follow it, and I did. It lead me out of the city. Along the way, I'd see small flocks of birds badger random areas on rooftops, only for a tomcat or two to spill out and get chased off. A few were scooped up by hawks.
Crawling through a small tunnel that smelled awful, I emerged in a forest, and collapsed from the shock and massive lesions across my chest. I awoke in a room. I could see the walls of Sanctuary out my window. I heard a knock at my door and two middle aged men came in. They introduced themselves as the King of Dogs and the Lord of Birds. I was in a fortress and main base of operations for the two men's war against the Queen of Cats. They told me I shared here affinity with cats, and that she wanted to kill me and take out a possible rival. My powers are weak now and I can barely control cats, but eventually they'll develop enough to rival her's. I was rescued so that they may use me as a weapon, I could undermine her powers and give them the edge they need to win.
I've been kept here for 40 days now. While I'm free to walk around the castle I'm escorted by sheep dogs and birds watch my every move. Lately I've been confined to my room. I have a marvelous view of the dogs and birds heading to the front. Everyday a column of dogs marches off in eager spirits. Every night, an equally large column of wounded dogs limps back. My room is right above the infirmary, the howls of anguish and the yelps of the doomed keep me awake for hours. The columns marching off have been getting smaller, and the ones marching back are getting larger. I see fewer and fewer birds flitting about. The war goes poorly. The dogs and birds have been fighting amongst eachother. The amiable sheep dog was replaced by a pack of mean wolves and a cassowary.
Tonight, I was awoken by a soft voice repeating "Wake up, wake up." I opened my eyes to see a cat standing on my chest. I jumped up but was hushed. "Silence in golden right now." the cat began "The Queen apologizes for the excessive forced used earlier, it really was over the top but you were incapable of understanding us at the time. The Queen wishes to have you in her palace. She is an old woman, and here years are numbered. While twice as powerful as her adversaries, thanks to her age, she is almost 80, and needs an heir. Come with me, we can smuggle you out and take you to the palace."
"I'm not sure I trust you." I proclaimed.
"That's understandible, but we're your best bet for survival. The dogs and birds have lost, their line has collapsed, the cheetahs have the area surrounded. There is a rift in the alliance. The Lord of Birds is retreating, and wishes to take you away with him. He's really bad at keeping a secret, since everyone knows and the King of Dogs wants to kill you. You can't return to Sanctuary either, as you were declared an enemy of the species and had your humanity formally revoked. If you could make it to their trenches alive you'll be shot on sight. Hurry now, with me. If you run away with the birds and are inevitably captured when the birds get intercepted no mercy shall be shown to you."
So now here I am. The cassowary was killed outside by the sound of it. I can see the King of Dogs marching through the courtyard with a group of wolves. I can here dogs and birds fighting out in the hallway. My only choice appears to be with the Queen of Cats, and I don't by that "excessive force" story. I fear this may be the end for me.
| 2016-12-30T13:01:00
| 2016-12-30T11:51:08
| 32
| 14
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
"Jesus Christ!"
"Shhh!!!!" The guy whispered with annoyance. "I don't go by that these days. Just here to pick up John. He also doesn't go by that anymore. These days, he's The Dude. You'd think he'd mellow out after all these years, but he's still nuts. Just let me grab his drunk ass and we'll be out of here. And don't tell no one about meeting me. I've heard enough horror stories from my buddy Elvis."
The End.
|
**July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili!
| 2017-09-01T20:56:44
| 2017-09-01T20:21:47
| 404
| 13
|
[FF] Write about a feeling with 10 lines, the first one being 10 words, next line 9, so on and so forth.
|
**Anxiety**
Pressure fills my chest as my heart beats wildly inside.
The tingling moves through my fingers, up my arms.
I grasp at my chest, push against it.
I feel every part of my body -
the blood pulsing in my head,
the prickling of every nerve.
You ask what's wrong.
Don't you know?
It's just...
me.
|
You are one of several billion clones in the world
Everybody everywhere living lives you'll never get to see
You can't help but wonder how they live
Somebody somewhere is feeling just like you
Somebody somewhere else is feeling worse
No one can be unique
Millions of other people
Just like you.
It's called
Sonder.
| 2015-02-12T23:52:27
| 2015-02-12T23:01:52
| 40
| 12
|
[WP] For decades you've worked as a superhero protecting the city and its people. Your powers have been slowly killing you for years but you kept being a hero much to your doctor's protest. The citizens are starting to take notice.
|
Every day is exhausting. I grit my teeth through the interviews, the photo ops, the handshake with the mayor--every smile makes my jaw throb with pain, every slow blink of the eyes stings like sandpaper. My muscles are stiff at best, aching and creaking at worst. But I keep at it; I visit the kids in the hospice wing, I laugh at the terrible jokes the morning show people tell, I hold up the key to the city as if the oversized prop doesn't make my arms feel like they're going to rip apart at the socket.
And then comes the night patrol, when I turn on my power again and incredibly, blessedly, the pain is gone. I can walk without the street beneath my feet feeling like glass shards. I can climb and run and fly and carry half the city if I need to. I can breathe without holding back tears.
But the time I can use my power grows shorter and shorter each day. And the pain that is the price I pay for its use carves itself ever deeper into my bones, my blood, every inch of my body.
One day my life will be nothing but pain. I will shift into my powers, to be hale and hearty and whole, to be the woman the city needs me to be, and I will feel that brief, glorious moment where all the pain is gone--and then it will be back. I will try, and try, and try again to be a hero, and will find nothing but pain. One day, my powers will be nothing but a flicker and a fading memory, and my life will be hell.
I see it in their eyes--the city knows. Last night, a mugger saw me stumble on the pavement--it was 3 AM, and the first twinges of warning had started. Instead of taking advantage of the moment to run, or bash me on the head with his crowbar--useless against my invincibility, of course, but that doesn't usually stop them from trying--he stopped to help me up and then let me arrest him.
"You saved my sister once, you know," he said as I hauled him to the police station. "Pulled her out of a fire. Tall as anything and carrying a screaming kid and you somehow made it look cool."
He didn't say anything else after that, not even when I asked about how she was doing, what his name was. He just stayed silent and looked at me when he thought I couldn't see. Did he think he was saving me?
The small, puff-piece interviews I do almost every day have changed, too. They aren't done on-the-street anymore, but in plush studios, on soft chairs and couches and even once the floor. There are more pointed questions about retirement, about family life, about recruiting a sidekick to teach the lay of the land to. I laugh and flex and hide the burning ache that makes a mockery of me.
I haven't had a supervillain challenge in months. I am strong enough, I know, to fight them still. I might scream in the aftermath, might howl and wail and whimper from the agony as my own abilities tear my body apart, but I can do it. And then know it--but that never stopped them before, not any of them. Not Mr. Mutagen, not The Renegade, not even the D-listers like Condiment Man. I saw Mr. Mutagen out on the street, on bail, and he couldn't look at me. I saw pity in his eyes, not fear, not contempt.
And that's why I keep going. For as long as I can walk, as long as I can pretend--however badly--I can keep this city safer than it's ever been. No supervillain attacks. Less and less nonpowered crime. Nobody wants to fight a dying woman. If being pitied keeps my city safe, I'll go gladly to my pitiable end.
|
“Today’s the day you fall PileDriver!” I screamed at the woman standing on the street above.
“Looks like you’ve fallen for me already darling.” The woman cackled at the edge of the hole she had just tossed me into and aimed her weapon at me in the hole.
“Time to die BeastMaster!” Her weapon launched a blast of liquid concrete into the hole.
The world turned to slow motion, I saw the massive glob of concrete splash into the hole and start to spread out. The wave of dusty grey slid over the cracks in the floor never stopping momentum. Before the sludge could touch my feet, I transformed.
Thick bony horns gre painfully from my skull bursting from my temples, my legs collapsed in on themselves becoming thinner and thinner until I felt myself standing on two sticks connected to small black hooves. The palms of my hands turned to one giant callus as my nails thickened and turned black. The deep V in the front of my costume filled with scruffy white hair as long as my fingers.
I was still breathing heavily from the stress of the transformation when I felt the cold touch of the liquid cement against my hooves. I jumped to the wall, somehow finding purchase in the sheer walls of a hole with the bottoms of my feet. I scrambled my way out of the hole standing across it as the PileDriver’s weapon stopped, the last drops of the cement falling between her brown and grey work boots. I looked at her, shifting my facial feature to that of cat, catchphrase already on the tip of my tongue.
“Looks like you let the cat out of the-” PileDriver cut me off by launching a barrage of 5 inch nails in my direction. My goat legs carried me out of the way of the nails. They hit the ground where I had been standing, sticking out at a 45 degree angle from the street.
My legs burned as they transformed into a feline shape to match my face. I started to sprint around the hole as fast of my cheetah legs would carry me, the sudden switch in speed throwing off the PileDriver’s aim even more.
My palms itched as the thick callus melted away and my nails extended into razor sharp claws. I reached the PileDriver just as she leveled her giant weapon at me.
“Bye-Bye BeastMaster.”
She pulled the trigger and pressurized water shot out this time, and I ducked just a little late as the water sliced a line down my back. I let out a lions roar of pain but didn’t stop closing the distance. I ran straight to her, my fearless charge made her hesitate for just an instant but that was all I needed. I slid around her while she tried to move with her oversized weapon and slashed her ankles with my claws. I felt the achilles tendon of her left foot slice apart, she took a step and fell to the ground, the weapon toppling over the side of the hole to land with a clunky squelch in rapidly drying concrete.
The police emerged from their hiding places after it was clear PileDriver wasn’t getting back up. Captain Klark walked up to me after Piledriver hand been handcuffed and put in a police car after being looked at by a medic.
“PileDriver almost got you today old man.” I looked down at the older man, his large gut and salt and pepper beard jiggling as he laughed at his own comment. He reached out a hand to shake and I put mine forward.
“Ah shit.” He looked at the red well up on his tanned hairy arm. The claws on my hand had cut him, a small red cat scratch just above his right wrist. I had to concentrate hard to will my hand back to being human.
“Sorry about that Captain.” Is what I tried to say but all that came out was the purr of a cheetah. I shook my head, and tried to speak again but it was just more cat noises. I let out a hiss in frustration. I focused and undid all of the animal transformations I had active at the time. I gasped as the sensation of being fully human struck me.
“You ok their chief? You look like you’re about to collapse. Did the pile driver get a good one on you?”
“I think I’m ok.” I said tentatively, hoping my voice worked now. I felt tired, and beat up.
The police captain eyed me suspiciously.
“Ya know, now that I think about it.” He paused leveling his gaze into my eyes. “PileDriver is C-tier villain, im surprised it took that much effort. You weren’t moving like you usually do, well at least until the end there.” He glanced at the car that held PileDriver. “That was a pretty sweet move you pulled to take her down.”
I smiled and nodded not trusting my voice again. Could this be the side effect Dr.Dockter had warned me about all those years ago? He told me the transformations used some kind of energy metahumans produced inherently but as I aged I would make less and less naturally.
I hadn’t believed him and even still I was skeptic. I decided that I was just tired and needed to get home to rest and recuperate. The Den wasn’t too far if I flew, I could get home quickly and sleep it off.
“Untill you need me again Captian.” I saluted him and took a few running steps before launching myself into the air growing wings to take to the sky.
Except I fell face first back down onto the pavement. I heard taunts and laughs from the crowd as I stood back up. I’d never had to focus this hard to manifest my animal abilities. I concentrated and felt heat build on my shoulder blades, there were cracking sounds and I felt the wings push through my skin and costume. This time I did not fall back down when I took off. I made it back to my Den and immediately collapsed in my bed, letting sleep overtake me.
| 2021-02-18T10:39:18
| 2021-02-18T07:50:09
| 202
| 28
|
[WP] You are a witch who offers couples deals in return for their first born child. You run an orphanage full of children freed from their would-be parents irresponsible enough to make a deal with a witch in the woods
|
The townsfolk for miles around had always called what the old witch was doing dark magic. I mean, for what other purpose would she be collecting children in the shadows of the dark forest.
In all honesty, she preferred the rumors. After all the parents who offered up their children to a witch practicing dark magic were the parents she was trying to save children from in the first place.
Agnes however, knew nothing of dark magic. In fact, she knew no magic at all. Luckily, using some basic chemistry, the aid of the 40 children who lived in her orphanage, and just a smidge of opportune timing, she was able to exploit the superstitions and general lack of intelligence of the townsfolk to keep the rumors of “dark magic” flowing steadily.
At this point her and the children had their routine down perfectly: wild cackles seemingly coming from everywhere, combustion reactions perfectly in time with a few theatrical gestures, and ,like any decent parental figure should, she allowed the children some creative license as well. All in all, they all quite enjoyed themselves during these productions.
She and the children had performed so many of these “sacrifices” as the townsfolk called them, that when the cloaked figure holding the swaddled-up babe began his own wild cackling after the latest explosion, Agnes found herself momentarily caught in a stunned silence.
“Truly marvelous, M’Lady!” the cloaked figure said during a momentary lapse in his laughter.
“Yes, yes,” muttered Agnes, trying to regain control of the situation. “The dark arts are as marvelous as they are dangerous, traveller, but I’m afraid I haven’t time to discuss things beyond your understanding. What do you seek in return for the babe?”
The man hardly seemed interested in Agnes’ words; his eyes continuously scanning the woods surrounding the clearing where they stood.
“I fear that we’re not alone Madam witch,” said the man with absolutely no fear. “No matter. No fool would dare ambush a powerful mage of chaos such as yourself. Now… where were we? Ah yes, our deal.”
Silence replaced the cackles and rustling undergrowth the children typically created. Clearly they felt the same uneasiness that had filled Agnes the moment the man laughed where others typically cowered.
“Yes, our deal. What exactly is it you’d like? Perhaps an enemy struck down. Ah, or maybe power beyond your wildest dreams.” Agnes ventured carefully.
The man dismissed these suggestions with a simple wave of his hand. “Oh no, nothing of the sort. In fact I want something much simpler.”
“And what then is the desire of such a humble man?”
“I want in.”
Clearly the look on Agnes’ face betrayed her. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”
“I think you do Agnes. I want in on this little operation you’re running. Saving children from their moronic, good-for-nothing parents. I mean it’s amazing. The theatrics of it all!”
“Um, thank you” said Agnes with a great deal of uncertainty. She was however, certain that the charade was up. She abandoned her hunched posture and the gravelly, ghoulish voice she used. “But I’m not entirely sure what you mean by ‘you want in’.”
“No, no thank you,” said the man with a grin that spread from ear to ear. “You see, I myself was the child of idiotic parents, but as my village had no witch to sacrifice children to, they simply abandoned me. More trouble than they needed, they said. So you see, I’m here to help you expand, Agnes! We can have witches saving children in every forest from here to the coast! Orphanages rescuing children from abandonment. Teaching them to understand science and truth rather than superstitious nonsense. Just imagine it Agnes, a whole generation saved by some theatrics and just a little magic.”
Would love any feedback and critiques you guys have!
Thanks for reading!
|
As the bramble slipped off my shoulders and teailed down my arms it became soft and silky. Slowly it twisted and wove into itself as the little being in my hands was carefully swaddled in the deep green and black cloth. My hands, ones that had appeared long-fingered and boil-riddled, started to flake and shed the transfiguration until gentle hands with henna-like tattoos were revealed as I carefully adjusted the swaddling cloth.
The hut around me creaked and popped as the rotting ramshackle walls of branches and thatch flattened and merged together. Soon they formed walks of closely fit and lacquered boards. The fire pit and cauldron with ominous brew had become a regular kitchenette and fridge. The floor with the effigies and fetishes for hexes? Now a cradle with a chair beside it. I placed the child, a little boy, within the crib where a little tune started to play.
I removed the mask from my face that had given me the look of some vile hag, and could see my face reflected on the stainless steel of the fridge. I looked well into my fifties now, wrinkles starting to show, hair begining to silver, not bad for just turning 600.
*Master, is the ritual finished?* A voice called out to my mind. Young, slightly timid, but the girl that was my apprentice had no lack of talent when it came to children and magic.
"Come in," I called out, my throat hoarse from the voice I had been cackling and speaking with.
In walked a girl in jeans and a sweatshirt with a bottle already prepared for the baby. Her hair was in a ponytail having just woke up not a few minutes before. The rituals people used these days were always at night it seemed.
"Oh my, he's just such a handsome little man," She whispered as she lifted the child up to feed him. "What did they ask for this time?"
I paused before answering. Did I explain the loathing and discontent the parents had towards the child? The sense of irritating burden they viewed the child as?
"They claimed they were too poor to raise the child. Asked for prosperity," So of course I took the child. No child no burden right? Outside of the hospital fees and all that I was going to make sure they couldn't weasel out of. Oh and the visit from the police and DHS when the child 'mysteriously vanished'.
"But it's okay now, you'll have all the brothers and sisters you'll ever want. And no shortage of love, I know for sure," My apprentice coo'ed to the child. And for a moment, I remembered when I first held her like that, with my master watching me.
| 2020-01-14T13:39:59
| 2020-01-14T12:04:51
| 69
| 49
|
[WP] Give me the history textbook from your latest game of Civilization V.
|
Year 1550 A.D.
To my most esteemed enemy Attila the Hun,
You have finally done it, it is finished. My greatest fortress conquered,
my people enslaved, all the wealth of Japan now lies with you. You were like a force of nature relentless, striking without warning. How you greeted us as friends, allies, with a blade behind your back. I should have known, should have prepared for war. It still boils me to the bone how you treacherously slithered up, taking the advantage slowly. "Accidently" taking major materials, bribing the city states who we once called allies, then in the end the build up of troops on our borders. We trusted you, thought of you as a man of his word. But it seems honor meant nothing to you. We were being led astray to ruin all along...
Is what you would like to think. Do you take us for fools? We knew of your intend, of your treacherous intentions centuires ago.
However it was too late to prepare for war, too far behind to actually win against your armies. Therefore we accecpted our inevitable demise...
You however will accompany us. To your East lies Rome and its legions ready to strike as your warriors siege our remaining cities. To your North lies Napoleon with his fleet eyeing the riches of your coasts. Yes that's right we offered ourselves on a silver platter to them, to be a worthy sacrifice, all this for your destruction.
Now our remaining forces, half-starved, depleted, will drag your finest warriors down with them with the strength of hundreds. We will die happy knowing every death will be repaid in a river of blood. Run along now if you can, we will follow you to the ends of the world. For unlike you, we have nothing more to lose.
A village no more, a country no more, I am the last of my line.
Blood for blood.
|
###Chapter 7: The Great War of 1931 - 1969
The year is 1931, Bismarck the Terrible of Germany, as the other nations leader called him, had just conquered Songhai and Persia, securing his position on the continent. Being the first to discover that the world was round, Bismarck had large groups of scouting parties. He ordered them to scout the other countries and find their capitols. However, word spread quickly of Bismarcks conquest through nearby nation states and their allies. The scouting parties were first intercepted by the Mongols. The Mongols captured and killed some of the scouts, Bismarck used this as a platform to wage war overseas. A new operation had begun, named "Operation Dryout". The largest navy in the world, Germanys, steamed towards the Mongolian coastlines. Once there, they unleashed several bombardments on their capitol, working parties, and other cities. This shelling lasted for quite some time until the mighty Panzer units arrived with infantry, Anti Tank weaponry, and artillery. These men trekked the harsh terrain, conquering a nation state which was allied with the Mongols and proceeding to the Mongolian border. Once there, the Panzers spearheaded an attack followed by the infantry and AT, supported by artillery bombardment.
The Mongols lasted for quite some time, discovering attack helicopters before Germany, discover rocket artillery before Germany, but this proved no match for the sheer manpower and tactical skill of the German forces. By 1934 the Mongols had been wiped out. The nation state of Brussels was freed from Mongol hands and became allied with Germany. Now stationing the troops which fought in the Mongol-German War along the border with Japan, a lone infantry unit crossed the border by accident. This sparked the Two Year War which proceeded until the Japanese leader decided to ask for peace. Peace was accepted and everyone got along, except for the nation states. Brussels wished for the nation state of Hanoi to be destroyed. Because Brussels was an important strategic ally, Germany complied and conquered Hanoi. Expanding its borders to an island chain in the middle of an ocean. Then, Quebec wanted Venice destroyed. Venice was taken and in 1938, Quebec was conquered. The German countryside expanded and expanded, cities dotting the landscape every couple miles. Settlers being trained every two to three years and being sent overseas to begin new cities!
This sparked a golden ago, although in a time of war the German people were protected by their military and leaders grand tactical mind. The great general Patton was born and sent to the Mongol-Indian border to construct a citadel. The leader had heard of the supposedly peaceful Ghandi and his acts of terror. Now, only three major powers existed. Germany, Japan, and India. Japan, somewhat intimidated after the huge losses taken during the Two Year War and how close the Germans got to the capitol, agreed to an alliance and denouncing India. India denounced the Germans and Japanese after this and drove up their military spending, as recorded by scouts inside Indian territory. Several years passed and more nation states disappeared under the German flag. In 1940 the German and Japanese went to war against India. The Indians fought hard and well, forcing Japan to declare peace four years into the war. Indian and Germans fought until 1954. Fighting ended briefly at a stalemate, with no real peace declared, until 1960. The Japanese had gone to war again and lost their country to the Indians. Germany now fought on Japanese and Indian soil. The German navy surrounded India and begun bombardment. German submarines sank any Indian ships attempting to get out. The Indians were pushed back to the former Japanese border and then into their home country. Then was when the fighting got fiercer. Both sides now had atomic weapons and only the Germans were afraid to use it, for fear of backlash from unhappy civilians. India dropped a nuclear bomb on a captured Mongolian city and destroyed it. A modern tank unit had been stationed there and was destroyed, along with the 12,000 citizens of the city.
In 1965 the Germans and Indians had been going back and forth. It either ended within that decade, or it would never end and both countries would be drained of resources. The Germans launched a major offensive into the remaining Indian land. Armor units were launched from the nearest citadel along with any Artillery pieces in the area which were not in contact with the enemy. All units which could engage the enemy were obliged to. Artillery rained on enemy infantry and then their own cities. Now closing in on the Indian capitol, they rested. Awaiting to heal, the Indians launched a counter-offensive which took several infantry units but was quickly put down. The nearby battleship fleet was sent into the bay area near the Indian capitol to begin shelling. This continued until their defenses were low enough that the Infantry and Armor could attack without severe losses.
Four years after 1965, when the offensive was launched the German people rejoiced in a golden era. After the capture of the Indian territory, many soldiers were sent back to their homes on leave. Others, were sent to allied nation states to negotiate.
###THIS IS THE END OF CHAPTER 7.
###NEXT CHAPTER, CHAPTER 8: THE AMERICAN BATTLES FOR VICTORY
| 2015-02-11T16:54:25
| 2015-02-11T16:15:40
| 18
| 10
|
[WP]: Two discount electric candles. A chocolate bar (half-eaten). A pentagram scribbled on the floor with an almost-dead felt pen, with symbols you made up on the spot. Blue light flames: You have summoned the demon of ”meh, that’ll do”.
|
The Youtube video was unbelievably vague, poorly produced, and bordering on incoherent, but while searching the term "How to summon a real life demon", you have to lower your expectations just a tad, don't you? Scrolling through results, they were *all* a bit laughable, and every single one had more thumbs downs than up. This particular one only caught my eye because of the comments below it, all of which claimed that the instructions contained within miraculously worked.
Vague instructions turned out to be a boon for me, because I had very little of the actual summoning items on hand, but almost every one had a 'or something like that' tacked on. It called for a pentagram made out of 100 candles. I had a dozen of my mom's cheap electric candles arrayed in a vaguely mishapen star. It called for demonic runes painted in the summoners own blood. Being a wimp about blood, I barely pricked my own finger allowing a single drop to fall on the floor, then drew the rest with red sharpie. I was supposed to be clothed in either elaborate, flowing black robes, or completely naked with scribbles all over my body. There was zero chance I was going either of those routes, so I grabbed one of my trusty hoodie sweatshirts and flipped the hood up.
The only instruction I did attempt to follow precisely was the incantation to be spoken. "Erunn kalathamarrr... degunthur... demonia prospecto rumalllllll," I pronounced poorly as I followed along. Predictably, nothing that was supposed to happen actually happened. Smoke and fire did not fill the room. The candles did not extinguish (they couldn't, I'd just put fresh batteries in), I did not hear evil spirits whispering, the runes did not glow. Nope, nada, nothing.
As I began mentally chastising myself for even attempting such a ridiculous plan, I felt a tug at the bottom of my hoodie. I looked down, stunned to find a tiny, reddish, mishapen creature, I guess somewhat resembling a demon, standing at my feet. I jumped back in fright and confusion.
"You rang?" he asked in a bored tone.
"You're--the demon I summoned? You don't seem very, demonic?"
"Oh, right, right," he mumbled before attempting to deepen his voice. "AHEM-- I ammmmm the great and terrifying Kel'thunarr! Tremble mortal! While I am bound to your service until such a time that--ehhhh, this spiel goes on for AWHILE. So blah blah blah, yada yada, you and I are bound by blood and I'm contractually obligated to serve you for a bit at the cost of some part of your soul. Got it? Good. Saved us both like 10 minutes and a wholeee lot of boredom." As soon as he finished speaking he immediately plopped down on my couch and lit up what appeared to be an unfiltered cigarette. "So what are we doin' here today?"
"I need you to do something for me. Something... something bad," I began.
"Yeah, yeah, we can dispense with your whole 'moral quandry'. I wouldn't be here if it weren't bad. You'll get no judgement from me, trust me, I've heard it all! Just lay it on me already."
"I need you to... scare my boyfriend Billy."
"Scare Billy?" he repeated, clearly unimpressed.
"Yeah, like... threaten him with eternal damnation or something? He- he cheated on me. Well, this is the fourth time technically, the second time with one of my family members and I-- ugh, don't ask why I keep giving him chances. It's just- we love each other, I just know it! But he needs to be scared straight! And I don't know-"
"Uhuh, uhuh... teenage love, very complicated, tragic how raging hormones always seem to get in the way, amirite? Okay, will do," he muttered without ever taking his eyes off his phone screen. I stared daggers at him. "Oh, you want me to do that now?"
"Yes now! I wouldn't have summoned you if I wasn't in dire need of help immediately! Hell, if I'd waited any period of time I might have come to my senses and not even gone down this asinine path, so yes, 'NOW' now."
"Fine fine. I'll be back in a jiffy," he said while exiting the room.
"Wait! I'll give you his address and-"
"Nah nah nah, I'm a demon, I know how to find sinful humans."
He was gone for only about 30 minutes before he strode back into the room, which left me with some concern as to how thorough a job he'd actually done.
"Hey girly, it's done," he said lazily as he walked through the door and dropped a large sack at my feet. "I mean uhhh, ya know, 'our pact is complete, oooOOooOOoOOO, magical mystical pacttttt', all that jazz."
"What is that?" I asked warily.
"Proof that I held up my side of the bargain and completed the task you demanded. Take a look for yourself."
Cautiously I approached the bag and slowly opened it. An old man's severed human head stared back at me. "Jesus! Fuck!" I exclaimed. "Oh... oh my god! You- you killed someone?!"
"Yeah that was the only guy named Willie I could find in the whole town, so I was sure it was the right guy."
"BILLY! I SAID *BILLY!* And I said 'SCARE' him, not KILL!"
"Ehh, scare Billy, kill Willie. Kinda the same thing isn't it?"
"I- wha- NO! Completely different names! Completely different tasks!" I stammered, the words stumbling out of my mouth awkwardly. "Different letters, different sounds... you've, you've gotta fix this, can you fix this?"
"Fix?" he scoffed while taking a long drag. "I mean, technically I have the power to put him back together, return him to some sort of state that vaguely resembles being 'alive', but it's a whole long deal. Do you reallllllly need me to go through all that time and work just to-"
"Yes! God yes! Of course!"
"Urghhhh, blehhhhh, fine!" he grumbled before a not so subtle smile crossed his face. "Uhhhhhh, I will need some supplies for the uh... the reincarnation ceremony. There will be costs, fees, unavoidable overhead..."
"And?"
"And... you got like 50 bucks on you?" my shitty grifter of a demon concluded.
"I mean.... sure," I said opening my purse.
"Excellent, excellent! I'll buy what I need, and be back in an hour or something. Oh, and don't be alarmed if I only return with cigarettes, adult movies, and booze. All are required if we're gonna successfully bring that poor bastard back to life, which I am fully, totallllllly committed to doing... eventually."
As he merrily sauntered out the front door, I had a sinking feeling that there would almost surely be another similar demand for more cash tomorrow.
&#x200B;
r/Ryter
|
I never wanted to be a warlock. Even as a kid. All the other children would go around, pretending to summon and command demons. They’d shout “spells” loud as they could, pretending to call down fire and lightning. Not me. I wanted to be an artist.
I wanted to conjure images of beauty. I wanted to command oils and brushes, not legions of bloodthirsty monsters. But when your dad is Grand Warlock and your mother is Chief Summoner, you don’t have much of a choice, do you?
Ever since I was a baby, people would always whisper, “That Jayden Shadeflame is gonna be a right powerful summoner. He comes from a good line, powerful line. You watch, he’s gonna shake up the Covens.”
‘Shake up the covens.’ Yeah, right. I have about as much talent as I do desire.
I tried for a long time. Honest, I did! Everyone wants to make their parents proud, right? So, I tried for years, I studied the needlessly obtuse arcane texts. I tried to memorize the intricate and precise runes and bindings. But every time I set my chalk to stone, my lines would turn from wardings to sunflowers. Before I knew it, I’d have a small floral garden made in chalk. My dad hadn’t been pleased.
“Jayden,” he’d boom, “you must focus! If you are going to succeed me as head of the family, and as Grand Warlock, you must be disciplined! No more drawings.”
I’d been left with no choice but to study then. And trust me, nothing kills motivation more than guilt trips and heavy-handed force. So, my art went underground. I stole pieces of multicolored chalk, different colored pens from around the mansion, and even some of my mother’s makeup, just for a chance to use a different medium. I was convinced that once I became of age, I’d finally have the choice between art school and the Coven Academy. I’d be free to make my own decision. I had been wrong.
On the eve of my 20th birthday, I had told my parents that I didn’t intend to go to the academy. I was going to the normal world, to study art. It hadn’t gone over well.
“You will go to the academy, and you will be a warlock!” Dad had said, “You are a Shadeflame! Your destiny is to command the dark arts. Not the useless ones!”
I had tried to argue back, but they had simply shouted over me. Our dinner had ended with father throwing a bottle of wine and mother telling me to go to my room until I came to my senses. Oh, I came to my senses all right. They wanted to me to summon a demon? Fine. I’d summon a demon.
I marched back up the winding staircase back to my room, slammed the door behind me, and retrieved my ill-gotten goods. I drew a binding ward on the ground from memory, the lines sloppy and uneven. I grabbed a couple of my half-burnt birthday candles and set them wherever felt right. I lavishly indulged in the runes, making them up on the spot and drawing them as beautifully and ornate as I could. As a finishing touch, a half eaten bar of chocolate as a sacrifice for whatever demon wanted two month old candy.
Demon summoning and binding is a precise business. If everything isn’t just right, the summoning could fail. Or worse, you could summon an uncontrolled demon. It could burn the house down before mom and dad managed to control it. In fact, that was what I was counting on.
The way I saw it, one of two things would happen. Either the summoning wouldn’t work, and I could show it to them as proof of my ineptitude. If they refused my request, I could spread some photos around of it, to kill my reputation. Or, even better, I succeeded in summoning something, and it ran loose and caused mayhem and destruction. Then they’d be practically begging me to get out of their house and away from their precious Shadeflame name. Either way, I won.
So, I lit the candles with a stolen lighter, half-chanted half-sung the theme to *The Omen* , and hoped that nothing happened. To my surprise, something did. There was a sudden gust of wind and the birthday candles extinguished, leaving me in darkness.
Darkness has a way of playing on your fears. At least, for me it does. And standing in the darkness, listening to the sound of breathing that was not my own, suddenly made me realize how bad of an idea this was. Demons were dangerous, they could kill me! Why had I thought this was a good idea again?
The candles reignited, a flickering yellow like dying light bulbs. In the center of the circle was a demon. It was short, maybe two foot, with dark green skin, yellowing teeth, and amber eyes. It looked up at me, a decidedly annoyed frown across its face.
“Yeah, whaddya want kid?”
“Y-you’re a demon,” I stammered.
“Yeah, big scary demon, big whoop,” he glanced down at his wrist, as if there was a watch there, “Listen, I got, like, a party in twenty minutes? Can we hurry this up?”
“Oh, um, sure,” I said, still staring at the vaguely goblin-like demon.
It tapped its foot, waiting for me to give it an order. It bent down, picking up the candy bar and taking a large hunk out. “And? Why’d you summon me, genius?” It said as it ate.
“Oh, I wanted to prove to my parents that I couldn’t summon a demon.”
“Oh, well, surprise,” he threw out his hands, cheap flaky confetti flew from his fingertips, “I’m Paulda’nazsher’memon. But you can just call me Paulie. I’m the demon of incompetence and half-assery.”
“Well, uh,” I shuffled my feet, scratching the back of my head, “Could you maybe tell my parents I’m too incompetent to be a summoner?”
Paulie glanced down at my summoning circle. “Yeah, sure thing, kid. Nice runes by the way. Utter nonsense, but they’re pretty.” He effortlessly stepped over the binding and containment circles, heading for my door, “While I’m here, you got any more food?”
| 2019-10-30T13:19:37
| 2019-10-30T13:02:16
| 31
| 23
|
[WP]: Leaving people gifts is a socially acceptable way to begin flirting. Many start with a single rose, the extravagant and dramatic with a diamond or an heirloom. You have just been presented with a pinecone.
|
And I held the pincone he gave me.
His eyes, earnest and expectant. Gorgeously amber, like liquid carmel, I could get lost in those eyes. He came in, and we layed together by the fire. I felt his even breath, his muscular flank. Calm. Warm. I ran my hands over his body.
Woof. He said. And went to his food bowl.
|
My now husband had presented me with a fancy Italian coffee one fall day in college to let me know he was interested. Naturally, things progressed. He was extremely handsome after all and Ive always loved coffee. Coffee turned to a bouquet of tulips, which transformed into jewelry and the like and eventually a kitten. Nothing too extravagant, we were college students after all at the time.
As years went by, I saw friends presented with cars, diamonds, exotic furs, tickets to foreign places, each flirtatious invitation becoming more robust. Those things die down once you’re married. Careers take over. My husband is a kind, hardworking man who loves me and that in itself is good enough. It’s been years since I received a flirtation gift. I’d launched into my own career with passion in my early twenties.
Working late hours and gaining extra education where I could, as well as maintaining a family, my eyes hadn’t wandered and to my knowledge I had never caught the eyes of another. I had all but forgotten the idea of a flirtation gift was the most sacred tradition.
Which is why the day I received a pine cone caught me off guard. I should have expected this much over the years. After all, I teach fourth grade. A student was bound to get a crush eventually.
| 2018-10-20T16:23:21
| 2018-10-20T15:46:54
| 99
| 14
|
[WP] Jokingly, you type your name into the searchbar of Crunchyroll.com just to see what would come up. To your shock, you find a shounen anime based on your entire life so far. All of the episodes are exaggerated, action-packed retellings of your childhood memories. There are nearly 20 seasons.
|
I got a result. I couldn’t believe it. The title was mostly in Japanese, but sure enough, my name was sandwiched between the characters and hiragana, emblazoned in big roman letters. It seemed like too strange of a coincidence, one that would’ve drawn my immediate suspicion were it coming from a Russian torrenting site. Click. Click. Play. I sat back and watched the opening credits roll. I liked the theme music, it sounded like something out of one of my playlists. As the episode continued, I became increasingly concerned. That was my name in the subtitles, and the names of my family, friends. The plot was eerily familiar: an awkward student working odd jobs and fast food to scrape by.
It was me.
Everything from the flashbacks to the soundtrack was me. This was my life they were showing, the people I knew, the places I went, they even had the time I was trampled during a high school track meet in there. Was someone watching me? Were they writing down everything I did? Wait. Hold on. I scrubbed back 10 seconds in the video player. Even the stack of boxes in the corner of my apartment was there on in screen. Whoever was making this had copied every last detail, down to the labeling and my crappy handwriting on the side of the box. *I should call a lawyer*, I thought, but I didn’t. Instead I finished the episode, then another. The resemblance to my life was absolutely uncanny. I became obsessed. Over the weekend I must’ve watched the first 2 seasons. When the week began I went to work and class, then back to my apartment to watch this sick retelling of my life. This was my routine for several days. I forgot to eat sometimes. I sat there, day after day, watching my existence played back in neon colors and low-res yellow subtitles; I felt the sting of breakups again, embarrassment at the things I did, joy at the triumphs I had managed and the progress I had made. Eventually, I had caught up; I was dazed. I had just watched last month’s work drama and that lame party I went to turned into plot points for an admittedly lackluster season finale.
I looked back at the show’s main page. 4.6 out of 5 stars. Nearly every video had 200 comments or more. My binging was replaced by scrolling through comments. I read almost every scrap of text that I could find. Most of the comments were either inconsequential jokes or observations, a lot of which echoed my own thoughts on events, but some of them were different. Those were the ones that interested me.
“I know he’s our protag, but shit is he a dick sometimes. Naomi keeps trying to do stuff with him and he blows her off like clockwork.”
“Ugh, I’m sick of him making the same mistakes over and over. He’s kind a wimp. He let’s everybody walk all over him then has to fix everything himself. Also, he is even worse at picking up on hints than I am. Amy is best girl!”
It was time for some Googling. It took some digging, but I found forum posts, fan pages, blogs. Someone had even set up an Etsy page for merch of the show. Bookmarked. Wait, getting a body pillow of myself or of a friend was a bad idea, unbookmarked. The more I read the forums, the more I came to understand what people thought of my life. I saw every mistake I had made laid out in detail and the solutions that the internet had come up with for them. It all seemed so simple now, the things I had been stressing over, the things I didn’t have the courage to do.
I shut off my computer. I was done watching and scrolling, at least for now. I grabbed my keys and then the doorknob. I had no idea how that show came to exist or why it was popular at all, but I knew one thing; I was going to make the next season worth watching.
|
Sitting down in his wheel chair, tears crawling down the stubble on his face. Hands gripping a tablet, knucles white from the pressure. Sobbing, he felt daggers running through his heart. Tears dropping, dropping, dripping, splashing on the glass protecting the episode inside the tablet.
Looking up to the ceiling, eyes closed and teeth biting his lower lip, a memory hit him hard. Hysteria forcing him to scream in sorrow and suffering. Foggy like the mist of a new day at the river, image after image passed by him, until finally one came into view. Without pause, like someone pressed the play button, the memory began to play, a repeat of the episode of his life he just had watched.
...
Her smiling face, with traces of sadness lining her eyes. Stroking his head, her voice was quiet, soothing, relaxing. It was uplifting, taking him to the heavens and back in a single trip.
“Kendrick, never give up. Do you hear me? Never give up,” she said, her voice almost breaking.
Her efforts to speak through the emotions running rampant in her gave him courage and hope to struggle against all odds. Against having no feet to walk again with. Nodding his head, determination in his eyes.
“Anything for you, Sara, anything,” said Kendrick as he layed his head on her lap.
“Promise me, please. No matter what happens to me, you will strive for perfection,” she said, a choked sob shaking her. A droplet of tear landed on his face, he opened his eyes with concern. Looking up at her, he stared at her struggle to keep it in. Raising a hand, he wiped away the trail the tear had left with his thumb.
“Is everything okay?” he said, genuine concern in his voice.
“Nothing, nothing, Kenny,” she said, looking away lip trembling.
“Sara,”
“Kendrick, please,” she said, desperation in her voice.
Frowning, he grudgingly nodded his head and closed his eyes. Falling back to a fitful sleep.
...
Tears crawled down the sides of his face, regret churning his stomach and piercing his mind. He should have done something, pressured her to speak. Forced her to buy the expensive medication instead of the usless therapy he was taking. Forced her to see the best doctors instead of the wasted times he went to subpar practitioners.
Maybe, just maybe, she would still be with him today, if he did *something*.
“Anything for you, Sara, anything,” he said in a harsh whisper. Throat parched from the hours of crying, screaming, and sobbing.
“I swear, I will reach it someday. For you I will move mountains, drain oceans, freeze the very sun, just for a minute more, just a minute more,”
| 2019-04-07T21:00:43
| 2019-04-07T19:27:42
| 1,418
| 44
|
[WP] A schizophrenic detective manages to solve cases by interrogating random inanimate objects at the scene of the crime.
|
Officer Nicholson could only stand there with his mouth open as Detective Hemlock ran around the crime scene interrogating random pieces of furniture and other household objects. “You’re not under arrest *yet,* but I would advise you to cooperate if you know what’s best for you,” the Detective said to a lampshade. After a moment's pause he continued. “Oh so I'm dealing with a wise-guy eh? I guess your bulb's not screwed in so tight because you're looking more and more shady by the minute. I’ll ask you one more time. Where *were* you last night?”
Captain Johnson must have noticed the surprise and confusion on Nicholson’s face. “First time working with Detective Hemlock?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Nicholson replied “Pardon my French, but what the hell is he doing?”
“I’ll admit, it’s a bit strange, but it’s all part of his process. I think it helps him think through the—”
The Captain was interrupted by a loud bang as the Detective slammed the table. “And there’s plenty more where that came from, Table!” he shouted. “Now tell me what you know!”
The Captain continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “It helps him think through the facts. He may not look it, but he’s a brilliant detective.”
The Detective was now crouched by the radiator. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscotti? I appreciate your time, and figure the least I can do is make you comfortable.” Suddenly the Detective slapped the radiator, a loud metallic gong resonating throughout the room. “*That's a lie!*” he yelled. “You’re guilty! You’re burning right up. You know we got your friend Lampshade in the other room. If you don’t think she'll talk you really are naïve. Now what happened last night? And don't even think about framing Window, he's got an alibi.”
The Captain leaned in to Officer Nicholson. “Flawless good-cop bad-cop. Take notes.”
“Sir,” Officer Nicholson said hesitantly. “Is he… is he all there, uh, mentally speaking?”
“Oh god no. No not at all. Doesn’t seem to make a difference though, his detective work is—”
“BACKUP! I NEED BACKUP!” Detective Hemlock yelled, his gun drawn pointed at the lampshade. “The jig is up Lampshade! Your friend Radiator gave me a hot tip!”
“Should we do anything?” Officer Nicholson asked the Captain, his hand at his gun, ready to put a bullet through the obstinate chintz covering.
“No no, Lampshade's not armed as far as I can tell. Though I do hope that’s not his only suspect.”
Nicholson relaxed. “Has he always been like this?”
“It’s gotten worse since the death of his wife," the Captain said. "It’s the only case he can’t solve.”
Officer Nicholson felt a stab of shame as he reconsidered his initial assessment of the Detective. He could hardly imagine the pain the man must have felt to have been driven to such insanity. Nicholson had a wife of his own, and knew if something happened to her he would never be the same. "That's a tragedy," was all he could bring himself to say.
“Well, not really," the Captain replied. "His wife was a plasma-screen television. I think the wall-mount just broke.”
“Oh.”
Suddenly the Detective holstered his weapon and turned to Captain Johnson. “Case solved,” he said. “The Amazon delivery man did it. I found these hairs around the body. Get a sample from whoever dropped the packages off last night, and I guarantee it’ll be a match.”
“Okay then, good work Detective,” the Captain said. As Detective Hemlock walked away, the Captain turned to Officer Nicholson, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged.
“Wait!” Officer Nicholson called after the Detective. “You don’t think it was the Lampshade?”
The Detective turned around. “Lampshades can’t move, idiot.”
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
"I can't believe you! Are you absolutely certain you want him on this case?" I said as I stormed into Captain David's office.
"You don't have much of a choice. The case had been stone cold for a week now and the Gundersons are demanding answers. You know if I can't tell them what happened to their son they will use their pull to make my life a living hell" Said David looking up at me from his desk.
"I know things have slowed down a little, but that doesn't mean you need to call in Mumbles!"
"You know he's the best chance we have. And frankly I am tired of your shit. Hopefully he will get results where you didn't. I already sent him the address, he will meet you at the scene."
"Well thanks alot Captain" I said as I slammed the door on the way out of his office.
I drove to the Gunderson estate. When I pulled up the classic Chivell was already parked in the driveway, and the mumbles was leaning against it like always talking to himself.
In a different life mumbles would be able to get away with quietly living to himself. He actually still did that for the most part. He was an antique dealer but he never seemed to make a sale. He lives in a warehouse surrounded by old extravagant furniture. He had an odd knack for solving crimes by turning up clues out of seemingly nowhere. That's what brought him here today.
I got out and called out to him "Hello Mr. Goodbody"
He looked up as if I had interrupted something. "Oh, sorry I didn't notice you there. Hello detective Brust."
"Would you like some background or are you just going to go talk to the chairs"
"Well I will go talk to the furniture, but some background would be nice"
"Get over here then"
Mumbles walked over to my cruiser as I pulled out our file.
"Victim was a twenty one year old caucasian Male. He lived out back in the pool house. We have not been able to locate a murder weapon. The apparent cause of death is stabbing but we haven't been able to locate any points of ingress or egress. Any questions?"
"What was his livelihood?"
I look up at the mansion towering over us "His parents" I way with note of disdain in my voice. "He graduated high school and immediately did nothing. From what his family said he would take a different girl back there at least every weekend or more often."
"Got it thank you detective"
"To the scene then?"
"Yes that would be wonderful"
We walked around the house and approached a decent sized beach house that was out back. I pulled out my knife and slit the police sticker over the door.
"Alright, have fun" I said
"Oh, I will" said Mumbles. He had that grin on his face like he always did.
Mumbles universally started with the sofas, he said it "gave him a better understanding of the other furniture". I for one was never really amused with him. He just walked into the predict one day. He said an armoire had sent him. Now he was the number one "detective" in the whole city.
"Perfect" mumbles said standing up.
"Perfect what?" I said
"Most of the furniture is trustworthy, except the hammock."
"What hammock and what makes it untrustworthy?"
"Well you see, most furniture doesn't have a lot of intrinsic loyalty. Only through time sitting together or in close proximity does furniture grow an attachment. Since this is a rich house most of the furniture is just happy to finally have company. The hammock on the other hand he got on a trip and was sleeping in it constantly for the last four years."
Mumbles acted like he was hearing something bent back down to the couch again. He "listened" for a moment or two then stood back up and said "correction five years".
I didn't quite know how to respond. "Well … then we should probably start questioning the chairs, this is where the body was found after all" I said.
"Great idea Detective, also do you think I could talk to the family?"
"I don't see why not Mrs. Gunderson should be here. She said she almost never leaves the first time we questioned her"
"Excellent" said mumbles as he leaned down and started whispering to one of the two chairs.
While mumbles was "talking" to the first of the two armchairs I walked outside for a smoke. This case had been driving me nuts. There was no way in or out and the weapon just seemed to disappear. Honestly, Captain David was right, I had hit a rut. If in the smallest way mumbles could help crack the case then it would be better than where we were at.
Mumbles came out of the house and gave me a quick glance. "Ready?" He said.
"Ya" I muttered as I flicked my cigarette into the heated pool between the mansion and the pool house.
We walked up to the back of the mansion and I banged on the door. "Mrs. Gunderson, are you home!"
....
| 2021-03-01T10:38:00
| 2021-03-01T10:12:52
| 1,905
| 77
|
[WP] Aliens contact earth and invite them to a galactic council. Describe humanities eventual rise to power.
Inspired by the fuck yeah humanity posts.
|
*The following is from several abridged articles found in the 2344 edition of the Encyclopedia Galactica.*
**Origins**
Imagine the surprise of the UN delegation when the ambassadors from the Galactic Council said they needed several hours to compute their homeward hyperspace jump *by hand*. The computers aboard the alien ship were about as advanced as the ones used on the Apollo 11 mission 200 years prior.
The planets of the Inner Galactic Core were rich with heavy metals and rare-earth superconductors, enabling them to invent hyperdrives and FTL communication. But the lack of silicon in the Core meant that these visitors, able to warp the very fabric of space and time, had just barely invented the transistor.
**The Agreement**
A month before the IFTA (Interstellar Free Trade Agreement) talks began, members of the US, EU, and Chinese governments met in secret in Washington, DC. It was on that night when humankind became the near-invincible economic force it is today. They agreed to negotiate the following stipulation into the IFTA Treaty:
The countries, corporations, and colonies of Earth shall have a full monopoly over the production and export of computing devices.
The Earth delegation argued that the production of computers was a "natural monopoly" -- building two sets of power lines in the same city was illogical, and the cost of such would be unfairly passed to the consumer. The same must apply to these state-of-the-art thinking machines, right? What good does it do if the Galaxy had hundreds of processor fabs, each going bankrupt due to the economies of scale required?
**The Recession of 2219**
Before the arrival of the "electric brain" in the Inner Galactic Core, it took a team of fifty several hours to calculate (and triple-check) a hyperspace jump. Millions spent their careers studying and understanding FTL physics to gain employment aboard starliners. FTL navigator was assumed to be the safest field of employment.
So when the first supercomputers from Earth arrived, able to calculate jumps in picoseconds, millions were unemployed. Automation had similar effects on almost every other industry in the Galactic Council. Unsurprisingly, the only planet not affected by the recession was Earth. The Solar System's economy flourished while the rest of the Galaxy entered a state of economic panic.
Making products for other planets wasn't anything like localizing a product for France. Different biologies, anatomies, and cultural values required Earth companies to employ aliens to develop "interstellar" versions of their products. Millions of aliens applied for the thousands of visas issued by Earth governments. This "brain drain" from the Inner Core only added to the Recession.
**The First Galactic War**
The First Galactic War (called the Cygnus Prime Intervention by Earth nations) was a conflict between Earth's United Nations and the other members of the Galactic Council. The War took place in the morning hours of 2 July 2230.
After the Recession, several members of the Galactic Council voted to ban computers entirely. The first ban, enacted by the Soraxians, made very little impact on the profits of Earth corporations. But when the Zalkars and Avereons began musing implementing similar bans, Wall Street and Canary Wharf panicked. Was the Galactic Council so vain that they would drag the only prosperous planet with them into poverty?
"This will not stand," said the US President before the Council on Cygnus Prime. "The IFTA guarantees the free exchange of goods and services between planets. If this Council is not interested in enforcing the treaty, then the nations of Earth will."
Earth was written off as a rouge, yet wealthy planet not willing to make good on its threats. The rest of the Galaxy would not make that mistake again after the morning of 2 July.
The income and resources from other planets enabled the Earth governments to build advanced starfleets. And unlike the spacecraft of the other planets, Earth's ships were equipped with supercomputers.
When the Earth fleet jumped into orbit above the city-world of Cygnus Prime, it was outnumbered ten-to-one. Despite this, the Earth fleet did not suffer a single casualty. Incoming missiles fired by Cygnus Prime would be destroyed by automatic laser defense systems, for example. The entire Council fleet was destroyed within a matter of hours.
**Reparations**
As the orbital bombardment of Cygnus Prime continued, the pleas from the Galactic Council grew more desperate. They first offered to lift all computer bans, and require computers on all spacecraft. Then they offered billions of credits. Then trillions. Then quadrillions.
Of course, the Credit had become a worthless currency. So Earth did not demand any money. Instead, the Cygnus Prime Armistice mandated that all cultural artifacts in Galactic Council museums be transferred to the control of the United Nations. The "Great Galactic Auction" would later be held in London, where the Galaxy's most precious artifacts would be auctioned to Earth's most prestigious museums or wealthiest private collectors.
Since the surface of Cygnus Prime was devastated, Earth "generously" offered to be the new seat of the Galactic Council. In just fifty years, Earth had become the center of political power in the Galaxy.
**Pax Terra**
One hundred years after the First Galactic War, the Smithsonian Institution signed an agreement, loaning its collection of alien art back to Cygnus Prime for a million years. The seat of the Galactic Council was moved from Chicago to a neutral space station in the Alpha Centauri System.
But the Galaxy is not as it was before the War -- English is still the primary language of instruction for every school and university across the cosmos. The Euro is still the preferred currency over the Credit. And the United Nations still retains its special veto power on the Galactic Council. And all computers across the galaxy are built to the standards agreed upon by Earth's IEEE before the IFTA was signed.
For better or worse, we live in the age of *Pax Terra* -- the peace brought by Planet Earth.
|
*I wrote this story 4 months ago, but fits the prompt so posting here*
"The Burning of Martian Anchorage." There it came again, that querulous, high pitched, scratchy voice. You knew the moment you heard it someone had had a bee in their bonnet for a long time. It was going to go on and on, buzzing until the bee was removed. "The Burning of Martian Anchorage is where it all went wrong."
"No, no, peace could still have been achieved." A quick fired, swift response answered. This voice was animate and unreserved in its sense of rightness. It moved so fast you could scarcely hear mandibles clatter. "If the delegation to the Federal Colonies had been willing to pay restitution then nothing would have come of it. A minor border conflict as a new species entered the galactic congress."
"The Burning of Martian Anchorage took out half their fleet, not to mention their president," the first voice said. There was a clatter as tentacles readjusted eye-glasses. "They weren't going to forgive that, no matter how many goods were paid."
"There were two events that turned the Federal Colonies against us," The second voice continued. It barely seemed to notice the diversion; it was giving a lecture, not having an argument. "One came long before the Burning of Martian Anchorage and one came far later. The former was the development of anti-matter reactors. In that moment they had the distinct technological advantage over our deuterium-tritium fusion, and the energy to achieve efficient FTL. I don't need to tell you how *that* became useful." The first speaker sucked air through his beak and tutted. "The second event, the second event," the second speaker ignored the interruption, "was the Battle of Selrinar - I mean, Aldebaran as they call it now - that battle showed the Federal Colonies that they could win even against a galactic alliance. That was the moment, the very moment; they abandoned their intent of defence, that was when they turned to conquest." There was a clatter of chitin on wood as the second voice clapped his hand to the table.
"No, no, you see, the Burning of Martian Anchorage was much more of an emotional blow than either of those events-"
"Trust you to believe emotions are what matters-"
Professor H'Lrex rubbed the skin over his third eye. All this arguing was giving him a headache. He had no more patience for his colleagues.
"Could you two please, please give it a rest?" H'Lrex stood up and turned a tusky mouth towards the noise makers. "Surely you have some degree work to do."
"Not until we get the sample cores back from the lab," the first voice said. "And it's an important issue. When did the Federal Colonies turn against the Galactic Congress is the defining question of our age. This is going to be what they ask history students about for the next thousand years."
"You'd had this argument three times already Eyes-Weak," H'Lrex sighed. "I think if there was an answer to find you'd have found it."
"Indeed we did, anti-matter reactors and the Battle of Aldebaran," second voice crossed his first set of arms and raised his antenna in a smirk.
"Don't start Klxklz," H'Lrex raised a hand.
"The Burning of Martian Anchorage resulted in more deaths than any other-"
"You see! You got Eyes-Weak started again," H'Lrex collapsed into his chair in a huff and shaded his eyes from the bursts of bio-luminous rage coming from Eyes-Weak.
"We could take it outside," Eyes-Weak gave H'Lrex a guilty glance and moved his glasses back into place with a shy tentacle.
"No, you'll only bring it back again," H'Lrex grumbled. Silence reined over the room, broken only by the gentle hum of the computer coolant. "You want to know... when the Federal Colonies turned against us? When they decided that conquest and subjugation was the only way to have peace with the distant stars?"
"Who doesn't?"
"How old do you think I am, Eyes-Weak?"
"About, fifty, maybe sixty, by the galactic standard?"
"Don't flatter an old Lauranot," H'Lrex closed his third eye and glared with his other two. "I'm almost two hundred."
"Never!" Eyes-Weak's tentacles fluttered.
"A well fed and cared for Lauranot can live almost three hundred galactic standard years," Klxklz's antennas shook in smug superiority.
"Yes, thank you Klxklz, not all of us get that far," H'Lrex rolled his head from side to side for a moment and then sighed. He put down his data pad from his hands and his pen from his trunk. He wouldn't get any work done until this was solved. "I was there at the moment the Federal Colonies decided conquest was the only option. Or maybe no-one was there... they decided it a long time before I was around..."
"Don't get all metaphorical professor, if you're going to tell us something worth listening to, just tell it!" Klxklz's vestigial wings clicked in their sealed casings.
"When I was a young scientist, scarcely 100, I was chosen to represent the University of J'Ling along with three others of my peers in a First Contact Delegation being organised by the Galactic Congress," H'Lrex said slowly. "I didn't know at the time of course, First Contact delegations got sent out every few years around that time - "
"You were there!" Eyes-Weak fell out of his chair with a bump and burst of blue and red light. As he pulled himself back up he continued. "You were there for First Contact with the Federal Colonies!"
"It was unusual," H'Lrex only frowned at the interruption, "for a delegation to be sent so late in a species' development. However their home-star however was so weak, so utterly pathetic in the heavens it was invisible after fifty light years and crowded out by so many other stars we never noticed it. If we could have got to the Federal Colonies when they were still in the atomic age - when they were still fractured and divisive perhaps we wouldn't be having this conversation... but "if we could have"s get us nowhere." H'Lrex raised his hands to the heavens and shrugged with his trunk.
"Go on professor," Klxklz demanded.
"There were seventy three of us," H'Lrex continued. "That's a core of twelve diplomats, twelve artists, twelve scientists, twelve historians and ooh... about twenty odd others. I can't remember what they did, but it was meant to be important. I was one of the scientists of course. The Federal Colonies knew we were coming. We never figured out how until later, but that damn PHASE array they had tracked us as soon as we passed Selrinar - Aldebaran, I should say - and they had a ship waiting for us."
"So... they prepared a First Contact delegation as well?"
"Yes. For the first time, perhaps ever in the history of the Galactic Congress a First Contact delegation was met by well... another First Contact delegation," H'Lrex picked at cut on his wrist and then blinked in irritation at the bad habit. "You know what struck me when I first saw them? The Federal Colonists? They were so small. I'm what, three and a half hurspics high? They were barely one hurspic. I think only one of the diplomats was their height... How terrifying we must have seemed." H'Lrex blinked. "No, tell a lie. It was the smell that hit me first. They reeked of esters. Apparently they think their smell is pleasant, reminds them of their home world, but it stank. Their whole entourage stank of esters and sugar and... and decomposing lactose."
"So when was it in the First Contact meeting that the Federal Colonists decided they had to conquer the galaxy?"
"Such a small species, and so simple. Two arms, two legs, two eyes. Nothing more than they needed, nothing less than they needed. And such strange hair patterns..."
"Professor!"
H'Lrex looked his two colleagues up and down. They were so much younger. They had never known a time when the galaxy was free. They viewed it all as an intellectual exercise. They didn't understand.
"Professor, when did humanity decide to conquer the galaxy? When did they decide our outstretched appendages of peace had to be met with war?"
"Humanity decided to conquer the galaxy the moment their ape-eyes saw the stars," H'Lrex said. "And that decision crystalised the moment they met us, there, at that First Contact delegation. That moment, the very moment they saw us and their hands twitched reflexively for their weapons they decided there would be no peace until they ruled us all."
The three of them sat silently in the office. A distant roar of the crowds suggested the university home team had just scored at Yarsh'Tik stadium. Undergrads at play while real scholars did real work. Wind rustled leaves in the window frame.
"I... I still think it's anti-matter reactors," Klxklz said after a moment with a worried expression. "Like you said, if we could have got to them in the atomic era maybe-"
H'Lrex picked up his data pad and turned away. Tomorrow he'd invest in ear plugs.
| 2014-03-12T16:29:23
| 2014-03-12T15:47:14
| 40
| 25
|
[WP] Write a story in the style of a teen novel which follows the journey of a group of teenagers fighting to bring down an oppressive dystopian government. Over the course of the story it becomes clear to the readers that the government is in the right.
Inspired by [this](https://np.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3yxj68/what_thing_in_a_movie_makes_it_instantly_a_bad/cyhosea) comment.
|
I grew up in broken home where the only people that mattered were the people I'd met over the course of my lifetime. Mitchel's parents were business owners of a growing corporation before the purge. Cindy was accepted to the greatest school in the country before it was torn down for "cultural cleansing". And Lucy's parents were arrested for practicing heritage independence. It's all bullshit when looking at the big picture of everything.
If I had to pinpoint the day my life spiraled into heroism, I'd say it were the day my mother finally went missing.
"Guys...." I had spent the entire day running. "My mom... I watched them... Hurt her."
I showed them the video on my phone. They pulled her out of the car and started beating her to the ground as she kicked and scream. My friends showed fear the same way I did, except I was the only one who would never see his mother again.
We heard stories from Mitchel's parents that the world was better before the government took over. People could walk outside without being afraid of the watchers. Now, freedom and safety are illusions to us. Us new generations will never be free, and now we're certain that we'll never be safe either.
I spread the video online. Hoping it would spread some sort of reaction. Cause something, change someone's mind, make someone do something. Nothing. Nothing happened. My mom was beaten an inch away from her life and nothing would change.
Then I received an email.
>I'm terribly sorry for you loss. I know what it's like to lose someone to the regulators. Are you doing alright? How are you feeling?
I answered, and he replied.
>You're not the only one to go through this. You have to be strong!
We exchanged messages.
> We live in the same area, want to hang out? There's a McChickens near my area.
We met, and things seemed alright.
> My friends and I are are going to the cinema today, do you and your friends wanna come along?
My circle grew. In ways I didn't expect.
"Oiy, don't worry Kyle, we'll avenge your mom when we take over the world!" He shoots his silencer at the empty bottle of beer. It cracks. Apparently Daniel's father was a war veteran, wrongfully dishonorably discharged. He's been taught how to hold a gun.
I laughed at him, "damn right we will! We're gonna take over the world with your dad's arsenal." I aim my rifle at a nearby canister, I hit it directly. Our friends watched us practicing, talking among themselves.
"Honestly though, my dad's arsenal isn't the best one out there right now. I have some friends from up north, they've got the REAL toys up there. I can have them delivered here, if you're interested."
"Fuck, yes."
One week I was shooting cans, the next I was shooting rats. Then rabbits, then deer. We would skip school for days at a time, realizing that school didn't really teach us anything. It's just the pumping of impractical facts, making us more obedient than intelligent. With my circle, we spoke to each other. Debated about the world. I learned more with them than anywhere else.
With those 'debates', a few bomb shells were dropped into me. Daniel once asked, "do you ever feel like... Its your own fault? That we live in this shitty world. That by not doing something about it, by letting it go by and being okay with it, we're leaving it worse off. Giving up? Losing justice? I dunno... But sometimes Kyle... I feel like I'm the reason my dad is in prison."
I was in the car with my mom when she was arrested. Maybe if I'd told her to drive more slowly, or more carefully, she wouldn't have died in jail...
We got ourselves uniforms. We gave ourselves nicknames. We were a "gang" in the sense that we all agreed the government was shit. We all kept guns on us, and we all made a pact to agree that we'd never get pushed around by the regulators.
One day I saw a regulator yelling at a kid just because he was a darkskin. It pissed me off so much. I walked up to the officer angry, telling him to leave these God damned kid alone. I told him you can't expect respect from us if you can't respect anyone else. He reached for his holster, and all my memories of my mom and friends just clicked. I wasn't going to end up as another dead kid on the news. I drew my gun just as I'd been practicing, I shot him six times to make sure he'd die quickly. Damn body camera saw my face.
I ran to my friends and they were proud of me. They said the guy deserved it and I believed them. The pact we made a year ago had since become something more. We ran away from home, agreeing to make sure no one else gets hurt by the regulators just as the rest our families had been.
One day while we were doing our neighborhood watch duties, I saw a regulator putting handcuffs on a kid. I don't care what excuse the regulator had, 90% of time its to display their power. I shot the regulator and give the kid the keys to his freedom. My circle had grown. We attract people without parents, people who need homes or families. I prefer recruiting suicidal people to give them a reason to live.
We've made games out of it. Saying things like "how many R's have you killed today?" Capturing a living regulator is extra fun. According to the news, the government is afraid of us. Good. We'll take them all down someday.
Because the moment someone puts on that regulator uniform, it's the moment they stop being human. Anyone who disagrees is obviously a drone, who's life and thinking is meaningless. We'll take down as may people as it takes in the name of Justice, Freedom, and Equality.
XXX
**Regulator Report**
Charge: Purge case 37
Officer Name: Brown.
Officer Badge Number: 159755
Summary: Contents and documentation of human trafficking and money laundering were found in son's bedroom. Hidden away under the floor boards. Confirmation of receipts needed.
**Regulator Report**
Charge: Cultural Cleansing
Officer Name: J. Martin.
Officer Badge Number: 199554
Summary : Proof of anti-government curriculum skewing found on Principal's computer. Illegally distributing guns to students confirmed after searching the infirmary. Connection of international networking has yet to be confirmed.
**Regulator Report**
Charge: Heritage Independence Supremacy
Officer Name: O'hare.
Officer Badge Number: 129159
Summary: Two suspects have been given an arrest warrant for conspiring of Arson. They are also suspected of being responsible for the vandalism of churches, mosques and temples on Maine Avenue. Further questioning required.
**Regulator Report**
Charge: Attempted kidnapping
Officer Name: Li.
Officer Badge Number: 184269
Summary: Husband called after hearing his wife call him in a drunken rage. She accused him of cheating and claimed that she threatened to kill herself and her son. She was pulled over speeding in the highway. There was no proof of her being intoxicated but let the record show that she was indeed induced with a variety of other narcotics. Upon pulling her over, she began attacking the officer with what appeared to be a knife. Due to her narcotic state, we switched on non-lethal methods in order to restrain her.
|
I wake up shortly before dawn. Today is the day. The day on which I'll decide my fate. The sky provides just enough light for me to see myself in my sliver of mirror. Hazel eyes, mouse-brown hair and a shard of glass: those are the only things I have of my mother's. I wonder what she would say to me, if she were here today. Would she tell me how proud she was? Would she tell me to be careful? Would she tell me that she loved me? Or would she simply hold me in her arms, warmth and closeness telling me all I needed to know?
Tylor enters then, his thin white face made stark by the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon. "Kyr, you awake?" His voice seems to small and thin in that cold morning air that it makes me want to cry. *Can I really do this? Can I leave him here alone?*
"What's up, Ty?" I ask, because I'm his big sister. It's my job to be brave.
"Kyr, it's today," he says, and I can hear the waver in his voice. He is so young and so afraid.
"It's today," I agree.
"A-are you scared?" he asks and I try to smile, though I can feel the tears creeping around the lump in my throat.
"Of course I am, dummy. The Choosing is scary. But I'm excited too. And sad." He hugs me then, and we spend a long moment sitting there on the edge of my bed, trying to stop time.
____
At breakfast, my father looks as stern as always. His navy uniform is threadbare around the elbows, but the brass buttons gleam. "So today's the day," he says with barely more than a nod in my direction. "I trust you've made the right choice." I wish I shared his trust. I wish I had the ability to things as simply as he does. We're even quieter than usual. *Maybe he knows,* I think. *Or maybe he just knows he's not allowed to say anything that could influence my decision.*
Tylor is pretending to lift spoonfuls of porridge to his mouth but after half an hour's efforts his bowl is still 3/4 full. I don't blame him. This oats are old and stale, the breakfast bland and tasteless. Few people can afford sugar and spices nowadays. We certainly can't. Not on a peacekeeper's salary. That's one good thing that will come out of this, I think: one less mouth to feed. Maybe Ty won't have to be so scarecrow thin. They say things are different in the Capital. The people there wear clothing bright as spring flowers and eat meat with every meal. *If I have my way*, she thinks, but thoughts like these are best left unthought.
____
The Choosing is always somewhat magical. For one day a year, the Capital grants us enough petrol to run the electric generators. The assembly hall is awash with blue-hued light that leaves folks sallow-faced but reaches every corner or the hall. My festival dress looks garish in this new light, the warm brown darkened to the colour of dried blood. I leave Ty and my father and take my place at the front of the hall with my classmates.
They are 15 and varying degrees of terrified. The sight of Miffy Sommers with tears in her eyes fills me with wonder. She is the mayor's daughter, pretty and plump with corkscrews of blonde hair. Why should she worry? Is she actually going to demand a Choosing? Maybe she knows something I don't. Maybe there's a high demand for Capitolites this year or maybe it's true what they say about Fortune's Wheel being fixed.
The presenter is a lanky figure with false lashes, high heels, and a prominent Adam's apple. I've heard that it can be hard to tell Capitoline men from women, but people say the same things of female peacekeepers with their muscled bodies and shaved heads. I hadn't realized they might actively try to make themselves ambiguous. The figures voice does nothing to reveal xir identity.
"Welcome, welcome to our newest citizens and their families. We thank you for Choosing to be with us today." Xe beams. "As I look out across this sea of faces..." And so it goes. I tune out most of it. Today is the day. Decide your future. Stay with the lives you know or try your Fortune? Bravery. Loyalty. Service. Words I've heard a thousand times a day at the training school and at home. No mention of the Discards and their fate. No mention of the Misfits who arrive on their doorstep each year unable to so much as disassemble a rifle. Only the glory of service and the privileged of decision.
Then begins the calling of names, alphabetically from Abbot to Steevers. The first three make predictable choices: Service. Service. Service. Peter, Jeb, and Rick are strapping boys and friends besides. They've always done well at the training school and are ontrack for officer positions. Why risk that for a spin on Fortune's Wheel. The next is Stacy Campbell, a 75kg butch with top scores in marksmanship. She Chooses.
Properly speaking, the wheel is not a wheel but a machine. You swipe your citizen's card and it selects a path for you. Some say it's randomized, others say it's rigged. Most believe there's a bit of both involved. We hold our breath as the machine whirs and sigh when a new card comes out of the slot. Stacy holds it aloft and crows, "Bodyguard! I'm headed to the Capital!"
Bodyguard. Does this help my chances or hurt them? If positions are finite, then Stacy just made our pool that much smaller. If it's based on probabilities, I've still got a chance.
Six more people choose the peacekeepers, then the room quiets again. The next girl is Stacy's girlfriend, Laine. "Choose," she says, and hands over her citizen's card. The machine whirrs again and Laine looks ready to pass out when the sound of plastic against metal makes her start forward. This time, there is none of the excitement that foretold Stacey's fate. "Labourer," she reads, "Agricultural District". There are worse fates, but Laine has just gambled away her friends and family for a life of hard work and no glory.
My turn comes faster than I'd ever thought possible. The electric lights make it possible to see every face in the hall, but that only makes it harder to pick out dad and Ty against the crowd. Will what I'm about to do crush them? "Kyra Nichols," the announcer is saying, and I'm saying "Choose. I'd like to Choose." And I'm handing him my card. My citizen's card. The one that gives me the right to work and learn and eat and live in the Military District. I see the empty sincerity in the Capitalite's eyes have to force myself to let go of the thin rectangle of worn plastic.
The machine whirrs.
The whirring stops.
I've heard tell of kids going crazy when this happens, lashing out at the presenter, trying to tear apart the Wheel, wetting themselves, even attempting suicide on the stage. I hold it together. Two of the Capitoline guards move to seize me and pull me off the stage, but I shake my head and give them a palms up gesture. In the training school, this gesture means "I yield. I'll go quietly." In the end, one walks ahead of me and one behind. I spare one last glance for my erstwhile countrymen, and then step follow them dutifully out of the hall.
| 2016-01-01T02:45:12
| 2016-01-01T00:21:30
| 78
| 47
|
[WP] You were cursed with good luck by a supernatural entity, something you were very confused by at first. Now a few week later you know exactly what that means
|
**0**
“…Good luck?” you ask.
Tyche offered me a smile. “That’s right…mortal,” she said and broke into titters of laughter. Which was rather disturbing coming from a god, all things considered.
“And this is your curse on me? For…counting cards at your casino?” How did the Bellagio even hire a Greek Goddess?
“For violating luck, mortal,” she said. “You don’t like luck? Fine, you shall be cursed with perfect luck.”
“So be it,” you say. This was probably a fever dream anyways.
All went white.
**3 Years Later**
I woke again in that same place, with grand pillars as far as they eye can see. A floor spotless enough to see my own reflection. And of course *she* is there. Tyche. Long golden hair cascading down in curls to her shoulders, a flowing white dress, and a crown made from playing cards.
“Have you been enjoying your luck?” she asks.
You blink, stunned for a moment before stammering a response. “I mean…sure?” you say. “I haven’t noticed any difference?”
“Oh you will,” Tyche says. And the scene slips away.
**300 years Later**
You thought you were crazy. You almost cry when you find yourself in the pantheon again. When she appears, you go to grab her, shake her, do *something,* but before you can even touch her she’s moved 10 feet away. She is laughing.
“What have you done to me?” you say.
“I have, ah, blessed you with perfect luck. Not good, not bad, but perfect,” Tyche says.
“Oh, yes, that is a very valid explanation for how I haven’t aged in 300 years,” you shoot back.
“Luck is just the amount of randomness in a system,” Tyche says. “I believe you call it entropy. And I have just reduced the entropy in a particularly small and insignificant system,” – you, with your extremely deductive reasoning skills infer that she’s talking about you – “to zero. Your genetic material will not decay. Your cells will copy perfectly. You can’t even get cancer.”
“I’m immortal,” you breathe, just as everything goes white again.
**30000 Years Later**
You beg her to take away her curse. The Bellagio hasn’t even existed in millenia!
She says all curses are final.
**3000000 Years Later**
You ask what happened to the other gods.
“Faded,” she says with a shrug. “As much as we despise them, we rely on mortals. Their belief, their importance. Humans don’t think much of the ocean when they throw garbage in it. Don’t think much of lightning when they think of it as static electricity. They understand it, so they don’t pay it much mind.”
“Not luck though,” you say.
Tyche smiles. “Not luck.”
**300000000 Years Later**
You have the pattern figured out by now. You’ve forgotten a lot, but some things you just can’t forget.
Things are different this time. The pillars are crumbled, Tyche’s hair is uncombed and her dress has grime.
“You look great,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
Tyche’s eyes narrow. “It was…inevitable, I suppose.”
“Not many humans around anymore but me,” you say. You still can’t believe you’d survived an anti-matter bomb.
“Well then good thing you’re here,” Tyche says.
You wait for it all to fade to white, but it doesn’t. You look at her with your head cocked.
“Just…just stay a while will you?” she asks. As you watch a strand of hair falls to the cracked floor.
You don’t really have much of a choice.
|
"I curse you with luck," the creature said, its voice a rasp.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. Luck? With a life like this, I could use nothing more.
Besides, he didn't look like he had anything more to give than heebie-jeebies. Looked an awful lot like grandma, but they'd probably both be offended at the comparison. He stood shorter than my shoulder, gaunt like a sack of bones held by a thin layer of gray, flaky skin. He'd either seen better days, or needed that luck way more than I did.
"Good or bad?" I said, unable to resist goading the angry little fiend. *Just* like grandma.
He grinned a grin that stretched far too wide. There were gaps between his crooked teeth, and out of them his breath escaped in whistling little hisses. Smelled of death--could it actually have been grandma?--and I winced.
"Good," he said. And he giggled in little hisses that sputtered and stuttered and sent spittle flicking from the gaps between his teeth.
"Well, thank you, then." I checked my watch, finished putting on my socks, and stood. "I have to go now. Should I see you out or do you know the way?"
He grinned again, the gray skin of his cheeks wrinkling up to his ears. He did a little jig--stomped his feet and rubbed his hands together in maniacal glee. And in a blink, he disappeared.
"See yourself out, I guess," I said with a shrug.
I cursed my coffee-deprived brain, and wrote it off as a voice from a vision. Grandma had had them all her life, the weirdo; angry voices and friendly voices and voices that she claimed once told her to eat that whole pint of ice cream in one go because the shard of glass somewhere in there would set her up for life. It did. Shut her up for good, too. Good luck, bad luck--depended who you asked.
In the evening, Meredith laughed it off. She told me I was silly, that I made up these silly fantasies and should write them down and make a book of them.
"I'm serious, babe. He stood right there where you are now," I said.
"Well then go test your luck, babe," she said, not taking me the least bit seriously. "Buy a lottery ticket. Rob a bank. I don't know."
I bought that lottery ticket. We were sitting in the living room eating dinner from a pizza box when they read the numbers.
"Holy shit," she said.
And that little hiss from between the creature's teeth echoed in my ears again. I swallowed hard, forced out a smile, told her this was what we needed to turn our lives around. This good luck curse.
"Let's buy a house. Fuck renting. We'll get a big mansion, a summer home, too. Let's buy a new car. Quit our jobs..." She just kept going, and that creature's giggles just kept growing.
"We'll start small," I said.
So we bought a car. It was a beauty second only to her, its red curves screaming out its need for speed.
"You gonna take me on a ride, baby?" she said, dressed to the nines. Stilettos we couldn't have afforded before; a skirt that teased just as much as she wanted. She'd had her nails done, and her hair, too.
I grinned, told her how good she looked, and swallowed down whatever fear that little fiend had planted in my brain. Meredith sidled up beside me.
"Buckle up," I said.
She laughed.
"No, seriously. Buckle up. Good luck or not, I'm not losing you to a wreck."
She rolled her eyes and put her seatbelt on. I tore out of the parking lot, broke eighty on the freeway before she had time to put her sunglasses on. Then ninety. Then a hundred. We broke one-forty, and the world passed us in a blur of colors. One-sixty and I thought she'd never get enough. One-eighty and--
"Enough," Meredith said, letting out the breath she'd been holding as I slowed down to legal speeds. "I don't want to go that fast again."
So we didn't. I fell into pace with the traffic, cozied up beside a semi-truck and behind a logging truck and couldn't sneak my way around them no matter how hard I tried.
"Good luck, my ass," I said, cursing the traffic.
"It's fine," Meredith said. "We're still moving, and I prefer going this slow now."
I leaned to the side, tried to peer around the logging truck. Red lights flashed. We rushed towards the metal of the truck and the pile of logs atop it, but I slammed the brakes. The brakes on the old car wouldn't have cut it. We would have hit that logging truck and trimmed the whole of our heads off along with the top of the car. Luck meant we didn't.
The semi to our side was upon us before I could think to move.
Starting with where Meredith sat, the whole car crumpled like paper. Meredith did, too. The truck kept coming, and the car crumpled over to where I sat and beyond.
At least it was painless for her, I hear the doctors and orderlies say. I can't see them, but I know they talk to me next.
"You, sir--you're lucky to even be alive."
Maybe they think I can hear them. Maybe not. Maybe they find comfort talking to a body that can't talk back, that can't complain about food fed through a tube or about that itch halfway down my back that I won't ever be able to reach.
Then they whisper. Then I *know* they think I can't hear.
"Keep him alive as long as possible. No next of kin anymore and with that lottery win--just keep on billing him."
I want to scream. I want the luck to end so that the infernal beeping will stop. I want to wake up and walk out of here. I can't. I won't.
The room smells like grandma. Like death. It's either me, or the creature is back. It must be him. I can hear him between the uncertain beeps of the heart monitor and the gentle whir of the ventilator.
A gentle hiss, like haggard breaths through gapped teeth. The creature's hiss.
"I curse you with luck," he says, over and over and over again as he does his little gleeful jig. I can't see him, but I know that's what he does.
I wish the doctors would make him leave. I can't tell him that myself. I can't tell him to shut up. All I can do is lay there, tubes snaking in and out of my body, lucky to be alive.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-10-15T05:06:14
| 2020-10-15T04:40:33
| 1,837
| 368
|
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one.
|
"Just take it man."
"What the hell? I don't even want her."
"She's all I got man. It's either her or the clothes off my back."
"She's not even cute. No offense man but she's kind of gross."
"Listen man, you got me my dope, and a man must pay his debts. I'm not going out and robbing people - you know that. She'll do whatever you want. Just take her out first and she'll love you."
"Fine but I might just take her to the pound. I hate dogs"
"Yep well payback is always a bitch"
|
"No one else cares, Janette." Yuele had a genuine look of sadness as she said it, crouched down over her girlfriend. Janette tried to lean as far from Yuele as possible, her back pressing into the wall. "I did it for you, because we both know it's true. Don't be so blue..."
Janette pushed up onto her hands and knees, thinking for some way to escape. "We both know only I love you," cooed Yuele. Blood dripped from the hatchet in her hand. "You don't even love you. You need to respect yourself. You'll feel much nicer stuffed on the top shelf."
"S...stop rhyming. You're scaring me, Yuelle. I don't want to have to... Do something." Janette slid her hand into her back pocket, finding the multitool her father had given her. She slowly slid the knife part open.
"Oh? I'm scaring you? I'm only the Cat Killer, Janette, and I love you so."
"Don't ask questions," Janice whispered.
"And why is that?"
"Because," Janice hissed, throwing herself and her knife at Yuele's heart, "curiosity killed the Cat!"
Edit: typed the wrong name
| 2015-05-16T08:17:46
| 2015-05-16T04:59:38
| 33
| 10
|
[WP] You possess an ability to turn off one or more of your senses to heighten the others. Today is the day you make a mistake.
|
The arrow hits the target. A perfect ten.
I miss the sound the arrows make most of all. It’s an amazing sound.
But well, in order to get into the Olympics, you got to make some sacrifices. And I can still hear the others shoot.
As I lower the bow, I quickly activate hearing again.
My opponent raises his bow and takes the shot.
Nine.
Not bad.
Now it’s my turn.
As I shoulder the bow, I deactivate my hearing. With smell, taste and pain already disabled, my vision and touch are nearly doubled. I can feel every crack in the compound bow. I can feel the wind perfectly.
The target looks a lot larger than it actually is.
Breathing in deeply, I fire.
Another perfect ten.
However, this time, my opponent also scores a ten.
Damn.
I need to score another perfect ten to ensure victory.
What else do I have?
I already disabled smell, taste, pain and hearing. As I concentrate, more senses appear. Temperature? Don’t need that one either. And what’s this one?
I shrug, probably not important. You only need sight and touch to shoot after all.
I disable it and take aim.
This shot has to be perfect.
Relax. Breath in and…
My arm jerks upward and the arrow shoots away.
It doesn’t even go in the right direction.
I look beside me.
My opponent tapped me on the shoulder and the heightened sense of touch almost gave me a heart attack.
He’s saying something, but I can’t hear him.
I quickly enable everything once again.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“The game is over.”
“How do you mean the game is over?” What the hell? “I still have to take my third shot.”
“You’re disqualified.”
“Why?”
“You went over the time limit. You do realize you’ve been standing here for half an hour, right?”
“Oh.”
“Something must be wrong with your-”
“Sense of time. Yes, thank you.”
|
Rudy had been blind for thirty-four years. Now it rarely bothered him: a loss that was like a drop in the bucket to everything else he had gained. Beneath his fingers, the woven tablecloth was grainy. He could pick out every ridge, every thread in it. They should have picked silk, like he'd suggested. Rudy rubbed that flat of his hand across it until he came to the wineglasses. Not the crystal stemware he expected, but it felt smooth and fine nonetheless. Hunger rumbled deep in his belly. The restaurant was emptier than usual, but burbled talking he managed to filter into the background.
"Mr Moore, your guests have arrived," the waiter whispered. Everyone learned to whisper around Rudy. The man he had chosen as his driver hadn't spoken in thirty years. Rudy valued him.
"See them in," he replied. When they arrived, he got to his feet effortlessly, holding out a hand in the direction of their voices. Rudy sensed their surprise. A man and a woman. She wore too much perfume, but then anything more than a drop was too much perfume for Rudy. The man dragged his left foot a microscopic amount more than his right. The sound of his shoes on the carpet made Rudy's teeth itch.
"Mr Moore," the man started. He took his hand after a second's hesitation. "Daniel Coleman, and my wife Cara."
"A pleasure," she said smoothly. There was something else beneath the perfume: the smell of sweat and leather.
"Do you ride horses, Cara?" Rudy asked.
"No, but Daniel's brother has a stable. I've been meaning to start. Why do you ask?" he heard the catch in her voice, even if her husband didn't.
"No reason. Please, sit down." There was no reason to reveal her infidelity at the dinner table. Not with the food that was coming.
Daniel was chummy. He sat too close and laughed too loud. Whippets of conversation straggled through to Rudy. A tearful exchange at the next table over; a hurried decision to leave. Jokes. Several jokes, all of them bad.
"We came here to talk about our business proposition," Cara steered the conversation onto safer tracks and Rudy smiled. He liked it when they talked business.
"Tell me about it," he said gracefully. "Who was the chef you poached from Hammlins'?"
"Gregory Lister," Daniel grinned. "Genius what he does with food. You've tasted what he can do, you know it'll be a success. But we need your help to get us off the ground."
"Just one review," Cara broke in. The gentle clink of dishes told Rudy that food had arrived. He moved his elbows and held a finger up. Both of them fell silent. Rudy Moore's table routine was well known. He bent his face to an inch away from the food and inhaled, deeply and noisily.
In the background, a peel of laughter broke out. Rudy frowned.
"Cockles," he said eventually. "Cooked in white wine, cream and saffron. Good garlic, cumin, shallots minced and salted to paste. Cooked fast and well. Added parsley, cracked black pepper and-- Is that the bread? My goodness."
Taking a chunk of the bread, he broke it in half. Steam rose from it, fragrant as rosemary. It was soft to the touch, springy and floury. Rudy mopped it in the sauce as another peel of laughter rang out. He lifted it to his lips, enjoying the smell for one last moment before he ate the bread.
"Divine," he said. "But I won't do the review, not for any amount of money. I'm sticking to my principles. Gregory may be an angel with food, but this poaching of chefs has gone far enough. Daniel, that injury on your left leg. It's a burn from the arson at Francesco's. I can't be part of this world any more. Restauranteering used to be an honourable trade. When did it become so full of gangsters?"
Another peel of laughter: like nails on a chalkboard. Rudy lifted his head. It was the same laughter every time. Again it came, again, like a glitched record. Then it dropped, and the restaurant fell to silence.
"What's going on?" Rudy asked, scared.
"We thought you might say that," Daniel said. "But we've covered our tracks. Open your eyes, Rudy, and you'll see what we've done."
Thirty-four years. Rudy allowed his eyes to see once more, and the shock of it made his retinas scream. A huge light: beaming straight onto his face, a single table set up in the middle of an empty warehouse. Speakers around him, glitching as they attempted to play the sounds of a restaurant. A carpet was laid out on the concrete floor, the walls padded to absorb sound. And Cara and Daniel, smirking as they watched him over the badly set table.
"I guess I see now," Rudy said. "You'll stop at nothing to get this review."
"Your name is famous," Cara replied. "You say we're good, and people will come rolling in."
"They won't," Rudy said. "Not if I can't taste a thing."
| 2016-08-24T07:39:44
| 2016-08-24T07:24:48
| 77
| 37
|
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
*Ends hibernation*
*walks into office*
Officer worker 1: HOLY SHIT ANOTHER BEAR!!!
Officer worker 2: Don't worry, I decided I needed to bring a gun to work. It's so weird that 89 other bears have just walked into our office.
**bang bang**
*feels pain, eyes get heavy*
Officer worker 2: WOO! I got number 90!
|
When I first entered the building that was now to give me money for doing what I had always been doing I got a slight annoyance from the squeaky doors. I proceeded to walk over the large hall to the woman obviously responsible for squeaky doors; the receptionist. I told her that if that door squeaked when I went through it the next time I would fire her. Not that I was in any position to fire her, but she didn't know that.
I walked over to the elevator and pressed the "up" button. It took over 20 seconds for the elevator to arrive. How annoying. I pressed the top button and waited. Remarkable slow elevator, I thought to my self as I was hitting the floor button over and over again.
Finally the elevator came to a grinding halt on floor 35, top floor. The management floor. I took a deep breath as the doors opened and started power walking right to the CEO office. I barked something at the poor secretary sitting outside the door and rammed myself into his office. The man behind looked startled at me and asked; who are you? you can't be here! get out!.
I continued my still uninterrupted powerwalk right to his desk and jumped on top of it. The CEO pushed himself away from the desk and sunk down into his chair as I started yelling.
For a good five minutes I gave him the most "you are the most useless person that has ever lived" speech that has ever been given. After the yelling I jumped off his desk and sat down on his lap, and 10 cm from his face I told him that I was hired by the owners of the company and that this would now become a recurring event: Me coming into his office yelling at him until his numbers started to improve.
This was my first job as an angry man. I have since started my own company and I hire myself out to people that needs someone to yell at someone. I make millions doing this.
| 2016-02-22T11:27:02
| 2016-02-22T11:21:32
| 68
| 40
|
[WP] Santa Claus is retiring... For years, he had already been searching for his successor, and he finally finds the perfect candidate being none other than... Ron Swanson
|
"Mr. Swanson, thank you so much for taking the time to call me back!" laughed Santa.
"Good day. I insist you inform me how you obtained my private telephone number. I have married thrice, and have still given out my number only once," grumbled Ron Swanson.
"I know everything about you Ron!" Santa cried, "I know you love brisket and bacon like they were members of your family! I know the names of your children! I know where you bury your gold!" The color drained from Ron's face.
"EXPLAIN YOURSELF, SIR," Ron demanded. "HOW DO YOU KNOW THESE THINGS - WHICH I AM NOT CONFIRMING ARE TRUE OR UNTRUE?"
"I need you Ron. You have a warm heart and a sense of honor, but most of all, the wisdom of Solomon! You can sort out naughty and nice children and deliver them their presents around the world on Christmas Eve!"
Ron's fury subsided and he erupted in high-pitched giggling. "Preposterous. How can one man deliver presents to every child that is good in a single evening?"
Santa laughed, "Well now Ron, if you'll take the job, you'd just have to figure that out for yourself."
Ron paused. His mustache bristled, and a grin crept around the edges of his mouth. "I firmly oppose your methods of obtaining information. I believe your innumerable invasions of privacy are anathema to everything I hold dear. But...this delivery...sounds like the ultimate riddle. I shall report to the North Pole tomorrow. I shall bring my own private supply of venison, so as not to alarm your glowing deer. Good day. Ron Swanson."
|
"No one appreciates the wonderful toys I craft like you Mr.Swanson, it's a lost art!" The man tapped his belly, ruffling crumbs off his jacket, a waste of a perfectly good cookie if Ron ever saw such a thing.
"This feels like kindness, I'm not much for that. Besides how much creation I'd be doing," Ron snapped off a piece of bacon, chewing it as he took Santa Claus in once more. His mother had never said this thing was real, she'd denied it, calling it a farce, yet here he was.
"Yes, to children, what's more manly than helping children?"
"Fighting them. Though that takes work which-"
"This job only works once a year. Food is prepared for you, the cold is there to ruffle a few more chest hairs outta ya- and once a year Ron!" Santa stood over Mr.Swanson, his belly uncomfortably close to Ron's face. Ron looked up at the man, thinking how easy it would be to take him out but how comfortable sitting was.
"Once a year? Free food, whatever I like...where are the women, the trees and wildlife? If others serve me they better not be the annoying kind."
"Elves aren't annoying, they're obedient. If you want them to be quiet, so it shall be. There are millions of trees around, you practically live in isolation with a magic sleigh to take you here- to society when you'd like. Mrs.Clause isn't so bad to look at either- you may bring your own of course." Santa laughed at the thought of his Mrs.Clause staying with Swanson, it would never be, he was Santa Clause material but still so rough around the edges. Ron ate another piece of bacon, examining the spots of glimmering pig grease and meaty lines sewn throughout it.
"I'll do it. You had me sold at no government, and no people."
"Just elves!" Santa said, leaning back for a very deep 'ho,ho,ho'. Ron would have to change that. He extended his hand, he wasn't worried about the wasted bacon grease on his fingers, not when food would be so readily prepared for him.
| 2016-12-22T23:30:05
| 2016-12-22T20:41:37
| 308
| 29
|
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
"Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
|
I remember reading a beautiful short story with this exact same premise in China three years ago. In gross oversimplification, I’ll paraphrase it best I can in English.
A mysterious, cavernous hole was discovered one day in a small rural town. Curious as to what could be inside, a lone boy threw a small pebble into its depths.
Nothing.
The villagers began to gather around, inquiring as to what exactly it was. This eventually came to the attention of the government, which after extensive testing, determined it must be an infinitely cavernous hole, making worldwide news. This was, of course, a great delight to mankind, as it seemed the ultimate solution to the world’s trash problem. Scientists dumped their radioactive waste. Governments all over the globe mysteriously rid themselves of their shady files. Young twenty-somethings threw their old journals and memorabilia from their ex friends and ex partners into the pit. Divorcees threw their rings away forever in a dramatic show of symbolism. It became a world-renowned tourist attraction, drawing in titanic crowds. Rallying around this pit, the world has a means to double down on their efforts against pollution, and the world seemed idyllic.
And in this fashion, the world functioned for several years. Never once did the pit appear to have any intention of filling up.
Then, one day, that first boy who had discovered the pit felt a heavy presence in the air. He looked up.
There was a pebble falling from the sky.
I know my storytelling skills are horrible, but that’s all I seem to recall of it.
| 2022-06-02T19:21:41
| 2018-01-13T09:07:42
| 4,551
| 12
|
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I'm not really sure how the numbers work. I don't remember when they started showing up, and I have never seen my own. They are little coloured numbers that hover above peoples' heads when I look at them.
My parents, both trained and experienced police officers that were normally armed, both averaged around a 6 or a 7 most of the time. My sweet 30 year old aunt, who would never touch a gun, let alone use one, rated about a 3 or a 4. Her husband, a man in his 40's who grew up in a mountain town and enjoyed shooting and hunting, was normally about a 5. Their two little kids, a 5 year old boy and an 8 year old girl, both had a 2 above their heads when I saw them.
Over time, I began to realize that the numbers showed someone's potential danger level. I'm not sure what exactly it was that made people dangerous, but I knew from experience that people with higher, more noticeable numbers caused more damage. A large drunk 6 at a bar started a fight. A jones-ing, meth-addicted 7 that was high out of his mind raped and stabbed a woman, stealing her money and causing her to kill herself. A rich, 19 year old 8 with a brand new Corvette loved to go fast and crashed into a minivan, killing 3 people.
I trusted my numbers, so when I saw higher numbers, I avoided them. I could only see numbers if I saw someone in person, or over a live video broadcast, so if I saw Hitler or Ghengis Khan in a history class video, I couldn't tell what they were, but if I saw a live video of the President, I could see his. He his a bright 9 and everyone in his company that follows him around has a dim 8 above theirs.
The President is the highest number that I've ever seen and, for the most part, only world leaders have numbers that rank above a 7. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw her.
I've never really noticed anyone very significant as far as numbers go. The highest numbered people were the School Resource Officer, who ranked at a 7, and the JROTC sergeants who each ranked anywhere between a dull 6 to a dim 8. On a normal, dreary day, rain was splashing against the windows. Clouds were blocking out the sun and creating a dull grey sky. I was walking through the halls of my remote high school in my rural mountain town, on my way from my Spanish class to my Environmental Science class, and my ears started ringing. I had an inexplicable pain in my head; I leaned against the lockers and bowed my head in a futile attempt to relieve myself of some of the pain. It felt like there were alarms going off inside of my skull. Something was wrong. When I looked up, all of the numbers that I had gotten so used to were fading away. What was happening? Then I saw it. I saw a bright, white 10 hovering above a new girl that I hadn't seen before. She was relatively short with long black hair that framed her face nicely, a nice figure, averaged sized breasts, and a pretty face. She wore inexpensive clothes that you could find at the nearest supermarket, but she looked good in them. She was fairly attractive, but so were a lot of girls in my school. If I hadn't seen her terrifying number, I probably would have walked right past her without a second thought, but now I had seen her, and she had seen me.
I didn't really think through what I was doing. I was just drawn toward her. I pushed through the crowd, feeling the fear settle in my gut and watching her the entire time. After she realized what I was doing, she pushed toward me. When we reached each other, without saying a word, she gave me a cheap shot to the gut and shoved me into the nearest bathroom.
I hit the ground in pain and looked up at her, asking her,
"Who the hell are you? Why did you bring me in here?"
She yelled back at me, her number glowing brighter than before,
"Shut the fuck up! What's the deal with you? Are you going to blow up the fucking school or something?!"
I was as confused as ever. What the hell was she talking about? I should have been asking her that question! I was just going through my day like everyone else. After a minute, she got impatient. She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot.
"Talk! Damn it!", she yelled in my face.
While I was busy trying to piece everything together, she started glancing around the small bathroom, as if she were going to find clues to her answer. She did. I looked up and she was just looking in the mirror, a hand over her mouth and a horrified look on her face.
"What are you looking at?" I asked her, hoping to come to the same revelation that she did.
Without saying a word, she helped me off the ground and pointed at the mirror that she refused to look away from. That's when I saw it too. A second white 10. This one was floating above my head. My world stopped. All I could here was the ringing in my ears from before. I looked at her in shock and she looked back at me with a terrified expression on her face. I saw her lips begin to move and suddenly the ringing stopped. The last thing I remember before blacking out was a single question.
"You can see them too?"
|
I always figured it was some form of synesthesia; above everybody, a translucent number, hovering above their head like a static hummingbird. I figured out soon enough that I was unique in this, that no-one else could see these bizarre numbers, a halo of creation and devastation. The nerdy kids on the late-night subway, a meek green 1. A young man down a side alley, gaunt and skinny, came in as a jaundiced 4. My reflection told me 6, blazing above my head like a personal sunset, caused by nothing other than a short fuse, as it flashed and fizzled in the mirror.
You got used to seeing anything between 1-5, and this covered the majority of the population. A suburban train line gave you 3's and 2's galore, a 7 occasionally popping up in the busier stations, but you soon got into the habit of not boarding with them. It was weird, seeing anything above 7. It didn't happen often, and I only ever saw an 8 once, and that was a gray sludge painted above Hitler's animated body, mouth rapidly spewing sludge for yet another propaganda film.
He changed that. He removed the blindfold, and showed me what the numbers meant. I sat in class, a cold autumn day covered the old concrete of the yard with a crystalline frost, refracting the light in a glorious beam across the side of the school's main building. I gazed out the window, daydreaming as the doddering, old teacher explained the basics of trigonometry in a droning tone, the scrawly tone drilling itself into your head, when suddenly i saw the flair out of the corner of my eye. A crimson supernova, radiating blood in waves around it, embossing the double numbers above the man below.
10.
To even think, the idea of a man worse than Hitler himself? My heart exploded into action, pumping waves of horror across my body, hyperventilation kicking into overdrive and leaving me ragged. And yet, *how could it be?*
He was pushed into sight, a big silver frame rolled around the corner of the yard, hands grasping the slender handles protruding out of the frame of the chair. Big, metallic spokes reflected the demonic color onto the ground, blood washing over the ice and turning it into a twisted battlefield. The drool cascaded slowly out of the corner of his mouth, dripping onto his crisp blazer as the assistant ferried him across the large expanse. She barely registered in the storm surrounding her, but a faint, calm 1 splayed it's lime tinge amongst the pyroclastic flow meandering around it.
Hairs turned to rock as I stared at this monster, this gargantuan evil, yet all I saw was a broken boy, too simple to even function, wheeled around like a trophy. I wondered, *how could THIS be evil?*
And as his deformed body shifted, and the void of his pupils hit mine, i understood. Rage incarnate spewed venomously out of the side of his cornea, and a word rumbled across my cranium like a tectonic quake:
**SLAUGHTER**
My mind splintered, and as the chunks transcended reality, the red glow stopped.
| 2014-11-29T18:39:45
| 2014-11-29T15:29:59
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?"
The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling.
"You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced.
My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it.
I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one.
This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off.
I was just smart.
The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me.
"Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly.
This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven.
"Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming."
"It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-"
He cut me off.
|
It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one.
| 2014-12-18T13:32:26
| 2014-12-18T12:57:51
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you."
|
The hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..."
|
"You are certainly most fearsome and undoubtedly powerful," the man begins, "Your wealth is immeasurable and your reputation across millennia is common knowledge: Raza the Terrible - hoarder of gold and collector of souls. All who have challenged you have perished."
This forces a smirk from me as I eye him from across the stone temple. Coins and sparkling gems of every color cascade down my sides onto the massive mountain of gold as I stand up to my full height. The man shuffles noticeably, unsure if I will put a cease to his flattery, but I always hear out those with something to say.
"And?" I quip.
"Yes, you are indeed great, but allow me to say you have not reached your full potential."
"Is that so?" I question, feeling quite amused. "And what would a brave insightful man have to offer me?"
"Every single man and woman knows of you from the time they are children. They know your power and strength and they know to fear you, but through these tales of murder and death, the people only think of you as frightening and petty. Fear is cheap. Wealth is never truly respected. YOU are not respected, you are resented."
I set my jaw and feed the fire behind my eyes. "Is that so? And I suspect you, a man, slave to lust and power, has the wisdom to induce in me something greater than ferocity and fortune?"
"I believe I do," the man replies firmly.
"Well let's here it. But if you fail to impress, I will make quick work of adding to my notoriety," and I take a menacing step forward - sending a rumble through the stone and piles of gold.
The man, unflinching, walks forward into striking distance. I could crush him at any moment. I could lift him with two fingers and drop him down my throat, and although I'm quite tempted, his stare fixates me. But then I see it in his eyes - a familiarity, a faint understanding. This is no man. But I do know what He is.
Edit: Formatting ;)
| 2015-10-14T04:03:21
| 2015-10-13T17:54:29
| 32
| 19
|
[WP] College graduation is over, and your parents present you with an itemized bill for raising you - several hundred thousand dollars. They want to work out a payment plan.
|
"Mom! Dad! I have great news!" Charles shouted as he ran into the house. His excitement faded as he saw his parents sitting intently at the dining room table.
"What's going on? Is everything OK?" Charles sat down across from his parents.
"Charles, we have something for you." His father said. "You're not going to like it, but you're an adult now and we feel it's time you were given it."
"Given what?"
"This." Charles' father reached under the table and brought up a manilla folder containing several pieces of paper. He laid it down on the table in front of his son. It was labeled, "Raising Charles."
"What the heck?" Charles opened the folder and started skimming through the papers.
> Crib - $800
>
> Diapers - x4812 @$.34 - $1636.08
...
> Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Action Figures:
>
> - Michelangelo - $15
> - Donatello - $15
> - Leonardo - $15
> - Raphael - $15
...
> College:
>
> - Tuition - x4 @$24,845 - $99,380
> - Books - x8 @$400 - $3,200
> - Board - x4 @$10,000 - $40,000
...
> Total: $435,915.12
"This is a joke, right?" Charles said when he got to the last page.
"No, Charles," his mother said, breaking her silence. "We feel this is only fair to us. All of these items were yours, you should be the one to pay them."
"Don't worry," his father started. "We're not expecting you to pay it all at once. We have a few ideas for a payment plan."
Charles looked at both of his parents and back down at his lifetime bill.
"Are you even curious about my good news?" Charles asked. Waiting for a response, he only met silence. "Well, remember that app I designed for my final project? Google bought it. *Twenty-five million dollars.*
Charles' parent looked at each other in shock.
"I'm a millionaire now, Mom and Dad. One of the first things I thought to do was buy my supportive parents a brand new home."
Charles stood up, went to his room, and returned with a checkbook. After filling it out, he tore the check from the book and laid it in front of his parents. They looked down and saw the amount, $435,915.12.
"I don't need a payment plan. I can pay this outright." As his father reached for the check, Charles picked it up again. He tore it up and left the room.
|
“You have to be shitting me guys?” Jacks bemused look was enough of a catalyst for his parents to issue a sterner warning.
“No son, we’re not”. Jacks father was a military man, and joking to him didn’t come easy. “Also, watch your mouth.” His Dad looked down from his spectacles, a look I imagine he gave to many a new trainee marine to intimidate without raising his voice. “Listen – we didn’t have it easy when we raised you. I was stationed all over the world and worked doggedly to provide the best upbringing for you I possibly could. We put every single penny we ever had spare into raising you to be the bright, articulate and thoughtful young man you are today. However Jack, all of these admirable character traits don’t pay the bills.”
Jacks mum sat in silence, nodding in agreement and ruffling a brow every few words just to ensure that Jack knew this was no joke.
“I want to retire now and enjoy the last few healthy years of my life, and your mother and I find it only suitable you help to repay the money we spent on bringing you up. You turned out great son, you really did, we know you won’t mind helping us out a bit now.”
“…but….this bill is for nearly 300 grand?..... I don’t have that kind of money!!!”. Jacks panic was setting in as he skim read the contract his parents had drawn up for him. Every part of the last 23 years itemised so that he knew he wasn’t being duped by them.
“Children are expensive Jack, why do you think we sold your sister?”
Jacks eyes skim read until the last paragraph.
“So, I have to start paying as soon as I earn over minimum wage?” Jack laughed nervously.
“That’s correct!” Jacks mum chimed in! “50% of your wages to start as soon as you hit minimum wage, and then an extra 10% for every 5k earned extra a year, until the debt is paid”
Jack looked up from the contract, his parents beaming brightly. “Mum........….Dad..........….remind me what I just spent the last 5 years studying?”
His parents looked at each other, until it finally dawned on them. “You…..you have been studying conceptual art, haven’t you?”…
Jack smiled as he quickly signed below where his parents had, and slid the contract back over to them. “Exactly!”
Jacks Dad looked at his wife as the realisation set in.
“Well honey – we’re fucked”.
| 2014-09-09T10:06:56
| 2014-09-09T07:51:26
| 47
| 31
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
|
Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic
|
Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I
| 2015-12-05T14:46:28
| 2015-12-05T13:45:57
| 158
| 15
|
[WP] A sniper and a photographer meet in a bar, neither aware of the other's occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'.
|
"Hello there!" Says the photographer after ordering his drink. "What's the name, Mac?"
The hitman (pretty drunk) responds "Depends, whats the job? Is the client posh or poor? Need to blend in their environment, y'know? Can't be Baron Neil Whitefeild in the slums, can I?"
"I am not sure I understand, sir."
"I shoot for a living." He inhales sharply, he has said more than he should. He sighs when the photographer gives him a knowing glance.
"Oh... Well, I too, 'shoot' for a living. Indeed, it is best to blend into the crowd."
"Do you prefer long range, or short."
"Short, naturally. Long is best for the unsuspecting, but I enjoy short more. You can really capture their emotions this way."
'Huh. He is the kind of hitman that likes his job. Kinda creepy, but if you see death for as long as I have, you sort start enjoying its beauty too, I guess.' Thought the hitman.
"How long have you been in the business?"
"Turned pro 3 years back, but I shot my first much, much earlier."
'Poor guy, to have to have killed so early. Just like me, eh?'
"I have been a pro for nearly a decade now. Had a rough childhood or what?"
"Oh yes. I dont know how you could have told, but I grew up in the streets. Had to work my ass off for my first device."
"I have had quite the same experience, brother." Said the shooter, sipping his beer.
"Business has been down lately, hasn't it? I am struggling right now. Could you refer me to someone? You must have many connections, being in the business for so long."
The hitman thought for a while. He decided that he liked this kid.
"Tell you what. I have a job next Friday and there is room for an extra shooter. Like weddings, much?"
[Pretty new writer, plus idk shit about photography or sniping, so sorry if it's bad. Feedback is welcome.]
|
"The most important thing is to frame the shot perfectly" Jacob stated enthusiastically
"Yeah, I can agree with that in a sense, but staging and planning it is more important else the entire shot can be a bust" I said with a bit less enthusiasm than Jacob.
"I somewhat agree but everyone got their own way of doing it I guess. Always prefered to do my shoots on impulse and focus on the framing" Jacob said shrugging his shoulders.
I couldn't help but wonder what he was carrying in the padded bag he had. Looked like it was a camera bag, a bit to cliché for my liking but who am I judge walking around with what looked like a hiking bag.
"So tell me about some of your shots man, you must have some amazing ones" Jacob said nudging me.
"Well I shot Jeremy Griff a month or so a ago" I said matter a factly
"Griff? Like the media person Jeremy Griff?" Jacob said almost looking upset or down. But that must of been my imagination.
"Yeah, it was a tricky shot. Lots of trees, the car moving definitely didn't help either. But I think I got a good one in the end" I proudly said as it had been quite a difficult shot to make.
"He died not long ago, in his car. Hope the picture was worth the money" Jacob sorrowfully said
"What picture? I shot him, what the hell are you talking about?" I said looking at him in surprise.
"Photography, what else would I be talking about? I'm a photographer, wait what do you mean you shot him?!" Jacob said now with panic in his voice and eyes
"Ah, shit. I'm sorry Jacob, I thought you were like me. No hard feelings I hope" I say as I pull a knife hidden inside my sleeve and stab him in the heart making it look like a hug as Jacobs life drains from his eyes. I slowly lower him onto the table folding his hands under his head for support as if he's only asleep.
As I start to move away I decide to grab his bag, I guess I could use a new hobby. After all we had similar ideas for the perfect shot.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Just something that flashed through my mind, like what kind of conversation would a sniper and a photographer have in common that would be an imo funny missunderstanding.
| 2020-11-05T05:44:44
| 2020-11-05T05:28:42
| 90
| 39
|
[WP] Something with a happy ending. Anything at all.
[removed]
|
The acorn basked in the warm heat of the summer sun. It was surrounded by the bright green leaves of the tall, tall tree. And that was all that the acorn had ever known, or wanted to know.
But then the cold came, and the leaves began to change: to vivid red, fiery orange, and bright yellow. Wind howled and rain came pouring down, causing the old tree to shake. The acorn clung to the branch with all its might even as the leaves grew brittle and began to fall. And when the grass far below was no longer visible under the thick carpet of fall foliage, the acorn could hold on no longer. It plummeted toward the ground, away from the comfortable branch of the mighty tree. And the acorn was scared.
It was cold and lonely on the ground. The leaves that the acorn had known so well on the branch were gone; all that remained were dried husks that only looked like its old friends. They began to crumble, and the acorn experienced ice and snow for the first time. It sought shelter from the cold in the grimy, uncomfortable dirt. But life was so much more miserable now than it was back on the branches. The acorn wondered why all of this was happening to it.
“Is anyone else out there?” the acorn desperately called. “Anyone at all?”
“I am here,” the roots answered from deep within the earth. The voice was not too dissimilar from the branch’s, but older and wizened. “I’ve always been here.”
“I’m scared,” the acorn told the roots. “I want to go back to the branch where it was warm and safe.” Even as it spoke, the ground around the acorn was freezing solid, and a thick blanket of snow carpeted the ground. The remains of the leaves were gone as well.
“It will be OK,” the roots answered. “This is the way of things. I’ve enjoyed many summers and endured many winters. And every time, the acorns fear that the summer will never come. But I know it will.”
The acorn trusted the roots. But the winter cold never ended. Wind howled through the trees. The blanket of snow melted, then another storm passed and an even thicker layer came. The acorn tried to go deeper into the dirt but it was too cold and hard. “Patience,” the roots advised. The acorn wasn’t sure how much longer it could go on like this.
But then a bird began to sing. “The sun is out,” the roots advised the acorn. “See for yourself.”
The acorn tried to look from deep under the soil, but it couldn’t see. Though the acorn hated the dirt, it was at least familiar now, and leaving was a scary prospect. But as the Acorn peered upward, it realized that now the ground wasn’t so cold, or so hard. So the acorn stretched and poked above the surface for the first time in ages. It had forgotten the smell of the air and the warmth of the sun! And the forest was so different! Trees were in bloom, and even flowers were growing in between the mighty oaks. The branches had spoken of flowers, but the acorn had been too young to remember them.
“Well?” the roots asked the acorn. “Better?”
The acorn unfurled its first leaves and soaked in the spring. “Better,” it answered.
(This post has been locked, but if you have any comments on the story [I'd love to hear them on this post over in my own subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/5c1q5u/the_acorn/))
-----
And as requested by the OP, other stories with happy endings:
1. [I never smile](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4ttd7l/i_never_smile/)
2. [The neighborly thing to do](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/55ow9h/the_neighborly_thing_to_do/)
3. [Termination](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4wwinp/termination/)
4. [I wish you could see what I see](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4drpis/i_wish_you_could_see_what_i_see/)
5. [The Match Database](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3uvcu7/the_match_database/)
6. [The Criminal](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/4pb7lr/the_criminal/)
7. [Eggy](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3kynpt/eggy/)
8. [Dizzy](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3n8o9o/dizzy/)
9. [Bread](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3mccba/bread/?ref=search_posts)
10. [Superhero/Supervillain Couple on a date](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3apwp0/superherosupervillain_couple_on_a_date/)
----
And if you're already missing Obama... [President Frozone](https://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/3vb91c/president_frozone/)
----
AND, if you liked all of these stories, then remember to subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more. I'm at about 850 stories now, though not all with happy endings.
|
I woke up this morning to news that made me sad. It filled my mind with anxieties about the future, for myself and for all of those I cared about. But then I realised something.
The sun still rose. The birds still chirped. Cars still drove by and people still laugh.
It's tempting, especially in grim times, to indulge in the fantasy of apocalypse and a horrifying, albeit exciting end. But this is not the end.
Whether you agree or not with the majority of your fellow countrymen is one thing. But do not turn your back because you have lost one fight. Do not proclaim victory forever if you have won one either.
The next President of the United States was voted for by intelligent people. More intelligent than you, in some ways. The President was voted in by people less intelligent than you, in some ways. We all have our strengths. We all have our opinions. But this will only be the division that kills America if we let it drive us to each others throats.
Do not be the person who says, "he's not my president," because he is. He is our president and will inevitably face challenges he never could have foreseen. He will be given information he never could have known. The virtually infinite complexity of the American and Global political and economic climate does not rest squarely on his shoulders, and whether or not I believe in his policies or views, I do believe he will do the best he can to achieve what he believes is right and good.
Any of us would.
So when you hear jubilation at what you predict as doom, remember those who said Obama would run this country into the ground. Remember those who believe every election that this *truly* is the end. Then remember how wrong they were, and how you marveled at their arrogance. I beseech you, do not be the same.
If you find yourself consumed by fear, ask yourself if you are truly afraid, or if our media has convinced you you should be. Go outside. The air still smells great. The sun is still shining. The birds are still singing.
People are still smiling. Love is still here.
| 2016-11-09T07:04:42
| 2016-11-09T06:33:17
| 1,541
| 318
|
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
|
"What do you mean they have no warrior caste?”
“Thats just it, Overlord Zurgar. They have no caste system.”
The overlord clicked his mandibles in frustration.
“So they’re like the Xintar then, they have mercenary races fight for them?”
“Not really sir. They’ll fight alongside other races but don’t actively recruit or employ mercenaries. Their culture seems to frown on the practice, weirdly.” Zuor continued. It was going to be difficult to explain this to the Overlord, he could see.
“So they’re all warriors then, like the warrior race of Solstice III?”
“I’m afraid thats another no sire. The closest we can explain is that they can choose to fight or not to. They have a biological imperative like most mammal species to protect their own, but they also hold grudges almost as fiercely and are happy to kill for specific causes. Historically they've killed billions for being the wrong type of human or for pledging allegiance to the wrong side. Also, you know how most mammal races will run after you kill their offspring? Not these. They will fight to exact something called “vengeance”. A single human female is responsible for over a thousand drone deaths after she wiped out the Hive Fist. Apparently, she’d been taken prisoner and her mate and offspring killed. She was being returned to the Sol Empire as a prisoner exchange, when she got loose and sent the reactor critical.
“She what? So they’re suicidal maniacs?”
“Again, it seems that they can choose to be, but only in extremes.”
“What of the other prisoners”
“Oh, she was the only one sir. Seems they’ll trade a lot for just one person. The humans are quite… “Sentimental” I believe their word is. It means overly caring sir. Anyway, she was the only prisoner on board.”
Zurgar rubbed his antenna with two of his arms. Humanity was giving him a headache.
“And yet they’re the ones responsible for the Xintar-Armon peace?”
“Yes sir. They’re excellent diplomats.”
“When they’re not blowing up starships”
“Again, sir, they’re extremely pacificstic. They’ve never invaded another civilised planet per se. True, they do tend to extremes when pushed. They glassed a colony of the Xintar after some of their mercenaries popped that bubble city. And the Aleph empire was never the same after their conflict with humanity. They have this thing called Guerilla Warfare where they don’t actually act like warriors - more like criminals blowing stuff up for political reasons. The Aleph simply could not get a handle on things and were forced to withdraw. Their leadership caste never recovered, hence their current decline. Humanity’s history is quite fascinating sir. I recommend…”
“Enough. So what you’re saying is that if we take the peace they offer they won’t hand us our mandibles?”
“Yes sir. Our fleet is excellent, but there’s no defence against their weapons as of yet. Ingenious of them to use mass drivers in such a way. And nobody uses nuclear weapons anymore but them.”
“They want peace? All we did was destroy that colony ship. Would they really nuke us?”
“Not right away sire, but if we pushed them...”
“They’d push back. Potentially with nuclear warheads.”
Zuor Nodded.
“And all we have to do is let them colonise Makha II?”
“New Hope they call it. Yes, and give them first dibs on the moon. They’re oxygen breathers you see”.
Zurgar sighed and clicked his mandibles together again.
“Let them. Tell the queen on Makha II she can expect neighbours. Besides, they might prove useful there - an extra layer of protection should the Xinti want the planet.”
Zuor dipped his antenna in supplication and scurried away.
Shaking his head, the Overlord returned to the tactical display.
“Warrior pacifists, how strange the universe is. Whatever next, flying Krntle?”
==
A quick edit. Missed a bit out.
|
This is my second attempt at a poem, so any and all feedback/criticism is more than welcome. More of my work can be found at /r/liswrites.
---
Humans are gentle
And will always shy away
From war.
Humans are kind creatures
Who look for the best
In each other
And find it
In strangers.
If you should ever find yourself
Alone
Look to the humans.
If there is any hope
It lies with them,
In their soft eyes
And warm hearts.
They come from a world
Full of danger.
A world
Of fire and ice,
Of oceans and deserts.
But humans are gentle
And they tame the wild land
To make it give flowers,
Give wheat,
Give life.
The humans,
Gentle.
Yet, still
The humans
Remain fierce.
They love their deadly world
With unrivalled passion.
The same hands
That welcome you
In your hour of despair
Will bare arms
In their hour of need.
Do not cross the humans.
The humans are fierce creatures
With wild manes
With gnashing teeth
And sharp claws.
Even more deadly
Than the humans
Are their ships of fire
And death.
Their rockets
Will always find you
And follow you
Until you are no more.
Beware the humans.
Beware their world
Their weapons
Their bodies.
But know
The humans are gentle
With their flowers,
Their hands,
Their hope.
| 2017-02-14T02:33:10
| 2017-02-13T20:49:06
| 50
| 24
|
[WP] The UK votes to leave Earth. It passes.
I just woke up and saw the real news. I wish everyone over there the best of luck and hope that this decision is the best one.
|
"Prime Minister" a bespectacled secretary said in an almost whisper-like voice. "Sir... the beeb are waiting on you". With a groan, the PM removed the copy of The Sun from his face. Nigel had been at the pub again, stout and the stench of cigars hung heavy in his breath.
"Morning Sandra" he said, as he sat upright. She approached with ibuprofen and water. He took the pills and downed them with the dregs of some left over bitter. With a shudder he rose to his feet. Staring at the white washed walls of Drowning Street from number 10 was painful to his still sleeping eyes.
Today was the day. The referendum. After achieving the Brexit, UKIP required a new goal. One that would truly protect British jobs and the sovereignty of the nation against all comers. A referendum was held to decide if Britain would remain on Earth.
Years of work and planning. Reworking infrastructure, billions of pounds of investment. Technological research papers, manufacturing sites and mines sprung up across the country. The boosters were finally ready. Britannia was ready to slip her moorings of this earth and cast off.
A short interview with the BBC had allowed Nigel to make his position clear. He would commit fully should the referendum decide I'm favour of leaving Earth.
Within a month, the results were in.
They would leave.
With this, all preparations for launch were readied. Engineering city Glasgow fueled the rockets that would carry the island nation into the heavens. Control city London would coordinate all primary systems. They began their final preparations. Life support from Newcastle sprang into action. The water of the lochs in Scotland were dammed in position.
Across the country, red white and blue bunting flapped in the breeze. Across the country, the people sang in one voice; Land of Hope and Glory, mother of the free...
As the island took to the skies, frightened nations of Europe watched it's ascent above.
When they had broken the atmosphere, Nigel looked down on Earth. To his horror, he remarked "We forgot the bloody Falklands!"
|
“Big Ben is ready to commence the countdown, we leave in 10 bongs"
The engines shuddered to life as the UK began to take off. The first bong echoed throughout the whole kingdom.
"Is the tea secure Jeeves?"
"Aye, as are the rich tea biscuits prime minister”
Cameron tutted under his breath, he preferred hobnobs but now wasn’t the time, he had to keep a stiff upper lip for the trials they were about to face. The common folk had decided to leave and it was his duty to ensure they made it off her majesty’s planet earth in one piece.
The bonging continued, as did the tremors.
“I can’t believe it’s coming to this Jeeves, I know that we decided to leave democratically but my gut tells me we will lose so much. Sure we will effectively cut off any immigration problems but without any of earth’s oceans to surround our spacefaring country how will we enjoy a good seaside fish and chips? How will we take cheeky holidays abroad with the lads? Can we still play footy in zero gravity? I feel our way of living will be well and truly buggered once we get out of orbit. ”
“Look on the bright side mate” replied Jeeves “we’ll be closer to the sun, so no more crap weather, plus if we fancy a jolly we can nip over to mars and colonise it propa-like, get the British empire going again in space.”
The countdown reached three bongs.
“Bloody ‘ell here’s a thought, did you remember to secure Scotland, Wales and the rest of it last night Sir?”
Cameron’s face turned white as he realised he’d completely forgot and gone to the pub last night instead for a Weatherspoon’s pint and pie.
The countdown reached two bongs.
“I-I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
The countdown reached its final bong as the entirety of England rose from the sea to its national anthem.
"god save the queen Jeeves."
"god save the queen Sir."
| 2016-06-23T06:18:02
| 2016-06-23T05:34:39
| 64
| 36
|
[WP] An eldritch horror considers you their best friend. By virtue of you being able to perceive their true form and not going insane. One day they ask how you became so jaded, that not even indescribable cosmic horror phases you.
|
There was a monster on the front step.
Rachel blinked, but it remained, hunched over on the porch, still there in all it’s disturbing glory. It had one eye - no, it had many eyes, all blinking and shifting and looking here and there, but not visible all at the same time. They were laced above a mouth that stretched out in a fierce grin at the same time it drooped in a heavy frown, all perched on a round, clay-like head with cauliflower ears. (Not the ailment, mind, but actual cauliflower, growing from the sides of the skull and flowering quite nicely.) The body below was thin and fat at the same time, undulating between weight like waves licking the shore. Fingers made of bone clicked together anxiously, with far more phalanges than were necessary. From the waist down the body fell into darkness, robed in something that was blacker than black, aside from a pair of human-looking bare feet sticking out. Its toenails were painted bright pink, and seemed to be conversing among themselves.
“It’s not Halloween yet,” she said, gripping the door tightly.
The creature said nothing, just staring at her.
“That’s a really impressive costume, but you’re...five days early, I think. It’s only Tuesday, so…”
“*You’re not dead*.” The voice that came from the monster was soft and confused. There was no scratch or echo or blood-curdling edge, just a voice that could belong to any adult human, wavering with shock and disbelief.
Rachel glanced behind herself, just to make sure. Nope, no dead body on the floor of the kitchen, where she’d been working when the being had knocked. “No,” she agreed, “I think I’m very much alive.”
“*But...but how*…?”
She turned back to the horror and scratched absently at her cheek, trying to decide which eye to gaze into. They kept appearing and disappearing, so she settled on gazing into the middle of the creature's round head. “I...don’t know? I mean, am I supposed to be?”
*“All who gaze upon my visage fall, as is the way!”* The creature gesticulated wildly, flailing its arms, too-long fingers clicking together. *“Yet you do not shudder, you do not flinch! How can you withstand the horror that is I, Formidulosus, and not melt into a puddle of your own entrails!?”* Flecks of foam gathered along the edge of its dual-mouths, and Rachel took a step back to avoid being spit on. *“By Cthulhu, it’s unheard of!”*
“Oh, you like Lovecraft?” She latched onto the only thing she’d understood in the odd rant. “I find him a bit hard to read sometimes, but I just got the Call of Cthulhu game on my laptop and I’m looking forward to playing it on Saturday…” She trailed off as the creature tilted its head and stared at her in something akin to astonishment.
*“You know of the old ones?”*
“...Yes?” Rachel took a step forward (now that there was no other-worldly face foam flying about) and gave the creature a good look. Its shoulders were trembling, and it had begun clicking its fingers together. The bright-pink toenails had fallen silent. Had the thing been human, she would have said it looked almost...anxious? A bit lost, perhaps? “Would you like a cup of tea?”
The creature tilted its head, considering, then nodded. Rachel motioned for it to follow her into the kitchen and led the way. She could hear it behind here, each footfall echoed by the soft *schwip-schwip* of the too-black robe dragging across the hardwood. The electric kettle was already full of water, so she plugged it in and turned to watch the oddity as it carefully entered her kitchen and looked about, as though waiting for the china to attack it.
“Please, have a seat, Mr, uh, Formidable,” she motioned to the kitchen table, then flushed as she realized her work was covering nearly every inch.
“*Formidulosus*,” it corrected, watching with curiosity as she stacked papers and shoved them to the side, clearing a space for two to sit. *“What is this parchment about? Are you a scholar?”*
“Oh no,” Rachel turned to the counter as the kettle began to hiss and spit. She pulled down two mugs and, after a moment's deliberation, decided on chamomile for both of them. The creature sat awkwardly in one of the chairs and watched as she bustled about, grabbing a teddy-bear shaped container of honey from the cabinet and juggling it alongside the two mugs over to the table. Its many, many eyes drifted to the stacks of paper, and it could see lines filled with different types of handwriting, and scrolls of paper printed with blue lines that were ragged on the edge and cramped with ugly letters.
“*Not a scholar*?” It prompted as it took the mug.
“Nah,” Rachel fell into her own seat, focusing once more on the center of its face. “I’m a teacher.”
*“That is a noble position! Perhaps protected by the new gods. That could be why you did not flail and melt into a puddle of -*.”
“-my own entrails. Yeah, let’s not think about that part.” Rachel took a sip. “Dunno about these new gods, but I can tell you,” she rested a hand on top of the nearest stack of homework to be graded, “teaching middle school, you see some weird shit.”
As Formidulosus left that night, stomach full of tea and arms full of what its new friend Rachel called ‘the best of Lovecraft, seriously, let me know what you think of The Temple!’, it pondered if there were others of these ‘Middle School Teachers’ in the world to befriend.
|
His face was like that of a large bird. He had big, round, restless eyes. His nose was long and hooked, and his beard and hair were of equal length and were equally as spiky. A tattered black coat over a tattered old shirt was all he wore. He didn't have any legs and floated about. His name was Lord Campbell, and he was my best friend.
I was lounging on the couch, reading a book when he came over. He put his face through the book and startled me.
"What's the idea, Camp?" I said.
"Say Mr Jonstone," he said and paused. "WHY aren't you AFRAID of ME."
"Come on, Camp, how many times will I have to tell you? You simply aren't scary. And please don't call me Mr Jonstone and all that. It's William or should I say, Will, to you."
"Okay Mr WILL, but you must TELL me why I AM not scary?"
"You just aren't."
"YOU must've seen SOME great horrors in your time."
"No. Not really."
"There MUST be some COSMIC horror. I have driven PEOPLE insane before, you KNOW."
"How? Come on, Camp. You aren't all that scary. You just talk funny."
"What? No, I DON'T."
"You do. And you put that miserable coat on, and you play tricks on them."
"That I DO," he said and cackled.
"Yes. You're just a lonely old fellow, that's all."
He cackled again and changed his face to that of a grotesque clown. I pretended to be scared. He cackled again and changed his face back to normal.
"That's it, Gramps. No more party tricks today."
He cackled. "Okay Mr Jonstone, OKAY."
"You're A sensible YOUNG lad," he said. And cackled again.
| 2020-10-27T07:45:01
| 2020-10-27T06:44:14
| 4,670
| 115
|
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager.
|
“Look all I’m saying is, do you Really think a harassment report is necessary?”
I stared at the SuperTech Inc Limited HR rep like he was the moron I knew him to be.
“I just spent 30 minutes going over less than a QUARTER of the harassing things Speed McQueen over there has done in the past YEAR.”
“Hey now lets not use slurs.”
“... that’s literally his god damn Super Name. Did you even read any part of my report?”
“Look. (exaggerated sigh) it’s just that when these reports get filed there’s a big investigation, a lot of resources and man hours are wasted, permanent marks are made on records... it’s just a big hoobaloo over what’s probably a misunderstanding.”
The HR Rep, Tod, was smiling in a placating manner. I wanted very much to punch his teeth into his throat.
“I find it extremely disconcerting you are automatically assuming that this is a misunderstanding, and that the investigation will be a waste. This fucking asshole, don’t pardon my language, is a god damn CREEP!”
“Look you’re starting to get hostile, I’m not going to talk to a hostile employee.”
I could see where he was going, and I felt vindicated that I had delayed making a report for this long. Villains NEVER were listened to by corporate. File a report for extreme use of force? “Oh don’t be such a baby, your contract include physical violence.” File a report for stalking? “It’s literally their job to track you!” File a report for sexual harassment? “Heroes wouldn’t do that!”
So I had waited and collected evidence until I was absolutely SURE they couldn’t ignore me. And here I was, arguing with some low level HR pinhead about whether or not the report I had filed by filling out fifty god damn forms, “really needed to be filed.”
I took several deep breaths, pulled out my cell phone, and clicked on the bright green “GO” button taking up half the screen. Then I turned to phone towards Tod.
“Look Tod. I get it. I signed up to be a villain, I get the shit end of the stick but the hours are guaranteed and the healthcare is pretty good. What I didn’t sign up for was being stalked, harassed, and physically and emotionally damaged by some fuckwhit in a spandex onesie. If you had read even the first ten pages of my report you would see that this motherfucker showed up to my thanksgiving party with my family. He showed up at my first christmas with my kids since my bitch ex-wife left me for a dentist and speed mcfuckinqueen opened every single gift looking for weapons or some shit. I was on jury duty last year and he showed up in court and told the judge I wasn’t a reliable citizen.”
“The list literally goes on and on! Our contracts establish clear lines between work and civilian life! He shows up at my second job selling Used Cars every single fucking day and drives away customers! I have had ten fucking jobs in a year because of this mentally deficient asshole! So now, because of you, TOD, I am broadcasting every single video recording, audio recording, 911 call, and record of hero on villain crime that has ever been recorded. Ever. And I will continue broadcasting this on every single media medium until SuperTech Inc Limited does something about it.”
Tod’s face has gone from surprisingly pale to deathly pale.
“But. But. Your NDA.”
“FUCK THE NDA TOD! And especially, TOD, fuck you HR DIPSHITS. I’m broadcasting this too!”
I left the building, and for all of two seconds I was happy. Then I was suddenly blacking out as something smashed into me and my body accelerated at 12g’s. My last thought was,
“God damn FUCKING Speed McQueen.”
|
We all have bosses. In a world fuelled by money, it was only natural that the world of heroes and villains would be funded by the elite. I have my orders, heroes have theirs. It's the way the world works - it's how we keep society on its feet, subduing everyone with the fear of war. War follows the clouds around the world, puts countries in hot weather yet gives release to others. I'm a major cause to disruption when my bosses don't like how things are working.
Naturally, like the weather, I can go with days of calm. I don't need to do much. I wait in the shadows, refreshing myself in my precious free time when I'm not raining down the wrath of Hell on innocent people for money (and fun).
But I have a fan. An annoying fan. He's a teenager, a hopeful baffoon who is blinded to how this world truly works. Does their naivety* make them believe they get lucky when someone sponsors them to help defeat evil? No, it's a decision that solely benefits the bosses. But these lowlife dumb heroes don't understand a single thing.
I went to shop for a nice dinner. He causes a ruckus. I can't go back to that grocer. I wanted a trim and I had to burn the place down because he was filming me. I don't need society to know my face because that'll make me a little less effective and that's bad for business.
This kid is fucking with something that isn't his fucking business.
I know who watches him. Bob Flaboria. Fucking Bob. He sounds like a pussy but he's no pussy cat. He's a lion in a world of zebras. I killed one of his heroes once and my head was almost torn from my body. If my wealthy boss hadn't intervened and compensated Bob, I'd be dead. And that'd be boring.
And now I have to speak to him about another of his heroes.
I dial his number. It rings for a few moments and I just want to scrunch up the device in my hand but I can't. I'd just kill the hero but Bob. But fucking Bob.
"This is Bob."
"Bob. It's Zectro."
"Ah. Zectro."
"Yes. I have a problem," I find myself two seconds away from toying with Bob and burning a part of his territory but even my boss won't be able to talk him out of murdering me and all of my allies - and my boss and his allies. Basically half of the world.
It's like this. The elite is a business. You have the bosses. And then you have two departments. The goodies and the baddies. But there are many businesses. And some partner with some. Everyone has an ally who is an ally with someone else. Connections keep people alive in this world. One bad move by a supervillain like me would make this world a dull, dull place.
"A problem that I can end by ending you?" he asks. I hear children in the background. Does he have kids? Well of course he does. Who else to give up his empire to but his flesh and blood?
"A problem. Can you tell Hero Kiddo to back off when I'm free?"
"Then he wouldn't be much of a hero then would he?"
I bite my tongue. Fucking Bob.
"I don't want to kill him."
"Then don't," Bob laughs.
"You know there's no law against making them brain dead?"
Bob sniggers on the other line.
I continue, "I think it'll be bad for business if you don't sort him out. I suggest you cut your losses."
There's a thoughtful pause. I am recording the call to send to my boss anyway, just to be safe. I don't want to fuck with Bob for too long. He's a snake. He'll coil and smother. When I die, I want it quick.
"I think you'll find that you're the loss your boss wants to cut."
Fuck. It's my day off. And now I realise it's quiet. Too fucking quiet.
And now he's in front of me. Hero Kiddo. I'm here at home, sat on my sofa in my boxers. I'm full. My dishes are in the dishwasher. My clothes are outside in the sun, drying. My dog is asleep on his bed. And it's the end.
"I'm no hero, Zectro. I'm your replacement."
I guess *I* am the one who doesn't know how the world works.
| 2019-08-01T17:10:53
| 2019-08-01T16:56:28
| 494
| 183
|
[WP] You are a world-class programmer who has died. God agrees to allow you in to Heaven on the condition that you work for him while he debugs the human body. Write the patch notes for the next version of humans.
|
*Homo* v. 1.5 release: *Homo modernus*
**New features:**
* Improved and sustained acuity of visual sensory systems. They should no longer wear out as quickly.
* Female models now have access to facial hair growth.
* In order to facilitate numerical reasoning, an arithmetic logic unit has been included in the frontal lobe.
**Bugfixes:**
* Fixed an issue where memory systems would report a new experience as having happened before.
* Fixed an issue where the immune system would incorrectly respond to nonthreatening foreign substances.
* Fixed multiple issues where the immune system would incorrectly attack other native systems, causing significant damage.
* Fixed an issue where sensory systems would produce unintelligible output while asleep.
* Fixed an issue where the male reproductive system would identify various foreign objects as being suitable to mate with.
* Fixed an issue where memory systems would report a new experience as having happened before.
* Fixed an issue where cell growth restrictions could be ignored, causing uncontrollable cell growth, leading to severe damage to nearby systems and potentially full system shutdown.
* Fixed an issue in some models where lactase production would continue past physical maturity.
**Additional notes:**
Multiple bodily systems are no longer supported and will be removed from subsequent models, including:
* Appendix
* Wisdom teeth
* Coccyx
**Previous patch notes:**
v1.0 [*Homo habilis*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_habilis)
v1.1 [*Homo erectus*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_erectus)
v1.2 [*Homo heidelbergensis*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_heidelbergensis)
v1.3 [*Homo neanderthalis*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Neanderthal)
v1.4 [*Homo sapiens*](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_sapiens)
|
Human v1.1
* Created basic cell membrane and stored in new GIT repository. Does nothing yet, but will provide a better basis to develop from than the old DNA sequence which jumps back and forth between coding sequences and is full of dead code. There was actually a *goto* command in there. Whatever crack-smoking monkey created this mess appears to have been writing DNA sequences randomly while trying to see whatever happened to work. Oh and of course nothing is documented. FMAL
| 2015-08-25T08:53:32
| 2015-08-25T07:22:26
| 746
| 112
|
[WP] Canada has suddenly gone dark. No communication, no trade, no activity from within. Nothing for days. Alaska, now cut off from mainland US, is slowly ceasing in contact with the US federal government until a final correspondence is given: "Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don't ever open it."
|
**SCP-4619:**
**Class:** ~~Euclid~~ Neutralized
**Special Containment Procedures:**
~~Disinformation campaigns are in effect in order to suppress the true nature of SCP-4619. Numerous public figures have been given Amnestic treatment and trained to believe they were born within SCP-4619.~~
SCP-4619 is no longer contained. See Adendum 4619-Black
**Description:**
SCP-4619 is an anomalous memory shared by ▓ ▓ % of the global population.
This memory is the concept of Canada, a country that supposedly exists north of the United States. Despite near unanimous concensus, the country of Canada does not exist, nor has it ever.
The land mass that SCP-4619 covers exists where people expect it to, but with several key differences:
* No human population has ever been recorded within SCP-4619.
* The landmass is covered with barren rocks and minimal vegetation, suggesting it is inhospitable to life.
* The region is extremely volcanically active.
When crossing into SCP-4619, humans cease to exist from our perspective. They will reappear once they leave the region, containing all of the memories they would have collected had they been in Canada.
Whether humans are teleported to an unknown location resembling Canada, or simply stop existing during their visit, is currently unknown.
**Adendum 4619-Black:**
On 09/17/2019, SCP-4619's anomalous effects ceased for unknown reasons. The public became aware of Canada's non-existence, but universally believed it had existed at some point in the past.
Foundation efforts have shifted from suppressing the nature of SCP-4619 to containing the political fallout of the event.
|
the alarming message has been relayed to the president and a smug vindication streaked across face.
"we need to build a wall"
and so they did (or tried to at least).
they sent the best contractors along with the military to survey the build site for the wall, but none of them returned from their assignment, while all video and audio feeds turn to static upon crossing the border.
"so many american lives lost", the president and his advisors assumed. so they did what they thought was the most "sensible" thing from their perspective.
"let's send mexicans and asians to build the wall".
so they opened the boarder down south and approved all visas to any immigrant willing to help the government "build the wall".
immigrants started to flood in en masse, and they were sent up north in droves to start "building the wall".
however, instead of building the wall, they all crossed the northern border instead and was never heard from again.
this turn of events greatly bewildered the american president. so he finally decided to inspect the border himself.
and what they saw was a portal.
the president saw himself, staring into himself across infinity.
and like narcissus staring at his own reflection in a clear pond, he reached out and took a step..
| 2019-08-25T21:22:28
| 2019-08-25T20:34:12
| 48
| 19
|
[WP] Write about the average 'upstanding model citizen' who obliviously, without knowledge or intent commits multiple felonies in the course of their day to day life. The more crimes the better. Bold or Italicize the misdeeds
Inspiration: Harvey Silverglate, a civil libertarian, has noted that with the broad laws on the books, especially those relating to technology, most Americans commit three felonies a day. These are the laws that allow the DOJ to harass people with trumped-up charges. Silverglate argues that an overzealous prosecutor could charge almost anyone with one of the many absurd, archaic or overbroad laws on the books.
|
*** THIS IS FICTION ***
My name is Philip Spencer and I'm as happy as could be. I currently live in a home outside of Chicago-land in a nearby suburb only twenty minutes away. One of my favorite things to do is to engage the community by doing volunteer work. Not only is it a good way to meet like-minded people but I enjoy being a role-model to the little kids; nothing could be more satisfying.
It's rare for people at my age with a full-time job to do volunteer work in their spare time, I'll admit. But I have to say that nothing makes me happier. The most popular complaint I get from people is that working a full-time job can be "really stressful" and "soul-crushing". Although I can understand these sentiments, personally I have been lucky to find ways that help me to circumvent the stressful and "soul-crushing" effects of working 9 to 5.
It all started one morning when I was hungry for breakfast. I had to catch the train to work but my kitchen was totally empty. I scavenged my backyard for food when I found a ***colony of mushrooms*** growing in a pile of cowdung from a neighboring farm's house. I considered my options and picked a few mushrooms. Boy did they give me alotta energy! My visual acuity went up, and I felt like I had just drank seven cups of coffee the entire day! Granted, there were some ***visual hallucinations*** that would enter in and out my vision, and there was ***the occasional demon who threatened to rape me in the bathroom when I was alone at times***. But barring those minor hindrances, the mushrooms did a great job at keeping me fed and energized!
So, over the next few weeks, I did some research on what I became to find out were ***psilocybin mushrooms*** and ended up ***systematically designing and building a large-scale grow operations to supply myself with pounds and pounds of psilocybin mushropms in my own home***. I was so excited to have an endless supply of this seemingly boundless energy source!
Over time, I became accustomed to eating a shroom or two before work, and even during volunteer sessions. It became apparent that ***the demons would not leave me alone unless I sacrificed to them the blood of the innocent***. This became a big problem! But like my grandma always told me, where there's a will, there's a way ...
One night, I found ***a fresh litter of kittens being nursed by their mother under a tree*** just a block away from my house...
|
As Marquette rolled unconsciously from one side of the bed to the other, his infected computer acted as a relay allowing for the **uploading and downloading of rape pornography**.
Marquette kicked his sheets off, his torrent finished **downloading the new Guardians of the Galaxy film**.
After stirring in his bed, he wakes up and uses the loo. A considerable amount of time passes while he relieves himself; enough time for **an underage girl to email him erotic pictures through his dating site account**.
His phone receives a text, the notification sound was a snippet of **a pop song he had cut down from a Youtube video**. This happened to be **a breach of the terms of service agreement** for his phone, of this he was unaware.
Marquette jumped on his computer with a sense of inspiration from a strange dream he just had. He grabbed **a (copyrighted) picture of a grandmother off Google images** that matched the tone of the meme about odd sex dreams.
He laughed at his own meme for a few minutes too long then jumped on reddit and **upvoted an article that praised Edward Snowden**.
After mucking about for a few hours, Marquette gets ready and grabs his camera. He wanders around town **taking photos of beautiful private properties which he posts on deviantart** after some light editing.
He stops by a cafe and drinks a coffee while his camera recharges. His roommate gets off work and they head back home.
Marquette arrives at home and sits on the couch watching **cable television which was split between the neighbors** while they hosted the internet on a WiFi network which his neighbors used in turn. He shouts at the T.V., "Come on Broncos!"
**They light up a bit of weed** and munch on an entire bag of kale chips.
Marquette stretches out across the couch in complete relaxation and passes out.
| 2014-09-07T15:15:37
| 2014-09-07T13:03:31
| 30
| 19
|
[WP] The reason she never called you back was because she was abducted by an alien civilization. She adapted, grew, and lead a rebellion to overthrow the tyrant that ruled there. Today she just texted that she wants to go out again.
Edit: This is the song that was playing when this popped in my head. Not sure if it will set the right mood for you or not.
[Disclosure - Help Me Lose My Mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBW9VEE29W4) (link fixed now)
|
Another Monday, another long drive to work. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't cloudy, but it is. A song comes on that reminds you of her. But why? It's been 3 years since you've spoken.
"It's all in the past, she doesn't matter", you tell yourself.
It's too late, the flurry of "what-ifs" float through your mind again.
*How have I still not heard from her? Everything was going just fine.*
3 years later it's still incomprehensible.
*Just fine* This echoes through your mind like a voice in an empty hallway. Was it just fine? You try to pin-point the cause of the broken tie once again, it's too hard. Maybe you treated her too well and she got bored. After all, girls are like that. You know that's not it though, you made that mistake in the past. She was supposed to be the one! How could you fuck it up? You were so careful.
Its a weekly cycle, something always reminds you of her. You weren't even going out for that long, how can you still care? You take a deep breath.
You know the root of your curiosity and your frustration; it's the lack of closure. How can someone you were so close with just abandon you like that? No reason, no trace, no apology. It's a terrible thing to do to any human being. You would've been okay with ANYTHING she told you, anything. But the last thing you heard from her was "I miss you", and that has resonated in your mind ever since.
*How can she say she misses me then never talk to me again? It just doesn't make sense.*
You think of everything you'd say to her, but you know you never will. It's just been too long. She'd think you're crazy if you still care. Why do you still care?
"I don't fucking care.." you mutter to yourself.
Mind back on the road, you change the station. No point in worrying about the past, you know the Universe has a plan for you. Learn from the past, focus on the future.
Your phone vibrates all of the sudden. You glance at the screen to see a number you don't have saved.
*Hopefully it's that blonde from that party over the weekend*
A quick glance at the surrounding traffic before you open it.
"What in the actual fuck" you say aloud.
Someones messing with you. It must be some elaborate prank by your friends. Yeah, that's got to be it. You look at the text again, reading carefully, heart racing.
It reads: "So this may seem random, but there is no easy way for me to explain what happened. I know you won't believe me, but if you give me a chance I can make everything right again. I promise. Please, I need to see you... It's....."
Your heart drops as you read her name. It's her. This can't be real.
A jolt of fear clears your daze as you remember you're still driving. You jerk your head back to the road just in time to face an oncoming barricade. You try to swerve but it's too late. A desperate scream erupts from you.
Darkness.
|
I was idling on my bed that morning, earphones plugged, nodding slowly, rocking to that metal playlist from my media player. I felt vibration in my left pocket and took my cellphone out.
My jaw dropped, my hear skipped a beat, my earphones slowly being pulled out from my ears. I haven't blinked.
This cannot be real. I lost her. I lost her for 7 years. My life was in shambles since she was gone. We were suppose to be perfect together and we were suppose to be partners for life...until that night. I can never forget that day.
August 31st 11:29 pm. I remember seeing that bright purple light with strange inscription that illuminated the sky. I remembered hearing her parents cry their heart through the phone. I remember running as fast as I could until couldn't breath anymore. Stumbled and helpless, I saw you, I saw her lifted in the air and hovered slowly towards the sky. The buzzing noise from the sky was deafening making everything else inaudible. When I reached to the focus point of the light, I was too late. Her long braided hair and slender figure just eluding my grasp by a mere seconds. I just stood there speechless. As she looked back to me one last time, I caught a few of her final words from the movement of her lips:
Wait. Be back. Promise. Love.
She is back. I am on the verge of bursting into tears. So many questions to be asked. So many painful years behind me to be redeemed. I am dumbfounded really. Full-throttled mixed emotions. But all that needs to be put aside first. After all these years, she is back.
I sat down on my bed, took a deep breath and steadied my fingers still shaking from this unbelievable reality.
I replied.
Welcome home Jinx. <3
| 2014-11-11T11:56:03
| 2014-11-11T11:37:27
| 71
| 24
|
[WP] The programmers of the world wake up to find that they can do magic by writing (and with focused speaking) programs. What are C, C++, Java, Python, Haskell and other major languages like? Which are 'regular magic', 'beginner's magic' and 'dark arts' etc.? What is your day like?
How does a person cast: "shoot an arrow", "shoot ten arrows" and "shoot a storm of arrows?"
*I am actually /lit/man from 4chan.
|
The man sat in a room. Or what was a room. His dorm room to be precise. The police would be showing up in a moment. His CS prof sat next to him.
"Well, here's the problem. You passed the address of the value, not the value."
"Yeah" His eyes seemed far away. Thousand mile stare. Any war vet would recognize it.
"You're lucky to be alive, you know that? Run it in a sandbox next time. Seriously, we have one for a reason. It's free to use, for any CS major."
"Yeah" The scars lined up in perfect alignment. All a single millimeter deep. All in ASCII. All pointed away from his eyes.
"Now, let's get you cleaned up. What were you even trying to do? Running a fork bomb on the network?"
"Yeah, no. Trying to get an RSS feed to run in my vision, hidden. I did it in Java, C shouldn't be too hard."
"I did it in Java, C shouldn't be too hard. You know how many times I've heard that? C is a lot more powerful, sure, but it's dangerous. This is why we use Python. Python won't let you kill yourself."
"Python wouldn't let me get the text close enough. Neither would java. I had to get low-level."
"Ok. Just be careful. Use the sandbox next time. And set your bounds, especially when comes to stuff like this. The police have arrived, let's explain what happened."
|
I had just woken up and got myself a bowl of cereal when I noticed that my roommate was performing another of his 'rituals', in one of the more obscure languages. He was just waving his hands around and shouting a few variations of OOG! and Oog?. At first I didn't think too much of it, because it was simply too weird.
He continued his ritual for another four or so minutes of caveman noises, before stopping to declare RUN. Ever wall and window in the entire university shook violently as a computerized voice shouted, H E L L O W O R L D.
The rest of my morning consisted of more variations of hello world and beginner magics being thrown about the campus. At some point an infinite loop of TEST was thrown to the ethers, and everyone stopped to try and find the novice who made an error..
| 2015-04-13T09:31:38
| 2015-04-13T08:21:12
| 26
| 10
|
[WP] As you die an atheist, God stands before you, and asks why you didn’t adhere to his teachings. What do you say?
|
As an atheist lay dying, God came to stand before him. With a great sadness lying beneath his words, He asked, "Why didn't you adhere to my teachings? Even now, as I stand before you, you reject my offer of eternal life."
The atheist managed to gasp out an answer between paroxyms of maniacal giggling. "There was no way to discern out of all the teachings which was the correct one. There are a myriad of forms of Christianity. And before Christianity there were others; Judaism and Hinduism, just to say a few. And eternal life. Will I not endure unspeakable suffering in Hell for all time?"
"I cannot argue that your points are valid. But, you could have chosen any path and found salvation." was the Lord's rebuttal. "Even now, as I stand before you, you know without any doubt that I exist. You still have time to ask for my forgiveness. But your derisive laughter says that this will not come to pass. My child I love you. Why do you still deny me."
One last utterance danced through his smiling lips as his eyes began to glaze. "For an omniscient being, you sure ask a lot of questions."
|
I stared at the glowing being before me, pondering his question… and then snorted. “For a so-called omnipotent being, you’re dense.”
‘God’ tensed. “What?”
I snorted again, crossing my arms. “Your ‘teachings’? Out of all the things to ask an atheist, that’s what you nitpick?” I rolled my eyes. “So not the fact that most of your ‘followers’ are nutcases? Or horrible people who proclaim that you are against a person being gay or a woman taking power? Or maybe the fact that there are good people out there, who pray and pray for a miracle, only to lose *everything*, while bad people get whatever they want? Or maybe it’s the fact that most of your ‘followers’ don’t follow your teachings anyways, but still have a good life?” I glared at him. “I have a lot of reasons not to believe in you or your ‘teachings’. And even now I don’t. I’ll bet you’re nothing more than an illusion in my mind.”
“I know it seems harsh-”
“‘Harsh’?” I laughed, my voice devoid of any humour. “How about the fact that I lost my parents to a mugger, who still hasn’t been caught? Despite that I prayed every day, for five *years*? Or that my boyfriend got into a car accident, survived, but got amnesia? He *still* can’t remember me, or the last four years!” I glared hard. “How can I believe in the teachings of someone, who keeps letting horrible things happen to those just trying to get by?! What gives **you** the right to take my parents from me?! What gives ***you*** the right to take my first and only love from me?! What did I *ever* do to make you want to take **everything** from me?!?!”
I turned away, hugging myself as tears fell. “How can I follow the teachings of a being who claims to be good, yet is so cold…?”
I got no response from ‘God’ and just laughed. “Besides, it’s just not possible for an entire *solar system* to be created in a *week*, not counting the rest of the universe? It’s not possible to actually split a sea in half, or flood the entire world without evidence being left behind. And what about the dinosaurs? Can you explain their fossils? Or that the oldest rocks in the solar system are 4.6 billion years old, the oldest on Earth being 4.4?” I glared at his shining form, tears streaming down my face. “So, do you have answers? Or am I too much of an ‘ant’ for you to bother with anymore?”
I stared at him, waiting for a response, before huffing and walking off. “Screw you. I don’t need you to answer. You’re not real. But since I’m a ghost now, excuse me while I go find my parents who *you* murdered.”
With that, I left him behind, walking into the clouds. He wasn’t worth my time… ‘God’ wasn’t worth anyone’s time…
Because he wasn’t real.
| 2021-07-05T23:12:25
| 2021-07-05T23:03:06
| 43
| 16
|
[WP] Time travel is real, and time tourists tend to show up in large numbers around major historical events. One day, billions of time tourists are in ships above the city, quietly waiting.
|
They called it...Paraboxing Day.
For centuries, Time Surfers inc. had been one of the most successful businesses in the history of Earth. Invented in 2085, a man by the name of Twitter Buzzfeed was finalizing his build of the worlds very first time machine. By 2090, he had developed what we now call "Parabox". By 2095, the worlds first time-travel company had hit the public market for tourists.
The first groups to jump were of the elite businesspeople in the world at the time. They were small jumps, the first one being the "Great Jump of World War 3". It was a huge success, as they were able to calculate the exact moment and place to stand to view the first plane hitting the World Trade Center in what used to be New York City in the year 2001. The participants were in awe of how accurate and exceptional their experience was.
Back then, the rules were strict. Do not interact with anyone from that timeline, and do NOT take or leave any items behind. You had to have a certain level of physique to withstand the variable pressure change when jumping, and anyone between the ages of 21-140 were allowed to jump granted they passed a physical stress test. The initial price to jump was a staggering 4500gow (Gallons of Water).
For over a decade, only small jumps were made by these rich elite, to varying moments in our history. Little things like assassinations, famous speeches, sporting events, and low-scale disasters were the among most popular choices.
In 2115, Time Surfers celebrated it's 30'th anniversary, and with it, one of the most remarkable decisions was made by the owner Mr. Buzzfeed. He decided that since he had made more H^2 O than he could ever spend, that he would open his doors to anyone. The price for jumping dropped to only 1gow. 1gow was the only operating cost of a jump. Therefore, the margins were only to sustain the machine and almost anyone could afford to jump.
Improvements have been made over the last 30 years, mostly to the power and size of the machine. On the first jump, only 6 people were sent back. Now, almost 300 people (depending on size and weight) could be in a single jump.
The first *and last* large-scale jump occurred late in the Fall of 2115. Nobody could expect what was to happen on that day...especially not a man named Synth, and his brother, Apple.
|
"Oh great, something's going to happen." The exasperated sigh seemed to echo down the bustling city street. John kept a passive expression, but silently agreed as he watched the air shift and buzz as tourists zapped into existence. It always congested the streets, and the tourists cared little for what was going on outside of the event they came to witness. Time traveling tourism had been around for as long as anyone could remember, and had been an inconvenience hundreds of years ago as it was now. They never talked; they probably weren't allowed to, aside from their tour guide who, per their law, announced their temporary presence and that we should continue on and ignore them. They were hard to ignore when they kept standing three-persons wide on the sidewalk as they did. It was assumed that time travel was an expensive venture as the group size rarely exceeded 20, but there was a larger crowd than normal today, dotting about and gathering to the sides, anxiously craning their necks and holding their pads up to record holovids.
John stepped off the curb, his hand reaching out to his wife, Melissa. The wind had picked up and tugged at their coats, the rain only furthering his irritation as they side-stepped the crowds. Melissa fumbled with her hood to keep the wind from whipping it off, her other hand still warmly clasped in his own. He smiled at her, the bubble of love suddenly welling in his throat as he caught her eye. She laughed at his expression. He kissed the tip of her nose, and she reached to her tip-toes to kiss his. Seven years of doting each other, he thought warmly, all thoughts of his dour mood forgotten.
The tourists were looking even more eager now, peering at their datapads to check the time. Like the other normal dwellers of his time, John tugged at Melissa to quicken her steps; no one wanted to stay around to see if an Event was good or bad.
It was then that his wife jerked her hand from him, and he looked back at her startled. She was clutching her stomach, her brows knit in pain. Her contractions had started some hours ago, but they were so far apart that she was determined to walk around the block before actually checking in at the hospital. John was already on the phone as he crouched beside his wife.
Looking up for a street sign, John read off their location to his phone before hanging up. He noticed some of the tourists were actually watching him now. So it took a woman collapsing in pain at their feet to get their attention, did it? He was angry at them, for being there and always ignoring everyone, never offering anything from the future, never taking any action or helping. He wanted to move away from their stares, especially before their Event happened.
"Come on Melissa," He said, wiping the rain from his brow. The tourists were congregating now, looking from their datapads to them. The hair on the back of his neck stood, a small inkling of a feeling creeping in that he dutifully tried to ignore as his wife hobbled with him a few steps.
A car honked, and John looked up with relief as his friend pulled up to give them a ride to the hospital. He helped Melissa into the car, giving one last glance to the tourists. All eyes were on them, their faces darker than he had ever seen. Some even took a step towards them. Was that normal? He had never seen them itch for more like that. He quickly slammed the car door, the only sound left being the patter of the rain and Melissa's labored breathing. Eyes seemed to silently follow them the entire trip to the hospital, haunting their path. Tourists weren't allowed in hospitals; another rule, he supposed, for it would have been much too crowded. So many. He had never seen so many. Some curious, eager, most angry. How had he not noticed before?
They rushed inside, the tourists' eyes never leaving them, even as the doors to the hospital shut them out. John turned to his wife, who was beaming joyously at him even amidst her pain, "John, our baby's coming." Her smile was infectious, and he had already forgotten the ghosts outside as the couple were rushed to a room to give birth to their beloved child.
| 2015-05-30T08:41:27
| 2015-05-30T08:38:12
| 19
| 13
|
[WP] Reincarnation is real, unknown to all, but the gods. Most beings live out multiple lives cyclically as humans or other life-forms and are always random. But these two souls are always human, always find each other, and are always romantically exclusive upon discovery. The gods take interest.
|
"they've died again."
"Again?! Every single time! They make a beeline for one another, they die!"
"you'd think they'd try something different after the first few thousand times."
"what happened this time?"
"one of them faked it's death, but the other missed the message about it being fake and drank poison."
"for fucks sake."
"at least only a few other souls returned with them. Better than that time one of them called itself Helen of Troy and the other started a war."
"where are they this time?"
"they're separated by a few decades this time. They go by Peter Abelard and Heloise, turn of the 12th century, France, by human count."
"watch them. See what goes wrong this time."
|
It was less like lighting, and more like a half forgotten dance.
Mari had known other men, certainly. Been friends with them, acquaintances, even dated a few, but it always felt...wrong, somehow. She entertained the idea that she was gay, or asexual, or was simply unable to fall in love.
It was always just pretend. Like a stage show. Walk here, say the lines, exit stage right.
Until, one day, she went to the movies. And there, on screen, her heart had finally quickened it's pace at the sight of another person.
He was a newcomer, not a full fledged movie star but an extra, a sidekick comic relief, and the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, even the mere mention of his name made everything inside Mari twist into knots.
Mari felt sick. Felt addicted. This new feeling was...exhilarating and exhausting in equal measures. The pound of her heart, the lightness of her head, the dryness of her mouth and the dull, thudding pulse of desire she'd never felt so strongly before, a gnawing hunger deep inside her chest and gut that longed for touch and taste and scent of the man she'd only ever seen on screen...
Was this love? She was almost scared of it.
She saw his movie, and it was *his* movie regardless of the role he played, twenty more times before it's run at the theatre was over.
In the weeks spanning the end of the movie's theatrical run and the release of its DVD, Mari felt almost normal again.
If he wasn't there, she could almost ignore the lonely feeling she got when she tried to look at someone else, or tried to summon those same feelings for anybody else.
So, when there was mention of the movie's cast making an appearance at a local charity benefit carnival, Mari was quick to jump in. She got her ticket early, and waited with bated breath for the day.
It was raining that morning. Soft grey clouds covered the sky, a drizzle and little else, nothing that would ruin the day.
Mari arrived early, going into the convention center adjacent to the carnival, to see if perhaps she could get a word with the man she so adored. Just a word, and she'd be happy.
She stumbled upon a meeting near the stage where they'd be hosting their panel, and froze up near instantly when she saw the back of his head.
There he was, less than 20 feet away from her, real and living and breathing. She could barely comprehend the fact that that were breathing the same air, under the same roof, nearly occupying the same space.
Was this real? Could it be real? She couldn't say, everything was a blur, her mind and heart were thumping so hard...
The leading man of the movie turned, and called for security. "No fans are supposed to be here at this time!" he called.
Mari saw him turn, saw him look at her, felt him look, and their eyes met.
It was less like lighting, and more like a half forgotten dance.
Mari approached, barely thinking of what to say or do, and stood infront of him. The rest of the world fell away when they faced each other, like they'd stepped onto a planet populated by only them, like the entire world had frozen, just for them.
"H...hi, I'm...Mari." she introduced herself.
Despite the fact she hadn't been in any sort of movie herself, he seemed just as starstruck by her. "I'm...Adrian...I-I'm sorry, but...have we met before?"
"No, I'd think I'd remember you..." she said softly. "I was just...really excited to meet you, so I'm sorry if I intruded, Adrian."
"No, no not at all. I just...you seem so familiar, I-I can't place it..."
Reaching up, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I wish I did know you before this," she said, glancing downwards. "Truth is, I've been absolutely crazy about you since I first saw your movie. It's...it's crazy. I'm crazy."
"No," Adrian said, stepping just half a pace closer. "No, it's...*you're* not...I...what?"
Without thought, without considering the strangeness of it all, their hands found one another. Fingers brushed up against knuckles, hands interlaced, and, for a fraction of a second, something in the world was *perfect*.
Mari wanted that moment forever, wanted it to last. Looking up at Adrian's face, seeing his pupil blown wide as if he were high and knowing it was because of her and knowing that she was the same, knowing that these strange, intense and confusing feelings had to be reciprocated, knowing that these feelings would slow down into a comfortable and easy conetentedness one day after getting to know one another...
Then, they both blinked, and fell to their knees.
Simultaneous heart failure, due to cardiac arrhythmia at the moment of contact.
........
"Did you have to be such a dick?" One god sighed.
"Oh, come on! That was great!!" Another chortled.
"Make one the Prince of Denmark and the other a homeless kid in Japan, see how they find each other!!" Someone suggested.
"No, make one a part of that isolationist tribe in the Amazon and the other a French Citizen!"
"Put them in Russia and make them both male this time!!"
"One in Uganda and the other in Hong Kong!!"
"A reservation!! Put one on a reservation!!"
"Give one a brain tumor so they die after meeting!"
"Paralyze one so they're a vegetable!"
"Coma, coma!!"
"Make them siblings!"
"Relax, relax," the god chuckled, reaching for the souls and placing them on the globe. "We have plenty of time to place them and watch as they try to find one another. Over and over and over again..."
| 2019-07-22T00:14:00
| 2019-07-21T23:46:31
| 28
| 19
|
[WP] Two suicidal people happen to meet on the same bridge to jump. Rather than joining together, they each try to convince the other not to jump while justifying why they themselves should jump.
EDIT: yes i'm well aware this concept has been done before many times in movies, books and music.
But that's exactly it: it's not original, so who cares? Let's let the awesome authors of /r/writingprompts have a crack at an old idea :)
|
"You can't stop me," Jerry yelled, clutching at the railing and looking down at the churning river far below. His head whipped wildly back and forth, looking at Sam then back at the river, to and fro. "I've made up my mind! I have nothing to live for, and I don't want to hear your psycho-babble mumbo jumbo."
"Me?" asked Sam with a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. He clambered over the railing and sidled up to the very edge of the steel beam. "I'm not here to stop you. I'm jumping too."
"Oh," Jerry replied, clinging the fence even tighter despite his threats to let go. "Well, good. Confirms what I thought in the first place," he said with a sardonic chuckle. "Nobody in my life cares enough about me enough to stop me anyway. No friends, no girlfriend, no parents..."
"Hmph" Sam snorted as he edged along the very rim of the bridge. "*That* is why you're jumping? The worst thing about your life is that you're not weighed down by any anchors? I should be so lucky! Try having two ex-wives each claiming 50% of your paycheck in alimony. Try having a mother who constantly criticizes everything you do. Try having two kids who only call you when they need something. I would give *anything* to be in your position, man. Shit, I'd just leave. Start over somewhere new. Go to China and teach English, go backpacking through India..." He gave Jerry an angry look. "Man, what are you even doing here? You have it made!"
"At least *you* have family that notices you and knows who you are. You've *had* the life that I want. You had the wife and kids; I can't even get a girlfriend," Jerry replied. "Sounds nice enough when you say 'oh, just go travel' like that. You're forgetting all about the fact that I'm completely broke. I couldn't even afford the plane ticket over. I have no skills, no charisma... no nothing. I just spend all day at my dead-end job, wishing I could go back 10 years ago and actually do something after high school."
Sam moved a bit closer to Jerry. "You don't know what you're talking about. I did it. College, grad school... the fancy job and the big office... It's not what it's cracked up to be. I only took this job as a way to pay off my student loans, and then I was going to go off and be a writer. Now, 25 years later, I'm in even more debt than when I started! You ever heard the term 'Golden Chains?' It means that once you get that big salary, you can't just go back to working another normal job. You have to use all of your money just to keep your current status. I'm going to break those chains, today. By jumping."
"You're crazy, man. You have everything you need to succeed. You've got the career, the work experience... I can't even get my foot in the door! You're successful and you're clearly a pretty smart guy. How is *this*," he gestured at the cold grey waters below, "your only option? I'd be willing to bet that you have all kinds of friends and colleagues who would lend you a hand if you just *asked* for it. I don't have a single person in my life, man. I don't have anyone I can rely on."
They were each silent for a moment. The wind picked up, threatening to knock each of them from their tenuous hold on the guard railing. The waters below seemed to grow louder, as if calling out to them. Beckoning them to the cold depths.
"Kid," Sam said. "Get off this bridge. You have your whole damn life ahead of you and you're just being stupid and angsty. So many people have a hard time dating and getting jobs when they are younger. Go download tinder and start at a trade school, for Christ's sake. You don't even realize how insignificant these problems are!"
Jerry didn't reply. He lowered one foot over the side of the bridge like a toddler testing the waters of a pool.
"Here, here," Sam said. He pulled out his checkbook from his breast pocket and moved to straddle the fence railing. With a fancy gilded pen, he wrote out a check. "$10,000. The final scrap of my savings. It is my last request that you take this and go live the life you want. And you can't deny a man's last request. Go travel through Europe or something. Go find yourself." He scooted across the edge to Jerry and handed it to him; the small scrap of paper flapped temptingly in the wind.
Jerry slowly pulled himself back over the fence and took the check in a trembling hand. "You mean it?" he said, staring at the check like he still wasn't sure it was real.
"I mean it," Sam responded. "It may be too late for me, but maybe I can live vicariously through you."
"It's not too late," Jerry said quickly, placing a hand on Sam's wrist. "Come on. We can both just start over."
Sam pursed his lips and smiled; tears began to well up in his eyes. He looked back down at the river, considering Jerry's words.
"I can't," he said. "But at least I did one meaningful thing before my death," he said sadly. With one fluid motion, he threw himself over the railing and off the edge of the bridge, plummeting into the abyss below.
---
And you all should definitely check out my subreddit, /r/Luna_lovewell!
|
“You can’t jump,” she said. Her brown hair blew in the wind.
“You can’t jump,” he said. He had no hair and looked very pale.
She leaned forward. The group behind them gasped. A man on a bullhorn barked at them but neither heard him. “It’s not a death sentence for you, you know,” she said.
“You’re young. You’ve got your entire life in front of you,” he said.
“To be fair, everyone has their entire life in front of them,” she said. “How old are you?”
He sniffed and looked down. “Forty-eight.”
“Lots of time left.”
“Stage 4,” he shook his head. “Less than ten percent five year survival rate.”
“So you’re telling me there’s a chance?” she said.
The man began to cry. “Not much. I can’t let my wife and children watch me waste away. This is better. I go out on my own terms. My family doesn’t have to deal with a prolonged death. No muss. No fuss.”
“Don’t you want to spend as much time with your family as possible?” she said. The wind picked up. Her hair whirled around her head. It was long enough to tickle at the edge of the man’s vision.
He nodded. “I do,” he said. He began to sob. “I do so much, but it isn’t being with them if I can’t recognize they’re there.” He looked over at the woman. “What about your family?”
Police began to push the crowd behind the man and woman back. “I don’t have a family. I was a foster child.”
“No partner? No siblings?”
She shook her head as uniformed men and women began to edge towards the pair. “No. I had a girlfriend. She broke up with me. That’s not why I’m out here though.”
“Are you sick?”
“I lost a lot of money. I lost my job. I have creditors breathing down my neck. I’m in danger of going to jail for failure to pay court fees,” she said. She looked like she wanted to cry, but it wouldn’t come out.
“How old are you?” he said.
“Twenty-three.”
“You’ve got a lot of time to pay back your debts.”
“You’ve got a lot of time to spend with your family.”
He paused and looked down. “Would you like to spend it with me?”
She sniffed and looked over at him. “What do you mean?”
“Will you spend your time with me and my family?”
Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. “I don’t know.”
He looked at her. His eyes pleaded. “Please. We’ll help you with your debts,” he said. “Please.”
She slid her hand down the railing to his, grabbing it tight. “If you spend as much time as you have with your family.”
“If you spend it with my family.”
She nodded. He nodded. They climbed back over the bridge’s railing together.
____________________________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out my subreddit /r/Puns_are_Lazy.
| 2015-01-27T17:05:32
| 2015-01-27T16:49:17
| 1,404
| 506
|
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.
|
The red light of the huge screen cast an eerie glow over the faces of those assembled in the war room. But in contrast to the lighting, the atmosphere was light. Jovial, even.
"As you can see, my Lord Emperor," the general was saying, a satisfied smile covering his face, "the enemy are on the run. The last assault by the Atlantea-class demons completely broke their fleet, allowing us to reinforce our beachhead. Already attacks by the Titan and Marauder demons have broken their line in several places." He pointed to a dense collection of red dots. "Now the Flamedancers have been mustered so we will encircle and destroy their armoured divisions. That will leave nothing between our army and their capital."
"Excellent, excellent, General Kruger. Your forces have performed according to my expectations", drawled the Emperor. "With the capture of Washington, the stupid Americans will have no choice but to surrender. After what we did to their Pacific coast with Vulcanus, they are on their last legs." He looked at his watch and then back at the General. "Tell the Lord Summoner to commence the assault."
The General saluted and drew a combination on his console. On a smaller screen a man appeared. He was elderly, sporting an untidy white beard and bushy hair. In contrast to all the men in the warroom, he was looking a bit uneasy and hesitant.
"Lord Summoner, are you ready to commence the assault?"
The man coughed. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say so, though all things considered, maybe it would be prudent..."
The General leaned forward. His eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you are NOT prepared?" his voice could have put the Antarctic ice to shame.
The Summoner looked like he was trying hard to swallow something."Well, you see, the thing is that, I have the most awful *hic* hiccups, and I was worried whether..."
The Emperor spoke. "My Lord Summoner, are you seriously suggesting that we delay the final offensive of our war, out ultimate war, that will finally establish the thousand year Reich, because you have hiccups? Perhaps, you are tired, my Lord? Tired of life?"
The Summoner went very pale.
"Of course not, my Emperor, of couse not! I will begin immediately."
The Summoner walked across the room. There, complex circles and diagrams had been drawn. In the middle, in a floating cloud of red mist, lurked a huge shadow. Only two golden eyes were visible.
The Summoner begin reciting the well-known chants which would bind and compel the Demon Lord, ordering him to in turn compel his minions to war. His voice rose and fell, but in spite of his best efforts, hiccups leaked out, upsetting the rythm, distorting the syllables. Inside the circle the golden eyes narrowed.
The Summoner picked up a golden goblet. Now he had to drink a potion of power brewed from the blood of innocents, cooked on a battlefield. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank. A huge hiccup exploded out of nowhere. The potion went down the wrong way, the summoner started choking. The goblet dropped from his hand, spilling the dark crimson liquid, which ran across the floor, over the circles and into the red cloud.
All those witnessing the spectacle in the war room froze. The Summoner continued to cough frantically, while trying to back away, his eyes suddenly as large as saucers.
A clawed foot stepped out of the circle. The Demon Lord stood in the room, free and unchained.
"And I am free. You made a mistake. As I knew you would. Humans always make a mistake."
He reached out and grabbed the Summoner. "Something stuck in there? Let me help you." And with one wickedly curved claw, he tore out the throat.
The Demon Lord looked through the screen at the Emperor.
"Five years, you have imprisoned me here. Five years have my forces bled and died on this alien world. Five years have I been kept away from the war to end all wars. I do not even know if my home still stands, or if the Sleeping Gods of the Forgotten Deeps have drowned it. For this you shall pay."
"You think you have seen our power? Human, taste our true rage!"
The monitor winked out. Neither the General nor the Emperor had any words. And then it started.
"General, the demons!" an officer shouted. "Fifth Army reports they have turned on us. They are killing everything!"
"General, the Atlantea demons are sinking our ships!"
"General, fires have broken out in Hamburg, Dusseldorf and Paris! General Gruber reports that he cannot hold. Colonel Schwartz is calling for help."
"General, army headquarters in Spain, Portugal and England are no longer responding"
"General, Vulcanus just appeared in Italy. It seems like Vesuvius is once again stirring."
And they kept on coming. The death cries of a burning Empire.
Edit: Fixed typos
|
The year is 2564. I am the last man on earth. The world was slowly ending and we knew it. What remains of humankind is settled on Mars, minus the Germans. World War XVI had taken its toll, but what we had never expected was how the war ended. Out of nowhere, with no warnings, Mauna Loa erupted for the first time since 1984. The worlds' largest volcano, yet many had never heard of it. It released a measured 20,000 cubic kilometers of debris. The atmosphere was obliterated, and humanity was wiped out within a week. World War XVI was finished, but nobody had wished for it like this.
| 2017-08-18T03:34:46
| 2017-08-18T00:11:45
| 107
| 44
|
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍
|
“You’re fired.”
The words burned my ears as they turned red with embarrassment. Of course I didn’t need this job, but it really hits you right in the pride to be fired from a stupid office position. And for something as trivial as “taking too much time for lunch”, which I only did because some asshole caused a pile up right down the street last Tuesday. It was on the news and everything, but Jim, my boss, still blamed me. Apparently I should have just left my car in traffic and walked back to the office or something.
I think he’s had it out for me since the beginning. That sleazeball tried to put the moves on me my first day, but I just ignored him without trying to be overly rude. After he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he had been trying to find an excuse to get me out of here. The whole office was filled with women and spineless men and he wasn’t a fan of people who didn’t kiss his ass. I mostly just kept the job because it was easy.
What Jim doesn’t doesn’t know is I’ve had it out for him too. As I packed up my stuff from my desk, my phone buzzed. It was Emilio, my PI on retainer. He watched my back for the people who wanted to steal my money. Nobody knew -I- had it, but they did know about Marceline Jovovich. That’s the name I use when I wanted to purchase anything that might arouse suspicion of nice, mousy Jane McFarlin. That’s not my real name either, but it’s what everyone here knows me as. Marceline was also the face that made me the money I have today. It’s not exactly legal, what I do, but it sure it fun.
Emilio’s text read, “I found something you might want to see.” Underneath was a picture of a first draft of a news article. It wasn’t in a newspaper, just on the design layout. It read:
LOCAL MAN ACCUSED OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT ON MULTIPLE EMPLOYEES FOUND GUILTY, FINED $5000
I chuckled to myself. Bingo. We had been trying to find dirt on Jim for a while now and this seems like it was buried pretty deep. No doubt he paid more to get it covered up so his business didn’t go down the drain. I never saw it on the local news, so I guess it didn’t get any further than this draft. I don’t think Jim is the violent type, but I do wonder what happened to the person who was writing this article.
I finished packing up my stuff and walked down to my car, giving Jim the nastiest glare I could muster on the way out. The rest of my coworkers were giving me pity looks, but I just smiled and got out of there as fast as possible. When I got to my busted up VW bug, I put the box in the front seat and texted Emilio back.
“Send it.”
When I woke up the next morning, I turned on the TV to find Jim’s face plastered all over the news. Emilio had even located his victims and convinced them to talk. We could pay them more than Jim ever could. As I watched the news unfold, I decided that maybe this would be as good a time as any to take a vacation.
Karma is delicious.
|
It was 5:30 AM. My 1969 Ferrari 512S Berlinetta raced down the highway. It was that time of the night, where the darkness was slowly fading to day, where the pitch black almost had a tinge of light to it. You couldn't see this in a city, which is why I was flying through the Tehachapi Pass. Well, that wasn't *the* reason, but it was close enough. I saw my exit, downshifted, and took the offramp at a freakish 120 mph. I shifted back, and was calmly cruising at 160 again, up the 99 to Fresno. I could've taken the 5 but... eh. I like less traveled roads. It was 6:00 AM. The sun was peeking out. By 10 I was back at my house in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I parked, switched to my 2006 Civic, or as I referred to it, "The Shitbox", and left for my day job. No work and all play really does make Jack a dull boy.
I pulled into the parking structure. I could buy this company like my dickhead boss could by a Coke and I still had to deal with the prick. I sat at my desk, loaded my desktop, and the phone rang.
"Hi, this is Steve, how can I help you?"
"Steve!" I heard my manager's voice. I wanted to wring his neck. "I need to talk to you."
I walked to his office.
"Steve! Come in, have a seat. Do you know why you're here?"
I thought for a second, before realizing I didn't really give a shit. I was ready to just fucking sock him in the jaw.
"Look, the VP reviewed some things and you're just not pulling your weight around here. I'm sorry"
*No you're not you fucking prick. If you were you wouldn't be here.* I thought.
I was being fired. I punched the douchebag boss in the face. Gut reaction, I guess. Out came my phone. With my vast resources, I'd have this mess cleaned up in no time.
"Jack, it's Steve." I called the CEO of a conglomerate in the same industry. I owned the parent company, but Jack ran his ship well, so I trusted him.
"Hey, what's up?"
"I need you to make a purchase."
I rattled the details off. 30 minutes later I got a text.
From: Jack
>>>Done
I made a couple more calls. Suddenly, my manager was out of a job, and blacklisted from our industry. He'd been working here 30 years and now that was all worthless.
I called the bank that he'd done his car loan with, and his home loan. That Audi R8 he loved so much was about to be mine. As for his house, well, I think he needs to be taught a lesson. I owned the bank, so making a "data entry error" was as simple as calling a datacenter engineer and making sure his daughter got those medical treatments she needed. I wasn't totally heartless.
After I'd foreclosed on everything I could take from him, and crushed his life like a soda can under a truck tire, I sat back. 3 months had passed. I was angry, but that was gone. I was now just... content. Happy. Relaxed. My revenge had worked. I sat in front of my fireplace, and looked at the urn with my grandfather's ashes.
"Thanks Gramps, for everything"
I swear, the little pyramid with the eye was staring right at me, and I was *sure* it glowed.
| 2019-03-04T09:05:16
| 2019-03-04T08:49:15
| 133
| 48
|
[WP] In the upper-left side of your vision you've always had an "objective." {Get the Mail} - {Get ready for work} - {Buy Mom a birthday gift}. It's convenient at best, usually providing direction and reminders. You wake with a start in the middle of the night, and see the objective {Get to safety}.
|
#GET TO SAFETY
The words flashed like a house fire under my eyelids, burning my dreams to wisps. I bolted upright, breathing hard, looking about wildly. Other than the mumbles and snores of sleeping children, and distant rumbling of an oncoming storm, the night seemed at peace.
Yet, I couldn't dispel the uneasy feeling that had settled over me. Those words that occupied their own little corner of my vision had never exactly been wrong or right. They didn't tell me what would happen, only what I should do. "Pay the milkman" or "scrub the chimney" had saved me from a few lashings, but there was now a marked difference.
They'd usually been a benign green, like the crown of a tree in the birth of summer, rather than a pulsing, angry red.
"Wake up," I said harshly, jumping off the bed and hurrying to the cupboard. Through the window I looked; twinkling stars winked back at me, suspended over a dark countryside of rolling hills and plains, dotted with farmhouses. A pink glow was spreading over the horizon; had dawn come already? I felt as if I'd just gone to bed.
"Up!" I called, tossing an empty knapsack onto the nearest bed. My brother Pete grumbled, rolled over. I reached over and slapped his toes.
"What?" he growled, sitting up. He was a year younger, and everyone loved telling us that we couldn't possibly be brothers. He had long, curly hair that fell all over his forehead; I kept my to a close shave. He was angular; I, round. He loved gardening, while I went on long hikes and chased rabbits. Pete was full of emotion, and life, they liked to say, then add that a statue would cry before I did. Yet there was one similarity nobody could deny: we were both at the bottom our years at school.
"Go wake mother and father," I said.
"Why? Abram, it's the middle of the n--" He was cut off by a yawn.
"Sally! I need you to take the twins. Now!"
My elder sister rubbed her eyes, all so she could glare at me. Three boys had courted her, and all three had been scared off by her temper eventually. I knew she would flay me with her words if given the chance, so I quickly said, "It's an emergency!"
"Is our house on fire or something?" Pete said on his way past. "'Cause the only thing I smell is your crappy joke."
Sally had scooped up Sandra and Sandy; the girls were still asleep. While she carried them out, I finished shoving some spare blankets into a second bag, then hoisted one over each shoulder.
The rest of the family had gathered outside my parents' room, under the stuffed moose head that was father's greatest trophy. He now stood in his pajamas, ringed by his children, looking distinctly irritated.
"Abram ..." he said in a warning tone.
"The words told me to run," I said.
His gaze changed from one of challenge to worry. Mother appeared a moment later, fastening a jacket over her dressing gown, and he wrapped an arm around her as we hurried out of the house. I parceled out blankets and cloaks as we went, trying my best to ignore the flashing warning.
Struck by the cold night air, the twins woke up and began complaining. "What happen?" Sandy cried.
Mother took over Sandra from Sally, shushing her. I led the way down the dirt road, past the barn with all the sleeping animals inside, past the cornfields, past the fish pond. I started to feel silly, even a bit guilty; was I imagining things? What if I'd over-reacted? The words were behaving strangely, after all--I'd never really questioned them, since they were so convenient, but I couldn't control them.
I glanced over my shoulder to check on my family, and that was when I realized the sky seemed to be ablaze. Red and orange fought one another in the distance, broken by columns of smoke. The sight made me falter, and my family stopped as well.
"What's that?" Pete said, pointing.
A black speck seemed to be gliding in the air, in our general direction. It was joined by several others, spread out behind it in a rough triangular formation.
Father grabbed Sandy from Sally's arms, then shoved Pete on the shoulder. "Run!"
We tore down the road, twins screaming, mother praying between breaths. I glanced back, just in time to see that, as the first plane flew over the Ruthers' farm, something plummeted from beneath it.
Then the farm exploded into a fireball.
A scream tore its way from my throat as we hurtled off the road, into our orchard. There, father gathered everyone into a small trench he'd dug last year but not filled, and we hunched into it. The words suddenly shifted, becoming "stay".
"We're safe, I think," I said.
My family nodded, lips tight. We watched as the planes grew closer; more explosions in the distance as farms, homes, and neighbors were destroyed. The night seemed almost like day, fires clawing at the sky, and the wind carried soot into our nostrils. Were those ... screams? I jammed my fingers into my ears. We were all waiting, I knew, just counting down the seconds ...
Though we'd been expecting it, the destruction of our house took us by surprise. There was a shrill whistling, then a bright bloom of flame that consumed everything we'd had. Mother and Sally clutched each other, crying; father's expression could have chipped steel. The twins, however, just stared dully. I covered their eyes, wishing someone could do the same for me.
***
By the time our farm had been burned to its foundations, my family had given in to exhaustion once more. I couldn't sleep, however. My brain was racing--who had done this? Who could have gone to war with us? Why?
Why target innocent farmers?
As I sat in the trench with my feet up against my chest, listening to my family sleep, and the songs of oblivious birds, while the horizon brightened--real sunlight this time--I realized I had to do something. My brain was going to drive me crazy otherwise. I climbed out of the trench and trekked toward the house, figuring to salvage anything I could.
The words showed up again. "Stay".
"No," I muttered to myself. "I need to help my family."
I broke into a run, irrational rage building at the words. Tell me who did this, I tried to command. But they didn't waver. Stay. Who? Stay.
"No!" I screamed, reaching our yard. Other than some blackened, skeletal timbers, nothing remained. From the ruins of the barn came a sickening smell of charred meat, and I almost retched.
Sinking to my knees, I clawed at burnt soil. In the span of a single night, we'd lost everything.
Then something slammed into the back of my head, knocking me face-first into the ground. I spat dirt and tried to get up, but something thin, cold and hard pressed into my back.
A voice said something, words I didn't understand. Another replied.
In all honesty, bad grades weren't the only things Pete and I shared.
We also never backed down from a fight.
I rolled over and scrambled up. My attackers appeared to be two men, wearing navy blue uniforms and carrying rifles. They appeared surprised that I'd recovered so quickly from the blow, and that bought me a precious second to lunge at the nearest one. My right fist caught him on the chin, while my left dug into his belly. He gasped, staggering back.
Leaving me open to his companion. The other soldier smiled viciously, then opened fire at my chest. At such a close range, he couldn't miss. He didn't. The crack must have echoed for miles.
The bullet tore through my chest; the impact drove me back a step. In my head, I knew I was dead. Yet, I didn't fall over. There wasn't even pain.
The soldier's eyes grew wide, and I followed his gaze. There was a neat hole through my shirt and in my chest, but not a single drop of blood. Instead, some sort of strange, sparking tendril had popped out of the wound.
He stammered something in his language, even as I threw myself at the other soldier. I slammed my head into his nose, then snatched his gun away. The panicking soldier raised his rifle, but I was faster; one had to be, when sniping rabbits. My shot took him in the left eye. Then I swiveled around at his companion and fired; blood sprayed from his throat.
As the sounds of gunfire died away, and the adrenaline drained away, I scuttled back and threw the rifle down. What the hell? I felt at my wound again--still no blood. I didn't even feel winded. Was this related to the words, somehow?
And if so ... what was I?
***
*Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](Http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more writing!*
|
The dog was barking.
I'd always been a little nervous around most dogs. Something to do with how I'd antagonized one as a dumb little kid who didn't know better, and gotten bitten for it. I'd deserved it. But ever since then, I just hadn't loved dogs. That hadn't mattered to Matts, though. He loved dogs. I didn't like them all that much. So we had compromised by getting a dog, of course.
He was the love of my life. The day I met him, I'd just known he was the one for me.
Although... it also didn't hurt that I'd had a message telling me about him.
Let's take a step back. Ever since I was a kid, I've always known what to do. I don't know why, but I'll get a message in what looks like a hybrid of Roboto Mono and Comic Sans. (Don't ask me why Comic Sans. All I know is that it's easy to read, and it looks like the messages I see. It's not like I chose the font.) Each message tells me what to do, often before I even consciously know that it's the thing that's most important to do: {Get the mail.} {Get ready for work.} {Buy Mom her birthday gift.} You know, the sort of thought you have when you're driving or walking from one room to the other and trying to remember what you need to do next. I don't know where it came from, and I don't know why it happens to me. I've never really asked anyone about it, because I don't want to get chucked into the looney bin or get probed by the CIA. It's not that bad, really. Most of the time, it's pretty mundane stuff.
Occasionally, though, it lets me know if something important is about to happen. Like the day that I met Matthias Mason. I had walked into the bar that night and seen my message switch from {Meet Shelby} to {Find your Companion}, which let me tell you was really freaking confusing. My eyes swept across the room, both trying to find my best friend and see if I could find this Companion my brain message was going on about. Shelby was in the far right corner from the entrance, grinning at a tall well-built man with unruly brown hair and kind eyes. I could tell from the few words I could snatch up from the din of the crowd that she was talking about me. (Well, I heard "short" and "short-tempered" and just knew.) Uh oh. I hustled over before she could tell the (very embarrassing) story of the time I got kicked out of the Australian Embassy in D.C. I'd elbowed a couple of people aside in order to get there, but I barely made it as she was hooting, "And then there was the time she subletted an apartment in D.C. with a guy who..."
"Hey Shelby!" I tried to plaster on a friendly smile over the flared nostrils and puckered lips that characterized my "Please stop talking about me" face.
She took a big gulp out of her half-empty Long Island. "Oh! She's here! I was just telling Matt about you. This is the friend I was telling you about." That's when I found my hand gently gripped by a hand the size of a brown bear's paw.
"Pleased to meet you, miss." He looked in my eyes, and I felt my heart skip a beat. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen in my life. Shelby knew I had a type, and he was such an exact match it was more like all the other attractive men I'd seen in my life were just poorly scanned copies of this prototype. The moment he touched me, I felt like lightning had struck me and the electricity jolted my sleeping heart awake. It was finally beating. I was alive now.
The message changed. {Grab a drink with your friends.}
I guess I'd found him.
But now he wasn't moving. I tried to shake my head free of the heavy fog of memory, the dream I always had of the first night I'd ever met him. The problem, I realized, was that the fog wasn't just in my head - it was on the floor, in the air. I had thought my eyes were cloudy from sleepiness, but instead it was a cataract of smoke. I tried to push him, roll him from side to side. I slapped him once. He moaned a little. That was all.
And the dog was still barking. I finally registered the message that had been there all along: {Get to safety}. Damn. There were only two exits to our bedroom - just the door that barely held back the flood of smoke creeping inside insidiously, and the bedroom window. I prayed to the fire gods to keep the oxygen only in this room, where it couldn't feed the flames in the rest of the apartment complex. Thank goodness we were only on the first floor. I decided to take my chances, pull open the window, and tried to rip through the screen with my fingers. The barking started to slow down, but an icy fear grabbed my heart and twisted. Matts.
In all this time, he hadn't woken up. I slapped Matts again. He was unresponsive. I almost sobbed. This was the man of my dreams, and he wasn't waking up in the middle of the worst nightmare of my life. But that's when I got mad. THIS was the man of my dreams, dammit! I was NOT going to leave him on this bed. I ignored the message (because it didn't say I couldn't also bring the companion of my life to safety with me) and finally tore the screen with the strength of my desperation. I tried to wiggle myself under his shoulder so I could lever him high enough to fall through the broken screen. I could finally feel my strength failing me, the smoke making its way treacherously into my lungs, settling down, weighing me down.
I heard the approaching sirens and felt my hopes rise. We could survive this. Help was on the way! The dog had quieted down, and the message was starting to fade ominously. And that's when I realized that the message, so succinct, so commanding, spoke volumes about what I should do and what I couldn't do. It wasn't just a command. It was a proscription. The tears burst out of my eyes, blinding me along with the smoke. I wriggled out again and pulled myself out of the window, arms like jelly. I crawled away on the grass away from the building, choking on fresher air. There was a small crowd of people outside.
The message didn't change. I felt myself being dragged away by the abuela who lived next door, and croaked uselessly at her. "Matts." She didn't hear me. I looked around and located a firefighter, stumbling bowlegged and ready to collapse from exhaustion and from the pummeling my body had taken, was still taking, from the smoke inhalation. He turned around slowly when I touched him on the shoulder.
"My husband," I gasped to him as he turned around. "Please." I pointed to the window I'd just exited out of.
He took my hand. "It's okay, my guys are already in there. They're getting everybody out as we speak." His voice was soothing, but loud and purposeful. He was in charge. He had control over the situation. It was going to be fine.
And that's when the message finally changed.
{Wait.}
I've been waiting for days now, waiting in the hospital for any good news to come out. The dog had made it out alive but several people needed urgent care. A few of my neighbors died within the next 24 hours. The fire was on the local news channel while I waited in the hospital lobby that first night, hoping and hoping. It was the biggest fire in the past few years in our county.
And still I wait. For the man of my dreams to come home to me. And in the meantime, I just hold his big pale paw.
| 2019-02-20T23:08:20
| 2019-02-20T22:41:30
| 1,038
| 83
|
[WP] I’m sorry, you've reached your 100 thought limit. Would you like to spend $4.99 to get 50 more thoughts?
|
I loved video games. All day everyday, I spent my time playing them. Something about them sparked my mind, and it allowed me to enter the ever so perfect realm of someone else's creation.
I loved all kinds of games: RPGs, FPS, MOBA, horror, and even visual novels. However, one genre stuck out above the rest; sports.
One franchise of sports games deserves the title of the greatest series of games of all time: FIFA. It gave me countless moments of joy by bringing my friends and I together, all whilst feeding my growing addiction to video games simultaneously. Other problems arose, however, causing me to lose it all.
I always wanted to become a professional FIFA player. Money, of course, had a different path in mind. My bank account was running dry, and the thought of running out of thoughts helped with the drainage. To limit my thoughts, I had to cut something out of my life.
My friends were always asking to hang out with me. I began to decline their offers; FIFA was the sole focus of my attention, not them. All they did was drain me of money by consuming my thoughts. Soon, we lost touch altogether.
At the same time I also noticed that my funds were falling even faster than before. More had to go.
Education was never really important to me anyway. It was torturous having get out of bed in the morning, painfully driving to a place that I absolutely despised. All it did for me anyways was consume my thoughts. Truth be told, only part of my day that I enjoyed was coming home to play FIFA after a long day at school.
My bank account continued its downward trend, despite my attempts to stop thinking. That was when I thought I came up with a solution.
Driving is pointless. Selling my car would help pay for my thoughts, surely. To be fair, I didn't need to go anywhere because I had no friends or any reason to leave the house besides going shopping. Luckily for me there was a shop just down the road, which was only a five-minute walk. I was willing to do anything to keep playing FIFA. It was the only thing that mattered to me.
My efforts never payed off. I was a week away from having nothing. Removing important things from my life proved pointless. But suddenly, I found the light of day.
All my thoughts were being taken up by FIFA. Improving my skill only cost me more thoughts to play. If I wanted to continue living a good life, I would have to remove only fun thing in my life. But was it worth it?
By now I had lost all my friends, all hope of having a successful career and now I can't even play FIFA. Life seemed to have defeated me. I just wanted it to end. I had nothing left. What's the point of living if there's nothing to live for?
That's when it dawned on me. FIFA is made by EA (Electronic Arts). EA is known for their countless micro-transactions in their game franchises. Few other companies were as greedy as them when it came to in-game purchases. Having this knowledge, I began to question my existence.
Is life just another game created by Electronic Arts? Are thoughts just another pointless micro-transaction? I don't know, and I don't think I ever will. I'm almost out of thoughts.
&#x200B;
y mi d is fa ing.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
H lp m .
|
I’m an artist. I express myself!
When the government and cable companies began limiting our bandwidth people complained, but when they took over the huge social media companies it was *necessary*.
Nobody wants to be subscribed to twelve different social media websites just to remain in contact with their social circle! We needed consolidation.
We didn’t think about how the government was going to fund this new creation. I was worried about the privacy restrictions.
I quickly gained a following after I posted a few philosophical ramblings. People ate my mindcandy shit up it was the best day of my life.
Then after a hundred messages I was shut down. Told I had reached the maxmimum amount of influence I could have.
They had apparently learned from previous social media trends and wanted to do away with “social media influencers”
I paid five dollars to edit all my posts to read, “Fuck Go-Chat!”
I hoped that would show them.
| 2019-01-26T23:50:29
| 2019-01-26T22:40:45
| 87
| 43
|
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test.
|
Riots used to be considered disastrous. Unfettered, undirected violence at the nearest targets, the clash of impotent rage against the status quo. It's hard to pinpoint when that changed, exactly. It might have been after suicide bombers destroyed most of the major agribusiness corporations, or around the time Planned Parenthood was institutionalized in the UN Charter. By the time the "voluntary" relocation programs began stuffing a dozen people in a single dwelling, though, riots were no longer 'civil unrest'. In a world where the biggest problem was other people, a growing number of people no longer saw loss of life as something to be deplored. As the desperation grew, so did the quiet undercurrent of approval for the rising body count. SOMETHING had to be done, after all.
It didn't take long before that 'something' emerged. At first it was written off as a fringe idea, to be filed away with flat taxes or legalizing cannibalism. The idea of a test designed to weed out 90% of the population? Who would willingly submit themselves to that? Rioting was one thing, letting the violent and prolific weed themselves out, but this plan could kill people who DESERVED to live. But the idea didn't go away. Like a brush fire that couldn't be stamped out, it kept cropping up, each time it was mentioned lending it a little more legitimacy. And like that brush fire, suddenly it was roaring to life. Politicians began proposing it in legislatures, pundits started declaring the idea a "radical idea for radical times". Social media groups sprang up overnight espousing the virtues of having a final solution to the looming spectre of overpopulation.
And I was proud to say that I joined the movement. Nobody else was offering up serious proposals, after all. Sure, there was talk of free birth control, limiting family sizes, undertaking massive urban reclamation projects to create massive new housing facilities. But the idea of one test, one single solution - how was that not simpler? You were either worthy or you weren't. No complex government projects that would spend billions and be doomed to fail, no optional programs that people could weasel out of, no out of the box thinking that may never be viable. One test, and if you couldn't pass it, what value were you really adding to society anyway? I waved off the backlash, as many supporters did - the people protesting against it knew how unlikely they were to pass, after all. They were just crying about how unfair it was because they'd had their chance to figure out something better, and failed. And when the rioting increased exponentially, my friends and I actually celebrated. "Flunking the pop quiz", we joked.
The facilities actually emerged more quickly than the test. Police forces were stationed at every build site to keep the crowds at bay, heavily armed and well-defended to keep any potential hints away from the unwashed masses. But, you can't keep a secret from ten billion people. The buildings had multiple entrances, all of which fed into single lanes. The lanes each fed into a single room, which in turn fed back into single lanes again. Nobody knew what was inside the room, but the design of the overall building caused someone online to jokingly refer to them as pizza ovens. The name stuck.
When the test was finally announced, it was like a lightning strike. Everyone had expected the development of the test to take months, but somehow, world leaders came up with it after only three hours in closed session. The speed of the process was waved away quickly - the crisis had been building for years, after all. The governments must have been quietly working on this test all this time - further proof that we'd chosen wisely. When the testing day was announced, we broke out the champagne. Soon, we could move on, the best and brightest the world had to offer given the resources that they deserved. We would be the final, master race of humans - united not by nationality or creed or color, but by worthiness. And if any of us had doubts now that the moment was closing upon us, nobody gave voice to them. After all, we were the ones with the wisdom and foresight to support the test. That had to be more important than any minor deficiencies we might possess.
When the day came, I was first in my line at the 'pizza oven', sharing confident glances with the people heading up the other lines. Not all the members of the lines were there voluntarily, of course - those people who had tried to fight the test were kept in line by armed officers, prepared to take the test themselves immediately after each prisoner. A buzzer sounded, a light flashed, and the doors swung open simultaneously. I strode into the hallway, confident I was striding down the path to a glorious future. The door closed behind me, leading to a dimly lit hall, and the single door at the end, already open. Despite knowing that there were people just a few scant feet away from me, I could hear nothing but my own footsteps as I marched down to the one room that would assure my future.
The room itself was simple stainless steel from floor to ceiling, with only three points of interest - the door I'd come in, the door I'd go out, and a panel of glass with a screen behind it by the entrance. The screen was black, with "Time to test: 00:30. Do not leave the room." displayed on it. As the door closed behind me, the timer began counting down. As the seconds melted away, I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting. It seemed like each second took longer to pass than the last. I had to tell myself, several times, not to worry - after all, this was THE test. After everything I'd done to help bring it about, I couldn't possibly fail it.
As the timer hit zero, a loud thunk could be heard from each door. The screen flickered to life - showing the politicians who had announced the test to the world. It was a small group, surprisingly devoid of the prominent world leaders one might expect to see. Still, it made a certain kind of sense, I mused. You want it to be clear that this test was developed fairly, that certain countries wouldn't be handicapped, even if they did contribute more to the overpopulation problem than others. I leaned in as one of them, a woman with an Israeli accent, began to speak.
"It was difficult to craft this message, one that must be heard the world over. Our people demanded a solution of us, demanded that we decide who was worthy of inheriting the Earth." She paused, looking to her colleagues, each sporting the same somber stare. "But such a decision was impossible. Would we decide on race? On religion? On nationality? On intelligence or craftiness, or some other arbitrary quality? No matter what we chose, it would mean war, one that would not end until the world itself did. Or worse, a lack of war - just the slaughter of countless lives in the name of a moral authority that could not possibly exist. We found ourselves unable to offer even a single criteria for selection that would not result in horror rivaling the worst slaughters in human history. And yet, that slaughter was necessary. Our world has been strained to the brink."
The screen changed - it was the United Nations General Assembly Building. I squinted at the display, wondering just what this was all leading up to - and then I saw the bodies. Row after row, almost every seat for every country, was filled with bodies of dead ambassadors, presidents, rulers and representatives of every stripe. I stared at the corpses, frantically searching for some meaning to the image.
"They had been quietly negotiating for months, helping to fan the flames of this idea, each believing that they could craft a solution that favored them, their people, their chosen clan. And in selling this idea to their respective countries... we found our test. Each country embraced the idea of moral superiority in mass slaughter. Each of you were told that YOU deserved life more than your neighbors, and each of you agreed. And so, knowing that there was nothing we could do to stop this, we removed ourselves from the negotiations and designed this building, this one room. And when the rooms were ready - so was the test."
Silently, the floor began to shift, retracting into the walls - and revealing the flames below. I ran to the exit, tugging on the door furiously, but it refused to budge. The lock that had engaged when the video began held the door firm. On the screen, tears were running down the woman's cheeks.
"Thirty seconds, and a command - stay, and let us decide whether you deserve to live. But that decision should never belong to another human being. 'Thou shalt not kill.' It's the central tenet of every religion in the world. Those who understood that... ran for the other door the second they had the chance. They fought for the right to live to the very end, and so they deserve it. But you... you ceded that decision to us. And now you understand your mistake."
|
I enter this small building , goverment type with barred windows and top notch security cameras.
"The room on the right" I am told.
Entering this cold room with one chair I sit.
"Should mankind be saved ?" says a voice over the intercom.
My mind is racing and my feet start to shake, as they normally do when deep in thought.
" I can come up with more reasons why we shouldn't, more than why we should."
The voice is silent for a good 5 minutes of absolute nothing. I await some horrible fate, maybe just a small pill? I think to myself.
I am so nervous waiting for some kind of response yet nothing...
It has been an hour now and I am getting more anxious , not because I want to know if I passed the test, but did the voice and everyone else die or was I already dead?
| 2016-06-11T11:34:17
| 2016-06-11T08:11:26
| 110
| 34
|
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
|
I took a deep breath in. Closing my eyes as I started to open the packet. The research done about my powers took a lot longer than everyone else's. It has been some months after I took the power test. Once the results was mailed in, I sat there excited. My packet was different from the others. Bringing my hopes up that it's something powerful and deserved special treatment.
Once I opened the packet, I poured out all the papers and even the stickers they sent with it. I searched the mess I made, quickly regretting dumping it all out like a box of Legos.
Eventually within the mess. I found it. Quickly flipping though the papers and looked for the name of my power. Instead of it even having a name, the spot was left blank. After that, I noticed the description was also short.
"Don't write any stories".
There was nothing else on the paper. I quickly looked though the words again before beginning to look though the rest of the papers. That was when I realized that everything else was just request from other companies to retake the test.
I was so confused and just sighed. "This whole power thing was never my cup of tea. I guess just the possibility of becoming super strong and famous was just a wish and dream". I then started putting everything back in the packet and sat it down on my nightstand. I then sits down on my bed and picked up my Xbox 360 controller. Putting on my headset.
"Apparently I can't write story bois". They all laughed at me and asked what my power was. "It's undetermined I bet". I looked over at the packet before starting up a COD game.
*6 Years later*
I stepped inside my house and sat down on the couch. Setting the mail down on the coffee table. Starting to open them up and just read the main bits of it. I then just throw everything in the trash.
"It still says I can't write". He shook his head and picked up his Xbox One controller. "Where are we dropping bois".
They instantly began roasting me like always about how I didn't have any powers. They always have since the beginning.
Despite basically being powerless, I still was able to land myself a good computer job. Turns out that area has been lacking in knowledgeable tech wizards for years. I happened to be one of the better employees there.
However it still stood out to me that my power didn't have a name. I haven't wrote anything noteworthy to really see what happens if I did write. I had some companies just say to write and see what happens. I just been to much of a pussy to try it out.
At this point my friends have all agreed that I didn't have any powers. Which was fine by me because I am still able to love happy.
"What if I actually wrote something". I sat down my controller and dug out one of the pieces of mail. Picking up a pen and just began writing what came off the top of my head.
'A beautiful white flower is blooming in the spring'. I sat down my pen and just looked at it. I then just shrugs it off and stood up. Walking over to the kitchen and grabbed a mountain dew bottle.
Then something caught the corner of my eye. A glimpse of white and sun shining through my kitchen window. I looked out of it and seen a single tulip starting to bloom just outside.
It took me a moment to connect the dots as I look back over at the pen. Rushing back over to the paper and crosses out the word white. Writing blue right above it. Going back to the window to see that the tulip had already changed to the color blue.
"No way". I then just began writing. Writing all of my hopes and dreams down on one piece of paper. Before I knew it, I had a crowd of people outside my house. Apparently being famous here at where I live was an bad idea so I crossed that one out.
I then thought about it. This was a lot of power one could have. So after a long ten second decision, I just quickly scratched it all.
"I can't let people know I have this power"! I grabbed a new piece of paper and wrote on it. 'No one can know I have the power to create anything I write'.
A few days has passed and I gotten more mail about my powers. When I opened it I went straight to the point like I always do.
Name: Powerless
Description: No powers have been detected
I looked at it in disbelief. I then picked up my pen and wrote on the paper. 'Ands the powerless guy gets some real life friends and a raise'.
The days that followed was amazing. I got a nice promotion for my hard work and I met some new people at the grocery store. Turns out, whatever I writes come true. The power behind this is far beyond my comprehend that it's best kept a secret. Even then, being known as the famous person to be the first in a thousand years not to have any powers is amazing. I still ended up being famous in the end.
|
I remember it like it was yesterday. Maybe because it was, i don't know. Ever since they locked me into this pitch black room my sense of time has gone away. What i can say for sure is that it was my 14th birthday. Oh i was so excited. The day you turn 14 is the day you get your power. My entire life up until that point i was dreaming of that day. What id be like, what power id get, how life would be different after, and how id use my power to take over the world.
Other than it being my birthday everything was very normal. I woke up to the rich bitter smell of coffee in the morning. When i entered the kitchen my mom was sitting at the wooden table staring the chocolate cake on the table. On the cake in white lettering was "Happy Birthday! My Little Superhero". When my mom saw me her face lit up and she said,
"Do you know what today is?" I could tell she was joking so with a sly grin i said,
"No, is today special or something." We both laughed. As we were eating the cake my mom saw that her coffee was ready and got up. As she walked over i heard a knock on the door. My heart stopped. I dropped my fork. I took a deep breath. I looked over at my mom and she looked at me with nervous excitement. I got from my chair and waled to the door and opened it. Standing before was a man, no say a being with pitch black skin, no eyes and a wide grin its face. I knew what it was, everyone does. We call them Gift Givers. No one knows the origin of them all we know is that since the dawn of man The Gift Givers were their giving powers to us.
In the Gift Givers hand was a black envelope with a white x on it. It reached out its hand trying to give me the envelope and i took it. As i did that it started chuckling. It turned around and started walking away from my house. Its chuckle soon turned into a manic laugh as it walked farther and farther away. It creeped me out a little bit. I closed the door and went back into the kitchen. My mom was waiting at the table, her cup of coffee hadnt been drunk yet.
"Open it," she said.
I sat down at the table. I looked at the envelope, my hands were shaking. From this point on my life begins i thought to myself. Unbeknownst to me that would mark the end of my life.
I opened the envelope that seemingly pitch black. In it was a piece of paper that was also pitch black with whiter letter on it that read,
"Dont open your eyes"
"Huh?"
"What is it?" My mom said.
"It says dont open your eyes. What does that even mean?" My mom had a puzzled look on her face as she thought about it. then she said,
"why dont you try closing your eyes and see what happens?" Just then i closed my eyes. Immediately after that i heard voices screaming "Dont open your eyes!" They kept saying. The sound of someone cracking their knuckles filled the room. I could hear my mom make a quick gasp.
"Mom?" I opened my eyes and i started screaming. My moms head was rested on the table her neck was longer than normal. it was like someone spun her head around a million times. Her eyes were bulged and her face was purple. Just then people in white rushed into the kitchen. I think i was hit with a tranquilizer dart because when i woke up i was in this room. Theres a speaker somewhere in this room. A robotic voice told me that i was what was known as a an unstable variant. It didnt really explain what that meant it just said that it was unsafe for me to be allowed to be amongst other people. Since then ive just in this room. Sometimes the loud voices come back to me. Yelling DONT OPEN YOUR EYES!
&#x200B;
Please tell me everything wrong with how i wrote this and what i can do to get better.
| 2022-05-08T11:24:06
| 2022-05-08T10:30:53
| 91
| 48
|
[WP] You're 90% sure your flat-mate's a vampire, unfortunately for him you're a vampire hunter. But he does pay half the rent so...
|
Before you start to judge me: I live in Los Angeles. We have more weird shit per square foot going on than any other place (except maybe New Jersey), and the average 2-bedroom apartment starts at 3 grand a month.
You might be skeptical about denizens of the night living on the Golden Coast, but really, the sun's out for about 10 hours a day almost everywhere, and L.A. has a pretty vibrant night life. There are tons of people who don't crawl home until just before the sun comes up.
My day job starts at 3 in the afternoon and lets out at 11. They pay me 12 bucks an hour to operate a noisy machine that punches holes into metal. I usually grab late dinner at in-n-out after and then hunt for a few hours before I drop dead on my pillow just after 6 in the morning and catch some sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Hunting in this city can get straight up confusing. I've seen 100% human weirdos guzzle down pig blood (and barf their guts out minutes later), and have their teeth surgically altered into pointy fangs. Those same weirdos then have their fake fangs cleaned by a vampire dental hygienist who hides the fact she's drooling for a tasty meal behind a medical face mask and idle chit chat.
There are a lot of vampires in the medical field; especially in phlebotomy and long term care. The next time you get your blood taken at the ER, pay closer attention. If it looks like the phlebotomist is wearing colored contact lenses, she probably is. And if the nurse lifting your grandma from wheelchair to bed in the old-folks home seems inhumanly strong, that's because he probably is.
Anyway, what I'm saying is that it's really hard to spot the difference, and you can't just go around spraying holy water in people's faces with a squirt bottle, hoping it pays off.
Also, rent is 3 grand a month and I make 12 bucks an hour at my 40 hours a week gig, and my second job pays nothing except the 'satisfaction of knowing you're doin' the right thing'. Gee, thanks, dad.
I guess, what I'm saying is, don't judge me too harshly for taking it slow with my flat mate.
So, he's an ICU nurse who pulls 18 hour shifts and still comes home looking fresh as a daisy. Maybe he just has exceptional skin care products? I don't go poking around his stuff in the bathroom.
So, his shelf in the fridge is mostly empty and the two steel thermos bottles look a little weird sitting next to my 2 liter Mountain Dew. He says it's chai tea for work and he prefers it chilled. Am I really going to go behind his back and take a sip, just to make sure? I don't think so. There are 'don't eat my stuff' rules for a reason.
So, he never brings friends over and hasn't had a date since we moved in together 3 years ago. Well, neither have I. That doesn't mean nothing.
So, he can smell garlic from across the room and won't get anywhere near me after I've had Thai, or Italian, or Greek food. Dude, if I could get away from myself after eating that shit, I would. The stuff is noxious coming back out of every pore!
So, he keeps his curtains closed at all times and uses more sunscreen than the average California beauty queen. Well, we all have weird things. I can't wear black socks because I freak out when they leave fuzz bugs between my toes. It's a childhood trauma. Leave me alone.
Anyway, I guess, what I'm saying is, with all the circumstantial evidence, I'm still only 90% sure that he's a vampire. But he does pay half the rent so....
edited for correction (sunshine state to golden coast. I apologize for mixing those up.)
|
His name is Edward. He sleeps during the day. In a coffin. He only ever seems to drink "V8". And he owns several books that he "inherited from his great-great-great grandfather". If I didn't know any better, I'd say his transparent attempts to emulate the mannerisms of a vampire were more than that.
"Walter. If you could pace somewhere less distracting..."
Oh, right. Walter. That's me. Walter Guest. Professional vampire hunter, in a fashion. A proper vampire hunter wouldn't be relying on a roommate to pay most o- I mean *half* of the rent. I *do* pay for most of the groceries. And I do all of the grocery shopping as well. Edward only ever leaves the flat after all of the stores have already closed. He's certainly dedicated to this whole "creature of the nig-"
"Walter."
"I'm pacing again, aren't I?"
"No."
"No?"
"No. Not 'again'. You never stopped." he said, both with a wry smile and a look of mild annoyance.
"No matter." he followed. "The night is still young and I must not stay here reading until the crack of dawn whilst there are still things to be done. I suspect you will be retiring soon?"
"No. Not tonight."
"Oh, does there lurk another vampire in town again? Perhaps I will not be paying the entire rent this month?"
"Truth be told, I think I've largely solved the vampire problem that once plagued this town. I believe there to be only one vampire left, and I am hot on his trail."
"If it is the butcher, I hate to disappoint you but I believe you may have misinterpreted his 'weakness for steaks'." replied Edward with a smirk.
"Edward. Are you a vampire?"
For what felt like an eternity, the room went silent. Suddenly, Edward's grim visage turned to one of joviality. "And if I was, you would slay me? And then who would stop the landlord from slaying you?"
A good question.
"Go to bed, Walter."
"I-I can't just go to bed! You're a vampire, you'll-"
"I will what? Not kill you in your sleep? Drink a non-lethal amount of some random person's blood? Read literature until the sun comes up? O, what untold tragedy that would surely bring."
"Okay. Okay. I see your point... *But you are still a vampire, an abomination upon the lord!*"
"Well, that is not a very kind thing to say. What if I told you that you are an abomination upon the lord of darkness?"
I pondered for a moment, and then replied "Th-"
"I was only kidding, Walter.", Edward interrupted with a slight smile. "Look. You have slain all of the rest of the vampires in town. And you never would have succeeded without my aid. And I do not just mean covering your rent and mending your gear."
"To be quite honest", Edward continued, "I thought it was painfully obvious that I was a vampire. I believed you to be feigning ignorance."
"I-I didn't think a vampire would be that obvious about it."
"Hmm..." Edward pondered for a moment, and then broke the silence.
"Walter?"
"Yeah?"
Edward smiled and started trying to hold back laughter.
"Edward?"
"Wal- pfftt", Edward began to speak before once again trying to hold back laughter. A moment later he regained his composure and began again.
"Walter? Are you a human?"
"And if I was, would you slay me? And then who would stop the landlord fro-"
We both laughed.
| 2015-11-10T05:23:29
| 2015-11-10T04:34:27
| 25
| 14
|
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days.
|
He was yellow haired, and blue eyed, unlike anything I'd ever seen. It was crystal blue, like the kind of blue that made you question if he was blind or not. But the doctor assured me that his eyesight was fine.
'The problem,' he said. 'Is that your son is a Protagonist.'
I frowned. 'What do you mean?' I asked him.
'He has what you call the 'orphan' disease, one where he is destined to save the world from destruction, but must first lose his parents in tragic circumstances,' replied the doctor.
I was beginning to feel uneasy. I questioned the doctor.
'What do you mean, by tragic circumstances?'
The doctor got up from his desk, and began pacing left and right. I looked at him nervously.
'Oh, it's different for every protagonist. It depends on if they become an anti-hero, or the traditional hero. Usually for anti-heros, the parents die in terrible circumstances. This accounts for much of their mental issues later on, and also a more interesting story. But for heros ... the parents -also tend to die in tragic circumstances, such as being eaten by a larger fish, being stampeded by a herd of wilderbeests, dying in a sinking ship -or if you're lucky, you may get kidnapped and imprisoned by a princely beast, or perhaps you might get swallowed by a whale. In which case you won't have to worry, because your son will surely come to rescue you.'
The doctor sat back down on his desk, and chewed on his pencil. Then he drafted out a long letter for me, on a piece of paper. I waited, and watched him for a long while, until I began to feel awkward.
'Here are all my tips for avoiding certain death,' he said finally, handing me the paper 'and also a prescription for 100 stamina potions. Keep these potions on you at all times. They will enable you to run fast, in the event that you have to escape from certain danger. And trust me, you will need to escape from many dangers from now on, because the author is against you.'
I looked down at the terrible handwriting. '100 stamina potions', for 10 000 gold. I frowned again. Well ... if they could end up saving me from certain death, I suppose it would be worth the expense.
My son grew up in next to no time, becoming a strong and handsome young man indeed. He always helped around the house, went out into the dark forest to chop wood, and fetched water from the well for me, every single day. His childhood passed happily, and without incident. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps the doctor had been wrong in his diagnosis, maybe wanting only to make money out of selling me stamina potions. Nevertheless ... the 100 stamina potions never left my side, though I must admit, that I was getting careless. I was no longer checking the sky everyday for Alduin, before leaving the house, and I sometimes even left the door unlocked at night, out of sheer carelessness.
Nobody lived within miles around us, anyway. Ours was the only house on top of a hill, surrounded by a dark forest full of fae creatures and animals that were made out of different parts of other animals. Some of them could even speak.
But young and healthy as he was, he was also restless.
'Mother,' he said to me one day.
'Yes, Kieran?' I replied, fondly. I was making vegetable soup for lunch today, and he was seated at the dining table, looking pensive.
'Who am I?' he said.
'What do you mean, Kieran? Remember who you are. You are my son,' I replied. And the for effect I added, 'Remember ... remember ... remember ...'
The smoke from the kitchen stove rose in billows around me, as I inched backwards, and made my exit.
I stopped outside the door to the kitchen. What did I just do? The doctor had warned me about this. Something about the symptoms of impending death.
I took out the prescription that he had written to me years ago. There was more writing under it. Something about watching out for 'unusual narratives.' I put my hand on the stamina potion on my belt. So. It begins.
'I will find my way,' said my son, suddenly the next day. I was chopping firewood outside. I ignored him, but I looked up at the sky. It was a clear beautiful day. No signs of dragons or creatures of darkness.
'I will go the distance,' he continued.
'Where do you plan to go, son?' I turned around, concerned. He was spinning around, with his arms open wide.
'I'll be there someday,' he wasn't listening to me.
'Where do you mean to go son?' I repeated. I began to be desperate to get through to him.
'If I can be strong,' he said to himself, gazing off into the distance, one leg perched heroically upon a rock.
I looked at the rock. I don't remember it being there before.
Then I took out the prescription that the doctor had given to me, again. 'Symptom number two: When the theme song begins, you have to leave, immediately.'
I sprang straight into action, 'Kieran, we have to leave, now.'
'I know every mile, will be worth my while,' he replied.
'That's the spirit, Kieran!' I said, as I packed our bags, and tried to bring as much food as our donkey would carry.
Then I locked our door behind us, and checked our luggage for the last time. Armor, check. Weapons, check. Stat buffers, check. I mounted the donkey, and let Kieran lead us into the dark forest.
'I will go most anywhere, to feel that I belong!' declared Kieran, as he urged the donkey forward.
That was fine with me. We both wanted to leave the house. He, to 'find his way', and me, to 'get away from certain death'.
'The trick,' the doctor had written, 'Was to steer away from the role of the 'parent' and instead try to fit the role of the 'best friend.' The 'best friend' had a higher chance of survival than the 'parent', and may even last until the end of the story. You have to be his travel buddy. You have to be funny. You have to come up with the one liners, cover his back, and take a few stabbings for him along the way.'
It was better than being dead, I suppose. I looked up at the sky, with my stamina potions in hand, and prayed to the author that this ordeal would end soon.
\- The end -
|
My fingertips were as blue as my son's face as he emerged from behind my wife's gown. I had long lost the feeling in all of my hand and was in a trance of anticipation and anxiety. Seeing his bloodied little face wailing into the void was surreal. The moment had finally come. I had been through 10 months of planning, prepping, serving, and not sleeping. I was defending a dissertation in Daddyology and now it was time to see if they'd open your door to fatherhood and address me as "Doctor."
The actual doctor looked puzzled. My heart sank. My wife was too thrown by pain and trauma to crawl out of the shroud of blood-boiling screams to notice. I had become all too familiar with how she would sound if she were to be brutally murdered in the last 2 hours.
"Wh.. what is it?" I trembled, managing to lip sync something resembling a question as my brain lapped my mouth in my train of thought.
"Well, it looks like it's time." He said firmly, looking me dead in eye for a moment and then looking back at my newborn son.
The baby's hair was glowing blue, as well were his azure eyes as he cooed in his swaddling.
"Baby! Did you hear that? Something's wrong!" I said jarring my wife from her shell-shocked daze.
She scrambled to sit up a bit.
"What?!" She screamed in a sobering moment, her eyelids shot open like headlights in a storm.
"Nothing's wrong" the doctor reassured us.
"It's just his time"
I had had this nightmare before. As the due date grew closer and closer I got more and more anxiety about losing the baby or having it not be healthy when it came into the world. I embraced my wife with warmth as we awaited an explanation.
"Not the baby..." the doctor said turning toward us.
"You. "
I felt a cold shiver down my spine. This was it. This is how it all ends. My life played back in my mind in bullet time. All the mistakes, the good times, the beauty, it all lead to this. Resigned, I was ready to face the void or the profundity of what was next.
Instead a blurred white vignette closed my view down to a small circle.
"Directed by Kojimi Yamamoto" it read
*what the actual fuck?!* I pondered
"Produced by Square Enix"
"Game design by Kohei Ichinose"
The list went on and on. I was frozen. Lifeless. I could do nothing but watch this bizarre parade of Japanese names scroll by. A soundtrack played in epic fashion and gave me peace save an incessant clicking sound like button mashing on a controller.
"Hold X to skip" suddenly appeared in the lower right corner.
A green light spilled into the black border around the circle around the "X" until the screen cleared the white blur to clarity again.
"Start NEW GAME+?"
"CHANGE DIFFICULTY TO NORMAL?"
Appeared over my blue eyed baby's troll hair.
I had been the main character of a game my whole life. I suppose that explained the incredibly polarizing moral decisions I've had... and the looting...even the disproportionate success I've had with attractive women. I guess it's been a wild ride either way...
Wait that was the EASY VERSION?!!
| 2020-04-28T06:02:30
| 2020-04-28T05:36:29
| 153
| 110
|
[WP] "Marines dont die, they just go to hell and regroup", they've regrouped and now they're ready to take over hell.
|
"Hey, do any of you have any Jalapeno cheese. These crayons are a bit dry"
"Nah, but I'll trade you a forest green and royal blue for some M&M's"
"Oh yeah, sure!"
"Lol, fucking boot, never trade your M&M's."
"Hey, aren't we supposed to be conducting a raid tonight?"
"Yeah, idk First Sergeant just said we're on standby."
[Marines sit and twiddle thumbs for rest of eternity]
|
Burned flesh and fiery landscapes were nothing new to the 45th Marine Division of New England. If anything, they were sights for sore eyes; old flairs, reignited in gunfire and blood.
Clenching a cigarette between his teeth, 2nd Commander Armistice gripped his pulse rifle in two armoured hands, taking a moment to absorb the charred, warped landscape around him.
"Well boys, looks like we're all here. Been a while." He took a long drag from the cigarette before plucking it from his mouth. "Try to look alive."
Behind him, his regiment -- or rather, the battle-worn remnants of it -- stood, defiant and indomitable, hands clutching their weapons like they were there own children, teeth grit in steely determination and armour scratched and battered beyond recognition.
Like all Marines of the 45th, they'd come into the world fighting, and they never stopped. Born into training, and refined into killers by wars upon wars.
In front of Armistice lay the enemy; a stark reflection of his unit. Demons: born killers, and had done nothing but killing since.
Between these abhorrent denizens of Hell and the grizzled veterans of the 45th, there were no words to be exchanged.
The Marines were the ones to fire the first shot. A green pulse burst from a rifle, incinerating a demon into naught but a pile of fine grey dust.
The demons took no time to mourn -- they screamed, they bared their scorching swords, and they charged. A red swarm of scales and horns and hellfire.
"*Fire!*" Armistice's mechanically enhanced voice barely sounded over the oncoming horde.
His unit rose their arms, and squeezed their triggers. Bullets whizzed, and pulse emissions soared across the red, weeping sky. The initial line of the demonic horde was mowed down in a firework display of blood and viscera. The next lines climbed over the corpses of their dead, beginning their ascent up the hill the 45th was stationed.
More shots rang out, and more demons hit the floor, coating the land in blood. The sound of clips emptying and pulse rifles overheating preceded Armistice's next command, which he bellowed with battle-induced fervour.
"*Drop your weapons. Brace for melee!*"
The unit instantly shifted, going from a slapdash spread to a rigid line. They tossed their guns down into the demons as they approached, the heavy metal of the weapons scoring a few cracked bones in the process. They drew their beam-swords, and stood their ground like rocks awaiting the flood.
Armistice's own weapon was clenched firmly in his hands, red light emanating from the blade. He stared a demon right in its face as it scaled the mountain, its bulbous yellow eyes meeting his mellow grey. Its body lolled forward like a snapped neck before it charged, hands outstretched.
It didn't make it more than a single step before Armistice severed its head from its body in a single strike. He followed through into a reversed slash, parting another demon from its legs.
"*Charge!*" He yelled as black blood splattered in excess around him. He could barely hear his unit advancing -- their screams and cheers -- over his own thoughts resonating in his head, coaxing his brain into the distinct rhythm of fighting.
The flow of battle, the pace of the war-drums.
*Step. Parry. Slash. Twist.* Another demon hit the ground, followed by one more that didn't even know what'd killed it. His unit pushed forward, backing the demons off the cliffside, sending them plummeting to the grounds below.
But more kept coming -- an endless amount, multiplying by the minute. They came from the ground, the sky, the corpses of their fallen.
They were an endless legion.
Marines began to fall. Draxis let out a strangled cry as a sword shattered his femur, and another pierced his heart. Colter was torn into bloody pieces, savaged by a group of hands burrowing from the ground.
Giving away ground, a sword slashed across Armistice's back, sending him down onto one knee. He narrowly ducked under a fatal blow before responding with a metal fist in the face of his attacker. The demon went reeling, and Armistice spun on his feet, lunging into another. He toppled with the pierced demon into a heap, the crimson creature writhing and screeching as it tried to wrangle itself free from the sword in its belly.
Armistice drove the sword deeper, skewering the demon as it let out a dying gasp. His eyes swept the area around him, falling upon the bodies of his unit, and the men about to join them, fighting until their bitter and bloody ends.
Armistice slumped forward, gripping his sword and tearing it free from the demon. He shakily rose to his feet, the weight of his battle-armour suddenly multiplying from the burden of his injury.
Yet, in spite of himself, a devilish grin spread upon his lips.
He supposed he and the demons weren't so different after all.
As he moved into his inevitable death, sword severing flesh and fists shattering bones, a single thought lingered on Armistice's mind; one he'd bring to the grave with him, no doubt.
There was no greater joy than to fight.
| 2017-09-13T12:10:13
| 2017-09-13T11:31:49
| 419
| 22
|
[WP] You have died and gone to hell, but it's not what you expect. You wake up naked in a field with nothing but trees around you... it turns out that hell is an early access survival game.
|
A blinding white light and unbearable pressure followed by an earth shattering darkness.
My world seemed to writhe and convulse around me, it felt as though God himself had flicked whatever internal gyroscope that held my sense of direction and sent me falling.
Falling.
With a jarring suddenness I stopped. I slowly became aware of ground on my back A damp musky breeze brushed over my face. I struggled to remember what happened before the light, that brought me here. As I opened my eyes I saw a roiling grey sky and a waving field of prairie reeds. I vaguely remembered driving to work. Looking around only brought up more questions than answers, the wilderness seemed boundless, no faint sounds of cars or even people in general.
The longer I bumbled around, the more everything seemed slightly off. There were no audible birds either, if you listened intently you could hear some insects and perhaps other small animals scurrying. The air smelled ever so faintly of copper and decaying wood. With the sun not quite at its zenith, I decided to set off to find... Something. I decided to head for a patch of woods that resembled the deer trails I had grown up aimlessly following. Soon my "trail" petered out into nothing more than a half a million other imaginary trails that have criss and crossed every woodland since the dawn of time. Before long I heard a rustling further off in the brush ahead of me.
It sounded much larger than anything else I had heard since landing here.
I tentatively made my way towards it, there were more briars than I expected. I was going to have to be careful, they could make life annoying very quickly. As I got closer to the source of the noise I could hear a whimpering.
Behind a rather large oak I was startled by a woman. Or rather what seemed to be the husk of a person. Bloodied and apparently delirious she stared up at me with frantic eyes.
"Have y-you come for me? Are you chasing rabbits or you have seen Mr. Bundy?" she wheezed.
She had briars in her wild hair and was bleeding from the thousand tiny cuts that one could expect from running through a thick patch. As a result most of her clothes were in tatters and her leg looked like it had been mauled by a bear with very blunt teeth.
"I.. Im sorry, I don't know what you're asking... What happened? Do you know where the city is? Maybe we can-"
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. IF YOU'RE GONNA TAKE A SWIPE JUST DO IT ALREADY YOU PIECE OF SHIT CO-" she raved, almost foaming at the mouth.
I didn't stay to hear the rest. Bewildered and now scared I ran back to the trail. I could still hear her screams seeming to echo off the sky itself. I decided it was my priority to get out of earshot from those wretched noises. After a few minutes of jogging I soon realized that this was not the same trail I had come on. Thankfully I was no longer able to hear the woman, but the forest was getting thicker.
Senses heightened with anxiety I became aware of a smokey smell in the air. It was as good a thing as any to follow so I set off, heading into the twilight forest. Maybe 30 minutes later I look up and see billowing black columns, the smell is pungent. I can almost taste it. Slowly I make my way toward a break in the trees, though this was not the clearing I woke up in.
Through the trees I can see a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire surrounding a compound of sorts. People resembling little more than skeletons in burlap sacks walked sullenly about.
Off to one side I spotted an entrance with arching cast iron letters, I read "Arbeit macht frei"
In a wave of horror I remembered learning about the work camps of WWII in grade school. Everything came crashing back to me.
I ran, yet again, to the trail. Mind racing all the while, I was driving to work from the hotel I liked to stay in whenever I worked late and home just seemed too far to drive. Though my night hadn't ended then, my secretary had come through with a bag of blow and we fucked late into the night. No wonder I was so groggy that morning, I probably would have noticed the roadwork signs...
Did I crash into a cement truck?
None of this made any sense. I looked around frantically. There were deep cuts littered among the tree bark all around me, had those been there before?
About 15 yards off the path I spotted a small stream, suddenly feeling very dehydrated I made my way over. Ever more cautious I crept up to the bank and found what looked like a clean spot to drink from.
The water felt cool and refreshing on my hands and face. It seemed to ground me a bit but my head was still spinning with thoughts and questions.
Was the lady an escapee from the camp? How was there even a camp, the war ended over 100 years ago. Where the fuck am I? I didn't get to wonder long.
I heard footsteps approaching from upstream.
Quickly and quietly as I could I was able to climb up a nearby tree and perch among some thick foliage.
My mouth had a slightly metallic taste and was growing numb. Maybe the water wasn't safe..
A clown sauntered into my field of vision. The light was fading fast but there was no mistaking him. I had maybe 45 minutes of light left. In one hand he held a bouquet of balloons, in the other he appeared to be letting the stream tug at a large sheet of colorful paper. I began to feel strangely giddy. It almost looked as if the paper in the stream was pulling the clown along. From my seat among the branches I could hear him whistling a jovial tune.
The ground seemed to be tilting further away from me. Though never being comfortable with heights I didn't pay much mind.
The clown eventually let the sheet go floating downstream and stopped.
Apparently lost in thought he continued to whistle, gazing into the trickling water.
The sound of the water flowing over the rocks and roots of the forest floor seemed to be growing louder. The dying light of the day played off its surface brilliantly, as if a fine layer of glitter were floating atop the stream itself.
The liquid motion of the water seemed to spill over onto the banks, as if the ground itself were alive and flowing.
His song lilted and danced its merry way around my head. Mouth still feeling metallic and hollow I closed my eyes and began to feel overwhelmed with everything.
Though the tree swayed lightly in that musky damp breeze, I was having trouble keeping my balance. I felt as if I might lose my grip and fall up, down, or sideways. Brilliant patterns and colors danced behind my eyes, and as my sense of balance trickled back into my head I looked up from my arm.
The water was still much too bright and much too loud despite the almost nonexistent light.
The very ground the clown stood on seemed to be breathing to the tune of his song.
And with the blackest of grins, he looked at me.
~4/21
|
Ok ok no reason to panic i have done this before. It cant be too hard after all. As I walk over to the next tree i see I try to brace myself. "There is no way i can hurt myself. I saw the loading screen this is just a game. This is just a game!" Using this Mantra I close my eyes and punch as hard as I can, but i cant feel any resistance.
I can hear Stans maniac laughter even before he appears next to me. "Hahajajaja, xaxaxa not even 15 seconds and you glitch through a tree and get stuck. That must be the new record, i have to tell Hans about this." "What do you mean stuck?" I try to stand up, but my left leg has been fused with the tree and i just slam my face into the ground again, "Ouch! And who the fuck is Hans?" Stan is standing above me holding a camera. As I try to smack the camera away he just takes a step back "No worries you are already at 150 million viewers. If you keep it up you can become a real star in no time. What did you ask again?" He thinks for a moment "Oh right Hans." He takes out a whistle and blows it once. "If you want to take a look behind you. Thats Spot, he is Hans dog. Now if you excuse me this will be great film material of your first fight. Perfect Advertisement."
I quickly turn around just in time to see a Giant 3 headed dog jumping towards me.
With a scream i wake up. Blue Sky above me and grass as far as i can see. It was just a dream.
I stand up and look around to see if i can find any clothes...
| 2017-04-20T20:16:30
| 2017-04-20T17:20:48
| 45
| 23
|
[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?"
|
The two men ducked under the yellow police tape and peered through the heavy steel bars blocking the way to the vault. The damage was obvious even from this distance: the entire back wall had been reduced to rubble by heavy explosives, and a dark tunnel led underground. Following the tunnel would eventually lead to the bottom of Mr Singer's old tailor's shop, which hadn't been open for more than a year now after Mr. Singer's passing. According to the agents, no one had reported seeing anyone go in or out in the past few months, but *someone* had to have dug the tunnel.
"How much was the count again?" Agent Rodriguez asked. He looked every bit the FBI agent: tall and handsome, with a powerful jaw and stunning straight teeth. His black hair was cropped close in a buzz cut, and he had just the right amount of stubble dusted across his chin. He wore a dark suit, crisply starched shirt, a power tie, and even some heavily tinted aviator sunglasses. But his face seemed permanently set in a dour grimace; probably because we'd spent all of our time together inspecting this absurd crime scene. If you could even call it that. Was it a crime if the robbers had *given* you money?
"Last count on Friday showed that the vault contained 11.7 million in cash and other 1.9 million in bearer bonds," I told him. I'd done the count myself; I knew it was accurate. "Plus whatever is here in the safety deposit boxes. As far as we can tell, none of them were opened. Doesn't look like any damage was done to them, and they were all..."
"Don't count on it," Agent Lewis interrupted me. He leaned over, trying to see the safety deposit boxes through the bars. "If they weren't after the cash, then there has to be something else missing. We're going to need to go through an inventory of those and make sure that everything is still inside."
I gulped; it felt like I was trying to swallow a rock. A rock the size of my fist. "Yes sir," I meekly answered.
"The count?" Rodriguez asked with a dash of annoyance. "Don't get sidetracked, darlin'." That word really emphasized his Texan drawl. "You said they *added* cash to the shelves?"
"Yes, sir." I unlocked the gate and led them into the vault, where the mystery pallet sat right next to the others, still on a handcart. A cart that didn't belong to the bank, mind you. "Another 4 million dollars in cash. Sequential serial numbers..." I pointed to the numbers visible through the plastic wrapping. "Hell, it looks like it's never even been touched!"
Agent Lewis removed a Swiss army knife from his pocket and sliced through the plastic wrapping on the pallet. He lifted a stack of hundreds and held it up to eye level. For the first time, he removed his sunglasses, revealing piercing blue eyes. He studied the bills closely, flipping through the stack like a picture book and examining the detailed watermarks. He even sniffed them.
"Ink's off," he told Rodriguez. "It's a pretty good fake, but definitely counterfeit. These guys are fucking pros."
I nearly smacked myself in the head. Counterfeit, of course! I hadn't even thought of that. I must have made a sound or something, because Rodriguez turned to me with a sympathetic smile. "Yeah, it's hard to tell. Almost looks legit, don't it?"
I nodded. The bills in his hand did look real, and I'd been working at this bank for the past decade.
"They're trying to get the counterfeits into circulation," he said.
"Why leave *more* than we had originally, though?" I asked. "What's the profit in that?"
The two agents looked at each other. "Well, we're not sure how much legitimate currency you've got left here. we're going to have to have a look around," Rodriguez finally answered. "Particularly at those safe deposit boxes. You mind fetchin' the key sets for us?"
I did as I was told and returned to the vault to remove the safety deposit boxes. One by one, I extracted the metal containers from the secured cabinet and placed them on the table, where the agents inspected them for any external damage. "We're going to need the customer keys to open them," I told the agents.
"Of course," Lewis growled. He shot me a 'does this look like my first rodeo' look and rolled his eyes. "So why don't you get us that list of customers so that we can contact them?"
I printed out a list from the bank's records and brought it to the agents. They'd finished inspecting the safety deposit boxes and were currently flipping through stacks of bills that were already on our shelves. They were placing them into two piles: one for 'real,' and one for 'counterfeit.' At least, that's what I assumed.
"That's all, ma'am," Lewis said, looking up at me. "You can get back to your work. We'll let you know when we need something else."
I tried to avoid his cold gaze. At least Agent Rodriguez had a smile for me. "All right then." I returned back to my office to finish filling out the paperwork for the insurance claim. I didn't quite know how to fill in the "Lost assets" column, though. What a weird case.
Sheriff Denton entered with his normal slow shuffle. "Afternoon, Margaret," he told me. He was nearly 70, but the town kept electing him Sheriff as kind of a thank you for all his past service. There wasn't much crime here anyway, and his deputies were all young and fit so no one really saw the harm.
"Sheriff," I nodded to him. "How are you?"
"Oh, fine," he said with a child-like grin. "Back to collect some more evidence. Not every day that we get a bank robbery around these parts! Exciting, isn't it?"
I shrugged. I found it rather terrifying, but then again it was my bank. "If you're here to help with the investigation, the two FBI agents are in the vault doing their investigation now." I leaned in close and whispered, though there was no real reason to given that the bank was empty. "Get this, Sheriff: they think the bills were *counterfeit*."
Sheriff Denton seemed puzzled. "We... haven't called the FBI..." he told me slowly.
-----
The vault was empty. The handtruck with the pallet of counterfeit bills had disappeared, as had the pallets of *actual* bills, along with a good number of the safety deposit boxes and the list of their owners' names and addresses. The only sign that the Rodriguez and Lewis had ever been there was twin sets of footprints in the dust and rubble leading into the dark tunnel.
----
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|
"Well, you can't really call them robbers if they added money, now can you?" Roberts looked at me with his classic "I can't relate to you how displeased I am with you" face. I see the face a lot.
"That is not important!" Roberts screamed. "What does matter is that we now have an excess amount of money in our accounts that we cannot explain!"
"I suppose you're right, but what's the big deal anyways? We're a bank after all, isn't more money a good thing?"
"Yes, I suppose it is, but how are we going to explain this to corporate?"
"We could tell them the money fairy gave us a visit, and was feeling generous." I replied helpfully.
"Tim, how many times have I told you the money fairy does not exist."
"HEY! You don't have proof of that! How else would you explain our pay checks?"
"That's Larry in accounting Tim, we have lunch with him every Tuesday, how do you even eat your cereal in the morning?"
"Oh I don't, I don't like cereal, gets too soggy."
"You know what? Fuck it, you deal with this shit."
"Okay, I think it's already been dealt with so we're good, I'll see you and the money fairy at lunch Tuesday!!!"
Meanwhile, upstairs Larry is laughing his ass off as he witnesses the unfolding of the greatest April Fools Prank ever.
| 2016-02-24T12:09:02
| 2016-02-24T11:32:03
| 1,918
| 157
|
[WP] You are best friends with Death. Although you don't know this. Every Sunday he has you killed just to talk to you about his week then brings you back to life after. However you never remember the meetings.
|
I used to dread Sundays because the next day seemed to always be Monday.
Now, Mondays are a welcome respite. The furthest I am from Death, until next weekend. His smell lingers. That's the only way I know he's been through. I recognize it from all those other times I've summoned him.
Why me? Who fucking knows. I'm just a regular guy. Sure, I play God with some folks, picking if they'll live and die. But this isn't confession, and I'm not trying to replace him or anything. It's just a hobby.
Maybe it's admiration. Maybe that's why each Sunday, just as I'm about to start making dinner, there's suddenly a gap in my memory, and when I'm back, it's Monday morning and all I feel is relief. Maybe he admires how discreet I am. Everybody knows him, but nobody has heard of me.
Maybe it's boredom. If the scythe is the only way, it must get pretty boring eventually. That's why I switch up my routine. I experiment. Try new things. Keeps the cops off my tail, too.
Maybe it's loneliness. With that, I can relate. It's lonely being me, and it must be lonely being him. It's lonely when everybody is a potential victim, or a future victim, and the only people you know are current victims.
Or maybe I'm his heir. That's what I dread most. I've read about that, probably a thousand times, between victims as I browse Reddit. "You are Death," or "You fight Death and win," or "Death hires you to help out."
Imagine that. Nothing but a scythe, and the same filthy black robes. I wash up after each person. Clean the clothes too, right down to any splatter. No wonder he smells so bad. Everything about him reeks of death.
But then again, they always told me to chase my passions. So if I am his heir, it's a good thing I'm getting some good practice in now.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
|
I love my local park - being a big kid adult I can’t help the attraction. It is like everything I need to have a great Sunday is all in one place
Who can resist monkey bars and the weird animal shaped seats on springs and that circle thing with handles that you can spin around on
I learnt a few years ago to avoid the swings - hips aren’t as slim as they used to be. But my favourite is the slippery-dip. Why? Cause I fit for one and two, I can close my eyes and lift my arms and just fall into oblivion even if it is just for a few seconds
I’m not religious at all but Sunday at the park on the slide is like nothing I have ever experienced
| 2020-01-31T07:11:38
| 2020-01-31T05:04:17
| 225
| 42
|
[WP] In the galaxy, humans are renowned for their affinity at problem solving. This leads to humans growing frustrated at aliens getting stuck with simple problems.
|
The light on the quantum entanglement phone blinked rapidly, indicating a new incoming call. Bill sighed, put on his headset and pressed the button next to the flickering light.
"Thank you for calling the United Terran Alliance Embassy, my name is-" Bill stopped short as he was interrupted by the gravelly, guttural voice of a Klixali shouting at him from the other end of the line.
After listening for a few moments Bill screwed up his forehead and rubbed at his eyes with both hands before responding, "Did you try turning it off and on again?"
|
Siltitak knocks at your door, ignoring the do not disturb sign again. You know it is him. "It's fucking late at night!" you shout. You look at your alarm clock: 0:55. You turn around in your dorm bed.
"I have a problem, mate! You must help me or I fail the class." Siltitak yowls.
"If I don't get enough sleep, *I* will fail the class!" You reply sourly.
"I have some earth food for you! This time not something you cannot eat!" He tries to bribe you. Given your finances, your stomach says you should help him while your head says you should not. Siltitak continues: "It's called Maultaschen!"
Damn, he upped his game. You definitely could go for some home food right now. Studying out of planet sucks! "Just a moment!" You put on a bathrobe and go outside. Silkitak shows his VR creation system. The error message says that it is offline. "I cannot upload my assignment!"
You look at it and try to establish a connection. It works after you enter the correct password: "The password for the network changes monthly. It's the first now."
"Awesome!" Silkitak trumpets. "I knew that it was a good ideo to ask you!"
You feel a slight sense of dread: "Or you could learn how to figure things out on your own! You know, instead of asking me!"
Siltitak makes a confused noise, somewhat reminding of an injured elephant. "How do I do that?"
You hide your face on your hands, hope that this did not just happen and seriously consider getting a Fourmi costume just so that he and the other fourmi students start annoying someone else.
| 2016-01-03T19:46:51
| 2016-01-03T17:22:22
| 221
| 62
|
[WP]The smarter you are, the slower time moves for you. It's been 63 years and the doctor just handed you to your mom.
|
The thing about being smart? You don't really feel smart. You just feel tired.
The doctor hands you to your mother, who welcomes you with a kind face. It was.. cruel, that's the word, that you were in a way older than your own parent. From the moment your conscience was first realized in her womb, you've been absorbing information about the world.
She hugs you, whispers that she'll take care of you forever, that she'll love you forever.
Forever doesn't mean the same thing to the two of you.
She's so young.
|
It's like I'm an expensive computer, whose user is extremely anal about video quality. Every 'download' takes a million years, hyperbolically speaking, because every minute detail is shown to me - via my hyperevolved senses - at a resolution that is high to an insanely absurd degree. (Which by, the way, made my unorthodox journey through my mother's vaginal canal look *reaal* good.)
Unfortunately, I missed the memo and lined myself up, to exit the womb, feet-first. This ensured that my mother would have gone through a ton of pain, and might have also suffered damage to her body, had Dr. Whatever not been there. He utilized some apparatus to help me out - so in a sense, I know my mother less intimately than normal mammals. (Than how normal mammals know their own mothers; I am not implying anything about my mom.)
Still, she is supporting the majority of my weight, now that Dr. Whatever (I haven't been able to read his nametag yet since it is taking forever to move my one open eye) has finally completed handing me over, and she seems pretty nice.
| 2017-07-04T19:23:42
| 2017-07-04T14:41:36
| 127
| 39
|
[WP] You are a student in the most prestigious magic academy in the kingdom. No one knows how you got in, sure you have amazing magic potential, but you’re “magic blind” meaning you can only feel the presence of magic and not see any magic.
|
It was a gloomy Tuesday afternoon when I first laid eyes on Atlas. I couldn't help but feel as though his genetics betrayed the weight of his name. I wouldn't say he was scrawny, but *nobody* would call him imposing. He was thin, on the smaller side, and held his books against his chest like a girl as he waited for the train. I knew it was him because he stood next to his sister– a beautifully freckled young woman with blazing red hair. Her name was Fena and *every* guy at the school was talking about her. If it wasn't about scheming a way into her pants, it was about her weirdo handicap brother.
You see, Atlas came highly recommended from a prestigious primary school; the guy skipped two grades entirely and landed himself here at ENU. Eye of Newt University was only for the most promising young casters, and Atlas came to us as the first handicap student to ever be admitted.
He was completely and utterly *blind to magic*.
Which begged the question, how could one control their magic effectively, or dodge incoming spells? As much as I wanted any reason to speak to Fena, I was genuinely interested in Atlas too. As the train pulled up and everyone boarded, I had to wonder how he would fare at our school. I wouldn't have to wait long to see for myself why he was admitted. It wasn't even the first week before Tovin smelled blood.
Tovin Blackmeyer was the school's most notorious bully. He would tweak his spells to be needlessly cruel, shove the newcomers around, and he had an entourage of ankle biters that clung to his backside, encouraged his behavior, and laughed at his victims. Nobody, it seemed, was man enough to stand up to him. He excelled in everything he was taught, and was the pride of ENU; it was because of this that his antics went ignored by the staff. Nobody liked him, but everyone pretended to. I'd been killed by him once already just for suggesting he leave a new kid alone. I shuddered as I remembered the feeling; water endlessly rushing out of my lungs until I lost consciousness. It was pretty much the worst day of my life.
And it was about to be a bad day for Atlas.
"I can't believe they even let you in here," I heard Tovin from my locker.
"Look at him! He's made of broomsticks!" I heard him guffaw, and his followers quickly joined in the ridicule. "What's the matter Atwis? Gonna cwy? Gonna wun home and cwy?"
"I challenge you to a duel."
Never had a single sentence silenced an entire ENU causeway. Everyone was making the same face– as though a portal to a new dimension opened up and swallowed all the air in the room. I moved to get a better look. Atlas stood against his locker, his books pressed against his chest, and his lips in a straight line.
"What... What the hell did you just say?" Tovin asked with an excited chuckle. "You're... *You*," he reiterated. "You're challenging *me* to a duel?" He asked incredulously.
"Yep."
"Atlas," a young woman came to his side. "You don't have to do this. Just take the joke. Let him ha-"
"Shut *UP!*" Tovin screamed, as he thrust his hand in her direction. She careened backward and bounced off of the locker, hitting the floor with a heavy thud that made everyone in the hallway wince. Now you might be wondering what kind of man stands around and lets a woman be manhandled like that. Inside of this campus, women are every bit as powerful as men. Magic favored no gender; they were perfectly capable of fighting back on equal terms. When it came to Tovin however... he operated with total impunity. The angry mage marched up to Atlas and got right in his face.
"Let me tell you something, *Ass*less. I've been concocting a new spell and you've just given me the perfect test subject. Meet me in the hymnasium after school. You're going to wish you had never come here."
The day was long.
Nobody was talking about anything else.
Everyone glanced at the clock all day long as the day drew on.
I couldn't lie. I was just as curious. I wasn't better than anyone else, I knew Atlas was probably going to die for the first time today. I still wanted to *see* it. Not his death, no. Whatever he was so capable of that he came so recommended to us. Whatever it was that was up his sleeve that he could so calmly call out the most impressive student at ENU with a straight face and still manage to keep his lunch down midday. I heard his sister trying to reason with Tovin in the hallway between sixth and seventh period. I heard his conditions were outlandish. Everyone knew he was a pig, but what he asked Fena to do sank him to new lows.
It seemed nothing would stop the inevitable when that bell rang.
It was a mass migration to the hymnasium. I could see some of the senior staff among the crowd as well. They were cloaked from everyone else, but *I* could see them. It was the primary reason I found my place here at ENU. It made me sick that they were allowing this to happen. Any chance to see their golden boy in actual combat, they happily took. It was probable that they saw him as their chance to fight back against the Diesel Empire– a greedy, grimy, fossil-fuel based society that seemed to blanket every territory they claimed in machinery. A prodigy was something ENU had been seeking for years– someone that could rally all those in Galgia to take up arms and reclaim all that the diesel had stolen.
I pushed through the crowd until I had a good vantage point. The hymnasium was similar in all aspects to a gymnasium like you'd find at non-magic schools, but it was built for the sole purpose of singing creatures from the void over to the material plane for seniors to battle against in their final year. It also served as the perfect arena for dueling mages. I'd never seen the hymnasium so packed in my entire time here. The entire building was buzzing as the two of them appeared from opposite sides and mad their way toward one another.
I felt my heart pounding for poor Atlas. There had been plenty of duels within these walls, but none like this. I don't think a single student, save for those wedged in Tovin's backside, wanted to see Tovin win. We were probably all holding within our hearts the faintest hope that the mysterious new kid would put up a fight. Everyone quieted down when Tovin started speaking.
"I give you credit for showing up at all."
"I don't need your credit," Atlas responded sharply. "I need you to understand that I won't tolerate your bullying, and that my sister is forever off limits to you."
The stands couldn't contain their excitement. The mood in the hynmasium was completely electric. I couldn't take my eyes off of the two of them. Whatever was about to happen next would be completely extraordinary.
r/A15MinuteMythos
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/A15MinuteMythos/comments/qey8so/wp_you_are_a_student_in_the_most_prestigious/)
|
"Fools like you are a dime a dozen", quipped the ancient looking professor as I sat down in the chair across from his desk.
"It's the same story every year - some jumped up little runt gets *the tingle* and is shipped off to fulfil his or hers' ultimate destiny at this damned school. I'm of some mind to just send you packing back to whichever bunch of overpaying, high-born halfwits sent you here."
I watched him angrily deliberate as he opened up a draw underneath his desk and pulled out a sizeable, leather-bound binder.
"Name!", he barked at me - continuing to search for something in one of his desk draws.
"Thomas Fitzalan, Sir", I replied in compliance.
"Fitzalan", he murmured as he finally arose from his lengthy searching and placed a lustrous silvery-blue cube on the desk in front of me.
"Reach out and touch it", he instructed me in a tone gentler than I expected.
I lifted my arm from its rest and leaned forward to touch. The world lit up in brilliant colour as my soft skin made contact. Suddenly I could see everything. The real world around me became a subset of this grand vision I had been enchanted with. And then in an instant, as if waking from a pleasant dream, it all fell away from me. I could hear myself breathing and my heart beating faster than I'd ever known one to.
As I sat quivering, the Professor spoke to me, "That's it. That's the truth you've been wanting to see, isn't it?" Still shaking, I nodded silently as he continued, "As powerful as you feel in this moment - you must understand... You are not special. You aren't the first Fitz to be shivering in front of this desk, and nor will you be the last. Greatness does not exceed ability, but ability does not equal greatness."
The Professor rose from his seat and walked to the window on the other side of the room. "I've seen this world torn apart by entitled fools and put back together by their humbled sons", he said resentfully. "I've made it my duty to see that this school doesn't succumb to the same treacherous cycle, and you would be wise to make it yours too."
He turned away from the window with an air of finality and spoke to me directly, "Now, lay hold of the tome in front of you and take it to the registry. See that your name and particulars are entered correctly, and then return it to this office. Be on your way, Fitzalan."
| 2021-10-24T09:52:41
| 2021-10-24T09:26:05
| 304
| 62
|
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
The world outside the bunker roiled, the fabric of space time ripped and billowing in the cosmic wind. Across the despoiled plains strode Abaddon, Dark Lord of Corruption, his left glove crackling with the power of the Hand of Midnight. He raised a finger, and a beam of pure destruction struck the bunker, splashing against a flickering rainbow shield.
A lab technician, in a white coat: "Sir, corruption levels in the arcane pylon are at 94%! We can't hold the anti-magic field up much longer! What are we going to do?"
The general sighed. "We've tried everything? Nukes? Those Japanese schoolgirls? How about the banishment ritual?"
"All ineffective, sir! We've run out of Level 1 contingencies!"
The general groaned in annoyance. "Looks like we're going to have to upgrade this to a Level 0." He pulled a crumpled sticky note out of his pocket, and began to dial.
As he finished, a great howl of roaring wind sounded as Abaddon shredded the roof and upper five levels of the bunker, leaving the general's office exposed to the elements.
"ANY LAST WORDS BEFORE I END YOUR PUNY EXISTENCE, MORTAL?"
"... hang on, Mom. Can't you see that I'm on a call, here?"
"OH YES, CALL, CALL YOUR PATHETIC LOVED ONES, LET THEM HEAR YOUR DYING SCREAMS!"
"...yeah, yeah, I promise I'll visit more, okay? And I'll talk to Sis, I swear! I'm getting around to it. Alright? Okay, talk to you soon, bye." The general closed his phone, and turned to face Abaddon. "And bye to you too, Abaddon."
"AHAHAHAHA, INSOLENT MORTAL! YOU DARE TO THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME? NOW, DI-AAAAAGH"
Abaddon screamed as his body dissolved into a million tiny threads, the Hand of Midnight crashing to the ground. Outside, the cosmic fabric wove itself back together, cars, trees, people slowly forming out of gradually appearing strands of matter, followed by the roof of the bunker. A few minutes, and it was done, no sign of Abaddon or his invasion remaining except for a glowing gauntlet, sitting on the floor.
"Um, sir, what... what exactly just happened?"
"... let's just say I got this job through connections. Now get that Hand to containment. I've got family matters to attend to."
|
"Private!"
"Yessir! I am ready to call the number!"
Area 51 started disintegrating around them, as the monster from below started tearing apart space itself in an effort to escape the prison, the corridors of the underground complex appearing to bend as time itself tore apart.
"This is only like a level 3 right now, stop pretending you're important. Get back to monitoring Adriana and Eric, see if their arms come back from the alternate dimension."
The private glumly returned back to watching the two through the glass, as their arms showed no signs of returning from the portal that the two foolishly touched.
"God, I wish this was a more interesting assignment."
Above him, a portal opened and a man in white robes walked through, nearly catching his massive wings on the edges of the portal. "Hey, Morgan, been too long since I saw you!"
"Hey Gabe, how's life been treating you? We've currently got an inter-dimensional monster down below, nothing major going down right now."
"Oh, you found Abigail then! Yeah she can be a hungry giant monster that wants to destroy humanity, can't she! The big G says that you should feed her an apple boiled in the blood of a sacrificed lamb, that should calm her right down for the next six millennia or so."
"Ok, I'll go tell the Major no-"
"You know that the big G demands a price for this, right?"
"But I literally didn't ask for his help at all!"
"Yeah, but the writing prompt kinda forces your hand, no? He wants a cold one, apparently. Chop chop!"
Morgan sprinted down into the lower-levels, armed with the knowledge to defeat the monster, and the location of the beer fridge.
| 2017-03-21T02:08:31
| 2017-03-21T00:59:36
| 205
| 31
|
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