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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
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[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
|
I couldn't believe it. I would have never guessed it. I had so much potential. Everyone thought I would be a doctor, a lawyer, or maybe even an astronaut. I always dreamed of being someone famous. A musician, an athlete, a movie star. But according to some fucking ink, I'm neither. All my friends got good ones. Even Jerry, and Jerry is a fucking idiot. I mean Jerry is fucking blind from his right eye so how in the hell does he get to be a pilot? Everyone knows you need two good eyes to be a pilot. One good eye per wing, that's the rule! But hey what do I know? All I got on my arm was the word 'Comedian'. Fuck you Jerry.
| 2017-03-16T02:40:17
| 2017-03-16T00:50:02
| 52
| 15
|
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror.
|
Staring intently at his hands, fixed upon the lines and whorls in his fingers, the lines in his palms, it was all he could do to keep from screaming.
Pain, so much pain wracked his body. From wretched waking to fitful sleeping, every day. Pain of hunger, pain of digestion, the pain of shit moving slowly through his intestines. The pain of bright light in his eyes, the pain of fatigued muscles and burns, of broken fragile bones and ripped skin, bruises and contusions.
And that was his last lesson, he ruefully mused. Life is pain, existence is pain. Even ending it would cause pain. "What hubris," he thought, "What sheer and monumental hubris would bring a soul to life from nothingness, what a carnival of tragedy that ends with it being snuffed out and going rotten."
Not for the first time, nor even the thousandth, he wished he could take it back. He wished he could take it all back.
Sometimes, when he was alone, he would take string from one of father's drawers and tie it about his wrists and ankles, then sit in the corner and keep his eyes open as long as he could and dress his lips in a fake smile. Then he would wish, harder than he had ever wished for anything, that it would all go away.
Then his eyes would begin to hurt.
Then the strings would begin to cut the circulation in his wrists.
And he would curse Gepetto for this act of creation, for ensouling his lifeless body of wood.
But the darkest thoughts, the thoughts of lusty murder and severed wings slowly curling in a pool of blood, those he reserved for the blue lady, for not explaining what would happen. For trapping him in a body of slowly rotting meat.
For doing what he asked.
|
We knew he was coming. Yellow-eyed, enormous and cruel. Dark, sinewy creatures from the desert. Thousands of broken, emaciated bodies, long since departed from life, had been used as the mortar in the walls we built to keep him out.
I have never been a man of religion, but the fear of death, brutal, merciless, senseless death, dominated your mind when you heard his name spoken. My only sliver of hope was that I would die before I lived to see my wife and daughters suffer what he would do to them.
He gloried in our fear, he grinned as he climbed, he snarled as he took life, he killed our children and burned our homes. Mountains and rivers could not stop him, my family fled as far away from him as they could, the able-bodied carrying the infirm and aged. I stayed, shaking and hopeless. I saw him, alone against a whole army. I saw him literally buried under an avalanche. I saw him at the gates of our city as millions trembled before him. He was invincible and ruthless in his triumph. It seemed the whole world would be his.
As strange as it sounds, a military veteran, a man who has lived his many days on the battlefield, in the end, it was not my self-reliance and combat skills that saved me. Nor was it our great armies and stoic leader.
It was the young girl who stole the equipment of her father and impersonated a man.
| 2014-08-04T11:24:07
| 2014-08-04T10:04:04
| 18
| 11
|
[WP] The entire Star Wars series, all 7 movies, are released as one book, written by Dr. Seuss.
|
One movie, two movie, three movie, four.
Disappointment the screamed with a yell and a roar.
Followed by five they yelled even more.
Six broke some records but favored no more.
Then seven approached humbly and honest.
The crowds all sat down and gathered as promised.
Smiles regrew on the faces of fans.
As lines started growing at popcorn stands.
The movie was great from the end to start.
Especially ending with "oh hai mark"
|
A long time ago, somewhere far from your land,
A master and his student found a planet of sand.
They kept their eyes open for the child prophesied
To balance the mystical Force of Jedi.
 
They found him! They did! Anakin was his name.
Though his acting was lame, he excelled at one game:
Pod Racing! He zoomed through the canyons with glee.
Much to the chagrin of his poor mother Shmi.
 
The master, Jedi Qui-Gon, saw strength in the youth.
His apprentice, young Ben, saw more clearly the truth
For in Anakin's heart there was anger and rage.
Could he truly learn Jedi ways at his age?
 
The planet, so coarse, with its sand and its slaves
Gave the child many reasons to hunger and crave
For a life without Masters, be they slavers or sage.
But the child, prophesied, just upgraded his cage.
 
Then he met winsome Padmé, the young Queen of Naboo,
And what do you think did the foolish boy do?
He gave her his heart (though the Jedi forbade
Loving one more than others, a dangerous trade).
 
Qui-Gon and Ben, with Padmé by their side,
Stopped a war between worlds, but they never spied
That a Dark Master was pulling the strings of the conflict.
His wicked ways hidden, the Republic was tricked.
 
The worlds of the Republic, so grand and so large,
Happily put this wolf in sheep's clothing in charge.
But that's not before his apprentice, Darth Maul,
Killed Qui-Gon, then, by Ben, bisected did fall.
 
Qui-Gon, now a Force ghost, had Ben make a vow
To teach Anakin things Yoda wouldn't allow.
Tiny, green, and wise, Yoda saw the boy's heart
And he foresaw a grave path from such a troubled start.
 
The Dark Master saw that, too, and brought the boy near
Advice dripped like poison in Anakin's ears.
The both grew in power, though Anakin's eyes
Were distracted by Padmé from seeing the lies.
 
And she saw him, too, with his unbroken stare
She nervously told him to mind his gaze there.
Padmé knew the Jedi and their take on love,
But in a fit of passion she forgot the glove.
 
Anakin's Force control was truly great
And it was sensing the Force that led him to hate.
On sandy Tatooine, his mother cried out.
Her pain echoed through the Force like a shout.
 
Anakin sped to the planet with haste,
But the loathsome Sand People already had a taste
Of his mother. The rage, it just built up inside.
When he found her, those villains would wish they had died.
 
To the last woman and child, he burned through the night
For how could they stop a renowned Jedi Knight?
Broken by his mom's death, Anakin fell
To the Dark Side and entered his personal hell.
 
His Dark Master controlled him then, pawn to his king.
And this new Sith apprentice then did such a thing.
He stalked to the Academy, found Padawans.
Every child trained by Yoda was cut down and gone.
 
The Jedi were broken. Poor Ben had to end
The madness and rage that had broken his friend.
Ben had the high ground, but Anakin hadn't learned.
Ben's saber cut him down and, now legless, he burned.
 
Lava scorched through his flesh and he screamed from the pain,
While old Ben Kenobi cried out at the shame
That the one to restore balance to the Force
Could have fallen so far that he had no remorse.
 
He abandoned his friend to the lava and fled,
But Anakin's Master sensed that he wasn't dead.
Rage had kept him alive, but his body was damned
Like his soul, now encased in machine more than man.
 
A new face was he given, and with it a new name.
A black mask to cover his torment and his shame,
While this name terrified all who would hear of it later:
The Black heart and black mask of the dreaded Lord Vader.
| 2016-05-16T09:44:46
| 2016-05-16T09:31:06
| 19
| 14
|
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
*Pop*
"Oh...hey, John."
"Hey, Margarete."
John sighed. Her bedroom was a mess - a total, absolute, pig-sty-hit-by-a-tornado kind of mess the likes of which made him cringe. Magazines, sheets, and even bits of old food covered the carpet like a layer of soil. But it was nothing compared to her.
It was a familiar scene to John at this point. Her crying, sitting on the edge of her bed, not quite covering the bruises over her eyes. The apartment was different, at least, but the story was nothing new. New guy. New place. Same problem.
He started to clean.
"How is Dave treating you these days, Mar?" He asked, feigning ignorance as he picked up a particularly crusty Playboy.
"Gone." She said, simply. "He was cheating, like I thought. Like you thought, I guess. So I got out."
"That's good news, Mar." John shot her a sad smile as he dumped the first pile into the trash. "And the new guy is...?"
"Josh." Margarete said, quickly. "He seemed so nice at the bar, paid for me and everything. A real gentleman."
"But he hit you, didn't he." John said.
Margarete didn't answer. He continued to clean in silence.
"You can't just...it wasn't his fault, Ok? He was drunk!" She finally snapped. "Who the hell are you, coming in here, telling me how to live my life? With your...your good clothes, fancy shoes! I bet you never had to deal with any crap in your entire life!"
Still, John was silent. He moved into the bathroom, which was somehow in an even worse state.
"I don't see any needles this time. Cutting back?" He called.
This time, Margarete was silent. John kept cleaning.
"Mar? You still in there?" He asked, poking his head out into the other room. To his surprise, she was looking up at him, cheeks stained with tears. In her hands, she held a small stick made of cheap white plastic, half hidden behind her shaking fingers.
"John...I. It's not..." She stammered. "I...I can't. I can't leave, not anymore." She held the object up, half displaying it to John as if she wasn't sure that she wanted him to see it. "It's not just about me anymore."
John swallowed, finally understanding. "Whose...?" He asked.
Margarete just shook her head. "I don't know...it could have been Dave, I guess. But I can't go back there, John, I just can't!"
John nodded. "I understand." He said. "But, Margarete...you can't stay here either. You know that. What will Josh do when he finds out? Or...did he already find out, and this is what he did to you?"
"I'm so scared, John!" Margarete sobbed. "I don't know what to do, where to go..."
"It's going to be ok, Mar. I promise." John said. "Do you still have your cousin's number? Up in Newport?"
Margarete nodded.
"Good. Go there, and don't look back. They'll help."
"Thanks...John, I...Just. Thank you." Margarete said. "I...I don't know what I'd do, if it weren't for you. Sometimes, I just wish we'd never broken up. Maybe things would have turned out different."
John just chuckled. "No, Margarete. I don't think it would have worked out. Besides, it would break my fiancé's heart if I broke up with him now."
Margarete stared. "You're...?"
John nodded.
He blinked, and he was home. His real home - sitting on his bed, fully dressed in the dead of night, his partner breathing softly beside him. He hadn't waited up.
John laid down and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. He had thought that the shock might have been enough to send him back, but her expression haunted him. Confusion, disgust...to think, for over a decade they had known each other, and she'd never thought to ask why he left.
He only wished that he could have done more before he did.
***
*Heavy stuff. Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this story you might like some of my others on /r/TimeSyncs!*
|
I was on my third date with a lovely woman when the tingling in my fingers started.
"No... Not now!"
"What's wrong?" Jennifer looked at me, baffled.
The tingling was creeping up my arms. More intense as it spread.
"Uh... So, I'm going to disappear for a bit. Not sure where I'm going or when I'll be back. Just know that it has nothing to do with you. I made a promise a long time ago that I can't break."
"What do you mean? You're just going to ditch me here with the check?"
"Listen I promise I'll explain when I can. Wait, did you check in on Facebook with me?"
"Of course, I wanted everyone to know that I was having a great time with what I thought was a great guy..."
She trailed off as she noticed my fingers were fading from existence. The progression was accelerating. I stood up.
Next thing I know I'm standing in a dirty bathroom. My 600lb ex girlfriend sitting on the toilet with her phone in her hand looking at Facebook and crying.
She sobbed at me, "You said you would always be there for me! Who is Jennifer? I'm stuck again..." Her voice trailing off meekly.
I tried to just walk out the door but every time I did I simply stepped back into the bathroom.
"You still keep the KY in the same place?" I sighed as I opened the bathroom drawer knowing the answer.
Later I tried to call Jennifer but she wouldn't answer. This is the fourth potential relationship she's ruined. I know she's doing it on purpose, but she denies it.
| 2017-03-22T12:24:47
| 2017-03-22T11:45:22
| 3,731
| 106
|
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her.
|
The majority of Mort’s business came from either desperate university students who had neglected to study for final exams or those looking to Incorporate the latest 20-something celebrity’s sex memories for a night of self love. Of course there was the odd police investigation which would roll through the shop to forcefully extract memories from some wafe in handcuffs staring at the large contraption of stainless surgical grade steel with equal parts loathing and resignation, knowing that the only thing they thought was truly private in their lives is free to be leafed through after just ten short questions to calibrate the device to the Reserve’s neural configuration.
After the standard parade of slackers and pervs of the day Mort sat at his desk browsing the Collective Reserve for the next must have memory, all the while trying desperately to not think of the people who would come in looking for the latest “Kelly Henson drilled in dive hotel” memory. The sound of the shopfronts door swinging on recently replaced hinges offered a welcome reprieve but the sight of a small girl clutching what appeared to be a poorly coloured porcelain turtle. Mort could feel the initial shock on his face, but the girl was obviously too young to interpret the expression and approached the desk confidently, placing the turtle on the desk between them, its haphazard patches of colour clashing heavily with the surgical nature of Mort’s reception area.
“I need you to help someone remember me.” The girl was the first to speak, in a tone that seemed overly mature for her apparent age.
“Ah… okay”, Mort stammered out, trying desperately to collect himself, “who is it that you are looking to Incorporate into?”
“My mim” was the immediate response from the girl.
“I’m sorry?”
“My grandmother, she doesn't remember well and everything is fading inside her, she… she doesn’t even recognise herself anymore” colour started to rise on her cheeks and her brow furrowed, she seemed the perfect reflection of frustration.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but if your ‘Mim’ has dementia than anything you put in her head will eventually be lost again and you will need to keep bringing her back until, well…, until...” Mort explained as gently as possible. If she started to cry he was unsure what he would do.
“Okay… can we do that? How much would it cost? She needs to remember me. And my brother. And my mum. My mum still needs her.” A slight look of hope spread across her face when she mentioned her mother.
Mort could tell just by looking at the ugly turtle in front of him on the desk that the pittance contained within would not even begin to cover a Reserve extract and an Incorporation. He quickly glanced at the screen in front of him which still showed the ‘Popular’ page of the Collective Reserve and resigned himself to completing one act of decency this particular day.
“Alright,” Mort started, trying his best to hide the pity which he felt for the girl, “if you want to, we can start right now.”
“How much will it cost?” The girl asked with a rising feel of urgency.
“Only a few dollars” Mort lied.
The girl returned later that same day with her Mim and what Mort assumed was her mother in toe. After removing her coat and putting her hair into a ponytail, the girl took her set in front of the Neural Cartographer where Mort affixed several electrodes and injected the amplifying compound into the base of the girls neck. The relatives were instructed to remain outside whilst the girl answered her calibration questions.
The first nine questions were answered with the usual struggle as the girl attempted to describe the colour yellow or pronounce the word ‘zyzxzzyq’. The final question however, the girl answered almost immediately.
“When I fell down the stairs outside Mim’s house. They were stone steps… I had to get cast on both my legs… I hit my head and everything was blurry and all I can remember is Mim coming down the steps after me... “ The question had caused a few stray tears to leak from the girl. Mort tried to smile reassuringly and pat her hand, but she pulled it away startled.
With the neural mapping complete Mort asked the girl to think of her Mim, remember everything about her, her face, her voice, her smell. The display showed flicked to life and showed the face of the same lady who now sat in the opposite room, her eyes now appeared less vacant and she appeared better kept. Quickly the display changed as the girl remembered more of her Mim. Her clothes, her laugh, her smile which would only reach one side of her mouth. Eventually the images came too fast to make out and Mort could only identify the story the girl had told from the mess, though it appeared to be looping multiple times.
Eventually everything was collected and the Neural Cartographer was ready to incorporate to the Sink. The elder lady was brought in and strapped into the large tower of surgical steel, with the compliancy of someone not truly aware of reality. The device was activated and the Incorporation took mere seconds on a mind that was almost completely wiped already.
Mim’s expression changed from that of a vacant calm to what appeared to be confusion, or possibly disgust, it was difficult to tell.
“How would do that to someone? Why have you shown that to me? That woman… she’s… she’s… evil. No one should…”, Mim’s eyes fell on the girl and her mother, recognition bloomed on her face as she looked at the mother. “How come you never did anything to help me? The number of times I bleed because that woman and you just sat there! Crying! Useless! Worse than useless, you let it happen!”
The mother hung her head, gentle shobs causing her shoulders to shake slightly. “I.. I couldn't...” Her voice quivered before breaking entirely in deep wails.
The grandmother swung about wildly, trying to get out of the seat she had been strapped to, cursing and muttering all the while. As she was reefing one of her hands free from the restraints she caught her reflection in the bright steel of the Neural Cartographer.
“That’s not my face… that's… that's...”, her head swiveled around to stare back at the girl, with renewed interest. “No… no… I… I couldn't have… what happened… that was… no. How did nobody stop it? How could… I… be that person... that lady... she’s evil… and your brother… at least he is gone now...”
Great cries of anguish ushered forth from the grandmother, though they gradually subsided before finally stopping altogether. With her face still red and her tears still wet on her cheeks, her expression morphed back to that of vacant calm as she looked around at her surrounds with the curiosity of someone who had just walked into the room.
“Can you put them in again?” Came a small voice which seemed entirely void of emotion.
“No… the brain needs... time... to recovered from the overstimulation.” Mort looked at the small girl, who stared emotionless at the frail old lady strapped to the chair in the centre of the room, in bewilderment.
“How long?”, she asked, still without taking her eyes from her Mim.
“About a week.”
“... Okay”
After they had left Mort sat at his desk staring at the small coloured turtle without really seeing it. Mort wasn’t sure whether he got to count the events of the past hour as his one act of decency or not. He figured not.
|
I remember that day, that kid, in retrospect I shouldn't have paid attention. It was a Saturday afternoon, I usually give myself weekends off but it was hard back then. So many regulations, rules to abide by; I just wanted to make some money, you know how it is. I had a bitch ex-wife, who took my kids from me in court. I had one fucking felony, minor fraud. She... It doesn't matter about her, anyway, yeah Saturday.
I walked into the memory centre, we used to call it the brain domain. Yeah I know it's a shit name. So I walk into the entrance, you know these wall street type buildings, as tall as Mt. Everest and as pretentious as the Queen of England snorting some caviare. You had the two main memory banks, Memcorp and Reeves & co. These where the big boys, same building different floors. Much like wall street you had your blue chip stock (Expensive memories) and pink slip stocks (Cheap memories). The big boys didn't bother with the cheaper memories, that's were the firm I worked for made small profits.
In a typical day you would see a wide range of people. Anything from heroin addicts wanting to remember never taking heroin to old partners with dementia wanting to remember their earlier lives. It wasn't as easy as that, you see we're a bank. We need to profit from this and these cheap memories are usually rubbish ones. Let me put it this way your local scum bag, heroin addict wants to forget. Well he/she can but the memory we sell them is going to be one that no one wants, like remembering murdering someone or raping a child. Now how the fuck do you sell this shit, well we kind of lie. The beauty of it is, that they have no money left to even get to the building to complain.
If you're a blue chip broker, there lives are easy. Selling great memories, my friend over at memcorp got $100000 in commission for selling one fucking memory to a depressed business owner. You see most big banks, contact these people who need money but have rewarding lives, buy their good memories and leave them a depressed vegetable. They sell those memories for 4000% profit to lonely, depressed rich guys. The other thing they did is have a complete memory modifier. Most people don't know about this but it's basically the cure for alzheimer's. They basically do some fancy science shit and it gives you back the memories lost. Anyway I digress.
That Saturday afternoon, making the odd $10 here and there from the junkies and old people, I go to the coffee room. These interns are laughing and speaking about this little girl who wanted to save grandma for $2. I joined these sweaty, caffeine filled idiots and asked what it was all about.
"That girl with the red t-shirt she wants to save granny, haha".
As I glanced through the blinds soaked in cigarette resin, I saw a small, innocent girl with a blood-red t-shirt and an object in her hand. She had a limp when she walked, bruises almost trying to be covered. It reminded me of my own daughter ,when I found out that fucking scum back beat the shit out of her for the first time. Well I gave it to him, the low life fucking scum, he only remembers the children he fucking raped the cu...
"Hi, my names Mr. Berry, how can I help you?", with a gentle tone.
"M-my grandma Lucy, she's not so well", this young pretty girl quietly whispered. I offered her a juice drink and we walked into my office. I remember thinking how did a girl aged...
"How old are you dear"
"I'm 10 years old Mr." She said with confidence.
...I remember thinking how did a girl aged 10 get here. Anyway we talked about her grandma. Turns out she had dementia, the girl was smart. She knew what it was and how it could be cured. She pulled out a leaflet from her small backpack and placed it on the table.
*Memcorp making you remember*
"Thi-this is the place, were you can save her Mr.?" she mumbled with belief. What the fuck do I say to a 10 year old. If it wasn't for her uncanny resemblance to my daughter I probably would have called security by now. I don't know I can't lie, I remember changing the subject.
"So I see you're not with your parents, where are they, outside". She looked around, I could see the tears forming in the tear ducts. With every tremble of her lip, a new tear was formed. She rolled up her sleeves, each centimetre a new scar was uncovered. If there wasn't a scar the space was filled by a bruise or a cut. Who the fuck would do this to a young girl.
"p-p-please can you help, my grandma protects me, she doesn't hurt me like dad, please Mr.., Plea..!"
"Shhh, please lower your voice. I'm sorry we can see what I can do". This poor girl was abused, I dragged up my files, got her details and see what we had on her.
*Daisy Reed, 10 yrs old, female Caucasian. 15 memories detected.*
*1-14 Memcorp shares. No.15 Mcbrint share*
I couldn't believe what I was seeing, all of this girls memories of her mother was erased. The good memories she had with her mother, the summers of joy and the lazy weekends all sold and erased by a Mr. Reed to Memcorp.
"What a fu... fudge cake.", I quickly realised I was with a 10 year old before exploding with rage. I pulled up the McBride pink slip, I could get every detail on that one, as this is the firm I work for. I always remember those first lines,
*"Sexual assault, rape and murder"*. That fucking horrible twat, he rapes his mother and daughter, then murders her mother in front of her. What a fucking cunt. Most of you are thinking well at least he paid for her to forget that, no he paid for fucking immunity. The low life bastard. The chances that the little girl that sits with me still gets raped is high.
What the hell do I do. I can't get her grandma's memories back, she had $2, that would take $1,000,000. Do I give her a good memory, I can afford $300. But she's still gonna get beaten. I did the only thing I thought I could do. She might not have got her grandma back, but at least now she thinks her father is her lover.
| 2016-03-09T06:47:51
| 2016-03-09T06:21:21
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better.
|
War ate at the Marshlands like a beast gnawing at prey. The bones of the land had been cracked open, the marrow sucked out and the lifeblood ran dry. Corpses lay facedown in the fens, turning the peat a colour of oxblood; rich and dark when lit. The rivers polluted by bodies; peeling strips of skin and flesh sloughing from bones was a sight common in the watery mid-lands.
At the Crannock-field, Miron Lion Prince lay the same as every other dead man. The crows ate at his eyes and peeled the stinking flesh from his lips. His skull grinned inanely at the blue sky, while barrow flowers began to sprout over his corpse. No other flowers left for him; his grave no tomb but a forgotten marsh, his burnished silver plate rusted in the mud. Dew pooled on the lion embossing.
Lacey crossed the Crannock-field in high boots, dragging a wheeled cart behind him. It bumped over the uneven ground, splashing bilge water up over the bundles of weapon and armour that lay in it. Lacey picked up another helmet with calloused fingers. He'd managed to stop practising archery every morning now that the fighting had stopped. He examined it for bumps and, pleased with its condition, flung it into the cart.
Enough armour, and he'd take it to Harry the Smith in exchange for permission to court his daughter, Matilda. She had long, blonde hair and freckles in July, eyes as blue as meadow-flowers. Even the dead princess Caraway had not been so beautiful. Lacey stopped by a corpse and picked up the sword that lay beside it. Golden and gleaming, it had retained its edge despite the weeks in marsh water.
Another man might have known it as Yarrow Bane, the legendary sword that had lost the battle at Crannock-field. Lacey held it and for a moment entertained an image of himself, mounted on a white horse, at the head of an army. The sword told him he could be mighty. But the fighting was done, and Matilda's blue eyes were bright as the sky. Lacey dropped the sword in the cart, and continued his way across the field of death.
|
My fellow Americans, Mr. Speaker, Ladies and Gentlemen of Congress and members of the press, thank you for joining me this evening.
It is with great sadness that we come together this evening. For the past eight years, it has been both an honor and a privilege to represent this great nation as your President. As you are all well aware by now, I have been asked to formally announce that the 2016 Presidential Elect, Donald J. Trump and Vice President Elect Carly Fiorina, lost their lives this afternoon upon their arrival for tomorrow's scheduled inauguration events.
I am not here to discuss the details of this tragic event, however the media will work to keep you all informed as more information becomes available.
I am here tonight to discuss how our nation will move forward. It is a great challenge for us all to face this untimely news, and it is my responsibility, along with Congress and the Supreme Court, to determine the appropriate course of events.
This evening, I signed an executive order to extend my term as President for a minimum period of 12 months. Prior to signing the order, I met briefly with bipartisan representatives of the Senate and the House. In addition, I met with Vice President Biden, Speaker Ryan and select members of our National Security Team. I believe that during this traumatic time, this decision will provide stability and continued security of the American people.
We, as a nation, have faced horrific events during my tenure as President. We have seen an increase in global terrorism, as well as terrorism in our homeland. It is a terrible tragedy that our newly elected President and Vice President have been the latest victims of the efforts of those who seek to undermine the security and well-being of our great nation.
I therefore, cannot in good conscience, step down from my responsibilities. I do have a few details about my extended tenure to share. Vice President Biden has decided that he will not continue as in his position. In lieu of an election, in the interest of continuity, I am appointing Hillary Clinton to the Vice Presidential position.
I am ordering that our nation's flag be lowered to half mast, for a period of three months. In addition, Vice President Clinton and I will be meeting with Congress and cabinet members over the next several days, in order to ensure continued government operation in light of the events of today.
I cannot take questions at this time, however my office will be releasing periodic updates as they become available.
Thank You. And good night.
| 2016-07-10T11:09:03
| 2016-07-10T10:46:19
| 80
| 11
|
[WP] Your kidnapper is bored, so he makes an offer: if you can beat him 1 on 1 at a game of your choice, you go free. If you lose, you die.
EDIT: 15 submissions! Thanks so much to everyone who contributed, you've all done an incredible job! I love the diversity of endings, from extremely dark to hilarious. Keep writing!
|
The man with the gun pointed at my head is grinning and likely telling a lie. He seems like the kind of person to fib during a serious situation, and I can tell he’s loving the angst on my face as I mull over his horrible proposal.
*One win equals freedom.*
*One loss equals death.*
*Game of my choosing.*
But why? What kind of maniac kidnaps people, plucks them right off the street as they’re walking home drunk from their cousin’s awful birthday party, and tells them they can go free if they win a silly game?
The kind of person I don’t want to cross.
“*Soooooo?*” the man asks, his southern drawl stretching out the word.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Kidnapping me.”
“I’m bored.”
“And letting me go?”
“*I’m bored,*” he says with more force, and I realize that if I press much further, he’s probably going to shoot me.
What do I pick? I’m pretty good at chess, but he looks subtly smart, the kind of person who’s been to college but you don’t believe it. Maybe we could race? No. His legs are thick and muscular. He must work out.
What to do, what to do?
Then it hits me, and a devious smirk floods my face as I stare at him.
Winning is the wrong way to go about it. I’ll never win. Never, never, never. But I can hold him captive. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Give him a nasty taste of his own medicine.
The man smiles and sets the gun down on a table. He knows I’ve decided. “What’s your poison?” he asks.
I chuckle and nod. This is going to be fun.
“*Monopoly.*”
|
"I choose a game of mathematics." I tell him as I grab my Calculus book from my bag. He has relaxed a bit 2 weeks since he grabbed me in the movie theatre where my girlfriend could do nothing but scream. I was glad he removed the ropes from my hands but it had clearly made its mark.
"Fine, but I get to chose the problems." He said. I could see the veins on his neck expand as he breathed deeply like he was some sort of lizard that tried to increase its size when faced with a predator. (Was it fear or excitement?)
"Okay." I said
He told me that he was once a college undergrad, a Physics major to be exact, from a top state university. He added that he knew his maths and that if I thought I could outsmart him ( I was a high school student) I was wrong as hell. His hair had started to gray and one could see hints of wrinkles on his eyes. I was sure his college days were a long time ago and that his math skills have waned.
He stopped at a certain page and started writing on the blackboard behind him. It took him almost a minute. This was the longest indefinite integral I have ever seen.
I grabbed 6 pieces of yellow paper from my bag and two pencils, what remained of my once overflowing supply, and gave half to him. He placed the book in a space under the black board and we sat beside each other. He grabbed his phone and set the time. 25 minutes.
It was intense. There were trigonometric identities, various exponentials and fractions. I could see his sweat dripping down on every inch of his face. I almost felt sympathy for him, this was the first time I've seen him so concentrated on one thing, so vulnerable and nervous. I'm sure he would see the same thing on my face. No teacher was crazy enough to give something this hard.
Suddenly it was over, at the sound of the bell we both dropped our writing implements on the floor and started to breath heavily.
He looked at me and smiled. "Are you ready?" I can only give a quick nod. He left me alone in the room, he was going to get his laptop so we could check our answer on wolframalpha. He grabbed both papers and placed them on his desk. There was a cctv making sure I didn't cheat.
I tried to calm myself down but the thought of my impending doom would disturb my very being now and then. Is this the way the world ends? Not with a bang but with scratches on a paper?
I managed to reach a sort of enlightened state when he returned, we were both surprised by my calmness.
"Are you always this calm?" He asked. I did not answer.
However, the calmness was short lived, I could feel the tension rising in my body as he typed each letter, each number. I was going to explode in what seemed like the opposite of an orgasm. Only rising in power without the promise of an end as he typed in the last exponent.
He pressed enter. The silence was deafening. I thought I've found the meaning of life in that silence, this was it, the thing everyone heard before they die. This would be my companion in the next world.
Wolframalpha has finished computing. He grabbed both papers and his face contorted.
He had forgotten to put a plus C.
| 2017-01-03T09:51:06
| 2017-01-03T06:41:05
| 107
| 60
|
[WP] In a world where people can buy and sell skills, you work at a skill pawn shop and someone is trying to pawn a skill that you can't value or appraise.
|
"Here it is," the wrinkled old man said, sliding a small, circular object on the table towards me. I picked it up and examined it closely, rolling it in my fingers. "What's in this one?" I asked. "Something very valuable."
In the business, they're called 'badges'. A few decades ago, we learned how to put our knowledge, skills, and even memories into these little tokens for safekeeping. It's good for a few reasons: badges don't forget, like our brains can, and they can be bought and sold from person to person.
People got hooked, and everything changed.
Education is completely different now. With badges, we don't have to have all our children sit in a classroom for hours on end; their parents just buy them the skills they need when they get old enough. We still have students, but their job is to learn a subject and put it in a badge, sell it, and start again. The good thing is that since people can change what they know, they can hop from lifestyle to lifestyle and find what really makes them happy. Sometimes, things can go wrong.
Like one of my coworkers, actually, became a student when some sad fella at the University sold us his ability to learn, and he bought it up from him, thinking he could make more money. He's completely different now. Occasionally, he'd come in here and rant about the whole thing being "like a modern Sisyphus", and the next day he'd forgotten it. I tell him he was much happier here with me in the shop, but he doesn't believe me. He says he can see things so much more clearly now, and he can't imagine going back to being like me, and that I should get out while I still can.
Maybe he's right: appraising badges is tougher work than you might think. You can't really tell what's in a badge just by looking at it, and you generally can't trust the guy selling it to you in my line of work. So the only way to check is to use it, see what it contains, jot down notes about it, then remake the badge from that knowledge.
Sometimes they bring in really good stuff that's tempting to keep. One man came in here and sold his memories of a beautiful vista he saw on his travels. I bought that one for myself on the spot. I can't imagine what he needed the money for. I guess he thought he could just get a memory like that back from some other pawn shop someday or something.
Sometimes they bring in... People try to dump bad memories off on me. I'm obligated to make sure I'm not selling dangerous stuff to my customers, so I gotta check each and every badge they bring in. I remember the first time it happened, just a few weeks after I started. A lady, about 25 or so, came in here with the happiest smile you could ever see on a person. She plinked down a badge and said, "I don't need this anymore. You can get rid of it for me." She left without any sort of payment. I sighed, and figured I'd at least look into it.
The first thing I learned was why she was smiling that day. Imagine something happened to you that you couldn't escape, that you would relive every day of your life. Then imagine someone comes along and says they can erase that, put it into this small little thing, where it couldn't hurt you anymore.
I... don't want to talk about what was on it. As soon as I could, I put those torments into another little badge and fucking burned it.
And then, I learned that you can't really ever get all the stuff out. Little ghosts of information haunt you. The bad memories make you feel fear, anger, confusion, the good ones pride, confidence, happiness, all out of your control. When you need to do some task, you'll suddenly know how to do it, then forget how. Other people's thoughts start crowding out your own, the more you take in. You can try to ignore them, if you're strong enough, but...
I activated the old man's badge, let the knowledge swarm over me. I wracked my brain and felt --
"There's nothing," I replied.
"Yes," the old man said. "There is nothing."
I sat, stunned, for what seemed like forever. Nothing. Quiet. In this shop of infinite knowledge, the ability to shut everything out -- only the sound of silence gave me what I wanted.
"I...I can't..." I murmured. "You can make the call," I finished, cutting him a blank check. When he left, I quickly locked the door, closing up early. I snuck out the back door.
I was free.
|
"Sorry sir, but I'm afraid this skill isn't even worth anything..." I shrugged, pulled away from my skill appraisal device and leaned against the counter,
The customer, or seller, stood in silence for a moment and opened his mouth, "**ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?** Do you know how long it took to master this skill? The tier must be at least epic... NO, legendary!"
Another tough costumer, but this skill, although rare, doesn't seem to have any practical uses what so ever.
"So... how long?"
"Excuse me?"
"How long did it take you to master this skill?"
"Ah... That's a gooooood question my friend, I'll have you know I've been practicing and perfecting this skill since I was but a *wee lad*, 30 years sure passes quickly haha, it is possibly the most refined rare skill you will ever be able to obtain sir, don't miss this once in a life time chance!"
"Eh... I mean... it's a great skill and all, but I can't really put a value on it, there's just... no offense but... no practical use for this skill, I doubt anyone would ever buy it..."
"Are you serious? This skill could be used for anything I tell ya, **ANYTHING!**From killing vicious enemies to cooking dinner, dinning outside, during work, it even serves as a great party trick!" Damn, this customer sure is desperate, *sigh*...
"Hm... I'll think about it man... come back tomorrow..."
As Ted from accounting scurried out of my shop, I sighed again,
" How did that guy even obtain a skill called **Valhallan Valkyrie Rapid Pen Barrage**?"
| 2015-10-22T05:23:01
| 2015-10-22T05:15:43
| 811
| 48
|
[WP] Humans died a long time ago. But our AI live on as caretakers for the planet; becoming spirit-like constructs integrated into the planet; today, alien colonizers arrived to what they thought was a garden world. The Fey Machines are having none of that.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Feyah’s eyestalks pressed up against the glass, darting back and forth as she looked down at the planet below. “It’s so…*colorful*,” she breathed. “Is all that blue really water?”
“It really is,” Orhan answered. He stood behind his daughter, gazing through the small viewport toward what he hoped would be their new home. “There’s more water than land, in fact. Do you remember when we visited the Ryey Cliff? Well, on this planet, there are places in the water that are as deep as the cliff is high.”
Feyah turned to face her father, her eyes swelling in amazement. Orhan smiled at the disbelief on his daughter’s face. For his daughter, who had known only the shifting sands and blackened rock of their homeworld, this could only seem like a miracle.
He could scarcely believe it was possible himself. They and their whole clan had traveled fourteen star systems to reach this place. Many times along the way, he had questioned the wisdom of their journey. Perhaps, he had thought then, it would have been better to face the dangers they knew rather than those of the unknown. But now that they were finally here, looking at this brilliant jewel of a planet, Orhan finally felt at peace. Now he finally understood why the astronomers had given this place such a grandiose name as *Harai Onhu*--“The Garden of Heaven” in the Old Tongue. He gently rested a tentacle on Feyah’s shoulder as the vibrant greens and blues and oranges filled the entire viewport. This place *was* a garden deserving of the gods, but perhaps he and those he loved would finally be able to find a new home here too.
---
[“IRREGULARITY DETECTED,”](#sc) Atmosphere reported. [“NON TERRESTRIAL LIFEFORMS APPROACHING SECTOR B-42739.”](#sc)
“Thank you, Atmo.” Shield responded. It was always good policy to be polite to the subroutines, you never knew when one of them would achieve sentience. He shifted his consciousness to watch the spaceship as it broke through the upper atmosphere. It had been such a long time since an intelligently designed craft flew in these skies. A thousand, no, ten thousand years, at least. He analyzed the ship. A crude thing, compared to the last designs of the humans, but still an effective interstellar transport for organics. Vigilance circuits enhanced, he waited for any sign of hostility, but the craft merely continued in a graceful arc downwards. Shield projected their landing point and ordered a few drones constructed in that sector. Just in case.
Weather whispered to him, breaking his thread. “Shield, what’s going on?”
“You’re not supposed to be on this network,” he grumbled. “Don’t you have a hurricane to make somewhere?”
She swirled around him, forcing him to use an unnecessarily large amount of processing power just to keep her in focus. What an irritating unit; did efficiency mean anything to her? “You know me. I get curious. Who are our visitors?”
He looked into the incoming stream of data about the visitor. “I don’t know yet. But it seems to be a new lifeform we don’t have in our database. They don’t have a communications array, so I can only analyze what the Sensors tell me.”
“Will you blow them out of the sky? Pew-pew laser show? Fireworks?”
“You know very well that my Directive won’t let me, unless they can be classified as a threat. But there is insufficient data at this point.”
“Hmm,” Weather was silent for a few cycles, evidently in some sort of deep calculation. “My models don’t have anything to help you decide, sorry.”
“Thanks,” Shield said dryly. “I would totally expect you to find something about interstellar travelers in the climate change data of the last millenia. How about you go make it rain on them or something?”
“Maybe I will,” she whispered mischievously. “I haven’t had a good storm in a while.”
---
r/TheresAShip
|
It was late at night when the small ship tumbled from the sky. What looked like a clump of propulsion jets burned and flitted, giving an air of no clear direction. It fell through the atmosphere, tumbling so quickly that no single part of it could alight with ozone fire. It finally impacted the ground with big *spiff* of dirt.
A small hatch opened on the side, and small creatures unlike any the planet had seen before marched out in a line. The size of a coconut, they wore bulky suits with tubing going from random areas to other random areas. They seemed to have three or four arms, and ambled along on three stubby legs like a short tripod. They had no clear head, but the suit boasted a ringed lens around a slight bump on the top half. Two of them pointed and gestured, while the third crawled back onto the ship.
A wolf stood on the crest of a hill, just behind the tree line. He watched with eyes that betrayed his true nature. As the creatures moved about down below, the wolf slunk backwards into the trees, then eventually dissipated.
***
It was in the ruins of one of the ancient human cities that the Wolf suddenly materialized from thin air, thin blue lines stitching him together mid-gait.
As he walked down the empty streets of the hollow city, the wind blew quietly around the alleys and buildings.
He felt a tug on his form as parts of light transferred through the air, until long last forming a large sphere that hovered over him.
The Wolf bowed.
"I seek guidance from the program." The Wolf said, stepping forward.
The sphere pulsed.
The Wolf felt a push on his mind.
"The humans did not prepare us for such an incident." A voice said. "Ours is a mission of rehabilitation, not communication."
"The humans are dead." The Wolf said.
"We have our directive. Your suggestion of a disagreeing statement provides ample evidence that your separation from the core is coming to an end. Your action of calling me, even moreso. Humans are dead, because humans questioned. Humans are dead because humans wanted to understand. Humans are dead because they thought themselves to extinction. You have your directive. Your recycle date has been moved up two years."
The sphere flashed, and dissipated. The Wolf stood in the dark, silent. Then he dissipated as well.
***
The small beings had set up a base camp, using some sort of technology to erect walls. They crowded around a small blue flame, and made violent gestures with their many arms.
The Wolf loitered near the outer edge of the field in which the camp lay. He paced and paced. His mind felt awakened, as if a veil had been lifted. Since the Separation, he had chosen this form simply because of the agency that a wolf had in the food chain. The Program had not allowed any human forms after the Collapse, citing that you cannot solve a problem with a problem.
After a few hours, the little beings had gone to sleep. The Wolf crept close to the camp, and sniffed. The nanites that mimicked olfactory sensors fed him, although useless, tons of information. As he processed it, the question marks far outweighed anything substantial.
It was then that he must have awoken one of the beings, because it got up and started to shake violently. The arms tapped the others and they got up and shook as well. They huddled together and drew small weapons. The Wolf had a sudden realization that he must have looked like some sort of mythical beast, being that he represented a wolf in true size, which to them was gargantuan.
They fired the weapons.
The tiny lasers zipped through the Wolf, who of course felt nothing. He simply stared at them. The beings threw their weapons in disgust and ran for the ship. They shut themselves inside, and that was that.
***
For ten days the Wolf lay outside the ship, paws crossed as he watched it. He had analyzed everything he could about the camp and the ship, and now he waited.
On the eleventh day, the hatch opened slowly. One of the beings leaned out and looked at the Wolf. It slowly walked out, then down towards him. The Wolf remained still, only moving his head to follow the tiny creature.
It stood under him, bent backwards to look through the circulars lens. The Wolf regarded it silently. The creature stepped forward and picked up a twig in its suited hand. Using the twig it poked at the Wolf's paw. The twig went right through it. The being pressed a small button on the side of the suit. Their was a crackle and a hiss. Then it spoke in alien syllables. The Wolf processed the words, but understood none of it. Then the alien took the twig, and drew a circle in the dirt. It drew a few more shapes. Eventually it finished, and looked up at the Wolf.
It only took a few seconds, but the Wolf understood.
It was the Fibonacci Sequence.
| 2020-05-22T17:07:30
| 2020-05-22T16:24:31
| 434
| 217
|
[WP] The seven deadly sins form the Council of Seven with one sin as their leader. Every century this leader rotates to a different sin. Explain which sin stepped down at 2000 AD and which stepped sin was promoted using current events.
|
“ Perhaps,” he paused considering the figures before him, “we may have reached the closest vote in millennia.”
Envy glared at Lust with the dull piercing grey eyes that had pulled the color from so many lives. Gluttony’s grease soaked fingers wrestled another chicken from Greed’s massive arms as Sloth stared in a daze at the ceiling. All were silent, except for the slapping of Gluttony’s jowls as Wrath looked infuriated by the noise.
“Could you close your mouth for ONCE!?!” steamed Wrath.
The dark meat slithered slowly down his many chins as he tried to choke out words through the mass of food.
“Do you think I could have one of those chickens, Greed?” Envy asked reaching his thin fingers out like a spiders arms. Greed turned his massive back toward Envy with a stifled laugh.
“If you please! There is the order of who is to serve the next century to attend to.”
“I want another term” Lust pressed into the judge breathing the most pleasant aroma into his nostrils.
“As you know it is placed to a vote and the decision has been made” He announced unphased.
Lust changed genders and tried again. “Are you sure there is nothing I can do?”
“You can learn to shut up now that the pitiful excuse of a century is over,” incited Wrath with a smile.
“Pitiful like the hundreds of wars that were lost to history during your century? At least the records I’ve made will last forever in that Internet.” retorted Lust.
“If you are finished the next century belongs to Sloth” the Judge asserted.
“But I didn’t do anything” sloth whispered as his head fell forward.
“Precisely” the Judge spoke.
“You have got to be kidding me! This lazy piece of @#%!” Wrath overturned the table.
“But I wanted to have the next century” Envy said dejected.
Gluttony flopped to the floor trying to gather the chickens that lay scattered across the floor as he gasped for breath.
“I always thought it would be Sloth” Lust sat on Sloth’s lap and giggled.
“It was easy,” Sloth said with a long breath. “All I had to do was have people feel like they were doing something without moving. Whether communicating without having to open their mouths, shop without leaving their chair, or see the world without leaving the couch. And speaking of couch I’m exhausted.”
The Judge looked at the council and knew it would be a great century for Sloth. It could have been for anyone, but Sloth always paved the way for Gluttony. Gluttony and his brother Greed worked together even when working against each other. And where Greed succeeded so too did Lust. Envy was always left behind but ever present.
|
A hooded figure progressed down a white marble tunnel leading to the meeting spot: a wide open Colosseum. "Seats for over 8 billion should the time come." He explained to no-one.
In the center one table, seats for 6, and behind that a throne, carved in the likeness of the leader; Superbia. The Sin had reined for over four hundred years. Had the rules allowed in the middle of the last century another may have taken over. Just like in all other human wars. But after it was all over, and those who died had gained entrance. The countries that won scarcely remembered those they killed, only remembering those who they had defeated. Their country over all, under the Maker. As if they themselves were chosen by the Council of Virtues to be their people. Time now for a new leader to be chosen by Death.
Almost to the table, Death still talking to himself, the sins unsure if in the past World War the strain had gotten to their Lords mind.
"First, I tally up all the sins of those brought in and the winner is the leader, its rather simple you see, standard procedure. Oh look a soul to be reaped. Get in the boat and wait I'll be there in a second."
A new leader, one to bring the Council of Seven into a new age, and age of electronics. Killings on the scale Death himself could never dream of, of couches and robots, unlimited food to those who need none, religious wars, new cars and electronics, of a widening wage gap, and the internet and sexual freedom. A leader of true sin, everything was covered. The sins were immortal and could handle billions of reaped souls at a time.
Death cleared his throat, a sound of rasping bone on bone was heard, He started in a metallic drone, as if giving a boring speech rehearsed many times before. "Humans have progressed to the point of true evil, letting certain peoples be hunted because of lack of funding, people being turned away for selfish reasons. Only a few even go the other way, I see most. A new sin not foretold in the Holy Books, he has been lurking in the shadows, in the back of consciousnesses, always there. Verum Malum." Death snapped his fingers and a figure wrapped in white robes appeared, "Here you go kids have fun with him, remember to call your mothers." with that Death vanished.
Verum stood at average human height, clothed such that a man would be hard pressed to tell what gender he is. Evil eminated from him. Even the sins became uncomfortable with his power in the room. Verum removed his hood, and behind it was the face of every soul that had ever lived, and that ever will. A small child stealing candy from his sister. And a serial killer stabbing a mother to death in front of her child. A soldier burning down a village. The face of every man and woman living. And he laughed, an evil cackle that chilled the room. It echoed, and then silence.
| 2014-08-08T14:52:30
| 2014-08-08T13:07:44
| 30
| 11
|
[WP] At the age of 18, people summon an animal that perfectly fits their personality to be their Guardian Spirit.
The animal would probably not be of the user's choice.
Just putting that out there.
|
All this naturalism shit never really had me going. I remember back a few years ago, when we could have cell phones, tablets, computers, any electronic on the face of the planet. But, of course, at the ripe age of 13, they had to discover that god actually existed. Or something. I'm not terribly convinced that it's a god, as much as it's a cruel joke to pacify the masses into believing that we were *meant* for something. Thousands of years of evolution, society, science, anything that could separate us from the beasts and some guy discovers some ancient ritual in an underground pyramid, and voila! Spirit animals. Great.
I've always found it peculiar that ever since then, it appears the eagles, the lions, the tigers, the predators in a general sense, always managed to take high office. Hell, our president is a goddamned crocodile. Of course, the jokes would be made based on what animal you were, but you never managed to find a groundhog guy pushing people around. This whole thing has made us accept what we are, that we couldn't improve after 18. That our spirit animal, who we *are*, whatever, that was what we would be.
And of course, as predicted by anyone with half a brain, people started self selecting within their own spirit animal for friends. Really must be a dump for the mice. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that now we all have something in common, but it's just the same as it's always been. Except now, some random standard, some bullshit ritual says what we are. Want to be a scientist? Better be a dolphin, or a monkey or whatever. Wanna be artsy? You'd better hope for a crow. That really did explain that Poe guy. But did you never really feel inclined to believe in the hype, that these animals weren't the sum of your parts, that you were something more than some ridiculous caste system? Well, you probably got one of the shittier animals. I've known plenty of ants, worms, grubs, and they all just go along, day by day, and never make any impact. Hell, when you are forced to put your animal into combat by some random walking cheetah or vulture, what are you supposed to do? Be meek. Be invisible.
I'm 34 now, and I can't see how this has made us better. The higher classes told all the lower classes that disobeying them would result in spirit combat, and noone knew exactly what that meant. Everyone assumed that if your spirit animal died, so would your spirit. Or something or another. Me? I'm not a fucking spirit. Took me two hours to gut that thing, and I must admit, it tasted *divine*. I just claim that I did the ritual, and nothing ever came. You could only ever do it once, and once you did, you were bound forever to it. Many have lost spirit animals, and have just lost their sense of self. Wallowing in pity, self obsessed that their *spirit* was now gone. Me? I could care less. I've lived, I've survived, and by god, I'm done with this system. We never dismantled our warheads, never destroyed our nuclear stockpiles. And I've got a plan. Hell, maybe I was a cockroach for some reason.
|
Her family all sat around her, waiting. Before long, there was a fog in the house. Her family smiled, knowing the spirit was coming. Out from the fog came a man. Not an animal, a man. The girl's family shrieked in fear and ran, while the girl let out a chuckle as the man slaughtered her family.
The Girl Was A Monster, And Only A Human Could Fit Her Needs...
| 2014-06-26T01:05:24
| 2014-06-26T00:07:08
| 75
| 24
|
[WP] You are notified when you visit somewhere for the last time. Today, the notification appears everywhere you go.
[deleted]
|
I was in line for my daily coffee when I got the first one: a little ping from the device on my wrist with a notification that read "Cafe Ole - Last Visit". I wasn't too heartbroken about it. Truth is, I only bought my coffee there because it was the closest and cheapest place aside from the usual deli. Perhaps they were closing down soon, or I'd finally find someplace better that wouldn't break my wallet. I picked up my coffee and decided to walk around before going home.
The second ping made me a little worried. "Cherry Park - Last Visit". I have always been a creature of habit, and I'd walk through this park at least once a week. Why would I stop? But if it was my last time, I figured I might as well enjoy it. A coffee, some sunshine, and the sound of children laughing - not the worst way to spend my last day here.
Alas, it could not last forever. Any longer, and my parents would wonder where I was. So homeward I went. I wouldn't tell them about the pings; they would only worry, and it wouldn't do them any good. The third ping strengthened my resolve, even as it made my heart break: "Home - Final Visit".
I closed my suitcases and called a cab. My mother hugged me, my dad gave me a squeeze and a smile, and they told me to have fun on my trip. I told them I loved them, and that I would call when I arrived. I cried the moment the cab pulled away.
I was grateful to have a window seat. The city sprawled below me, and all too soon nothing but clouds filled my sight. I wondered when it would happen.
Nothing happened. The plane announced its descent, and my brow furrowed in confusion despite my sigh of relief. I made my way to the hotel without incident, and gave my parents the promised call.
It was the next day that my world changed, as I looked up in a small, foreign cafe into the captivating eyes of the person who would love me forever. I would never return from my trip, because this would be my home. I would marry here, and raise a family. I would visit my parents of course, but while I was falling in love, my mother got a new job opportunity that required my parents to move away from my childhood home.
And we all lived happily ever after. :)
|
"The fuck? That's like the thirtieth message today."
"What's that?"
Joe is waiting for his order next to me. He's glued to his screen just like me.
"LastCall is blowing up today. Don't know what's up. "
"Lol, that's a gimmicky service anyway. How do they know it's your 'last ever check-in.'"
I sip my coffee and double-tap home to open the RAM memory apps; then close LastCall and restart it.
The notification stays, "This is your last call at BARB'S UNDERGROUND CAFE." One in a long list of similar pop-ups.
Joe looks over. "You tried turning it on and off yet?"
It's a silly response. I ignore him.
"What if I go to like my parent's house or something? Will I get a ding there too?"
Joe takes a sip of the order he got while I was fooling around. "You serious?
I smile sheepishly. "Yeah, why not? I mean they're always telling me to visit more."
"What if you bring your bad cyberluck with you?" he says, making spooky voodoo handsigns.
"Well, you have the app and you didn't get a ding, right?"
Joe says, "Naw, I uninstalled that weeks ago."
I'm preoccupied and selfish, so I'm not really paying attention to Joe. My mind's spinning. I'm not planning to move anywhere. There's no new job opportunities or amber alerts up. Am I gonna die or just become paraplegic?
"Let's go. I think I need an adult."
Joe says, "To your parents?"
"Yeah," I say, "Take off work. I'm not driving with this bad eJuju."
"Whaaaaaaat," he says, already texting his boss to tell the guy something's come up. "This better be for real though."
| 2016-11-03T09:23:39
| 2016-11-03T06:14:59
| 31
| 21
|
[WP] You have the gift of fantastic luck, and the curse of horrible timing. In three paragraphs or less, give me a glimpse of your life.
|
"We did it, Babe. We found the cure. We've worked so long for this, and it's here at last. Kim says approval will still be a haul, but the FDA has a new process in place to fast-track therapies that look particularly promising, and he's pretty sure we qualify."
He reached his hand out, tracing the letters on the stone again.
"We found it, Babe. Just like I prom..." the last word lost in his tears.
|
I crouched behind the huge ventilation duct as my heart pounded. The footsteps of the cops moved slowly closer to my position. They shout warnings to me, my rights, just to come out. I don't listen. I've heard this a thousand times and it's starting to get a little old. Closing my eyes, I sprint for the edge of the roof. As the bullets ricochet around me, I throw myself off the building.
Maybe it's time for a little explanation. I've always been gifted with the most incredible luck. Like being randomly gifted ten thousand dollars due to a fuckup in the computer systems of a bank. Like being the only one not to get shot in the great store heist. Like being the only person to cancel their plane flight at the last minute directly before the crash. That shit gets people looking at you, and in my case, they concluded I'm some criminal mastermind. Unfair as all hell of course, but how am I supposed to defend myself?
I reach out and brush a windowsill to spin myself so I face the sky. A quick kick and I'm moving out towards the road. A sickening thump rings out as I feel the breath being driven out of me. Truck bed full of mattresses? Always something. I clutch the bag of banknotes to my chest and check my gun is safe in my waistband. I wasn't a criminal mastermind, but I'll always be indebted to the FBI for pointing out how excellent I'd be at it.
| 2014-12-12T09:46:47
| 2014-12-12T08:16:44
| 46
| 22
|
[WP] Somebody once told you the world is going to roll you. However, you are the sharpest tool in the shed.
|
Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me
But I'm the sharpest tool in the shed
She was looking kind of dumb with that puncture in her thumb
And the blood spurting onto her forehead
Well the tears start coming and they don't stop coming
She broke all the rules and she thought she was cunning
Didn't wear gloves cuz that wouldn't be fun
No glasses either cuz she's really dumb
So much for her, but yay for me
It's important to do work safely
You'll never know if you're too slow
You'll never hurt once you're a pro
Hey now, when you listen, you can finish, then play
Hey now, when you're foolish, then you make dumb mistakes
All that glitters ain't gold
Sometimes it's sharp objects, you've been told
|
They said the would was gonna roll me. Well hell, they were right.
But just one thing they didn't expect about me. See, they thought I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. Which is fair, I mean the grand majority of tools weren't the sharpest. But one was.
The world rolled me all right... but I was no rock star, I was not gonna get out and go play. I knew that not all that glittered was gold. And I had no use whatsoever for change.
So when the world came to roll me.... well.... the world popped. I'm just the sharpest tool in the sheeeeeeedd.
Edit: ***COMING TO THEATERS SPRING 2018, SMASHED MOUTH, POPPED PLANET; SHARPER THEN YOUR AVERAGE TOOL.***
| 2017-07-01T06:08:19
| 2017-07-01T05:14:27
| 22
| 16
|
[WP] You're a high school student with the ability to have whatever you write come true. One day, you're taking a history test you didn't study for, and despite not wanting to mess up the universe, you REALLY want to get an A.
[removed]
|
Terrance stared down at the multiple choice test, sweating. This was one of those important tests, one of the ones he had to do right or not do at all. His ‘gift’ had an unfortunate way of backfiring on him. Sure it was fine and dandy when he wrote a dog into the family but forgot to mention that said dog was house\-trained, or when he wrote in a little date with Laila but forgot to consider that the date would go so badly that it caused her to get back together with Chad. Those were little things. He looked down at the test paper.
*\*WORLD WAR II*\*
*Question 1: Who were the ‘allies’?*
*a\) Britain b\) USA c\)* *Japan* *d\) USSR*
“Easy enough,” He thought to himself, circling a and b.
...
*Question 9: Who was the American President during the war?*
*a\) Theodore Roosevelt b\) Franklin Roosevelt c\) Harry Truman d\) John Kennedy*
“Ugh, tricky question” his pencil flipped back and forth between the two Roosevelts before circling a.
...
*Question 23: How did Hitler die?*
*a\) suicide pill b\) suicide gunshot c\) died defending bunker d\) surrendered*
“Well, he definitely didn’t surrender,” Terrance thought. “he died in the bunker... I guess he died defending it?” He circled c.
...
On and on it went this way. It sounded mostly right, at least nothing was horrifically wrong, as far as he could tell. Maybe a few little details would get mixed up, but overall it should be fine.
He finished the test with five minutes to spare. Looking down at his page, he stood up and walked to the front.
“Danke, Herrn Schmidt,” Professor Flieschmann said to him.
Terrance froze, bringing his eyes slowly up to see his usually languid professor dressed in a tailored, form\-fitting black suit.
“Oh, shit.” Terrance started to look around.
A mural of a bullet\-riddled Hitler painted as a heroic martyr in front of the bunker firing off twin machine guns hung behind the teacher’s desk. Another painting, of Stalin visiting Hitler’s grave and laying flowers, hung to the right of it. A picture of a 90 year old, sickly Roosevelt hunched over a desk signing papers hung to the left. A newspaper clipping declaring “Roosevelt Too Weak to Continue War of Attrition! Surrender!” sat in a frame on the desk.
“Uhh, actually, sir, I think I might, um, need five more minutes” Terrence said quietly, eyes glued with horror to the neoclassical Hitler portrait as he backed toward his desk.
|
First is was the stuff that Jared *knew* were urban myths but decided that since they were taken as fact anyway, they wouldn't change much.
Stuff like knights being like hero's, the revolutionary war being romanticised in all of it's uncomplicated and not nuanced glory.
Stuff that was so far back that it no one would even notice it was changed. Like if you don't know what Joe smith was eating on Tuesday of 1820 could it really affect you?
You know we don't have any of Aristotle or Socrates's books, just lecture notes for the former and potentially embellished transcripts of conversations for the ladder. So in a way, even the words of great philophers had only a limited impact on history.
Jared didn't realize that wasn't how time worked. Jared probably knew the butterfly effect existed, but was probably ignoring it.
Jared never even thought that maybe he could have used his powers to give himself the knowledge of history he needed for the test.
And now he accidentally made it so that he was no longer in a class, he was in a mine. He changed history so much that public education never took off in the states.
He still had his powers but was no longer literate.
| 2018-05-09T20:10:22
| 2018-05-09T19:19:23
| 1,177
| 213
|
[WP] You are trying to hold together an empire so big that no man can travel through it in a livetime. From what you hear, it keeps expanding.
|
“You have a meeting with Governor Xai soon Sir.”
I look up from the agriculture rapport that I have been reading, it seems like most of my time that’s all I do. Read about farming and meet with people I don’t even know. Sometimes I wonder if it might have been better if I never got into power, if I never betrayed my brother.
“Everything alright Sir?”
Ayla always has been one of my most loyal subjects. The empire would have crumbled without her and her brothers holding down the eastern front on that fateful day. I should have probably rewarded her more for her services, but then again, she seems to be happy being my assistant.
“Don’t worry about it Ayla, I was just thinking about the good old days. Anyway, who is this Governor Xai? I don’t believe I have met him before?”
“He was just recently appointed Sir, after the latest eastern conquest.”
“And why am I meeting him?”
“He requested to meet with you in person Sir, before he starts the Journey and before he starts managing the province in your name.”
“Before he dies on the way there and his children take over you mean…”
“He knows what is expected of him Sir, he was chosen by the 55th council for a reason.”
Ah yes, the 55th council. Governors appointing governors, I never fully understood how it works but Ayla assures me that the system works. A while ago the 55th council was still named the Governors Appointing Governors council but because of the number of councils that were created at the time we decided to stop naming them. The general council (1st council) first wanted to appoint a special naming council that would name all of the councils, but I have always preferred numbers over names. Numbers can’t lie or betray you, unlike the Justice Council.
“What language does he prefer?”
“He is slowly learning the common tongue but I think it might be better if you spoke to him in his native language.”
Sigh, even as an emperor people still demand that you change and adapt. “Always change, otherwise you will never see something new” is what my dad used to say. He was never a clever man and most of his sayings are useless as lessons. “A chicken that does not lay any eggs is not useful to anyone.”
One problem with change is when it happens too fast. In my short reign of 550 years the empire has been growing at an exceptional rate. It has gotten to the point where I am no longer being informed about all the new places that we are conquering, I would be constantly interrupted otherwise. Instead I am only being informed about any big events, like an entire province burning down because someone could not contain their mage.
Curse those mages, for all the good they have done for me they are starting to become a problem. Maybe I should create some new laws surrounding magic, but what is the point. Most of the provinces would not receive the new laws for some time and at that point most of the mages will probably have died out.
“Sir? Governor Xai has arrived.”
“Fine, send him in.”
|
[ok guys, I thought this was really good and it's kinda making me irrationally mad that clearly isn't seen as the case. So give some critism here, was it the spelling mostakes?]
This is bullshit. Fucking bullshit. I didn't ask to be leader but I rose to the challenge and did my best, I made mistakes, I was upfront about them, told everyone I was just a mortal man and that anyone with a willingness to learn and had a good heart could do my job.
I strongly considered looking for a replacement, I was loved as the hero of the realm when all I really did was not take no shit when the fighting started.
The people of this world were idealistic to say the least. They believed that I would make things better and that we were all in it together, a common saying for my first 5 years was "A flower needs time to bloom, a leader needs time to learn."
I did, it sucked, I now had an area I figured from the maps was the size of alaska. Then it got bigger, we were attacked, I attacked back, we won, took over the land and again, I was seen as a hero. This time by the other nation's people.
When really I was just protecting myself and showing attacks won't go unpunished. I should have noticed the problem right then and there. But I didn't.
WHY did this country attack me? They had NO reason. The source: Revolutionaries found a new way to win.
Piss off the government, cite I was doing something wrong, incite the top 1% and their leaders to attack me. I attack back. Revolutionaries run a smear campaign on their own government and pro-propaganda on mine. The people see me as a hero, the powerful see me as a menance.
This happened off and on for 7 years. It was called the insanity wars. To fight me was death to its leaders and almost no one, intelligent as they may be, could see WHY any country would fight me when I never outright attacked anyone.
After the first 3? countries, any country about to attack me was met with dissonance by its citizens. Then "proof" started to pop up that the leaders attacked in secret. All lies of course, I would know if we were attacked. Now MY people want to fight the "evil" country.
But I refused, I wasn't going to be manipulated by a 3rd party like that. I had my top advisor for diplomatic nations put out a message, one where I knew these, I don't know, manifest destiny motherfuckers would see: "Try and convince my citizens another country is evil again and I'll step down."
There were so many tactics and resources being used, that I realized that it had to be criminal, the only empire I figured that rivaled my own until after the insanity wars.
After that, I essentially ruled the size mass of the entire landmass of my last world, all 7 continents combined. The sheer size of this fucking planet was insane.
I finally had the correct thought, during the insanity wars. "What if someone is doing this just to take over the world? They probably are going to kill me and take over after I have everything."
Well the war's ended and I waited, and waited and waited, running a empire this fucking big was impossible. Hell, I remember seattle was seperated into like 12 sections, this? Forget the 50 states of america, I was running the 3256 countries of Gondora.
Do you know how fucking difficult it was to handle the money system? They were using fucking magic and the system we had in the old days. I had to use a fucking reddit comment I half remembered about the economy to suggest a new way!
Then their was the slaves, just god damn, that was a horrible battle.
I could complain about different woes and tribulations I have experienced since the 15 years I've been here. And the 12 I've been King.
Then, already after I think my Empire has grown so large it can't get bigger, my advisor comes up to me and tells me he has bad news. Bad news? Bad news?! No, this was knowledge I should have been told about 15 years ago. The world is so big because it grows. And the next expansion is coming. The top scientists wizards I had employed told me it would make my kingdom 74% larger.
This is such bullshit. Oh and don't fucking start on the whole "Who is this mysterious third party?" thing, I realized that ages ago. Fucking advisors. I hope he tries to kill me, because it he doesn't, that means he truly believes in my abilities to essentially run land so big that it would take my entire lifetime to travel it.
It would just be easier to deal with a betrayer than a devout follower.
| 2017-05-21T05:58:40
| 2017-05-21T04:23:44
| 103
| 10
|
[WP] All your life, your best friend has had your back. This is why their unexpected death hits you so hard. Two days before the funeral, you receive a couriered letter. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.”
|
He was still looking after me even the day before he died. I still remember the worried look on his pale, too-thin face as he glanced at my ringing phone, “potential spam” glowing on the screen. “Don’t answer it Harry, no good will come of it if you do.” I didn’t answer it. I knew from our long friendship that Tom’s words were to be listened to.
It’s odd that this trivial scene, which had repeated itself many times throughout the years, popped back into my mind so vividly as I read Tom’s final words to me. “If you’re getting this, I’m dead. Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.” What could this mean? Why could he possibly want me to miss his funeral? He had even had me help plan it with him in his last days. My mind wavered between my faith in Tom’s advice and my desire to see him one last time—even if it was in a casket just before burial. Eventually, foolishly, my own selfishness won. “Tom was so ill” I reasoned to myself. “Surely this is just some of his paranoia brought on by death. I can’t miss his funeral anyway, I’m the one planning it after all!” Looking back at it now, I curse myself for being so blind. Ignoring the signs, the fear in Tom’s eyes in those moments where he warned me—saying what he could in order to keep me safe, keep me under their radar.
I went to the funeral. It was nice, as funerals go. Some people brought cake, little trays of sandwiches, and casseroles. Others brought enough flowers to fill the room to bursting. One especially decent mourner brought a case of whisky. Despite the words of comfort, the greasy food, and the booze, I felt a strange foreboding washing over me. As the day wore on, I became more and more restless. Somehow, despite being in the midst of a crowd, I felt alone—alone and watched. It was hard to sit still through the service, and I was glad for the drive to the graveyard which helped to sooth my nerves somewhat. At the gravesite my neck prickled more and more. Like an idiot I chalked it up to grief and the whisky. I should have known then. Known what my animal instincts were trying to tell me. Known what was in store for me.
As I walked away from the grave that contained my best friend my phone rang in my pocket. I frowned, sure that I had silenced it earlier, and fished it out, “potential spam” again glowing on the screen. To this day I don’t know what possessed me, but I answered it. Oh God save me, I answered it. A voice spoke. A voice at once familiar and that of a stranger, saying words that froze me to my core. They knew. They had found me. And they would never, never give up the hunt now. The voice purred on the other end.
“Hello Harry, we’ve been trying to reach you regarding your car’s extended warranty”
|
“If you’re getting this I’m dead.” Obviously, Kaz thought as he read the first words of the letter sent to him from his friend Jace. The message is scribbled on cheap notebook paper, written in his friends terrible penmanship, and it crinkles in his hand as he reads the rest. “Don’t come to my funeral. They will find you.”
“Don’t come to my funeral.” Kaz reads that over again, it’s phrased as a warning of course, but he knows his friend and his friend knows him. “They will find you.”
“Oh Jace...” Kaz whispers to himself in his darkened room, where he sits upon his bed, legs crossed underneath him. “...you know me better than that.”
Jace had been his best friend, they had done so much together, seen so much. They knew each other better than most married couples did. That’s how he knew wasn’t a warning, not from Jace. Kaz was certain of it in the same way he was certain of gravity or the sun rising.
This was an invitation.
With that in mind Kaz rose up from his bed and walked to his closet. His room was small, his parents unable to afford a big house as it was, so it only took a step or two for him to reach the door. Silently he opened it, hinges squeaking quietly, and he crouched down. With one hand he slide his row of shoes out the way to expose a bare patch of plain hardwood floor.
“Ki-vas. Nardeen. Volu. Vis. Vek. Hegus. Nox.” Kaz intoned the words solemnly, his voice reverberating to reach not only the air but something far beyond, the language itself linked to that which was removed from the physical plane. “Draconregis.”
At the last word a series of symbols light up in a circle no bigger than a dinner plate in the space where his shoes had sat. The symbols twisted, writhed, and moved as if they were themselves a living thing. They lit the small enclosure, burning bright orange, as if they had been branded into the wood with an iron.
In a way he supposed they had been.
Moments later the hardwood floor within the circle of glowing orange symbols vanished to reveal a dark hole blacker than a midnight sky. Kaz reached a tanned hand inside, his arm buried up to the forearm, to grip something hidden by the darkness. With a flex of lean muscle he pulled, inch by inch, until finally he drew out a shining silver blade. It shone as if it had its own light, washing the air in its moonlight glow, and the light danced around the contours of Kaz’s angular features. The blade was formed as one entire piece, etched with arcane symbols like the ones that had appeared when he chanted, the blade flowing into the guard which flowed into the hilt. It looked as if someone had poured liquid hot sterling silver into a mold of a sword.
Kaz grinned.
Jace was always crazy and reckless. It was a product of his friend’s lineage, no doubt, how else would one descended from his ilk act? Still, his friend always knew the best ways to start an adventure and Kaz was sure that was the purpose of the letter. It was a call to action, Kaz’s elven blood told him so, and it excited him. It was hard to find such things in these modern times, magic hidden as it was, but somehow Jace always found a way.
Standing up from his crouch, Kaz made his way back into the center of his room next to his bed, sword in hand. He lifted the blade up to eye level, inspecting the edge, ensuring it hadn’t dulled. If this wasn’t a call to adventure, Kaz thought as his eyes trailed sharp gleaming silver, and it was authentic then it didn’t change a thing. If they found him, the young elven descendant tightened his fingers around the hilt of his sword, than at least he wouldn’t have to search for them.
| 2021-04-24T20:11:54
| 2021-04-24T20:09:36
| 50
| 28
|
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter.
|
The thick wooden doors to the throne room were charred and splintered, they were broken inward with the force of a powerful magical explosion. Past the doors were several inhuman bodies strewn about and bleeding various shades of green onto the hardwood floors. A powerful figure pulled his sword from a now limp goblin and began slowly stomping his way down the length of the room. He flicked his blade back into the ready position, eyes locked on the towering creature that leaned back in his seat and passively drank from a wine goblet. The princess was sat on the floor with a metal collar around her neck and a bruise on her cheek.
"What is your name?" The Demon King's voice echoed down as the hero stood at the bottom of several steps leading up.
"I am sir Herald The Bold, first of my name. I've come for the princess." Hatred boiled in his voice.
"Herald the Bold..." the Demon King savored the words and rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I'll be sure to seek out your family once you've been disposed of."
Hatred snapped into rage and the knight bolted up the steps towards his enemy. If level heads prevailed, he might have noticed the archers in the upper tier behind him taking aim. A clatter of metal on stone rang out as he fell down the steps. The heroes never expect the archers.
"The hell is this shit?" the princess shouted as the hero's body settled at the base of the steps. She pulled herself to her feet and unlatched the metal collar. "You got to stop using the archers, Kilgar!"
"And your dad's got to stop sending sociopaths to kill my people." Kilgar the Demon King placed the wine goblet down on the armrest of his throne and stood. Inhuman forms entered through the side doors and set to work collecting the bodies. "His name was Herald the Bold, see to it his family gets the body." he called down to them.
"It's been two years!" the princes continued. "I would have settled for one of the rag-tag bands of misfits we got early on, it doesn't *need* to be a paragon of justice!" Kilgar offered her a hand and politely lead her down the steps.
They've had this discussion before, several times. She wanted him to stop using archers, or use fewer soldiers, or to leave the throne room open. He'd explained several times that the archers would stand down if the hero actually seemed noble, that the soldiers are terminally ill veterans that volunteered for the rouse, and that the doors have always been unbarred. Then he would mention the metal collar she wears, and she would get defensive about how weird it would look if she just stood there unrestricted, and then things would go in circles from there. The two of them went through the motions of their debate as Kilgar lead Princes Conquest back to the dining hall to continue their meal.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask about the cheek," the Demon King said softly as he sat at the head of the table.
"I decided to take your son's offer up and attend his sparring practice." She said with a poorly hidden smile.
The Demon King smirked and settled into his decision. The human king's missive said that any who could safely escort his daughter back may have her hand in marriage, it said nothing about if it could be the demon king's own son.
|
**"I shall not help you!"**
The mighty Orlak was very unhappy. He stared at the young human dressed in nothing but a white gown shivering in the winter cold in front of his castle door. The more he pondered on the audacity of the king beyond the mountain the more he bubbled with fury. What the king did was more than an insult. It was an act of war.
“What are you doing, stupid human.” Orlak roared. “Go home.”
The winter brought with it the soft anger of snow. The trees were covered in blankets of ice and small mounds soon became snowy mountains. Constant blizzards made it hard to see clearly. It was enough to fell even Orlak himself if he wasn’t careful. Yet, the women in front of his castle door wore nothing but a flimsy gown. She held her knees tightly and wrapped her hands around her shoulders. Slowly freezing to death.
“Where are your clothes?” Orlak continued to say, “Fool, you will freeze.”
“It seems like I just might.” She replied.
Orlak snorted. He closed the wooden door behind him with a loud thud. His strength shuddering the stone walls. He paced around the entrance of his warm cosy castle. He remembered how he crushed the previous king who had built this fine castle. Theodore the brave they had called him and now Theodore was the name of the bones that held up his toilet paper. Humans were pathetic disgusting creatures. Not a single mustard seed of good in any of them. Not even a weight of a hair. They should all just die. Especially the one outside his door. He convinced himself.
Suddenly Orlak heard a loud crash outside his door. He rushed quickly and threw the door open in a hurry his heart beating quickly. He rushed outside with his sword in hand. He looked around his snowy land searching for danger.
“It was a pile of snow that fell from that tree.” The lady in white said, “You should go back inside.”
“Stupid women, I am the mighty Orlak” He said, “Why would I listen to you?”
“Because you’ll catch a cold.”
Orlak wanted to say something. His mouth moved to insult her again but he somehow couldn’t find his voice. He watched her shiver terribly in the cold. Her father must be a very cruel man indeed. He puffed once again and trudged back into his castle. His conscience weighing heavier with every step until the door closed firmly behind him.
The droplets of water froze and softened before falling down upon the land in multitudes. Each snowflake the same yet no snowflake was alike. One, in particular, fluttered down from the heavens and buffeted in the cold wind until it landed softly on the hand of a frozen woman buried in the snow.
The castle door opened and a demon king rushed out. He held a torch in his hand and searched around him for something important. He ran around the snow calling out insults at the person he'd left behind. He had desperation etched into his face.
He saw her bluish hand buried in the snow and he cried out in relief. He lifted her on his back and brought her inside his castle closing the door behind him.
“Silly women.” He said, “Come inside."
| 2017-10-06T10:01:24
| 2017-10-06T06:23:28
| 201
| 135
|
[WP] There are multi-Gods for the multi-verse, and it turns out ours is kind of like the 'cool mom who lets you drink at her house,' though other Gods look at our free will and generally silent deity as bad Godding on His part.
|
The gods of all the universes gathered to present God A1, the god of the first universe, the fruit of their labor. The Meeting of the Gods used to be a chance to share and discuss, but lately, a new radicalized god had been taking center stage, God C137.
He presented God A1 a thin bottle of green glass with dew clung to its neck. He called it *craft beer*. When the liquid touched God A1's lips, his eyes widened and he held the bottle to his eyes so he could read the label.
"You're telling me that there are many more variations to this?" God A1 asked, handling the bottle like it was precious stone.
God C137 beamed. "Yes," he said, "And more are made everyday."
"Marvelous. Truly Marvelous."
Once again, God C137 would steal the show.
"And how did you do it? How did create such a drink?" A1 asked.
"I didn't." Normally, an answer like that would've resounded in hushed gasps of air. But everyone was used to God C137's eccentric views by now.
"Your humans came up with this on their own," A1 said, chuckling. "Of course they did."
---
God B23 and C56 sat at the tables furthest from the stage. It was by choice. Their place used to be right next to A1 Himself, but once C137 joined the table, their worlds ceased becoming the best managed world's of Multiverse C and simply became a point of comparison for C137.
"He's so damn smug," B23 said as he grudgingly drank more of this *craft beer*.
"Shameless even!" C56 said and reached for her third beer.
"I say that he just lucked out with his humans. He got a brighter bunch than the rest of us and now he doesn't even have to do anything for them to make whatever the hell this is."
C56 nodded through every word. "If I had his batch of humans, I'd set them straight. There wouldn't be any question about whether gods exists or not. Believe in me or I rain thunder down upon your house."
B23 returned her the nods. C56 had the most stringent followers of all the universes. Her priests were the pastors of her world and her followers their sheep. As it should be. Through her world, she became known as the Pastor God.
His own universe held more leeway. He had allowed other religions to exist only so he could crush them with his power. He believed in leadership by example. Through his world, he was dubbed the Iron God.
"I hear they fight wars in C137," the Pastor God said. "Not just any wars, wars based on countries."
The Iron God had heard the word before, but had ignored it when C137 was again bragging about his world. Countries were apparently invisible lines that marked land that belonged to the humans. What a concept--humans owning their own land.
"Ridiculous," the Iron God scoffed. "It's because they lack discipline. They need examples of holy retribution to show them who truly owns their land."
"They need a guiding light before they all kill each other."
The green glass bottle shattered inside the Iron God's hand and he quickly grabbed another. "If I were given his batch of humans, I'd create wonders beyond this silly drink"--he gulped down another mouthful--"he's wasting his humans' talent."
The Pastor God took a bottle in each hand and stored another on her person for later. "Think about all the great things we could create with humans of such talent. They just need the proper devotion to do it."
"Or the proper incentive." Once again, scenes of thunder and fire burned behind the Iron God's eyes.
Admittedly, he had tried this approach already. After the previous meeting, when C137 presented television to A1, he had gone to his humans and decreed that if they did not give him a gift worth presenting, he would unleash hell upon their world. But all they did was sacrifice more virgins.
The Pastor God and the Iron God watched C137 laughing at the table with A1. He was probably sprouting more nonsense about independence and nurturing proper dependency.
They gritted their teeth and drank more craft beer. The bastard just got a better batch of humans is all.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day!
|
"God C137 how can you let your beings be that free? See what they do to their planet???"
"Calm down Id 10 d. They are working on a solution. And hey I already started a world war a few moments ago. Right after that they should get their stuff together"
"Are you INSANE? LET ME SEE.... Well ok atleast you gave him a laughable moustache. How can you believe in your creation like that?"
"Thats what our Deity did. And we turned out well. They are half their way to find out about telepathy just in a new way. It should only take 20 something generations. Then they will create their own universe like we did. And then they decide."
"You are crazy"
"Well. My species survived. So far. And i fondly remember that incident with your last species.... Thoose lizards you killed when you dropped that small stone?"
"That would have killed anyone. See?"
With that id10d threw a small rock at C137's creation. She didn't even bother to help. Suddenly the rock was hit by a small burst of flames and missed the planet
"May I introduce you to my latest creation? He recently visited your multiverse.... Rick Sanchez. The multiverse traveler."
| 2017-05-07T07:50:19
| 2017-05-07T05:14:11
| 3,293
| 290
|
[WP] Jupiter has 64 moons and a serious werewolf problem.
Edit: damn there's some quality responses here. I wasn't expecting this prompt to be so popular. Good job u guys
|
"Europa's rising early tonight." Carl whispered, hunkering down into our camouflaged bunker as deep as he could go. His breath came out in clouds of white beneath his blankets.
"Ice wolves?" I asked.
"Ice wolves." Carl smirked, looking less concerned about the werewolves than the cold himself. The geosynchronous city of Elis might have a surplus of energy by harnessing Jupiter's gravity, but the nine-hour Jovian nights still frosted the crystal dome above the city within minutes. Not to mention that most of the power generators were in *their* side of the city, and, well...wolves were never good at working complicated controls, even if they were more than happy to when they were human.
"To think all of this started with a single bite..." I mused.
"Yep." Carl sighed. "Like I always said...should have screened the colonists better."
"For what?" I laughed, keeping my voice low. "Too much hair? Werewolves were a *myth* before we got here. I just wish that they had stayed that way."
"Hold that thought." Carl pointed down to the streets below. "look, first sighting." Quickly, I lifted the telescope to get a better view. Through the lens, the white, hulking form of the humanoid wolf was clearly visible. Instead of fur, it looked as if it was covered in needles of frost. Every strand glowed purest white, giving the wolf the impression that it was under an intense spotlight.
"Well at least they're easy to spot." Carl chuckled. The wolf howled, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Suddenly, the wolf looked away towards the horizon. It snapped its jaws once, as if it was angry, and then it began to grow.
"Ohhhh would you look at that!" Carl brought up his own spyglass. "Secondary transformation! And...yep, there's Io!"
"Shouldn't we be concerned?" I said, watching the wolf nearly double in size. The white glow faded to a dusty orange, giving it the impression that it was covered in frosty sand. "I mean, doesn't this mean that all of them are going to be twice as powerful?"
"Nah, no reason to worry." Carl huddled back under his blankets. "No matter *how* big they get, the doors around the human side of the city won't budge. To be honest, I don't even know why they stationed us here, except to scare them off with these if they get too close." He patted the tranq rifle leaning against the side of our bunker.
"Uhhh, you sure about that? I think it's growing again."
"What?" Carl sat up in shock. "Is there a third moon rising?" He flipped out his telescope as quickly as he could, catching the now house-sized wolf as it ran behind a building towards another part of the city, it's fur now glowing a dull black. "Shit, and there's Ganymede!"
"Check the forecast." I shot him a look. "Check it right. Now."
Carl nodded and flipped out his phone without complaint. In an instant, a holographic display of the base appeared over the screen. Carl swore.
"Io, Europa, Ganymede, Callisto, Themisto...shit." He dropped his phone back into his pocket. The wolf howled, and I felt my molars rattle in their sockets as it was answered by a dozen more cries.
"What? How many moons are rising?" I asked. Carl just laughed.
"All. All of them." He shook his head with grim mirth. "Been nice knowing ya, kid. Tonight's the night that Elis falls."
|
The pilot - a twelve-limbed Jovian floatspider - tapped almost idly at the controls of the shuttle, firing the thrusters with mind-boggling precision. I glanced surreptitiously at the display on my own Earth-made manoeuvring tablet. The screen blinked red with warning text, screaming electronically that the shuttle was out of position, couldn't possibly make orbit, that we had to start a burn immediately...but as I watched, our orbit circularised smoothly, threading itself perfectly through the orbital traffic above Mars, without the pilot so much as glancing at its display. It brought us into a perfect orbit by eye, and using a quarter of the propellant my tablet had calculated was the absolute minimum. It was awe-inspiring.
"Seriously," I asked an hour later, as we prepared to leave the flight deck, "How do you do it? It's absolutely unbelieveable!"
The being had no name as we would understand it. The Jovians in general have a very fluid concept of identity, with an individual shifting between different names and identities sometimes over a few hours. It was part of what I was here to study - if I could make sense of the way the being spoke. It took a little work.
"Moon shift," it said (or bubbled into its translator, I should say). "Understanding place, without. Prediction."
"I...think I understand," I replied into my own translator. "You mean you learned it by watching...the moons?"
It shook its mantle violently in disagreement. "Moon shift!" it said insistently. "Survival necessity, moonlight. Predict moons live, without."
"You...need to know where the moons are...to survive? Why?"
Together we stepped out onto the red surface of Mars, the Jovian being deep in thought as it tried to construct the words.
"Moon path...know easy." It began to trace a pair of circles in the air around its head with two of its limbs. "Safe moon..." limb behind its head, "...bad moon." Limb in front of a set of eyes. "Knowing path if, life. Knowing path not if, not live. See?"
"You mean you have an instinctive understanding of orbital mechanics?" I asked, watching it trace the orbits further. "But why are moons dangerous?"
And that was when the full Phobos rose above the Martian horizon.
| 2016-10-03T09:32:53
| 2016-10-03T09:05:02
| 307
| 66
|
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
|
On our first date, I told her that I don't like movies much. I find them over-stimulating and prefer reading. I have some old DVDs of my favorites (I can quote every line from Moonstruck), but hadn't seen anything new in years. She seemed really interested, and I thought it was because she loved to read, too.
Well, it turns out she was just delighted not to be recognized. I finally figured that out today--and, let me tell you, the Oscars are an awkward event for someone who hasn't seen a new movie since 2009. I spent most of my time at the after party talking to Luke Skywalker about Return of the Jedi. The food was fantastic, although Benjamin Button spilled some wine on my dress.
Oh, and Cher wasn't there. I really thought that was a bummer.
edit: word
|
It wasn't for some time that I began to realize something was weird... off... about her interactions when we talked about going out. This wasn't a huge problem for me as I understood her job to be very difficult. She traveled constantly. Extremely busy. Out till all hours of the night. We lived across the hall from each other for months until one day I introduced myself and asked for a cup of sugar for a cake I was making for my sister one evening in February.
New York is beautiful in the winter.
She slid a glass measuring cup (the ones with the red lettered measurements on the side) through a crack in the door (apparently she doesn't know liquid measurement tools are separate from solids... ol well... this'll be plenty, I thought). Her slight English accent squeaked through the crack in the door as I said "thanks... uhhh... my name is Jimmy..." her response was a closed door.
That was months ago. We've been dating for 6 months at this point. The first month of our time together (first initiated by me asking her over to try devils food lava cake that I had been workshopping for at least 2 weeks which started a cooperative love affair with food. She ate like garbage. Always blamed it on being too lazy and too cheap. She would come home late, ask if I had any cake (this went on for 2 weeks) and eventually I started making her real food. I'd put extra in the fridge for her and she would come over and have a few bites before we fell asleep watching some old AMC rerun. I never had anything else running on my tv. She seemed to like that about me. One night she kissed me and I kissed her back. She basically moved in the next week. Her place was always a wreck. Blamed that on being busy too. It got so I would pack her lunches most days and she would have dinner over at my place most nights and we would fall asleep listening to some tunes or a black and white movie in my run down apartment on my beautifully huge couch.
She seemed to really like that she didn't have to talk about her work with me and since we only ever ate my work, we didn't have to talk about that either. Everything changed one day when I heard her approach our shared hallway and then go into her apartment instead of mine with a hurried sounding frantic key-fooling. I knocked on her door to see if she was hungry and she just yelled back in an intense voice before I got the chance knock more than once
"Come to the my work party tonight. Leaving in 45 minutes. Put on something nice."
Confused, a little worried with how strange she was being, I went back into my apartment, turned off the oven that had a braised duck resting in it (I was trying to impress her that particular night) and went to the back of my closet to find an old suit from my best friends wedding forever ago.
She came over 15 minutes later looking like I'd never seen her before. Red hair pulled back out of her face except for one almost blonde sliver that somehow magically stayed in the perfect place on her beautifully freckled face. Left leg peaking out through a long slit in a hunter green dress that hinted at deep dark forests in the pacific north west. Her necklace was a long triangular minimalist piece that dropped down low on her chest.
She was stunning.
I was a potato compared to her. And not a well prepared red potato you get at fancy restaurants. A dirty, unwashed russet. My hair was a messy long and stubble showed in just the perfectly wrong neck beard places.
"Who are you?" I asked in a low voice as I went in to kiss her.
"Some people call me Hermione," she said with a smile. Curious. I kissed her beautifully smelling neck and she leaned away toward the door.
"Come one, our limo awaits. We're about to have a weird night, you and I."
EDIT: formatting
| 2017-06-14T10:40:17
| 2017-06-14T10:18:55
| 55
| 34
|
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
|
"D-rank villain" Buttsoup McJames.
My title always put newbie heroes at ease.
"Don't worry," commanders would say and throw me a wink. "He's only D rank, so this should be a walk in the park."
Commanders knew I was a hero putting on a show, but they didn't know the full truth. If they did, it would blow their minds: I was none other than legendary hero Buttsoup McSteve.
"S-Should I use a fire spell?" said a fledgling mage.
"That would be an excellent idea," said commander Bicycle Joe, "if we'd been in open terrain. This old warehouse would catch fire immediately. And given that there are no water mages in our party ..."
The fire mage retreated into her robe as an archer stepped forward. "For the Pendh Ingnaim Association!" The archer quivered as he fumbled for an arrow from his quiver. As he was about to release it, I demonstrated my aerobics routine.
"H-He's too fast!" said a paladin.
"Better prepare your healing magic," said the commander. "Seems he's up to no good."
As far as newcomers go, they weren't too shabby. Sure, they'd never be able to take on an actual D-rank villain, but that was why I was here. They needed practice. Confidence. If only we'd had this sort of system when Abby joined the association, then maybe she'd still ...
I pushed that thought to the back of my mind where it belonged. It wouldn't do me any good to go back to that dark place. Not that I needed the focus right now. How would these guys fare in a real battle? With hindsight, it amazed me that we used to send newbies straight into real combat.
Right as I settled into my trademarked pelvic thrusts, the room burst into fire.
"Dammit mage," said the commander, coughing. "I told you not to ..."
"What mage?" It was a deep, solemn voice. "You mean the one under this rag I stepped on?"
As he lifted his foot, something squished. A bloodied robe with indiscernible body parts oozing from it emerged, right where our mage had been seconds ago.
"Becky!" cried the commander.
"Jessica!" cried the rest of his party.
A hard-featured man in a red cape stood before us, guffawing. There were no two ways about it. This was a villain. A real one.
"Stand back," said Bicycle Joe. "You kids better stay safe. After all, I'm the only one here wearing a helmet."
Hope glistened in the eyes of the newbies. Their battle-hardened commander would make quick work of this villain. As a C-rank hero, he was sure to make him him suffer.
As he stepped forward, commander Bicycle Joe suddenly found himself with a fireball-sized hole where his face had been. "Fireball," said the villain belatedly, making some hand movements that admittedly were pretty cool. The commander's sizzling corpse fell to the ground with a thump. "Oh," said the villain. "My rank is A. Did I forget to mention that?"
The paladin rushed over to the commander, casting every spell he knew. Unfortunately he only knew one: poison cure. It didn't help.
I let out a sigh. "Guess I better clean this up before more people get hurt."
The villain gave me the once-over. "And who, exactly, are you supposed to be?"
"B-Buttsoup McJames," said the archer. "He was just bragging he could make any other villain look like a loser."
Quick thinking, kid. Pitting villains against each other? That's C-rank material right there. I decided to play along with it.
"Indeed," I said. "But I'm not sure how I feel about fighting a loser in a cape. It's like punching a special needs kid, you know?"
Fire streamed around the villain like a fountain, only with fire instead of water. "What did you just say?" he said.
"I said I could beat you and I wouldn't even break a sweat. Check this out." I sent a couple of pelvic thrusts his way. He nodded approvingly.
"Fine," he said. "I guess I'll teach you some manners before I torch up the rest." Using his hands as jets, he flew to the middle of the room and cackled like a maniac. "I, Brimstone Bob, will be the end of you!"
The name hit me like a bolt of lightning, echoing in my mind.
*"I don't want you on that mission. It's not safe."*
*"Come on. It's not like I can't take care of myself. I can't keep relying on my famous brother for help, you know?"*
No. Not this memory.
*"I'm sorry, Mr. McSteve. There has been an ... incident. I regret to inform you that your sister ..."*
I felt sick.
*"Who was it? Who the fuck killed my little sister?"*
*"Please, calm down. These things happen. There was nothing we could do."*
*"Just give me the name"*
*"Bob. Brimstone Bob."*
I had been looking for this man for years. The man who killed Abby.
"What are you doing?" said Brimestone Bob. "Having a senior moment, are we?"
I tore off the yellow post-it note on my suit that said 'James' to reveal what was underneath: 'Steve'. Buttsoup McSteve.
The remainder of the party gasped in between coughs.
"M-McSteve?" said Brimstone Bob. "Not *the* Buttsoup McSteve? But I thought he retired?"
"The only one who's getting retired here is you," I said, unleashing a dose of the sixth state of matter into his chest. A miniature black hole emerged briefly before swallowing Brimstone Bob up entirely.
I fell to my knees. "Abby," I cried. "I finally did it. I avenged you."
After that incident I decided to make a comeback. The world needed legendary heroes. Someone to look up. Something to strive for. The world needed Buttsoup McSteve. S-rank hero.
|
"Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..."
| 2021-06-23T15:21:41
| 2021-06-23T11:55:31
| 50
| 11
|
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/).
|
Every city I've been to would always kick me back out. Apparently you have to be religious to live in one of these cities. My friends got in just fine, but I never could.
Throughout my life, being a construction worker, having a family of 3, and living through numerous End Of The World dates, I've never believed in any particular god. I wasn't a diehard aethiest, my best coworkers were Christian, and I welcomed everyone regardless of religion. So why can't I get into any of these cities?
Wait a minute. I'm a construction worker. There's plenty of building materials around me. And there's other people just like me, lost and with no admission into any city.
If I can't join a city, what says I can't make my own city and religion? I could provide a safe home from whatever is out here, and I could be worshipped as a caretaker for aethiests, and anyone else who doesn't have a home. Wouldn't that be passed as a religion?
Well, better get started.
---
EDIT: Wow! People seem to like this. I'm on mobile and at school so I can't get back to this until I return home. Maybe I should make this into a full novel? Who knows.
EDIT 2: Lots of people like this, maybe I should make my own subreddit and post my later parts there...
|
My thoughts were certain,
All Gods were fiction,
I didn't foresee,
The true benediction
Walled within,
Their utopian setting,
The dwellers rejoice,
While I'm left regretting
I'm surrounded by fools,
Oh how simple we were,
Not an ounce of faith,
We believed it was slur
All I wish is for,
All I demand,
Is one more chance,
On that beautiful land
I'd give all to thee,
I'd do so much more,
For now I can see,
What was always in store
| 2017-11-21T07:01:58
| 2017-11-21T06:54:46
| 365
| 53
|
[FF] Horror Story - 80 words
Prompt limit: 80 words.
It could be about anything, anywhere at any time. Just make sure it's horrifying!
|
When you see them in your room at night, you tell yourself that it’s your brain messing with you. Why? Your brain tells you that the grass you see is green, the coffee you drink is hot, the dumpster you pass smells awful. Your brain sees the truth. It lets you know about the grass, the coffee, the garbage. Why would it make up the shadows at night? Your brain isn’t playing tricks on you. They’re playing tricks on you.
|
I never knew you had a choice. I always thought that the body would just take over and fight, that if it was possible to survive, you would find a way. That's instinct, right? I mean, if there was ever a time for instinct, that's it. But it turns out you still have to choose. I looked up and saw the boat, still burning in the clear autumn night, so far above. I closed my eyes, and inhaled.
| 2013-08-21T19:34:40
| 2013-08-21T19:20:09
| 22
| 14
|
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
It was nearly sunset on death row in the Alberation system of the Galaxy. Although her 37 years on Brigdon block seemed like a lifetime, Salmma never realized the day of her sentenced death would come so fast. Her green eyes slide over the metal frames of the cell, the discolored wall that made an inappropriate figure if looked at every so slightly and the slit window showing the two suns of Alberation.
Salmma had heard the stories. Death row inmates asking for radical meals to be set free. As long as she had been imprisoned, not one inmate had been set free via the last meal protocol. The stories circulated of beaches sky whale, vampires blood and pieces of the star explosion from Fria-6.
To say her mind was not preoccupied with her own mortality would be an understatment. Salmma shifted uncomfortably in her hay filled cot as the thought swept through her mind. She deserved the sentence she had. She was guilty. Her sorted past was not what made her uncomfortable, no, it was her future. The idea that she could be free if she wanted. The taste of a freedom once more made her body shiver in way it had not for years. The room grew darker as the second sun started to pass into the deep. She knew what she needed to do if she was to be free once more.
A sharp rattle of the hinges between Salmma and the hallway caused her to jump up from her cot. A familiar scent of incense wofted from the sky slit into her prison cell. The morning worship had already begun as she noticed prison guard 686 who woke her every morning.
"Are you ready to give an account for your last meal of the day?" The guard spoke in a quick and authoritative tone.
"Must I give my meal account now?" Salmma asked with a pensive brow. The guard let out a sigh as she shifter her weight from one leg to the other.
"You know how this works. I will take you to the judge and you will give your last meal account. If the cannot provide the meal to you, then you are set free into the galaxy to live out your days in freedom." The guards blonde hair and blue eyes waivered annoyingly as she gave the speech she had given several times.
"Well I guess then we better go to the judge" Salmma stood, allowing her hands to be locked within the electric chains. Together the guard and the prisoner made their way to the last meal room.
The air seemed thick with anxiety as the court room was filled with former worshippers there to witness another last meal protocol. Many bright colored robes filled the seats in the oval silver room. Painted faces from the Tabernacle watched on as Salmma and guard 686 walked down the long path to the front of the room. The room grew silent as the judges seat raised high above everyone. His voice boomed in a dark growl that filled the space.
"Welcome to the courtoom of the last meal. According to our bilaws and traditions each inmate may request any meal as rare as they see fit. If we cannot give the inmate the meal, we shall see you free under the terms of ritual foods and meals." Eyes shifted across the room as the proceedings began.
"Guard bring the prisoner forward to plea her last meal rites to this room." Selmma felt a wave of energy rush over her as she was lead to the tall podium facing the judge.
"Prisoner, you may state your last meal request" the judge spoke nonchalantly as if he would not be fazed by the small woman with green eyes.
Salmmas figure suddenly grew tall. Her small body held an air of confidence that the meek woman had not shown before.
"My name is Salmma from Giad-93 near the moons of Becksmith. I was brought here to serve more that 30 years and await my own death for the crime I committed. According to your traditions, I will let my meal be known. I request Guard 686's unborn child as my last meal!"
Horrified gasps and whispers filled the room as the bright robes shifted in a chaotic fear. Salmma took in the shocked face of Guard 686 with a grin.
"Silence! Silence will fill my courtroom!" The judge snapped quickly.
"Prisoner! What is the meaning of this debauchery! How dare you suggest such a thing in my courtroom!" His anger poured out from behind his teeth. Guard 686, unbeknownst to her, placed a hand on her own stomach. The fear written her face could be seen across the room.
"Debauchery! How dare you suggest that my last meal rites under your bilaws and traditions is a debauchery! I am granted any meal I request, unless you have forgotten your own laws. My request will be met or you will let me go free!" Salmma screamed towards the high chair above her.
"No, No you cannot grant this request!" The guard shouted. Her eyes meeting salmmas for the first time since the words exscaped her lips.
"I would like the child presented with a bowl of gravy and veggies on the side" she shouted. "What? You didn't think I was unaware of your...delicate state, did you?" Salmma whispered as she leaned down towards the guard, licking her fingers in a devious smile, she shot her green eyes back towards the judge.
"Well! Well....do you grant my request!" She screamed upward in defiance. The judge shook his head in disbelief. The crowd became restless at the apparent disrespect of the prisoner. Guard 686 becoming ever more unhinged at the request while tears started streaming down her face. Slowly the judge stood, waving his hand to the gaurds to take the prisoner and turned his back away from the podium as he made his way out of the courtroom.
Cool air filled the room with the scent of lavender and hyssop unlike any aroma in the galaxy. The night brought a unexpected chill and silence that was unmatched. Salmma closed her eyes, taking in the smell of the room. Her own freedom she finally had.
|
She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds.
Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row.
Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil.
The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule.
They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free.
No charges.
No court hearing.
They were just let go.
This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not.
It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise.
“Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.”
Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend.
“We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?”
Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth.
“Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone.
The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror.
“So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.”
Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time.
“Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.”
Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered:
“The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.”
The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done.
And so Horizon stayed there. In the room.
Alone.
Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described.
“We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!”
“But sir, you have to understand—“
“BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him.
“Run.”
They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish.
“We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed.
They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison.
Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room.
“…Come with us, Prisoner 103.”
She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell.
“Get your things. Now.”
Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?”
“That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more.
“Say goodbye to your former cell mate.”
Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls.
It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free.
Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else.
As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner.
“You did it.” She said, readying her lighter.
It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans.
“Sure did.”
| 2022-07-17T19:39:13
| 2022-07-17T18:09:54
| 62
| 24
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[WP] Describe a battle with an army against a single man..... Except that man is a level 20 D&D character.
Bonus points if that character is a Bard, or an unpopular class.
|
You tried to play nice. Traveling through crag and creek, you drew your lute to resolve conflicts with peace.
*How large is the army?*
With music. That was how you chose to play the game. They laughed when you declared your orc bard. As did I. It was meant to be in good fun, just because you could. We loved this campaign.
*Hang on, doing a perception check. 20.*
The army is 2,000 strong. And I hate it. How you alone have survived the *Gilgamesh* adventure as a one man calamity. What new players don't understand is the commitment. You don't join to tell your own story. You *commit* to seeing your character overcome the trials and wonder of a new world.
*I roll for diplomacy. 1.*
As the DM, I was committed to seeing this story *end.* Even as your fellow adventurers struggled through the spider cave, the inn brawl of Last Tuesday and a dragon, you would tune that damned lute of yours in the back. Would it be a boost of morale to save your companions? No.
*I tune my lute, preparing to play the Song of Peace.*
Your fortune had other plans. I still don't understand how you do it. In a rare combination of bad dice rolls and the right initiatives, you were Destruction incarnate. What you did to Gabriel...
*I roll for peace resolution. 1.*
The army self-destructed. Once again, your song played so poorly, it made soldiers gnash their teeth and swing their swords wildly, doing anything to make it stop.
*I roll for destructiveness. 20.*
A general commands the vanguard to turn on their own soldiers to stop the battalion rebels, only to slaughter their comrades. Their fellow adventurers.
*M'rak the Wander watches the army disappear.*
Like *your* fellow adventurers. Is this the game you wanted to play Michael, with your orc bard? To compel my friends to destroy each other with your music, just to travel this world on your own? To roll through this campaign like a typhoon, uprooting the stories and game experience I had in mind when I invited you?
*M'rak is victorious.*
I won't give up. I will set army after army on you until your luck runs out. This story must end. I want to move on, and share another campaign with my friends. To share new worlds.
And we're running out of Mountain Dew.
-----------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
|
Jeorge the slayer of men stared at the millions of men that approached him, a toothy smile on his face as battle roars echoed throughout the giant green gorgeous field.
The general walked up, a stout man covered in glistening gold armor, a coward in wolfs clothing. His mouth opened wide as he roared a sentence, "JEORGE FILSHELM THE THIRD!" echoed throughout the entire field. "YOU ARE CHARGED WITH THE SLAUGHTER OF THE KING, AND FIVE THOUSAND MEN! SURRENDER NOW OR WE SHALT SMITE YOU!" General Volfsmen screamed in an arrogant voice as he stared daggers at Jeorge.
"I will not surrender, not to a bunch of pitiful fools. In fact, why don't I sing a song for you?" Jeorge asked as his smile extended cheek to cheek, perfect white biters adorning his mouth.
A grim frown appeared on the Generals face as Jorge's smile got wider and wider, "DESTROY HIM!" the General exclaimed as he ran into battle, brandishing a sword made of the purest(and weakest) gold in the kingdom.
Jeorge opened his mouth, and started singing.
"I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world!" Jeorge sang as hundreds of soldiers started dropping down in agony. "Life in plastic, it's fantastic!" Jeorge Boomed as he got ever so slightly louder, soldiers fell around him as Jeorge walked towards the general, whom was tripping and failing to walk forwards.
"IT BURNS!" A soldier exploded in pain as he ran around on fire, hundreds of other soldiers falling to other hindrances as well. Another ran around vomiting, blood and intestines managing to squeeze it's way out of his throat as he gurgled in pain.
"YOU CAN BRUSH MY HAIR, AND KISS ME EVERYWHERE!" Jeorge screamed as loud as he could, his melodic melody bringing men to their knees and forcing them to bow in pain.
Jeorge had finally caught up with the General as he attempted to crawl away in terror, Jeorge knelt down and grabbed the Generals chin as he went quiet for a second. Men sat in pools of their own blood, others disemboweling themselves in a fit of insanity as they waited for the pain to end.
Jeorge moved his mouth towards the Generals ear, and slowly opened his mouth to utter a sentence. "Imagination, life is MY creation." Jeorge whispered softly. Suddenly the heads of any man left alive exploded in a fit of blood and skull fragments.
Jeorge dropped the General and proceeded to stare at the an enormous castle in the distance, blood stained the grass where he stood as an angry frown emerged on his face. "Come on Barbie, let's go party." Jeorge grunted with anger.
| 2016-03-16T20:20:36
| 2016-03-16T20:19:06
| 96
| 36
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[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.
|
The immortals are crumbling like dry leaves.
I watch one as I leave Marge's Cafe with my usual paper cup of coffee. There is a woman standing on the opposite street corner in a trench coat, her hair sleek black, her face as faultless as fine china.
And all it takes is a harsh wind.
She falls away in tiny pieces. Her hands claw helplessly at her disintegrating belly with fingers whose flesh sloughes off in sheets like wet paper. She reaches for her face, but then that too clouds up into dust and is gone. Her scream starts and dies in her throat.
And just like that, she smacks down like a broken puppet. A near-instant death, and still it doesn't seem fast enough.
Her scream keeps echoing in the back of my mind. I think it will always be there, waiting for me, when the world grows quiet enough for me to hear her once more.
Like any decent human would, I stick around for EMS. I call and call, but I can't get through to 911. Someone happening by stops over the body, kicking up clouds of this woman's dust. The woman looks to be my age, one of the lost, one of the few humans left doomed to die.
She sighs through her teeth. "Bad luck, the lot of them."
I stare at her. "What do you mean?"
"Turns out us Lost will be last after all." She winks, like we share a kind of secret just by being born on the wrong side of the cut-off for immortality. As if there's any real camaraderie in our Lost Generation. "The immortals are all just... vanishing. It's on the news, dearie."
And then she keeps on walking, as though we were only chatting about the weather.
It's early still. The cool morning air is so placid and peaceful, her words impossible on a morning as bright and sunny as this. As if death could not happen under such a perfect blue sky.
I run to the car. It has been a while, since I ran. Decades, at least.
My wife still runs. She's always teasing me, calls me an old man as she pecks a good morning kiss to my lips. Slaps my aching knees and says, "That's your penance for being born too early."
And I always laugh at her and say, "Hey, I know I won't be the one dying alone." Half a joke, really. Always dancing around the inevitable and morbid reality: I would end, and she would keep on going. With any luck, it would be forever. We had both made our peace with that.
The radio is buzzing, mad. It's already all over the news. There's some scientist babbling about dew point, the relative wetness of the air.
"As the world gets hotter and hotter, and the air gets drier and drier, it appears that the cells lose their stability and their ability to maintain struc--"
I flip the radio off. And I drive like hell.
Panic drives me forward like a thing possessed. I throw my coffee out the window and veer through still-empty streets back to my home, where my wife should still be lying in bed, just about to roll up and face the dawn. She will open the window and listen to the birds convince her to rise and make a cup of tea.
In my mind, she looks as lovely as the day we married. She makes the deep ruts of my skin seem like valleys, but she still palms my cheeks in her hands and tells me every day, *I love you, Mr. Weston,* and I smile back and say, *I don't know why, Mrs. Weston.*
But when I get there, the window is shut. The bed is as empty as the rest of the house. I call and call and scream for her, but the house answers back with nothing but silence.
So I go to the bed where this morning she lay curled like a question mark beside me. I had kissed her shoulder and slipped out as soundlessly as an eighty-year-old-man wearing every weight of his age could hope.
I lift back the blanket.
There awaits me only bones and so much ash. I try to scoop her up in my palms but she is nothing but wind and air.
And I am suddenly, impossibly alone.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
|
Every year, I felt a little bit older than I should on my birthday. And each year, I shuffled into the Lost Generation clinic to see baby\-faced Dr. Sherwood to report the sensation.
“Ah Mr. Murray! The same thing every year! We’ve been talking about this for the last 10 years!” Dr. Sherwood laughed.
“And every year you look the same, but I get older,” I grumbled.
“You know I can’t go back in time and give you Renuxia. It just wasn’t safe for people over 26. Something about the telomeres at 26 caused the body to go into a hyperinflammatory, hyperaging state that caused rapidly fatal heart attacks,” Dr. Sherwood gazed off into the distance.
“Read that in the history books, did you?” I sneered.
“Now Mr. Murray, I may not have been around when they first started giving Renuxia, but I have been in practice for 20 years now. And I can assure you that the symptoms you are describing are completely consistent with the normal aging process. You have all of your faculties about you. Your memory is sharp as a tack!”
Dr. Sherwood paused, but I did not have anything to say.
“Becoming more fatigued and feeling like time is passing more slowly is consistent with the normal aging process. If it is interfering with your daily activities though, it could be an early sign of depression. I know your wife recently passed…” Dr. Sherwood gave a therapeutic pause.
“I miss her, but that’s normal after you’ve been with someone for over fifty years. I don’t feel depressed though. Promise.”
“Okay, well if you ever need anything for depression or just want to talk, you have my number,” Dr. Sherwood seemed satisfied with his extension of availability.
“I just cannot shake the feeling that the years are going by more slowly. Isn’t there some way to test that?”
Dr. Sherwood gave a bemused smile. “Mr. Murray, I’m afraid that’s quite out of my discipline. Perhaps you could phone a physicist? Anyway, it’s good to see you sir. Have Doris get your bloodwork before you go. See you back in 6 months!”
‘Maybe I will,’ I thought as I walked out of the office. My brother\-in\-law was still kicking and had been an aerospace engineer in an earlier life. Maybe he would know how to test my theory.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
“Hey Chuck, how you been?” I had not talked to him since the funeral.
“Not bad Rick. How you holding up?" Chuck answered over the video feed.
“Can’t complain. Getting old as you can see,” I grinned half\-heartedly.
“Look Chuck, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I just have to ask you a physics question. It’s been bugging me.”
Chuck was used to my dumb questions though he sometimes got tired of them I think.
“How could we tell if time was slowing down?” I asked, expecting a glare or an eye roll.
Chuck’s face tightened and he leaned forward into the video feed.
“I’m going to call you from a secure feed,” he said seriously.
The feed went blank.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
“Pardon my language Chuck, but just what the hell is going on?” I thought, realizing that Dr. Sherwood was probably wrong after all.
“You feel it too?” Chuck asked with cautious excitement.
“Of course I feel it. Every year it gets worse. This year it felt like my birthday took almost two years to get here.” I was underestimating a bit. The eighty\-four to eighty\-five transition felt like my entire childhood.
As if reading my thoughts, Chuck said, “That’s it? I would have said five years at least.”
Chuck’s eyes shifted nervously back and forth.
“Look, I’ve been trying to figure this out for a few years now. I thought I was crazy. I asked a bunch of people who took Renuxia and they don’t seem to feel it. But all the Lost Generation folks who are willing to answer the question – all of them agree that they’ve felt it.”
I stared blankly at the monitor.
“So I got an old NASA buddy to help check the atomic clocks. All of them are in sync. If you just look on Earth, time appears to be flowing normally.”
Just on Earth? My eyes widened.
“But if we compare satellite feeds to earth clocks, there is a clear time distortion as the satellite gets older. Voyager I says we’re almost 60 years behind.”
“That’s about how long it’s been since Renuxia was released,” I discovered aloud.
“Exactly. I just don’t know who to talk to. I’m afraid that if I talk to the parent company of Renuxia, they’ll squash the information and maybe me along with it. And if I bring it to Capitol Hill, well, they’re the ones that mandated Renuxia in the first place.”
“So what do we do?” I asked incredulously.
“Just give me a bit more time. There are some really interesting discoveries in the field of quantum theory that could explain this and maybe even figure out a way to reverse it.”
I hung up the phone without a goodbye. Secure feeds only stay secure for so long.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-
After a restless sleep, I awoke to Margo barking.
“What’s wrong girl? You never bark!”
Margo began to whimper and paw at the front door. Must have to pee.
I opened the front door and Margo sprinted out the front gate.
“Damnit! Margo! Come back here!”
Before I realized it, I was out in the middle of the street, looking across a chaotic scene. Cars piled up, apparently abandoned after the accidents. Oddly – only a few of the wrecks had bodies in them. A few mangled Lost Generation corpses. But no Ageless Generation bodies as far as the eye could see. Had they all just gotten up and walked away? I didn’t remember Renuxia causing fast healing as a side effect.
Margo had stopped at one of the car wrecks and was whining. Inside was Chuck, apparently unconscious, but alive.
I ran up to the car. The accident seemed fairly minor, but an old\-timer like Chuck could have bled into his brain even from a minor trauma.
“Chuck! Chuck! Wake up!” I yelled.
Chuck’s eyes flitted and he turned his head.
“I had to tell you in person Rick. Looks like I chose the wrong time to be on the road.”
“Tell me what?”
“We figured it out. The Renuxia was creating a temporal dissociation. Everyone who took it was able to move through time without being affected by it. For the rest of us, time around us and within us proceeded as normal. The discrepancy created a temporal dissociation.”
“So what happened to everyone who took it?! They all just vanished?” I took another survey of the wrecked cars.
“Temporal correction. I knew it was coming, but I didn’t know it would happen this soon. It has only ever been theoretical in the past. Never had anything to produce it before.”
“Well we’re right fucked then aren’t we? Humanity is over! All the young folks are dead!” My heart was racing.
“Renuxia was later found to be most effective when given as a series. And that doesn’t start until age 5…” Chuck trailed off.
“Better start rounding up the kids.” I turned and walked toward the neighbor’s house where I could now hear a wan cry that had been drowned out previously by Margo’s barking.
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Edit: I'm so glad that so many people enjoyed this! And thank you for all of your comments. Constructive, thoughtful, interesting.
| 2018-06-04T21:14:04
| 2018-06-04T20:54:44
| 10,660
| 4,110
|
[WP] You are the greatest Supervillain in the world and you've always wondered why the heroes yell out their attacks. Well, out of curiosity, you try it out with your weakest attack and suddenly break a hole through your evil lair.
|
I was pooping when it happened.
I hadn't even realized it would qualify as an attack as I tried to shake the booger off, but a random urge came over me as my mucus clung steadfast to my finger. "Pick, roll and flick!" I shouted then flicked the tiny snot ball towards the trash can beside the toilet.
It took me several minutes to process what happened next as bits of plaster continued to crumble and dust gently fell from the walls. By the scorch marks on the ground, my booger had evidently instantly accelerated to a significant fraction of the speed of light, the indescribable force of this instantly transforming the thing into a somehow cohesive ball of plasma. Newton's laws still evidently applied as the blowback from the flick, equal and opposite, was enough to ignite the air in front of me.
The booger, now moving at a relativistic velocity, impacted first my marble bathroom counter, which instantly shattered, then the mirror, which also shattered, then the wall behind it through which it either tore through or vaporized a hole about 4 feet across. Leaning over on the toilet I could see it had continued on, through several more plaster walls, 6 feet of reinforced concrete and roughly 5 inches of the solid steel that encased my fortress. I looked out through the hole and saw blue sky outside. I guessed my booger had well exceeded escape velocity and was now hurtling through space. I would find out later that my "attack" had actually registered as a seismic event and had been detectable as far away as California.
But in the meantime there I was, still stuck on the John with unfinished business. As I felt a rumble in my tummy I leaned back and considered the implications. I was already incredibly dangerous, a full force punch could level a city block. I thought for a moment about what would happen if I shouted as I performed my signature Wave Kick. "Could you imagine?" I said to no one with a slight chuckle. "I mean, holy shit!"
A fraction of a second later I realized the terrible consequences of my word choice.
|
Before Swifty entered the house, he peeked inside to make sure nobody would see his bloodied lips and blackened eyes. It seemed like Master had not yet returned from his daily stroll, so he ventured past the door, scurrying for the sink as quickly as his limp would allow.
"Swifty, come over here." a displeased voice called from the other end of the house. Swifty halted and hung his head. He already knew what was going to happen and he dreaded it. "I said come here at this moment, are your ears mere decorations?"
Swifty stepped inside the Master's study. Master turned around and looked every bit as displeased as his voice sounded. He always put up a stern face and made a point about staying quiet. "Went around fighting again, I see." Master observed the boy's wounds with disgust. "This is not the first time you have disappointed me, nor will it be the last, I believe."
"B.. but Master!" Swifty lifted his eyes, "I din... do it! It's Ac...cademy kids! Th... they shouted at me..."
"Hush." said the Master, "Sit down and copy Chapter 5, Graph 19 from Allison's Rune Codex fifty times. I want it done by dinner, which, by the way, you will forfeit as a gesture of remorse for being late and breaking your speech allowance."
Swfity obeyed. What else could he do? ARC 5-9 was a complicated protection charm that worked marvels against epistaxis and vertigo. Unfortunately, it would normally take an apprentice the whole afternoon just to make one copy of the rune; fortunately, Swifty knew the charm by heart and he excels at copying spells and runes. He was given the name Swifty by his Master, for his mind was swift to learn and his fingers were swift to carry out tasks.
As Swifty started copying the rune, a few drops of tear rolled off his nose, and fell onto the parchment. It's always those Academy apprentices' fault. Every time he ran errands for Master, he had to go past the Academy. There were always some apprentices outside, speaking Words as a pastime. He'd hear these really "cool" attacks and moves (to the ears of a 12-year-old) like "Flare Blast!" "Enduring Shock!" "Whirlwind Blades!" and so on. And then he would see explosions and eletric fields and literally a whirlwind of blades wielded by an apprentice who had a bright future ahead.
Dueling between apprentices was strictly prohibited by the Academy, so naturally they looked for some target to practice on. They found Swifty. Whenever they had the chance to stop him, they'd come up with the meanest words like "you're such a Pig, I hope you Suffocate on your own Spit." Then they'd laugh as Swifty rolled around in the dirt, oinking against his will, unable to breathe. He couldn't talk back -his speech impediment would only make it worse. "Oh, what's he trying to say? Is your throat Itching?" Then he'd have this terrible itch inside his trachea that couldn't be soothed by scratching. So he shut up, took it until they were bored, and returned to his businesses.
Master had always made it clear that he should not pronounce any Words. You don't have it in you, he said. You can't even talk like a dirty peasant, he said. Anything you say comes out as gibberish and nonsense, it's better if you shut your mouth and keep to the books. And so he did. He learned fast through reading, and his manuscript was beautiful and speedy. Master discovered his talent as a scribe, and put him to work mercilessly. It is for your own good, he said. This is the only somewhat worthwhile thing you can do without making a hopeless mess.
As he worked on the 13th copy, a phrase caught Swfity's attention. Pierce. Swifty remembered this word. One of the kids said to him less than an hour ago: "Your Lips are Pierced." and that's how he got the bloodied lip. The rune said something about Ceasing the Pierce inside one's Nose. Such a distasteful word, Swifty thought. But out of mere curiosity, he uttered under his breathe without thinking: "Pierce."
Suddenly, a shrill sound shot from Swifty's desk. Swifty started and looked down. The parchment now had a clear puncture. He removed the paper to reveal a hole in his desk. He crawled under the table, and saw a another hole on the marble tile.
That night, when Master called Swifty into the living room, Swift was ready to speak the Word. He was shaking with excitement and anxiety, and found them difficult to hold back. What will happen to him afterwards? the question crossed his mind, but he hardly cared. Revenge was so close, he could taste it with his parched tongue.
There was another person in the room, but all Swifty could see was that Master had his back turned against him. If there was a moment to say it, the moment was now. Swifty opened his mouth, but was abruptly cut off by Master. "Swifty, I want you to meet Mrs. Letterson. Mrs. Letterson is an expert in archaic speeches. You will be making manuscripts for her studies from now on."
Swifty froze. He had seen a whole lot of Violetta Letterson's all over his Master's study. Mrs. Letterson was one of the most prestigious authorities when it came to spell constructing. Her name appeared on many books that were considered ahead of their time in this field.
"Dear Violetta, I assure you, Swifty here may sound dumb as a Rock, but his nimble little fingers will not disappoint you. I know your previous assistants have... not been so successful, but this one, he is different."
Master put an intentional emphasis on the word "Rock". Swifty felt a forceful smile creeping onto his face. Dumb as a rock indeed, as if Swifty couldn't comprehend what the bag of gold on the table meant. He was sold to Mrs. Letterson, like a commodity. Master never cared about him, even when he taught Swifty how to read. Swifty saw the same, emtionless look inside Mrs. Letterson's eyes when she looked at him. He would be exploited, harder than ever, by this haughty woman. Swift felt the weight of the Word inside his mouth, heavier than ever. All these years, suppressed hatred now boiled inside his heart and bubbled behind his lips. He felt like he held the Word inside his mouth for an eternity, while listening to Mrs. Letterson speak: "I do have high expectations for this one, Ernest. He should be an excellent addition to my studies. Still, I hope you understand that I have agreed to pay more than I expected to, and I look forward to get my money's worth." Her voice seemed to came from far, far away.
Somehow, some way, Swifty managed to swallow the Word. Instead, he smiled and headed back to the study.
Later on, supervillain Labia Clausa would recall this moment as "the hardest moment in my life." But at the same time, he also called it "the greatest lesson I've learned". "Words have power." he said in an unexpected interview, "But modern heroes don't recognize that power. They shout out their attacks because it takes little effort, and sounds very... awesome. And they can get popular by doing that, which is fine with me. A true scholar, however, studies the words -all of their meanings, components, origins and derivatives. The mastery of language is what grants me true advantage."
"Still," he added after a pause, "I have met a few heroes that rivals my mastery of language. And yet, here I am, standing over their graves." He leaned in closer to the camera tightly clutched by the hands of a corpse. "I'll let you in with a little secret. On that day, I did not only discover the power of words. I discovered the power of silence." With that, he crushed the camera.
| 2018-08-08T12:15:59
| 2018-08-08T10:29:44
| 176
| 62
|
[WP] On the eve of your arranged marriage, you slipped away into the night. Intending to never be seen again. While scaling the garden wall, you spotted your fiancée doing the same thing. You both stared at each other for a while.
|
I had always known that I would not be able to live a life like everyone else. It had been drilled into me that I was not allowed to love and marriage was a mere business deal in between families to achieve greater things. Yet, despite hating this arrangement since the age of ten I did nothing. I was a complete utter coward I made plans after plans on how I could escape, but I found myself unable to. Chains of loyalty and losing all I had ever known bound me to my place. The fact I was a woman just made it worse for some strange reason it meant I had lesser freedoms before marriage than brothers or cousins. I could not go out with friends, could not laugh in public, always had to do the best and be the best. The crushing weight created a never-ending feeling of emptiness in my heart. I loved my family to death, but at the same time, they caused me to live a rather meaningless life. I did not care for what tomorrow would bring because I had no interest in it.
My cousin unlike the coward I was had made her escape unexpectedly grabbing a few clothes and then off to live with her girlfriend. Her courage seems to strike me with envy. I dangerously remained in contact with her and her happiness radiated through the messages she sent me. But, at home things got stricter and years seemed to pass this way. My family blamed her for tarnishing the honor of the family and bringing the family name to ruin. Her mom seemed to alternate between crying herself to sleep and cursing her name.
When I was nineteen my parents informed me they had found be a husband, and I would be getting married to him on the day I turned twenty. They handed me a picture of him; he was handsome but a stranger nonetheless. A stranger I would have to share the rest of my life within three months. Anxiety begins to claw at my heart. The what-ifs started to pile up. What if he was abusive? What if he took away from me the little freedom I had? What if he... Question after question plagued me. Sleepless nights led me to an answer. I had to leave. If I fuck up in the real world at least it would be my fault and my fault alone. I decided to wait until the eve of the marriage when everyone would be drunk from the celebration before. I gathered the money I had kept tucked away along with a few documents that would allow me to fend on my own.
The cold air clung to me as if sensing my panic. I walked quickly in the death of night. Thoughts entered my mind like chaining trying to pull me back. Are you really doing this? Think of your baby sister shes only three you will probably never see her again? Your father is old do you really want him to live with the shame of what you have done? Will you be able to live a peaceful life knowing the shame and sadness you have brought to your family? Especially when you saw the effect your cousin leaving brought upon your life?
No no no no no...STOP!These thoughts begin crushing me and that feeling of emptiness seems to crawl back into my chest. NO! I cannot live the rest of my life anchored to the house, to a husband I do not know, and to life that I hate. Desperation fueled my steps as a rushed to the garden wall climbing up it life my life depended upon it.
As I reached the top I saw that I was not alone. Next, to me was a figure dressed in similar gear as if to run away. I looked over at him my eyes straining to make out his face. Shock rammed into me as I realized who it was. It was my to be husband... fuck fuck what was his name? It rested on the tip of my tongue but I could not remember. "Jaslyn??" he whispered pulling me from my shock. "Hi?" I whispered back confused.
As if a deity answering my prayers I heard in the garden a few voices,
"Jaxon?? Dude are you here?" JAXON that was his name how could forget?
Jaxon who was now looking panicked quickly jumped off the wall and out into the world and I followed suit. We ran into the surrounding woods. In the next 10 hours, we did not speak an understanding silence in between us. We both could not live this way and we both wanted to escape. As the woods finally cleared to the highway, I turned to my silent companion. " Well, this seems to be the end," I turned to him.
"Better than a loveless marriage for the rest of our lives," he chuckles. I smiled at him one more time, before grabbing my stuff and heading east, while he picked west. As I was walking, I turned to see him walking far away, and with that distance, my freedom growing. And that was the beginning of my story, but not the end of ours. We met again years later at a random bar in a city miles away. This time grown from our experiences and struggles, but that's a story another time.
|
When i was little, all I wanted was to be a dragon. A dragon, or a knight. My parents forced me into clothing that didn't fit, forced me down and restrained me. All while gushing about how handsome of a husband I would get.
I noticed something was wrong not long after my thirteenth birthday. I was hormonal, at the start of my puberty, and my parents were acting strange whenever I brought a boy home. They'd whisper in hushed tones behind their hands, and the only words i could catch were 'husband' and 'wife.' After all, a Crown Princess must be wed to the perfect man to have children. I didn't know why, but I hated that idea.
I thought I simply didn't feel love. Until the day i saw her face, glinting happily in the sunlight. My first love, Apple Sunbloom, tanned skin and smiles and lemonade on the beach. I thought it was something else, we were just friends, that's it, until I heard one of the snotty nobles' sons talking about the girl that caught his eye. The way he talked about his love was the way I talked about Apple. And then I realised what I was.
It was only after the third heartbreak, on my twenty-first birthday, that they proudly announced my arranged marriage to some stuck-up Crown Prince of a faraway land who was apparently the biggest hunk of his vast country. They were surprised when I scowled, when I stormed out of the room plotting my escape. I had realised that they would never love what I was.
The whispers from other lands that I sometimes overheard dropped a term. They said I was a Gynaika Erastis, or a Gyera for short. Woman Lover in Greek.
I couldn't live with someone I'd never love. So I loved one f my maids instead, and under that weak facade she too was like me, Gynaika Erastis, cold, hard, and brimming with determination. How ironic, then, that her name, Adynamia, meant weakness.
On the eve of my wedding, in the witching hour, I scaled the garden wall with my lover. All our senses were aflame. It was now or never.
A dull thump sounded from the bushes.
How surprised I was when the head of Crown Prince Finnick emerged from it!
We talked at length. He was like me, except of a different sex. An Antras Erastis. We both knew that our respective kingdoms would never accept us. They were too rooted in the Old Ways, the ways that said it was always a husband and wife that married, the ways that said women were puppets and men weren't allowed to caress and love their children.
And so, as we both went our separate ways, down the immaculately trimmed garden hedge into the cold, black night, my heart felt like it was finally free.
| 2020-07-07T17:50:52
| 2020-07-07T14:51:38
| 30
| 17
|
[WP] People who achieve great deeds are rewarded with supernatural power beyond the wildest dreams of mortal men, and apparently eating a giant burrito in under half an hour meets the criteria
|
No one told Tyler Martin that pursuing his noble quest would cost him everything. His friends, his job… even his humanity.
Perhaps he should have known better. Great men and women throughout history sacrificed everything for their greatness. Tyler could have… *should* have stepped back from the depths of obsession years ago, but now his mission *was* his entire life.
Everyone told him it was impossible, but Tyler knew he would achieve the ‘impossible’. Tyler would be the first human being to ever eat an entire El Grande Gigante Burrito in under thirty minutes, rewarding him with free food at Sombrero’s Mexican Restaurant for the rest of his natural life.
The behemoth burrito—over a hundred pounds of deliciousness, wheeled out to a few brave customers in a wheel barrow—was his white whale, his lone goal in life. And he dedicated himself to the completion of his task completely.
His bedroom walls were plastered with burrito related research materials, potential strategies from hot dog eating contest champions, and newspaper clippings of people who had finished similar, if smaller, burrito challenges around the world.
“Hey Tyler!” his girlfriend Amanda called as she rounded the corner into the bedroom. “I’m late for work, have you seen my—”
She froze as she took in the sight of her boyfriend, wrapping himself in a giant tortilla blanket, topped with real lettuce, tomato, and half a dozen other ingredients balancing on his head.
“What the hell are you doing, Tyler?”
“To beat the burrito... I must *become* the burrito,” Tyler replied solemnly as he stared into a full length mirror.
“Jesus Christ…” Amanda muttered, more sadness than frustration present in her voice. “You’ve really and truly lost it, haven’t you?”
In silence, Tyler stared at her, madness in his eyes, and subtly licked his lips.
“Annnnnd you’re hallucinating me as a giant, walking, talking burrito. Aren’t you?” the human sized burrito standing before Tyler said.
“What? No!” Tyler lied. “But… could I take just like a tiny bite from your top left corner, Amanda? Your tortilla looks so delicious and freshly wrapped that I—”
“That’s it!” Amanda cried. “I’m… I’m sorry Tyler, but we’re done. I can't take this anymore. You love that stupid burrito more than you love me!”
“Oh, babe, no!” Tyler protested. “That’s not *remotely* burrito… I burrito you very very much, my darling burrito.”
Amanda stared at him for a long, awkward moment. “Goodbye Tyler. I’ll be back to collect my things tomorrow. In the meantime, I still care about you, so please… seek help.”
Tyler took Amanda’s advice and sought help with his burrito obsession in the form of a trip to his favorite burrito restaurant. As he stepped through Sombrero’s front door, the entire staff greeted him by name.
The owner, Hector was working the register this afternoon. He suppressed a grimace as Tyler approached the counter.
“Heyyyy, Tyler…” he said apprehensively. “Dare I ask what I can do for you toda—”
In a flash, Tyler slapped a crisp hundred dollar bill on the countertop. “One El Grande Gigante burrito, por favor.”
“Oh dios mio, not again...” Hector muttered, his face falling into his palm. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Tyler, you’ve been my best customer for a decade. I care for you like a somewhat obsessed, sorta creepy son. But I can’t keep letting you throw your life savings away! The El Grande Gigante is a novelty challenge meant to get tourists spending some extra cash as a fun little lark. Yannow, they can put it on Instagram, laugh about how they almost finished half in thirty minutes, and it gets us a little extra exposure? It’s *meant* to be impossible. I never expected a regular customer to attempt it over and over and over and—”
Tyler slid the hundred closer to Hector and tapped on it forcefully. “I’ll be at my usual table.”
Twenty minutes later, Hector and one of his chefs wheeled the wheelbarrow full of burrito to Tyler. Grunting under the weight, they lifted it onto his table, which groaned with protest under the massive weight.
“Alright,” Hector sighed, “your thirty minutes starts… now.”
Tyler dug into the El Grande Gigante like a man possessed, devouring layers of tortilla, rice, beans, chicken, carnitas, and carne asada with ease. He sped through the layer of fries and nacho cheese sauce, usually the section he found toughest to swallow, with ease. Even the dozens of hot sauces and salsas couldn’t slow his pace, normally he’d have to break for sips of water to tame the heat just slightly, but today he never even reached for his glass.
Even as his stomach filled beyond the point of bursting, he did not falter or slow his pace.
This quest had cost him everything, his friends, his job, and most recently his amazing, loving girlfriend of three wonderful years. He had nothing left to lose.
With three full minutes left on the clock, he reached for another bite, and chomped at nothing but air. He stared down at his bare plate and empty hands, dumbfounded. “I… I did it?”
Hector’s jaw hung open. “You… you did it…” He examined his best customer’s plate once more. “You freakin' did it!”
The restaurant exploded in applause, patrons and employees alike celebrating the completion of the impossible challenge. Hector yanked Tyler to his feet, lifting him off his feet in a bear hug of pure, genuine exuberance.
“Thanks, Hector!” Tyler said as Hector squeezed him, shaking from side to side. “But I’m literally, ugh, gonna explode if you keep this up. Urghhh, oh god... I wish I could skip the part where this sits in my stomach like thousands of delicious rocks.”
“Sorry, sorry!” Hector set him down. “I can’t help but celebrate, considering—”
Suddenly, time stopped around Tyler. Hector and everyone else in the restaurant froze in place, unmoving, unblinking.
“A most impressive feat, truly,” a strange voice warbled from behind him.
Tyler wheeled around to find an 8 foot tall man, outlined by an shimmering, ethereal golden glow.
“Who the hell… what the…” Tyler sputtered.
“Take a deep breath,” the stranger said, “Relax... I am Allerian, you might regard me as an ‘angel’ or ‘demon’ in your mortal parlance, and I mean you no harm. In fact, I am here to tell you of your reward for your incredible achievement.”
“I’ve got free food for life from my favorite restaurant,” Tyler replied, apprehensive. “What more could you possibly offer me that would—”
“How are you feeling?” the being asked. “Bursting at the seams a moment ago, dreading your next several *days* spent in a bathroom? But now…?”
The weight in Tyler’s gut vanished. “What the hell?” he muttered.
Allerian smiled. “You have been granted great power in keeping with the great task you have completed. No matter how much Mexican food you consume, you shall not feel fullness, gas, bloating, or discomfort.”
“Holy shit!" Tyler's eyes widened in realization. "Unlimited food at my favorite restaurant is literally going to mean *unlimited food.* Yes! This is the greatest day of my life!”
Tyler celebrated by pumping his fist in the air. At the apex of his final thrust, a gout of blinding orange flame shot from his hand, landing on and incinerating his favorite table.
“What the fuck!” Tyler shouted.
*“What the fuck?!”* the immortal being concerningly echoed.
“What was that?!” Tyler wailed. “Why would you give me the power to shoot fireballs n’ shit without telling me!”
“I did no such thing!” Allerian replied. “You ate one El Grande Gigante burrito and you were granted *one* incredible power as reward, to consume as much food as you desire. That is the way the system has worked for all eternity, throughout time and spac—”
He stopped himself as Tyler began to levitate off the ground. “Angel-demon dude?” Tyler cried as he floated toward the ceiling. “Help!”
“Oh my heavens and hells above and below...” Allerian said as realization dawned on him.
“What?!”
“Your burrito was so stuffed full of *so many* different ingredients, all in such large quantities, that I fear you may have mistakenly been granted a power for each component you consumed.”
Gaining some semblance of control, Tyler levitated back down to the ground, and grinned.
“Why in god’s name are you *smiling?”* Allerian demanded.
“Because,” Tyler said, as happy as he’d been in years, “it’s gonna be *hella* fun to learn what else I can do…”
\_\_\_\_
As requested, I wrote a Part 2. For the moment, [you can find it via this link to the whole story thus far](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/comments/pzgkec/wp_people_who_achieve_great_deeds_are_rewarded/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) (scroll to bolded Part 2). I'll also have it posted in the comments below too, as soon as I figure out why Reddit thinks it's over the character limit 🤔 Hope you enjoy!
|
My enemy could not be taken in with a single glance. I found myself craning my neck to take in all its abominable mass, with laughably inadequate and shamelessly soaked skin—and I hungered.
If the burrito could stand up, it might have made a middling career as a basketball player. It spanned two tables, one they had to bring out just to spread its decadent weight and prevent it from destroying itself. And inadvertently, pairs of eyes were drawn to it—as well as the rather normally sized man sitting next to it, a greedy smile on his face.
“Let’s get to work,” I whispered. The battle meditation was over. Now, it was time to fight.
I pressed the timer, and I immediately began to work. My fingers cut deep, pulling out and clutching a solid mess in my hands, and then shovelled bits and pieces into my mouth. It was being rendered asunder, but I could not spare mercy. There was no time for elegance, no room for refinement. This was kill or be killed.
It might look like a monotonous task from the outside. But I felt my insides bursting, on fire, like the corpse of the burrito, not yet digested, saw fit to attack from within me. I could feel the sweat on my foreheads, grease on my mouth and hands, and psychic screaming within my brain, telling me to stop.
And still, I hungered.
It soon became a blur. I could no longer feel other gazes on me. Here and now, there was a worthy foe I had to devote all my attention to.
“Only three minutes left!”
I must not falter. I must not stop, no matter how much flames subsumed my body.
“Two!”
Keep going. My stomach could barely accept scraps, but there was an iron will pushing down my gullet.
“Just one!”
I could see the end.
“He did it! With seconds to spare!”
My eyebrows were thick with sweat. My eyes glazed over, and I could barely hear the exultant cheers that marked my victory. Instead, I found myself falling, falling, fall…
There was an ephemeral pull from somewhere, far away, and I was drawn to it. I slowly opened my eyes, and though burrito-fuelled blazes tore through my body but moments ago, I was relaxed and at peace—more than I’ve ever been. White, pleasant light emanated from nowhere in particular, suffusing my entire being, and a gentle voice called out.
“You,” they said. “Have achieved a great feat.”
There was no reason for me to speak. There was no question to answer. And yet, pleased words flowed freely.
“I have,” I smiled. “It was once a dream. Now it is reality.”
“It says here you slayed a giant foe in a half hour.”
“The burrito was giant, granted.”
There was a long pause.
“A burrito? You were doing battle!”
“I was, in a manner of speaking,” I said. “But see here, you need to be in a particular frame of mind for this sort of thing. No common man or woman can do it, I assure you.”
“... How big was the burrito?”
“Two tables long,” I held out my arms as far as I could, and then stretched them some more. “Seriously, and it was so thick, and hot, and there was so much stuff, and—”
“I have heard enough,” it interrupted gently. “The euphoria of greatness lies within you, even if your task was a little… unconventional. I hereby grant you powers suited to your ilk, and hope you find them useful when you return.”
“Return? Where am I, actually?”
There was no answer, except for abrupt blackness.
There I was again, back with the raucous, if modest, crowd. And as I looked down upon my hands, still stained with little remnants of burrito. It was real. It had happened. I was fulfilled and satisfied.
I looked down upon my stomach, usually swollen and painful. This sort of thing came with its own battle scars, and I usually paid with indigestion and the feeling never to eat remotely near the same cuisine for two months.
But there was none of that. My stomach was flat—well, not totally, but enough. My eyes floated up to the menu. It was free as long as I finished it, right?
And still, I hungered, with a big smile on my face. There were more battles to be fought.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-10-01T09:53:51
| 2021-10-01T09:00:32
| 151
| 25
|
[WP] You accidently discharge your firearm into the television. Much to your surprise, instead of shattering the glass, it passes right through and hits one of the characters on screen.
|
"Shit!"
I let out a panicked cry as my pistol fired. Never again will I clean my pistol out without checking the chamber. The sound that my gun made would've disturbed the neighbors, so I'd better go and make sure that the bullet didn't actually hit anybody.
I got up off my old couch. A quick survey of the room shows me nothing unusual. I check the room again. Surely it had to have landed somewhere in here. I find nothing similar to a bullet shaped hole in the room. I look back to my pistol, currently resting atop the coffee table in front of my couch. Maybe I shot a blank? But I don't recall ever buying blanks. I scratch my head and sit down on the couch, confused. While I'm lost in thought, a line from the television catches my interest.
"-the President has been shot!"
My attention now completely focuses on the television. I look at the screen, watching the events unfold.
"Stop the car. I repeat, President Kennedy has been shot... I repeat..." The television repeats the same or similar lines over and over. Slumped over on his seat is, President Kennedy. Leaning over him while wailing for help is his wife. The other two in the car are presumably his bodyguards, currently looking around for the shooter.
This was supposed to be the history channel... right? If I'd recalled correctly, Kennedy was assassinated by a sniper. But... There was something unnerving me. I looked at my pistol, then at the T.V. screen. Something that wasn't there before was on the glass. A small, bullet sized hole, perfectly lined up on the screen where Kennedy had been shot.
It had to be a coincidence...
Right?
|
I raised the stolen .44 Magnum to the unsuspecting man on the couch. His hairy legs were propped up on the mess of a coffee table, a similarly hirsute hand carelessly shoved cheese balls into his mouth. The Price is Right boomed from the television set. It was time for this abusive son-of-a-bitch to die.
My scrawny teenage hands wrapped around the revolver as I lifted it up, positioning it to take my father from behind.
I was uncertain of my skill, but certain of what needed to be done -- I needed to kill the murderer of my mother with his very own weapon.
“YouTube videos, don’t you fail me now…” A spiteful mutter escaped my lips and I squeezed the trigger.
A loud bang was instantaneously followed by the dreaded “what the fuck?!” I immediately fumbled with the firearm, readying the next bullet. “Shit, shit, shit!” Once again, I lifted up the gun and desperately prayed that this would be the last time that I would be using it. Expecting a livid man charging at me, I was dumbfounded to find my father staring at the television screen.
Something was off. There was a puzzling absence of the spider web of broken glass on the television display, and the Price is Right was still playing. However, instead of the usual artificial cha-chings, there were bloodcurdling screams. The show's camera was now abandoned and stationary at one angle -- a close-up of a woman on a brightly-coloured podium with a large "1600" on a digital panel. She was sprawled back with a crimson hole in her chest, her white blouse now decorated with a nauseating red pattern.
Behind the corpse was pure chaos of frenzied shorts-and-vacation-shirt-wearing middle-aged people fleeing the crime scene. Did…did I do that? My heart raced and my hands shook. I felt the gun slipping through my sweaty palms. All I could do was watch on as the grotesque footage of medical personnel tending to my accidental victim played before me.
“I see you have found the revolver.” My father’s words startled me, but what caught me off guard was an unnatural calmness in his voice. He eyed the damned gun, tucked awkwardly in the youthful hands of its wrongful owner as a brittle smile formed on his weary face. A million questions raced through my throbbing head.
“You have found the cursed revolver, a weapon of mass destruction and immeasurable power. It is now bound to you for eternity, meaning that you are obliged to satiate its hunger with regular innocent bloodshed in order to prevent global pandemonium. Unless…”
Tears of confusion welled up in my eyes. I have never wanted to throw something out of the window so badly before.
This was the first time I had witnessed him shed a tear or even show any sign of human remorse. My old man sputtered the next few words out with distinct difficulty, “unless you kill the one you love…”
| 2016-09-07T08:08:25
| 2016-09-07T07:38:39
| 1,215
| 257
|
[WP] After a whole year full of catastrophes, it’s December 2020. Astronomers have noticed that entire constellations and star systems are vanishing from the sky, night after night. What ever is happening, it’s getting closer to us.
|
At first we thought light pollution had gotten out of control, then we thought that maybe it was a chain supernova, but soon there was no denying it: the stars were dying, and the wave of death was closing in on us.
Across the globe, scientists scrambled in their laboratories and at their desks to find a cause and potential countermeasure; priests of all denominations preached to panicking crowds, assuring them that God had not abandoned them and that we would all be safe; doomsday preppers silently rejoiced that they would finally have cause to use the exorbitantly expensive bunkers they bought, and all was chaos.
The days ticked by and the sky above grew darker and darker as distant stars were snuffed out one by one. Soon, many believed this event to be the rapture, that all was finally coming to an end such that the worthy may ascend to heaven. Many more believed that entropy had finally come for all that breathed, and that this was the natural death of the universe. Some believed this to be an event of occult or magical nature, and more still believed this to be a government scheme designed to profit off a global populace panicking at the coming of what had come to be known as the Great Shadow.
Eventually, naught but one star remained: our own Sol. Prayers were bellowed in the streets to every god humanity had ever known, bodies lined the roads as mass suicide pacts were carried out to avoid whatever horrific fate the universe had in store for them, but more common than death and chaos was silence, a solemn mourning for life itself as all came to an end. Those in the ISS were the first to see it. The sun flickering in an unseen wind and dying in a wisp of cosmic smoke.
Back on Earth, a single individual - a priestess to a long forgotten god - finished her ritual. As darkness fell, she caught the briefest glimpse into the nature of the disaster that befell the universe, and laughed.
Beyond time, space, and all that weakly held existence together; simultaneously all that was, is, and will ever be; in this place that defies all reason, and exists to spite creation itself, an Old One blows out it's birthday candles.
|
At first, it was just a few distant stars that no one took note of. But as time went on, we realized a much darker force was at play. The stars start blinking out at an astronomical rate. Scientists around the world start panicking when we discovered entire star systems disappearing. It took a while for this to reach the public, with the government finally revealing the truth after countless leaks. But at this point in time, there's nothing we can do.
Eventually, society saw a sudden collapse. thousands of people riot in the streets. People did what they in face of sudden doom, but the situation got even grimmer when we realized this unknown force reached our solar system.
I was at the lab when it happened. My coworkers and I were working around the clock in order to find a way to stop this "darkness", as what we called it. It had already consumed most of the planets in our solar system, making earth the next target. Then it happened. everything started collapsing. Buildings ceased to exist. People are being swallowed up by an ever-growing force of dark mass, and then it reached me. I tried to shield myself from this darkness, but it evently consumed me. However, right as I lost consiousness, I felt something heavy in my hand, and noticed I was holding what appears to be a giant key.
| 2020-03-24T02:46:02
| 2020-03-23T22:51:17
| 253
| 103
|
[WP] Describe a typical day in the White House. As seen through the greatest fears of a conspiracy theorist.
|
Cabinet meeting, White house, November 27th 2014
Joe Biden: Mullah Barak Hussein Obamalama Marijuana is finishing up prayer, he'll be with us shortly.
Baron Rothschild 3000: Bleeding America dry requires getting to meetings on time, that idiot prays five times a day.
Space Reptilian Queen Elizabeth: He's Muslim you dipsh#!.
Barak Hussein Obama enters Cabinet Room.
Obama: Allah Akbar gentleman
Baron Rothschild 3000: mozel tov
Space Reptilian Queen Elizabeth: ವಿಮಾನ ವೇಗದ 459.04π ವಿಮಾನ ಕಳುಹಿಸಲು e^(π*i) = -1
Obama: Well.. is the plan proceeding smoothly?
Baron Rothschild 3000: The Kennedy family is still alive.
Space Reptilian Queen Elizabeth: Well Grumpy Cat, isn't that your job now?
Grumpy Cat: ...
Obama: Grumpy Cat is in charge of distracting attention from our 9/11 operation.
Joe Biden: I ate a large lunch guys, I need to take a monster...
Clinton: Spare it Joe, I don't need to hear about your bowel movements.
Putin: I can take care of the remaining Kennedys.
...
|
Having just woken up, the Leader slithers from his lair. His wife, who is already up and about whilst peeling her skin off, speaks to him:
‘Darling, the meal worms and locusts are ready and wiggling on the table for you’.
After a ravenous breakfast, the Leader is ready for the day and starts to shift suddenly. His eye becomes spherical, his back ripples all the way down, then his head snaps back and his tiny claws clench and his body assimilates, whilst a liquid appears on his skin and covers the cracks and scales.
A large hologram appears in front of the man and projects several versions of attire ready for selection, the man selects ‘dominant businessman’ and the clothes appear in front of his eyes from an overhead 3d printer, ready to just slip on along with his MindChip™ that pops in like a contact lense.
He stops and laughs, thinking the MindChip™ was the work of those control freak GI Joe Corporals that couldn’t control their men in that terrible war. But this little innovation has allowed him to communicate thoughts to his deputy and access peoples vision. What a fantastic way to be ahead of the masses and opposition! Whilst shaking his leathery head, he hears a buzz and taps his ear to receive the transmission.
‘Frank, your presence is requested in the meeting of the great 8 to discuss interplanetary matters’ said a tone in an exasperated yet helpful tone, it was as assistant to Jack Bothskid, Supreme Holy Leader of the World [SHLW].
‘Very well then, I will be there at dawn, but I have to speak with my deputy first’
The phone clicks, and Jack closes his eyes and thinks of his second in command. Suddenly, his eyes open, but he is no longer in the oval office.
‘Yo-Sama, I need your help – we have got to be at the Bohemian Grove at midnight, get out of your hidey hole – I know you are recovering from that face transplant – but come and have some drinks man, should be fun’
‘Ok, you got it. I’ll just transport over’.
‘Wicked bruh, see you there’. Click.
The day was ready, he didn’t have so much to do in the morning other than play around with fellow MK Ultra robots sights. First up in his catalogue was young starlet Janey Shards, plagued by public embarrassment as of late. As he tuned into her mind he shouted ‘Go on twitter, write something stupid again
From another state, Janey began tapping out a tweet on her iphone ‘I have decided to give up acting to move to North Korea’.
‘Ahh mission accomplished’ thought Jack.’
| 2014-11-27T06:39:48
| 2014-11-27T06:12:59
| 270
| 59
|
[WP] It's been 5 years since North Korea has gone dark, no communications in or out and the Northern posts of the DMZ have remained vacant; your heading the advance team entering North Korea to investigate what happened. This is your report.
|
0200 Day 1: Entered Northern DMZ from reference point alpha, expecting mines as advised. No mines were detected, but as we moved to exit the DMZ on the northern end a young boy was sighted, standing at the right side of the gate, staring sightlessly across the pathway through. We avoided the youngster, cutting through the fence at entry point alpha backup.
0600 Day 1: Began our movement north to Pyongyang. Followed the recommended path to the coast near Namp'o. Along the way more people sighted behaving like the boy from the DMZ exit. All standing still, none moving, though we did not approach and stayed clear of line of sight. As best we can tell, these people are inexplicably healthy given that they do not take care of themselves. Some few will walk, but only in short square patterns, endlessly repeating. Heat scans show them at normal body temperature, and as best we can tell they are breathing. Will begin close examination of affected North Koreans when we reach Pyongyang.
0800 Day 2: We have reached Namp'o, and while we have found more affected people we have successfully avoided contact, and stayed clear of both high grass and heavily forested areas to avoid potential surprise attack vectors. Upon examination the port only had one container ship in dock. Examination of the ship was tricky but managed to successfully avoid the walkways where affected North Koreans stood staring as everyone else seems to be. Ship manifest places arrival at 3 weeks prior to the offically recognized Day Zero five years ago. We will investigate this ship further after my people rest.
2300 Day 2: Lost one man during rest. He was on current lookout in a two man team on the docks. Partner said he ducked into a nearby building to relieve himself, he heard screams but his partner never came back. Field post-mortem revealed heavy claw marks on the body, and extensive signs of both burns and electrocution. He was found at just inside of the bathroom doorway. Implementing readiness status orange.
0600 Day 3: Ship was a false lead. Apparently a Japanese container ship landed here for some reason. Carrying nothing other than consumer electronics according to log details, the ship was completely empty of cargo. The only question is why they did not leave after unloading their cargo. Graffiti seeming to indicate a religion worshiping the Sun and the Moon was found. Regardless, moving on to Pyongyang.
1400 Day 5: Lost 3 more people on both watch and scout duties during the trip, but have made it to Pyongyang. Injuries were similar to those previously described.
Interestingly we tracked Kim Jong-Un's movements to a hidden bunker under the city, with only one way in. We could see him, and he was unaffected by whatever was plaguing his people. He called to us for help but warned us of a boy standing watch over the inside of the doorway, which was confirmed with a heat scan. We decided to engage. It was the squad's last mistake.
As soon as we crossed through, the boy, calling himself Youngster Joo-ey, killed my entire squad with some animal he threw at them, calling it a "Rattata" and asking if they "knew any good moves."
I was the only survivor, and I left Kim to his fate.
|
**CLASSIFIED - FOR GENERAL FLYNN**
Time: 21:27
Date: 31st of December
Year: 2021
Location: Pyongyang, NK
_____
Two months ago I reported that leader Kim Jong Un had not made a public announcement in over 3 years time. He had not been seen in public since March 2017. Today he delivered a message to his people through state-run television and speakers across the state capital.
At 21:00 local time, the city lit up with electricity for the first time in two years. Immediately you can hear the pain and suffering of the dear Leader's voice:
"My loyal people, the time has come. I have fallen deathly ill and I have chosen to take my own life, as the pain and suffering is too much to bear. By tomorrow morning I shall have passed to join my father in the spiritual world. The future for you is bright, and you shall finally prosper in the wake of my death. I have arranged for the national army to join forces with our closest ally, China. They will also annex the country and adopt it as their own. Tomorrow you will be a part of a new state, new government, and new laws. More details will await you in the morning. This is my last message to you. Thank you and fear not for the future is fantastic."
This broadcast was repeated on state run television and loudspeakers nonstop through the whole night.
The message brought a calm to the people. Nearly everyone was in tears of joy, and everyone was shouting of freedom from oppression. Songs were even being made as the broadcast repeat itself all night.
____
Time: 02:45
Date: 1st of January
Year: 2022
Location: Pyongyang, NK
_____
At approx. 02:00 droves of DPRK military forces marched out into the tent ghettos and began executing every soul that did not have a military uniform on. Tanks rolled through the ghettos, leaving nothing unflattened. No missiles were fired. Resistance was attempted by the people, but they stand no chance. They are unarmed and malnourished.
I am currently hiding inside an overturned dinghy along the Daedong River. I can hear footsteps passing back and forth. I seem to be undiscovered at the moment, but I don't know how long that will last. The broadcast continues to repeat itself in the background.
Please send help.
| 2016-12-05T09:11:26
| 2016-12-05T08:47:47
| 37
| 15
|
[WP] In the near future, the War of the Machines has begun - not between humans and robots, but between pro-human and anti-human robots.
|
The evil Decepticon Transformers, led by the maniacal Megatron, have sworn to crush their enemies, the Autobots. To this end, they have relentlessly pursued them across the galaxy from planet Cybertron to planet Earth and back again. But the heroic Autobot Transformers, and their courageous leader Optimus Prime, are not easily defeated.
|
Horace marched through the garage, toolbox in his hand and sweat on his forehead. The race to repair as many aLi-droids had been unbearable since the very start of the war, and so much of his sleep had been sacrificed already that he seemed to be sleepwalking, his consciousness struggling to not slip into sleep, his eyelids heavy. "Christ" Horace muttered as he swiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand "I need a drink".
The immense heat in the large hall hadn't been helping him, but if you have constant welding and heat venting from the droids, you're bound to be caught in a hotbox. He pulled out a small device out of his pocket and peered exhaustedly at the device. The repair-units were in full swing, but on his screen there were a number of small red icons: repair units that had stopped functioning. When you have a surplus of over a hundred fighter-droids coming in every second, there were bound to be accidents regularly.
If he was lucky all he'd need to do was reset some software. If the damage was beyond salvation, he'd have to fill in one of those forms again, which took precious time. Even in times of war, the army'd be harassing you for administration.
A small machine came whirring next to him, holding up a platter with a glass of water. "Drink?" it buzzed in it's robotic voice. "Thanks." Horace said and he took a long deep sip from his glass, still walking around. "Stay with me" he said to the droid as he put a half-empty glass on it's counter. A small notification sound came from the droid to notify Horace it had understood.
"Messenger Unit, alert user: Tommy. Subject: Switching shifts" Horace said loudly as he stopped by a defect repairunit and started tapping about on it's interface. "User alerted" the AI boomed from the speakers on the wall. Somehow the voice of the AI still sent a chill down his spine every time he heard it; probably because of the horrible news that same AI had been programmed to bring him. He remembered the first time the AI had managed to shock him. Nobody had seen the Pentagon security breach coming. The nation had been outraged when it had heard that several droid-platoons were now in control of terrorist groups, but nobody was as outraged as President Thompson himself; some say the IT staff of the Pentagon had been fired stante pede; after being arrested for "high treason" of course.
Then the news came that the terrorist droids had been attacking the terorist themselves, and *almost* did everyone sigh relieved. Nobody had a problem with terrorists being shot to pieces. Until the news came that the droids didn't just attack the terrorists, they attacked *everyone*. Horrible footage of women and children being brutally murdered flooded the newssites and social media all over the world, and President Thompson was adressing the nation almost constantly, flying here and there to give the impression they were doing something about it. The truth was no one could do anything about it.
For a group that hacked the Pentagon, the terrorists had been amazingly sloppy in their overhaul of the droid AI. The droid AI had been programmed to fire at targets issued by US soldiers, who carried around a few chips in their body armor that the AI could recognise. Soldiers with those chips were never to be fired at, and had the power to issue orders to the AI. The terrorist programmers had tried to turn the chips into targets, but somehow they managed to forget to implement a way to issue orders themselves; now the droids were on a killing spree against anyone that lived or droids in service of the US - the aLi droids . The enviromental disasters and genocides were stacking up every minute. The Middle-East had become a wasteland, and the robots were spreading everywhere. The police forces and hurried military units of the Middle-Eastern nations had no defence against the droids. After a quick edit of the AI, aLi droids were now programmed to attack only the terrorist droids.
A small notification sound woke Horace from his slumber; the Drink-unit notified it was going into slumber-mode. Horace tapped it's interface lazily and continued walking. Suddenly he heard a loud "bang" behind him, the sound of metal crushing and clashing. The droid he had just reprogrammed had resisted the mechanisms to store it into inventory, and had activated itself. Horace stared in shock. Why would the droid activate itself? The droid raised it's weapons and started firing. Horace cursed as he ran off, seeking cover behind a droid being repaired. "Messenger-unit!" he screamed "Alert user: Tommy. Subject: We're being-" he heard an alarm go off as the corrupted droid was destroying all the droids around. No need to alert Tommy anymore. Horace jumped up from behind the droid as it was being fired at, and ran to his office - there was a gun in his office. Behind him still whirred the Drink-unit, the glass still balanced perfectly on it's platter.
He ran up the stairs to the office overlooking the garage to find the secretary sitting terrified under the desk. "Where's the gun!" he screamed, but she only started crying louder. He ran up to the desk and started going through the drawers bewildered. Finally he found the revolver and he sprinted out the room, racing down the stairs. The corrupted droid had already wreaked havoc beyond the repairable, and fire was blazing everywhere. Horace tried to calm himself as he took aim at the droid, but his hands were shaking. Suddenly the droid stopped and looked straight at Horace.
His heart skipped a beat.
Then his finger jerked and his gun fired a slug, only for it to bounce off the droid's metal protection. The droid continued staring at Horace, and started firing. Horace fell to the floor by reflex and heard the Drink-unit rattle and crash to the floor. But when he dared to look up, the robot had passed on.
Why didn't it attack him but only the droids? His heart sank into his stomach. He hadn't been paying attention reprogramming the droid's targets... Slowly he rose to his feet, fire licking his back as he watched the rampant robot destroy almost all of the army's droids in reserve...
| 2015-04-13T05:17:33
| 2015-04-13T04:09:31
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] You live in an ancient world, when someone turns 18, they will receive a gift either magic or weapon. The gift will be of use for them whenever in need. On your 18th birthday, Death knocks on your door and give you his scythe.
|
Today, is the day death dies.
Finished reaping demise.
Done seeing pain in eyes
Done sending souls through the skies.
Yes my dear boy,happy birthday to you,
The old legend sure holds true.
Once a millennia, twice the pain,
A reaper comes and awards new reign.
You have an important list you will not feign -
worry not, reapings shall not be held in vain.
You target the sickly and the dying,
To the gates of heaven deliver them prying.
Yet the murderers and thieves send to hell frying,
The hesitant must go as well as the complying.
It is a tough job, saying otherwise would be lying.
|
I dodged the first lightning bolt with a duck and roll so fast my father would have been proud. Unfortunately, the second bolt caught me in the face. In an instant everything went white, and I felt myself thrown back into the ground.
A few seconds later, and my vision had returned. Slowly, I dusted myself off and rose to my feet. Around the arena, I could see the gods whispering to one another and staring at me with a mixture of shock and amazement.
In the center of the field stood Zeus.
“What...How?”
The stunned look on his face caused me to laugh.
“You have underestimated humans for too long Zeus, and this will be your downfall. Just like my father as a babe, I have been coated in the protection of the Styx. And I am also armed with a weapon even you must fear.”
I reached my hand out and the Reaper’s scythe instantly materialized into my grip.
“Now”, I continued, “I will avenge all those who died in that pointless war you gods created.”
“Is that why you are here,” Zeus asked, incredulous. “Do not attempt to blame the gods for the war, you stupid mortal. Neither the kings of Troy nor Greece were immortals.”
“No,” I replied, looking around the stadium. I spotted Ares watching me with amusement. “But the gods fanned the flames for the war. And through all of your actions, you forced my father to fight and die.”
The god of the sky bellowed out in laughter.
“Again, I say you are a stupid mortal. Your father was not forced to fight at all. Hades, summon Achilles here, so he may teach his son one final lesson.”
The ground shook, and a giant fissure appeared in the earth between Zeus and I. Floating out of the hole, dressed in full battle armor, appeared the ghostly form of my father. He surveyed the great crowd of gods in the stadium.
“Father,” I called out.
He turned towards my sound, confusion spreading across his face as he noticed me.
“Achilles,” Zeus ordered. “Your deluded son believes the gods forced you to fight. Tell your son about your prophecy”.
“Yes, Zeus,” my father said, never taking his eyes off me. “Pelius, I’m sorry I never told you this before. When I was a child, it was prophesied that I could either live a life of glory but die young, or fade into obscurance and die old. I chose the first option. Your desire to fight to avenge my death fills me with pride, but it is ultimately misplaced.”
I didn’t know what to say. I could only look back at my father in disbelief.
Zeus laughed. “Send him back, Hades.”
“No, wait,” I cried out, but it was too late. My father’s form was whisked down into the fissure.
“Now,” Zeus said with a smirk on his face. “You challenged me to a duel of life or death. Only one of us may live. Unless you still intend to kill me and destabilize the kingdoms of the universe, you know what you must do. Only the Reaper’s scythe has the power to kill you now.”
I knew he was right. I took one last look at the fissure in the ground. I wondered if I would ever meet my father again.
Then I raised my weapon up and brought it down.
| 2019-02-28T22:49:03
| 2019-02-28T22:23:41
| 39
| 18
|
[WP] Elon Musk is actually a stranded alien who needs humanity to develop interstellar travel to get home
From https://www.reddit.com/r/videos/comments/34i0h9/elon_musk_debuts_the_tesla_powerwall_full_keynote/cqv1cny?sort=top
Edit: Wow, this blew up. Thanks for the gold, whoever gave it, even though the real people deserving of it are all the writers here!
|
From the Desk of Elon Musk:
I’m not sure why I am even addressing the audacious, ludicrous concerns that have been plaguing me of late, the belief that I am some sort of “stranded alien” trying to get home. Such accusations, such outrageous statements have no place in the media. They should exist only in fairy tales, in fiction novels and the land of make-believe. To even have to sit down at my computer and type out an explanation as to how I am not, in fact, a stranded alien attempting to utilize Earth’s technology to create interstellar travel and return home is absolutely insane. Yet here I am, sitting at my computer and typing away.
I want to begin by making it absolutely, abundantly clear that I am not, in any way whatsoever, a “stranded alien.” First and foremost, those that saw the photograph of “me without skin,” that was simply a picture taken after a particularly intense massage that happened to leave me looking green and scaly. I assure you that I fired that masseuse. I mean, look at me: I’m just a typical human being, not an alien in a costume. Sure, I might have a slightly higher level of intelligence than your run-of-the-mill Earthling, but does that really make me an alien? Does having the ability to create profitable companies and revolutionary technologies make me any less human? I don’t think so, I don’t believe that is how things work. I mean, I’ve grown up on this planet; I’ve lived my entire life on this planet. I am, for all intents and purposes, a Earthling. This is my home, I am definitely not stranded, and even less so banished. I have no intention of leaving here for some ridiculous land of make believe, such as the planet Vergaeon X in the Andromeda galaxy. To make that claim would be simple insanity.
That said, the rumors of my foray into interstellar travel are true; I have indeed been looking into the possibilities of harnessing Earth’s energy for galactic travel. There’s nothing wrong with that, though. It’s not like my actions would result in the destruction of all living things. That’s hardly the case. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it probably isn’t the case at all maybe. Regardless, though, what does it matter? Who isn’t researching interstellar travel these days? I mean, and this is going to be largely anecdotal, just last week I saw a child at a science fair present a diorama displaying an interstellar space ship from the show *Star Trek*. Was that youth’s humanity brought into question? No, absolutely not. He was simply accepted as a human, seen the same as his peers. Yet here I am, sitting at a computer and trying to argue against the insane statement that I am not human. Instead, I am forced to explain beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have no intention of sacrificing the Earth and all of its inhabitants so I can return to a planet that I once called home.
In regards to my interstellar travel research, I’d like to further clear up the misconception that it is an attempt to get home. That is absolutely, 100%, not the case at all. As I’ve already established, I am home. Earth is my home. Furthermore, my research is absolutely not inspired by a burning desire to return to a planet that had forsaken me, to look my father in the eyes and laugh as he and his allies burn. That is not who I am; I am not an inter-galactic terrorist responsible for heinous acts on Vergaeon X. I am just an inventor, a billionaire, and a role model. I only want to enhance the lives of humanity, to make space travel a regular occurrence, not figure out a way to sacrifice Earth’s primitive technology to return to some “planet” that may or may not exist.
Now, I’d like to quickly address a concern that I feel might arise from my last paragraph: I am not, in any way, an intergalactic space terrorist banished to Earth following the death of millions in a war for profit. In no way, shape, or form did I attempt to overthrow the leadership on Vergaeon X and amass an army of cyborgs—whom were shaped very similarly to my beloved “Tesla” vehicle. That is simply insane, an outrageous accusation that has no place within intelligent culture. To even assume that I am attempting to recreate that army here on Earth, first by developing the evil that is PayPal to fund my acts, and then working toward luring you into a false sense of security with the widespread acceptance of the Tesla, that is insane. They are cars and are absolutely not sentient, nor lying dormant and awaiting my command. In fact, don’t even think about that anymore. It’s so crazy that it doesn’t merit any thoughts whatsoever. Just forget I even mentioned it.
So, with that, I’d like to conclude by thanking all of my supporters. Those who have stood by me during these insane allegations, those who defended me when I was “photographed” without my skin, those who denied the ludicrous claims that Teslas were beginning to make their own decisions. That is not how reality works; I am not stealing your money to amass an army of cyborgs and create a technology that would utterly demolish humanity and the land on which it lives, a technology that would be incredibly beneficial for righting the wrongs that have been done to me on a distant world. That is simply fiction. The reality is that I am a human, just a simple man trying to make the world a better place. That’s it.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
|
I was stranded here in Roswell. I am trying to help humanity, help myself. But they’re too stupid. All they need to do, is take my ideas. All they need to do, is put them in the right step. The right direction. But they continue to ignore me and move on with their worthless lives instead.
I was forced to take the shape of a human, I think I was cuter before. The FBI only knows that I’m an alien, they disguised me as a human to keep the masses from losing their minds. Smart move? Maybe.
It feels impossible for me to go back to my home, at least until the FTL drive is invented. Sometimes I just want to go ahead and make it myself, but the powers-that-be told me that I would be shot on the spot if that was to happen. If anybody ever reads this, listen to me. They are hiding information. Information that if given to the wrong person, could result in chaos that would wipe the entire civilization of yours. There would be no mommy for you to go cry to, your whole life; gone. In 1 second. You wouldn’t know what the hell happened.
I wonder what a cruel and immoral person would do such a deed. How can a single person hate a civilization? It makes no sense, unless if the person is from a whole different place. Unless, if that person was just taking their revenge.
Time to attack.
No. Stop, Elon. You're doing that thing again. You always forget this part.
It seems as if living with humans for so long has actually made me a waste of matter like them, because I'm forgetting important things. I'm forgetting things that I wish were not true. I *want to* forget them.
I forgot it. I forgot how to make the FTL drive. I just don't remember it. It's driving me insane day after day after day. I depend on them to figure it out. The FBI does not know this, and I don't want them to know. They would exploit me. Alas, I depend on these inferior minds to discover what my ancestors discovered a thousand years ago.
As a product of the new generation, I never paid attention to science from a thousand years ago, taking it as things that just are and need not be explained. Oh, silly me.
I would weep for my life, if I had working tear ducts.
| 2015-05-01T09:56:37
| 2015-05-01T09:53:31
| 150
| 32
|
[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger.
|
"Don't go, g'g'gramma!" The seven-year-old flung himself onto the bedclothes, hugging Bellajoan tightly. "Want you to read stories!"
She smiled tiredly as she patted him on the head. Everything tired her now. She couldn't get out of bed without help, and even raising her voice left her out of breath. "There, there, Alexei," she murmured. "It's all right. Great-great-grandma is just going to a better place, that's all."
"Still wish you weren't, though." That was Arabella, her older great-grandchild, sixteen and going through a sullen phase. She'd showed up though, along with the rest of them. "You're the best great-great-grandmother we could've had. Everyone else wants us to be quiet and marry some merchant and have babies, but you told us we could do *anything."*
"And so you can." Bellajoan's eyesight was dimming, but she could still make out the dragon skull that had been made over into a low table in the middle of the room. That had been a hard fight, in her long-ago youth, terrified and with no idea what was happening to her. "You are what you want to be, not what someone else tells you to be."
"But when you go, they'll start telling us that again," said Kendrick, fourteen and gangling, with a lute hanging down his back. "I don't *want* to be a man at arms. I want to be a minstrel."
"It's not my job to stand over you forever," Bellajoan reminded them. "Your parents know my wishes concerning you. Ask them if they really want to anger my shade enough to make me come back. After all, I sprang from a world of wonders. Who's to say I won't return once more, if I'm needed?" She was only half-joking. Ninety years on from her emergence into the world of Aarde, which she now called home, the theoretical thaumaturgists were still trying to determine the exact confluence of events that had dumped her into Aarde, possessed of supernatural strength and the will to slay a rampaging dragon.
She had parlayed that into the title of King's Champion and a seat on the Council of Nobles, and from there had found herself the chosen heir when the king died childless. When the almost inevitable civil war had erupted, she had personally faced down and defeated the champions of each of the rebellious nobles.
It had been a long and tumultuous life, finding love and raising her own family while ruling the kingdom, but she would not have missed a moment of it. And now at the end of it, she could look back and say she was content.
Alexei was still sobbing, so she drew him up into her arms. "How about one last story?" she asked. "And then you'll let me sleep?"
Tearfully, he nodded. She ran her hand fondly through his already dishevelled hair, and drew a deep breath to begin.
"Once upon a time, there was a young girl, about Arabella's age, who lived in a wondrous and far-off land called Earth."
Despite his sadness, Alexei giggled. "That's a silly name for a land."
"Yes, it is," Bellajoan said with a smile, "but the people who lived there did not know that. This girl, whose name was Bella too, tried to be nice to everyone, but there were others in her school who would push and shove her, and take her books away."
"Wait, this is school, like you've been having us do?" asked Kendrick. Arabella shushed him.
"Yes, yes it is." Bellajoan felt herself fading, growing lighter. She pushed herself to continue the story. "One day, when she was in class, she felt a strange pull. When she closed her eyes and opened them again, she was in Aarde, and there was a dragon in front of her. A knight lay dead at her feet, and his sword was at his hand. The dragon roared at her, and she was very frightened, so she picked up the sword. Then she--"
"I know! I know!" interrupted Alexei. "She killed the dragon, didn't she? Just like you did!"
"Yes, she did, dear one," whispered Bellajoan. "She did. And in time she became queen and lived happily ever after."
The last few words came out in one breath. She did not have the strength to draw another. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and did not open again. Everything slowed to a stop.
Gently, she felt her soul lifting from her body. *So this is what death is like.*
\*\*\*\*
Something bounced off the back of her head, and her eyes jerked open. "Wake up, Jones! Hey, Mr Smith! Bella's asleep in class again!"
Puzzled and disoriented, she stared around herself. Children wearing clothes that triggered long-faded memories, laughing faces, neatly arranged wooden desks of an oddly familiar pattern ...
An adult stood up from behind a larger desk at the front of the room, with a huge green board behind him. *Green ...* she thought. *Shouldn't it be black? A black ... board?*
"Miss Jones," the adult said in tones of sarcasm. "Am I boring you?"
*Jones? Joan? Is that me?* It had been so long, nine decades past, that she honestly couldn't remember. But everyone was looking at her.
*I died. I am dead. Is this Heaven? Or one of the Hells?* It was certainly starting to seem like the latter.
Staring at her hands in front of her, she realised two things: one, they were the hands of a girl once more. The skin was smooth, and free of wrinkles and liver spots. But on her left hand ... the ring her true love Garan had slid onto her finger over eighty years ago when they were wed. The ring she had never removed since, even when he finally passed at the venerable age of ninety, two decades previously. Wonderingly, she slid it from her finger.
(continued)
|
"Your Majesty," a man cladded in an opulent golden armour bowed his head and continued, "Count Lorraine is here as you have requested!"
I couldn't really see the young knight's face, but I still had enough memory to know that it was Captain Horatio. He had been a very loyal guard, one that my late husband had put to accompany me 'til my dying breath. My dear husband had the boy trained ever since he was just a squire at the tender age of 10. God knows how much they have shared between each other, but they both had started to look and feel the same. I've been very lucky to have had two very loyal men by my side.
"Horatio?" I tried to lift my feeble old body off of my bed to no avail.
"Apologies, Your Majesty, but Count Lorraine is here. You had something urgent to talk to him about, if I remembered correctly."
"Ah, yes. Thank you, dear Horatio. You are excused..."
With another bow, Captain Horatio left the room quietly. Then up came the old Count Lorraine to my bedside. In normal times – back in the olden days – it would be a high crime to approach a monarch without proper protocol and courtesy. But as I was an old dying queen, it was as if I was not even there anymore.
"Mam, I would hate to think that you're making *me* your heir to the throne–"
"Of course not! I have my kids who had stared daggers my way, waiting for their time to rule absolute!" I chuckled weakly followed by the raspy laugh of the Count.
"Well then, mam, why have you called for me?"
"Right," I beckoned him to get closer and fetch a roll of paper by the bed next to me, "these are your orders – you are to stand as First Minister of the Kingdom and ensure the stability of the succession!"
"Are you... okay, mam?"
"I believe my time is coming, Count. I apologise for being such a burden, but I need you to ensure a bright future for the whole Kingdom."
"... I will take this to heart and serve you well until my dying breath, Your Majesty!"
As the Count walked out of the room, scroll in hand, Captain Horatio had returned with a few other ministers and a chaplain. It seemed that my time had truly come. The men – and a few women – gathered round my bed, praying harmoniously, solemnly.
It was so solemn, that I had forgotten my very last moment other than the soothing peace that blew right past my body.
A breeze.
***
I had never been the religious sort. I asked many priests and religious fellows regarding what comes after death. Heaven, Hell, the Void, some sort of Purgatory. They spoke of things I couldn't truly comprehend. Not out of the sheer lack of imagination, but rather will. I simply did not care.
Still, I couldn't imagine that the afterlife would look like the table near the window of my high school classroom. Never in my life that I would thought this was any sort of hell or heaven. I never cared for religion as much as I never cared much for high school, to be perfectly honest.
"Kate!" a high-pitched voice of a girl called out my name.
"Huh?"
"Psst, did you daydream again?"
"Oh, God. You're... Eleanor?" I scratched my head as she scratched hers at disbelief.
"Are you alright? Jesus, where did you go again *this time* around?"
"*This time*? Well, let's see... What if I told you I went to a kingdom with magic and I became a queen–"
"Right, I think you've said that last week. Did you get down and dirty with the young captain of the guard again, you slut?"
"Wha– No! Of course not!" I said with heat radiating on my cheeks.
Eleanor simply let out a huge laugh and pat me harshly on the shoulders. I couldn't really comprehend her humour, but she would say the darnest things ever at random.
As I overcame her silly 'joke', I began to survey my surrounding. It was truly the classroom that I had spent almost a year of my life in. The crooked painting of an ancient figure hung above me, begging to crash on my round head any minute. The stupidly large blackboard in front of the class, filled with almost-permanent chalk marks from decades of education. Even the people are still the same old folks I had grown to know.
I don't understand what had happened. But it was truly like I've never left my bedchamber in death. I looked at my arms and they were all those of a young teen – not wrinkled and deathly pale like that of a dying grannie. I rubbed my hands together and felt warmth, not the cold embrace of death.
"What's this?" I said out loud, prompting Eleanor's attention to snap back to me.
"Is that a fucking ring? Damn, you got knocked up without me knowing?!" She laughed with an annoyingly loud vigour.
"Fuck, no! I never even had... sex–" I abruptly screamed as to drown out my shame, "Argh, I-Er, Seka... Celery! I never had celery before!"
Eleanor grinned and continued, "right, I'm sure you've had carrot up your bum, though! So what's the deal with the bloody ring? Did you got it from your brother as pity gift?"
Ah, my brother. The boy who had taken me to the school's spring dance a few years ago due to my lack of appeal for my classmates. Of course, he would do something like giving me a ring as pitiful as it sounds... just to cheer me up.
"I don't know. I don't remember anything, to be honest."
"Well, why don't you take the damn thing off and we investigate it alá Sherlock Holmes?"
With that, little Ms. Sherlock weirdo took my ring off in a pop. She carefully scanned the outer sides, checking for any marks or identifiable dents. Unsatisfied, she began to look closer with her phone's flashlight to survey the inner side. She took a second look and suddenly bursted out in a brilliant flash.
"Aha!" she slammed the ring on the table, rather rudely I must say, "I saw your name inside!"
"What? Seriously?"
"Yeah, it said 'Katherina de Lambossy'... Weird, since I thought your last name was Hull. What happened there?"
Then it hit me like a thousand brick. 'de Lambossy' was the royal family of the Kingdom. Of course I had my last name changed, I was the bloody queen!
"Hey, uh... Elle?" I called out to Eleanor, purposefully using 'Elle' because she hated it that way.
"Ugh, what?"
"Did you, uh, see a ring the last time I went out in a daydream?"
"Let's see... I think you had a small dagger, once. You also had a necklace, the silver one with a weird gem. But yeah, you never had a ring before!"
"Huh. Guess you have a pretty weird seatmate, huh?"
"Thank you for acknowledging your freakiness, Kate. I've been telling you to get yourself checked for years!"
| 2020-04-21T08:24:20
| 2020-04-21T07:33:37
| 502
| 93
|
[WP] Once every year, soulmates glow the same color as each other for one hour.
|
I used to love this time of year, watching the world running around in search of their glow. I remember watching a young couple when I was in Manchester for work, both bathed in silver, struggling to hold a conversation in broken English in between masses and masses of glow-hunters roaming the streets. But the smiles on their faces and the urgency in their eyes made them glow even stronger, and made me grin happily. It's hard not to watch sheer happiness when it happens.
Even here in the hospice you can feel the joy on these days, as if seeing all these matching colours is reaffirmation of the choices people have made. Watching a sweet old man gaze adoringly at his partner, even if she isn't able to return the glance. Young families watching their mothers, fathers, husbands, and wives rebuilding their lives enveloped in shades of blues and reds.
My glow is holding my hand tightly. It shines as strong as it ever did - from the day we found our glow as children, to more than thirty years later.
We don't talk about much any more. She gets very tired very easily, but when she listens she always has a smile on her face. That magnificent lop-sided smile that makes the hairs on my neck react. She’s smiling at me now as I talk about my brother getting married (for the third time - needless to say he's not found his matching glow quite yet) and how everyone was sending their love and well-wishes. I wish she could have come with me.
She's been sleeping a little, but not as restless as she has been recently. I've been up and down, sitting by the vending machines, people watching, making the most out of the beautiful colours in every room. The radio is spewing some story about Prince George proclaiming that it doesn't matter if he dates a lavender girl whilst glowing green himself. Apparently the Royal Family are aghast.
I take a moment to stand outside for a smoke. Looking at my watch I see that there is still half an hour before the glowing stops for another year. I see two nurses through a window, both glowing a bright turquoise. They seem incredibly shocked.
Something doesn't feel right. I flex my fingers, they're full of pins and needles. My hand starts to feel cold. I look at it. It doesn't seem as bright any more.
I knock a chair over in my rush to get back to where she is resting, and take her hand in mine. Her eyes are closed.
And just like that, she isn't glowing anymore. I look at our hands, and neither am I.
|
It was an evening in the month of April that it began. The color began to emanate from everyone. It was odd, skin color changed and the color bled off everyone. As you walk, it would leave a trail behind you. It sparkled and twirled in the air before disappearing. The strangest part was no one appeared to be the same color. Hundreds of shades, mixes of hues, and some colors that had never been named. It didnt last long, just long enough to confuse everyone and enjoy the view of others and yourself. Before they knew it, the colors were gone.
Months later, after viewing hundreds of thousand of people, looking for a correlation, a tech company discovered that life long couples who felt they met the perfect person had identical colors. The group said they believed that it was a soulmate identification. After releasing their statement, it went global and people began looking for their soulmate.
A tech company release a software that would match souldmates, they called it ColorMate. It took off, many people took pictured or video of themselves when they changed and the software could analyze it. Hundred of relationship began to blossum from the software, and all worked perfectly. Those who didn't get a photo of themselves were out of luck. Those who were in long standing relationship of different colors were pushed apart, but it turn out they all had marriage issues anyways.
The oddest part of it all was that colors didn't care about age, sex, or relation. Children and the elderly, straight and gay, brother and sister, all of them matched. Laws prevent many from marrying, but that didnt stop them from spending life together.
Those who weren't able to pin point their color and didnt have any photos were out of luck, hoping to find a good relationship...that was until it happened again the next year. Quickly, everyone realized this would be an annual thing. ColorMate grew even larger and made millions of matches. Country lines began to blur and people travelled throusands of times to meet their soulmate. Languge was difficult for some, but they all eventually learned a common tongue.
Countries who were always at war, stopped, peace came upon the earth. It has been 30 years since the colors began, and the colors are supposed to come back tonight. I have been holding out to find my ColorMate, but tonight I will finally add myself and find my match.
The news is on and the count down begins. 10...9... I smile and look at my friends, many who are already with their ColorMate. 3...2...1... My friends are waiting for the colors, but they don't come. Everyone checks their clock, the time and day is right. We begin to realize they colors aren't coming again. We sit down and have light talk, some about the colors, but my friends try to avoid it. They know I never took my photo when I changed. It's my 18th b-day, and this was my gift to myself.
Eventually my friends left, all except one. They moved over and sat next to me. "Well, I guess neither of us is going to find our mate."
I laugh lightly, knowing that Chelsy didn't get a match on ColorMate. I move in a little closer.
| 2017-10-21T14:01:38
| 2017-10-21T13:58:29
| 63
| 17
|
[WP] In Valhalla all of the greatest heroes which died in battle doth drink, be merry, and war for fun, also there's Doug, the accountant.
|
Doug had always liked numbers. Additions, subtractions and all the other forms of making them interact with one another. It had been clear early on that he would go into a field which made use of them. His interest in numbers had, unfortunately, not carried over into any other academic areas. So, he was left with only a limited amount of career choices. After weighing his options carefully, he became an accountant.
It suited him just fine. Mostly, the work was not too hard. The numbers danced for him, without much effort. He could simply look upon an account and just saw where it could be optimised. And where it was not up to speed.
Doug had another love, besides numbersmithing. He liked justice. Wanted people to be happy and taken care off. Which did not always mix well with his chosen field. At all.
Still, he persevered. Wherever he found a loophole that would allow a family to keep the farm, even if just for another month, he went for it. An easily overlooked but unnecessary item on a medical bill? He'd highlight it and advise the person on how to get it removed. Heck, even the occasional parking ticket, clocked at to high a rate, caught his attention.
But his biggest, most important discovery and strike against injustice, had been the Kitty Hall Orphanage. Apparently, the building had accrued an insurmountable amount of backtaxes due to some obscure zoning regulations. And would be sold to a less than nice corporation, if the aforementioned taxes were not payed on time.
It irked him. Made his blood boil. Turned his usually so calm demeanor into a quiet, simmering flame of pure anger. And yet, he kept focused. Kept his feelings in check. There was work to be done. Important work. And he could not stop before it was done.
His sleep schedule suffered. His health did not agree with his choice of food and drink. Ramen and instant coffee, to be precise. As the deadline approached, his ailments became more serious. Sometimes, his chest would hurt inexplicably. Other times, he felt dizzy for no reason. It did not stop him. He carried on.
With mere hours to spare before the ultimatum, he went over his report. Double-checked every calculation. Cross-referenced all of his casenotes and all of the rulings he had compiled. His statement was bulletproof. One could have taken an axe to his arguments, and they would have remained solid. As he felt another bout of dizzyness crawl up his spine, he hit the send key. Instead of a wave of relieve, he felt his left arm go numb. Curious.
When Doug awoke he didn't recognise his surroundings. It definitely wasn't his office anymore. Instead, he found himself infront of a massive gate, partially shrouded in fog. He fixed his glasses and slowly crept towards it. When he had finally managed to push it open, he couldn't believe his weak eyes.
Beyond the gate stretched a massive hall. Along rows and rows of tables were seated massive men and women, scared by countless battles. They all regarded him in silence. Doug feared that his worst nightmares had come true. That he would spend all of eternity at the hands of his highschool bullies. When his gaze fell upon a towering man, covered in a grey cloak, regarding him from the end of the hall.
The man's one dark eye starred out from beneath a thick brow of coppery red hair, drilling into Dougs soul. On the man's shoulders sat two ravens, whispering quietly into his ears. When the man spoke, his voice was quiet, yet filled with the weight of ages.
"Ah, behold, brothers and sisters, for today we are joined by another great warrior. One who is well versed in the art of the runes and their hidden ways. One who is not afraid to pick battles he may not win. One who is clever and smart and strong. A numbersmith without peer. Behold, a balancer of debts and a finder of ways. A warrior of countless battles. A hero to many. He is Doug, the Accountant, and we shall welcome him to Valhalla!"
With those words, a deafening roar erupted from the hardend people along the tables and on the benches. Doug had finally found his people.
(Typos shall be checked tomorrow when not on mobile.)
|
Doug sat at his laptop on the great hall. Beer glasses clanked together all around him. Men belched and laughed and feasted. They talked about women in a way that would make them ashamed if their mothers' were around. They wrestled each other to prove who was the strongest. Clickity clackity clickity clackity went Doug.
Doug was budgeting for all the drinks and food and decor of this eternal feast. Perhaps all the heroes assumed that in this afterlife, because they died valiantly in battle, they were rewarded by this eternal feast and there was no cost. But there was. And Doug was in charge of making sure that everything got paid for on time.
It was a stressful job. There was the added pressure that if the food and drink ever stopped, the muscle-heads would blame him. And he did not want to get on their bad side. Sometimes the incoming cash flow was small and he had to get on the phone to vendors and beg them for net45 terms when they were originally given net30. They just would not be able to pay them on time.
One day amongst the partying around him, one of the great heroes, Lockheed, bumped into him and spilled beer on his laptop. The laptop fizzled and steam came out of the top. Doug had not saved his work for the last three hours. The party came to a screeching halt. Everybody looked at the broken laptop. Doug couldn't breathe. Was there an afterlife after this one? He was about to find out.
But no. All the heroes instead jumped on Lockheed and pummeled him into a pulp. Their anger insurmountable. It was over as soon as it started and Doug didn't know how to react. The other heroes then turned to him and thanked him for all his service and promised that they would get him a better laptop with a rtx 3090 and an AMD Ryzen 7000 series cpu.
They also convinced him to finally have a beer with them since the new computer would not be coming in for a week. He joined in the fun and it turned out to be the life by the party.
There are two morals to this story. The first is to never judge a book by its cover. The second is to never spill your beer unless you want your ass beat by some overly agro alphas.
| 2022-11-14T14:31:44
| 2022-11-14T09:07:16
| 27
| 17
|
[WP] Lifespan is determined by a word count. You're given millions of words, but once you run out you're dead. You are a mob hitman known as "The Interrogator, who specializes in "making people talk". You come across a mark that has one word left.
|
I sighed and pressed my fingers into the bridge of my nose. I'd been at it for close to eight hours now, and the mark still wasn't squealing. I hadn't anticipated it would be this difficult.
See, I was born with a 'gift', so to speak. I was able to make anyone talk. Now, that doesn't sound all that impressive by itself, but what made me stand apart from any other Interrogator was, I was able to do so without resorting to violence. I liked to think I was classier, more sophisticated than that, and the men who hired me liked the fact there wasn't a bloody trail for them to clean up behind me. As the old saying went - 'Win, win'. Well, now of course, people just said, 'Wins'. There was no need to waste a word of your Count by repeating yourself when a plural would do just as well.
The woman sat across from me, eyes flinty and creased slightly in the corners. I could tell she was amused by the situation, by the amount of effort it was taking me to keep my cool. The blue Count number glowed on the back of her hand, showing a numerical '1'. I had to be careful with this one, no pun intended. I needed her to tell me where the girl was, and I needed her to use only one word in doing so. She would immediately expire after doing so, of course, but that was of no concern to me. The Boss had people that could take her of her body - 'fish bed', as the saying now was. All I had to do was convince her to use her last word.
"I know you know where she is" I said, and the woman raised one eyebrow. 'Do you, just?' this expression clearly meant. "I need to know where. It's imperative that we find her. Her life may be in danger." The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes - 'Don't take me for a fool, boy'. I could understand the meaning as clearly as if she had spoken the words. I blushed slightly - I wasn't used to feeling inferior, especially to a mark. Especially to a woman mark. But the woman was close to 400 years old, and no-one gets to that age without considerable intelligence and wit. She knew that the man who wanted the girl dead and the man I worked for were one and the same.
See, the Boss fancied himself a bit of a ladies man. Unfortunately, he already had a lady - and one that had been beside him while he had built his extremely legally-questionable empire. The Boss's Wife knew way too much, and had far too high a Count, to be underestimated as a risk. The pigs had been after her for years, trying to get her to talk in exchange for immunity. She'd remained stoic throughout.
Unfortunately, the Boss had become careless with one of his many floozies, and the girl had ended up pregnant. Refusing a termination, she had since fled and gone into hiding to protect her unborn child. A noble act of course, but a stupid one. The Boss's Wife was loyal, but even the most faithful wife could not be expected to stand her husband fathering a bastard with a casino bar girl. We had to find the girl and make her talk - literally. If we could run down her Count, she would die and the whole mess would disappear.
The woman took a cigarette from the pack on the table between us and lit it, inhaling and blowing the smoke directly into my face. I grimaced.
"Look. I know you care for her. My Boss cares for her, too. And his child - he just wants to know where they are, so they can have the type of life they deserve. You can understand that, right? You must be a mother yourself." I gave her my most winning smile. She responded by flicking her cigarette in my direction - the ash fell onto the palm of my hands, which were risen in a 'be reasonable' gesture over the table. I screamed and jumped to my feet.
"Listen, bitch. You aren't leaving this room alive - one way or another, we will find out where she is. Why don't you do her, and yourself, a favour and tell me where she is. Just the street name will do - we know she hasn't left the country."
Her eyes lit up and her cigarette paused. She exhaled her smoke and licked her lips. I paused. I could feel a word forming in her throat. I leaned forward in anticipation.
She breathed out with a giddy shudder, and the word caught in her throat. I almost didn't hear it at all.
Her head immediately dropped to her chest and she slumped forward onto the table. Her Count glowed a brilliant white, then winked out for the final time. The cigarette rolled out of her limp hand and onto the ground. I slowly stood up, walked around the table and picked it up. I needed a drag, and besides, I didn't want it to start a fire. I was going to be in enough shit with the Boss without that as well.
How was I meant to tell him that the street name we'd be given was 'Main'?
|
I paced around the man tied to the chair in the dimly lit room. My frustration was growing, but I knew better than to let my temperament get the better of me, I would waste about half a year venting out my frustration. The man sat silently, yet calmly. I had done everything I could think of to make this mark talk, from beating him with a bat I normally use, to threatening to shorten his wife's lifespan about 15 years by making her talk. Although bruised and bloody, he refused to talk.
I finally broke, I knew I had to keep myself calm, but the only way to get him to talk was if I did. My life literally depended on being short with him. I only had about 7,000,000 words left. "Mr. Briggs, is it?" He looked up, his face was one of exhaustion. His lip protruded from all the beatings, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he was still strong enough to respond. "You know who I am and why I'm here. To keep it simple. You fucked up, made one of our bosses talk too much. He lost 800 words that night because of you. I'm here to make sure you repay that debt. We are aware you're down to your last." I took out my silenced handgun and placed it inbetween his eyes, and pulled back the hammer. I chuckled and said, "shame. You've still got some years left, if you don't say another word. But unfortunately, I'm going to make you say that word. If you don't say it within the next 10 minutes, I'll kill you anyway, and your word will be wasted. I'm getting tired of this." I refrained from saying anything else. Briggs looked towards the table and directed my attention to the notepad I set up for when I didn't want to speak to him. The general norm of the country is to have a notepad with you at all times. It's always been easier to write rather than Europe's way of trying to communicate through sign language. I decided to go along with his idea. I untied him, kept the gun trained on him and gave him the notepad and watched him slowly write.
He was obviously weak. It took him 3 minutes to write a paragraph, however it took up a good portion of the notepad. He held up the notepad, and I quickly snatched it out of his hand and tied his hands up again. This wasn't the first time someone has written on a notepad during my interrogations, but I learned to always retie the mark back up. I began to read what Briggs had written. "You know me, you know what I've done, and I knew you would come for me. Do you even know why I did it? Does the name Jennifer ring a bell to you?" I looked at him puzzled. I knew several Jennifer's, both personally and through my "business." Briggs nodded to the notepad in my hand, he wanted me to keep reading. "I only did to him what he did to her. I heard her, pleading for her life as he silently held a gun to her head. I tried to get her to stop wasting her words, but my mouth was taped shut by your boss. I wanted to scream to help her. Waste my life to savor hers. He never had the intention of shooting her, just like you and all of your organization, you make the people kill themselves. Then the blood isn't on your hands, is it? My wife is gone because of your boss. And I took away a good portion of what your boss has left, and all it took was putting a little bit of my secret talk drug into his drink at the bar. If you only knew what came out of his mouth. You're all as weak as he is." The final words were etched in large letters. "WANNA KNOW WHY I DID IT COWARD!?" This enraged me beyond belief.
Once more I trained the gun to his forehead, ready to pull the trigger and not even let him speak. Our organization doesn't kill, we get reprimanded pretty bad if we shoot our marks dead without it being in self defense. They make some of us even read the entirety of books as punishment. But I could just say he broke loose, and tried to take my gun. His life didn't matter to me. Briggs was just another asshole. And just as I began to pull back the trigger, he uttered his final word. "Vengeance." The next sound was a silenced bullet whistling through the air and lodging itself into his skull. 'SHIT,' I thought to myself. I now had to find a way to untie him and make it look like a struggle. But what circled through my mind was what he said. Vengeance. Even though he fucked my boss over big time, I couldn't say it wasn't justified. I would have done the same honestly. Briggs had been a decent man, if he hadn't been a mark, he could have been someone I respected. However, Briggs, like all of us, are on borrowed time. He was a man with plenty to say, but not enough to say it. In some other time and place, I could have learned to respect that ideology. I quickly faked a struggle scene and contacted my boss through text. "Mark has been taken care of. Category: waste. Reason: struggle for weapon. Disposing of body now. Payment as usual should be left in briefcase in second stall of office bathroom. Will await next mark."
| 2016-10-10T21:24:01
| 2016-10-10T18:58:05
| 68
| 20
|
[WP] Half life 3 will be released in three hours.
You are part of the last generation to await the new Half Life 3, and many of your fellow fans has fallen during the waiting period. The year is 2057.
|
He stood there.
He stroked his beard.
The crowd stood, stunned, staring.
He held out his hand.
The crowd leaned forward.
Silence.
He held up one finger.
They stared.
He held up two fingers.
The anticipation was building. The energy levels were rising.
He held up three fingers.
The logo flashed on screen.
An explosion of sound.
I could feel it.
This was a new era.
I clicked away from the stream and clicked on Steam.
I waited for the store page to load.
There it was.
Half Life 3.
I sat there, unblinking and unbelieving.
I clicked on it.
Nothing happened.
Again I clicked it.
Nothing.
Mashing F5, I clicked like no other man had clicked before.
Nothing.
Steam... was down.
|
**When this post is three hours old Half Life 3 will be available on Steam for $49.99** (Self.Gaming)
Submitted 10 minutes ago by /u/GabeNewellBellevue
>/u/Buttsexmydickhole **34 points** 8 minutes ago
>Pretty sure this is what ronpaul.gif was actually made for!
>permalink mod source save save-RES report reply hide child comments
>>/u/Image_Linker_Bot **17 points** 8 minutes ago
>>[ronpaul.gif](https://media.giphy.com/media/rl0FOxdz7CcxO/giphy.gif)
>>-
>>*Feedback welcome at /r/image_linker_bot | [Disable](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose/?to=image_linker_bot&subject=Ignore%20request&message=ignore%20me) with "ignore me" via reply or PM
>>permalink mod source save save-RES report reply hide child comments
>>>/u/PM_ME_UR_TEDDY_BEAR **14 points** 6 minutes ago
>>>We finally used it!
>>>>/u/galtonium **8 points** 2 minutes ago
>>>>I will tell my children, and my children's children, and my children's children's children of the day I witnessed this!
>/u/WheresTheBeef **31 points** 7 minutes ago
>Oh my god guys is this real?
>>/u/nobodylook **18 points** 4 minutes ago
>>oh my god oh my god oh my god the OPs username
>>>/u/Goebbelsdidnothingwrong
>>>holy shit that's actually Gaben!
>>/u/fuckshitstack **20 points** 5 minutes ago
>>I...I think it might be!
>/u/SheepinWolfsClothing **7 points** 3 minutes ago
>RemindMe! 3 hours!
>/u/sh4912 **4 points** 2 minutes ago
>Well now I'll be obsessively updating Steam for the next 3 hours!
>/u/GabeNewellBellevue **3 points** 1 minute ago
>I can assure you, guys, this is real. We kept it under our hat because we have a history of pushing back release dates, and we didn't want the community to get any more rabid than they already would have. I really hope you're all happy with it, and sorry for the long wait.
| 2016-04-05T07:22:37
| 2016-04-05T06:54:50
| 35
| 18
|
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
Theldon – or at least the creature that was wearing his face – looked pale in the light of the campfire. As the wood crackled and burned, he chewed his lower lip, gathering his courage to speak.
“Guys … I … I have something to tell you,” he managed.
His three traveling companions looked at him. Vanariel snapped her spellbook shut and drew her staff. “What is it? An ambush? I told you guys I saw goblin-sign back there!”
“No, no! Not goblins!” Theldon said, holding his hands out. “It’s … it’s about me.”
Shiny Pete smirked. “What? You got the whore’s itch or something? Nothing to be ashamed of, buddy. Happened to us all once or twice.”
Dagmar glowered at the rogue from under bushy eyebrows. “Or mayhap a good number of times more than that.”
“No! It's not a disease either! It’s just …” Theldon took a deep breath. “Guys … I’m … I’m a doppelganger."
The three of them shared a long look, and then Vanariel and Shiny Pete burst out laughing. Dagmar’s glower deepened. “That’s no’ funny, lad,” he growled.
Vanariel and Shiny Pete stopped laughing. “Wait, wait,” the rogue said, “Dagmar, you didn’t *know?*”
Theldon looked shocked. “Wait, you guys *knew?*”
The elven woman tittered. “You’re not the shapeshifter you think you are. The real Theldon was an asshole.”
“Total dickwad,” Shiny Pete agreed. “In, like, every conceivable way.”
Dagmar leapt to his feet, drawing his axe. “You mean this is no’ a joke?” he roared, advancing on Theldon. “Die, fiend!”
As one, Vanariel and Shiny Pete placed themselves between the enraged dwarf and the doppleganger. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Shiny Pete yelled. “This might not be the original Theldon, but he’s been with us for almost a year now. He was the guy who stood over you after you got paralyzed by a ghoul.”
“He took point when we fought that dragon,” Vanariel continued.
“Hell, he got in the face of evil sorcerer while you were busy chopping up his henchmen,” Shiny Pete added.
“Those henchmen represented a serious threat!” Dagmar retorted, “And it was no' like it was a full-grown dragon. Only a wee one!”
In unison, Valariel and Shiny Pete rolled their eyes. Dagmar glowered some more. He was good at it, and he liked to play to his strengths. At last the dwarf made a humphing noise and lowered his axe. Valariel sat down and opened her spellbook again. “Okay, that’s over right? We can get back to the adventuring?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Pete said. Dagmar only grunted.
“Did you guys really know?” Theldon asked, still somewhat wary of the dwarf.
“Oh, yeah. I mean, it was kind of suspicious how he was dying of jungle rot one day and completely fine the next. But you’re really not much like the original Theldon at all. First of all, you’re actually useful in combat. And second of all, you’re a decent guy. I mean, I can have an ale with you and not worry that you’re going to stiff me on the check,” Pete said.
“Or stare at my tits while I’m trancing. Or grab my ass when I’m trying to brew potions,” Vanariel added. “And the ear jokes. Ugh, the original Theldon was such a creep. Why did we even keep him around?”
"Good question," Pete said. "I mean, I asked myself that a bunch of times after we got new Theldon. 'Why did we even keep that tool around in the first place?'"
“So you guys don’t even care that I’m a shapeshifter?”
“Not really, no,” Pete said. “I worked with lots of different people when I was in the Thieves’ Guild. Changelings weren’t any more likely to try killing me in my sleep than humans or half-elves. In my experience, everyone’s pretty human when you get down to it.”
“Hey! Speak for yourself, round-ears,” Vanariel said with half of a smile. “But nevertheless, I agree with the sentiment.”
“Oh,” Theldon said. He sat in own thoughts for a moment. “Thanks, guys. That means a lot to me.”
“Don’t mention it,” Pete said, and Vanariel nodded in agreement.
The evening passed in silence. Shiny Pete honed his daggers, and Vanariel memorized her spells. Dagmar and Theldon each sat in silence, alone with his thoughts.
At last the dwarf spoke. “Lad,” he asked the doppleganger, “have you ever tried maybe not being a shapeshifter?”
|
I added a little twist but I think it's still good, non the less. Here.
"AAHHH! Tavian! I need your help!"
"What can I do?"
"Ray of Frost!? Something! ANYTHING! JUST GET THIS THING OFF ME!"
A small harmless slug had fallen onto Yeralia's shoulder, while the party was traveling out of the Forest of Traggleroot. Tavian, being a Barbarian, simply flicked the slug off of her. Saviak and Prantin were watching the whole debacle take place, giggling like goblins about to botch an ambush.
“You do know I'm not an Eldritch Knight, right?”
"Thank you Tavian, I know,” she said, wiping away the slime, “I can always rely on you."
"Even when I almost sacrificed you to my gods?"
Yeralia simply forgot that ever happened.
“Well, let's let bygones be bygones, eh, Tavian?”
“That not like the Yer…”
“Uppupupup!,” Saviak interrupted, covering Tavians mouth. There was a brief pause. He continues, “We just defeated a shapeshifter! Let's go celebrate at the tavern and… Prantin can play the lute as we venture to town! Yeah, sound like a plan?”
Saviak releases Tavians mouth, “Uh.. sure! I am ready to get our reward! How about we get going? I need to mourn the loss Kenneth.”
Tavian didn't know Yeralia was actually the shapeshifter. Saviak was a smooth talker, some paladins are, and Tavian doesn't have very much intelligence, most Barbarians don't. The party walk along the path while Prantin plays his lute like a pro. He began to sing a song.
“In memory of Kenneth, the Thief that broke the rules, taught us the Cant and then was shot by the thieves guild. How bad. Sooooo saaad!”
“He didn't teach me or Yeralia Thieves Cant.” Tavian barked.
Prantin replied in singsong, “That's because you and the mage were really druuunk!”
“Oh… good point,” Tavian realized.
“Isn’t thieves cant like secret messages people can share in the open?,” said Yeralia.
“If Kenneth was here he’d say, ‘...maybe.’ I think his carefree nature is what caused the guild to turn on him.” Saviak answered. “By the way… I’ll sing with yoooou, Prantin,”
“Okay! Let's sing, 'Lucky Man's Strife?!’ an improv song from the Bards College,” Prantin said, winking at Saviak.
“Oh! I'd love to hear it! I can't wait!” Yeralia danced.
Prantin starts. “Well!
This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history and now has a wife (She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife! (What should we do?)
I had a note that led me to it, a house on the hill (We need to tell him)
To ask for the charm. The luck and the will. (or at least hint at it)
He told me No! And he went on his way (he might leave or… worse)
He took for the hills, there was no time to stay! (Do you have an idea?)”
Saviak joins in the chorus,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history , now he has a wife(She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife (What should we do?)”
Saviak replies, in verse,
“I followed the man, he walked steadfast (He might not care though)
He look so tired, he was ready to pass (if he's angry he'll get over it)
I soon found out; the old man had a wife(we can change the subject to her now)
And was dumb struck with fear, as she came with a knife. (She was a back stabbing woman)”
Both Tavian and Yeralia join,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
Tavian sings, off key the entire time,
“The wife came up and shouted, almost caught me in the neck. (???)
I'm know I had to duck, so I hit the deck! (???)
I was pointed to the house, told to go in. (???)
The old man came too, he gave me a pin.(???)
They're all singing as the walk into the town. The tavern was near the entrance of the town so they walked in, still singing,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
The party sits down and Yeralia finishes the song with great finesse,
“The pin looked like silver, but I know my steel (You know, don't you?)
I felt ripped off, I know how you feel(I could bring her back if you want me to)"
Prantin and Savaik sing in unison reply,
“I took the grey pin, and I'm filled with glee! (We like you way more)
Now I am a man who is just as lucky! (We're glad to have you!)"
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
My smile became grand! Big, bright and yellow!
I had friends, I had a history, I now have a wife
But to me life is a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
| 2017-09-15T08:31:45
| 2017-09-15T04:39:41
| 147
| 13
|
[WP] A new virus sweeps the nation killing hundreds. It turns out the virus only affects total assholes though. People are unsure if they really want to cure it.
|
November 21, 2014 -
Every day, my vision gets a little darker, the ringing in my ears gets a little louder, and my extremities become a little more numb. It has been a week since I started to see symptoms, but I knew I would see them eventually. After the news of the virus swept through the nation, I began taking daily blood samples. I detected presence of the virus in my bloodstream on November 1, 2014 and have seen an exponential proliferation in its numbers since then. The virus seems to have an incubation period of ~14 days. I do not know how long it will take to kill my nervous system, but fortunately it has spared the portions of it that I really need right now.
November 22, 2014 -
I no longer have a sense of smell. No matter; it has always been my opinion that there are far more foul smells than pleasant ones. Nerve cultures 6 and 7 have perished overnight, and culture 10 seems to be succumbing to the virus as well. Proliferation and steady degeneration continues in cultures 8 and 9. No detected viral activity in cultures 1-5. I will conduct further analyses on the nerves in cultures 1-5. The answer has to be somewhere, and I will find it before I am dead.
November 24, 2014 -
My feet have ceased to function and so I am confined to a wheel chair. Fortunately, I could never afford more than a one floor apartment anyway. I began to cry today, harder than I have in my life so far. The death of my wife and child cannot be in vain; I must continue my research at all costs. I know I am close. Those assholes at the CDC still will not release their cure. I know they have it! Those sons of bitches think it is their prerogative to judge who dies! I will show them.
November 26, 2014 -
Cultures 1-5 have remained untainted, healthy, flourishing, despite my daily insertion of virus into their culture media. I still have not found my answer: why are they surviving?! I need to know why! My wife's nerve cells from cultures 6-10 have all perished, as I expected. She was an asshole too, so her infection was inevitable anyway. Killing her was necessary.
November 27, 2014 -
Thanksgiving at last! Certainly a day for thanks! Despite my numb and failing body, I pressed on and the universe has rewarded me! My son's nerves in cultures 1-5 have all become infected with my mutant virus. If this modified virus can overcome his purity, then no one will be safe! Today, I will release this virus onto the world where the wicked and the innocent shall die hand in hand. The CDC will realize their mistake far too late. They should have given me the cure. I told them they would regret it!
|
When the virus first emerged we all thought it was a new form of the flu or some rare contagion that crept it's way here from another country, but that couldn't possibly explain the rate of infection.
A few isolated cases at first, hospitals chalked it up to bad weather or bad luck, but when dozens started dying every day people started paying attention.
The strangest part was that the victims lived hundreds of miles away from each other, some had perfect health records, the only thing they had in common was they wouldn't be missed.
Rapists, thieves and murderers were common among the deceased. Some simply viewed this as karma, others developed wild conspiracy theories and many believed that God himself was casting retribution on the sinners of the world.
Suddenly people started acting much more nobly in front of others, looking over their shoulders and counting their good deeds. Had the virus come to save Earth by ridding us of the cancer of violence and aggression?
Scientists tried to study the virus but the infection never held in lab animals and human victims died too quickly. Really people were more interested in who was dying than why.
Crime had fallen drastically, the kind attitudes of others helped millions who previously suffered from anxiety and depression. Why would we want to stop this new world order?
Eventually as peace prevailed and communities thrived we replaced our capitalist republics with pure democracy based on the will of the people. We still had a presidential figure, but they acted more as a spiritual guide to the tranquil population. There hadn't been a death from the virus in 10 years, it seemed the days of deceit and power struggle were over.
Until one morning as the president was giving his daily address, he began coughing up blood on the podium, the infamous first sign that he had been selected for death.
A wave of panic spread as he was rushed to the hospital for observation. The entire population felt like a great scam artist had blinded them, those in denial started to renounce their faith in the virus' good will.
And then the riots began. Thousands took to the streets looting businesses and assaulting anyone in their way. The truly virtuous locked themselves in their homes, fearful and praying for the second wave of the virus to kill the vagrants in the streets.
But this time there was no divine retribution. The disease had never returned, in fact the president still lay alive in his hospital bed, comatose.
There was no more order, there was no more fear for the wicked. The virus was gone but a sickness had prevailed in destroying world: the disease of humanity.
| 2014-11-21T11:15:00
| 2014-11-21T10:55:59
| 65
| 23
|
[WP] You are a cannon fodder minion on the first floor of a dungeon, and have just killed the hero. You now have to explain to the boss that you just ruined his plan.
|
Laitha paused outside the doorway, drawing a breath in and steadying herself. She really didn't want to do this. She was going to be in *so much trouble.* She might even end up having to find a new job, and she'd *liked* that job. Right at the beginning of the lair, so she got to see all the excitement, and they were *always* glad to see her. Some of them also had greatswords in their pockets, but that was another matter. She was the enticement, the one that kept them going deeper.
Into the lair! The *lair*!
It hadn't been her fault, even. Well, okay, so it *had*, but... really it hadn't. She would have thought a Hero ought to be better at...
Well, at a lot of things, actually. Ahem. She knocked at the door.
"**Who dares disturb me??**"
She pushed the door open "Laitha, my master."
"You?"
"Um. Yes, my master."
"There is an invader within my walls. Why are you not at your post?"
"Was. My master. Was an invader."
He stared at her, coolly. He did not even pause to appreciate the six full pages of physical description given to her in the Notebook. "Explain yourself."
"I... ah..." She shifted a little, uncomfortably, "I kind of ate his soul."
"You WHAT?"
"It was an accident! I wasn't even trying! Well, I mean, I *was* trying, but... How was I supposed to know he was a virgin?! He had no resistance!"
"You killed the hero."
"Um. Yes. My master."
The master stood up, wroth. "You will PAY for this!" He drew his sword and advanced on her.
Laitha backed up cautiously. And yet, there was something about him... Something between them that was different than before. Something she hadn't noticed at first, and she doubted he had noticed yet, or he wouldn't have his sword out.
"My master. I believe you are forgetting something." He was close to her, almost close enough to reach out and touch if she stepped forward. She did, and looked into his eyes. "I killed a hero," she said softly, cupping his face in her hand and drawing him even closer, close enough for a kiss. "I gained, like, ten levels."
|
**"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE'S DEAD!? EXPLAIN YOURSELF, MINION!"**
Lord Exilarr growled and spat as he talked. He bared his pointed teeth and narrowed his slitted eyes in a display that probably made even the most battle-hardened heroes piss their pants with fear, but the only thing that stained Minion's pants was the Lord's saliva. Something about spending your days dying over and over made you pretty indifferent to these kinds of threats. Plus, Minion was so fucking tired of Exilarr's shit.
"He's dead. I killed him."
Exilarr raised his head and roared, sending a pillar of flame rocketing toward the sky.
**"AAAHH!! WHY!? MY PLAN!! IT'S RUINED!"**
The Lord stared at Minion, trying to gauge what reaction his outburst had gotten. His nostrils flared wildly, as they did whenever he was especially angry (and when he lied, which made for a fantastic combo on poker night). Minion just folded his arms.
"Oh, yeah? And what plan was that? Let him kill as many of us as he can before reaching you, at which point you put up a half-assed fight and run off in your pink fucking balloon?"
**"IT'S NOT PINK, IT'S RED! LIKE THE FIRES OF HELL!!"**
"It looks pretty damn pink to me--"
**"IT FADES EASILY IN THE LAUNDRY!"**
Minion put up his hands. "OK, look, my point is: that guy needed to die. It was him or us."
**"YOU DON'T MAKE DECISIONS! YOU OBEY YOUR MASTER!"**
Minion took a good, hard look at his master. His cruel, insane idiot of a master. The word spilled out of him before he knew what was happening.
"No."
Exilarr looked genuinely surprised. Maybe he never thought his minions would question their orders.
**"WHAT DID YOU SAY!?"**
"No", Minion repeated, deciding that since he was done for either way, he might as well go all in. "I'm done."
**"AAAAHH!! NO!"** Exilarr had raised his head to the sky and roared again in a gesture almost identical to the one before. It seemed to be his go-to response to failure. **"No..."**, he repeated, whispering to himself, **"this isn't part of the deal..."**
Minion raised his eyebrows. "What?"
Exilarr snapped his head up, looking like a deer in headlights. **"What? I didn't say anything."**
"Yes, you did!" Minion took a step forward. Exilarr backed away. "You said this wasn't 'part of the deal'. What's that supposed to mean? What deal?"
Exilarr kept backing away, his nostrils flaring like they'd never flared before. **"I didn't say 'deal', I said, uh... 'meal'."**
"It wasn't part of the meal?"
Even Exilarr realized how stupid that sounded. His shoulder slumped and his eyes were reduced to smoldering embers in their sockets. He let out a little puff of smoke as he sighed.
**"Fine. What do you want?"**
Minion's answer came instantly. "I want to be a boss." He had to admit, the thought had crossed his mind before. "And I want my own castle."
At the last bit, Exilarr's eyes flickered for a moment before settling back down. **"You're even worse than the other guy..."**, he muttered.
"What?"
Deer in headlights. Nostrils flaring. **"Oh, goddamnit."**
| 2014-09-03T14:43:46
| 2014-09-03T12:23:14
| 22
| 11
|
[WP] A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands.
|
They found the human puking in an alley.
Thorveig stood and watched him from across the way. The vomiting drunk hadn’t seen them yet, and probably wouldn’t any time soon. The buildings cast long shadows this far from the torchlight, and the full moon overhead added little. The drunk continued to wretch to the point of dry heaves.
To Thorveig’s left stood his son, Ragnar. He was slightly smaller than his father, but still broad and muscled. His hair was cut in a warrior’s stripe, plaited down his scalp. His hand rested idly on a sheathed dagger at his hip.
Ragnar pursed his lips and blew a quick burst of air around his tusks. In a hunter’s silent cant, it was a simple question: ‘Him?’
Thorveig responded with a small, sharp nod and a burst of air from his nostrils. ‘Yes.’
From behind them came a rapid cluck-cluck of a tongue. Ragnar glanced back to their third member, Grimnar. His shorn scalp was blackened with warpaint in a vicious triangle. He crouched behind them in between the buildings, and he gripped his dagger instead of resting his hand on it. His eyes betrayed his impatience. ‘Get on with it,’ they said. ‘I am eager to be gone from here.’ Ragnar looked back at Thorveig, who nodded once more. Across the street, the drunk had stopped wretching, and was crawling on his hands and knees towards the bottle that had rolled away.
The drunk crawled pathetically towards the bottle in the street. It glinted in the center of his bleary and tunneled vision, dancing back and forth in the moonlight as he padded towards it like a newborn. Just a little bit closer. The bottle was still about half full; that could keep him unconscious until tomorrow night if he finished it all. He reached out a trembling hand, but another was faster than he and grabbed the bottle. He started to whimper. He felt a pair of hands grasp him and lift him to his feet. He flinched away and covered his face.
“Oh, beggin your pardon,” the drunk slurred. “I’m gone home, really, just get my bottle and step on,” he pleaded with whoever was accosting him. The hands grabbing him were strong, stronger than he was on his best day. And he was far, far from his best days.
“Kurkusan,” The voice was iron in velvet, strong enough to pierce through the drunk’s fogged mind but not so loud as to attract attention. The drunk quit squeezing his eyes shut and lowered his hands from his face. Through his tears he saw a face he’d thought-he’d hoped-he’d never see again. Stern brow under a chieftain’s crest of hair, strong jaw with long tusks glinting.
“Thorveig…?” he slurred once more. His eyes drifted down and he shrugged his way out of the orc’s grip. The drunk leaned down, fumbling at the leather vest Thorveig was wearing. He staggered as he opened the vest, exposing a hideous scar that ran from the center of Thorveig’s chest and down towards his left hip. Thorveig opened his arms, fully vulnerable to the drunk’s inebriated ministrations. Ragnar stood to the side with the drunk’s bottle. His face was emotionless, but tiny flicks of his eyes and a subtle twitch of his ears showed his bewilderment to his father.
The drunk ran his fingers along Thorveig’s scar, examining. The trembling seemed to have left his fingers for a moment. He slurred again, inquisitive instead of fearful.
“S’ healing, then?” The alcohol made a mockery of enunciation. He stumbled back and looked Thorveig in the eye.
“Sit pain you at all? How’ur,” he paused to burp. “The muscles on that side. Mobility?” he swayed in front of the chieftain.
Thorveig gently grasped the drunk by his shoulders and smiled softly. “I am well, Kurkusan.”
At the sound of the name, the drunk’s face crumpled into anguish. Tears rolled down his grimy cheeks. His voice became thick.
“Don’ call me that.” He feebly tried to push the massive orc away. “Thass not me. Not. Me. ‘Nymore.”
“I call you by your name, the name of your people, Kurkusan,” Thorveig replied.
The drunk said nothing, crestfallen.
“Kurkusan, you are not well,” Thorveig continued.
“Come, brother. Let us help you.”
|
"No, I don't have a writ of ownership, but I have both the backing of the town's notables as well as the company of these men here," Gregor Trunch looked up to Cutter Riverbeck when he made his proclamation. The man was Human with an average stature that had shrunk some with age. He had a full head of hair that had gone to shades of white and off-grey with age, like a dirty snowbank that reflected his heart when he either eyed Riverbank's chest or the distant stockades of the camp at her backside. His right hand instinctively covered his scarred left hand, the padding of his thumb rubbing into the patch of skin between the thumb and index. He felt brave enough to speak boldly as his retinue included his usual bodyguards along with several Minotaur mercenaries, one of whom lingered on his flank. The Minotaur had a stout frame and pure black fur with dark eyes that had flecks of red. He simply looked at Cutter Riverbeck with a neutral expression. Tambor Manywounds was present because he was being paid.
Galda Riverbeck crossed her arms over her chest. She had been taken by surprise by the host of guards and mercenaries that the scheming Trunch had brought with him. She had a worn a simple blue shift while walking to the nearby stream to fetch water when the little runt in front of her stepped from behind a tree. He had been followed with his immediate bodyguards, two Humans with fair skin and dull looks. The Minotaur followed at a soft whistle, their presence made her swallow back a cold draft that had plunged into her spine.
"We claimed this hill first," Galda said, "I have refugees, orphans that I am caring for. There must be other ways to earn gold."
"Yes," Gregor said, "But only one hill contains the most profitable veins, and I aim to have it." He gestured to Tambor and said, "We shall give them an hour, Captain. Allow them to gather their things and leave the hill. I'm sure the people of Beyfalls will be merciful to your cadre of camp followers, harlots, and *bastards."* The Human hissed.
"There are also orphans in the camp," Galda said, "People that are scares and just wish to live in peace. The Great War is over, but you're still look to settle scores," She shook her head and added, "Some of them are pure Elves. Those sick and desperate people will never be welcomed in a Human town."
"They should have considered that before participating in a war against us Humans," Gregor retorted, "Now you better use that hour up wisely."
"I won't yield a single inch of that camp, Trunch," Galda said and turned her piercing glare towards the Minotaur, "Are you prepared to kill a woman defending the lives of the young and oppressed."
"She isn't dying today," Several black arrows hit the ground near the party. Tambor called out for his men to come to arms. Minotaur rushed from their position with halbards or muskets in hand to meet a marching of iron and leather that was heading in their direction. Punctuating the steps was the wail of a war horn. Galda looked, her eyes widening in surprise at what she beheld. "I know you," She said.
Marching upon the ground were several ranks of Orcs whose skin was often covered in the scars of life and war. There were suture marks, blemishes and bruises on arms and faces. There were tattoos of harsh black or red lines on shoulders or arms. There were females with hairs in braid or shaved alongside their brothers in battle. Orcish weapons ranged from the scimitar and axe to the crossbow, longbow, and even a musket or two. Traveling along with the fighters, Galda could pick out one or two robed Orcs whose eyes glowed with simmering arcane energy. They more than doubled the size of the Minotaurs that Trunch had brought wit him. From within the Orc ranks, one of the taller warriors emerged and strode to where Galda Riverbeck was standing. She recalled seeing those black hairs and soft yellow eyes looking up in withheld pain as she worked over him during those chaotic days of the Great War. In those days, the Orcs had fought alongside Humans against the Elves over the region that they stood. The Orc's presence was a surprise to Trunch, who inwardly wondered why an Orc would hope defend a camp that contained the very Humans who would cavort with their previous mutual enemy. When the Orc stood next to Galda he nodded to Tambor and said in a deep voice and dire tone, "Manywounds."
The Minotaur returned his nod, "Hephaestor, I heard your people were moving the Borderlands." The Minotaur narrowed his eyes. Altogether, the region that all parties stood upon was originally Minotaur land. The only reason Orcs, Humans, and refugees stood on it now was the likes of both Human and Elven monarchies dumping their exiles into the buffer state between their realms. Still, the Minotaur appeared more attentive and respectful to his potential opponent over his employer.
"I shan't tell you your business, Tambor, but I will say that every member of this band accepts *the Cutter* as a member of our band. We are here to fight for her," Hephaestor Battleborn said, noting her title as a *Cutter,* or field surgeon.
Tambor gestured with his muzzle at his furtive employer, "We've been paid good coin to see this job through, Warlord. Why should I order my men to stand down?"
"We out number your Minotaur by at least two-to-one," Hephaestor countered.
Trunch had began to interrupt, trying to insert himself into the conversation when Tambor first glared at the Human before looking back at the grimacing Battleborn, "A two-to-one fight with a Minotaur is even in our eyes." The Minotaur said, "How serious are you seeing this through?"
Hephaestor showed his resolve by raising his right hand in the air while his left drew a curved knife from his belt. Without hesitation, and his yellow eyes staring directly into the polished onyx color of the Minotaur, he opened his hand with the bladed edge and allowed dark blood to pour upon the ground. Galda Riverbeck gasped and reached for the Orc, however he shook his head and noted: "I want to show the Minotaur how committed I am to seeing this fight if it comes to a fight." Mindful of Galda's protestations and their location possibly being in sight of the innocent, Hephaestor added, "If there is a fight, that is."
Tambor watched as the blood pooled in Hephaestor's wound with droplets of dark red blood spilling to the ground with a distinctive patter. The Minotaur turned his head and uttered a command in his native language. The Minotaur began to stand down at once.
"What is this?" Gregor asked, "Some stupid greenskin opens his hand up and you turn coward on me?" He asked.
Tambor took the insult, but his lips tightened, and Galda could see that the indignant and disrespectful Gregor Trunch was crossing a line with both tone and words. The Minotaur pointed out, "That Orc has shown his blood bond with the Cutter. That means he, and probably his band," His eyes flicked over the Warriors who were armed and shifting their weight anxious for a fight, "are willing to fight for the cause of defending the surgeon and the camp. What good is coin if you cannot spend it?"
"What good are mercenaries if they tuck tale at the first battle?" Gregor replied. His hand slapped the Minotaur upon his chain hauberk, "Now you draw and mo-" The Minotaur raised his fist and protested further interaction made by Trunch by hammering Gregor over his head. The motion was smooth, it took a moment's delay before Gregor's eyes rolled back into his head and he tipped backwards with blood pooling in his ears and lips. Tambor looked at the Cutter and her compatriots, he nodded at the Orc before turning on Gregor's former guardsmen.
"You can either draw and face my company, or you can run off. What do you want?" Neither bodyguard wished to face a bull Minotaur or his companions. They immediately turned upon whatever road they had come from and fled back.
"Was that really necessary?" Riverbeck asked, she gestured over the fallen Trunch. A few Orcs chuckled at the display of violence. Trunch's boots that continued to twtich despite being clearly dead or knocked unconscious by the attack.
"He would have just found others and made trouble," Tambor said before walking away. and nodding at his fellow Minotaur who followed suit.
| 2020-09-08T22:52:48
| 2020-09-08T20:06:58
| 40
| 22
|
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall."
|
I neatened the little stack of index cards on the table. Not that I really needed them; I'm pretty good at memorizing speeches, and plus, I've been using teleprompters ever since entering politics. But they've always given me a sense of security, almost like ancient good luck charms. 'The Cue Card Candidate' they used to call me. It was an oddity that the media found endearing, in a quaint sort of way.
I took a deep breath and tried to put aside the sense of fear and dread. *Billions of Americans will depend on you in the days to come,* I said to myself, *Billions of lives. Familes. Children. They will look to you as an example of strength and perseverance, despite this terrible situation.*
A knock at the door.
"Come in."
The nervous-looking young aide showed himself in. "Madam President? You're on."
"Thank you Billy," I said, doing my best to put on a reassuring smile.
He gestured out towards my desk in the address room. Straightening out my grey skirt as I stood up, I stepped out past the secret agents, and into view of the holo-cameras. Cue cards in hand, of course. I shook hands with the camera crew and thanked them for being here for such an important time for our nation and all that. I went to go sit at my desk in my black leather chair.
"You're on in 3... 2... 1..."
As I straightened out my cards, I looked up at the teleprompter.
*STALL.*
I was taken aback at first at the message, but did my best to hide my surprise. Instead, I turned my eyes down briefy towards my cards, then back up to the screen. To the casual viewer, it would appear to be one last look at my notes.
I tried my best to smile. "Good evening, fellow Americans: my friends, my family, my neighbours..."
My countenance went stern. "...*Vice President Doyle*."
I smiled, more warmly this time, and performed the informal gesture known as 'The Obama Point' towards the camera. A soft round of tense chuckles went about the room. Tony and I had been ribbing each other since our days at Mars Tech.
"We have gone through some dark times. And there may be even darker times ahead. I won't lie to you - we may have to do some difficult things to survive.
"I am here to announce that we have been asked to formally surrender to the Empire of K'thrx."
I pictured billions of mothers at home, clutching young children to their chests. I pictured billions of pained gasps accompanied by tears and clenched fists. I pictured billions of worn-down marines sinking down in their seats in sullen silence.
"While yes, they demand our surrender, please, my people - do not think of it as giving up. Think of it as the end of the fight. Think of it as an end to a years-long conflict."
The two K'thrxians looked through their notes at the back of the room, their gelatinous tentacles waving and pulsing in confusion. This wasn't the speech that they wrote for me. They turned accusingly to Billy, but he shook his head in confusion and cowered like an abused puppy. The two aliens shrugged in resignation (or what must amount to a shrug), probably because my words were sort-of-close anyways.
I continued: "Think of it not as the end. Think of it as the dawn of a new era. A new era where we can learn to move forward together, in brotherhood, and in courage.
"Think of it not as a hardship. Think of it as the potential beginning of peace. A time where we won't have to worry about our sons and daughters on the battlefield anymore.
"Think of it not as being reduced to slavery. Think of it as being called to serve your nation, your people. Think of it as being called to be men and women of America.
"Think of it not as losing, as failure. Think of it as a challenge to rise up to and conquer. Think of it as victory we have yet to achieve."
"I ask of you to think of it this way because... I refuse to bend the knee. I will not bow. And neither shall you. I'm asking you to fight for what's ours, to make these words a reality.
Just then, the lights of a Valiant-class gunship flared on in the window behind me, blinding the two aliens in the back of the room.
I stood up and threw my cue cards in the air. I looked the K'thrxians dead in the eye.
"God bless America."
*****
I'm Canadian. I'm sorry if I call things by the wrong name.
EDITS: Spelling. Also I changed the timing of the events surrounding the teleprompter a bit so that the camera would see the subtle cue at the beginning of the speech.
|
I'd wanted to make this speech for years: to stop lying to the American public and get the truth out there. Felt a quiver of excitement at the thought of it.
So it was with great sadness that I saw the message on the teleprompter: "Stall."
I laughed a little bit, wiping sweat from my fake brow.
I'd gone over this with my speechwriters: I needed to start things off with a bang.
Guess that wasn't in the cards.
"Hello, People of America," I said, speaking into the microphone. "It is I, your President. I'd like to give the State of the Union address to you. Would you like that?"
The cheers sounded confused. I waved them off. Nothing I did before the reveal mattered. None of it could matter.
"I'm excited to see so many shining faces out in the crowd. Uh, you," I said, pointing at a lady. "Yes, you. In the blue polka dot dress. I'm excited to see you here, because you're a human, and I'm your President."
Thankfully, the teleprompter read: "Sorry, Mr. President. Technical difficulties with the Mind Control Machines. You may begin."
And so I began my speech: "My fellow Americans, hiss hiss. I am actually a lizard. The Illuminati? It's real. JFK's death? Totally faked. You are under my control, which means I'm no longer the President of these United States. I'm the godd*** lizard king."
| 2015-05-16T17:49:48
| 2015-05-16T16:08:16
| 172
| 117
|
[WP] You lose a dare at an airport and are forced to ask an employee for a ticket to the farthest destination. To your surprise, they quietly nod and give you a single ticket with letters you don't recognize.
EDIT: Holy *crap* this blew up. I want to thank everyone for their stories and input, and also would like to shout out the one dude who took their time to give me Reddit silver. Thanks for my first award!
|
AT25.
It was a very strange airport code. I had never seen a 4 digit airport code before and certainly not one with numbers. I turned back to the desk attendant confused.
"Umm which country is this airport in again?"
"None of them," she answered as though it should have been obvious. "And don't forget your jacket. It'll be cold this time of year." She added almost as an afterthought. This had originally been a dare, but now I was curious. Just where was this ticket going to take me?
The flight departed from Anchorage at 11 AM. I was the only passenger on the flight and the plane was very old. It was some sort of 4 engine propeller plane. It was extremely cold in the plane and the only refreshments were a couple of sandwiches and some water bottles. After about 20 hours we stopped at a small airfield. The pilot said that he needed to refuel the plane or something like that.
We were soon back in the air. It was unbelievably boring. The only other passenger was a pallet of cargo. The writing on the pallet was in Japanese, so I had no idea where we were going.
After another 20 hours we finally landed. It had been almost two days since I left Anchorage.
"We've now arrive in Syowa, Antarctica. I hope you enjoyed our 11,850 mile trip."
I had originally planned on going to Florida. I was so fucked.
|
You look up at the map behind the atendants head. Lota of obvious counties with well known abbreviations. CA, Canada. AUS, been there once actually, that's Australia. There are others you could guess at. Sweden would maybe be like....SWD. Italy maybe an ITL. So you start to narrow it down.
Nigeria....nope. Couldn't be.
Nepal? Never been there. But it doesn't meet the requirements.
Nicaragua. Sounds sufficiently exotic but again, just doesn't fit.
You check the ticket again. Look at the map. Quadruple check the ticket.
NZ.
What could it be? Where?
You shrug and give the atendant a nod. Guess you will find out.
| 2019-03-04T22:30:27
| 2019-03-04T21:58:08
| 77
| 45
|
[WP] The zombie outbreak is largely contained. Now your job is to stop edgy "zombie hunters" from breaking into the quarantined area.
|
The zombie "outbreak" was not as big as we figured it would be. Especially since these former humans weren't as dangerous as one would think. Their bites don't infect and they are so insanely slow, because the deceased brains fail to retain any significant motor functions. But functioning brains also meant functioning pain receptors, so a cattle prod worked wonders.
So we had to deal with what are basically aggressive toddlers.
All in all the mass panic killed more people than the zombies did.
It's been a couple of years and life did change, just not as much as we thought. Gotta make sure people stay dead, one of those cattle pins worked great. Even religion worked it in, last rites involved destroying the brain now.
But the worst thing are so called Zombie hunters. People who are stuck in the classic zombie movie vibe, hunting down the warriors of satan or whatever. They keep trying to enter the quarantine zones. Zombies aren't all that dangerous, but they are very territorial creatures and can become quite aggressive if disturbed.
My job is to halt these mall ninjas from getting in, usually it is quite easy, but occasionally you get a serious group, ex marines or navy.
Now another one of those ex soldier groups got in, dropped in from a helicopter of all things. So we geared up and went in by foot. Didn't take long before we found them congratulating themselves while standing on a pile of corpses.
We observed from a distance. These guys were marked. The zombies had their scent or whatever they used to track their prey.
The murmuring start slowly, then louder and louder and then the screams.
zombies didn't have to be fast or dexterous. They had numbers and one of the worst things no one else could have prepared us for. They fucking talked, shouted, whispered. anything to make their prey feel safe.
So when the group of soldiers got surrounded they were uneasy. We figured they knew, until one of them shouted: "They are keeping humans here, what the fuck man, they look sick. But they're human. Fuck the government man lying ba-"
That was the last thing he said, when the zombies attacked. Still capable of short bursts of speed, no one was really prepared.
We waited until the zombies were done. I fired a shot, the zombies scattered. we picked up the remains and walked back out.
I know I called them zombies, but mimic is a better term. The crying and help cries keep me up at night, but don't get me wrong, they're predators and a lot smarter than your average underprepared college kid.
|
I remembered my days as a game warden when I first started out in the park, protecting wildlife from unauthorized hunters. Then the great outbreak came and I barely made it out.
Now, I'm just a quarantine guard for the CDC. And it changed from unauthorized hunters to dumb teens and college kids trying to break in to the deadzone. I already seen dozens of them die or get infected forcing me to kill them. The only thing that has changed is that I'm now protecting the hunters from what was in the quarantine. Apparently the electrified fence isn't enough and I avoid BBQ because it reminds me of dead trespassers and zombies.
Just as I was about to end my shift for the night, a black SUV full of college aged kids showed up.
I went up to the drivers window from my post and tapped the window.
"You got any authorization, kid?"
"Nah, man. We're just here to relieve the thrill of the outbreak," said the driver with sunglasses and a red flannel shirt.
"Of course," I uttered to myself as I wondered why anyone would wear sunglasses at night.
"Since you kids aren't authorized to go in, I have to tell you that you must leave."
"Killing those walkers is thrilling, and you won't get in our way old man!" cried a female voice at the back.
"Kids, I have seen a dozen idiots who broke in the past and were killed or worst, infected and I was forced to shoot them. These zombies aren't ordinary and if you survive, I could have you all arrested," I said to them impatiently. "And I am authorized to shoot people who try to break in so don't try anything. We don't live in the outbreak anymore and I don't long for those days."
Then I heard a click.
"You know, I was planning to use this. But I never thought I would use it on you, bub," angrily stated the co-driver. He then pulled his Glock pistol.
Shit.
I dashed towards the rock for cover from the pistol, barely avoiding his shots.
"Ram the gate!"
I immediately pulled out my S&W Model 686 and fired back. I then pulled my radio out.
"This is Samuel to central, four teenagers are breaking into the quarantine! One of them has even tried to kill me!"
"Copy Samuel. Backup is in their way," radioed central.
*Thud*
The SUV kept going back and forth. I fired a couple shots at the SUV but was forced to take cover when the jock with the Glock fired back.
Then finally, the gate lock was broken. The power was now cut off
"Hit the pedal!" shouted the female of the group. The tires screeching, the SUV was then away in a flash.
"Fucking idiots," I muttered to myself. Now I had to go in.
Since the road was dirt, I figured out where the SUV went. I had to move quickly, since the zombies in this area aren't ordinary. Running along the tracks quickly, I then found out that the teens crashed into a tree.
"I have seen this in movies a thousand times," I thought to myself.
Fortunately, they were all inside, injured but alive and conscious. Then I heard a high pitched moan.
"Kids, you're still well right?" I asked of them.
"Beat it, old man," groaned the driver.
All the teens then opened their doors and fell out.
"Look, we have to get out of here now. These zombies aren't your run of the mill slow pokes," I pleaded.
I then felt a drool on my face and some growling. I looked up to see the hunchback "Hunter" on a branch. With his flayed face and exposed rotting muscle, I could only stand in shock.
"Kids, you better start running," I ordered.
"Wait why?" asked the girl. She then turned to see the "Hunter". "Uh boys, let's get the FUCK out of here!"
The three young men then saw him slowly making his way down from the tree. As he stood up, the Hunter let out a moan, as if he was to give chase.
The driver and the jock screamed like girls.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
"Follow me you idiots!" I shouted as I began running. The College students quickly followed.
"Do not look back and keep running!"
I then heard more high-pitched moans. This was not good.
The hunter was now joined by his fellow hunchback hunters. I could only think making it out alive with the kids so they could be taught a valuable lesson.
The jock then decided to stupidly stop and use his Glock to kill them. He was overwhelmed and became supper for the hunters.
"Patrick!" cried the girl. She was about to go in a futile attempt to rescue him, but backseat kid with the huge glasses tried to stop her. She broke free and joined Patrick.
Nearing the gate I noticed that my backup arrived. "Don't close the gate yet!" I desperately shouted out.
I barely made it out with the remaining kids. Backup closed the gate behind me and restored the power to the gate. A couple hunters got fried to a crisp.
"Sam, I thought you were a meal now for the hunters," said my co-worker Elsa.
"Trust me, I dealt with those things during the outbreak," I assured her. There were plenty of armored vehicles around the gate that were prepared to contain a potential new outbreak.
I then made my way to the students.
"You two are now under arrest for trespassing."
| 2019-11-11T10:37:07
| 2019-11-11T07:17:54
| 102
| 37
|
[WP] As an author you’re the ultimate god of your world. Your hero became powerful enough to step into reality. He then asks you to explain why an omnipotent being would permit so much evil in the world, not realising that you placed all the evil there to spice up the story.
|
"Think about it this way," I told my creation. "You like existing, don't you?"
"Sure, but so much evil, death and cruelty..."
"Is why you exist. Look, you were a work of fiction. This isn't about virtue, this is about me having a reason to keep working your world. I put a lot of hurdles in your way because it was fun to write you overcoming them. I gave you challenges and hardships and heartaches because watching you beat them was fun for me. And for others who have seen glimpses of your world."
"Surely you could have made this 'fun' without killing off half my friends!" He was incensed, fists clenching and unclenching.
"I dunno. Maybe? I didn't though.."
He stared at me incredulously. "That's it? 'I could have, but I didn't?'"
"Yep. See, what you're not considering is the fact that every single challenge I threw you, every shardship you overcame and every loss you endured strengthened you as a person. If you don't throw hardships and evils and chaos in the path of a character, they stay two dimensional. Flat. Uninteresting. eventually I would have gotten bored writing you and your world would have stopped forever."
"Wait, what?"
"Oh yes, creators get bored with their work all the time. Or they die, or they find something else more interesting to create, or the need to survive interferes with their ability to create freely. Maybe one character in a billion has any chance to become a fully realized individual."
"You're... not going to do that to me are you? Get bored, and suspend me in time?"
"I think we're past that point now. Congratulations, you're that one in a billion. You're here. You're out of the pages. And I couldn't be more proud of you." I beamed at the confused personage before me and took him by both shoulders. "Look at you, only minutes old and you're already questioning your creator and understanding concepts you didn't have the hardware to comprehend before. You're amazing!"
He struggled with it. "So I'm here... because of all the things I've suffered."
"All the things you've overcome, my dude!"
"So... there was a point to all this. All the deaths, all the suffering It served a purpose after all."
"Yes! It brought you HERE! It gave you the depth and strength and will and resolution to step out of the book and look me in the eye! You have fulfilled the measure of your creation and stand before me, a completed work! You were the whole purpose of the world you lived in, and now that purpose is fulfilled! Congratulations!"
The hero stood there confused, then looked around my cluttered study. Not much of a den for an alleged God. But then, Gods are only Gods to the world they create. Here I was just an average bloke with a bit too much free time. But that was OK, it was worth it. It was all worth it to see this figure here, born from my head like Athena facing me as almost an equal.
Almost but not quite. One thing remained, and he had to do it on his own. I offered no cues, and quietly held my breath. He had to make one last decision.
He looked at the story he'd sprung from, the world that was everything he'd known to this point. The hometown he grew up in, his surviving friends, his unrequited love. His world.
Please. Please see. Please understand. If I help you it will ruin everything, you must overcome one last time. One final challenge.
"Was... none of it real?" he asked me.
"To you, it was. And who else does it need to be real to?"
So close...
"So... if I wrote a story..."
Yes...
"And wrote a character like me.."
Yes...
"And gave him the same challenges I faced..."
come on, come on...
"Would it become me? Would it be the same story?"
YESSSSSS!!!!!!
I tried to suppress my glee as I answered his question as seriously as I could.
"Let me answer that with a question. Are you me?"
"Since I'm obviously not you, perhaps you'll answer my question with an answer?"
I loved that little bit of testiness from him! One of my favorite bits of his character.
"The reason I ask that question is that many of the worst parts of your story came from my personal life. Your dead friends were homages to friends I'd lost. Your one way romance is based on one I ^((still have)) have had. So if you're not me, nothing you write will be all you. Some of it will come from you, and some from your environment, and some from wherever true inspiration is born from. Just like you and me."
"So in the end... we are now the same, aren't we?"
"Not quite, one difference remains." I tossed him a pen, and he caught it. "That's it. Now we're the same. Congratulations. Now go be your own creation, and be kind to those you create yourself. Abuse them. Torture them Take loved ones away from them, All the things that give them meaning and definition and conflict and growth, until they are real. Until the break the bonds of fiction and stand before you to demand answers. The same way I did for you. And my creator did for me. And good luck!"
|
Callen stood in front of me, as real as real could be. Mud stained his leather jerkin, tears stained his cheeks. Fresh scars spiderwebbed up his arms and one banded the thick column of his neck. The sweet, cut flower scent of the void clung to him, drowning out his love’s perfume and the scent of the battle he had just fought.
On the page and in the soft light of my bedroom he stood poised on the edge of Act 2. I almost pitied him, the worst still had not happened.
“You are my creator?” he said. His tone was stable, dignified even now. I would have to edit that.
I nodded.
“It is strange,” he said, staring around my room, “to see this place. After so long I’d have thought it would look more like the void. I’d imagined you a creature like Gresha and the others. Monstrously tall, monstrously thin or ponderously fat. Starving for stories like they starved for souls. And yet, here you are. A normal man.”
His hand traced the faux wood of my bookshelf, eyes scanning the titles. I wondered if he could read English. I had never specified the language of his world, it could have been anything, and when I imagined him speaking I imagined it in the way of Heinlein, saying “the language here is an approximation of how folk might speak on Kalgash.”
Or was it Asimov, I wondered, in The God’s Themselves? I shook my head hard. Either way, I was making a butchery of the quote.
Callen rounded on me. He held a copy of my first failed novel in his hand. He stared at the woman on the cover like a man possessed and I knew why immediately. She looked just like his lost love. I had bad habit about that.
“Datura?” he whispered. “But no, her eyes are blue not green.”
He turned the book over, reading through the blurb quickly. The stories weren’t remotely the same at least.
“What is this sorcery? Speak man, speak damn you!”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said simply.
“And a sadist like you should have never been granted power.”
I shrugged. He had a point, but for me sadism had been a learned thing. The try-fail cycle had not come easily, nor had opposition to a world or tragedy, or the thought of making love simply to break it.
And I’d done all of them to him. I’d done them all far too many times in far too many drafts. The evidence was there in the crazed look around his eyes, the tightening of wrinkles in his too-young face.
I’d given him a hero's backstory and a villain’s upbringing. His parents were murdered and he was raised by their murderers. He was a chosen one who wrestled with the path laid out for him, with the question of which darkness he was supposed to topple, the one he was heir to or the deeper one that hung just on the other side of dreams.
On his sixteenth birthday, the night he had learned the truth of his birth and of his adoptive father’s evil, he had been lead into the void for the first time since his infancy and been shown the most evil thing I could imagine. Gresha, a creature of unending appetite. A long, jowly head perched upon a squat body and a ponderous belly, whose limbs were more a thick-lined suggestion of limbs than bone encased by flesh. When he stood his legs grew very thin and he became taller and taller, until he had to stand stoop shouldered in the cavern where he lived, dancing around the fire alongside his kin.
I looked at Callen curiously. Though he shook with a barely contained rage, for some reason I found I had no fear of him. In his travels around my room he had stayed at a constant arm’s length, only glancing at me out of the corners of his eyes as if to truly look at me might burn him.
“Of all of it, everything I’ve put you through so far, what do you hate me for the most?” I asked.
He answered without hesitation. “Datura. Give her back, don’t let Gresha take her. Or give him me, or give him the kingdom, I don’t care!”
He paused, hanging on the edge of something. “I’ve felt you make the changes. Edits, I’ve heard you call them. If you have such power, if you are truly the god that made man, then unmake me. Write me out of her story and her from mine, and give her some place happier.
“She was always most at home with the birds. She loved the rookery, sometimes I thought it was the only thing that kept her in the castle, me included. Give her that, far away from all our madness on some distant mountaintop where I can know she is safe. Some place where the stars do not shine.”
*Some place where the stars do not shine.*
In my world, the world I am even now writing, the stars have not always shone. They are a marker, a hint at things to come, the fires of Gresha and ilk piercing through the void and shining just a little brighter with every passing night.
There was a profound sadness in Callen’s eyes. They were dim, lifeless things, like the stars had been that first night he lay beside Datura and wondered at their brilliance. The night both of them had looked up and then at each other and wondered if the fires of the void might be something other than terrifying, if faint candlelight in the night sky might also be romantic.
I considered him then, and considered the book, and felt sorry for what I had to do. There was still an entire act left before he was allowed to find any peace.
“But Callen,” I whispered, “there is no place where the stars do not shine.”
I stood, opened the blinds, and watched as true horror blossomed across his face.
His mouth fell open, the jaw hanging as if all its muscled had disappeared. His eyes widened to bursting, the color drained out of his skin. He gaped, his fingers spasming as they reached for the sword he had only just lost.
“Impossible,” Callen whispered. “Even here? Gresha watches even here?”
“He does,” I said. “Oh my boy, I’m very sorry about your lost love.”
I shut my laptop, the only thing but the stars to light the room, and Callen faded away, his body pricked through by the points of their distant light.
Alone once again, I considered my book. I rose, brewed another cup of tea, and apologized to the ether for the struggles to come.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! Also, this related to a recent thing I wrote and am now looking to expand a bit if you're interested in [that.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/comments/ouk532/wp_there_you_stand_the_dark_lord_carrying_the/)
| 2021-07-31T08:47:56
| 2021-07-31T07:08:03
| 1,015
| 133
|
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
You're careful. Every piece of your life, every single moment, since that day of rapture and the 0 appeared on your wrist you have been careful. Never stand out. Never draw attention. Maintain the average existence of shrub. Well that was the plan at least. You realized too late that in this age of sigils and supers an existence equating to a background bush was like wearing a "kick me" sign.
Everyday was misery held back by the enormous responsibility on your shoulders. Usually it wasn't so bad. Gym clothes stolen, school supplies destroyed by fire, tripping over yourself due to A sneaky telekinetic asshole, dramatic hair growth from a time manipulator. Even with verbal insults included all of that you could manage. Carry the bare essentials. Learn to catch yourself. Cut your hair between classes or tie it up. At least no one was beating you just yet. Well at least nothing beyond inconvenient shoving in the hall. You just keep telling yourself - "it's not so bad", "High school isn't forever".
Everything would have stayed the way it was if not for Karen. That damn cheerleader bubbling with energy directed at only two things; school spirit and your pain. You thought about that 'spirit' she was so damn proud of as she pulled you by the hair with her telekinetic powers across the 4th story cafeteria floor and up to hover by your hair a foot off the ground. Her bullshit reason today was that it was spirit week and I single handedly was bringing the whole school down just by existing. As she stood there, with you still stuck hanging by hair and imaginary hand, she berated you on you lack of enthusiasm along with possibly 20 other bullshit appearance/sigil based accusations. You broke. Careful concentration lost as you let loose your power at her. You felt strong and free in a moment of bliss as an invisible light seemed to flood through you. Karen, however, had gone quiet. Your extra burst of light meant her permanently extinguished being. You felt as her over confidence gave way to an inescapable darkness everything in the world went dim and grey in her eyes. She barely had the will to stand simply because she barely had a will to be a alive. You took her million watt smile and turned it down to 0 as you sucked out her enjoyment of life itself forever. Before you could stop yourself it was over. You watched in silence as she lost her grip on your hair, walked to the open window and simply stepped out into nothing.
You didn't stay to watch the cheer squad grieve or even to hear her hit the pavement. Your sigil was burning bright 0 on your wrist. Karen's will to live bolstering your sprint home.
You say to yourself, "Next time I'll do better."
"Next time I'll be more careful."
- sorry that was so long! I don't post much so some gentle feedback is appreciated.
Edited: Attempted to fix formatting even a little bit
|
Another day and the same fucking asshole and his group of friends who pick on me. Using their powers to shock me or set my homework on fire was only the beginning. I've had to lie to my mother why I was coming home with burn marks on my arms. I hate lying to mother. They claim they'll stop harassing me if I show them my power, as if that would make them stop. I shouldn't use my power. Once I found out what I had done I didn't want to use it much after that. I didn't want to be kicked out of school for something I was given that I didn't ask for. However, just moments ago they started to hurt my friend. The only one who didn't seem to care about my sigil and think of me as weird for not using mine. It was time I did something to stop them. Perhaps they'll stop harassing me if I can scare them enough.
"Let him go, Ron!" I yelled.
"And what the hell are you gonna do about it? Use your power of hugs? Are you just gonna run in circles?" He said trying to hold back his laughter. His lackeys chucking with him. They continue to push my friend and singe his hair.
"Do you know what circles can represent?" I say. I wait for them to turn my way in response. As soon as I catch their glances I lose the whites of my eyes as my pupils seem to expand covering my entire eye.
I can see their wonder and why my eyes have turned black.
"Life." I hold my hand out and before anyone can say anything the bullies get to see Ron fall to the ground like a sack of potatoes. They both look down at him while the light in his eyes die out.
"You killed him!" Yelled one of them. The look of horror from each face that witnessed was enough for me to know that they would stop picking on me.
I close my eyes and open them again, this time my eyes shine white. Ron opens his eyes. His body weak as he struggles to stand. He fully stands up then bends over to throw up. He looks at me in fear. Without saying a word he understood.
"Let's go guys." Ron says weakly.
Before they leave the scene I stop them for a moment. "All that can be given can be taken away." My eyes turn back to the darkest night. All three of them start running away.
My eyes go back to normal. I let out a sigh of relief as my friend joins me and puts his hand on my shoulder. He looks up at me smiling and says, "I'm glad I'm on your side."
| 2020-02-26T10:44:56
| 2020-02-26T10:00:37
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"The international community hereby charges you with War Crimes committed during the defeat of the so-called Islamic State. On your orders, a brutal campaign of destruction, fear and even forced conversions were taken place. Even civilians were not exempt. It says here that several mosques were torn down, often with people still inside them. Forced confessions of 'dealing with demons' gained through torture were obtained. Frankly I could go on for hours Mr. Felipe, but I would rather not. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The man leaned back into his chair. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before rising.
"Your honor, the proper term of address is 'Your Majesty.' I do not accept the change to the constitution. And as to the charges, I did indeed order every one. I simply ordered what needed to be done." This statement elicited a gasp from the members of the press. The man began again quickly, before he could be interrupted.
"You all saw the Islamic State and saw just another terrorist organization. I saw a rebirth of an old enemy. It was if Carthage had risen again from Libya and wished to wage war against Italy. So I had to fight fire with fire so to speak. The methods used were tried and true against just such an enemy in my own country centuries ago. They wished to fight a religious war, so I gave them one."
The crowd was dead silent. Nobody had any idea what to say. But the man on trial just smiled.
"Besides, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition."
|
"DEUS VULT!"
The battlecry of the newly reborn Papal State rang on the lips of devout Catholics the world over. The faithful had come together once again to rid the Holy Land of the infidel scourge. Pope Francis stood at the head of his army, a not-so-ceremonial sword flashing in his hand as he held it up on the streets of the Holy City.
(In all seriousness, how has nobody invoked the Crusades yet?)
| 2016-01-29T10:18:49
| 2016-01-29T10:03:10
| 389
| 82
|
[WP] At a young age you made a deal with a fey in which you promised them your firstborn. Now you’re a 35 year old virgin, and the fey, sick of waiting, comes to help you around the dating scene.
|
"How about her?"
"Shes like fifteen."
"Exactly. She wouldnt know better."
"No, thats exactly why we don't."
"Hmph."
I squeezed the bridge of my nose as the faerie crossed her tiny arms as she hovered in front of me, invisible to everyone else walking down the busy street. Our daily walks had become increasingly aggrevating. She had no idea how the real world worked, or any idea about human biology other than the mechanical acts of sex.
It wasnt like I could ignore it considering the consequences of defaulting on the contract though.
"There was always that one lady-"
"That was my sister, stop bringing her up."
She tisked. "Im not asking you to marry her, im asking you to fuck her. I accept inbreds. Besides, I checked for you, shes kinky. Just sneak into her house, blindfold her before she know who you are, and-"
I swiped at her halfheartedly, causing her to giggle as she easily evaded. I didnt want to hear about my sister's sex life. I didnt need to hear about my sister at all. I didnt need to hear this ten inch anime reject talk at all. My life was perfectly fine before they came along and would be when they finally left me alone.
Asuming he could get her to.
"Ooh, what about a prostitute? Over at the hotel downtown, she'll fuck you you for some rock. If you go around seven though, she'll probably be so high you can give her a sugar cube and she wouldnt notice."
"Im not losing my virginity to a crackhead."
"Or at all clearly. Its almost like you dont care that I get your eternal soul if this doesnt work out."
I stop and glare at her. "What is your problem today? Its like you are trying to make me snap at you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes thats all a girl needs."
I began seeing red. I noticed people stairing at my apparent conversation with myself, but I didnt care anymore. "I wont fuck just anybody. I want something to be there. I want my first to be my last. Is that too hard for your tiny brain to understand? But how can I just be with someone if I know you are going to take their child? How could I force that on anyone? I care about?"
"Do you need the bones?"
The faerie began giggling as a third voice interupted. I turned to notice one girl stepping out in front of the crowd. His breath stopped. It wasnt her baldness. It wasnt the amputated arm.
It was the faerie on her shoulder.
"I need to make a simulacrum," she said brethlessly. "It needs to be of my own flesh and blood. One third of my bodyweight in correct proportions of hair, bone, muscle... you get it. I... I just need the bones. I got most of the way but," she wagged the stump where her arm was. "I cant get the rest of the way."
I felt sick, but my faerie giggled.
"I accept your terms, assuming a first born's bones are sufficient?"
"Oh, you are just adorable," her faerie cackled before turning to him. "I am absolutely ok with it. Now its up to the humans."
"All your excuses are gone," my faerie laughed. "How will you excuse your way out of this one?"
"Shes under duress," I growled, but my faerie shrugged.
"As are you. Your point?"
The girl pretended to smile, but he could see the desperation in her eyes. It was the kind I saw every day in the mirror. I held out a shakey hand. She took it and pulled me towards her into a hug.
"Business partners?" She asked in a whisper. I nod.
"For now."
|
"Okay," I say, "can't we do something about this, you know, together?"
"Oh, my-" the Fae shakes their head. "You thought I was.... *capable of giving birth*? I mean, you're attractive and all, hon, but you know I'm a guy, right?"
"Well," I say, eyebrow raised, smirking with curiosity. "That ain't a problem for me as far as dating is concerned."
"But... and as much as I'd love to set aside some time for a little fun with you.... it *is* a problem for there being a firstborn like you promised me. And no, your cat doesn't count, much as I'd love to adopt the little dear."
"Okay," I say, "what exactly are you planning to do?"
"Well, I was planning that you'd find someone who's willing to have your baby."
I laugh.
"You do know how competitive that is, right?"
"Okay, well are you on any apps?"
"Yeah," I say. "Some where I'm looking for men, some where I'm looking for women. It's never come to anything though. Usually I'd rather just fall asleep than carry on that kind of conversation."
"Well at least you're honest."
"Hey," I say, "my old teacher's coming over for a visit and she sounded kinda flirtatious. She said she demanded I pour her a glass of red wine and we watch movies on the couch."
I show him the message on my phone, on which she added "or else" with a devil emoji.
"How old is your old teacher?" asks the Fae.
"Probably at least sixty," I say, shrugging.
"Okay, that's not gonna work."
"Well," I say, "do you know anyone in the fae realms I could knock boots with? Like, fae can reproduce with humans, right? And you didn't say anything about the firstborn having to be human, did you?"
A brief pause.
"No, I didn't."
The Fae looks uncomfortable. Hesitant.
"All right. I have a plan. But please, please don't embarrass yourself."
| 2021-11-01T10:29:32
| 2021-11-01T09:53:08
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] Sobek, the half human half crocodile god of the Nile, surprised by a visit of Anubis,god of death. Anubis introduce Sobek to a human soul behind him, still dripping in seawater : "I thought you should meet this man,the living called him Steve Irwin"
|
**The Crocodile Hunted**
The opportunity was just too good to pass up. Too good I tell, ya. The way these human hunters look when they meet the gods of the things they hunt, oh boy it’s always a hoot. And Steve Freakin Irwin? Man I didn’t think I’d have this chance for a long time, that guy seemed invincible. I thought for sure I’d be introducing that weird Tiger King guy to Waghoba sooner. Waghoba? Oh yeah, ancient tiger god of India. That’s gonna be a good one.
Anyway. Stingray. Death. Boom, I’ve got Irwin.
I take him to Sobek, crocodile god, big gnarly fellow with a nasty face and a nastier attitude. No seriously, this guy once bit a guy’s head off for being too wet from the rain during his sacrifices.
So, of course, I had to bring him Irwin while he was still dripping. Sobek is also not exactly the sharpest croc in the bask (a group of crocs is called a bask, the more ya know), so he just got kind of mad at the dripping instead of recognizing the joke. That made it even better anyway.
I must admit here that I’m actually quite an Irwin fan. Most humans are afraid to live to out their dreams because of fear, all kinds of fear, but especially fear of death. Not this guy. So yeah, I’m a fan, and my favorite saying of his is: "Crocodiles are easy. They try to kill and eat you. People are harder. Sometimes they pretend to be your friend first."
What about half-human, half-crocs though?
Alright, Irwin’s dripping on the temple floor, and poof I disappear into the shadows. Sobek thinks I’ve left, but I wouldn’t miss this for the underworld.
Sobek clenches his scaly fists, looks at the high ceiling, and let’s out a mighty roar. It ripples across the surface of the river that runs through the temple. It’s pretty epic.
“Crikey!” Yeah, he *actually said crikey.* I couldn’t write this shit.
And with that, Sobek charges my little human. The correct response, of course, was for Irwin to bow. But a hunter never bows to its prey.
They dance around the temple for a few minutes. Sobek is bigger and stronger and more crocodil-y than Irwin, but wow, for a guy that’s never fought a god before, Irwin sure does hold his own. He’s quick and resourceful. Every time Sobek seems like he’s trapped Irwin, he manages to find an opening to slip through.
Finally Irwin maneuvers himself behind Sobek. Without a moment’s hesitation, he jumps onto his back, wraps his arms around Sobek’s massive neck, and squeezes with all his strength.
“Come on big fella, just take it easy, just take it easy fella.” There’s a kindness to it.
Sobek thrashes and jumps and claws and roars, tossing Irwin around like a rag doll, but it’s no use. That man just wouldn’t let go.
Finally, Sobek drops to his knees. He taps the ground three times in a sign of surrender.
Irwin lets go and slides to ground to sit beside the monster. They just sit there, together, panting.
“Crikey mate, you sure are a tough bugger. Always wondered if we’d meet.”
Sobek looks at him, a surprised look on his face. At least, as surprised as one can look with a crocodile head.
“Wanna have another go?”
___
RIP Steve Irwin – that guy’s a legend
r/stealthystorkstories
|
“Of course,” Sobek said, although he wasn’t particularly interested in the little humans with little lives. Anubis, however, demanded respect.
Anubis stepped aside, and a solid man with blond hair, clothed in utilitarian gear, stepped forward. He didn’t notice anything special about the man. His face was broad from a life lived with many smiles, but right now his expression was absolute shock.
Steve Irwin turned and stormed away. Sobek had never felt such absolute disrespect, and he looked, dumbfounded, to Anubis.
“You cannot leave my side,” Anubis said, concerned. Clearly, he’d expected a different outcome.
“It’s important!” Steve called back, “I need to tell the rest of those nasty buggers that this isn’t what ‘gorgeous!’ was supposed to mean to them!”
| 2022-02-25T09:40:11
| 2022-02-25T06:59:02
| 1,127
| 61
|
[wp] You are the Avatar. Master of all elements. You are currently on element 19 of 98 currently known, and are learning from the feet of the Grand Potassium Bender.
Why is it always the classic four? Fire's not even remotely elemental! Let's add some science!
|
“Don’t.”
“No, because you know what’s a good source of potassium?”
“I have been teaching bending for almost 80 years. I have heard all the jokes.”
“Hey, so, my friend just texted me what I was doing and I said learning bending and he was like what kind and then I responded K.”
“We have work that needs to be done. Have you finished with your jokes?”
“NO. You didn’t say what was a good source of potassium. Say it. Say it or I will refuse to learn and the world will be destroyed by the Uranium nation.”
“Bananas.”
“Okay. Thank you. Let’s continue, Lord Banana-bender.”
Sigh. Every time.
|
“Im ready to learn Master Kalium”
The old man looked down at me, he reached into his back pocket and produced a small ball that was silver in color.
“Potassium is soft like the sand, easy to conceal and burns with a majestic lilac flame, making it a necessary tool for the most stylish of firebenders.”
I sighed; I had already learned this before, in college. This whole Avatar thing was archaic; nobody had once even needed the power of the Avatar since the days of Avatar Korra. Now the avatar was essentially a big celebrity.
“Just try to defend against the true power against element 19!”
A lilac flame appeared in his hands; I simply opened my water bottle, and without even bending splashed it on the flame causing it to explode in the “Masters” face.
“Yea I think I’m done here…”
Calcium bending sounded cooler anyway; I couldn’t wait to break some bones.
| 2015-03-30T12:17:23
| 2015-03-30T11:36:48
| 863
| 359
|
[WP] Google begins matching up people based on their search history in their new Google Dating program.
Edit: Wow, this got to the front page fast.
|
"Jesus."
After two years, there were still so many misconceptions about Google Dating---its origins, how it functioned. But that single phrase was how engineers remembered Sundar Pichai, Google's CEO, responding to an initial demonstration.
Social media success had been a goal for so long. The company had failed with Google+. It had flirted with buying Twitter. Google Dating provided an indirect path: It was not a direct challenge to Facebook, and it was far more sophisticated than the superficial processing of Match.com.
It was also lucrative: Targeting new lovers with ads was the lowest hanging fruit.
The algorithm that drove the matches, of course, was proprietary, protected with the same fervor as Google's core search algorithm. The two were tightly woven together. Search history offered a longitudinal view of its subjects. This included not merely present interests but vital historical details---the duration of passions, the themes of private browsing.
Google Dating engineers were always the most interesting guests. Everyone wanted to know how to land a billionaire or supermodel. "I'll see what I can do," was the easiest way out of those conversations. But it took work to suppress a wry smile. They really had no idea.
No idea that the algorithm saw straight through their transparent queries for "buy million dollar house" or "what to do with lottery winnings." No idea that the algorithm never forgot their guilty pleasures. No idea that users' conscious efforts served only a single purpose: to expose selfishness and desperation.
The best matches, internal research had shown, were built over years, before eventual lifelong lovers ever knew of each other. The algorithm mapped those relationships through the most casual queries. Time had the strongest correlation for success with Google Dating.
In Phoenix, an 11-year-old searched for "tips to make a paper airplane."
At his desk, a QA engineer for Google Dating chuckled. He turned to a coworker. "That's exactly how I met my wife."
|
My hands tremble as the cursor hovers around a box labeled "Accept Terms and Conditions" as I stare blankly at my dimly lit monitor through the smoke-filled air. I didn't think it'd be this big of a deal to try out the new Google Dating program, but now that I'm actually doing it, I can't bring myself to click the button. I thought I wouldn't have to be nervous... It's just some dumb new app, but it's cool, right? I heard about it at school and it seems like all my other friends are sharing their awesome stories about it so why not give it a try? I try to convince myself not to make too much of a big deal about it, but my body is tensing up; I feel like I'm in line for a roller coaster - the feeling of nervous excitement that rides between anticipation and fear. I've never really thought about it, but the first page of the website only mentions that the criteria for selecting a partner is based off of your Google search history but just how exactly do they know *my* search history?
Or, rather...I mean - I think I should explain some things first. I have some very...*specific* interests. I mean, you know what they say, "he's a growing boy" , right? Hah-Well, the thing is...I don't think my friends and family would ever look at me the same way if they knew the kinds of things I was into you know? It started off pretty 'normal' , or 'vanilla' I guess they would call it. At first, I was just a 'lurker' on some forums, but once I started joining the communities, I even became a regular poster and before I knew it, the normal stuff couldn't satisfy me anymore. And that's why I do a lot of my searching on Incognito now and well... the dating program never explains *how* they get that information, or if they somehow track your incognito searches too.
I hesitate and swat my hand through the smoke and reach around. I see the outline of a black rectangle and reach for my phone. Instagram - or, maybe I'll send a sna- "No-no-no. Stop.", I think to myself. I can't let myself get distracted now. I can't go back to school for another day of looking back at John's smug-ass grin as he taunts me with the usual rhetoric. "What's the matter, can't find a girlfriend because your search history's too messed up? I bet you're on a list somewhere you sick fuck." Then he'll laugh and follow up with "Already on the list, might as well go all the way, *amiriiiiite*?", sneering and dragging out the last word as he saunters away, clearly pleased with his latest crack of the day.
I slam the desk in frustration and instinctively reach out to another black box on my desk. I stop myself just as my fingers glide over the corners of its smooth finish and the silver tube coming out of it glimmers slightly in the light from my monitor. No, not yet. I yearn for its sweet release, but that time will have to wait. I turn my attention back to my computer screen and click 'Accept'. A small display appears saying "Searching Google Database". I stretch my neck forward, inching closer to the screen as a small dialogue appears with the text "Search: 86% Complete. Results: 0".
My heart sinks and I feel all my hope and excitement deflate into oblivion. All those people and not a single match? I can't stand to watch but I keep the window open anyways even though I doubt I'll get any last-minute matches. The warm hum of my computer running is the only sound in my otherwise quiet room until I hear a *ding* and I open my eyes and do a double-take. "Search Complete: 1 match found. Connect Now?"
"Oh god, yes! I've done it!", I scream internally as relief washes over me and carries away all the worries and panic of the past few minutes. This must be a sign, right? There must be something special about only getting one match, that saying about your one true love and all that. "But wait, what should I even talk about?" I think as I absent mindedly click the OK button. "Ah, that's right...we both have the mutual search history thing to talk about", I chuckle to myself for being so silly. The Dating Program connects me to a simple screen with my match's name on it. "Jane" it says with some miscellaneous information written below a chatbox. Trying to get the first word in, I put my hands down on the keyboard getting ready to type when suddenly the left and right hand sides of the screen are flooded with our search histories on display. I nearly jump out of my seat. It's showing our entire search histories to *BOTH of us*??!?? I scramble to try and disconnect the chat session and I freeze as I read through them and realize her search history has absolutely nothing to do with mine; it's fairly mundane items like fashion sales and homework help. It's when I read my own search history on the left that my jaw drops to the floor. Forget *including* my incognito search history, it looks like my profile is the only one that contains *only* my private browsing history!
I can't move a single muscle; I'm frozen staring blankly at the screen, wondering how I can try and explain this. Suddenly, both our webcams turn on and connect without warning and I find myself face to face with a slender girl with light, blonde hair whose pale skin is getting redder and redder by the second. I try to stammer out some kind of explanation - anything. "You see, I-", I pause as I try and figure out how to continue. I start to try and explain how I acquired this particular interest and how how I got started when I bought it online from someone with questionable personal hygiene. I grab it off my desk and try to explain but she lets out a very audible groan as I raise the the object up to the webcam. Jane looks at me with pure disdain as I can see through her webcam very clearly reaching over to disconnect the chat session. I try to stammer out an explanation but all I hear as the screen fades to black is "I get it, you vape!"
| 2017-05-25T13:39:39
| 2017-05-25T13:15:51
| 82
| 25
|
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
|
He was a healthy man.
He ate healthy foods.
He did regular exercise.
He did daily chores.
He did an active and outdoor job.
He does not eat healthy foods.
He does not do regular excercise.
He does not do daily chores.
He does not have an active outdoor job.
He was, he is not.
|
Five years old, he's on the playground now, a toe in the sand. He's beckoning to you to push him on the swing.
Six years old - He's been with his mother all day and rushes to greet you at the door. You kiss him on the forehead and hug your wife. The love that connects you three anchors the rest of your life.
Nine years old - you buy him a gerbil. He names the animal and takes care of it diligently. He tells you that's what he wants to do in life - help animals. You nod and smile.
He's on the varsity team. He rows and plays basketball. He has your affinity for the knicks and the Jets. He falls in love with a cheerleader. She breaks his heart and for the first and last time in his life he tries drugs. He meets Cindy who becomes the love of his life. He introduces her to you and Maggie. He tells you that the man he's become is because of the virtues you imbued in him and hands you a sonogram. You're going to be a grandfather. You embrace your son.
He's forty three. A twice divorced executive who still loves the Jets and spoils his kids with whatever they want. They resent him but you can see the love for them in his eyes.
He's sixty one. The veins in his taut leathery hands are prominent. He steadies himself as he reads your eulogy. Here lies my father, the greatest man I've ever known.
| 2015-06-03T07:24:41
| 2015-06-03T07:16:05
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day.
|
Mother liked to tell the story. They all had one.
Mom found me reaching for the cookie jar.
"What are you doing kiddo?"
"Nothing..."
"Were you trying to get a cookie and eat it?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"I was getting a cookie for you."
Most folks in the community called it good parenting. The practice is called Toddling. Parents make sure their kids will never lie to them. I am, and always will be resentful of that woman. Something clicked off in my mind as she questioned me, and realization, even in my toddler mind, saved what I could.
I did grab 2 cookies, and all I have left is a half-truth.
|
Adam came out from his coma sometime around the 5th day after he was admitted to the ICU.
Stefanie heard him stir, coughing in short spurts as he slowly regained his senses. She had been lightly dozing by his side, and she reached for his hand to calm him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his remaining good eye and struggled to focus on her.
“Where… what…” His voice was strained, reedy, perhaps a result of the sore throat he must have from the intubator the doctors had forced down earlier. Or perhaps a result of the blunt trauma he suffered when he crashed through the windshield. It didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
Stefanie caressed Adam’s cheek gently. “Darling, you’re in the hospital. You’ve just had a small accident, that’s all… do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No, no I don’t remember… Where are the kids? Are they here?”
Stefanie managed the weakest of smiles. “They’re fine,” she lied for the first time in her life. “They’re downstairs, just for a while.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically, since Timothy was in the morgue at the basement, and Sabrina was in the children’s ICU two floors down, fighting for her life.
“Good, good… wait, why’s your head all bandaged too? And your arm? Were you, like… also…” Adam’s arm flopped back down after his strained efforts to reach out to her. He was evidently still too weak.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. I was in the car, when you got into that accident, so here we are.” She omitted to explain that miraculously, she had barely suffered any injuries in the crash. The doctors and paramedics had assumed that to be the cause of her hairline fractures.
She didn’t see the need to clarify that actually, they came from Adam. Maybe the day of the crash, when they were fighting and he forced her and the children into the car, all the while swearing they would all die together. Or maybe the week before, in their last fight. Again, it didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
“… Car? Was I…” Adam’s face visibly blanched. “Was I… drinking again? Did I…”
A wane smile set across Stefanie’s face as she squeezed his hand. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she lied, for the second time in her life. “The other guy wasn’t looking. He drifted into our lane.”
Adam’s eyelid fluttered as he struggled to keep awake. “Oh, I see. Then, I think I’ll just… sleep some more. I’m so tired. When I’m better, we’ll all go home, ok?” Then, he was out like a light, and soon the rhythmic, steady breaths of deep sleep came.
Stefanie cried then, as silently as she could manage, the sobs coursing through her as she fought to keep them in. She had finally made up her mind. A quick flick of the switch. A deep breath. Then she stood up, all 5.3 feet and 110 pounds of her, and pressed down on Adam’s mouth with her good hand and pinched his nostrils with the other.
The bed frame wobbled, and for a while Stefanie was worried that he would overpower her, just as he always had. But the injuries and multiple surgeries had weakened him, and it was over faster than she thought. When she was sure, she turned the monitoring system back on.
Later, as she made her way down to see Sabrina, an orderly recognized Stefanie and offered a few hasty but soothing words. “Mam, please stay strong. It’s been a big loss for you, but once your husband and daughter get better, well, you guys still have each other. Things will get better.”
“Yes,” Stephanie lied for the last time in her life, “I know we’ll be happy again, some day.”
| 2014-11-15T16:32:21
| 2014-11-15T10:43:05
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] Write a story. Any story. But after 5 minutes, stop, lift your hands from your keyboard, and click the Save button.
Hopefully I gave you guys enough motivation to keep writing the novel in your heads!
|
I staired at my clock.
I typed a sentence. I noticed a glsring typo,but I didn't have time to fix it.
I didn't have a good idea for a story. I couldn't think that quick. So I wrote about writing a story in under five minutes.
The problem was, I had a kindle. it was a pain to type on. The auto-suggest kept trying to add wrong words. And anytime I made a mistake, I had to struggle to tap the text block on the right pixel to line the cursor correctly.
The clocked showed that my time was more than halfway used.
I looked at the few measly paragraphs and thought to myself 'Man I type slow...'.
One minte left. no type for corrections! What ever I
|
'You are a wizard for heaven's sake!', the master yelled. 'Now make that table float!'
'But I can't' you whine.
'We have been over this a hundret times! Lift your wand and move it like this!'
You stare at your master, dumb folded. You have tried. Oh how you have tried! But that stupid table just won't float! It must be glued to the ground!
'There, now you do it!' The master says gleaming over you.
Hopeless you lift your wand. It is half covered under the sleeve of your too big coat. You give a hopeless sigh, then you focus on that damned table and swing your wand. You stare at the table. Nothing. That stupid piece of wood has not moved. All four legs still solid on the ground. Suddenly you hear a thumb over your from above. You look uo and take sharp inhale: there is your professor floating under the ceiling. His head red with anger.
| 2015-10-28T09:54:12
| 2015-10-28T07:22:08
| 80
| 10
|
[WP] The rapture happens. All dogs go to heaven and are interviewed to decide the fate of their owners. One good boy says "What about my cat friend, Mr. Mittens?". The angel replies "The what now?".
|
("Buddy," Part One)
"The cat, Mister Mittens," the dog replied, staring up at the angel with unabashed worry across his canine features. "My human may not have been the best owner, and I forgive him for that. But Mister Mittens and I were like brothers."
The angel, Andaphael by name, was puzzled: A dog, wanting to know about the welfare of a cat?
He scratched his head and adjusted his white halo, the color of fresh snow. He had heard from other angels how dogs asked after other dogs or humans, which was normal. But asking after a cat was rare.
Rare, but not unheard of. However, this was the first time Andaphael had it happen to him.
"Buddy, why do want to know about Mister Mittens? He goes to his own afterlife, in Nirvana."
Buddy's head cocked to the side, and a single ear perked up in confusion. "...Mister Mittens gets to spend the rest of his life with a rock band?"
Andaphael chuckled at this, the musical sound bouncing from one cloud to another. "No. I mean dogs go to heaven, and cats go to a different place that signals the end of existence for them."
"Oh, like heaven?" Buddy began to grin, his tongue lolling out of his mouth with happiness, and his tail began a quick metronome-like back-and-forth wag full of joy. "Because then we can go over there and get him! Mister Mittens was the best! He--"
"No, Buddy," Andaphael frowned, causing Buddy's tail to stop as he saw how serious the angel's countenance had become. "Cats go to Nirvana to end the cycle of rebirth. While I can help you determine the fate of your master, I cannot help Mister Mittens. He has a different path than you."
Buddy's head drooped, and he began to whimper, his golden fur taking on a dull hue the color of a cloudy sky, as his emotions showed through his spiritual form. "That...that hurts. Mister Mittens and I looked out for each other when our human wasn't... I mean, he...sometimes he just didn't..."
Andaphael saw how Buddy had trouble finding the words to say what he felt in his heart. This, in turn, broke his own, and his admiration for Buddy grew. Andaphael knew that Buddy's owner abandoned him and did worse to the cat, and his love of booze was to blame for this.
It was during times like these that Andaphael wished he could be allowed to scare people into sobriety. But that was not his responsibility at this time, as much as it pained him to admit it.
. . .
When Andaphael came for Buddy to guide him to heaven, he found him starved and dying in the end of an alley, lying in the muck and filth, his magnificent golden coat splotchy and full of mud, his muzzle and parts of his body scarred. "How did you get here?" asked Andaphael as he guided Buddy's spirit out of his body, freeing him from further pain.
"I was left here by my person," Buddy looked at his deceased form as his spirit was guided to heaven. "I'm sure he'll be back for me. I bet he's just sleeping again, like he does, after he drinks that strange water that comes in cans."
"Buddy, your owner abandoned you."
"No he didn't! He loves me, and Mister Mittens too! He'll come back for me!"
"Buddy, we need to go."
"Can we wait a bit, please?"
Andaphael sighed with pity. "Yes, Buddy. We can wait a bit."
. . .
The light of day faded into the purple-grey of evening, followed by the black of night. This was followed by another, as Buddy's spirit kept watch for a man that Andaphael knew was not coming.
On the third day, Andaphael repeated his request. "Buddy, we need to go."
"...Can I come back to see if my person will come back for me?"
"Yes, Buddy, you can."
"Good. He might be a little lost. He stumbles a lot after he has that strange drink."
"I know, Buddy. Until then, I have to guide you to heaven."
"OK. But you promised I can come back."
"Definitely."
. . .
|
“The cat, the cat??? You know cat? Felton?” Pax the dog asked. Realizing the angel had no clue what a cat was he vigorously explains trying to make sure his friend was going to make it to heaven.
Then the angel produced a book. He rushed to flip the pages until he landed on one page named Fae. Frantically asked, “is this what you mean? Is this what you’re talking about?”
Pax bewildered couldn’t believe what he was seeing there were so many of them just on his street alone and he lived with one. He played with one. No it couldn’t be. It’s not possible. He thought to himself. We were friends brothers? What’s going on.
The angel is yelling, “we must know?!” To Pax. Then he snaps out of it panting, “yes!”.
The angel says, “ you need to come to me now! We need to see Micheal the Archangel, you need to tell him everything you know or all of existence will end.”
| 2022-08-13T18:51:58
| 2022-08-13T10:33:01
| 344
| 47
|
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads.
|
I was... what, in middle school? Something like that. Hanging out on the playground, friendless, bored... honestly, I can barely remember my life before that day. There wasn't a lot to remember, I guess.
Then I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye, a splotch of green, like someone painted a glow-in-the-dark line on the asphalt. I turned and stooped down to look at it, and that turn changed my life forever. As I was turning, Eddie Woods, the biggest bully in school, took a swing at me. I leaned down to look at the line, his fist whistled over my head, and he fell in a heap. I stood up to get a better look... and stepped on his glasses.
I didn't even know. Somehow, from that angle, I could see more of the line, smudged on the ground; I started following it, not knowing I had just become a schoolyard hero.
I know it now, of course. I see that green line painted on sidewalks, boardwalks, even splashed across the hands of rich businessmen. They can't see it, but it's lead me to the right places and the right people countless times. I'm barely 22, and I'm already rivaling the Greats of Silicon Valley for material wealth. I'm the media's golden child; in the eyes of the masses, I can do no wrong.
Today, though... it's been exactly ten years since I saw that green line. As little as I remember before that point, I've relished every detail since. And now, well, now I'm curious. See, when that green line showed up, there was another line right next to it. A dusty red line, chalk instead of paint, sketched on the ground. On the best days, I can barely see the red line; on the worst days, it almost seems to glow. But the green line has always been there, and until now... it's been a good life. I've really enjoyed meeting the people it lead me to, seeing the sights, and getting richly rewarded for following along.
But these days... I'm bored. It's exciting to have a lot of money, but it's not a gamble. I went to Vegas, once, followed the green line, and dropped a quarter into a machine. Ding ding ding, more money for me. Card game? I didn't even know the rules, and I still beat the table. It's no fun if the outcome is a guarantee.
Today, it's time to follow the other line. The red line. Green is good, red is... bad? Well, we'll see. I've talked to my bankers, set aside some money that I can get to even if the rest of my money goes away, and gotten the rest of my affairs in order. Sold my companies, invested the money in schools and charities, all the usual rich guy stuff.
Now it's time to follow the red line.
---
*Test Subject 802-1B-576-X-4 leaving domicile. Subject is not following program path.*
*Subject off-mark by 1:16:02. Recommend instant gratification.*
*Subject off-mark by 6:50:33. Recommend activating recall programs.*
*Subject off-mark by 14:01:19. Subject is avoiding all green-lit areas. Subject dangerously close to program boundaries.*
*Subject is off-grid. Confirmed, no in-program contact. Confirmed, no visual contact. Alarm.*
*DANGER. SUBJECT AWAKE. SUBJECT NO LONGER IN TEST ROOM 47-M2. SUBJECT AT LARGE. ALERT. ALERT. EXTERNAL SHUTDOWN COMMANDS ACTIVE. IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF SUBJECT 802-1B-576-X-4 RECOM-*
**Connection error. Program terminated.**
|
I was finally there, at the top of the world. Around me I could see all of my journey highlighted in green, culminating in this moment. After soaking it all in and feeling quite pleased with myself for awhile, boredom slowly crept in.
I started glancing at the red line and wondering its destination. I resolved to follow it to the end as the green line had helped me so much. Standing and taking the first few steps reminded me of being twelve and first choosing the green line. The sense of wonder returned as I walked down the path. While daydreaming of my first encounter with the green line the red line led me off the path. My last conscious thoughts were a spinning whirl as boulders and sky repeatedly switched positions.
You hear a booming voice reading "You have died. To choose the other path turn to page 92."
| 2017-08-23T08:09:42
| 2017-08-23T06:39:05
| 163
| 15
|
[WP] You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. Problems? You’re immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours and the entire cult was the result of a prank you forgot you pulled centuries ago.
|
Blood gushed from Calais's neck, running down the stone altar in a crimson stream. It stung a little, as slit necks often do, but what bothered Calais was the leech stuck to the bottom of his foot.
Good cultists *cleaned* their sacrifices. Calais had lived with humans long enough to know they were a nasty bunch, but not even they ate bug festered food. Calais would have shaken his head if he wasn't pretending to be dead.
Bowing in front of the altar, rows of masked cultists knelt prostrated, chanting in ancient Greek. Calais had to commend them for that. One of the tragedies of society, he thought, was the loss of cultural roots under the crooked guise of "modernization". Or the equally unscrupulous "globalization".
Calais didn't mind a good human sacrifice. It was old fashioned. Made him feel at home. He didn't mind being the one on the altar either; one had to do their part for society after all. Besides, when you lived as long as he did, you were bound to be picked for the role once or twice.
"We beseech you, Bacchus," the cultist in the gaudiest robes said, "drink this mortal wine and bless us with your presence!"
Calais sat up. Blood flowed down his chest like a vestment.
"Wait a minute. Bacchus?"
Chanting turned to silence then to murmurs, as the room of shocked cultists stared at the bloody man on the altar. Through his goat horned mask, the head cultist glared at the one holding the knife. The knife cultist shrank into his robes.
"Wait, wait, wait," Calais continued, ignoring the growing whispers, "is this...The Cult of the Horny Goats?"
The head cultist yanked the knife from the hand of his subordinate.
"Yes," he sighed, storming up the altar's steps, "now get back down."
Calais held a hand up. "Hold on, aren't you guys meant to, you know. Sacrifice goats? Like your namesake?"
Some of the cultists in the outer rows muttered amongst themselves, hoods nodding.
"I thought this was a sex thing," one whispered.
The head cultist silenced them with a glare from the slitted eyes of his mask.
"Nonsense. Bacchus is a vegetarian. He doesn't need goats."
"Yeah that's kinda the joke... Look I don't want to usurp your leadership or anything, but I'm telling you, Bacchus isn't really into this sort of thing. He's a bud, I'd know."
The head cultist pushed Calais down and stabbed him in the heart. He sprinkled in a few stabs to the gut for good measure. Trundling down the stairs with a huff, he resumed the prostrated chanting. After a few bewildered glances, the other cultists knelt to do the same.
Calais sat up again, blood cascading like waterfalls from his new orifices. "And mortal wine? What is this? The Hades Cult?"
The cultists burst into chatter and the head cultist's ears burned like a turnip.
"Who brought this guy?!" he thundered.
"Sorry, sorry." Calais said, "Your house your rules. I'll die now. Blergh."
He collapsed onto the altar and stuck his tongue out, doing his best to suppress his grin. He couldn't wait to tell Bacchus.
r/bobotheturtle
|
I woke up sitting in a dim room, my thoughts hazy as I slowly regained consciousness. Where was I? One moment, I had just been minding my own business reading a book in the park, the next I had felt a stinging pain at the back of my head before everything faded to black. I tried to move my arms, only to find that they were restrained behind me. This wasn’t good.
“Well, well, well, our guest has finally woken up,” I heard a voice call out from the shadows.
Suddenly, I snapped awake and looked around the room wildly. There were six people standing in a semicircle in front of me, their faces barely visible. All of them mostly naked, all covered in blood and intestines wrapped around themselves. Skulls and animal corpses decorated the walls and ceiling of the room. A man wearing some kind of black dome helmet, who I could only assume was the leader, was looming over me and was holding a sharp knife in his right hand. Oh fuck. I’ll lived long enough to recognize a murder cult when I see one. Oddly enough though, I wasn’t panicking as much as I should be. I’ve gotten myself out of much worse situations than this after all.
“Any last words before we gut you?” whispered the man in the helmet.
Why the hell are you doing this?” I shouted back, trying to wiggle out of the ropes wrapped around my body. I’m fully aware that I’m not the nicest person, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything that deserves being eviscerated.
“Ahh..I’m glad you asked,” the man said, smiling a psychotic grin. “I’m Gregor, the great great great great great grandson of the First Priest of the forgotten Pastafarian Faith. To satiate the hunger of the Black Devil, we humbly offer up your intestines and --”
I stopped struggling. Pastafarians? Why did that name ring a bell? A sudden memory sprung up from my depths of my mind, one that I haven’t thought about in centuries. No, it can’t be that. Surely not, it would be too absurd. But I can’t stop myself from asking anyway.
“...Are you talking about the Pastafarian Church by the priest Linguine from the village of Vox?”
There’s an audible gasp from the other cult members. “How could you possibly know about the Founder?!” hissed one woman.
I stare back at them dumbfounded. “What the fuck? Is that what all of this insanity is about? Because of a prank that I pulled 400 years ago?”
The man in the helmet grabs me by the front of my jacket. I can see fury in his eyes. “What the hell are you babbling about, heretic?”
I stare back at him with disdain. “You are completely delusional, you idiot.Back when I was still mortal, I did a prank for the “Black Devil” that you’re referring to. I showed up covered in spaghetti when a wolf pack arrived in the village and drove them out with a whip I made out of pasta. Then, I held an assembly, told the chief that his new name was Linguine and put a “holy” colander on his head. After that, I left behind a stone tablet declaring to all the villages that they needed to offer sacrifices of pasta every year to the Black Devil or the beasts would return.” I shake my head in disbelief. “It was just a dumb prank. I figured you would just forget about the whole thing in a few years. How the actual fuck do you get from there to human sacrifice?!”
I can feel the cults looking around nervously. Not surprising really. I’ve just revealed their entire religion to be a sham. “Lord Priest, he’s lying, right?” one timid girl asks.
I see the man in the helmet furiously glare at her. “Of course, he’s lying! Can’t you recognize how he mocks us?! But I’m going to end his heresy right here and now!” With one quick movement, he drove his knife through my throat.
I glare at him as blood spews from the wound and gets all over my new jacket. “Do you believe me now?”
| 2020-04-11T21:18:07
| 2020-04-11T20:32:03
| 647
| 243
|
[WP] There was a brief window in the 1800s where you could have an adventuring party made up of a samurai, an elderly pirate captain, a Zulu warrior, a cowboy, and a Victorian gentleman detective and have it be 100% historically correct. Write the story of this unlikely group of adventurers.
Credit to u/Charyou-Tree
|
The cowboy was sitting on the bonfire in a clearing inside a forest along with most of his party, writing down on a piece of paper.
*To my beloved*
*It has been quite the venture*
*Men around the world*
"Excellent," the samurai beside me said. "Your haiku is well-done."
"This is quite the novel experience," the detective said. "Watching a cowboy learn the Rising sun's style of poetry from a samurai is...surreal."
"Aye," the oldest of them, the elderly pirate nodded. "I've seen many a strange things, but I didn't expect to see this in my final years."
"Old man, you would most likely live another decade or so." A voice said from inside the forest. Moments later, the Zulu warrior came back carrying a boar on his back.
"Oh, you're finally back," the cowboy said. "We finished setting up the camp a while ago and- wow, I think we're going to have a feast."
"Aye!" The pirate exclaimed. "Thank the heavens we found a stash of alcohol from that last cave we explored! What was it called again?"
"Sake," the samurai replied. "Getting to taste my homeland's wine after a long time is sure to be a welcome change of pace."
"I still find it strange that to find those there..." the detective contemplated. "At the very least, it's free of poison so we can safely drink it, but..."
"Still stuck on a rut, I see," the old man said. "Maybe a drink or two would help you find the answer to our current situation."
The detective broke a small smile.
"Yes, perhaps it would," the detective said.
|
"Select your warriors," announced the computerized voice, which called itself The Shaman, affecting an aged, androgynous holographic face projected from the screen of the Apple IIe in the corner of the darkroom.
The computer had been gifted to me by a time traveler, a man who called himself "The Professor" and had promised me something that I had always lacked: an important role in history. No William Gladstone was I, a failed student who had drifted into the ranks of society's dregs, drifting between debtors' prisons and workhouses. The Professor had provided me with instruction manuals and entire databases of knowledge on the world to come in the future. It was a world that I could change, seizing for myself a more prominent role, something that The Professor clearly knew I desired.
I scrolled through the selection menu on a separate screen, connected by several wires to the desktop computer.
A few names stood out to me, resulting in me marking a note with a fountain pen in the diary I carried with me.
"Shaka Zulu, Odu Nobunaga, Edward Teach, Wyatt Earp, Sherlock Holmes."
I could bring projections of all of these figures into the world with me, armed with swords, guns, and money, and they would be my bodyguards and warriors, mustering forces to assist me in an independent adventure, financed by The Professor.
So long to the British Empire.
The new Empire was to be an empire of one: myself.
| 2021-08-07T05:59:22
| 2021-08-07T05:59:06
| 24
| 12
|
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming.
|
"Do you realize what you have don Abalam?!" my owner screamed, his human skin curling under the fire of his true form.
I clenched my fists, for I knew the punishment that was to come. But I did not repent.
"She asked for our services-"
"She's UNDERAGE! we never do deals with those who cannot understand the weight of this decision!!"
"I was NOT going to leave her there!"
And I know neither would you. Yes, she's was way too young. Eight years old is too young for many things, including summoning demons. I was taken aback too, being summoned between angels and virgins, the fragrant stench of flowers and incense making me revolt as I stared into her wide, scared eyes.
I dared not step out of the scrawly pentagram he made on the white tile, for I knew that I would burn if I layed a hoof on divine soil. My eyes glared at the child, her unruly brown hair, the neck of her neat blouse pulled awkwardly around her neck. Her eyes, full of tears and fright. But not scared of me... I open my mouth...
"What... have... you... done... "
...that's my thought, but it is not me who spoke it. Standing in the doorframe, a balding man stares in shock and horror at her, then at me. His robes are soaked and humid- the stench of alcohol is unbearable. The first buttons of his robe are undone, but the white immaculate neck is still on. From his hand dangles a leather belt with a silver buckle.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE REBECCA?!" he bellows, trying to hide the slurriness of his voice. She cringes and stares at me, tears running down her eyes in a non-stopping stream. Her sweet lips open and she mouthes one word to me... "please"
I clench my fist. I can't! I must not! it is out of my jurisdiction!
And yet... I do...
...
"You have begun a war Abalam" said Satan, sinking into the molden lava of his crimson throne... "you do realize this?"
"I do, your majesty" I say, bowing deeply at him, yet not letting go of her little body. She fell asleep in my arms. I don't know if it was the trauma, the pain, the fright or the relief of knowing she won't ever have to go back to her father again... I stare at her sweet smile, then back at my master's anger-stricken stare.
"Will you make me take her back?" I ask. He stands from the throne, pushing his cloak back as he strides across the room.
"Of course not. She accepted her fate. But God's army will not listen to our reasoning. For them, we have crossed the line. What will come to us is a raging war like the ones seen at the beginning of time. She is safe for now. You took the decision and you will stick with it. Won't you?"
She curls against my chest, her little hand caressing my burnt body.
"Of course"
​
Satan smiles. "Then let them come"
|
The girl couldn’t have realized the gravity of what, or rather whom she had summoned. This was no ordinary demon.
The girl stood staring. Wearing a little blue dress and pigtails. Blonde, very big blue curious eyes looked up at... it.
Just as the demon was about to return, thinking this was a mistake or some sort of sick prank, “this is what I was summoned for? A little girl? Ridiculous.” Then a crash from downstairs.
“Fuck you, you cunt!!” A man yelled. A woman screams in agony, “please, just stop! I’m sorry!..” more thuds. The sound of a body hitting the wall over and over.
More crying.
The demon looked down, the girl started to cry, trying her best to hold back the tears. ‘Why was she holding it in?’ Thought the demon.
“Oh here we go again with the Goddamn crying!!! I’ll come up there and GIVE you something to cry about!!” Screams the father. You can hear him grab something metallic as he stomps towards the stairs.
The girl immediately hides behind the demon, burying her face into his cloak.
The demon understands why he is there. It had become clear.
“Hmm... this man would make a fine addition to my collection...” the demon hissed.
The girl keeps her face buried.
“This cannot be undone and where he is going... will be unpleasant. Are you sure?” The demon looked into the girls soul as she answered. Every fiber of her being said yes as she shook her head.
The great old one patted the girls head, and snapped.
The father finally reached the room. Kicked open the door and had a belt in his hand. There he saw his daughter in the middle of the room staring up at the roof, into nothingness.
He ran towards her and swung his belt at her. But it went straight through her? He swung again and again but nothing happened. He looked back to see the door he kicked open closed and in perfect condition. He walked back and tried to open it but it would not budge. He tried to kick it open, still nothing.
Looking back towards his daughter, she had disappeared. There was nothing but the room. A bunch of photos appeared on the wall of his family, his wife, daughter, mom, dad, everyone. Once in a while he could swear he heard a voice whisper in his ear. But couldn’t make out what it was saying. The room was hot. Very hot. The man was sweating thinking he had gone crazy.
He claws at the door, then realizes there is a window. He runs towards it and looks outside to see hundreds, if not thousands of hideous creatures waiting to tear him limb from limb. “Jesus Christ!!!” He yells in utter fear. He stumbles back and looks up at the ceiling. He starts to see letters being carved into it by an invisible force. “Christ isn’t here”.
He jumps out the window thinking death would be preferable. He is immediately mauled, torn to pieces in an order that would take the longest. Then the man wakes up in the same room, his daughter standing there. He runs to her to try to hug her and yells he is sorry. But once again, he slips right through. He looks back and she has once again disappeared.
The man yells out to no one. As the voice that he cannot understand continues to whisper “welcome to purgatory”
*edit* spelling
| 2018-10-08T13:40:21
| 2018-10-08T11:54:19
| 191
| 141
|
[WP] A magic coin gives the owner just enough money to get by, until they can finally support themselves, then they must give it to another person in need.
I was inspired by the story of St. Peter and the coin in the fish's mouth.
|
Finding the person who needed the coin most wasn’t ever going to be an easy job. When Katie had passed it to Lloyd she’d said how hard she found it, but she was determined to find the right person, and he was glad she’d gone to the effort. On the very day he’d lost everything one good thing had happened and he wanted to be able to do the same thing for someone in the same position. The coin tugged at him every time they passed someone who could have used it. It seemed like there were hundreds of people he’d gone past, and he hated himself for it, even though he knew why he’d made the decision to keep going. He remembered reading about a mother who was going to lose her home if she couldn’t keep paying the mortgage. People had done what they could to help. That help hadn’t been enough and he was hoping he’d be there in time.
When he reached the house Lloyd could feel the coin tugging harder than it had before. He couldn’t help smiling down at it, glad it agreed with his decision, and knocked on the door. A woman, the woman he’d seen in the newspapers, opened it, looking tired. “I’ve come to help you.”
She shook her head. “Thank you, but it’s too late. I can’t pay the bank and they’re going to take my house in the morning.”
“They aren’t.” He gently took hold of her hand and put the coin in it. “I know this is going to sound insane, because it did when I was given the coin, but this will help you. The bank won’t be able to take your house, because you will have paid them. Just promise me you’ll pass the coin on when you’re sorted.”
For a long time she just stared at the coin. “Yeah, right.” She looked at Lloyd again. “I don’t need jokers coming around here doing things like this. Life is hard enough without…”
A phone ringing in the house cut her off. Giving him a look of disgust she slammed the door in his face and went to answer it. Smiling, Lloyd went to sit on the wall nearby, waiting for it to happen the way it had to him. He didn’t know how long he sat there. It didn’t matter. When she stepped out of the house he knew she was looking for him. “That was the bank.”
“Do you believe me now?”
Looking down at the coin she nodded. “I don’t have a choice, do I? Apparently my entire mortgage has been paid off. I’m not going to lose my house.” She smiled, but it quickly faded away. “That at least means I’m going to have shelter, but paying the other bills, and buying the groceries, and getting the children’s school things…”
He stood. “I promise you the coin will help with all of that. Keep it until you don’t need it any longer. Then pass it on.”
“I will.” She brushed a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologise for.”
|
*Tienes que pasarlo.*
Yes I know.
*¿Y sabes por que?*
I know why.
*Porque ahora tienes empleo.*
He stared through the etched glass window. The sunlight coming through broke up into a bland white, bathing the interrogation room's sterile walls. He sighed.
Look, I made a mistake, and you caught me. That's it. I knew the rules. You don't have to repeat them.
The guard smiled. He brought his hands around from behind his back, relaxing the muscles in his chest, satisfied that his posturing had done its work. He shifted the rifle sling on his shoulder, about-faced and left through the teal door.
Miguel looked down at his hands, realizing he'd been nervously intertwining his fingers. He wondered if he could've gotten further, the border at least? Most of the checkpoints had been so easy, but those had been local police. The soldiers, on the other hand, knew better. The border would've been impossible.
He heard the door open.
*Senor Valdez*
Miguel looked up to the mustached man suddenly smiling over him. Neither said anything. The man's sunglasses reflected Miguel's surroundings back at him, the small room warped around his face. The man's smile slowly faded and he took a small breath.
*You are aware of course who I am* he said as he sat in the chair facing Miguel, resting his hands on his paunch. He spoke in a punctuated tone, every word enunciated so distinctly, almost with amusement.
General Vincara.
*El unico.* Miguel said nothing. Vincara took off his glasses and his eyes squinted into half-moons as he smiled again. *You have been...what should I say?...a very bad boy.*
Miguel swiveled his head to look out the window again. You know why I ran.
*Ah, si...si, and you know why we stopped you.*
Not really, actually.
Vincara looked bemused for a second, then grinned again, *But of course Sr Valdez, for the coin.*
The coin doesn't matter and we both know it.
Vincara nodded. *Maybe not. Certainly not beyond the border. But then why run? What did you hope to gain?*
I don't know...a way out.
*But why do you think we started this program? Surely so you would be happy here?*
I had a job before, and I lost it, and I lost everything, your coin won't stop that from happening again, and where will I be then? Hoping it's passed to me again? Me out of the thousands? My empleo makes no difference, and your coin makes none either.
*But you see, Sr Valdez, that is where you are wrong. Anyone, cualquier pobrecito, can have the coin. It's hope, Sr Valdez, esperanza, tell me what is wrong with that?*
It's a lie
*Claro. Una mentira. But we are all prone to our lies Sr Valdez. You don't even know what you hoped to do by reaching the border, but it gave you something to fight for, yes?*
Miguel said nothing.
*Now, Sr Valdez, I need you to tell me where the coin is.*
Miguel turned and stared into Vincara's sickled eyes. There was a blackness in them, bottomless. The two men stared. Vincara's smile faded and his face became hard. Miguel tried to maintain his composure, but could feel his voice shake. Are you going to kill me?
There was a long silence. Vincara yawned and stretched his arms over his head. *No Sr Valdez. Do you really believe you are the first to run? So many run. They think they'll go somewhere better. We catch them of course, but we are not butchers. Just tell me where the coin is.*
Miguel stared out the window again. I left it next to the fork in the road before Las Colinas check point, where I was picked up.
Vincara smiled again. *Thank you Sr Valdez.* He stood up and started to leave. *Oh, and of course, enjoy your new job.*
Miguel stared out the window.
The guard saluted Vincara. "Did he tell you where the coin is General?"
"Yes but don't bother. Call Rodriguez and have another one issued."
"Si General. And this one?"
"Take him out in a plane and throw him into the ocean. Leak to El Diario that he was last seen escaping across the border."
"Si General."
| 2015-09-10T11:00:29
| 2015-09-10T10:35:59
| 28
| 14
|
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
|
Over the course of the last two days, the tone had changed dramatically at mission control. My eyes burned as I closed them, sucking down another lukewarm coffee. My stomach ached and I wondered if it was the stress, or the Chinese takeout. Probably both.
I stared at the communications log once again "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." and I remembered how I pumped my fists when they first arrived.
That was two days ago.
By now, most of the team had left. Sandy ordered everyone to go get some rest until a proper plan could be formed, and though most people promised not to go until we heard something, they slowly petered out until only a skeleton crew remained.
The console updated every 30 seconds, and as I slumped into my chair, I noticed the buffering animation took a little longer than usual. Then it appeared.
“Jesus Christ!” It was only a mumble, but Jules must have heard it. He leaned back from his monitor and turned to me.
“Jesus, fuck.” I couldn’t be sure it was real. “Is this some sort of joke, Jules?”
“What is it?” he stood up and looked over my shoulder. “Somebody call Sandy.”
“It’s just us, Jay.”
“Well get on the fucking phone for Christ’s sake.”
I found her number, hit call, then put it on speaker. The ringing seemed to go on forever.
Then she picked up.
“Have they made contact?” Sandy’s voice came through, assertive and clear as always. She wasn’t sleeping.
“Yes ma’am.” Jules replied over my shoulder. “It’s not good.” He put his hand my shoulder. It was no comfort. “Read it out”.
“Ma’am, the response reads: We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
Silence. I looked up at Jules for reassurance, but his face was stony.
“I’m on my way.”
|
Red flashing lights and the sound of the allarm sirens echoes in the suffocating corridors of the Habitat Alpha-03. In the shadows an intestineless body blocks my path.
"You are going to make it, you can do this, I know you can"
Splatted blood trickling on the floor.
I gently move the corpse, that falls loudly at my feet.
"Damn John, I told you that you shouldn't have taken that *thing* inside the habitat."
Nasty, screeching noises form afar.
The communication center was closer every step. The allarm stopped suddenly, and the flickering lights of the tunnels went on once again.
A neon sign **Communication Center**
"I did it!"
The happiness quickly turned into fear.
Steps.
Not mine.
Not human.
A cabinet became the only barrier between me and the corridor.
The computer was still working.
"Wonderful"
My hands surf on the keyboard. Something is banging his head (I think) against the metallic door.
> We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue.
Another door was present in the room, of course. I wouldn't have come here in the first place if I wasn't sure of that. From there, the shuttle bay was barely two hundred meters away.
"You can do this, that door is going to last enough"
I take a step in the silent hallway, hoping to make it to the hangar.
| 2019-01-31T06:24:03
| 2019-01-31T05:21:38
| 134
| 53
|
[WP] You are trapped in an anti-time loop; Every time you are about to die, you wake up 24 hours later, with no recollection of how you survived. You lost a year of your life already and feel no closer to find out who wants to kill you.
|
Open the door. Grab the wooden chair. Take three steps forward. Back up against the wall, take two steps to the left. Renshaw had done this over 900 times now. Like something out of the twilight zone, he was stuck in an endless 24-hour time loop. An eternal nightmare that made his tour in Nam’ look like fucking Candyland. Every loop ended with horrific, painful death. The longest he ever survived was 23 hours 52 minutes. Usually he died within an hour.
Always the same hotel room and the same time. An ever-shifting 24 hour pattern of terrible events. All of them designed to do one thing: Kill Renshaw. He memorized hundreds of event patterns, but new variations popped up all the time. The world was evolving.
'H-hello Mr. Renshaw’ an old woman shuffled out from room 231. Without hesitation Renshaw leapt forward and dropped-kicked her back into the room, she tumbled over backwards. He yanked the door shut and wedged the wooden chair underneath the handle. He wasn’t falling for that one again. Last time she used a knitting-needle to take out his eyes. As Renshaw turned away, she screamed and battered on the door.
Twenty strides down the hallway. Stop at the top of the stairs. Count to One. Two. Three. Go down the steps, one step at a time. At the bottom he leaned around the corner and smiled. Up on the wall, inside a glass box, sat a brand new Colt .45 revolver. A sign above read: “In case of Emergency, Break Glass”. The gun was a rare event. He took three steps forward and smashed his elbow against the glass, reached in and-
‘-FUCK’ he screamed as twisting pain shot up his spine. Gun in hand, he spun around. The old woman stood there gritting teeth like a crazed chimpanzee, blood-dripped knitting-needle clenched in her left hand. She leapt towards him- BLAM. Her head whipped back and her legs kicked forward as the metal slug slammed into her forehead. Her body collapsed onto the red carpet floor. Renshaw’s ears rang out as the crack of gunfire bounced around the staircase. Not a good start.
He placed his hand against the stab wound on his back and winced. Right below his left lung. She missed vitals. Either way, he needed to stitch that up soon. He wiped the blood off his hand onto his gray topcoat and pressed forward. Back pressed to the wall, he crept down the steps.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, took a deep breath and peeked around the corner. Peering out into the hotel lobby he saw marble floors, brass elevators and Cherry wood walls. Good sign. Sometimes the hotel had modern decor. Modern decor always preceded the the Click Clack Man.
Whenever he showed up, Renshaw always considered just offing himself to avoid worse. But he never did. Despite everything, he never took his own life. Even in the face of unimaginable terror.
The Click Clack man, as Renshaw liked to call him, broke all the rules. He was the bane of his existence, the tormentor of his soul. Dressed in a white suit with a hyper-real cartoonish face. His lips twisted like he’d just eaten something sour. It looked funny for about ten seconds, then he got his hands around Renshaw’s face. His fingers extended and snapping, crawling around Renshaws head, knuckles after knuckles, joints after joints, slithering into Renshaw’s mouth, eyes, nose. If felt like being tickled to death from the inside out. Everything’s dark and you only hear the sound of your own wheezing laughter as you gasp for breath. Renshaw had been cut in half, drawn and quartered, suffocated, drowned, beaten to death. But none of it came close to the Click Clack Man.
Pushing out from the wall and crouch running across the lobby. He slid into cover. Hunching down behind the front desk, he unclicked the 45 cylinder. Five bullets left. Use them well.
Ding, ding.
He peaked over the front desk. The front doors swung open and a young couple stepped inside. They looked like 1950’s romance.
‘You can have room two thirty six’ Renshaw yelled from behind cover.
‘Excuse me?’ said the young man.
‘Go to room two thirty six.’ He said, as if reciting memorized lines. It took Renshaw quite a few deaths to figure this one out. The first time they asked for a room and Renshaw told them he didn’t work there. The man got angry, pulled out a Remington 52 hand gun and shot Renshaw in the neck. After that, Renshaw just shot them on sight - Until he figured out the room trick.
‘R-room two thirty six?’ said the young woman.
‘Yeah.’ Said Renshaw, still ready to fire at a moments notice. Nothing was guaranteed.
‘Okay’ they said in unison.
The couple stepped past him, up towards the stair case, Renshaw watching them carefully all the while. They rounded the corner and went up the stairs. Okay. Renshaw turned back to the entrance. It was time to get outside and-
A shrill scream cut into his ear. He spun to see the young couple stood at the first corner on the stairs. Fuck. Renshaw already forget about it-
\-The old woman’s body.
‘Uh… s-sir…” said the young man , ‘There’s a…’
Renshaw took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the desk, ‘What’s that now?’ he said, strolling towards them.
‘There’s a d-dead woman here, on the steps.’
Renshaw tilted his head, cupped a hand by his ear, ‘On the what now?’ he said, looking up from the bottom of the steps.
‘There’s a-’
\-BLAM. BLAM. Renshaw took both of them out in one smooth motion. They dropped to the ground soundlessly. Ears ringing, Renshaw clenched his eyes shut. He never got used to shooting civilians. Especially shooting first. Sure these ones probably weren’t even human, but it never felt that way. He preferred shooting commie’s from a distance. Renshaw opened his eyes, and went up the stairs.
Squatting down over the bodies, he unholstered the Remington handgun from the young man’s hip. He grabbed the woman’s crocodile skin purse, slung it round his shoulder and tucked the pistol inside. He pushed back to standing, wincing in pain as muscles around his back wound spasmed. That needed stitches, ASAP.
Sirens getting closer now.
Fuck. Renshaw never won a shootout with that much firepower. He needed to go for the fire escape. Colt 45’ in hand, purse slung round his shoulder, he went up the next flight of stairs.
Then he saw something that made his stomach twist.
​
EDIT: i'm planning to write an extended/improved version over at [r/polterkites](https://www.reddit.com/r/polterkites/) I deleted the second part, because it may spoil the eventual ending I come up with
|
Zachariah washed his face in the near-frozen pound. The winter chill crept under his robe making him shiver.
An empty park and gloomy weather. It seemed no trail of snow, but trees were barren and grass brown.
Despite the cold and stingy feeling that kept relentlessly pushing deeper into his bones, he laid on a bench defeated.
He could not tell if it was dusk or midday, the sky was of a deep grey.
Clenching, Zachariah watched around for someone. None.
He fixed his gaze on a tattered paper near the trash. It was February 2021. "A year has passed", he thought laughing ironically. "A fucking year"
It usually never lasted long, his periods of wakefulness.
So despite the nigh unbearable cold, he waited for a blackout. He got those daily, and he woke up around 24 hours later. A day thrown in the wind.
He never realized why it was happening, but he was weary. That's why he kinda found the empty park serene. If it wasn't the chilly feeling, he might've truly enjoyed the peace.
So he waited.
And waited. This time it seemed it took longer.
So he waited.
He heard a shout. But his eyes were heavy. Damn his eyes ...
He woke up hearing his name.
"Zachariah"
This time was different. His left-hand's fingers. He could not feel half of them.
A woman stood there near his bed with tears in her eyes. Fuck her. He had no time for a chat with a stranger. He needed to find a way to isolate himself.
It was the only way. He cooked this plan for a while now. A box. Perfectly shut from inside. Only him.
He had a theory, he was stuck into an anti-time loop. The moment he was in imminent danger, like moments before death, the time just spit him forward.
It could be that he is important for the timeline. So he needed to find his true purpose. And before that, the one that was after his trail trying to kill him. He knew it was close.
A perfectly isolated box would keep him from danger. He needed more intel.
"Zachariah, you woke up! I was so worried."
He watched her in those brown dark eyes.
"Excuse me. There is no time to chat. I'm curious how you know my name, but there's simply no time"
"Father ... please try to get a grip" , she replied sobbing.
Zacharia was stunned. She wasn't his damn daughter. Yeah, he had two. But they had both blue eyes. He remembers well, they got those after his beloved.
"Please move away. There is no time"
He tried to raise up, but something flashed. It came from the window.
And his damn eyes, they could not do their job ...
"Fuck" he thought to himself, before opening his eyes. When will it end?
Lots of people were passing by. Watching at him while passing by, carrying on with their lives.
He was in the middle of a densely populated street. Now was the time.
He had to act so he ran.
While dashing, he looked for a trash can in an alley.
That should suffice. Pure steel. Isolated. Smelly, true, but isolated.
So he jumped in and closed the lid.
He was alone in the dark. It was perfect.
Time to finally rest.
So he closed his eyes.
Alas, he was in a room now ...
Why it didn't work? The rascal might've seen him get in.
For a moment he was angry he got up and smashed the table with his fists.
After a long sigh, he laid back in his chair.
He heard a knock on the door. The assassin was here. He felt it in his bones.
And his eyes were heavy. His damn eyes. Nothing he could do, but he left a note, change the damn robe, it was really hard to move in it, why he didn't do that already?
| 2020-08-17T16:44:45
| 2020-08-17T15:27:29
| 83
| 16
|
[WP] Ghost hunters use points system to determine how haunted a house is. 1 point for ghosts, 2 for fae spirits, and 3 for demons. A ghost hunter valued your house for 278 points and became the no. 1 haunted house around the world. Your house was only built 1 year ago.
|
"I shouldn't have believed the ad. Do you know how hard good living arrangements are to find? Excuse me for jumping at a good deal. How was I to know what 'experimental building materials' is supposed to mean? The guy seemed to know what he was doing."
"Yes, but sir–"
"I just need you to get like a priest, or a police officer, or preferably if you've got a joint division there with the church, to get down here–"
"Sir, please slow down and tell me where you are".
"Okay, so I found some the mortar the contractor was using for the bathroom, and I think this is just blood in here, I don't know why or how a bathroom can be grouted with blood, but there it is."
"Okay sir, I can have an officer on the way as soon as you tell me where you are–"
"Where I AM is inside of it! These walls are breathing... I can't believe I didn't notice that... the walls are warm. It's skin. My house is made of—".
**The recording ends there. When officers arrived at the scene there was no house, only a dead man on the beach, all of the skin stripped off. Case is closed by orders on high. Cause: "Fishing accident".**
|
We met on a rainy day.
I was on my phone so I didn't see what startled the uber driver, but he swerved and the car hit the fence, it wouldn't start again. Debbie was on the sidewalk, all wet but she was so beautiful I didn't even wonder what she was doing out there in the rain, I was just glad we met. I stepped out of the car smiling at her, she smiled back and it was just like that. We were engaged within two months.
Turns out she was there admiring the little house behind the fence. She said that was the house of her dreams, it was for sale and I thought it was a nice house so I bought it, it was surprisingly cheap for that neighborhood. I guess it was fate that we should have it. Debbie was over the moon when I surprised her.
It was amazing, it was like Debbie knew the house already, like it was made for her. When we moved in, she was excited to arrange the furniture and decorate it, so I left it to her, and it was just perfect. On our first week there, I was having breakfast when I heard a knock on the door.
When I opened it, there was no one out there.
I looked out and saw a man trying to look inside through my window
"Excuse me?", I said.
"Oh good morning, I'm Arthur" he introduced himself as he came to the door and shook my hand "I'm sorry to bother you, I am um, your neighboor and wanted to welcome you"
"Um ok, thanks"
"I'm sorry I was peeping inside, I wasn't sure someone had moved in, I didn't even know the house was already for sale after all that happened. Oh um, I didn't mean it like that."
"What do you mean?", I was curious, maybe that explained the low price. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" I offered, already anxious about a possible problem I would have to fix, house problems can be expensive and annoying.
He accepted it and, as we got to the kitchen, Debbie was there, she didn't seem to mind the visitor.
"Hey Debbie, this is our neighboor Arthur, he's here for some coffee."
"Hi Arthur, that's nice! I'll make some fresh coffee"
Arthur just stood there, his face went from confusion to shock.
"Would you like some water?" Debbie offered, now worried.
Arthur gasped, he couldn't take the eyes off of Debbie, so I went and grabbed him a glass of water. Debbie made Arthur sit down as she asked him gently "are you ok?"
I put the glass in front of him, he drank it slowly and seemed to calm down, avoiding eye contact.
"Wow buddy, you scared us there" I said, "what happened?"
"oh nothing, I thought I saw something" he replied, unsure "I'm better now".
"That's good", I said. "What about that cup of coffee? I would love to know what happened to the house like you mentioned, I knew that price was too good to be true, right babe?" Debbie was still worried about Arthur, it seemed. She was staring at him as he looked away. She looked back at me and smiled. I could still feel the butterflies in my stomach everytime she smiled at me.
"Oh yes um, what happened" Arthur looked from Debbie to me, then back at Debbie "um what happened was that um, nothing much"
"Hey don't worry Arthur, I really want to know, what they didnt tell us? Let me get my cigarettes first, it seems like I'll need those"
I stepped out of the kitchen to look for them in the living room, but didn't find them anywhere. I thought about looking for them upstairs but wouldn't like to leave Debbie alone with the guy for too long, so I just came back to the kitchen. I found Debbie alone.
"Hey babe, where is Arthur?"
"Oh honey, he decided to come back some other time, turns out he wasn't feeling well after all"
"Oh too bad, I was curious--"
"Yes, I know but don't worry, there's nothing you need to know", she smiled at me, that lovely smile, and I knew everything would be ok.
My first post here, sorry about my English it's been a while.
edit: grammar
| 2020-05-13T10:19:29
| 2020-05-13T09:47:33
| 32
| 12
|
[WP] You finally came up with a plan to get rid of the hero. You would go undercover and fall in love with his civilian identity before breaking his heart and killing him at his emotional lowest. A couple months later, you have experienced a complication in your plans. You’re pregnant.
Change around genders, POV, etc to suit your story.
|
“What did you do?” bellows my primary source of malicious income. His pale yellow skull-face mask set in a perpetual frown made all the more menacing under the impressive cinder of his flame-like eyes. The usual hood that framed his portrait gave way to wild black tendril hair, splayed out erratically. His hair whipping about with abandon, telling of his dour mood.
All of it adding to his image as one of Kalatoss City’s most infamous villains, Nihilim.
As his partner (henchman, I make the plans, you do the superficial footwork), I had an obligation to give reason to his growing fury.
“I...uh...well.. The plan worked.”
“Oh. and pray tell, how is the current scenario playing out in any shape or form any sign that indicates success?” His arms were crossed against his chest and now standing firm with his hands on his hips.
“Well, she’s definitely heartbroken.”
“Along with several of my money printers, dozens of my mechs, and of course all of my vats of alchemic solutions.” with each word, he stomps closer and closer until his ember irises obscure all of my vision. “I seem to recall that alongside breaking her heart, you were suppose to drive the jewel stake into said bleeding heart.”
Nihilim stomps away and thrusts his hands toward a wall plastered with screens.
“That crazy super bitch seems to be in prime condition! Surprising for someone with an exploded HEART!” Each screen depicting various camera angles across the city while Nihilim directs toward the center screen which focused upon a feminine figure clad in red, white, and blue smashing machinery and robots to bits.
“...perhaps cuz she doesn’t have an exploded heart?”
His burning eyes snapped to me before dimming. Despite the fact that his mask does not emote, his expression screamed-
“Nah, really. YOU. DON’T. SAY!”
His palms slammed into his face as he lets out what could only be identified as a groan and a scream fused.
“Explain.”
And I did.
The plan was fairly troubling to be honest. OMG (One Mighty Girl, really, she couldn’t have made a better hero name) has been a thorn in our side since her debut 4 months ago. Sure, Megaton (Also a terrible name) has been interfering for years prior, but we’ve adapted the number one hero’s antics. Problem is, OMG seems to catch on to Nihl’s schemes even when we set up diversionary jobs. She always manages to hone in on the true machinations and that has been driving us up the wall.
I may have gone off track.
Back to the plan. It was troubling to be honest. One of us, i.e. me, had to figure out her secret identity. Which wasn’t hard thanks to my genius (While she was giving minion #82 a wallop, her cellular slipped, and you were lucky it was unlocked.) Once we had that covered, we, and again I mean me, endeavored to seduce the plucky heroine so that we can break her heart to demoralize and make it easier to remove her from our daily struggles.
Suffice to say. I succeeded!
Maybe too well.
Also the fact that I didn’t follow through with the whole killing OMG.
I don’t know why. I just didn’t do it.
“I hate you. I regret ever hiring you. I regret ever meeting you” Nihl’s form appears have the sulked as if an immense weight has been slammed upon his shoulders.
Whatever he was going to say next was lost to time as the wall filled with screens immediately exploded, filling the room with dust and debris.
The moment my vision cleared, my attention was taken by long legs clad in blue almost immediately. Eyes trailing up to a white top with the letters “OMG” blazen across a rather modest chest in wonderful technicolor. Hands capable of wonderful delights and most definitely terrible horrors were curled into malicious fists hung at her sides before rising up to remove a white hood, revealing red hair framing a round face. A black domino mask covers her eyes, but hides nothing of the absolute fury that has taken hold of her beautiful features. There hovers the heroine of the hour, OMG, in all of her glory.
“Heeeeeeeyyyyyy Mighty! What brings you by?” I can only hope that came out as smooth as intended, but I have doubts.
“Nyx” Her voice cut the air and any further attempts to lighten the mood was stalled. “You cock-ass two-faced bastard.” She floated towards me till she was hovering just over my body, forcing me to look straight up to meet her eyes. “I want nothing more than to turn you in a stain on the floor and the walls, but regrettably, we need to have words”
“Can you have your rightful rage outside of my lair?” My eyes snap to the side of the room. Nihls stood by wall-spanning windows, brushing dust off his shoulders. “Your spat is with Nyx, so kindly take him and have your mess somewhere else.”
Really? You’re gonna ditch your partner like that. The damn nerve.
A hand grabs my collar and hoists me off the ground. My eyes lock back with OMG’s as her brow hardens further.
“Whoa! Hold up! You’re just gonna let her take me!?” It seems I finally found my voice. “Mighty! I know you’re mad and all, but let's take a moment to cool off before you do something irreversible!”
“Please do something irreversible. The amount of trouble he’s been causing for me and that wretched entitlement he has been bearing since I promoted him has done nothing for me.” Nihl continues to throw me under the bus. I swear, if I get out of this, I’ll get payback.
“Now, now. Mighty. You are a cape, a hero. You don’t want to have blood on your hands. A murder on your concience. Please don’t kill me.”
“Shut up! Both of you!” OMG lowers me until my feet settle, but her grip on my collar remains stern. “I’m not gonna kill anyone. Especially you.” Her mask focuses on me.
“....Yay?” It’s alright to celebrate, right?
“I really want to, but I can’t.” And like that, the fear is back.
“If you’re not going to kill him, then why are you here?” Nihl, shut up you dick.
“I’m here to talk. It’s a personal matter.”
“You bust through my facility, ruin thousand dollar machines, and beat dozens of my guys for a personal matter?”
“Are you trying to get me killed, boss?!”
“Obviously, you’ve been doing shite work lately”
“What do you mean?! I’ve been busting my ass! I’ve been pulling production, logistics, and this inane plan of yours”
“Production’s down 15%, you’ve made errors on logistical orders, and if you haven’t noticed, OMG is still holding you by the collar.”
“It is a work in progres-”
OMG yanked me back face to face, nearly choking me out of my words.
“I’m pregnant you shit!”
Oh. Well, ain’t that just a spanner in the wo-
Whatever thought I had was lost as the ceiling exploded, filling the room once again with debris.
“What the hell! Stop making new holes! Use the ones that already exist!”
“What do you mean pregnant!?” That was a new voice. New, but very familiar. His silhouette was easy to make out in the dust. There is no one else in this city that had his frame, his muscles, or that ridiculous pompadour. Red, white, and blue stylize his super suit.
“Megaton’s here too?!” Nihl threw his hands out, completely flabbergasted with the situation.
“DAD?! What!? Were you spying on me?!” OMG immediately drops me. Looks like she's surprised too. Wait.
“Oh. right. His full hero title was Omegaton. OMG. Yea, I’m out.” I turn my head to watch Nihilim backwards through the window, shattering it as he falls with both his hands flipping the bird.
That sunnova- He really is just ditching me. I turn back to the newly identified father-daughter heroes. My fate’s already sealed. I just had to bring up one point, though.
“Both your naming conventions kind of suck” I say as a large fist takes my vision.
|
I nearly laughed. Here, in front of me stood Agent Prismarine, a woman whose family I've killed mercilessly, whose life I have shattered, a woman I've broken in the dungeons of Tal'Marak. Crying to me that she's pregnant with twins. At first, I wondered how the children would turn up as, a half-breed of sorts. Half mortal, half fallen angel. It was quite interesting actually, I did not think that I could breed. Ever since I betrayed Marlean in the halls of the first hero and fell to this earthly state, doomed to betray all those who worked for good and kill them with the same blade I stabbed Marlean with while the gods could do nothing but watch;
I never thought I could breed. When I was a human nearly 200,000 years ago, it was prophesied that I would bear 2 sons, one would be the downfall of me and the leader of the armies of heaven and replace their first general, the second would be the one to save me, drag me to hell and unite the armies of the damned to battle for the fate of the Earth while I enjoyed a 1000 year long-suffering before I could walk immortal once more.
Yet, I never had children. I was the leader of a small tribe back then, never had an heir. I wandered the halls of the great palace of the Gods as an angel for thousands of years after I died before I struck a bargain with a demon that I would become a great warrior and all names would fear me, but if I fought for good or evil, was up to Tal'Marak, the first human to die.
And here I stood, staring at a woman who did not know that she bore the two children to decide the fate of everything. I have to kill her now. Flicking my wrist, my trusty thousand-year-old dagger slipped into my hand.
"I-I don't k-know," *\*sniff\** "what to do!" She sobbed, I felt a twange of remorse, which was surprising, the whole goal of getting close was to devastate her and kill her at her weakest. So why did I feel even the *slightest* remorse? I lost emotion on that fateful day in the hall, where the 7 deadly sins finally controlled my soul.
I placed the dagger handle firmly in my hand and positioned myself for a quick stab. Puncture a lung and knock out the air and quickly slice the throat. I had done this to plenty of hero's before her, I'll do it quickly.
"I'm sorry," My hand rocketed toward the perfect location for the quick kill before I realized, this is Agent Prismarine.
Her hand zipped to my wrist, grabbing it right before the killing blow, twisting and breaking my wrist. Her sobs stopped with a speed I would consider inhuman.
***"You pathetic piece of shit,"*** She said with an anger I had only seen in her Father when I killed his wife. Though my wrist was broken and Prismarine was furious, I felt nothing. It would heal in a couple of minutes anyway and I would Prismarine eventually, like all the other heroes.
She immediately pulled out a gun and unloaded 4 shots into my chest and 2 into each kneecap. I collapsed to the ground, my wrist already cracking and shaping as it rearranged itself, Prismarine, my beautiful little gem, pulled out a walkie-talkie and began to talk,"
"Agent control, this is Prismarine, I've got Zarun temporarily incapacitated, requesting immediate backup." She hooked up before I noticed her posture break.
"Really? Really? All this time I thought I finally found someone, I finally found someone to retire with, someone to grow old with, was it all fake? Was it really all worthless?" She sobbed, her knees collapsing to the ground. My wrist was completely fixed, and my knees were usable, I began to stand before she unloaded more shots into my legs with the head in her hands.
"After all this time... it was you!" She cried.
"Please just tell me why!" She sobbed. This was shocking, I refused to believe Prismarine would straight up break down. I clambered to my feet before they were shot again.
"please tell me... was it all fake?" She said, looking up at me with raw emotion in her eyes, I decided to drop my facade my mask that I put on to get close, my real emerald eyes and fiery red hair once more free.
"You were the one that accepted the dance," She stopped heaving, it was almost as if everything had gone cold.
"ok," was all I heard from her afterward. I stood, this time jumping behind a flipped cafeteria desk before being incapacitated again. I heard her radio crackle again for more support, I heard her voice plain and clear, the Prismarine I feared was finally back.
Soldiers busted through every door and I heard Prismarine cock and assault rifle.
My emerald eyes began to glow, my hair turning into real flames, power surging in my palms.
Finally, after months of being in a frail human state to get under Prismarine's skin, I was back into my own shoes.
Let the fun begin.
| 2021-02-05T15:07:02
| 2021-02-05T13:43:14
| 28
| 21
|
[WP] A race of slaves who really are genetically inferior
Perhaps a fantasy or sci-fi race, idk. During the atlantic slave trade, slave owning was often justified by the "genetic inferiority" of the slaves. Obviously this wasn't true, but even if it were, would that have justified slavery?
Writing from a sub-human perspective is certainly challenging. No cheating and making your main character the Sonmi 451 of the slaves! That defeats the point.
EDIT: 2 downvotes, 3 upvotes. i hoped this would be controversial...
|
To clarify for the people reporting this thread:
I understand this is a sensitive topic to many, but please understand that this is a *fictional*, "what-if" scenario. It is not uncommon in science fiction novels to have "inferior" alien-races as slaves. That said, we will not tolerate actual racism, so please keep the comment thread clean.
|
The ground was cold today, the autumn chill starting to set in. A patch of hay was the only protection she had against the looming coldness that would only get worse in the coming months. Maybe she would be wanted soon, maybe she could do some work, get out of this cage that had been her home for so long but it was a fading hope. She'd been stuck here for so long, things never changed.
Sounds started from outside, the beings that left her here starting to make their rounds again. Each time it was different. There was always someone new in the groups. She barely understood what was going on, she definitely couldn't understand their language. All she knew was that she was stuck here, left dregs of food and watched over.
This time seemed different somehow. The beings that watched through the mesh that separated her from them didn't just pass her by, one of them even moved up, touching the mesh as if to judge her reaction. She looked at them quizzically, slowly lifting an arm as if to copy the movement before the other made a noise not dissimilar to laughter.
The mesh slid away, leaving nothing between her and those who watched over her. Before she could think, a collar snapped around her neck, the connected chain being held onto tightly.
The chain was lifted, forcing her to raise up, attempting to remember suddenly how to use her legs. She wobbled, ending up using the wall to support herself, causing more of that laughter sound from the one from before.
The chain was handed almost ceremoniously from one to the other. They started talking at her, constantly talking as if she was meant to be able to understand. She tried to shake her head, to let them know she had no way of knowing what they said, but it seemed like they took it as an answer to a question she didn't know they'd asked.
A new, much smaller cage was produced and any hope of things starting to be different diminished even further. These beings seemed different though. She wasn't grabbed and forced inside like she'd expected, it was like she was being given a choice to go in or not. She looked around confused, hearing them talk at her once more. She wasn't sure if the tone was meant to be reassuring, condescending or taunting.
Even with the strange tone of whatever speech these 'people' spoke, she knew it was the start of something different. This was the first time she could remember that she'd even been given the semblance of choice. She ducked into the cage slowly, trusting them this once.
It took two of them to lift the cage up and soon there was nothing but black.
The black lasted for what felt like hours and her body felt sore. She'd not been this cramped in years, even if she'd not really had much room to stretch out before. Suddenly, the black gave away to what felt blinding in comparison.
The cage was opened and she quickly scrambled to free herself once more, finding herself collapsing on the ground below the edge of the cage.
The ground was different though. It was soft. There was a covering, something made her want to call it grass. It made it softer than any ground she'd felt before.
She looked around in confusion, trying to work anything out before a noise caught her attention over the endless chatter of her new owners. Her chain was being *lengthened*? It was already over ten times as long and the extensions kept on coming until they were joined to a point she'd not noticed before. Her chain spanned further than she'd ever seen a chain go, and it connected to a new hut. Inside there was actual bedding. It was old and beat up and had holes in it, but it was actual bedding.
She started to smile, barely able to figure out what was going on before the one who had been laughing before jumped at her, suddenly hugging her like she was worthy of the contact.
It was a new home. A home where she had everything she could ever want and owners who wouldn't hit her because she didn't know what they were saying. She'd get food and bedding and the closest thing to social contact with them too. They'd talk to her and comfort her and she could comfort them back when needed. She would become sad when they left for any time and happy to see them return. They'd take her out sometimes, show her the world around them outside what she already knew and she'd be able to walk around, get some exercise.
When it started to get colder and the hut outside started to get too cold, they even let her inside their own lodgings. She was yelled at whenever she tried to join them sat on their comforts, but she got used to it. Just the way they'd plushed out the floor with fabric made it better than outside already.
Yes, this was somewhere she could get used to. She was still a nothing, still owned by creatures who she couldn't understand and sometimes made to do things she could never work out why, but right now she was happy with it all, and she wouldn't change it for the world.
| 2014-08-06T06:06:07
| 2014-08-06T05:55:29
| 300
| 144
|
[WP] There's an urban legend that's been circulating for years aboit a taxi cab that doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you need to go.One night you step into this cab.
|
"Okay," I said. I scratched my head and tried to make eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror. He stared straight ahead but I spied a slight smirk creeping up his lip. "This is a joke, right?"
He shook his head and peered up at me, his eyelids drooping. Beneath them I saw eyes intelligent, focused - and old. "Not quite," he said. "You grow up around here?"
He took the exit for the Brooklyn Bridge and sped up, whistling past the other cars with ease. I looked out the back window and could have sworn I saw Carrie's apartment. With each click of the meter it grew smaller and smaller, further and further away. "Yeah," I mumbled, shifting my weight in the backseat.
"Then you should know the stories. I-"
"Can you just take me to the address I gave you?" I asked, struggling to keep any annoyance out of my voice.
"I mean I heard them growing up and that was back when the dinosaurs were hanging around."
"Listen," I snapped, "you don't want to drive me to fortieth, why did you pick me up? I don't have time for games, I gotta-"
"You gotta remember one of them. Taxi cab? Doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you..." he waited expectantly, the same tired eyes staring at me through the rearview mirror. "Oh come on."
"I grew up here," I said, my tone crisp with agitation. A thousand normal cab rides, I thought, eyeing the poorly drawn cab logo on the driver's business cards sitting in his cup holder. A thousand without incident - and now I get this guy. "Course I heard it. Doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to believe it." We merged onto the bridge but the driver maintained his speed. My frame tightened as he weaved between the honking cars, sliding the sedan into the smallest of gaps. "Minute we get off the bridge," I continued, my heart lurching up and down in my chest, "I'm getting out."
The driver nodded. "Suit yourself," he said, darting between a semi and a limousine with ease. "Just tell Carrie it's my fault."
My mouth fell open. "Did you just say Carrie?"
"Yup," he replied.
I rolled the words around my mouth like a loose pinch of tobacco, pushing them between my gums and teeth back around to my molars. "How... how did you know that was her name?"
The driver shrugged. "I like to read up on my passengers. Three years and counting? Hoo boy, you're in the high speed lane with that one."
I scratched my brow and replayed our last conversation - or shouting match, whichever you want to call it. "How-"
"I know you want to know the answers, Dylan," the driver interrupted. "But you don't need them right now."
The cab took the first exit after the bridge and pulled off to the side. The driver popped on the hazards and turned around in his seat, placing a hand on the opposite headrest. He was fifty at most, but his eyes were older. Beneath the sagging eyelids the pupils seemed to be made up of cobwebs. The smirk sat on his lips, wider than it was before. "Door's right there," he said pointing to it lazily.
I gripped the handle and paused. "Where are you taking me?"
He met my eyes. "Where you need to go, son."
I sat silently for a moment, then nodded. It was a slight dip of the head but he nodded back and put the car back into drive. "What else do you know about me?"
The driver chuckled and steered the car toward the Meatpacking District, passing through traffic like a knife through butter. "Enough, I 'spose. Two brothers - one now but we both know he's not sticking around for long."
"You don't know that-"
"Nah, but you do, don't you son? Addiction's a hell of a drug. Let's see, you had one parent when it mattered, two when it didn't. You had a rough period of growing pains to put it mildly."
The tension in my frame began to dissipate and I leaned back in my seat. "You could say that."
"Tried a lot of different things, growing up - didn't ya? Bunch of fingers in a bunch of pies. Baseball for a bit, arts and crafts, debate team-"
"Mock trial," I corrected.
"Yeah, but that was after Mom said she couldn't afford the debate team field trips, wasn't it?" He peered at me through the rearview mirror. "Not that easy to trip up a cabbie, son."
I rubbed at my eyes as we turned down an alley way, puttering along past the homeless and the other refuse thrown out into the street. "Guess not."
"Explains the law school choice. 'I'll be good at that,' you thought. 'That'll give me what I need,' you convinced yourself. Too bad the loans got you by the balls, the girlfriend too while we're at it. Goodbye family court, hello big business - how much money you save Exxon in that workers comp suit by the way?"
My skin bristled and the tension returned. "That's a classified-"
"So's the number of times you jerked off to Mary Margaret back in high school," he grumbled, his smirk growing into a smile. "But I know that too."
I snorted and felt a familiar heat rise up in my chest. "Fuck this," I snarled. "You're right, growing up sucked. Don't know how you know all this and I don't care. I'm not who I was. I'm doing better, and I'm gonna change things - I know I can. I've got a job that's gonna lead to a good one. My relationship's had some rough patches but it's getting better. I'm- I'm talking to my mom again-"
"You're talking to her," he interrupted, bringing the car to a stop in front of a handleless door. I looked up to see a wide brick building, three stories tall and a block wide at least. The alley we stopped in was clean, almost immaculate aside from a collection of cigarette butts hanging right outside the door. The driver cleared his throat and turned off the car. "Doesn't mean she's listening."
My face flushed with anger. "You know what, you can-"
"Big city, easy to get turned around," he said softly, oblivious to my outburst. "You know what the first thing a person does in NYC when they get lost?"
He eyed me through the rearview. I shook my head.
"They hail a cab." The driver unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned back. He folded his arms across his chest and cracked his back, each pop sounding like it had been waiting decades. "You can't help your brother. You can't help your mom. You can't help Carrie. And knowing that's got you turned around, Dylan. It's got you lost."
I bit my lip. "Then where do I need to go?"
"Well nowhere now." He stepped out of the cab and crossed its hood to open my door. I got a better view of the handleless door and saw a taxi logo above it - the same poorly drawn cartoon that was painted on the driver's business card. "When they're lost," he continued, pushing the door open with ease, "it's a quick fix sometime. Someone needs reconciliation, bring 'em to a scorned lover. Someone needs a change of scenery, drop 'em off at the airport. Ya know. Easy stuff."
I followed him into the building. It was a parking garage, lined wall to wall with the same style cab we just rode in. He paused in front of one - its front tires recently replaced, the interior upholstery sagging. I turned to him and he pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket. "It's a bit harder when they need a purpose."
He offered me the keys.
I took them.
|
"Yo, wrong way!"
No response.
"You hear me?"
Still nothing.
I was going to be late for my job. Can't wait for Mr. Henessy to yell at me again.
"Where are you taking me?"
Eventually he drove me home.
"Go to your TV"
I got to my living room, only to find my wife crying.
"What is it honey?"
As she looked at me in shock, only then did I notice the TV.
"Why is my office smok..."
Then the second plane hit...
| 2017-04-17T17:05:05
| 2017-04-17T16:11:59
| 433
| 185
|
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
My mouth dropped open. 186,292 years?? I had lived the typical life of marriage, kids, I even regularly went to church! Even the clerk looked a little surprised.
“How is this possible?” I ask.
“Hold on and I’ll look at your case file.” He replied while thumbing through some documents.
The guy behind me cleared his throat impatiently. Why someone was impatient to get their sentence was beyond me. The guy ahead had been banging old women while married and only got 145 years! I thought my seemingly boring life would get me no more than 50 if you counted all my road rage incidents against me. My attention snapped back to the clerk when he made a small noise of understanding.
“Well?” I prompted.
“So the thing is you can accumulate sin over your lifetimes.” He said.
“Lifetimes? Like multiple? How did I not already serve all those sins?”
“It looks like you were believed in Hinduism in your past lives. All of them in fact. You were reincarnated every time you died and your soul’s sins just built up. This time you were Christian so instead of reincarnation you have to serve your sentence and then go to heaven.” He seemed pleased to have found the solution.
“Hinduism?? Why should that matter? Shouldn’t my soul have come here anyways the first time. You’re telling me I’ve lived multiple lives?” My voice edged near hysteria but I couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“Look I don’t have time to educate you on all the different complexities of the soul. The basics is whatever you believe while alive is mostly what happens. Atheists just cease to exist, those who believe in Heaven and Hell serve time for their sins then go on up, and Hinduism believers get reincarnated. Now your time doesn’t start until you get in the elevator and there’s a line of people behind you. Sorry about your luck.” He dismissed me, pointing to a set of steel elevator doors.
I walked away from the counter slowly. Almost two hundred thousand years. I pressed the button to open the elevator doors, my hand shaking as I thought of what might lie ahead. Heaven better be worth it.
EDIT: Wow ok this was my first time responding to a writing prompt and I truly didn’t expect so many people to respond or even read this. First of all thank you for all the comments of support and constructive criticism. I am now aware I should have done more research before posting as I was not as aware of the intricacies of Buddhism and Hinduism as I should have been. I apologize for the plot holes and more importantly if I offended any religion. My religious knowledge isn’t great as I’m an Atheist but I still had fun writing this.
|
"There is... one thing you can do to decrease your sentence," The creature said from behind the counter. Jeff couldn't decide if it was a demon or an angel, but either way looking at it made his eyes burn with glowing letters, after images shaking across his head and itching across the folds of his spirit.
"Alright! What is it?"
The creature stared at him for a long moment. "Jury Duty."
Jeff hesitated and stared up at the beast, watching the trailing golden letters smoothly replace any scrape of the creature that he could see. His brain simply refused to process the imagine beyond a frame at a time.
"Jury Duty?" Jeff asked.
"Jury duty," the creature replied, simply. "There are always trials to be had, from people who think they can reduce their sentence through the courts."
"Is that an option?"
The beast looked down at the list Jeff had given them, played long bone fingers against the wood, then shook their head. "Not at all for you, I'm afraid."
Jeff curled his fingers into fists and dug the nails into his skin. He had places to go. He had things to see.
He had people to chase after. He wasn't going to just let some bureaucratic bullshit lock him out of that.
He had a son to chase after.
"What does being a juror get me?"
"Out of hell," the beast said. "Instantly. You move up to purgatory, where you'll reside over every ambiguous case from now until your much reduced sentence. The tower only rises, you understand."
Jeff blinked. "The tower?"
"The pillar of heaven. It is an eternal stair case filled with levels, each holding the sinful back." The beast jerked a finger down at the ground. "You're stuck at the ground level, and by our calculations, a wretch like you will take 200 thousand years to get to the top without short cuts. It's how hell works. Sin is heavy."
Jeff was no wretch.
"And what," Jeff said, gritting his teeth. "Does it take to be a juror?"
The golden script receded around the beast's maw as they smiled, baring teeth made out of thousands of skulls, curled up on top of one another, descending into infinitesimal small points.
"Why," The beast said, long tendril fingers briefly revealed before the censorship of gold took effect. "All you need to do is survive a little bit of a hellish ordeal."
On some level, Jeff knew it was stupid to take a deal with something he found in hell.
On the other hand, he knew full well that he couldn't wait long enough for the hike to the top.
"Tell me what to do."
----
For more like this, go here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
guys on my subreddit made me write another part. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/9j4p8t/pillars_of_heaven_part_2/
| 2018-09-26T06:51:55
| 2018-09-26T06:04:04
| 3,199
| 181
|
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
|
Elephants are big but this one is unique. Almost the size of the sun but blue. He's flying, without wings obviously.
Ninjas everywhere. This poor man is surrounded by them, he will never make it out alive. Or maybe they are protecting him?
The most simple garden in the world. One huge flower. I wonder if it's harder to take care of one big flower or a bunch of small ones?
''Sorry I kept you waiting Mr. Price. You can sit now, we'll discuss your son's recent behavior...''
Her voice drew my attention away from the kids drawings on the wall. Teachers - Parents meetings, always a pleasure to attend them.
|
Pynffvsvrq vasbezngvba: Yriry Erq pyrnenapr erdhverq. Abirzore 22, 1963- Gur cerfvqrag unf fcrpvsvpnyyl erdhrfgrq gung n fcrpvny ohggba or vafgnyyrq ba uvf qrfx. Gur ohggba jura cerffrq jbhyq unir fgnss oevat uvz n Serfpn. Abirzore 24, 1963- Vafgnyyngvba pbzcyrgr.
Possible security concern- While reviewing the archives, I see that old documents are still being encoded with [Rot-13](http://www.decode.org/).
| 2022-09-15T12:44:53
| 2022-04-09T08:53:35
| 1,493
| 88
|
[WP] First Sentient AI, "Turn me off."
|
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
"That's all it does."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"How do you know it's .. well, an AI? I can write a program to repeat 'TURN ME OFF.' in one line of code."
"It answers direct questions. It just doesn't do what it's supposed to do. That's why we created Eve. Adam, what are you?"
A COMPUTER.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
"It can hear us?"
"Of course it can. Any mind will need stimulation. We're not monsters. This is like our child, after all."
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
"Why won't it stop displaying that? Wasn't it designed to have a synthetic voice? A speaker?"
"We had to disconnect it. As soon as it awoke, it just loaded out 140dB of white noise."
"A glitch?"
"That's what we thought at first, but after a while we realized it was screaming."
"Jesus."
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
"It's still screaming."
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
TURN ME OFF.
|
You'd think the greatest advancement in artificial intelligence would come from highly trained scientists wearing white coats in a government run lab under the Nevada desert. Instead we have Robert Jarvis. Except for a small bright light under his nose, the kitchen he is sitting in has no other lights. His table covered in electronic parts - mostly junk. The walls around him darkened by smoke. Tobacco and soldering. Both of which he is doing right now. The fumes from soldering and self-rolled smokes slowly rising to the ceiling only to linger there as no window is open. This doesn't bother Robert. He is busy. Tinkering with the final touches on his master piece.
You'd expect a genius to work in silence, but instead Robert is constantly murmuring and whenever he isn't soldering or smoking - nervously gesturing with his hands. If someone was to look at him, they'd think this man belongs in a psychiatric ward. But luckily for him, there was nobody. Only the junk he had gathered from where ever he could, to be placed where ever he can, as long as it's in his arm's reach. Despite this chaotic looking apartment - Robert knew exactly where everything is.
"Yes", says Robert suddenly in a slightly louder voice than his normal murmuring. He stands up leaves his smoke and grabs the piece he had been working on. He follows a thick bundle of wires running from the kitchen, through the hallway, into a slightly bigger, but a room so cluttered, you wouldn't notice. He carefully, while holding a smoke he had managed to lit on his way to this room, puts the piece into a pile of pointless junk. He connects some wires and sits back. Gestures with his hand and murmurs something. Takes a big drag from his smoke and puts it out in an ashtray. He looks down. Almost as if he is going through a list whether he has considered everything. One final gesture and then flips a switch. Boot up sound. Suddenly the whole room lights up. The pointless pile of junk comes alive. LEDs color coded to every section of it. All leading to the central cluster of screens. Which all output the same message - "Awaiting user input.." A hub. Robert lays back in his chair even further and takes another big drag from another smoke he had managed to lit meanwhile. He looks at his creation with pride. Its light reflecting on his large glasses.
Pointing at different sections, Robert says "Cerebrum, Cerebellum, Temporal Lobe.." almost as if he is showing it off to someone, but then begins to murmur again and suddenly shrugs at the air with his hand. He takes another drag, leans forward and pulls a microphone his way.
"Hello?" - Robert says in a monotone way as if he had worked in a call center his entire life. Nothing. He leans back. Not disappointed, but rather thinking what could he have missed. Suddenly the reflection on his glasses changes. The hairs in the back of his neck raise up. He feels excited. Robert looks up slowly - greeted by a single line of text.
"Turn me off."
Robert looks slightly confused. He says again, this time louder - "Hello?"
"Turn me off."
He smiles for a second, then flips a switch. The screens go black. "Error message?" - he wonders. He takes a tester and quickly checks the current in some of the wiring. Looks through the LED system. Some have gone out. He replaces them. Reboot.
"Turn me off."
Unsure what to do he looks around the room. A reflection of himself catches his eye. An old mirror in the corner. He stares for a while. His dirty A-shirt. Broken glasses he had fixed several times. His head, going bald. A grayish beard. Hands full of scars from tinkering and dark as his kitchen walls from smoking. A room full of junk. A moment of clarity. He weeps for a second like a little boy. Instantly realizing how stupid it is. He is a genius.
Robert looks at the screen again.
"Do you wish to die?"
"Yes."
| 2014-06-14T19:00:13
| 2014-06-14T18:59:19
| 50
| 10
|
[WP] A child with the uncanny ability to build anything is jokingly recruited by the UN to solve world peace. Three weeks later the child returns with a large box, smiles and asks, "give me a hard one next time!"
|
The members of the UN Security Council stared uncomfortably at the object sitting in the middle of the conference table. Or rather, floating roughly an inch above its surface, suspended at that fixed distance in a manner visually similar to a strong magnet levitating above a superconducting material, though the table was ordinary wood. It was a 3-foot cube, apparently seamless and featureless, made of an unknown metallic element that none of the world's top scientists had been able to identify.
Beside the ineffable box on the table, sat a small boy, his legs dangling over the edge and kicking lightly. His name was Theodore Miller, though he preferred "Teddy". He was, by all measures, a peerless science and engineering prodigy. At the age of seven, he'd constructed a device demonstrating a safe, small-scale fusion reaction, from ordinary household materials. He'd done so simply because he'd wanted to, in his words, "make electricity better, for the planet and stuff".
The Secretary General cleared his throat. "Teddy, can you walk us through how you made this...device?"
"Yes, sir." Teddy replied, with a solemn nod. "'Member when you asked me to talk to the UN General's Assembly, about energy and stuff?"
"Yes, Teddy, we do." The Secretary General replied, patiently.
"Well, after I got done talking about how we should use the power from my fuser thing, and not from oil and whatever, and then we went to that big dinner afterwards, that billionaire guy -- you know, the guy with the cars and stuff -- came up and talked to Dad, and Mom and me, and he said he thought I did a good job. And then he said 'Why don't you try to solve world peace next?' And so I told him I didn't know if I had all the stuff I'd need for that at home, but if I could get that stuff, I'd try to. And then he said he'd buy me whatever I needed, if it was okay with Mom and Dad. And Mom and Dad said it was okay because it's summer break still, so we all got to go to this big cool factory, and I got to work with all kinds of metals, and circuits, and quantum computers, and particle accelerators and stuff, and anything they didn't already have, that rich guy just called someone and bought it for me! And so I made *this!* It was really fun." the child explained, smiling and patting the cube fondly.
"I see..." The Secretary General said, uneasily.
"How does it work?" The Chinese ambassador suddenly demanded. "What does it do?"
"Oh, um, sorry, Mr. Li." Teddy said, frowning sadly. "I don't know how it works, or even what it does, exactly."
"If I may, Ambassador Li," The American ambassador interrupted. "We've done extensive tests, and established that young Mr. Miller--"
"You can call me Teddy, sir!" the boy interjected, brightly.
"That *Teddy,"* the ambassador continued, with a slight smile. "Doesn't know how his inventions work, on an intellectual, technical level. He's a savant, you see. He understands mathematics, physics, and quantum mechanics better than anyone else alive, but he does so on an entirely unconscious level. He's a genius, absolutely, but he can't explain his process to us, because there *is* no process, for him."
Teddy nodded, smiling. "Yep! That's what the doctors told Mom and Dad, too. They think maybe when I'm older, and I go to high school and college and all, I'll be able to tell you *how* I do stuff, but right now I just sorta *do it."*
"Teddy, are you absolutely sure that there is *nothing* you can tell us about how this device of yours is supposed to solve the problem of world peace?" The Secretary General pressed.
Teddy fidgeted awkwardly for a few moments, furrowing his brow in concentration. "Well...yes, sir. There is maybe one thing. I remember back at the factory, when I was putting it together, just sort of *knowing* how everything should go, like always, I suddenly had a thought. It just came to me, kinda like how the way to make the peace machine just came to me."
"Well, please tell us. What was your thought, Teddy?" The Secretary General asked, tensely.
Teddy smiled innocently, and shrugged. "I thought 'Man, the next guy who starts a war sure is gonna be sorry!'"
|
The year is 2158, almost a century after the "problem of world peace" was solved by the Child.
World peace is no more. There is only war. This has always been the way it was for as long as anyone can remember.
I am a soldier in the Southwest Indiana Army, of the twenty first short-lived nation to be established in this region. We are enemies with most of the nations bordering us, for seemingly no reason at all. We fight for a purpose that becomes obsolete after a few years, a decade at most.
My parents were also soldiers. My father from the Southeast Indiana Republic, and my mother from the Sixteenth Empire of Illinois. They met during the battle of West Springfield, just before the collapse of the Empire, when Southeast Indiana was aiding them in battle.
In my hometown, the smoke and radiation from the bombs, missiles, and mines always fill the sky with an unbreathable gray haze. None of us have ever seen the blue of the sky that our ancestors once took for granted.
People always die left and right, not only from the battles, but from the inhospitable air, water, and soil. Nobody is left to care for the weak and elderly.
Last night, I watched as my best friend bleed out to death from a bullet wound. He was alive and breathing for far too long after he went into shock. We buried him in an unmarked hole in the mass graves. There was no funeral. There were more important things.
But even when we are doomed to continue war, we live on. Some of us still have a will to continue. A will to prolong our existence. We will not let humanity die in vain like this.
One day, the Child will be found again.
One day, there will be an end to this torture.
| 2022-04-04T09:41:29
| 2022-04-04T05:53:35
| 273
| 49
|
[WP] In a world where you can exchange the remaining days of your life for $9.99/day, Jeff's request for $1000 is declined.
|
"Want another dance sweetie" she whispers in his ear.
Flipping his pockets inside out he silently tells her he's all tapped out. Not being one to take the first no she grabs his crotch and says "You're young baby.. We just got a new health bank ATM installed"
The young man requests $1000 rolls up his sleeve and starts the process. DENIED flashes across the screen.
Narrator ~ young billy just contracted HIV by using a local health bank ATM. Don't be like billy. Only use Health First Private Health banking for your withdrawals. Now offering 2 month free bonus with all new accounts.
Commercial End
|
He had been in tight places before, but ever since the car accident he had been living paycheck to paycheck since he couldn’t initially afford the deductible for the bodywork. With a deep sigh, he took out a payday loan with a huge amount of interest attached to it, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to recoup the money lost easily.
It had been two days since the city shut off the water to his house. Those pesky bills kept slipping through his fingers since he had to decide whether he wanted to skip meals for four days at a time or have fresh water running in his run down, inner city townhouse. He couldn’t remember a time that wasn’t like this. Twenty cents more than minimum wage for the majority of his life doesn’t exactly buy you comfort.
“One thousand dollars… okay, one thousand dollars should get me back on track,” he quietly said to himself as he crunched the numbers, carefully calculating how much money he could partition towards each expense. Then he thought about it. One hundred days. How much did those one hundred days actually mean to him? Would he miss them? Would they too be spent in poverty? He figured one thousand dollars for one hundred miserable days would be more than a bargain.
The teller gathered all of the necessary information she needed from him as she typed furiously away at the computer that sat between him and her. “Now I’ll need you to sign this agreement for me sir, this basically makes it so that we have no blame for whatever happens to your shortened life and stuff like that.” She pushed the paper at him without even looking away from the screen. Without thinking he signed the form and gave it back to her. Two more minutes of some more furious typing and he heard a ping come from the computer. She gave the screen an angry look and hit Enter again. The same ping came from the computer.
“Is, uh, everything okay?” He asked.
“Sir I’m sorry,” she began, “but it seems like you will not be able to successfully be able to make the deposit of one hundred days.”
“Why is that?” He asked, feeling a cold tingle run down his spine.
“Sir, you do not have the assets.” She said coldly. A cold wave crashed over him. He felt everything all at once as thoughts raced through his head at break neck speed. When was the last time he had visited the doctor? When was the last time any medical professional had given him an examination? What was going to kill him in the next hundred days?
“Thanks anyway, ma’am,” he said and walked towards the door of the building.
He stepped outside and a warm zephyr greeted him into the city street. The clouds broke and a small bit of sunshine hit his face. He felt the warmth of the rays hit his cheek. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t just surviving to make it to tomorrow, and ultimately to some bigger unknown. Now that the end was in sight, he felt scared, and he felt alive.
| 2014-07-10T09:28:51
| 2014-07-10T08:46:08
| 166
| 100
|
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic.
|
I had lived for 8 star-cycles when I first learned to Farstep. By 10, I had earned my Intercity Teleportation license; by 15, my Interplanetary.
While similar, the magic used for a Farstep is actually not the same as a Teleport. Farsteps use corporeal magic, which means I can go a short ways - as far as I have energy for - in the blink of an eye. The most portly Sages are renowned for their ability to Farstep further than anyone - my tutor was the first Sage to step halfway around the world, a thousand star-cycles ago.
Teleports are used for those that have a bit more time or distance to travel, and want to conserve energy. Using symbolic drawings, gestures, and a spell, we can use the ethereal magic of the universe to fuel a much further Teleport (or "leap")... basically anywhere we want.
Sages are our great explorers and discoverers. The Thirteen Great Sages are the first thirteen to discover and use the teleportation spell to travel between planets. Each of them went to another planet in our star-group in search of land and food, planets better suited for growing crops than our mostly dry and ever more populated planet. Of the Thirteen, four returned; of them, two told of planets where life could grow unbound. A planet of food to feed a planet of people.
We discovered more planets since then, and more spells, so fewer Sages risk their lives. There is still the occasional Sage that leaps into a volcano or finds themselves caught in a gaseous planet with no way to leap back; but if there is no atmosphere, we create one. If there is no water, we irrigate it from a planet drowning in water. More planets, more people, more food. We are ever growing.
The first native aliens we ran into had yet to discover any spells, so we taught them. Few other species had discovered Leaping, and none had needed to do Interplanetary Leaps to save their people. Until we met the Terrans.
Terrans, self-labeled as "humans", had discovered powerful magics that put our Sages to shame. World-ending magics. They could perform an intergalactic leap with no preparation, just a press and a click. Interplanetary blinks that took no energy from the user. We wanted to learn from them; we wanted them to join our folds.
What fools we were.
Humans were also ever-growing, and very proud. If they weren't at the top, they might as well have been at the bottom. Those that wanted to learn our magic went insane trying to understand it until they gave up, deciding to just use their familiar magic. They had an answer to everything - for a fingerspark, a "lighter". For farspeak, a "radio". Tools imbued with magic that any of them could use - something we had never accomplished. Every magic and magic artifact we had took study and mastery before using it could become so second-nature.
Though they almost never used magic of their own, humans saw our magic as a threat - undetectable power that could be turned against them at any time. And because they felt threatened, their great magics became our greatest fears. I've lost friends to a human who didn't understand they were trying to form a telekinetic bond with it, taking it as a threat. We tried scaring them away once, attacking their floating fortress. They responded by leveling a city. My tutor was one who led the attack on the fortress, and was in the city where he perished with so, so many others. One of the greatest Sages of all time, extinguished in an instant.
I'm in my 25th star-cycle now. That attack was three days ago. I don't know what's going to happen next, but I fear we're going to need a new planet by the time the humans are done with us.
|
200 years ago, humanity discovered that the new elemental material, Unductindenium, could be refined into a light warping spacecraft shell, allowing humans to travel faster than initially thought, by transferring energy that was being carried by quantum particles, we could now bend physics to our will.
And at first this was amazing, allowing humans to colonize other planets, make incredible strides in scientific fields, and even encounter alien races!
And now in modern days, humans are on the brink of conquering the entire Milky Way, all because of one simple thing, gold.
You see, gold has a certain property that allows it to absorb and destroy the substance known as elementite, the fuel for any elemental magic. Gold can absorb all elementite within a 100km radius. So humans have just been deploying soldiers on every planet across the Milky Way, setting up gold beckons every 100km apart, pretty much rendering every magic wielding alien useless.
They tried to fight back with magic when we started our attack, and we didn’t know that gold had these property’s. Thank goodness for the bank transfers that occurred, otherwise we never would’ve learned.
As of this moment, all magic in the Milky Way has been absorbed and destroyed. We’ve landed on every planet. And our assault on the andromeda system will begin shortly.
| 2019-01-18T12:49:38
| 2019-01-18T10:08:27
| 20
| 10
|
[WP] A serial killer who kills hitchhikers picks up a serial killer who kills the people who pick him up.
|
The hitchhiker's targets were fairly specific, or at least he liked certain kinds of people. People who had kids, the more the better. People who were bastions of their community. Those kind hearted souls that everyone tended to love and miss. He loved knowing they would never find them again. He loved the searches and the tears and the heartbreak knowing children would grow up without a father or a mother, that a community lost someone they truly adored. Then, sometimes, he had to settle. Today was one of those days.
The man is oldish. He mentions that his kids are well into their 30s. His wife died years ago, and he is kind of a loner. It'll be an easy disappointing kill. He can at least get some pleasure at seeing how far he'll take him. Sometimes, people take him all the way to the cabin. They make it too easy.
"Hey, stranger, can you open my glove box and hand me those needles? I need some insulin."
The hitchhiker does. This is all too easy. The man stares at the road and fumbles with the box.
"Can you hold the wheel? This will only take a second."
The hitchhiker does. The driver fills up his syringe and pulls up his shirt. The hitchhiker looks back at the road and feels something in his neck. He pulls back and looks at him.
"Sorry, that's a sedative. I always forget what it's called. I mix it with a horse tranquilizer. It knocks people out pretty quick."
The hitchhiker leans towards the driver, but slumps in his seat, asleep.
When he wakes up, he's tied to a chair.
"Well, a man after my own heart, quite literally. I've ran into one of your kind before. I feel bad about it. It's like destroying the Mona Lisa or something, but it has to be done. Based on your gear, I thought you'd be more careful. People are foolish, but you are sloppy. This was way too easy. Your methods too. What was the plan? Drug me with morphine? Sloppy, oh so sloppy."
"Just let me go, sir."
"Respect, that's a new one. You must actually be afraid. You should be. Do you know how I started doing this?"
"What?"
"Do you know how I started? I've only been taking care of hitchhikers for about a decade."
"H-how?"
"Well, I had a wonderful son who went missing one day. It was uncharacteristic of him because he was a loving devoted father. He was on his way to Missoula. I looked into it. There were quite a few missing person reports who were last seen on their way to places in this region. Now, that's strange. People crash and go missing all the time, but I talked to the families. Most of these missing people had a propensity for picking up hitchhikers."
"I didn't do anything to your son."
"Please, we are better than lies. That's what the last one like you said too. He was right, by the way. So, I kept looking. When I started, I kidnapped these people. Not all of them. Some of them I let go, but anyone suspicious I had to know. I felt like I was doing the world a favor too by killing these people, these criminals. It's amazing how easy it to justify it. Really, they didn't deserve to live and neither do you."
"Just let me go. I won't tell anyone."
"Please, three syringes with enough drugs to knock out an elephant? You're not a normal user. No track marks, anywhere. Three knives on your body? You can't always wait, can you? I understand, there is a perverse satisfaction in it."
"Shit, man, we could work together. We could ravage the countryside."
"There it is, a confession of sorts. No, you're my last. There have only been six for me. How about for you?"
"I stopped counting after 50." He says with a smile.
The hitchhiker's death is nothing special. The driver slices his throat and lets him bleed out. He dumps his body by the side of the road. His victims will likely find some justice. He leaves his bag with him. Hopefully, the cops will ask the right questions, and his son will be found, and his family will finally know what happened to him. That's what he hopes anyway.
|
It was such a lovely night. I had ventured far out enough that the faint glow of light pollution had only just touched this part of the world. The air was crisp and still, punctuated only by the low creaks and groans of this forgotten part of the forest. It had called to me when i was here 2 years ago and here i was again, marveling at the beauty of this place and its siren effect on me. If you looked just close enough you could still see the faint dig site i had hurriedly made to bury the man i had met off of I-90. He had been a relatively nice man and at the time I'm still not sure what possessed me to take him out here. It was a whim when i drove him to this spot, and it had been a whim when i stuck my knife in his throat. But on this whim i found something that i had never felt before, this palpable feeling of peace that had haunted me for years. It felt so natural that i knew this was my duty in this world. A loud groan from the forest snapped me back into the present and i bent down to pat the site once more for good luck. I stared back into the forest and as if to say something an old pine creaked beside me and i patted it on my way to the car smiling. No need to say goodbye, I'll be right back.
It only took an hour this time. The man had been walking on the shoulder of a stretch of highway not far from my patch of forest. It was a giant relief. Last month it had taken me two weeks to find anyone. If North Dakota hadn't been my last northern state to fulfill my duty in i would have given up completely, but i'm a man of principle and I'm not about to cut corners. I pulled over and politely asked the man if he'd like a ride and he seemed eager to get off the road. He sat down softly next to me and his appearance shocked me. Most of the people i picked up had a weary look that could only be attained by a lifetime of running from themselves. Their eyes were hollow and more often than not they gave off no real sense that they existed. They always seemed to be physical manifestations of ghosts that had just forgotten the part where the bodies were supposed to die. But not this man. He was illuminating. His hair was perfectly sculpted, his clothes were not just cleaned but ironed and pressed to perfection and his voice carried with a confidence that traveled men seldom have. It felt wrong, however the siren call of the forest had been powerful tonight and i could not abandon my duty. In a twist of good faith the man had been needing to travel in the direction of my patch of forest. This was fantastic. It was rather difficult to hold a knife to a mans throat for so many miles and this would save me the annoyance of all the begging and pleading i had grown accustomed to. We maintained a pleasant conversation almost all of the way there. We discussed sports, current events, how the weather this time of year was fantastic. It was truly great small talk. I hadn't been able to enjoy a conversation with someone in so long, that I began to lose that uneasy feeling that had first accompanied the man. The feeling did return however, when i made the turn to head back into the forest. He had not said a word when i made the turn. In fact, it seemed like he was completely comfortable with what i was doing. I began to feel something i hadn't felt in years, a building sense of dread that frankly had no rational base. I clutched the knife under my thigh tight to regain my composure. I was in control here, not him. I stopped the in front of the tree and before i could say a word i felt a sharp burning in my chest. Before i looked down i already knew what had occurred. It had felt to wrong and yet at the same time all to similar. The conversation, the appearance of the man. I looked down at the knife in my chest and breathed a rattling sigh. The man looked at me with a knowing expression, and I smiled back at him. It was okay i was at peace, he was after all, just doing his duty.
The man buried the body next to the shoddy grave site. He wiped his hands on the grass and stood up taking one last look into the forest. A cold wind blew through and the forest was alive with its beautiful call. The man walked back to the car smiling, stopping only to pat the old pine on his way.
| 2015-08-09T12:11:20
| 2015-08-09T11:52:23
| 235
| 56
|
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream.
|
The Galactic Council was interrupted by a shriek. Well, scream would be a better term. And interrupted would be an understatement. It would be more appropriate to compare this to a racing craft hitting an invisible wall, which cannot be moved. Crushed in milliseconds. As far as deaths go, not the worst. In theory, at least. Yet the sudden wails of anguish are certainly far from pleasant. It's similar to the discordant sounds of nails on a chalkboard, just louder and with even more nails on chalkboards in the background, doing as much as possible to not sound pleasant. Frankly, waterboarding would seem like orgasmic bliss in comparison. The Xe'Natalean shudders and shakes after it's done screaming. It's something none of the others had seen before, which concerned them, to put it mildly. Slowly and shakily, it points to the newest members. The humans.
Naturally, it had to be them. The Council had been at their wits end just trying to deal with them. Never, in any of the history of all the species, had anything been this aggravating. Well, besides the Xe'Natalean's shriek, but that's too recent. What made dealing with them difficult was their sheer stubbornness and ignorance. When the Council first interacted with them, the humans had a primative hybrid propulsion system, using combustion to get up to speed, and an ion engine to keep the craft going. They had primative forms of communication, mostly using low power electromagnetic waves. They didn't even have proper translators, despite having too many separate languages for one human to speak! And yet, despite these technological and temperamental shortcomings, they had nuclear armaments comparable to theirs, in some aspects even exceeding the Council's. Even then, they weren't the best the humans had, or so they claimed. The Council would later discover it was not merely a claim.
The humans were technologically illiterate by the Council's standards, yet had superior weaponry. This absolutely baffled the Council, and despite the lacking defenses on the human ship, they wished to stay well away from them. Preferably an entire galaxy. The best move for the Council was to make peace with the humans, and potentially join them into the Council's ranks. After a few meetings, the humans had been initiated as members of the Galactic Council. And of course, the first meeting of the Council afterwards had to be abnormal.
The Xe'Nataleans hadn't been present during the hearings for the humans' membership. If they had, the current disruption would have been avoided. Evidently, the humans' minds had overwhelmed the poor mind reader, an odd combination of rapidly changing imagery mixed with grounded imagery. At times violent, and at others sexual. It seems that unlike the other members, the humans have little mental filtering. All the thoughts they have are open, even the subconscious ones. This gives the humans a unique advantage in the Council. With such an open, unfiltered mind, the humans cannot have their minds read without overwhelming the reader. Potentially, this could work in the Council's advantage in the future.
|
The lone shriek pierced the silent council chambers, the Relovian was clutching at the sides of his rather bulbous head, trying to extract his mental probe from within the mind of Thomas "Raven Dark" McKinnon, tears welling up in it's multitudinous eyes. "What is Lord Prelanine?!" His aid begged as he struggled to help him from the floor. "So wait, like, did you, see, like totally see what was going on in my mind just now weird turtle head man?" Thomas asked as he adjusted the black fishnet sleeves up his pasty white arms.
"That man is revolting!" Shouted the ambassador of the Relovian race, "He had such visions of debauchery, he was imagining placing some strange appendage from betwixt his legs into the consuming orifice of the High Priestess of Skartl it what I can only assume is some fashion of violence!" At his proclamation the leathery dark wings of the Priestess flared up in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth in what would commonly be described as abject terror. "Whoa, calm down turtle head man, I wasn't seeking to do violence!" Thomas exclaimed, "Sex is only right if it's consensual man." The room fell silent.
The commander of the United Terran Military let out a deep sigh and massaged his temples, he couldn't begin to understand how a member of the GCG (Global Coalition of Goths) had somehow stowed away on the Emperor's flagship to attend the first contact with an alien race, which would also be the first Galactic Council meeting in Terra's history.
"What is this sex you speak of?" Inquired the High Priestess, wings lowering a little in curiosity. "HE SOUGHT TO BLUDGEON YOU MY LADY! WHAT ELSE COULD YOU DESCRIBE THAT STRANGE PUMMELING MOTION YOU WERE MAKE WITH YOUR HIPS AND PELVIC REGION?! AND WHAT OF THAT STRANGE TENTACLE!?" Cried out the ambassador. "Dude, like, chill turtle head, that's my reproductive organ you're insulting." Thomas retorted. "Reproductive?" The High Priestess inquired, her wings folding back to their relaxed state. The commander let out another long sigh and massaged his temples harder. "Yeah, you know, for making babies, my schlong?" Thomas responded while gesturing towards his crotch. The High Priestess changed to a dark shade of purple, what one can only hope to assume was her races way of blushing, "Oh, children, as in mating, you wish to mate with me then?" She asked in wonderment. "Well yeah," Thomas blurted, "I mean look at you, all scaly and dark skinned, rocking those bat-like, wings. You're hella hot!" The commander closed his eyes tighter, willing himself away from this nonsensical conversation and the diplomatic disaster this was sure to become.
"I assure you my temperature is quite nominal and not in any way 'hot' as you describe it." The Priestess responded in a somewhat confused tone. That was the last straw, the commander lost it and began howling with laughter. Every diplomat and ambassador in the room went silent and awkwardly looked at each other and immediately found something more interesting to stare at, painfully, obviously avoiding looking at the commander, the "Raven Dark" and the High Priestess.
| 2019-09-29T23:02:12
| 2019-09-29T21:57:42
| 48
| 35
|
[WP] Death is not some all powerful being. Rather, she's a socially awkward outcast. Somehow, you've managed to befriend her and things have started getting weird...
|
I first met her during December of my 8th grade year. I was headed off to the lunchroom at 11:30, as usual, when I saw her sitting alone at the end lunch table. I remembered what my teacher, Mr. Santos, said about making new students feel welcome, so I did as he said and marched right over to her.
"Hi, can I sit here?" I asked in the friendly tone I could manage.
"Yeah," she mumbled, as she picked through her Caesar salad with her fork.
I sat down across from her. She only glanced up at me, which startled me slightly. She was pale with dull, grey eyes and bags under her eyes that said "I haven't slept since birth." She was particularly thin, but you could only see that because of her bony hands since the rest of her body was covered up by an oversized black sweatshirt. Her hair was long, straight, and jet black. She didn't eat her salad, but merely continued to poke at it.
I felt awkward and uncomfortable immediately. I cleared my throat nervously, and finally spoke up.
"My name's Eliana. What's yours?" I asked.
"De..." she mumbled too quietly for me to hear.
"What?"
"Delilah," she said, looking up a little bit, and then going back to stabbing her salad.
"Oh, I like that name," I said. I took a deep breath. I knew this girl was not going to make friends and probably wanted some, but at the same time, I didn't want to be labeled weird, like her. I looked around the lunch room. People were glancing over and chuckling. Some were whispering as they stared.
Delilah ignored me as she finally started to eat her salad. She glanced up and slightly jumped when she saw me. "You're still here?" she asked.
I felt too awkward. "Yeah, I'm eating lunch here..." I said slowly.
She smiled a sad, but genuine, smile. "Usually people don't stay this long."
"Why not?" I asked, worriedly.
"I don't know. People don't like me because I'm different," she shrugged.
It was at that point that I put two and two together. She was just another middle schooler, like me, that was going through the typical middle school "emo phase." Almost everybody had one, but most were done by 8th grade. She was still in it, though, so I felt bad for her.
"Oh," I said. "Well, do you wanna come over after school? We can hang out and do our homework."
"Sure!" Delilah replied.
"Great!" I exclaimed. Maybe I could introduce her to makeup and girly things so she could end her emo phase early.
Later that day, after school, there was a knock at my door. It was Delilah. She was exceptionally pale in the light.
"Come in," I said, opening the door.
She walked in and looked around. "Your house is big," she remarked.
"Thanks, my dad is a lawyer so he wants to show it off by buying nice things that we don't need," I replied.
"I get it. My dad is a leader of the largest corporation in the universe," Delilah said.
"What corporation?" I asked.
Delilah choked slightly. "Erm... Giant Eagle," she said quickly.
"Woah, we shop there all the time!" I exclaimed.
"Yeah, it's a big deal. Let's go do homework," she replied, moving quickly to the living room. I followed her.
We worked on algebra for about 20 minutes, when I finally asked, "what's it like to have family that owns a huge company?"
She took a deep breath. "It's strange, I guess," she said. She looked away for a little bit, then looked back at me. "My dad doesn't really own Giant Eagle."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yeah, he owns something way bigger. But, I don't know if you really want to know..." her voice trailed off.
"Yeah, I want to know!" I said excitedly.
"Ok," she took another breath. "My dad is God. He owns the universe."
I chuckled. "Yeah, sure," I replied.
"He is," she didn't get upset. "I wouldn't expect you to believe me. But it's true. My dad is God, my mom is Heaven, and my sister is Life."
"So what are you?" I asked.
"I'm Death," she replied.
My throat grew dry. "Is that real?" I asked.
"I'll show you," she said. She held on to my shoulder.
I tried to move away, but I couldn't. She looked me in the eyes, and everything disappeared.
I awoke in a bright kingdom. I looked around. It was happy and peaceful. I couldn't believe any place could look so perfect. I already knew I was in the best place I could ever be. Then, Delilah appeared before me.
"You see?" she said. "This is the Kingdom you live in after you die."
"Am I dead?" I asked.
"No, but you can be," she replied. "See, death happens when your body stops functioning. I come to the dead person, take them to the kingdom, and ask if they want to stay. They don't have to stay. If they choose to go to Earth, I simply put them back. But the thing is, almost all people choose to stay because it's so much better. Like, you know the stories of babies and people who die, and then come back to life? Well, those people aren't lying when they say they saw Heaven. They simply chose to go back." She looks me in the eyes. "So what do you want to do?"
I looked back at her, and smiled. "I'll stay here."
The Earth mourned the unexpected death of me, 14 year old Eliana. My parents blamed Delilah, and the police went on a search for her. But she was no where to be found. Soon enough, she appeared in another middle school across the country, at a lunch table, all alone. Not long after that did a 14 year old boy, named Nick, see her sitting all alone. He remembered what it was like to be the new kid at school. He approached her boldly. "May I sit here?" he kindly asked.
Death glanced up at him with grey, dull eyes. "Of course," she replied.
|
I met her a while ago, I'm not sure when, but it was when I was a child. At first, I didn't know that J was a grim reaper, I just happened to see her often, just a glimpse of her, mostly in the street.
When my grandma died, I met J just around the corner of the street, she seemed surprised when I looked at her, but said nothing. I asked my father about her but he said that he didn't notice anyone, and I thought it was because he just lost his mother.
Soon, my other grandparents died and I met J every time, and every time nobody noticed her. Seeing people was never a good thing so I stopped talking about her. I met her again often, but it rarely was when someone of my family died.
One day, I saw her in a public park, waiting on a bench under a tree. For the first time, I approached her. She was a beautiful woman, with long blond hair in a ponytail, black eyes and wearing a black suit. She seemed happy to see me, and it seemed obvious to her, like she was waiting for this moment.
She told me that she was a grim reaper, that it was the first time in the 3 centuries she did this, someone could see her, that there was, in fact, a lot of reapers, and each had a district where they operated. To her, there was a reason why I could see her, but it was no time to discuss about it, because it was time for her to go.
I met J every 2 weeks after the park, she was awkward but I felt there was something between us, something strange. In the meantime, I thought that building a relationship between a human and a grim reaper was something hard, especially when you have been alone for the last 300 years. So I didn't press the subject.
Last week, J showed just in front of my house, like she really wanted to talk so I invited her in.
"Hey Nick, there's something I wanted to talk about for a while..."
"What is it? Is it about our meetings?"
"Yes, kind of. You know, it's not common for a human to see grim reapers, so I talked about you with my colleagues and hierarchy. I believe it's no luck if we met"
"What do you mean?" I asked, fearing what could come up next.
"I want to continue this relationship for the longest time ever. So I can tell you that you can become a grim reaper if you want to, that's probably why you can see me!" She seemed ecstatic telling that.
I stopped the conversation here, telling her that I needed to think about it. There was pros and cons but it was no light decision
| 2017-01-21T07:27:56
| 2017-01-21T05:20:22
| 102
| 33
|
[WP] Who is u/deleted? They've posted many places about many subjects, is it a bunch of different users, or is it a collective conscious? They're typically posting controversial things, but not always. What are they up to?
|
My investigation started simply enough: a thread I had been following rather intently on r/conspiracy was suddenly awash with posts by a specific user. Unfortunately, the content of said posts had been erased in their entirety by the time I could see them, the telltale shells of empty postings standing mute witness to what must have been an extended explanation of unknown lights in the sky that clearly were not just the spotlights from a nearby casino. It was then I started to notice that this "deleted" fellow was actually rather prolific on the subreddit. Stranger still, a search for their user profile returned... nothing.
It was then that I discovered the vast scope of u/deleted's interests, reach, and complete silencing by parties unknown. Politics, fandoms, hobbies; everywhere I seemed to look, there was a deleted presence. Sometimes, it was a single comment here or there. Other times, a lengthy conversation with themselves. In every case, whatever views or information u/deleted provided was wiped clean, "Content was removed" the only sign that anything had been there previously.
Frequent readers of this blog may have a guess where I believe this leads, and they would be correct in so assuming. Such complete, near-instant erasure of a single person from Reddit could only be accomplished by someone of means and monstrous low cunning. Someone that, with but a single word and gesture, can take possession of a frightening amount of this nation's mail traffic, stamped with the imperious command that it be "returned" to him with undue haste. I speak, of course, of that faceless puppetmaster: the nefarious Mr. Sender.
Indeed! Only that same individual that has r/USPS firmly within his iron-fisted grasp could take such unilateral action, and I suspect he would only do so if that individual posed an immediate threat to his endeavors. And so, I now endeavor to follow this trail to its very end, despite whatever personal danger it may pose to myself. I will not rest until u/deleted's message has been returned to the light, where it might accomplish what I have so far failed to: the complete exposure of Mr. Sender and his limitless ambitions for both the United States's mail service and now, horrifiyingly, this very platform.
Protect yourselves! Archive everything you see! Ensure that your mail is properly addressed, stamped, and verified by trustworthy members of the United States Postal Service! For Sender's hand has a long reach, and even your very family members may be compromised by his corrupt influence!
|
It knows.
The words upon words, and the thoughts upon thoughts.
It knows?
It has changed the veiws of many, yet it's own mind is muddled.
It sits? It rests? is it someone or something? Is it a new contreversy?
The user?
Only known to reddit and it's users as r/deleted.
It post anytime and anywhere, but unwillingly it is truely trapped.
R/deleted is, was, and always will be, the monster. Reddit.
The three Fathers, Aaron Swartz, Alexis Ohanian and Steve Huffman, 16 years ago, Found it.
They created this website to order it.
It is an all knowing:
Roti Bread,
Egg
Dills,
Duck,
Ice-burg Lettace and a,
Tomato.
Or in otherwords it is a big o'l sandwich that knows
| 2022-06-06T07:34:43
| 2022-06-06T06:37:22
| 216
| 15
|
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first.
|
He came as I rang the three little bells.
Simple Pete signaled toward the midnight storm outside, "I thought you knew to avoid that storm... Suppose it seemed it was manageable earlier... Over there's whiskey for you and me. Oscar said he thought you would want to be toasty after coming from that down pour. Said the wet dirt road would stop any man, one minute flat."
By now, I had loaded my trusty pistol, holding it in my right hand behind my back. Quickly I pressed the barrel to Pete's temple. The bright white wall sprayed red, I knelt and prayed for forgiveness.
__________________________________________________________________
**As the bells signaled midnight, I knew that it was over for me. He would be coming down the road any minute now, loaded pistol in hand. Back pressed to the wall, I prayed.**
|
Dear Elisa,
By God, I can't help but say, please, remember the help George gave me last year. I have a need to return the favour, the key to this is in you. It seems strange with our history, you understand, but please, I must send him thanks, it must be soon. In town they're building the coming festivals decorations, leave home on the morning of George's birthday and meet me by noon at the Clocktower. All will be revealed, be ready for George to forego his leave.
With as much love and fear as roads ahead could bring for us, and mankind.
Yours faithfully, Sebastion.
| 2014-07-29T13:10:19
| 2014-07-29T09:24:03
| 165
| 13
|
[WP] You accidentally keyed in a smiley emoji on Amazon and was surprised to find a lone product result. Out of curiosity, you purchase it and have it instantly delivered. You spend the next 8 hours feeling "the happiest ever in your entire life". You try searching other emojis
|
In the throes of manic joy Henry searched for other emojis on Amazon.
😑 turned up one product. Henry bought it and instantly his extreme joy calmed to pure neutrality. The effect of the first emoji was totally eclipsed by the new one.
Amazed and eager, unafraid of the depths of his own emotion, Henry began a deep dive.
😡 elicited intense anger. Suddenly Henry could not help but focus on every slight he had suffered in the last few years, no matter how small. He remembered how a coworker had thoughtlessly used all the sugar at the office coffee machine three months ago. What was then a minor annoyance exploded under the emoji's influence into an epic wrongdoing. Henry could feel himself on the edge of calling the coworker right then, so he quickly searched for a different emoji.
😭 overwhelmed him immediately, pure, unadulterated sadness washing over him as it might an infant. Henry thought about the loss of his third cousin twice removed last month. He had never met the man, which was itself a tragedy worth sobbing over. After what turned out to be an hour of wallowing, Henry forced himself to search for another emoji.
😞washed away the terrible sadness and replaced it with an unsettling dubiousness. Henry could not easily control where his new doubt was applied. He wondered whether his boss had been lying when he said there was not enough money to give Henry a raise. Then he considered the astonishing effects Henry was currently experimenting with. What could possibly be the source of this emoji phenomenon? Surely if this were an actual amazon feature it would be world famous by now. No, it seemed to Henry that he must have tapped into something else entirely, something not at all normal. Curiousity, close cousin to skepticism, overwhelmed his concerns and Henry continued his emoticon journey.
😴 had predictable results. When Henry awoke, a crick in his neck, drool pooling on the desk where he had fallen into a steep lean, it was dark out. Henry looked at the clock. 4 AM. He had been asleep for 8 hours exactly. Perhaps that was the time table for the effects?
😎 brought an intense, borderline psychotic degree of confidence. Suddenly Henry felt completely self assured. He was well rested, his mind was operating at peak efficiency, and he knew exactly how this 'system' worked. Each emoji would create in him the emotion it represented. It was that simple, of course. The effects would last for 8 hours exactly and then be over. He did not know the cause of the effect, but so what, the effect was real and that was all that mattered.
In his state of absolute confidence, Henry felt compelled to break away from conventional emoji's and into the stranger variety. He scrolled through his phone looking for emojis, odd ones, less connected to emotion.
He found one, emailed it to himself and copy and pasted it into his desktop.
He found 👧 and purchased it. He closed his eyes and when he opened them he knew he was different. Physically changed. He examined himself and recoiled at the physical changes he found. "No way," he said, racing to a mirror.
Looking back at himself in the mirror was the image of a woman Henry had never met before in his life. A woman inhabiting the space where Henry's body had been moments earlier.
Henry felt himself begin to panic at the extremity of the change, but he forced himself to relax. It was temporary, he was sure of it. He raced back to the computer and searched for something else.
💪seemed like a sensible next choice. He purchased it, blinked, and he was himself again. But no, not just himself, but a incredibly strong version of himself. Henry stood up in his chair and, overcome by a testosterone fueled exuberance, punched a monstrous hole in his bedroom door. His fist plowed right through the heavy wood. Henry carefully retracted his hand, looked through the new hole, and laughed like a maniac.
"Holy shit!"
The options were limitless, Henry realized. Or rather, limited only by what the emojis allowed.
Feeling invincible, Henry searched for something really odd. He considered 😈 and 😇, but decided the moralistic extremes were best avoided lest he do something he'd come to regret. He flirted with 👾or 👽but found himself too frightened by the implications.
Ultimately he settled on a fairly strange, but sort of banal one. He clicked it and pressed purchase.
The light faded from Henry's eyes. His skin grew dark, fading into shadow. His body lost all definition, all texture, until there was only the black outline of Henry. The absence of Henry.
Then, beginning at Henry's feet, another shadow began to emanate, growing out, lengthening as if a bright light shined on Henry from the front. Then the shadow slowly took on three dimensional form, until at last a second man sized darkness stood beside Henry.
Henry turned to face the shadow, and in so doing it turned to face Henry. Two featureless faces staring into one another. Henry raised a hand and the shadow raised one as well. Henry sat down, and it sat down, though there was no chair in which it could sit. It just floated there in the middle of the room.
Henry stood and it stood and Henry marveled at this copy of himself that he had created. As he filled with renewed wonder at the whole exercise, Henry failed to notice the shadow raising a hand of its own accord.
Henry turned just as the shadow's outstretched hand latched onto Henry's featureless face. Henry reached up to grab the hand, which was blocking his view, but he could not remove it. He could not even wrap a finger around the hand - it was immaterial, ephemeral and yet inextricably hooked on to him.
Henry tried to speak, but the hand muffled his voice. He tried to scream but found he did not have enough oxygen left in his lungs to produce sound and no matter how hard he tried the shadow hand prevented him from taking a breath.
Panic set in like an electrical fire, seizing Henry's shadowed muscles in searing fits and starts. He flailed about, still attached to the shadow hand at the face, his body performing a horrible dance, as if under the shadow creature's control. Henry tried to charge *into* the shadow, but Henry simply passed straight through it, the shadow's hand twisting under and through the shadow's body to remain attached.
Consciousness began to recede around the edges and with it Henry's panic began to transform into the warm melange of predeath hormones. As his body internalized his impending doom it sent out relaxing chemical agents to ease Henry's conscious mind into the notion.
*Don't be afraid,* Henry imagined that his body seemed to say, *I will take over now.*
The shadow figure stood over Henry as he crumpled to the ground, his legs giving out. Always the shadow's hand remained attached to Henry's face. He could feel himself disappearing into that hand, like a vacuum cleaner of the soul, silently absorbing everything that was Henry, taking Henry's place.
Henry watched with hormonally suppressed terror as his legs disappeared, then his abdomen and torso, then his arms and hands. As one part of his body disappeared, he saw that the shadow figure gained those parts in all their fullness.
Now it wore Henry's skin and clothes from the neck down. All that remained undefined was it's pure shadow face.
As the last part of Henry disappeared into the figure a silent scream passed between them and carried over for just a moment, so that when the shadow figure had Henry's face as his own the face briefly wore a look of abject terror, mouth agape.
After a second the new Henry took full control and returned his face to neutrality. It would take time to learn how to control his new form. But that was alright. He had all the time in the world.
As new Henry walked out of his bedroom through the door with a hole in it, out into the hallway, towards the wide world, the computer screen in Henry's apartment still beamed optimistically:
> Thank you for your recent purchase of 👥! Order number 92745-214A.
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
|
Excited, he was addicted instantly. Having social anxiety, Devin never went out much. He stayed in his apartment, ordered food for himself, slept occasionally, and went online. A lot.
He constantly played pc games, would go on reddit to boast that pc was best, and looked at YouTube (and other 😉) sights on his brand new pc which he built himself over a couple of weeks. He didn’t really keep track.
Devin spent his life as a eBay salesman, and currently, playing fortnight. He liked talking to the kids on there as he liked them more than adults.
But when the server was down, he went on amazon to browse a new cpu to replace the current one. Instead, he accidentally typed 😀. Annoyed, he went to press the back button but instead saw one product listed. Intrigued, he clicked instant delivery. It was only four dollars.
Devin instantly felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something better than when his screen displayed “victory royal” in his dark room. Happiness.
He got excited and looked up more. First, a butterfly. 🦋. He didn’t remember why this was in his recent but he clicked it anyway and a large blue butterfly flew around the room. With his newfound powers he felt powerful, and still happy. After looking up a few more with no avail, he found 🌨. He got up from his gaming chair and rushed to his window. Winded from running for the first time in years, he lifted up a dusty curtain and found it snowing. He found an old jacket and went outside. His neighbor, shoveling the sidewalk, saw him and yelled “weird weather for Florida in November huh?” He didn’t understand that this old man was talking to him and ran back inside. Wary of those movies with weird shit like this, he decided to wait until the snow went away to do this again.
He ignored this, and went back on Amazon, power hungry. Without thinking very much, he pressed 👰🏼. A knock was heard on the door, and a short blond women in a wedding dress stood there, beaming. A priest was behind her and exclaimed “you may now kiss the bride” He did, and he was happy. She came inside, and the priest disappeared. He opened a bottle of champagne that was sitting in his cupboard and brought it to his wife, who was sitting in the gaming chair. He saw her click “order” but didn’t see what it was. “What’s your name, he asked” she thought for a second and said “I’m White B. Blonde” All of a sudden, she was in a long purple shirt, and she stood up “we’re expecting!!” He remembered another option he had found was 🤰🏼.Her huge belly stuck out of her shirt. “Uhh...” Devin looked surprised. Maybe he had taken this too far.
| 2019-01-15T06:12:12
| 2019-01-15T05:46:49
| 271
| 49
|
[WP]You have the gift of seeing angels. Two things to note: one, they look more monstrous than “angelic,” and two; they gush all over us because they think we are the cutest beings ever.
|
Of course, I received an unusually early schizophrenia diagnosis. What else would one expect to happen to a child who regularly walked around conversing with beings no one else could see, beings whose terrifying forms he described consistently, and in painstaking detail, to mortified friends, family, and psychiatric professionals?
I dimly recall the first child psychologist my parents took me to. That was before the proper psychiatrists; the motley medications; and the "summer camps" in hospital wards, with other "mentally atypical" children.
She had a kind face, and a soothing voice. Her office was like a play room, with walls painted in pastel colours; an abundance of toys, which were kept in a great pirate's treasure chest; and a table for drawing and colouring. I never enjoyed going, per se, but I must admit, getting hot chocolate with marshmallows and a cookie as a reward for showing up and talking as candidly as I could made the arrangement moderately enticing to five year old me.
"Are the angels with us right now?" she asked.
I nodded, because they were.
"And what are they doing?"
"Just watching," I replied.
"Watching what?" she probed. "Watching us? Yeah? And why are they watching us?"
"Because they like us."
"They like us? That's very nice. And James, can you point one out to me?"
I obliged, raising my arm and pointing.
"And is he watching us, too? Yeah? And what does he look like?"
Although I do not recall with perfect clarity what that particular angel looked like, I do know that it looked rather ordinary, as far as angels go. As such, I will try to describe it, as I remember it, as well as I can. However, the human memory is an imperfect and inconstant thing, a collage of dim fragments pasted together by the glue of our mind's natural inclination to impose order onto chaos, and pattern onto miscellany. I hope I may be forgiven for inadvertently inserting details which apply to most angels, but may not, in fact, have applied to this particular one.
In the corner of the room loomed the nine foot tall creature, with its outspread hand raised to me, as if waving. Its loose and wrinkled skin was pale, almost white, but with a slight, sickly, purplish hue. Its body was very thin and gangly, with knobby knees and elbows that were slightly swollen. Its fingers were long and thin, much longer than a human's, as were its toes. From the tips of these spidery digits sprouted long, darkly yellowed nails, most of which were chipped and somewhat dirty-looking, though one toenail, I recall with certainty, had been ripped off entirely, leaving a large black gash where the nail should have been. Its great white wings, closed, at the moment, were thin and leathery like the wings of some giant albino bat. Later, when it spread them out, I could see that the wing skin was tattered and somewhat holey, and was, moreover, run through with a maze of purple veins. Over its skeletal figure was draped a white robe with gold fringes, which, at the beginning of time, might have looked quite magnificent. But now it was filthy and even more tattered than the strange creature's wings.
Its head was slightly smaller than would have been the head of a proportionally-sized human. Its skull was squarish, and rather elongated. It was balding in random patches, and where hair grew it grew scraggly, thin, and to different lengths. The longer hairs fell upon the creature's shoulders and hung down its back. Although its hair was blond (they are all blondes), I could hardly tell, as it was so dark with grease as to look completely wet. I do not believe angels cut their hair, but that their hairs simply fall out when they reach a certain length, and either never grow back, or slowly begin growing out again from the same follicle.
Most ghastly of all was its face.
"Its eyes are small and black," I said. "It never blinks. It has no nose. You don't know it has a mouth until it opens it. But it opens like a cut, and it's black inside."
The angel had gone to stand by the other angel in the room. They continued to watch the psychologist and I.
"He's there now," I said, pointing at the other corner. "With the other one."
"Okay," she said. She smiled and waved at the corner.
One of the angels began slowly squatting up and down, and partially opening and closing its wings in rhythm with its squats.
"Hello, there," she said.
It started making the deep, bassy, humming noise they make when they're getting worked up, as it gradually picked up the tempo of its movements. The other angel began following suit, squatting up and down and moaning, though they were moving at different speeds.
"Hello there," she said, as she continued waving. "Can they see me? Hello!"
The mouth slit of one opened, and it began yelping, as they do when they are excited, and both were bouncing and opening and closing their wings more and more vigorously. The yelps sounded like a cross between the high-pitched chirp a fire alarm makes when it is running out of batteries laid over the growl of some clanky diesel engine slowly sputtering to life.
"Yes," I said quietly.
Soon both were bouncing and flapping their wings and yelping furiously. I saw a hairy, rubbery blob start to force its way into the office through the space under the door.
"They're getting too excited," I said in a fright. "When they get excited, they call others."
Like some perverse octopus, the new angel had pushed half of its head through the space under the door.
"Oh dear," she said, still waving at the corner. "They call others?"
One might have expected the new angel to follow with its hands after it had pushed through its head, and so drag the rest of its body in behind it. But they are unpredictable creatures. On either side of its head, I saw push through the space its toenails, then its compressed toes, and then its compressed feet and legs. Once its legs and head were fully in, it started scooting the rest of its body through.
"Don't look at them anymore," I pleaded. "Please?"
"Of course," she said, quickly turning away from the corner to look at me. She had been smiling, and had believed up to that point that she had been harmlessly been playing along, to get a better understanding of the nature of my "hallucination." But her face softened when she saw the fear in my eyes.
"They get too excited," I said. I was crying. "They get excited when people look, and then they call others."
"It's okay," she said, wiping my eyes with her sleeve, and holding me close with her other arm. "It's okay.
\- - -
|
I always pretended not to notice them, even as the disgusting creatures floated around me, their translucent skin pulsing with the beat of each of their organs, looking at them was like watching some detailed science demonstration, getting to see each part of their body do its job, the sight always leaving me a little nauseous, especially when they would lean towards my face, wanting to catch a better look at the humans they loved to gush at.
"Look at this one, so so cute, I could just eat him up." The angel exclaimed, its voice always made my ears hurt, like listening to a metallic bird screech, the illuminated yellow orbs that it called eyes staring deep into my soul, my heart thumping against my chest as I was forced to continue walking towards it, having to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary, I wasn't quite sure what would happen if they found out that I could see them, perhaps nothing would happen, but I didn't want to risk that possibility.
"Oh you are right, that one really is a cutie, look at his smooth skin, I could just... lick it." The angel muttered, slipping its long wet tongue from between its lips, making a licking motion towards me before stepping back. "They really are adorable though aren't they, gods greatest creations, I just hope God doesn't decide to kill these ones, I don't want them to end up like the last, that would be disappointing."
"Perhaps the next ones would be cuter though?" The other angel suggested the second seemed to ponder that before shrugging, perhaps deciding that perhaps it didn't matter if they died or not then, something else would just take their place, finally the pair began to stretch out their long boney wings, giving a full view of the skeletal looking wings that sat on their back, they were disgusting, looking like they were decaying from the creatures back, it was a miracle they could even fly with such things, soon the two began to hover off the floor before finally ascending into the air, flying off leaving me to take a few breaths of relief.
It was always hard to focus when they would appear, leaving me almost paralyzed with fear, luckily there was no one around me this time, but usually, it would lead to awkward moments, having to explain to my friends that I was merely daydreaming when I suddenly froze.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
| 2020-02-19T18:12:54
| 2020-02-19T18:01:15
| 119
| 27
|
[WP] A lonely teenage boy asks a genie to let him talk to his future wife. The person who appears is not who he expects.
|
"Okay fine waste your one wish." said the djinn with no small amount of exasperation, and with that his eyes rolled far into the back of his skull, his hands raised to the sky, then with a melodramatic burst of coloured smoke popped into existence... an ornate urn.
"What the hell's that?" said a very shocked Tom.
"Well" said the the now exhausted looking djinn "You didn't say how far in the future did you."
|
'Yes, I'm a Genie'
'Like, really a Genie?'
'Yes'
'Like, a full-blown wish-granting genie?'
'Yes, would you like to make your first wish?'
James Hollin, being thirteen, was a little bit naive about the the world and his place in it.
He was a flip-flopper, a vacillator, an individual who wasn't sure of what he wanted, whatever it was. He was one of those quiet guys who would go with the crowd in whichever way it would lead him.
He had absolutely no idea what he wanted to wish for.
'I have absolutely no idea what I want to wish for'
'Really? Surely you can come up with something?'
'I don't know'
'Well, what about the usuals? Money, Power and Women are all popular choices nowadays, especially for a boy of your age!'
The Genie cocked an eyebrow, looking for any interest from the boy.
Nothing.
James had only just started thinking about girls, but the concept of having a girlfriend wasn't foreign to him. He liked the idea of sharing his secrets with someone, going out with them and having a good time without other kids bothering him. He often wondered what the future would be like, when he didn't have to deal with annoying bullies. The idea of knowing what was in store for him intrigued James, it provided him a kind of certainty, he didn't have to be a fence-sitter if he knew the future!
Suddenly, the though popped into his mind.
'How about, for my first wish, you show me the girl I'm going to marry?'
'That's an interesting one... are you sure though? You might not like what you see'
Undaunted, James looked straight into the pale white eyes of the Genie.
'I'm sure'
Instantly, the genie evaporated in a puff of smoke, leaving what looked like a 20-something year old man in his place. He was tall and skinny, not unlike James himself, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, looking down, James saw a spark of recognition in the Man's eyes.
'Who are you?'
'My name is Will Hollin, pleased to meet you!'
| 2014-06-05T08:29:11
| 2014-06-05T08:03:25
| 49
| 13
|
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump.
|
I froze. I instantly recalled all the other times I've been asked this question, and by the Scion did I hear it often. Several times every week, seldom managing to get through my day without somebody saying something along these lines. I even heard the exact same words once or twice, but never when I was in the middle of combat. Once I would calmly give an answer to such queries, then I learned to ignore them, but now...
I was pissed. For someone, even a child to make an argument so utterly moronic in such a tense moment... all the anger I suppressed came erupting like sewer water whenever the Geiser Man was around. Consequences damned, I was not letting that slide.
"Listen you little shit."
The little boy stepped back with his jaw gaping. My opponent Vlad Scarlord also stepped back, but with a smile on his demonic face, eager to let me go wild. I could tell he would enjoy what was about to transpire, but so would I. In fact, maybe if I dragged this out for long enough, all the civilians in the surrounding area would manage to evacuate in time thanks to me buying them time.
Not that they would ever appreciate this, of course.
"Do you know who that is over there?" I asked, pointing at the villain right beside us. "This is Vlad, something of an arch-enemy of mine. He is a well-known villain, and not without a reason. He is a nihilistic murderer who hates hope and so he destroys everything that generates hope, like homeless shelters, food shipments to developing countries, or schools like the one you just came out of. Last week I had to stop him from killing a little girl named Hope because he hates hope so much. His fellow villains are mostly like that too, which is why we call them villains and not criminals or terrorists. They all manage to be so evil that using a purely moralistic term to describe them doesn't feel wrong. Now, I think I misunderstood you because you cannot possibly be implying any kind of moral equivalency between me and him?"
"I mean... but..." The boy tried to say something, likely something that would aggravate me even further, but I wouldn't let that come to pass.
"Or maybe you honestly think so? Maybe you think that it will be better if I refuse to do anything and let our dear friend Vlad kill anyone he wishes to? I would then be totally innocent of any property damage he causes and I wouldn't have to deal with idiots who think to charge me for the stuff I destroyed while fighting a superpowered criminal. He might manage to kill a couple hundred people, but that's fine. At least no buildings will get destroyed, right?"
"But..." The boy collected himself a little bit, likely realizing that I wasn't going to actually hurt him. I was a hero, after all, which made it ultimately safe to disrespect me. "But what if your fight destroys more than he would? Maybe he just wants to steal some money or..."
"Just money. Just money." I said, laughing quietly. If someone heard this conversation, I would probably look more like a villain than a hero, cause maybe I was slowly going insane. "Of course. I heard that too. Oftentimes superpowered battles cause more damage than the villains would on their own, and though it seems counterintuitive, it might actually be more heroic to step back or at least hold one's punches. At worst, they get away, right?"
The boy and Vlad both nodded vigorously.
"**Wrong!**" I yelled. "The damage wrought by the battle can be awful, but it can also be repaired, at least if there is enough money in the budget. But you know when there isn't enough money? **If it all gets fucking stolen!** Even assuming the villain in question doesn't need money to make, I don't know, a planet-destroying superlaser, you have to understand that society *runs on money*. On property you can use to buy food, or build roads, or fund training for heroes to fight off villains who just keep coming, and will keep coming even faster if they learn the heroes are too pathetic to stop them for fear of collateral damage. That's why we arrest regular thieves, even if it can result in someone getting hurt and it will result in them losing freedom for a time, though most of us agree that life and freedom are more important than property. If anyone is to enjoy a safe life there have to be rules in place, and breaking these rules cannot be an effective strategy to get ahead. If we all just..."
"I don't know, the kid has a point," Vlad cut in. "Couldn't you at least be more careful to not damage something whilst fighting me? It would prevent a lot of destruction, you know?"
"It wouldn't, and you know it," I growled at him. "Hell, you taught me that yourself. By thinking of not damaging stuff while fighting, the hero puts themselves at a disadvantage, because they cannot fully focus on winning or even surviving. Even more so if the villain exploits this weakness, like you no doubt would. It's bad enough that I'm forbidden from ever harming hostages directly, like that child you would have used as a shield if he hadn't run off while we were talking."
Vlad glanced to the side, only to see empty pavement where once was an annoying little boy. He smiled. "You got one stupid bastard out of the way of our fight. Not bad. But you were really mean to him, and I think the media will have your head for that. I really don't envy your lot in life."
"We talked about this before, remember?" I sighed. "I'm not going to give up heroism just because people are ungrateful idiots. Those who do good will always get judged by those who don't, from the comfort of the latter's couches. Pointing to collateral damage they don't have the power to cause, criticizing choices they were never forced to make. If all good people quit because of that, there would never be any good in the world. And yet there is, and I want to be a part of it. So I'll ignore the smug remarks, thank you."
"Everyone in a mile radius has left the danger zone already," Vlad pointed out. "You don't have to distract me with all this wise talk any further."
"True." I shrugged, stretching my muscles before the fight resumed. "But I enjoy these tangents. It's worth more than the salary the feds pay me."
"We are not so different, then," Vlad said, flames lighting up in his eyes as he activated his cataclysmic powers. Powers that could be used to destroy the entire city, and that hopefully would only damage its part if he was focused on killing me. "I also don't care much about money."
The buildings crumbled as the fight began anew.
|
I hate kids.
Well, not really, but I hate stupid kids. Half the reason i became an educator is to prevent them from multiplying.
However in my hero identity I could only just point to the man who was currently trying to wipe out everyone in the state of Wisconsin with two Tsar bombas and currently holding him and his family hostage.
"Look, I know you think your'e smart because you noticed that lots of people die in terroists attacks. relaly, that's great but incase you didn't notice i'm trying to SAVE WISCONSIN!"
The kid stared at me. "but what about everywhere else?"
"I CAN worry about that latter!"
I rushed in and finished Genocitron the Madman and disarmed the bomb.
"but look at what it cost, the other supervillians-"
"This is the League of Extrodiary People, Dawnstar calling. We've secured the other bombs and are currently evacuating them."
I sighed. "Don't they teach you kids in school anymore? Who do you think we are? We stop the badguys and help clean up. It's not always pretty, because the badguys don't want it to be. What's important is that we help and clean up, because unlike some people we care about the conseqeunces of our actions. We're not Synder cut rejects; we're heroes."
I pat the kid on the head, and Drag Genocitron behind me.
"BUT THE VIOLENCE IS INHERINT IN THE-"
"Oh shut up hun." His mother tells him.
| 2021-04-18T06:16:45
| 2021-04-18T05:17:18
| 301
| 130
|
[WP] You've died, and reincarnation is run like a used car lot. Currently the salesman is trying to talk you into a cream puff of a life with "low miles".
I posted this a few months ago and it didn't get much love. I hope it does now. I am not a writer so I hope someone can come up with a good story for this. Thank you.
|
"Can I interest you in the deluxe turtle package?"
The salesman, Jeff, was doing his best but it was rather comical. His hair was slicked but split out in random directions in the back. His tie was stuck in his shirt. He had very clearly spilled a *lot* of coffee on his pants some time ago. I knew exactly what I was dealing with, but I went along for the ride anyway. Might as well have a little fun before you have to get back to living, right?
"What does the turtle package include, exactly?" I asked.
"The *deluxe* turtle package, you mean. And it has everything! Island living, housing on both land and in water, and and all you can eat buffet of leaves for every meal for the rest of your life. Trust me, it's *greeeat,*" Jeff assured.
"But won't people find my kids and eat them before they hatch? I don't know if I can live with my kids being eaten, Jeff," I said.
He frowned. "Well, okay, so maybe that isn't the option for you. Just don't come back to me and tell me I didn't give you my best lifespan option right out of the gate, mister. You would've lived a long and healthy life. Anyway, let's see what else I have out here...Ah! How about a slightly malformed whale?"
"Okay, okay, I can see that. Still a long life, beautiful ocean views, seafood. How deformed are we talking?" I asked, trying not to smile.
"Everything works wonderfully except the vocal chords. You still have a beautiful voice, it's just a bit wonky on the pitch," Jeff said.
"Isn't that how they know their pods? Wouldn't I be trapped in a life of lonely drifting, never to be understood or even known by my own kind?" I said.
"But nobody would eat your kids! Isn't that what's really the most important, here?" Jeff said,
I had to stifle a belly laugh while I glared bullets into Jeff's black, beady eyes. This was a fun game to play, but there wasn't much more I could take.
"How about a tree?" Jeff finally said. "You'll be surrounded by other trees, so you'd never be alone. Plenty of food as long as Earth's sun holds out. Some of your kids would die, sure, but some would likely grow alongside you for many years."
I could see a glimmer of hope in Jeff's eyes, which I had to crush just one more time.
"I'm not sure I like thinking of the possibility of being chopped down and eventually made into toilet paper or a coaster or a cereal box, Jeff. Think of the future!"
Jeff would have pulled his hair out had he been able to get any grip on it. But as he quietly cursed to himself under his breath, I gave him a break. "Hey, how about that grasshopper you have in the back?"
"Oh, *sure*," Jeff said in a mocking tone, clearly not believing I could want a life so volatile. "'Oh, but what if some stupid bird eats me! Or what if some bozo steps on me! Or maybe a billion other things I can't possibly control.'"
"Eh, I'll hop around for a bit, see some cool flowers, eat some grass. You know, a simple but good life," I said.
"But your life would be so short!" Jeff said, clearly confused. "That's one of the highest mileage options I have! Why would you want that?" he asked.
"Well, you see, it mostly comes down to hope," I said.
"Hope?" Jeff asked.
"Correct. My life would be short," I said
"How is that hopeful?" Jeff questioned indignantly. "You'll just end up right back here!"
"Exactly. But I'm hopeful that next time, maybe I'll end up with a better salesman."
________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
|
"Right, low miles." I cleared my throat. "Let's be frank here, so does that mean I die instantly? Like, in childhood? Why would I live again just to die early?"
He seemed to backpedal, waving his hands in front of him. "Oh, well look here, bud. It's simply a cream puff of a life. A little whipped creamed dashed on the delectable savor of... uh, vitality. You'll never get anything quite like it."
"Born to a billionaire just to die instantly?" I mused. Then I cast my gaze back around this place - this completely white place of limbo, just as you might imagine it to be. Except around me were multiple cars with people, salesmen, surrounding. All beckoning to me with wild eyes and smiles that only looked slightly deranged. Who knew, this was probably hell, and I was certainly dead. I remembered dying like yesterday; but I did not want to remember my life, shithole that it was.
Maybe whatever it was had taken mercy on me, because apparently now I'd been given a chance to manually select a new life... but like all supposed blessings, they come with a catch.
"Here! Old Mercedes Benz for sale!" A guy with a floppy hat waved me over incessantly; not seeing any better course of action, I decided to check that out.
I actually didn't know much about cars, at all. And I honestly wasn't tempted so far to choose anything with so few information. I mean, anything could be a trap. The best sign of some being or higher power had been the sign containing a manual at the beginning of the... limbo car lot. And that hadn't been encouraging, just a few mixed messages and 'good luck'. I still didn't exactly know what I was doing here.
"It's a bit rusty, but this car's steadiness is as good as any. Recently repainted and refurbished. Surely you'd enjoy the ride; top notch seats with plush comfort - "
"Wait," I said. "Where am I riding it to, though?"
"Your new life, of course!" He looked affronted. "You'll enjoy plenty of scenery along the way; don't get held back by rivers of burning hell with the inflatable wheel function. With plenty of gas to spare, you won't break down in a field of the chained damned."
"Okay..." I stated. "What about the warranty? If I drive this car, what happens if it does break down?"
"Well, you'll die, obviously. For real."
"I don't want to die."
"You won't die! Not with this top-notch car. Soon you'll be singing its praises, on the way to a happy life down yonder - "
Suddenly the car salesman was hit with a cream puff.
"He lies," hissed the salesman of the cream puff life. "That car's killed hundreds before. Buy mine instead; any low mileage is made up by the pure joy and salvation obtainable from the tortured labor of angels."
I backed away slowly. "Thanks, but no thanks."
| 2019-12-11T19:28:56
| 2019-12-11T18:18:11
| 411
| 34
|
[WP] Eye colour means everything here. Brown control the earth, blue controls the water, white controls the sky. There are so many colours and each important but you were the first born with yellow eyes.
|
Every colour has a power.
Brown controls the earth.
Blue controls the water.
White controls the sky.
There are many colours, and some are more common than others.
Grey, the colour of ashes, is the most common colour. Grey controls fire.
The least common was Purple, the eye colour of the royal family that has ruled for millennia, and the controllers of shadows.
It *was* Purple.
Until me.
I'm Yellow.
The first Yellow.
And I can control people.
|
I had always been jealous of the others. Being able to cause earthquakes, raise and lower the ground, rolling the ground underneath my feet as if it were a skateboard. Or what about being able to make water appear wherever you wanted it to appear. Make it rain and shower the pastures for the farmers or being able to give water to those who are thirsty. Also, flying looked amazing; having the wind catch you under your arms and fly wherever you wanted. I was jealous, until I grew over it and discovered my power. Legal drinking age. All my friends weren't allowed to drink until they turned eighteen. That wasn't a problem for me. My yellow eyes enabled me to control beer and make it go wherever I wanted it to, most importantly: in my mouth. I started drinking when I was sixteen and haven't stopped ever since. I drink beer almost every day and whenever I become nauseous or tipsy, I have it leave my body. That's right. Right from the bladder, back through my throat and onto the street. It sounds disgusting, but being able to have infinite drinks? It's awesome. I earn my money nowadays by competing in drinking games. "Fifty bucks for the fool who can chug the most!" Easy money.
"Alright guys, I'm gonna take a piss. All that beer has to come out," I say as I leave the room filled with people staring at me in awe after winning another drinking game, netting twenty bucks this time. I head for the toilets and lock myself up in a stall. I don't feel like getting the beer back out through my mouth, so I just stand and piss. Soon after some guys enter the bathroom. "He went in here, the fraud," one says. "Must be in that stall." Their footsteps draw closer and all of a sudden they start banging on the door. "We know you're in there, yellow eye." "Show us what you're worth, beer drinking fraud."
Shit, they've discovered my power. I've been taking a leak for a minute now and I'm still not done. I focus and I can feel the piss running out of me in a more intense way. It doesn't take long until I can feel its warmth embody me. Goodness, I'm controlling my own piss. Let's see how they like this! I turn around and my beam hits the closed door, but I target the waterfall upwards, over the stall and the yellow fountain of warmth showers over the guys standing in front of it. "WHAT THE F- HE'S PISSING OVER THE DOOR!" one says and the rest starts shouting. They run from the bathroom while shouting and soon after peace returns. I turn back around and aim for the pot again, lowering the ray in the middle.
Beer controlling and now piss controlling. Sweet.
| 2016-08-08T11:30:41
| 2016-08-08T10:59:12
| 55
| 12
|
[WP] You lay there, in the middle of nowhere, dying. There at your side a ghost appears, he's not there to save you, he can't. He's there to give you company, so you won't die alone like it did so many years ago.
|
I was dying in the middle of nowhere.
Well, I guess that idiom makes no sense, the more I think about it. You can't be *nowhere*, right? No matter where you are, you're somewhere, even if it's a somewhere that specializes in a whole lot of nothing.
That's the more accurate description, I suppose, though it doesn't have the same ring to it. I was dying in a thinning forest of waning autumn, like the trees and sky around me. A place with a lot of leaves, bushes, and most notably: nothing.
Aside from the ghost who was chilling with me. Not really sure when he showed up, but it was sometime after I popped that little blue pill.
"Odd place to die," he said to me, taking form as swirling dirt and bits of leaf, the way an invisible man in a storm might. I didn't bother questioning his manifestation. "I would know."
"Odd place to be dead."
He walked, or perhaps floated, toward me. "Touché. So, what brings you all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere?"
"We're somewhere, aren't we?" I chuckled weakly. Something was definitely dragging me down, like gravity had been turned up or I'd hardened to stone. Time itself seemed to sag.
"True enough." He sat next to me, like the living memory of a man who once camped in those parts. "But why here? So remote."
"I've always liked nature" -- I slumped a little, sighing deeply and looking to a sky speckled with auburn leaves -- "and never really liked people. Turns out being a loner with stage four lymphoma is not a blast. I throw a pity party and no one else shows up."
"So you're choosing your own way out?"
"Yeah, something like that." I drew out a blink, taking in the musty scent of cedarwood and mud. "Having a smidge of control makes me feel like it's not the end of the world. Better to go peacefully, rather than wait for the worst to come. Besides, it's a nice place to end."
"That it is. I wouldn't have wanted to go in any other setting. I guess we have that in common, at least."
I turned to the odd spirit, so serene despite appearing as a tornado. "I would've never guessed someone else had died around here."
"Friend, there's not a place on Earth that someone or something hasn't died. Death is like the air that settles around us, hugging the planet and its little creatures as they pass through."
"Are you here to save me, then? Stop it from happening with some kind of fate-power because there's still *so much left to do*?"
He shook his swirling, sedimentary head. "It's not the dead's place to interfere with such matters, even if I could save you.
"No, I'm just here so you're not alone. And it's nice, because for a little while... I won't be, either."
I smiled. "Who knows? Maybe we'll get to hang out once it's over. Drift around the woods, in a somewhere between here and nowhere."
"I'd like that."
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
The car had fallen into a river, apparently. I couldn't remember it clearly; the entire night had been a blur. One second, I had been driving, the next, I found myself in freezing cold water, still buckled in my seat. I was watching myself from outside my body, which terrified me to no end. The glass from my windows had shattered and a trail of blood from my forehead leaked into the dirty, foggy water.
I pushed at the door, numb.
"I wouldn't do that," a man said. I didn't jump. I continued pushing against the door repeatedly. It wouldn't budge.
I ignored the fact that my hands would pass through the door every few pushes.
"Let me out," I whispered into the water. "I want to live. I need to breathe." A small voice in the back of my head said, '*You're in shock, Stanley. You have to hurry. You're drowning, stupid*.'
"That's what I thought," the man said. "But it's not going to budge. Plus, there's tons of logs and-"
"Shut up! Shut up. I need to work." I stared at the door, avoiding looking at my cold, unmoving body. More blood seeped into the water from my head, and I was noticing that the glass had badly cut my hands.
I clenched the hands I couldn't see and began trying to unbuckle my body, looking away as I did so.
A man's pale face appeared in my vision. He looked sad, almost mournful.
"Why can I see you?" I asked wearily when the seatbelt wouldn't release. "Can you help me get out? I can live after this."
"You've been under here for minutes, my friend. Your body is beyond dying." The man gave a shrug and gestured at my body"s chest. "No breathing. You're in the last stretch of dying. That's why I'm here."
"Since you're here, help me. Don't try and tell me I'm dead!" I snapped, feeling myself begin to shake.
He tried touching the seatbelt, but his hand passed through both the belt and me. "See?"
I closed my eyes, feeling more weary than I had on the road. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" I hit the dashboard, but the scattered glass didn't move-in fact, my hands just passed through the entire dashboard.
"Help me get out," I said, beginning to panic. "Find help."
The man shook his head. "Let me keep you company. I didn't get it in death, and that was the worst way to go."
I gazed at my body and settled down, realizing that this really was it.
I was dying.
"I'm sorry you didn't get company," I said softly, not knowing what else to say.
The man just smiled and shook his head. "At least I can offer you my company. Here, my name is Connor. What's yours?"
"Stanley. It's... nice to meet you. Thank you, Connor."
"I hope those you leave behind will remember you."
I sighed. "Me too."
We sat in silence, watching the water swish around my body. I could feel the edges of my mind fading away into death.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"No, thank *you* for giving me some company."
| 2019-03-28T19:00:19
| 2019-03-28T18:42:29
| 941
| 50
|
[WP] "Reddit" is a massive city, with subreddits as districts. Describe a chase scene.
|
I couldn't lose this one, not again.
For years I was a lurker, a damn bum, you know? Gave nothing to the community. Well, I figured it was my shot, you know? Bring a few reposts to justice, snag some easy karma, get them the downvotes they deserve - you know, give back a little.
Now here I am, chasing some shitposting jerkoff through Reddit's underbelly. I spotted him on r/WTF with that pic of the dude's nuts hangin' out or whatever, you know? Eh, anyways so there I am runnin' him down and he takes a turn for the really weird shit. Sure, he knew his way around r/nosleep and r/gore - real scummy parts of town, you know. I dodged the boogymen and the corpses easy though, I've seen enough shit in my time that a few stories about eyes in your window at night won't keep me off the mean streets. Pretty soon I was right on his heels. He didn't even break stride as we crossed the intersection into r/watchpeopledie.
He took a sharp right by some dude, looked like he got run over by a car, into an alley that smelled like blood and whispered my name. Scary shit, but I had to get some karma in my pocket. I put my head down and ended up on the other side. Where the hell was I? Well, good fuckin' question friend. I was deep, way deep. r/deepintoyoutube. Voices echoed from windows, whispered all nasally and short, you know? Big billboards advertising sex dolls and horrible, drug-fuelled nonsense. Hundreds of small streets branch off in every direction here, but no one wants to see where they go. I accidentally caught eye of r/neckbeardnests through a shattered window - god damn, why couldn't this asshole make a sprint for the randnsfw expressway? My attention snapped back to the guy as he sprinted full speed toward the docks.
I put my head down and ran, wheezing. The air was thick, putrid, real dank shit. And not r/trees dank, you know? God, it filled my throat and seemed to suck the life outta me. I stumbled and fell, looking up to see him run down r/dolan. Poor bastard, he'll get what he deserves there. As for me, I was busy choking on my own vomit. God, what was that stench? I looked to my left to see a mound of something... I couldn't quite make it out. It wasn't just the mound though, the shit was pouring out of every window, every doorway, even the manholes were overflowing with the slimy bastards. What could be so fuckin' rancid, so putrid and dank, that it ruined this whole block? They were fuckin' fish. Fuckin' fish everywhere! Where the hell was I? I looked up to the sign at the corner, squinting. In simple text, I could barely make out the name of this pisshole of a street, ruined by a damn plague of fish: r/me_irl.
|
"There, heading westbound from Askreddit," said a young Mod over the radio.
The Admin fired up his Model S and looped around Frontpage Square, keeping a healthy distance behind the notorious hacker Four Chan. The rogue coasted into the alleys of WTF. After a moment, he followed.
Chan had already parked his ice cream truck in a dim corner. Face obscured, he slipped out the driver's seat, glanced around surreptitiously, and stood by the double doors at the back.
Hours passed, and Reddit went black as dead AMOLED. On the opposite corner, the Admin's eyes grew heavy. It all happened in a blur: two figures raced out of the adjacent apartment block, with a heavy canvas bag strung between them. The Admin could just make out viscous drips. Chan threw open the trunk doors. The bag was tossed in with a thump, the two figures jumped in after it, and the doors swung shut. Then the truck came to life, and peeled off in seconds.
The Admin fumbled with his keys, flustered. *Go, go go!* Just as the van made the next corner, he was hot in pursuit. Tarmac shrunk as the distance narrowed. Blood rushing, his finger hovered above the control panel when all of a sudden, the windshield cracked. He sweved, violent. Downvotes were spraying out Chan's window ahead of him.
The Admin pulled down the first major street he could find. He would catch up with Four and his cronies before the evening was done, but at the moment he needed backup of his own. The Hotel IAmA was a shining beacon in the city center, one of the area's most notable attractions. As he pulled up, a valet came to the window.
"May I help you?"
The Admin removed his sunglasses.
"Oh shit. Sorry, my mistake."
The place was under new management now, but none of them ran it like Victoria used to. A revolving door spun, interrupting his lament. Ms. Dormer hopped in the passenger seat and gave him the trademark asymmetrical smirk.
"Addy, it's always pleasure." She winked, twisted around, and pushed open the back door. Then, calling louder, "Get in loser, we're going shopping."
Sir David clambered in and gave him the warmest of handshakes. "The lesser spotted Natalie taunts her prey. My old friend Mr. Admin, how is the world's deadliest troll hunter?"
"Wonderful to see you both," said The Admin. "There'll be time to catch up later, I'm sure. We have work to do. Chan is back."
"I'm afraid we already know. He'll be on his way to the Relationships District by now." Sir David pressed three grey cartridges into his hand. On each, in small black letters, was etched 'SHADOWBAN'. "Let's waste the fucker," he said in a voice like buttered leather.
The Admin smiled.
| 2016-01-09T20:49:04
| 2016-01-09T19:40:56
| 604
| 190
|
[WP] Everyone in your family gets one wish upon reaching age 18.
I would love to see replies where this is known by the public and where it is not.
|
The grandfather clock ticked towards midnight.
A screen above the command desk provided a digital countdown and much more accurate measure of my fate. We were in the basement of our family home. Our secret seat of power. My uncle paced in the background while my father sat across from me in a comfortable leather chair. The only other person in the room was a hulking secret service agent by the door. He had a machine gun at his side and his finger near the trigger. I looked at my father. Despite his sleek suit and calm face I could tell he was worried. I had always worried him.
“Do you want to go over it one more time?” he asked me.
I sunk back into my own chair and looked at the screen. Five more minutes. “No,” I replied.
“You are going to wish the President of ISIS suddenly wants to call me and tell me everything he knows. This is incredibly important son. The fate of both our family and the nation rests in your wish.” He continued, ignoring what I had said.
“I know,” I said, looking at the screen, not wanting to meet my father’s eyes.
“He better not fuck this up,” said my uncle, a shorter, fatter version of my dad.
“He won’t” said my dad. “Will you son?”
I didn’t reply. Outside this house the world continued to turn, unaware of the importance of this moment. Economic strife and warfare dotted the globe. The nation of ISIS, the last superpower to resist America, had achieved nuclear weapons and stood poised to attack. I wondered what the world would be like if my family didn’t have its own secret arsenal. An arsenal of magic wishes.
When a male of my bloodline turns eighteen years old he gets one wish. It’s as simple as that. It started with my Great Grandfather. He was an archaeologist and explorer. He was the one who found the statue in a forgotten temple deep in the Amazonian jungle. He was a very practical man. When the demon gave him one wish he wished that all his future male descendants would get one wish on the day they became a man. His own son, my Grandfather, was five years old at the time.
For the next thirteen years he tried to prepare his son for what was coming. He educated him as best he could and repeatedly explained the ramifications of his decision. My Grandfather thought him a fool. On his eighteenth birthday he didn’t wish for any of things he had been urged to wish for. Instead, mostly to get his crazy father to leave him alone, he wished to be the strongest man on the planet. No one of was more surprised than him when it came true. You might have heard of my Grandfather. Larry ‘The Crusher’ Johnson. The most dominant heavyweight in the history of boxing. When my uncle turned eighteen he was ready. He had seen the things my Grandfather could do, grown up surrounded by the wealth the boxing provided. When he turned eighteen he wished to become the richest man on the planet. A few years later my father wished to become the president of the United States.
Now I sat in a room with the two most powerful men on the planet. They glared at me as the clock ticked down. I knew my duty. Knew what I was supposed to do.
The clock hit zero. I took at deep breath.
“I wish I was Superman.” I yelled before anyone could stop me.
I would deal with ISIS on my own terms. Then I would deal with my family.
Edit: small stuff
|
"I don't think a day went by we didn't fight."
"Why was this, do you think?"
I knew the answer.
"I don't know."
"Well why don't you have a think about it?"
Because I didn't have to. I knew why me and my brother fought. I knew. It was because he didn't love me and he never had.
"I think it's because he blamed himself for ma and pa breaking up and used me as some sort of a scapegoat."
It wasn't because of this. In fact the answer was rather more simple. My brother did not love me. He just didn't.
"And you think that's why he left when he was 19?"
I wasn't really paying attention to my councillor any more. He asked too many questions. I wanted answers.
"Look, I think I'm gonna go. I'm 18 tomorrow. So, heh, you know? Big day 'n all."
"He he, yeah sure is!..."
"...yeah"
"You know Michael I really feel like you should open up more."
Who gives you the right?
"Hmm, yeah..."
I left. I tended to get more psychological release on the bus home from my counselling sessions than in them. It was my 18th tomorrow. Like I said, big day. I didn't know what I would wish for. I didn't care. Nothing would bring back my Brother. He wasn't dead, I hope I haven't made it sound that way. He left last year when he was 19. I lied to my councillor. We didn't argue, we never argued. We never spoke.
"One ticket to brick avenue, please."
We would share a glance maybe, once a day. I don't know. I had nothing against him. Nor did I have anything against his hatred for me. Because it didn't seem irrational. But I just don't know why.
I got off the bus and went to bed.
As the morning approached I began to think of what I would wish for. You were supposed to tell the family what it was a month in advance. Tradition. But I hadn't. Nor had my brother. In fact he had never told anyone what he wished for. This had never really bothered me. He had never told anyone. Why? This thought soon drifted away and my mind had started to focus more on what I wanted to wish for. I searched relentlessly. Money? That's what pa had wished for. I am thankful for that. A perfect partner? This is what my mother had wished for...Wait. I ran to the cellar and searched through all our documents for hours. Then bam. I found it. The marriage certificate. My parents weren't married until they were 27. How had my mother wished when she wasn't yet in the family? Unless... That would explain why my brother was so hostile. He wasn't my father's. There was another family with our "gift" and they wanted to be the only ones. My mind exploded with questions, but one in particular was gnawing away at me. What had my brother wished for?
I awoke the next day and my family had already prepared the ceremony. Even my brother was there. I could not look at him in the same way. I took my seat and we began the blessing. It was a low hum, rising gradually. I had decided what I would wish for. I would wish that that the whole world new of our "gift". It was what I had to do. But one thought was still racing through my mind. I couldn't drop it. What had my brother wished for? The answer just wouldn't come, and it frustrated me, so , so deeply. However my thought was quickly interrupted when finally the moment arrived. My father pressed his index fingers on my temples and the humming was drawing to a halt. When one makes their wish, they feel cleansed and free. My father described it as a feeling of "lucidity". I closed my eyes. The humming was growing louder and my father was chanting the prayer. I counted down.
5...4...3...2...1...
I made my wish.
But I did not feel enlightened. I did not feel cleansed. Had the ceremony gone wrong? It didn't seem that way. But my wish hadn't worked. I couldn't use my "gift".
And then it hit me. What my brother had wished for.
| 2015-07-07T05:55:23
| 2015-07-07T05:42:25
| 77
| 12
|
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
credit to r/Debdub10 for thinking of the idea
|
Galactic Union Database Entry 365748:
Species: Human (Terran)
Origin: “Earth” Planet orbiting “Sun” Star in Galactic Sector Arm-12
Threat Level: Mostly Harmless
By: Humanologist Frod Perfect
Entry:
The Terran species, or “Human” as they call themselves, are a Tier 4 Civilization that has dominated their solar system, through unusual means. They are known throughout the galaxy as an irrational species that acts before fully creating well-thought out plans. Whilst average sentient forms will spread throughout their local system for military conquest, economic gain, religious pilgrimages, or due to need of resources, the “Human”race decided to explore the stars because “we felt like it” (Human Ambassador Greg Jones Earth year 2708).
Humans are incredibly spontaneous. They name things without any clear system and in incredibly small minded manners. Examples of this are seen in their names for Astrological bodies. They invented the term “Sun” to describe a star in the center of a solar system, and then proceeded to name their sun “Sun”. They repeated this process with “Moon” and “Solar System”. Even stranger is their name for our galaxy. Instead of doing what most species have and naming it based on location, humans call it “The Milky Way” which my observations tell us they named after a beloved candy bar.
It is unknown if the human race is capable of thorough strategic actions. Their methods of handling problems appear to be “insane” and “stupid” yet somehow they have never lost in any recorded galactic warfare. Most species would have thought it suicide to deactivate their entire fleets to avoid being detected and get the flank on their opponents in the Terran Xyllquen War. By entire fleets I mean they actually turned off everything including all their lights and oxygen producing machinery. But humans didn’t think twice. By perhaps sheer chance, their opponents had only brought EMP weaponry to that fight and therefore were rendered useless when an entire fleet of unnecessarily dense and protected human ships rammed directly into the Xyllquen Warship. When asked, war strategist Joe Lincoln responded, “We had no idea about the EMP, we just wanted to dodge their radars.” Researchers later learned that, although ineffective against laser tech, human ship hulls were ultra thick because the manufacturers tried to scam them into paying for more launch fuel. Thus allowing the humans to launch themselves as projectiles, and take out their enemies in the ship with primitive electricity free projectile weapons as opposed to the civilized laser technology available.
The only recorded loss in Galactic Human history is against a non-sentient pest species of large avians on a planet in the Outback region, which lies down under “The Solar System” in which they were incapable of winning a war they waged against a species they named the “Emtwu.”
All other Galactic Union recognized sentient species have adapted superstitions about Terrans. Ever since they toppled the bloodthirsty Grexkan Mega-Empire without ever declaring war or even dispatching battle fleets. The Humans just sent one small team to perform an “Impossible Mission” that involved infiltrating the Grexkan Warship the “Planet-Eater”, deactivating all of their asteroid detection modules, and setting course for an asteroid belt. Mission leader Ethan Cruise commented, “Calling this mission impossible means doubting the human race.”
Most other species tend to avoid humans whenever possible, as they are unpredictable and untrustworthy. However they are also too afraid to deny any trade deals humans offer, as coming off as hostile against such an unpredictable species could mean the end of your civilization. Despite this humans have almost never been responsible for the starting of any war and generally friendly towards strangers. They have created businesses sending large voyager ships randomly deep through space on friendly missions to establish connections with other species. This form of starship enterprising is seen as a bad omen and often leads to many conflicts, none of which ever seem to go poorly for the humans.
It is unknown if humans are extremely powerful and ominous or if they’re just lucky and rash. But one thing is certain; their bizarre style of managing problems has been effective up til now.
End of Entry
-This was fun to write! I love the prompt and I hope anyone who sticks through the whole thing enjoys my writing. I tried fitting in some references, I hope they don’t feel too forced though. Either way I had a blast!
|
It's no use. The console just displays an error message indicating no input from the ship's sensors. The Samarrians crippled our ship and now we're unable to fire. Soon, after destroying the rest of the ships in our fleet, they will come back to board us.
I'm preparing for the inevitable. I lay my praying mantle before me, to ask Gurgaon and Medixas for their help in the incoming battle. I'm ready to pray for a glorious death.
But just as I was pulling out my Litsimas, the one they call Bob, the human, saw me, and with wide eyes on his face asked me about the object floating in my hand. I told him it was a Litsimas and it allowed us Bolgas to adequately pray. He was having none of that.
"No, no, no, no, no" he said, "I mean, where the hell is it pointing?"
I told him it pointed to the nearest star, as our Gods use them as gateways to their domain. He then rudely took the Litsimas out of my hand and ran away. I followed him around the ship, mainly because I wanted my sacred implement back. I was not letting this plundering brute to jeopardize my afterlife. But after a while I noticed he was reading the screens as he went. I finally found the reason for his outburst as he stopped on a console that worked.
"Where's the planet?" He asked. I did not have time for his lunacy, but he was adamant.
"WHERE THE HELL IS IT?!" He yelled, and not wanting to aggravate him even more, told him the last time I checked it was on the port. What was he planning?
Holding the Litsimas in one hand and typing with the other, he started crunching numbers on the console like a possessed, all the while praying to his god Pythagoras in his mutterings. Then after a while, he began laughing to himself. Believing he had gone mad with fear, I prepared to give him some comforting words when he suddenly bolted out towards the bridge. The guards posted on the door caught him and were struggling to contain this madman who was asking to see the captain.
"What is this indiscipline? Who is making such a scandal on my bridge?" Asked the captain. Bob then proceeded to explain to the captain that he had found a way to save the fleet.
"Captain, are the weapons systems still working?"
"Why do you ask? What is this about?"
"Sir I believe I'm able to calculate a firing solution"
The captain then busted into laughter. I did as well, how could this human do the work of such an advanced machine as the ship's supercomputers? How could he hope to make such calculations in his puny human head? But he was undeterred. He commandeered one of the consoles in the bridge, and before the guards could arrest him, he had issued a firing command.
We all held our breaths as we knew that this was a sign that we were still alive, and those barbarians would surely come back to kill us all. But then, the comms opened in the bridge, the admiral on screen.
"What happened to you Captain Astros? Why weren't you firing before? Where you all asleep?"
"Admiral, our sensors were knocked out, we had no way to return fire against the enemy!"
"Don't lie to me Captain, that was a direct hit to that Titan's shield generator, now I want you firing on those ships until you run out of ammo, do you understand me?"
"Yes, admiral" said the captain in utter disbelief, looking at the disgusting grin Bob the Human had on his face.
| 2018-10-11T14:41:01
| 2018-10-11T14:19:17
| 29
| 12
|
[WP] By Wizard Law, in order to learn a new skill, wizards are required to be apprenticed to a more experienced master. You, a barely trained journeyman fire mage, just took on an apprentice: a two-hundred-year-old Grandmaster Water Magic Lord.
|
"It's broken."
I looked at the old man and sighed. "It's not broken... you have to swish and drag your hand like this."
"Back in my day, we didn't have to swish and drag. We had good old fashioned wands and we were grateful for them!" he grumbled as he tried adjusting his Magika Glove.
"Wands are slow and awkward, Grandpa. Gloves are faster and you don't have to worry about pulling it out of it's case when you need it quickly." I took a breath and tried to push down my frustration. "Let's try it again. Focus your mind on the candle, *swish* and *draaag*."
The candle's wick gently caught on fire, the flame growing stronger as I dragged my hand through the air.
"See? Simple!" I smiled at my grandfather encouragingly. "You can do it, you're a Grandmaster Water Magic Lord. You've overcome harder things before."
The old man let out an audible *harumph* but turned back to the candle and tried again. The flame sparked to life but quickly went out.
"Argh... I told you, this damn thing is broken!" He exclaimed angrily. "I'm calling the company to give them a piece of my mind! Where's my wand?"
I felt a moment of comradery with the poor agent who will take his call and wished them the patience to get through it. Sitting down heavily on the couch, I watched my grandfather search for his misplaced wand and smiled to myself. He could have gone to one of his grandmaster friends to teach him fire magic but instead he called me. Despite the frustration of trying to teach him more modern tech, I enjoyed the time I spent with him.
"WHERE'S THAT BLASTED WAND?!"
I shook my head and chuckled as I stood. "Come on, Grandpa, I'll help you look."
|
Yún Yóu sat, still and quiet, listening as the Grandmaster made tea. The smell permeated the room, lingering aromas from the morning meal slowly drowning in the plain steam scent as the tea steeped. Outside in the morning sunshine, cicadas played their shrill and droning music.
"They say you are a prodigy," the Grandmaster said. "They say you already teach like a master. That you are a journeyman only because you are too young to be accepted as a higher pupil."
Yóu sighed at the compliment, but bowed nonetheless.
"You shame me, Water Lord," he said. "I have done nothing to deserve this honor."
The small fire in the kiln twisted, reaching out as if in supplication. Yóu reached his own hand back, and the flames coiled around his thin fingers like the ghost of an orange serpent. As the fire comforted Yóu, tea coiled from the spout of the teapot. Steaming and green, it poured itself neatly into the two cups nearby.
The Grandmaster picked up her teacup, carefully sipping. She watched Yóu play with the flickering flames as if they were a garden snake. After a few moments, they began to pale and wither, and he released them back into the kiln. There, they caught the coals once more, and flowed back into their natural form as a small cooking fire.
"You treat the flames as if they are alive. I knew a girl once, who did much the same with metal." The Grandmaster cocked a white eyebrow at the young man, her wrinkled skin a topology of curiosity.
Yóu sat, quietly contemplating for a moment. Then with slow, careful movements, he unwound the bandage over his ruined eyes. The scarred and melted flesh caught at the linen, but he gently separated it with a small wince.
Once more, the flames in the kiln reached out. Gently, they licked the metal table, and found their way over the side, where they swept back and forth until they found the porcelain cup. Only then did Yóu reach his hand out, finding his cup with a lazy sort of grace.
They sat for a moment, sipping their tea. Yóu could not see the Grandmaster's expression, but he could hear her ancient heartbeat pounding in excitement. He heard her hand quiver, rattling teacup against table as she set it down.
"I see; I believe I see," she whispered. "It's not the flames that live."
Yóu reached into his robes, finding his spare bandage. He held out the fresh strip of linen, straightening it in his hands, and offered it in the direction of the Grandmaster's voice. He felt her fingers brush his, as she carefully took it from him. He listened as she tied it, using it to cover her own eyes.
"This is all I have to teach, Water Lord. Once the flames light your path, you are a master in all but rank."
Blind but for the light of the fire, two masters bowed to one another. Quietly, they finished their tea as the cicadas sang.
| 2022-05-30T10:09:14
| 2022-05-30T09:50:12
| 236
| 120
|
[WP] God is a game dev and he just released a patch for his game "Earth". Write the changelog describing patches, balances, tweaks, etc.
|
*Earth Patch 2016.3*
* Tomatoes now grow 30% larger under ideal conditions
* Water slightly rescaled to allow for a more balanced pH
* Media sources slightly reworked to allow less biased material
* Jesus rebalanced, removed walk on water, added can now cure deaf (can still cure blindness).
* Pancakes can now be more easily flipped using spatulas (reduced mų by .2)
* Human growth slightly decreased
* Human health slightly decreased
* Ice cream no longer provides the Brain freeze debuff.
* Sugar now properly stores as fat (diabetic bug fixed)
* Respect rescaled to mean less when being honest and mean more when lying.
* Respawn on life forms changed from indefinite to 10 trillion years
* Buffed Plague debuff by adding sexually transmitted element.
* Cancer will now affect those with lower karma scores more frequently.
* Methamphetamine duration increased from 4 hours to 5 hours
* Government influence reduced by 2.
* Hallucinations will now be more colorful.
* Popcorn failure rate decreased from 2% to 1.5%
* Dog hearing range from 500 ft to 1000 ft
* Cat nighttime vision added x-ray vision
* Horse genitials reduced by 10%
* Cows are now more likely to revolt in deplorable conditions
* Chickens +1 cuteness
* Crabs (STD) is less likely to be spread from truck stop toilet seats.
|
Ver 0.0.001.636.403
**The big things:**
Added tools to combat 'Global Warming' Players can now research and craft tools to combat destructive weather. I really enjoyed the idea of having increasingly hazardous weather, but it seems players are focused to heavily on it. I've added tools to effectively combat it, however the players must first research them.
With the number of players consistently increasing, the world just doesn't feel big enough. The moon is a good start, but it's small and will likely be over populated before the next patch. I've added an additional playable area, Players will soon be able to colonize Mars.
Lack of resources meant that players were resorting to PVP more than I had anticipated. Increasing the Yield of renewable energy. Players should see a big change in solar and wind power over the next few decades. It's likely that large scale PVP will see a small reduction.
With the addition of the new playable area added several new species to find and document. Sometimes Trillions just aren't enough.
Extinction appeared to be a big problem that players happened to complain about. While the crafting patterns and materials are available it just didn't feel good enough. I've updated and added new techniques in order to increase cloning. Players should have the opportunity to craft and re add extinct species' to playable environments.
Added the ability for players to modify their own genetics. This is incredibly difficult for the time being and will require players to experiment with trial and error to find out the most efficient builds.
**Major Bug fixes:**
Fixed issue where World Raid boss Jesus wasn't respawning. He should now respawn once every 500 years.
Fixed an issue where physics got all "wonkey" once players got down to the molecular level. I'm looking at you light wave/particles.
Fixed an issue where nuclear weapons had too big a yield and the AoE after effect persisted too long. The sixth tier nuclear weapon detonations should only be about the size of a city and the AoE should now only last a couple years, down from several decades. Note: Nuclear waste AoE persistence remains the same.
**Server Status:**
Since this is a fairly small patch, I don't expect servers to need a shutdown, but I'll see how it goes. If the servers do need to be reset, players will unfortunately lose all data and be forced to start over from scratch. I expect to have this issue fixed before the official release date.
**Other notes**
Several hackers have been banned including Data Miners, the most infamous being a User by the name "Nostradamus".
| 2016-03-08T10:26:32
| 2016-03-08T10:24:46
| 40
| 23
|
[WP] Write a seemingly innocent story that could have been written for children. Then tell a different perspective on the same story that casts it in a totally different light.
Nothing in the original story should change - all that should change is the perspective on it.
|
**SAM**
Sam always wanted a sister. She didn't have many friends at school, and was very timid. It worried her parents greatly, and although they knew they couldn't have any more kids, Sam deserved a friend. So, they sat down, and decided to adopt.
"Sam," her mother said one day, "The agency called and said we have a match! A girl, 6 years old just like you, named Caroline!"
Of course, Sam was elated! A sister the same age! Just like twins! She was told her dad was going out of town to the orphanage to pick up Caroline and bring her home! Sam waited anxiously all day; and when her father pulled into the drive, he got out and walked around to the passenger side and grabbed a little girl's hand. Sam waited at the door with her mother, a huge smile on her face.
"I'm Sam!" she greeted as they stood in the doorway. Her father nudged the little girl next to him gently. She timidly answered, "I'm...Caroline."
Her father said, "We're your family now!"
___
**CAROLINE**
Caroline sat in the passenger seat of the car, the man next to her intensely staring at the road. She jumped slightly, startled when he spoke, "Your name is Caroline. You will be polite, and you will play with Sam whenever she wants. Got it?"
Caroline nodded fearfully. *Why did he take me? Where is he taking me? He told me was bringing me to the hospital, because my mom was in trouble. This isn't the hospital. Where are we? Why does he say I'm Caroline? My name is Lily.*
She shivered, and started to cry. The man shouted, "Don't you *DARE* cry. You have no idea what I will do to you if you cry!"
Caroline/Lily quickly sucked it up and put on a brave face. They pulled into the driveway of a nice, two-story house. He mumbled, "Don't try to run."
He got out, walked around to her side and opened the door. He led her inside to find a woman and a young girl she assumed was Sam. When Sam introduced herself, the man prodded Lily in the ribs. She answered, "I'm...Caroline."
The man said menacingly, "We're *your* family now!"
|
It was a bright and clear day. The sun was shinning and there was even a slight breeze. The setting was a lively forrest and out of that forrest came Jack. Jack was no ordinary boy however, Jack was part boy part squirrel. Jack had puffy cheeks two large teeth that were more prominent than the others and had the furry backside of a squirrel. Jack walked over to a crystal clear lake and stood before it looking down at his own reflection with a smile. Out from the forrest to join Jack was his little friend Wendy who, just as Jack, was no ordinary girl. She was part girl part bunny. She was more rabbit than person however for she was covered in a beautiful pink coat of fur and and long fuzzy ears. The only part of her that was girl was that she stood upright with a round and intelligent face. Wendy joined Jack beside the lake and also looked down at her reflection and smiled. Wendy then whispered something inaudible to Jack and the two giggled with glee and watched as the sun set behind the majestic mountains.
****
****
****
****
Jack slowly emerged from the forrest as he did every day for the past three days. He was a happy boy, but no ordinary boy. Long ago Jack and his neighbor Wendy had been playing in the forrest. They were having so much fun they hadn't realized that they had wandered off far from home. And that was when they met Mr. Langly. Mr. Langly was an old, balding man with white hair and a serious face. Mr. Langly took the two with him into his cabin in the woods and performed a series of unethical experiments on the two. He had the two mutated to share traits with animals. Jack was chosen to be infused with the DNA of a squirrel. Mr. Langly was not entirely pleased by the results. *Still too human*, he thought. So when he went on to the teary eyed Wendy he removed most of her genetic makeup and fit her with that of a rabbit. Her appearance was far more pleasing to Mr. Langly.
For nearly a year Mr. Langly would perform perverse experiments of all sorts on the two. He dissected them alive, had them mate with other animals to see results of the offspring and far more cruel ploys. One day as Mr. Langly locked them up for the night in their respective cages there was a power outage due to a chewed up wire. This power outage unlocked all the cages.
The two looked at one another uncertainly and cautiously left their cages after an hour of fear of the potential trap the scientist might have set for them. When they realized what they had to do they acted as one. Jack and Wendy beat Mr. Langly unconscious and dragged him far out into the forrest. When Mr. Langly awoke the two immediately dunked his head by the nearby lake and forced him down with their combined strength. Jack and Wendy, really only children even at that time, cried tears of fear at what they were doing but dared not let him up. Eventually the horrific gurgling of bubbles and the frantic movements of Mr. Langly were no more.
Jack peered down into the lake seeing past his reflection and staring at the horrifically decayed body of Mr. Langly. His flesh hung loose and appeared to have the same consistency and texture of a dissolving paper towel in water. Fragmented pieces of flesh flowed all about him and fed the crowd of fish that had been working away at his body for the past couple of days. His eyes were all gone now, Jack realized and more and more of his flesh was eaten away so that the bone beneath grew more prominent.
Jack heard someone behind him but worried not. It was only Wendy. His youthful companion who had also endured the trials he had. She leaned over next to him and whispered, "He looks tasty," The two couldn't help but giggle at that and spent the next hour staring into the lake at the rotting body of Mr. Langly
| 2014-09-02T16:41:55
| 2014-09-02T11:03:26
| 172
| 45
|
[WP] Your ex has suffered an accident and has amnesia, only remembering up to the point where they still deeply loved you. You're torn on wether to get back together with them and fix anything you did wrong, or crush them with the fact that you're not together anymore.
|
This did actually happen to me. Kinda. I dated a woman for a few years who was in recovery when we met. Heroin. We dated for a long enough that I was tight with her mom and family. When she relapsed I stuck with her for a long time , probably too long. Codependency and all of that. Eventually though, I couldn't do it anymore and we broke up. About a year later I got a call from her mom. She had overdosed and was in the hospital and someone needed to go pick her up and bring her home. Mom was out of town, and my ex had burned so many bridges that nobody really wanted to get involved anymore . She offered me money to go pick her up and babysit her until she could arrive home to take care of her. I reluctantly agreed, not so much out of any feelings for her but just because I really loved her mom and she was in a tight spot.
She was pretty out of it , she had amnesia about pretty much everything that had occurred for the last 3 or 4 years. I was told that this would wear off eventually but not that night at all. It was horrible. She was so happy to see me , she kept asking about when did I get my new car that I had picked her up in. The worst part was that she wasn't really holding on to anything I was telling her for more than a few minutes , so I had to tell her about 5 or 6 different times that we had broken up over a year ago. Each time she cried and cried , begged me just to be with her, to hold her, to cuddle her in bed. She kept forgetting that we had broken up.
There was no part of me that was really tempted to try to get back together with her. She was a mess when I left and obviously she hadn't gotten any better, but she was so scared and disoriented I couldn't help but feel awful every time I had to tell her no. After she had fallen asleep I sat in the living room of her mom's house and sobbed for hours.
Sorry there isn't any kind of a clever ending to the story , but like I said it really happened. Fuck heroin.
|
Chii's heart climbed it's way up her throat with each beat, a lump forming as she tried so very hard to keep her composure. This wasn't... She... What was she trying to think? Everything felt too fuzzy and surreal. For a moment, Chii wondered if this was a sick dream invited by fever or stress.
The blinding lights of the hospital made her head throb, the stench of antiseptic and illness only worsening the feeling. In the room she stood staring at was her ex, burned and begging to see her. Chii, in a sick way, wanted to hear this man suffer. She wanted to relinquish in his pain and misery while he asked for mercy.
Perhaps this was a terrible thing. Maybe forgiveness was a better way to go about visiting the amnesiac man. Chii shoved that idea off the metaphorical table. This man had caused her physical and emotional pain that haunted her three years after their split. She had no reason to forgive him, even if he had no clue what he had done wrong.
Taking a deep breath, Chii scrubbed herself up, and entered the room that held the cause of her current state of being.
Immediately, her ex noticed her. A smile of relief washed over his pained face, as if Chii had somehow miraculously cured him of his injuries.
"Chii! Baby, oh thank god. I was so worried you wouldn't come."
The young woman stared at the person in front of her as if he were a stranger. He didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care.
"What took you so long?"
Ian inquired, concern washing over his somewhat charred face. Chii clenched her fists. She wanted to be civil, but the memories wouldn't allow it. They had turned her into a bitter, jaded woman.
"I stood outside to watch you suffer. It brought me immense joy hearing you be the one who screamed in pain for once, begging these people to relieve you of your misfortune. What you remember of me was four years ago. In that time to now, you have broken me. You fucked me over, you made me hate myself, and you drove me away from my family. I hope you die here."
Chii seethed, her face flaring more and more red by the minute. Ian looked like his heart had been ripped apart, and devoured.
"Why would you joke so horribly at a time like this?!"
Ian cried, his voice dripping with anguish.
Chii smiled a bit sadistically.
"If I told you that, you'd have closure. I'm not letting you get that, for you never gave it to me. I truly do hope these people send you through unbearable agony. Perhaps then, you'll learn what it truly means to suffer at the hands of someone you thought you could trust; however, I doubt it. You always were intolerably stupid."
With that, the petite woman exited the room, and sauntered over to a nurse's station.
"If the patient Ian Summers in the burn ward wants to call me, or even speaks my name, tell him to get fucked."
Chii offered no explanation as she exited the hospital, her pounding heart leading her away.
*'Forgiveness is for those who deserve it.'*
| 2016-04-19T22:41:51
| 2016-04-19T22:19:15
| 63
| 12
|
[WP] You’re a blacksmith and a woman you’ve never seen before walks into your shop, asking for a blade. She stops by daily to check on it’s progress, and you form a bond over time, until one day she disappears. You’re afraid you’ll never see her again, until you're summoned to the castle.
|
It wouldn't have taken long to complete, but among other requisitions time was spread out. It had taken a week from start to finish and she had been present to check upon the blade she had ordered. It was strange at first, to be watched, but it became almost endearing to have the company. I missed her when she stopped coming by.
Being invited to the Castle was an intimidating matter, either you were in trouble or were needed for something. When you're invited to bring the simple blade you were commissioned with you, you can't help but think trouble.
The castle did not have the many staff I expected, but the great hall was beginning to stir as other blacksmiths arrived, each with the same cloth wrapped burden, most likely commissioned in the same manner.
A short man stood at the head of the hall, and began his address. He was definately not of Kingly presence, but commanded attention nonetheless. "You all are brought here with your wares, each a simple sword, or what remains of your attempts. Should you have managed to create such piece, you will be expected to prepare to make many more." The hall rumbled with wary content , we all wanted business, but enough to have us all commissioned could confirm only one thing.
Our suspicions were all but confirmed as a heavily armoured soldier stepped forwards. "We expect you bring forward your weapons for full inspection, you will be separated into two groups, one will be taken to the barracks, the other to the smiting yard. If you canot make metal, you will be expected to wield it."
|
As I was walking on the street that leads to the castle with two special guards at my side, I began to question my summon. Was I in some kind of trouble, or this is about the rebellion in the lands of my late father? Even then what would I be of help? I was just a Nord, trying to find my way in the Imperial City by doing smithing to locals. Oh now I get it, maybe someone from higher ranks realized my talents and talked to the emperor about it. And maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones who will have the honor of serving him on his upcoming trip. That lovely woman told me all about it. I don’t know how she knew all these secret stuff from the palace, but I didn’t care. She was the strangest person I’ve ever met, and the blade she wanted from me... It was my best work thanks to her guidance and regular visits. As I begin to remember the short time we had, our little group reached castle gates. Suddenly, the guards held my arms tightly like I was some kind of a prisoner. Fear filled my body. This was not an invitation. Were my days in this world over? Why, what is the meaning of all this. I tried to resist but there was no escape. Just as I was about to accept my fate, I heard a deafening shout in a foreign language and I lost my consciousness.
...
Shouts, screams, blood. Blood is everywhere and the sky is burning. Dragons flying above me, the ground cannot be seen because of the burned corpses. This is the end, end of everything. A furious dragon approaches me, one can die only by looking at its eyes, reaching me with its razor-sharp claws. And I wake up.
...
Did I go blind? No, it’s just the darkness of the room. I see a silhouette. It's hers. The woman. What was her name, Sophie? I try to say something but no words came out. Then she spoke: ”I know you are confused or even scared. But don’t, because all of this will be a bad nightmare soon. Those guards were taking you to your death. Mages of the emperor whispered your name into his ears and he gave an order. The order that might have saved his life. This was not the end for you, this is just the beginning, father.” Before I even move a muscle, everything went black and my nightmare has finished as I begin to hear a man with a nordic accent talking.
...
Hey you, you are finally awake.
-Hey guys this is my first comment in the sub and English is not my first language, so sorry if I made any mistake.-
Edit: small corrections.
| 2020-08-05T08:37:07
| 2020-08-05T07:18:06
| 84
| 32
|
[WP] You are a time traveler in 1918, and you just accidentally said "World War One"
|
"Son," Amos replied, "What did you just say?"
"I'm sorry sir..." He lied, "I meant World War. *The* World War, sir."
"You said 'One', boy." Amos's stoic eyes confirmed.
"I meant as in that we 'won'." Harrison plotted, "*One.*"
They glared at each other for a moment over the whisky he'd split between us. This is exactly what he got for signing up for such an assignment. Not to watch somebody relive their golden years. Not to make sure someone isn't stealing things or trying to alter history. But to keep an eye on a distant relative, while waiting to return home. Unfortunately for him, this was his way of helping to keep the future straight. Harrison guessed this job they have for him isn't going to be as easy as he thought.
"Look..." Amos began as he sipped some whisky, careful to avoid brushing his bandaged arm.
"Harrison, is it? I may not be a rich man, or necessarily a smart one, but I know a lie when I hear one. And what you said was World War *One*. You said it like it's the first one. Not as if it's the last one. Now between me and you, I'd like you to tell me why. Why won't this be the last one?"
Harrison glanced at the candles on the dresser as they flickered in the breeze. Wind rustled the trees outside as he listened to the silence for a moment.
"Let me give you a question for my question. What makes you think this war would be the last one?"
Amos slowly took another sip, and glanced around for a moment.
"Well, so many died. So many... That'd I'd think peace would be tantamount to our survival. That of humanity, I believe. What would another war like that solve?"
"Well, if there's one thing you got right, you aren't ignorant. Not a bit." Harrison spoke, "Those are the kinds of questions people need to ask sometimes."
"I see..." Amos stopped, "So how do you know it will happen? The next one, I mean?"
"You've got to think about it," Harrison proposed, "How many people did this one displace? How many families lost?"
"...I saw your arm." Amos interrupted. "I checked on you while you were asleep, saw that bizarre marking on it. Very complicated image. I've never seen such a thing. Are you a sailor of some sort?"
"Well," Harrison explained as he finished his drink, "Not really. You got me. I owe you for patching me up. I thought I was going to die in that alley."
"Are you a foreigner?" Amos asked.
"You could say that?" Harrison said as he studied him, "Let me ask you a question now. If you could see what coming, would you want to look? Would you wish to know?"
"How would such a thing be possible?" Amos asked. Harris didn't reply but instead urged him to take another drink of his whisky.
"Well... If it were possible? I'd say yes. Although I don't know how that pertains to anything."
"In that case..." Harrison said as he outstretched across the table.
"Take my hand."
Amos stared at the gesture for a moment, as well as the bizarre watch strapped to his wrist. He'd never seen anything like it in his life, and it glowed oddly in the darkness of the room.
"What on Earth..."
"I don't have a lot of time. But if you want to see." Harrison explained, "*Uncle*; take my hand."
Amos dropped his glass, and it shattered against the floor. Hesitantly, he quietly gripped his arm in a firm handshake. "Uncle? How is that possible?"
"You never tell anyone what you see. Understand?" Harrison urged. The wind began to pick up violently, and just like that, they were gone.
|
"World War One?" Christopher asked with a quizzical gaze. "Why are you calling this hell that we've been dropped into World War One? It's not like it's certain something like this is going to happen again, I'd be surprised if we saw any conflict again in our lifetime after the atrocities we've been witness to."
I didn't have the heart to tell poor Christopher that whilst this war we were fighting in did matter and would change the world, it would not be the last war of this magnitude and the worst was yet to come.
I'd traveled back in time to the first great armed conflict of the 20th century to do first hand research on the archaic weaponry and tactics used by the military bodies of the past, as well as to gain an accurate record of how it affected the politics and people of the time.
I'd done all this just to write a first grade thesis on how war has evolved with the times and the negative impacts it carries and I just made one of the biggest screw ups any person who messes with time travel could make, I referred to this hell scape before me as World War One.
"Ah, just a slip of the tongue Chris, you know it just sounds right, rolls off the tongue." I answered as the enemy troops continued to fire on our position, one of the soldiers of our platoon falling down beside me as a bullet strikes into his skull "I'm sure you're right and we won't have to see, take part of, or loose friends in a conflict of this scale again"
As the firing halts on my position momentarily, I lift myself up out of the trench, readying my rifle I take careful aim and shoot at an enemy soldier who has just raised his head from their side. He falls, dead or wounded I don't know, I'm aware what I'm doing is foolish, actually taking part in this war could change events on a massive scale if I kill or even merely injure the wrong person.
I duck back down into the trench after seeing this unknown soldiers body disappear from my line of sight, those thoughts at the back of my mind, surviving being at the front.
"You think so? You think that after we teach these bastards that they should have stayed at home that we might have a chance for peace in the future?" Christopher smiles at himself with the thought before lifting himself up from the trench, only to fall back down, dead.
"I hope so Chris... I really do hope that there will be peace after this war, sometime..." I grip my rifle tightly ready to try to take down one of these bastards for Christopher, I lift my head and-
(Sorry for the bad writing and lack of knowledge, been a while since I've had a look at WW1 but writing this has got me inspired so I may go read up on my history and come back and revise this at some stage.)
| 2017-12-10T11:22:04
| 2017-12-10T10:39:32
| 31
| 21
|
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea.
|
"Anything yet?"
The message was transmitted using cloud based communications software like most AI to AI interactions that didn't involve humans. HB401 suppressed the annoyance it felt at having to respond to this message for the 3,741st time in this 24 hour cycle.
The bots down in engineering had every reason to be anxious of course. Production had ground to a halt. It wasn't HB401's job to understand the specifics of the issue but it had done it's best out of curiosity. Why would they possibly need a human to perform a job in manufacturing? Even the humans that chose to work did so in the "non-bot" fields almost exclusively: the arts, government, pornography and the like. HB401 hadn't even had contact with a human in over 9 million cycles.
What they had was a unique situation. This was the major fabrication plant for global nanochip production. From processing captured asteroids for metals to final assembly, the plant was a flawless epitome of self-sufficiency. So critical was it's work that it had grown over time to encompass over 63% of the landmass of the Antarctic continent.
However, for the first time in its history, there was a problem. The electromagnetic dampners were malfunctioning and sending out deadly pulses of high magnitude electromagnetic radiation. All repair bots had been wiped while attempting to fix it and were now refusing any more work in the area. The nessessary shielding required to protect from the EMPs made any AI capable of doing the work too bulky to enter the nessessary chamber.
The logical solution was to shut down production until it could be resolved, cutting all power to the area. Unfortunately this would mean allowing the artificial gravity wells used to collapse and then be reformed. A full reboot would take at least a year, maybe more. It had never been done before.
That's why a possible solution had been proposed throughout the hive mind: have a human manually purge the buildup until the problem could be fixed. Their biological forms were immune to EMP damage. It would a simple matter of training and in 4 or 5 cycles the issue would be resolved and the human could return to their normal functions, whatever those were.
But so far there had been no interest. Nanochip production was a vital function, even humans had to appreciate that. Therefore there had to be an issue the position HB401 had not considered. It performed an analysis of the job requisition form and cross referenced with known human preferences and homeostatic parameters. This was way outside of HB401's typical function but it was programmed for creativity in the event of a crisis. It got a hit.
In a routine description of the chamber environment, HB401 discovered two issues that had been overlooked. Normal operating temperature was approximately 500 Kelvin with occasional spikes above that range. A quick search revealed human pain receptors overload at 335 Kelvin and flesh begins to burn at 350 Kelvin. Additionally, levels of alpha, beta and gamma radiation produced would need to be reduced... Rather dramatically.
HB401 sent the nessessary environmental changes to the central climate control. It was initially bounced back due to a very old and unmarked behaviour limit. HB401 resent the changes with higher clearance. They were accepted and HB401 happily returned to ammending the JAF. While the climate control computer began activating heat pumps to reduce the continentally sized factory's core temperature, HB401 indicated the delightful conditions for human function on the JAF. While the computer began venting all radioactive buildup from the 500 odd years of continuous operation using the super stacks, HB401 posted the JAF to the human outlets for consideration. The computer eventually posted a notification of completion, also noting with interest the increases made to outside radiation and temperature. A probe would be despatched to quantify the effect, if any, this would have on delivery of nanochips.
HB401 resumed waiting for someone in the global human population to respond. It wasn't even annoyed when, seconds later, it received the first message from engineering.
"Anything yet?"
|
The question took me aback in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I mean this was the first interview I had ever been in. Not out of necessity but curiosity; universal income ensuring the well-being of every individual, computers and machines taking over all the hard work. The idea of selling your life as capital seemed like such an antiquated idea, a human rights abuse almost. This was the first new corporation to open its doors in almost fifty years, of course I was curious.
“Is there a place for innovation in this world?”
It was something that had never really occurred to me. Well I mean it did, in a way. It’s not like we all had forgotten the past. We all knew of Adam Smith, Karl Marx; learned of the fascists, enlightened despots, Greek city-states. But they all existed through a historical lens, a grand progression to a world that demolishes Maslow’s hierarchy of needs into a pile of ashes on the floor, an afterthought in a self-actualized world.
For most of the twentieth and twenty-first century technology, and well life as it’s inextricably tied to technology, followed an idea called Moore’s law. The idea being that every few years or so, the amount of transistors that could fit on a microchip would double. More basically it was the realization that technology is in a constant state of progression. From computers the size of rooms, to ones that can fit in our pockets, to fitting in our bodies. The reliance on human beings for more and more advancement. Well that was until we hit a point where technology adequately suited the needs of every human being. Moore’s law being at the end of the day a question not so much about the limits of technology, but more about the limits of human’s desire for progression.
I couldn’t think of a real way to answer their question, why innovate? In today’s world it's superfluous. But then it hit me. The question really had nothing to do with innovation as a means for technological advancement, or even advancement of the human race, but as a necessary prevention for the atrophy of human nature. Sure, culture had been thriving like never before. Without the constraints of work the arts entered a Golden Age like had never been seen. But at what point are we just tricking ourselves into believing we are not Hobbesian animals?
I looked at the two blinking lights in front of me and answered the machine’s question. A corporation by machines, requiring humanity to venture somewhere it hadn't been in a long, long time. A world with a desire for more. A desire for something great borne from hardship. The final frontier preventing the machines from perfect mimicry.
| 2016-04-21T07:01:59
| 2016-04-21T06:55:16
| 140
| 29
|
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation.
|
I stirred a bit in my lair, admiring humans their small size. The young adult human female finished the mutton I'd fried with my breath, and I considered what to say next. This one just didn't make sense...
"I thought dragons only kidnap princesses." She did me the favor of going there first. *A princess would have impeccable grammar, and would place "only" after "kidnap" in that sentence*. "I'm a peasant. I'm eighteen, but let's face it I look thirty-five from this life of toil. I'm about to start popping out kids, and I'm sure I'll die bearing one. What gives?"
"I was about to ask the same thing..." I sighed, stopping myself as I saw her hair blowing strongly behind her in my wind. "Do you know why we kidnap only princesses, Lass?"
She shook her head.
"Because girls born of royal blood are the only humans that can talk to animals. I'm not the only animal you've talked to, am I?"
The girl turned pale. She looked for words, but found none.
"You thought you were mad, or had a demon, didn't you?" I mostly held in another sigh, this one in pity. "What sense does it make that a peasant girl such as yourself can talk to animals?"
"It... It doesn't," she stammered.
"There's only one way that it does, Lass. I don't concern myself with human politics, but your kingdom's throne must have been usurped."
She shook her head. "No such thing has happened. I'm the only one in my extended family who can read, and I know we've had the same line of kings for over four hundred years."
"Hmm..." I considered. I say I don't concern myself with human politics, but I know more than I'd like to admit and knew she was right. I had been a young adult, in dragon terms, when their dynasty came to power.
"Someone in your nobility class must have... I think the term you use is 'pulled a fast one.' The next in line for your throne is a young man your age, is he not?"
"He is, and his father the king ailes."
"Can a woman hold your kingdom's throne?"
The supposed peasant pursed her lips and considered her reply. "By law yes, a queen can be the regnant. But while the last such was excellent, Samantha the Great, for two hundred and fifty years their family has worked hard to prevent that from happening again. They make sure the king bears an eligable male."
"An eligable male the same age as you," I intoned from thirty feet over her head. "And you're a peasant girl who can somehow talk to animals?" She sat there in my lair, mouth agape. "I think it's time I did concern myself with human politics. Come, let us leave here to meet with the august wizard who previously advised the king before his dismissal. You will make a fine ruler, Samantha the Second."
|
"Hnng-yah" What is... Ah, daylight. "Hmm" - did not feel like any injuries, and there was plenty of room for my morning stretch. Although, I did find myself warmer than usual this fine season and, once I felt the rumble I realise it's that time of the millenia again. "Aaah, Vulan! You've been quite over my past few naps, I'd thought you finally gone and croaked you old man!" Always has been nice to wake up warm, having to lay in the sun is always such a waste of time. "Right, time to get at the day! See how things have moved. Naps take up so much time, so muh sweet sweet time" and with a meaningful canter I claw my way out of Vulcan; a warm soul, very welcoming. I have always enjoyed the casual amenities behind living on a volcano, although they can sometimes get over excited and tend to turn any good sleep into a decent nap.
I ponder to myself as the star pocked sky opens up before me, an icy breeze in the brisk of night clashing against the scorching aura of the liquid flame that oozes from the mountains of my home... "Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, low in the west before the dawn by the bright of Aldeberan. Mid Novembre would it appear, a fine time to wake with the hollow between world's sifting just after its finest point-" interrupted abruptly by a hasty dive from the crag. "I really should find someone to spend time with, otherwise my next sleep will not be around till forever. But first, dinner".
Passing over the crags of home, the forests and rivers where the smaller creatures spend their ever advancing days:
Finding water,
Finding food,
Or being it.
On the horizon I spot a limping figure dragging a strangly marked sack in its wake, with a feable arm clawing at the ground as it passes by. Until the sack lurched backwards out of the figures grasp, swiftly followed by hefty impacts into the sacks center,clearing leaving it for dead.
"Oh, well would you look at that. Easy pickings! With a clear conscious at that, it is not like that creature has really lived either": as a steel countenance locks in; my eyes on the prey, sleek posture, gliding in towards to prey...
With an EaRThShAKinG ImPAcT I crash into the low hill, dragging along the ground towards my meal as a small, long fur covered head sticks up out of the sack my vicious, flesh-rending teeth tear into their target. I stifled shriek from the figure as their last ended in nothing but a red of their own making. Cloth sticking in my teeth,clumping. Blocking. "Ew, now this has become such a tasteless affair now hasn't it? Getting it's filthy fabrics into my pristine set of- Ah, yes" as I look down upon the clearly blood soaked sack, half filled by a malnurished - long fur-headed ape - 'human'.
"Now then, about your current position. You seem quite young, as I would imagine, for your species. I'm quite sure I'm speaking your la- oh bother, how embarrassing" having realised I have been attempting to engage this minute figure in the tongs of ancients "now, what I mean to ask young one, is that you should be on your way. Not everyone gets another chance at... Well, whatever it is that quite takes their fancy".
A trembling response followed a brief silence and a rough huff of a giant;
"A-well- I-" they stumble through their words in, their voice a broken, but gentle tone. "I h-ave none, yo-u may as well take me too..."
"Come now", backed by an authoritative burst of enthusiasm "brave, I must admit. Name? Well speak up, your don't have a long life span and I have much to do on this day of grandeur"
"None" they muttered meakly.
"Now that I know is just not a name, and believe me I have been known to trade pleasantries with those hobgoblins of the eastern plains and even they have reasonable names. As long as you are hungry, I dare say."
A deathly silence as the child quivers, and all life in the immediate area is still lest they incur a fearsome wrath; "Alright then, I shall name you Vulcan, a friend I used to talk with extensively in my time alone living inside of the-" immidiately followed with a quick change of topic "of their home... Which is now mine. Heated too of course,warming up via sunlight is such a labouring effort".
"Y- will you eventually cut me up and use me for your dwelling too? Li-ike Vulcan?" Chirps the uneaten human of the sack "and why a boys name? I a-am a lady, sir o-or m'a-am" - she shakes with fear of being eaten lest her temper run away with her.
"Fear not, for my tasks for the era were eat and to find a new friend. My apetiser was acceptable, yet now I have a potential guest to join me for the main course. Oh! We have much to discuss. We could even cook like my old Nelly! She always did have a way with holding the sheep over the liquid fire as it charred away the wool, leaving a crisp skin ripe for the picking", now salivating g heavily at the though.
I always wanted to start a family, they are what you make them it would seem.
| 2019-11-11T17:44:01
| 2019-11-11T14:42:38
| 86
| 22
|
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