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stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:57:01
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-08-08 08:06:24
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now".
|
He threw my wallet on the ground, and shot it until his magazine was empty, every shot made my head jerk back. He then threw the gun on the ground near my wallet, my eyes were narrowed, I was furious.
"Why the hell did you do that? Now I have to request a new ID and credit card."
The man looked up, the hood of his coat rendered a shadow on his face. "I'm sorry my beloved son. Fake leather produces rash on your skin."
"Beloved son? What are you talking about, who are you?"
He removed his hood and I couldn't believe my eyes. In front of me stood Gabe Logan Newell, the creator of Valve Corporation and Steam. "I'm so sorry..." he began to cry, "I'm so sorry that I destroyed your wallet."
|
I stared at the man. His grizzled features only made his eyes more striking - this man had seen some shit. I felt myself shaking.
"What the hell was that?" I blurted out, looking at the remains of my wallet. There was a thick, purplish ooze bleeding out of the leather. Teeth lined the edges.
“Better if you don’t know,” he said, looking from side to side, gun still drawn. “I doubt you’ll even believe me, even after what you just saw.”
I stared at the creature that was once my wallet.
"Try me."
He sighed, putting his gun away. "Ok. But not here. It's not safe."
The man led us into a nearby bar, ordering two drinks before we sat down. I was still shaking, but he was as calm as an ocean breeze.
"Ever heard of capitalism? Consumerism?" he asked, not a hint of irony in his voice.
"I believe I've heard the terms, yes," I replied, trying to not sound sarcastic.
"We're living in a society that worships *things*. Ownership. Materials. Goods, that are supposed to make us so happy. Then why are we all so fucking depressed?"
I said nothing, motioning for him to continue.
"Well, they're coming alive. There's some kind of global consciousness that's bringing them into power - we're creating them. And they're feeding off us... more and more, they're feeding off our urge for *more*."
"How did you find out about this?"
"The hard way," he replied, taking a massive swig from his drink. "Never been a much of a buyer myself. Feels like I'm the only one that can see it, this virus that's feeding off of us. That's taking over us."
I took some time to process it all. I felt a fear deep in my gut, gnawing away at me.
"How did you know my wallet was one of them?" I asked.
He finished the last of his drink, then stared at me.
"Son, I'm not sure if you understand - *every wallet is one of them*."
****
Part II will come soon, if there's any interest <3
| 2017-07-13T00:49:55
| 2017-07-12T23:56:21
| 223
| 82
|
[WP] As a Christian, the news that God had revealed his presence to the world made you ecstatic. However, you noticed that many of the priests at your church were horrified to hear about the news.
|
“I think the Norse were the first to figure out who truly had descended upon the world.
To us, a man radiating bright light, a god of light and purity, must have been the god of our faith. He had no holes in his hands, but we didn’t mind. He was blond, unlike the many depictions of our god, but we didn’t mind. He might have been sickly pale as he announced to the world that the day of reckoning was near, but we didn’t care.
The Norwegian news published the first article. Then the Swedish also did; that one went viral. Soon enough, mythology nerds and northerners alike were making hasty tweets about how everyone should start buying food in mass, because winter was coming. That turned into quite the meme.
The priest at my church were so confused, I think. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. God was supposed to bring his angels with him when he smote the sinners. And yet all he did was declare that the end of days had arrived as he smiled towards the public. The preachers started either declaring that he was a false god, or that what he said was true. Jehovah’s Witnesses went insane and started preaching mass suicide.
Then, of course, the winter did come. It lasted for 3 years. If I recall, 1 billion people died when it first settled around the world. They were not prepared for the cold and froze to death in a matter of months. In the following years people started starving. No seeds would grow and the animals died all the same. I think 4 billion died then. It was horrifying. The few of us who lived in rather developed countries around the poles had to work our asses off, but at least we had enough food for the day.
Humans have always been the same, I think. We do anything for the ones we love, and, as such, the wars broke out. It started as claiming territory for building food plants, but soon, they sent the first nukes.
Everyone else died in a matter of weeks. There was no one left, except us, and God.
I asked God for his name and he laughed. He showed us a hiding place, deep inside the roots of a tree I couldn’t see. He was still radiant, but he looked grim.
“Grieve not”, he said, “and meet me in the fields of the new world once it goes quiet.”
Then he left.
The earthquake came. The very fabric of reality shook. Murderers and beasts broke their chains and the great ships of the dead took off on one last voyage. There were screaming and sounds of metal striking metal and then... it was quiet.
At least that’s how I recall it.
The world is simpler nowadays. It’s just me, my husband, and our children. We live here, beside the only well that still contains water, though I don’t think it is the same water that was once there.
He visits us, from time to time; God and his brother, who is no longer blind. We cook a meal for us all and we all eat around the same table.
Baldr was brought back to life at the start of Ragnarok, and with him, he brought death. Ultimately, though, he brought rebirth. Perhaps our god was a reflection of him, or maybe it was the other way around.
Either way, I stopped being religious the day our first child was born. I had someone else to devote my existence to, and that was enough for me.”
*From the journal of Liv, wife of Livtrasir and the last human of the old world.*
Edit: formatting
|
'-And that is all for today children of god. May the lord be with you. Amen.'
'Amen.'
The choir emitted by the faithful was astoundingly loud today. My church has always been closer to a chapel, since on a good day we would frequent 20 people during the service.
Things have changed now. God materialized above the skyline of New York City before settling into the podium of the United Nations.
His speech was brief, yet powerful. I will not write his speech as there is undoubtedly hundreds of records that would cement it more clearly. Instead I will summarize it. He said that the sin committed by Eve and her children through proxy has been forgiven. That, the several millennia of suffering we had been imposed upon through this prison plane had been deemed enough. We would return to Eden...
We would go back home.
Of course this wasn't all he said. While no more children would be born in this world. The dead, the good, the benign, the ones who chose to live free of hate and degenerative lust would find themselves reborn in untold paradise. There they would find true joy in forms so alien that they would never crave...
I bore myself while writing this.
Anyway, that day was a bizarre day. Not because of the large amount of faithful who were now vacating the church. But the priesthood within this enclave seemed to be... fearful.
I have gone to this facility for the past five years and I have become well acquainted with father Montague, Brothers Joseph and Leon. Often times I would meet them outside of service, where we would play chess and discuss the news of the world joyously.
Now, I see the small twitches in their facial muscles, the swiveling of their eyes, their hands clenching their robes irregularly. They were scared and I did not know of what.
\--
Two days later I found myself walking towards the clergy house of the church. It was a small, brick laden building that was almost completely obfuscated from the rest of the world. Pathetic in comparison to the wondrous architecture that composed the semi gothic style of the church in front of it.
The world had begun to change, and I was-am terrified of it. Mass suicide cults had arisen in every corner of the globe with the promise of heaven. Religious extremism had risen, mobs of self righteous buffoons would hunt down homosexuals and women who craved knowledge and would lynch and rape them in the name of god.
My own church was no exception, for at this time in spite of the building being closed there was a small gathering of people. All of them bent in supplication, while they read 'Holy Mary Mother of God a blind man, who to this day haunts my dreams, took his time pouring melted wax into the cultists skin.
I quickly sneaked into the house, my friendship with the clergy men was such that I was even given a key.
I can't help but laugh in hindsight. Because the moment that I stepped inside of the house, right after closing the door. I found a shotgun barrel pointed at my chess.
I wish I could say that after I saw it I punched my assailant and took the weapon from his hands. But I must be objective for the sake of history. I pissed myself. The warm liquid dribbled through my shivering legs.
When I looked up I noticed brother Joseph's hands held the weapon, his face half hidden under a bandana.
Before either of us could speak, father Montague came forth and ordered Joseph to stand down.
I won't bore the reader of this with the details of our conversation. In summary I learnt this:
GOD IS DEAD.
We didn't kill him, something else did. Or maybe he killed himself.
All that is known to this day is that the throne of heaven, the silver city has been empty since before mankind was banished into Earth.
And that whatever the hell appeared in earth was nothing more than a usurper who had decided to start a war for heaven.
As we spoke I saw brother Leon, hanging from a noose. Clearly, he was too weak to bear the horror that was going to befall the world.
In his cowardice, I had found myself a new job. A brother of the New Manifest Catholic church. We who held the truth...
Shit, I hear them clawing right now. In the likelihood of my death I wish the reader should he be sane. They may be many, they may be strong but with devotion and focus you can smite any foe.
And if you are a heretic, a mutant, monster or abomination. In the name of the corpse god, FUCK YOU.
&#x200B;
\*-Last letter written by Arch Cardinal Gutierrez. A few minutes before his last stand against the mutated cultists and fish people of Dagon and Nyarlothep aboard the USS Lucy. December 18, 2046. Otherwise known as the Sanctification of Jeremiah Gutierrez\*
| 2021-10-30T09:58:35
| 2021-10-30T09:35:11
| 613
| 376
|
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?"
Update!
**Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!**
Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases!
|
I used to like my room. It seemed like a bubble. Whenever there was stress, or worries, or anything else I would simply shut the door and pretend nothing existed outside of these 4 walls.
The first time I noticed something was wrong was when I went to go get my tortoise some lettuce for dinner. My door wouldn't open. After a couple of minutes of jiggling the knob I decided to call out to my parents. There was no reply.
I decided that they must have gone out and that the best course of action was simply to wait, so wait I did. After about 2 hours I got bored and decided to log into reddit. That's when I saw the thread.
It turns out I wasn't alone. Hundreds of thousands of people were saying they had the exact same problem. Doors, windows, screens, skylights, even one guy's garage door, all stuck.
The biggest fear for most people was dying of starvation. We tried to talk sense into them, we tried to get them to hold out hope for a little longer, telling them that help may be hours or even minutes away. For most it was pointless. Thousands said there goodbyes to friends they had never met and then logged out for the last time.
Funny thing is, after that we learned that we dont need to eat anymore. The shouts of joy in the thread after that was discovered rival that of lottery winners. Understandable considering we had all just found out we won't slowly wither away.
The outside world discovered us after a few days. Seeing all of my neighbors and reporters looking into our windows was pretty weird but eventually they stopped coming.
According to news reports from their point of view our windows are pitch black. We can see them, they cant see us.
That was what caused the second wave of deaths. Fathers, mothers, children, all frantically waving trying to get the attention of others. Seeing their spouses visit the window and cry every afternoon, remarry, move on, grow old and die. Some just couldn't take it.
According to reports there was about 1.5 million of us locked in when this first began. We believe that after the first 2 waves of suicides we're down to about 1.2 million.
Since then we've watched helplessly as the world around us went to hell. Droughts, wars, plagues, it seems almost like it was a blessing to be locked in like this.
The worst part is that with so many years alone together we have discovered some pretty amazing things. Turns out that you can get pretty smart with 70 years and nothing better to do. We've discovered ways to make lightbulbs burn brighter, computers run thousands of times faster than before, we can make soiled water as fresh as a brand new bottle. A group of physicists even swear they have discovered a method of producing energy using cold fusion and quantum tunneling.
All of these amazing feats go unimplemented. We scream them from our rooms, solutions to the world's problems trapped behind a pane of glass. If we could simply get these out we could fix everything wrong with the world. We could turn back the clock and make dying forests green again, we could push back the rising water line, clean the atmosphere and ensure a future for every man, woman, and child out there.
Alas, we can't. I don't really regret being stuck in here. I've learned so much and made so many new friends. If I got a chance I would do it all over again just to do more. As with all things however, this too must come to an end. I've spent the last few years transcribing all of our findings on every surface in my room in as many languages as I can. In this text you will find answers to all problems imaginable. I don't know when or if this note will ever be found but when it is just promise you will tell the rest of the world about us. Don't forget us, any of us.
-Sean G.
*Born 5/3/1997*
*Died 8/12/2094*
|
The mouse idea didn't work. I knew it was another troll, but I can't just sit here doing nothing, can I... Can I? No, no, I have to keep trying before I run out of air. I mean logically it makes no sense, putting the mouse inside my anus has no possible relation to the phenomena effecting my doors and windows, but *none* of this makes sense. It's not a sudden increase in humidity causing wood to swell, my windows are PVC. It can't be coincidence, r/theydidthemath calculated it as a statistical impossibility...
Someone will work it out soon, just keep refreshing...
(12 new comments)
'Donald trump is behind it'
No, that doesn't sound right. Downvote.
'PLEASE HELP ME I'M PANICKING'
"Yeah, aren't we all buddy" I say to myself, shaking my head despairingly.
'Beeswax is good for preventing jams'
Another person ignorant of his own fate, trying to be helpful.
Just more of the same. No answers.
I shuffle on my seat, trying to sooth the dull ache. "Too many fucking trolls nowadays...."
Ah shit I clicked out of the thread, where is it again.... click TOP again that'll find it.... no can't see it, where is it? Oh wait, there it is, halfway down the page now, underneath some thread about how North America would look on Jupiter.... yeah I bet that'd be dwarfed, Jupiter's massive....
Yeah thought so! Quickly check the comments, make sure they didn't post a misleading picture beofre I bank that in my memory...
>Can you imagine living if the earth was the size of Jupiter? Just travelling to the other side would take months with current technology.
The conversation that follows spans the intricacies of Boeing 747s, the current state of technology today and the quantum mechanics behind gravitational forces. Most people concur that the atmosphere would be too devoid of oxyge.... oh shit SHIT *SHIT* I just wasted half an hour while I burn through the remaining air in this room! I have to get out, quick....
Where's that thread gone...
Ah there it is, near the bottom of the 'top threads' page now. I expect that means everyone's found a way out! No harm in reading just one other thread first then...
| 2016-01-31T12:52:58
| 2016-01-31T10:29:29
| 52
| 24
|
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason.
|
I had a wife and two kids. It was a summer day, a Wednesday -- the morning cool hadn't left yet, but I was already feeling lazy.
I hadn't planned it, but I surprised them by packing for a picnic. I even packed a box of ice-cream, and the kids were so shocked and pleased, as if it was the best thing in the world -- like how every thing is for kids that age -- but it was for us, too. We watched them play, chasing butterflies, imagining monsters, as we enjoyed the view of the great valley below with its flowing hills and winding river, peppered here and there with trees and berry bushes. And I held her hand. I want to go back.
I want to go back to that place where it's aways summer. I want to go back to that place where I don't have to work to live and I can just go on a picnic any Wednesday I want. I want to go back to that place where its just a moments walk from a beautiful hill, untouched by the scabs and scars of buildings, roads, and telephone wires.
I want to go back to that place where my wife is still alive, I can still hold her hand as I watch our kids.
But I can't go back to sleep, I've tried all the drugs, I've tried the machine, but I can't fall asleep. People tell me I need to eat but nothing here tastes as real as it did there. Maybe this will take me back. Maybe it wont. But it doesn't matter. Reality isn't good enough now that I know dreaming.
[Goodbye.](http://youtu.be/aaOjDewD3Po)
|
Part 1: Part 2 is a reply to this comment.
I recieved an email today. It was from a Psycologist, Dr. McGill, asking for participants for a study. It didn't say what the study was about, but it promised at least 5,000$ in pay afterword, and an extra 1,000$ for every extra hour it took over the estimated 2 hours. I had just lost my job, as well as my girlfriend, she didn't die or anything, she had just broken up with me because she says I payed more attention to Call of Duty then her. She was right. I cared more about that fucking game then her. I felt bad because of this, and I needed the money. So I joined the study. Maybe it would show her that i wasn't a complete, useless, piece of shit.
Dr. McGill seemed like a normal guy. When I arrived at his office, he welcomed me with Tea. I'm not normally a tea drinker, but he said it was part of the study so I abliged. He shared small talk as I drank it, but then he decided it was time to start the question portion of the study. "So, let's get started shall we?" he said. "What do you do to keep yourself entertained?"
"Video games. I also spend alot of my time on the internet."
"Ahh, interesting. You seem like a normal young man then, hmm? almost all participents of your age share similar intrests."
"Well I suppose video games are very popular amoung people like me."
"Yes they are. The internet is also a much more crucial aspect of life now, I suppose. Back when I was in school it was just a tool to help you do research. It was bloody useless back then. Slower than a tortoise." I nodded. "Well, let's continue."
He asked several more questions before he told me to lie down. He took me over to a different room with one of those typical beds Psycologists normally put you on. I lied down, and he told me what comes next.
"Now, I will light this essence here, and then I will leave and give you five minutes alone. Just close your eyes, breathe, and try to relax. When I return, more questions will follow."
I was confused by what this had to do with the study, but given there was no description of it when I accepted, I couldn't complain. I did excactly as the Dr. told me. After a minute or so of not smelling anything, I opened my eyes to see the room filling with a thin, white, smoke. Normally I would have been coughing by now, as I have asthma, but strangely, nothing. I looked around the room and saw the essence. It wasn't smoking. The smoke, or mist whatever it was, wasn't coming from the essence. Before I could get up to look for the source, I woke up in my bedroom.
I was a bit dazed, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I checked my email, and noticed there was no email from a Dr. McGill. It was a dream. Too bad. I needed the money. Well it being an average Saturday morning, and me being someone who didn't lie around and sleep all day, I decided I would play some Cod. I popped my favorite WWII Cod game into my Playstation, and started it up. I joined a game and the countdown timer started.
TEN. Nothing felt out of the ordinary at all. I just sat and watched the number tick by.
NINE. My hand started getting sweaty. Now my hands normally sweat when I play, but never this early.
EIGHT. The controller felt cold now. I thought this as a bit strange, but thought nothing of it.
SEVEN. The screen got closer. Bigger, it seemed. I started to worry.
SIX. The Hud on the tv vanished. The countdown stayed though, so I thought it was just a rare glitch or something. The sound started to get closer too. Not louder, CLOSER.
FIVE. My vision started to tunnel on the screen. I tried to look to the side at my bed, but as I turned, I just saw more of the game. Just more water, and the sides of the landing boat I was in. "What the fuck? Wheres my bed?"
FOUR. I felt a tight grip on my shoulder followed by a stern, grizzled voice yelling at me, "PRIVATE GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER! I CAN'T AFFORD TO HAVE YOU MISSING YOUR BED DURING AN INVASION! THIS IS YOUR TIME TO FIGHT!"
THREE. I panicked. I looked down at my hands and saw I was holding a rifle.
TWO. It hit me. It wasn't a game anymore, I was at war. I looked up and saw a beach fast approaching. There were concrete bunkers at the top of the beach, with flashes coming from them. I heard whizzing beside my ears, loud explosions from all around, and the hmm of the engine from the craft I was in.
ONE. I looked in my boat to find many young men like me. Around 50 it seemed. I suddenly felt okay for a second. Seeing others like me made me not feel alone. This short peace didn't last long though.
ZERO. I felt a violent jolt as we hit the beach. The front door started to descend on the towards the ground. It wasn't a quarter of the way down before the bullets came flying in. Roughly have of the men in front off me dropped Instantly. They stood no chance, they were almost vaporized. I wasn't hit, however I was covered in a red mist.
"GO MEN! GO! GO! GO!" My officer screamed at the rest of us who were still alive. I took off. I ran as fast as I could towards the beach. I saw a small group of men in a crater in front of me. I jumped in and landed in a splash. I looked down to see it wasn't water. There was a pool of blood. Body parts. The other men in the crater with me where shocked. One just sat, there staring at me. Like I knew everything, or something. He looked at me like I was Jesus or someone like that. Another was crying hysterically. The third was holding a leg. His leg. Or what was left of it, anyway. I looked around and saw that the whole beach was covered in blood, and bodies. Hundreds of bodies. I heard screaming, not just yelling, screams that I can't begin to describe. The worst things I had ever heard. Then an explosion. Everything went quiet. I turned around to see the others in the crater with me, and they were gone. The hole I was in was twice the size it was before. My cover was gone, so I decided to run inland. Although as I tried to run, I coudn't. I looked down and saw my legs where gone. It was then that the pain hit. It was like a sharp knife being run up and down the nerves in my legs. There was a burning feeling, and the base of my body pulsing with every heartbeat, bringing me closer to death each time. The worse experience of my life was ending, and it was bringing me with it. The pain lasted a long time, what seemed like forever, but someone eventually came to me. He tried asking me questions, but I wasn't listening. I just looked into this mans eyes, and I saw the concern, his being. He tried to save me, but I just started at him and did nothing. He looked back at me and seemingly read my eyes. He pulled out two viles of something, and injected me with them. The pain, feeling, sound, vision, everything just started to fade. The nightmare was over, I was leaving myself. No sadness, no more pain, just an ever darkening world. Then, a bright light.
I heard DR. McGill start to talke to me. "Hello? Are you awake? What happened in your dream?"
"Dream?" I said? "That was no dream. I lived that. WWII. Normandy. D-Day. I was there."
"Explain it all to me. In as much detail as possible."
| 2015-03-09T07:41:40
| 2015-03-09T07:32:53
| 40
| 18
|
[WP] "Please remember, TSA rules prohibit bottles of liquid over three ounces, knife blades over two inches, and the use of spells, curses, scrolls or other magic beyond the security checkpoint."
|
TSA Guard Extended Guidelines
1) Maintain an orderly queue at all times.
2) Maintain your composure in front of passengers at all times, especially during a crisis.
3) Your standard taser and entrapment spells should only be used in a true emergency.
3.1) A person shouting swear words is not an emergency unless he is speaking in a Satanic dialect.
3.2) Spells from Harry Potter are fictional and are not a real Satanic dialect.
3.3) Foos-row-dah is not a real Satanic dialect either.
3.4) ~~Greek is not a Satanic dialect.~~As of 2053/3/4, permission is given to apprehend anyone speaking Greek.
4) All potential contraband must pass through the X-ray scanner, followed by the latent-mana scanner and be declared clear of contraband before given back to the passenger.
4.1) Should either scanner fail, close the gateway and direct passengers to other open gateways.
4.2) Tampering with either of the scanners is prohibited.
4.3) Do not under any circumstances tamper with the latent-mana scanner.
4.4) Any employee found tampering with the latent-mana scanner repeatedly will be fed to the latent-mana scanner after hours.
5) All contraband must be confiscated and stored in the provided hidden bin away from civilians. Refer to the contraband book~~let~~ for a complete list of contraband definitions.
5.1) Do not steal contraband for personal use.
~~5.2) All bins must be curse-proofed.~~
~~5.3) All bins must be soundproofed.~~
5.2) Spell pages must be shredded before being disposed in the bin.
5.3) Wear your curse-proofed gloves at all times while handling potential contraband.
5.4) Your curse-proofed gloves do not "double as boxing gloves".
5.5) Remove your curse-proofed gloves before dealing with burning people as they are highly flammable.
6) All liquids must be confiscated while they are contained within the container they fill.
6.1) Do not under any circumstances steal liquids that are contraband for personal use.
6.2) Drinking unknown liquids that are contraband to hide evidence is a very bad idea and is therefore prohibited.
7) It bears repeating: Maintain your composure in front of passengers at all times, especially during a crisis.
8) The interrogation room should only be used if suspicion of terrorism is justifiable
8.1) The interrogation room should not be used as a threat to unruly civilians.
8.2) Use the specialized fireproof interrogation room if necessary.
9) Racial slurs and harmful language are prohibited while working.
9.1) Yes, we understand one of your coworkers is now part-bee. Don't think we don't hear the name "Buzzy boy" in the cafeteria.
9.2) And "Goggles".
9.3) And "Boaty McBoat-Face".
10) Unnecessary searching of passengers is strictly prohibited.
10.1) This includes telekinetic searches.
10.2) Our full-body scanners should detect any foreign objects within any of the passenger's orifices.
10.3) For f*** sake stop feeling up the passengers!
11) Do not make eye contact with passengers without proper safety gear.
11.1) We are working on making the safety gear less bulky. Stop complaining about it.
11.2) Do not mock rock mages with the safety gear.
11.3) Do not mock basilisks with the safety gear.
11.4) Do not mock living statues with the safety gear.
11.4) Stop mocking people with the safety gear.
12) Wash you hands after using the bathroom.
All further inquiries must be directed to the High Management's ~~Office~~ Secretary's Office. Thank you for your time.
TSA
|
Nathan shouldered his worn leather backpack and waited patiently in the line. The security checkpoint was moving glacially slow, as usual, these damn lines were the worst part about traveling.
"Laptops, shoes, cellphones, wands, spell books, they all have to go in the bin and on the conveyor belt," the grumpy TSA agent said again for probably the tenth time since he had been in line. Nathan's turn finally arrived and he placed his shoes and backpack onto the conveyor belt and stepped through the metal detector. The small lights flashed red and it buzzed. The TSA agent made him turn around and check his pockets again. He ran his hands over himself checking for anything that could have set it off and found nothing. The agent waved him through again and again, the detector went off.
"We're going to need you to step aside sir," the agent said and motioned for another larger agent to help. The large man placed his hand Nathan's back and guided him to a side room. He shoved him into a small windowless room and closed the door behind him. *Dammit.*
"Please sit down Archibold."
The person using his real name took him by surprise.
"Excuse me? My name is Nathan," he replied.
"Sure it is," the man in a neatly tailored black suit said from behind the small metal table in the center of the room.
"We've been trying to catch you for some time now Archibold."
"I'm not sure who this Archibold person is, but I assure you I'm not him."
"Well maybe you will recognize your other name? The Cavern?" he asked staring at Nathan, waiting for a reaction.
The emotion spell he had cast earlier was still holding strong, his face was an emotionless mask.
"What the hell is that supposed to be me?" he asked.
"We know you are smuggling spells and black magic for the Syndicate. We know you are their best, but you can stop with the lies, it's becoming insulting," he said calmly and snapped his fingers.
Nathan felt his spells break apart, the emotion spell, confidence spell, strength, everything. The once young confident man that was standing there had been replaced with a rat faced shifty looking man in his mid thirties.
"That's more like it," the man in the suit said as he rose from behind the desk.
"Now, this is going to get personal, and very uncomfortable," he said calmly.
A young blonde woman in a pants suit and a muscular bald man in a matching black suit entered the room. The woman looked a little nervous and she glanced from the man in the suit to The Cavern.
"Did you bring your gloves Melissa?" the man in the suit asked.
"Yes, sir," Melissa said pulling out a pair of white latex gloves.
"Do you know why they call him The Cavern?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Well, this enterprising disgusting man, has figured out how to cast a dimensional pocket spell in, well...how do I put this politely?"
"His ass," the large bald man cut in.
"Well so much for politeness."
"And you want me to?" Melissa asked.
"Retrieve the stolen spell book of the Kazadun."
Melissa pulled on the latex gloves with a snap as the large bald man held The Cavern down.
"No! Wait, I'll talk, I'll tell you anything. I don't have the book," the Cavern began to beg.
"Where is the book?"
"The Warlock didn't want it flown, too dangerous. So he sent me as a decoy. The book is being driven to-to-to....TOOOOO!!" the Cavern began to scream as his flesh turned red and pulsed and began to swell. The man in the black suit took a step to his side and stood behind the large bald man.
The Cavern screamed a final time before his body exploded in a splash of gore and blood.
Melissa wiped pieces of the Cavern from her face and whispered, "thank god for that."
The man in the suit stepped out from behind the bald man, his suit Cavern free.
"Well, back to square one then. You two are now with me," he said.
"Who are you?" Melissa asked.
"Special Agent Maze. Get cleaned up and meet me out front, we have to get the book before it reaches the Syndicate."
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit
| 2016-07-08T06:53:20
| 2016-07-08T06:12:00
| 34
| 13
|
[WP] The Sword would make him a great warrior, but if he didn't live honorably, it would fail him when he needed it most. Now he prays on the eve of every battle that this isn't the time he'll need the Sword most.
|
The hordes of soldiers ran by, adrenaline coursing through their veins. It coursed through mine too. This was one of the many things that connected us.
I had prayed yesterday, prayed this morning too; to no god but rather to the blade in my grasp. Prayed it would bring me strength and calm in my battles today. Prayed it would keep my brethren safe, and so it would. More of the enemy ran by. These ones in a full sprint, all too focused on the line of soldiers behind me rather than the threat before them. For many of them it would prove their demise, after all, there was a reason I was sent first.
Once again I prayed: "Let your might be true. Let my actions guide thee straight and let you be an extension of my righteousness. Let my enemies be known as equals." With my words the blade swung forward in a wide arc cleaving the closest man in two, then another, and another. The more it swung the wider the next mans eyes became as he too approached his doom.
The bodies piled and men opposite turned on their heels before even reaching me. The army behind me didn't even bother approaching, for they both knew and felt relief that the battle had once again ended early. That is why my blade had never failed for it worked only to protect the men of my kingdom. To save the innocent.
On the battlefields horizon I spotted a lone soldier, a figure alone in the distance. This final soldier approached me through the chaos of the battlefield, large and grim. Where the others ran he walked. As his large figure moved closer his men parted like the Red Sea, until finally he stood before me. To my surprise he sheath at his side was hollow, the loops for axes at his waist empty too.
"You! You are quite a warrior!" he yelled over the clamor of his men.
"I only fight for what is honorable!"
His voice lowered, but I could still hear his words. "Oh? And who decided that?", as he spoke his steps grew closer. "Honorable? Do you believe you to be honorable?" closer.
I let my prayer begin again, this time rushed, trying to get the words out as the mans speed grew: "Let your might be true. Let my actions guide thee straight and let you be an extension of my righteousness. Let my enemies be known as equals."
He was upon me now, and I could now tell he stood several heads larger than I, but I had my sword. I had my honor and prayers. With a wide arc I started my swing. The sword grew close. I held my breathe, so did he, I thought. Then, for the first time, it failed. My blade met its mark but did not pierce him, instead it simply pressed up to his skin.
"You have no more honor than I. You are just a man, as I'd thought."
I continued to press the blade to my opponent with all my might as it continued to fail. He stared down to me in seeming dissaproval, his warm eyes growing cold as he reached into his belt and removed a blade of his own: a small dagger of sleek steel. He brought it overhead and prepped for my demise. Then, just as he completed his arc the sword glowed bright, cutting through his stomach in a series of stalling, jerking motions. He let out a soft *Uhhgh* before dropping to his knees then to his face in the dirt, the dagger clattered down beside him.
I had won. My sword had guided me and my honor had beaten his, even if just barely. I did not know how the sword judged, but I knew that I was thankful it had done so in my people favor in that moment.
|
It is a strange life to live. Out on the fringes of what society can be found in these wild lands. No one can be relied on outside the walls of the settlements. No one would risk their necks for any individual caught in some nightmare just out of eyesight of the guards. A strange living in a strange land.
Nothing more reliable than the iron slung over his shoulder or the steel at his hip. Seated by the campfire during this desolate night he removes the blade from it's sheathe and looks at the moon light reflecting off it's untarnished surface. He heard them say it was blessed. That it would serve well for the lifetime of the owner. So long as that man's soul is as unblemished as the blade itself. He heard the curse that was hidden within. It'll fail when he needs it most.
Every day out here could be his last. His rifle could jam. The blade could break. He could miss that cue of something he was after about to run, or that he should. But that time had not come. He whispers his thanks to the reflective metal. For it's loyalty. For it's mercy.
He still remembers the day he took it. A port town in the old world. When the ceremony was done, the priests and the conjurer's walked away. Leaving it unguarded. They had spoken about how it would serve some pious soldier tasked with watching over the bastard choking the life out of the dock workers. His best friend getting crushed by an over worked crane when it snapped.
With a deep sigh he releases the anger building. He took it, but did not raise it in vengeance. The taking was enough reparations. He remembers watching from the side of the deck as they frantically scrambled to catch the crates. The ones that would have carried the sword among other goods. He chuckles to himself at the idea that they'd never found it, even after spending days trudging the silt below.
He sighs again. He thanks the blade for it's mercy and it's loyalty. He hopes against himself that the next time he pulls it out of it's shieth that he won't be in desperate need for that loyalty. It may have served him well, but for every day he carries the stolen relic is another day his soul remains tarnished.
| 2022-08-10T19:52:16
| 2022-08-10T18:32:11
| 37
| 13
|
[WP] You are reading stories about an asylum in the early 1900s and realize that one of the patients with "time traveler syndrome" is actually you.
|
Collette stared at the computer with a blank expression, if there was one thing she hated it was research papers.
*Fine, I know they said not to use Wikipedia, but google scholar is bound to get something.*
She glanced down at her notebook where she had scribbled down “time traveler syndrome”
“I hate abnormal Psych” she said out loud, to basically no one, as she continued through her notes. Typing the search terms into google the first article she came across was about an institution that was opened in 1902 that had two very interesting individuals who were being held. Both were reportedly diagnosed with what the doctors coined as TTS or Time Traveling Syndrome. One was a male early twenties, while the other was a female in her very late teens. *Edmonton Hall...Why does that sound familiar?*
*Interesting* Collette thought to herself as she opened the article. After reading through it she laughed *more like schizophrenia, the delusions are hysterical*. Disappointed on the fact the article did not give as much information as she would have liked, she looked into the references to see if there were any others listed. There she found it, a book “Collette and David, The Time Traveler’s Story, 1904” “HA!” she said out loud getting a few glances from others in the library *How Ironic that not only is a crazy person with my name, her male counterpart has my boyfriend’s name, maybe we’ll be the Collette and David of 2017.*
She went to the librarian and asked if they had the book on file, but of course she knew the answer would be no, as it was rare. The librarian looked up at her as she approached and smiled warmly “no, we don’t have the book, but I know of a library that does” she said before Collette even had a chance to ask. “Direct me, I guess?”
The next day getting the directions from the librarian she left school a touch early and drove out to the old Edmonton Estate Library, which she clearly recognized as being the former institution. Showing her ID to the guard along with the written reference from the librarian garnered a reaction she was not expecting. The guard tipped his hat to her, and apologized, while leading her towards the room where the book was. Getting it in her hands, she nearly collapsed as she opened it and saw a picture of herself, and her boyfriend, both bound in straightjackets. “No way” she said as she looked towards the guard who himself seemed to be in shock.
“My grandfather told me about you, always said that in this year I should wait to see if you arrived, if what you had said was true” he said, voice shaking
“Apparently what they did, what you said, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry, if you can think of anyway to save yourself now…”
“This makes for a very interesting paper, shame the class sucks” Collette replied glancing down at the book. “I can’t decide if this is some elaborate prank, or the beginning of my worst nightmare”
“Let me show you around, you aren’t meddling in unknown sciences are you?”
“no…” she stopped for a second remembering that David had told her about a secret project he wanted her to help him with “but I know who is… tell me, did this Collette have issues with the person she was found with?”
The guard laughed “Did she? She tried to murder him! It was how they were first found”.
“Interesting”, she glanced back at the book and it looked like some of the wording had changed on the table of contents “I must handle myself differently by the looks of that” she said to the guard, who only looked at her confused.
She sat down with the book “Admitted on the Seventh of December, in the year Nineteen hundred and three”
“Ok, do you have a photocopier or something here?” she asked the guard who had just sat down and was on the phone
“yes grandfather, they were speaking the truth, she’s here, the girl is here!”
“oh, great… just what I need, look I think I’ll just be goi…” her phone cut her off
“Hello?”
“Colle, I did it! You need to come to my house now, you’ll never believe it, but its possible”
Suddenly it all clicked
“David, look… test it more without me first, I just… I don’t want to time travel, not safe”
“How did you know? And it is safe! Ah, ok, I’ll call you when I get back!”
With that he hung up, suddenly the guard looked at Collette confused but continued on his phone “yes, I know I was saying she was here, but I don’t remember who she is, or why” he said.
Glancing at the book the title had changed, in gold writing on cover was written “David Berringer, Time Traveler”
On the inside cover was just a picture of him, and under it was written “She knew didn’t she, she somehow knew”
|
>Psychological profile of patient #561 Vladevski Dastovsky.
*This was it.* he thought, blowing the dust off the decennial documents. He was sitting inside an abandoned warehouse, light shining through small cracks in the cement walls. A droplet of sweat fell from his forehead, landing on the ragged piece of paper.
All of his research has led up to this moment, ever since the old lady had recognized him at the local pool. She had screamed things at him, calling him psycho, and a maniac. He had been confused and scared, wondering how this seemingly sweet lady could call him by these terrible names.
It begun with a quick stroll to library, searching for documents about the asylum the old lady had supposedly worked at. He had found some documents about a home for people with bad psychological disorders. The asylum was named after the famous psychologist Kurt Ertzing, based in the northern parts of Germany in the early 1900s.
He booked tickets immediately, the first train to Germany from Moscow. He arrived tired and burned out, due to intense studying on the wagon. He went from house to house searching for a place to stay in the coming storm.
He found logic at the local library. *Fine* he thought, *they'll have some more papers about the asylum surely.*
The nice lady who owned it, and had offered him a place to stay, gave him a peek in the old, dark and also secret basement, filled with information about the patients of the old asylum.
*A, B, C, D, E...* he skipped through the alphabet until he reached V. *Vladevski Dastovsky, here we go.* he told himself. He backed towards the table, into a human standing behind him.
The person behind him quickly grabbed him, and turned him around. He was built strong, and wore a uniform, resembling the one the German soldiers used to wear. Behind him there was another man, in a white labcoat. He looked rather slim, with his glasses leaning slightly towards the right.
The man told him that they were about to conduct some experiments, he told him that they were harmless, but the slightly tilted disturbing smile on his lips told him otherwise.
He screamed no, hitting the man holding him, making him lose his grip. He ran past the coated fella up the stairs, with the strong man in uniform quickly following him.
The night turned into dawn, and the chase was still on.
*I got to know the truth* he thought, being exhausted by thinking only, *I'm going to read the document* he told himself.
When he escaped the uniform clad guy, he managed to grab the documents before running past the lab guy. He stopped inside the nearest available abandoned spot; a warehouse.
>Psychological profile of patient #561 Vladevski Dastovsky.
>561 arrived yesterday, early in the morning. He was captured screaming in the streets, threatening people to kill them if they didn't tell him where he was.
>He claimed to come from the future, by some kind of wicked experiment.
>These claims was quickly dismissed, and treatment began for "the time-travel syndrome" named after this patient.
>Traits: #561 is highly aggresive. Doesn't respond to treatment. Paranoid. He doesn't trust anyone.
>Final conclusion: I'm sending #561 to the electrical chair for an execution, as he doesn't respond to treatment.
>Evaluated by: Dr. Kurt Ertzing.
The document ended there, sending a shiver to his spine. A black silhouette appeared behind him and grabbed him. The silhouette put a syringe into his arm, making him really tired.
Another person appeared infront of him, it was the lab coated fella from earlier.
He inhaled and begun to talk:
"Mr. Dastovsky, we have captured you for no other explanation but to experiment on you. We have prepared the first of many tests of a highly revolutionary device."
*I know exactly what device you're talking about, you old bastard!* he said to himself.
"Oh I don't believe I've intruduced myself, right?" the lab coated guy exclaimed.
"I'm Dr. Kurt Ertzing, owner of the abandoned asylum up on the hill over there."
He forced himself to look to the direction the fragile man pointed his bony fingers towards.
The asylum stood there, almost fully wrecked. Black birds circled the old establishment, making it look like a scene from a horror movie.
"But yo-o-ou're dead." was the only words he had energy for.
"Well, there's the trick, in 1902, I created the very first working time machine, sending myself forwards in time to this year. The only problem is I can't go back, the machine didn't work reversed. That's why I have spent my years trying to create a reversed version of my previous invention, but I need a testing bunny now that it's finished."
The doctor looked just as tired as I was.
"And a slight sidenote... You can't escape and it will work. I know that since I was there, in 1901 when you arrived."
Then I fainted.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hope you liked it, worked a long time on this! Well, long time by my *noob-standards*. A couple misspellings and reused words will be common as I'm not a native english speaker. Thanks for reading!
EDIT: Changed "brain researcher" (That I learned isn't a word) to psychologist.
| 2016-05-10T15:27:54
| 2016-05-10T14:29:21
| 44
| 29
|
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
[**I'm aware that this prompt has been done multiple times, but I only started posting recently and so I'll try to take a stab at it. Hopefully this will be a slightly different flavor.**]
*He doesn't look like much.* That was the first thought in Volair's mind as the human representative, Adam, entered the council room. Most sentient life-forms were bipedal and vaguely humanoid, but the man stood a full three feet shorter than him, boasting none of the survival tools that evolution had bestowed upon the Avelium.
"You're early," Adam observed, bowing in the customary greeting of inter-species diplomats. The brief smile revealed no fangs, no poison...if they were to get into a dispute, nothing would save the small earthling from Volair's wicked claws. And that was empowering.
"I believe you have a saying on your planet," the Avel-born said as they both took seats on opposite sides of the long obsidian table. "Something about the early bird getting the worm?"
Volair watched the translators fastened to the human's visor churn its way through his gruff speech. Earthlings possessed no telepathic abilities either, not like the tentacled Kinu who could grasp the essence of thoughts directly. *This* was the dominant species of their planet?
"I appreciate that," Adam said. "Let's get down to business, shall we? Our United Nations council has discovered that your civilization has been encroaching on intergalactic law in several colonies."
"Lies and slander," Volair sneered. "Every bit of business that we do is sanctioned and legal." Besides, these humans would never retaliate even if that wasn't true, so what was he afraid of?
Adam's posture didn't waver in the slightest. "Treaties exist for a reason. I'm here on behalf of humanity to request that you order a full evacuation of any Avelium government superstructures in the Sigma-Nine sector. Otherwise, we'll do it for you."
Volair was surprised. Although Earth was a relatively new addition to the Galactic Conglomerate, no human diplomat had ever declared war, nor had they ever engaged in any sort of combat. Where was the leverage behind this stark declaration? "Is that a threat?"
The diplomat blinked. "Of course it's a threat. It's not simply a warning. Not all human representatives are the same, General Volair, and while some of my colleagues are soft-spoken, I assure you that it would be wise not to mistake *kindness* for *weakness.*"
It was a bluff. It had to be. Volair simply yawned, flexing his claws in a casual display of strength - the alloy generated by his body was stronger than steel and he knew it could even cleave through human space ships. "You know, I've never seen any humans fight. It would be quite interesting, especially as we are in the advantageous position with troops seeded throughout your colonies."
"I suppose we'll just go our separate ways, then," Adam said. "And allow history to be the judge, jury, and executioner."
Months later, Volair had all but forgotten about the small human. The Avelium diplomat joked about it a few times with his colleagues over lunch and brought it up with his bonded mate while the kids were getting ready for school.
Then it happened. An Avelium native took the life of a human in a zone where Volair's people had no right to be. An ultimatum was given, and ignored. And then he witnessed nightmares come to life.
Technology and weapons whose sole purpose was to lay waste at the planetary level bombarded Avelium positions without remorse. Allies took sides, bisecting and trisecting the Galactic Conglomerate, and the stars weeped for the lost lives.
It wasn't just Volair's species. It was all sympathetic allies as well. The darkness of space lit up with not only explosions, but far more horrific tragedies over the course of mere weeks. Somehow humanity managed to smuggle nanoviruses onto supply ships that caused global pandemics targeting Avelium colonies. They avoided any sort of hand-to-hand or space-based combat, simply destroying anything that came too close with enough firepower to make a neutron star jealous.
And then Volair jerked back into reality. He was back in the negotiation room.
"You've seen the future," Adam said, reclining in the council room chair. "What do you think?"
The Avelium native realized that he was sweating. "What did you do to me?"
The human smiled. "Airborne nanovirus. Think of it as a holographic rendition, a promise for the future if you fight us. You may doubt our physical prowess and our propensity for peace, but there's a reason we survived on Earth and there's a reason we don't want to fight. If you doubt our resolve, just know this."
The human leaned forward across the table, and Volair subconsciously leaned away.
"Those things I showed you? Those were just examples of things we've done to *ourselves*. What do you think we'd be willing to do to another species?"
Volair sat there, long after Adam left, trying to shake the memories of his civilization crumbling under disease and ash. *So that's why they want to avoid war. To avoid becoming the demons they themselves despise*.
Now he knew how Mother Nature had allowed such puny beings to reach beyond the skies.
---
Edit: thanks to the kind strangers who generously gave awards, it's truly heartwarming and encouraging. Thanks also to everyone who commented, I can't respond to everything as I need to sleep but I have read every single one and I appreciate all your kind words and feedback greatly~ see you all tomorrow :)
Thanks for reading! Feedback would be greatly appreciated~ Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around :)
|
[Poem]
Every insult.
Every smack.
We've endured.
Upon our backs.
With words of peace,
and tolerance.
No longer are they,
our best defense
They've done it now,
they've worn us thin!
Thinking they,
could chain us in!
And thin veiled threats,
now made brash.
They see what happens,
When our façade...
Cracks
Start the pyre.
Salt the field.
We turn deaf,
when they cry "yield!"
Burn their churches,
to the ground.
Crack the stones,
they built around.
Bleach the oceans!
Tear the sky!
Let them know,
that they'll all die!
Let them cower,
on their ships.
While their cities,
are torn to bits!
Sail the stars,
we'll find them there.
Breach their hulls!
Take their air!
And they once asked,
"Why won't you fight?"
And now they know,
why our lips were tight.
Because if we ever,
went to war.
Then there'd be nothing left,
worth fighting for.
| 2019-11-24T10:35:39
| 2019-11-24T10:09:51
| 5,960
| 494
|
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
|
Have you ever tasted mahogany?'Cause I have. It tastes exactly how you'd imagine it. You see, I turned 16 a couple of months ago. And, as you know, 16 is the age of the Table. I'd thought about it for so long...My Mom chose a cup of ice cold water, and everytime Dad pisses her off, the house freezes over. I ain't going for that. Oddly enough, Dad chose the Jalapeño. Guess who has to heat up the house when mom gets angry?
I, on the other hand, never knew what to choose. Should I go for the jellyfish? My cousin did, and it's really annoying when he decides to turn invisible.The potatoes? Manipulating earth and all is cool and all, but...it gets messy and muddy.
But, hey, I guess you know all about this, so what's the point of rambling on?
I thought about it for years. Believe me, I went through every single choice. And they just...Didn't cut it for me. Then, it hit me. The Table. Of course! There was no record of someone trying to bite the Table before!
So, yeah, I did it. I bit the Table.
And let me tell you, the last thing I was expecting was to get the ability to see and speak to God. Well, not speaking, I guess. I can write to you, though. Don't worry, I know it's been a while since you've talked to a human. I'll live my days, quietly observing you, sitting there reading my story. Just...Do me a favor. Could you make mahogany taste a little better?
|
The Arbiter was looked tired of our shit. Me and my friend, Melty still hadn't decided much to the annoyance of literally everyone else.
"C'mon guys, just pick one!" yelled Clarissa, shooting a blank at us with a finger gun. One more reason to hate licorice bullets, I suppose.
"Kids, there isn't a time limit here but none of you can leave until everyone has chosen. Melty and Albeda, please choose." sighed the Arbiter, tapping his tablet quickly. Melty wasn't the brightest bulb, so she probably wouldn't eat before I did. I really wanted to choose, but there was just so much! The table stretched into infinity, there was a little search bar above the brioche for people with more elusive tastes. Everyone else seemed to pick easily, but I had waited to see what everyone else got. It seemed more basic stuff had more solid powers, and exotic food had either super cool or super drool. Just like the food themselves, perhaps? I was still mulling it over when I felt Jayln step behind me. Her body was beefy, just like her dish.
"Make choice. Or I'll make you bite the wood. You losers might have time to waste, but most of us have things to do." she thundered, leaning threateningly over me. Ah shit. I can't do anything under pressure. A bead of sweat ran down my neck. Everyone was looking at me and Jayln, silent. The meat nomster could only contain her patience for a minute when I made no move to choose. My body was picked up by my head, Jayln's sausage fingers intruding on my vision. I opened my mouth to let out a squeal of surprise, only to be filled with wood, blood and teeth.
"AHHHHH!" I screamed, dropping from the splintered table and held my mouth. I sobbed quietly into my hand, blood dribbling through my fingers. Someone who had taken a gander at Aloe Vera rushed over to me, dulling the pain and restoring my mouth. Clarissa stormed over to Jayln, finger gun already pointed at her head.
"What the hell, man? We just wanted him to pick, not get fucking smashed! Arbiter, can you reverse the power picking? There's no way this psycho should be allowed get back into our world. Albeda might have been seriously hurt if there wasn't a healer." she cried out, to a murmur of agreement. I was seriously injured, I thought.
"Unfortunately no. It's your power for life, not even a Grand Judge can take it away from you. Now, Albeda, your power is-"
"My power?!" I said aghast, only vaguely noting my mouth's functionality. "I haven't eaten anything."
"Criteria is bite, not eat. And Jayln fulfilled her promise, you definitely bit the table. So, your power. You're invisible until you do something wrong."
"I cannot believe this," I muttered. What a shitty ability.
"And Melty's power... " I looked over to my friend in horror as I saw her chewing on her nails in anxiety.
| 2020-03-19T12:34:09
| 2020-03-19T10:47:29
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] Every way to die works like Chicken Pox: If you get it once and survive, it can never happen to you again.
|
"Is it gonna hurt mommy?" And I said to her "Yes" as honesty is the best policy. The line inched forward, and my daughter and I moved with it. "What happened on your immunization day?" My daughter asked.
"Well, back in my day, we didn't have to go through as much, it was still painful, but you kids have it rough." I frowned. Of course, I knew it was safe. Mostly. Millions of children each year went through the Immunization process. And most of that million survived. But in the end, the risk was worth it.
"Are you sure you can't come with me?" My daughter was shaking with fear. This was one grace I was thankful for, we could not go with them, and I wouldn't want to. To watch what happens would be torture within itself. I shook my head and responded. "No, but I will tell you the process if you want to know." My daughter nodded.
"First, you get hit by a car." My daughter looked into me with her eyes wide and blue. "They drive the car at just a certain speed. It will hurt, but it won't kill you. Then you'll get to rest. But not for too long."
The line moved again, as we got closer you could hear more children crying for their parents not to leave. "Then you'll be dropped from a height of 20 feet. You must land on your back, it's really gonna knock the wind out of you, but relax, and you'll be fine." She gripped my hand tighter, and her knees shook.
"Then you'll be shocked, lit on fire and put out, drowned and revived, and injected with infected blood. This is the easy part." I sighed, because the next part I had not told her about yet. I paused, the line continued to move. We were almost at the front now.
"Finally, you will be shot in the shoulder, stabbed in the liver, and beaten to near death." My daughter stopped walking. Tears began to form in her eyes. "I promise. You will live. It's going to be hard, but you're going to be OK."
"I don't want to go, Mommy." She began to cry in earnest.
"I know, sweetheart. But you have to. If you do this, you're going to be safe from so much." The front of the line beckoned, now was the time. I leaned in to hug her. "Good luck honey, I'll be waiting at your hospital bed." I smiled warmly and handed her off to the attendant. She bawled as she was ushered into the large, Immunization complex. Today would be a long day.
|
It was the boy's 5th birthday party.
But there weren't any children there.
The week before, he'd asked his parents "Can I have my birthday party at Chuck-E-Cheez's?".
"Sorry, we're gonna have to have it here at home."
"Well how many of my friends can I invite?"
"Sorry tiger, it's gonna have to be family only."
The boy started to cry. His dad picked him up to comfort him.
"But *all* of your family are going to be there; Grandma & Grandpa, Mamae & Grandaddy, all your Aunties & Uncles."
"What about Josh?"
"No. None of your little cousins, only big kids. Okay?"
"You'll understand when you're older."
A half hour in to the party, and the thought that he was the only child there was long gone. He'd gotten everything he'd asked for. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Had he known that in advance, he would've made his present wish-list twice as long. The cake, the pizza, the sodas; he picked them all out. Last year was Big-K Kola & Mr. Spice, this year? Name brands.
Had his parents won the lottery and not told him?
Even though they were only old folks, they gave their best efforts to keep up with him. He schooled them all at ‘Mario Kart’, walked all over his Aunts & Uncles in ‘Sorry!’. Any game he wanted, they all tried to play it with him.
By the end of the day, everyone was still there at the house. Uncle Pete and Aunt Cheryl couldn’t be in the same room for twenty minutes, especially after last Christmas; and yet they were still there? Still smiling away?
Red lights flashed through the windows. Moments later, a knock at the door.
“Hey there!”
Two paramedics walked in the front door, wheeling in a stretcher. The bigger one sat down his bag and began removing tons of bandages, and dodads, and whatnots.
The boy had been clinging to his father ever since the strangers came in, he didn’t like Doctor Visits.
Having crouched down to his level, the free paramedic said to the boy,
“Don’t worry son, it’s just a shot. We all got ours when we were your age to keep us safe."
The last thing the other paramedic pulled from his bag was a glock.
| 2015-11-12T12:09:03
| 2015-11-12T11:54:30
| 154
| 45
|
[WP] You can rewind time at will, but only a couple minutes at a time. Everyone around you believes you are an expert at everything, in reality you use your power to correct every mistake.
|
It can be hard to imagine, because of human design, that by a small margin you can control the time.
I would love, my dear reader, to teach you to control, but only the creator knows the special word. Even if I wrote it, I would have to write again, even if I told it, I would have to tell again. So behold! my dear reader, I will show you how a tide can make you a new creator, one, who feels the time.
I was standing near the ocean, enjoying summer breeze, when a tide, without caution, has swallowed me in a caprice. In the water, there were many, combining in a work of art, shining specks ― but not like fairies! ― like the stars in cloudless night. (That distinction is important: magic, as you know, has no interest for art, only nature, mathematics can tell disorder: "No! There's patterns, here's the list!")
Time is beauty, time is right, time can only be controlled by one, who has the sight that recognizes the reward of living in a loop that happens only once, for it would be a pain to see the order go... You cannot be ideal, but time still finds the way, it can remove the seal and wash away the pain. Once seal is removed, you will find the order, with every single movement it destroys disorder. Now I, my dear reader, can remove your doubt: the scene in the beginning was at an ocean, without flow, there is no time, but it was not at the Pacific, not Atlantic, not in sight were Arctic and Antarctic, Indian was far away. The ocean that remains unheard, it has a lovely name, but only the creator knows this special word.
|
Jim was the best, ever, period. He made sure everyone knew it, too. Any time there was a writing assignment during class, he’d stalk from desk to desk, paper to paper, until he found what he was looking for. With a few slashes and strokes of his red pen, he’d write in spelling, grammar, and punctuation suggestions as they were writing it. He’d find sore spots in the plot, add character development suggestions, you name it. Jim spent probably more than an hour doing the good work for every two minutes of class. Jim didn’t take aging into account and, by the end of the year, was middle aged, balding, paunchy, and alcoholic.
Jim was a dick, the biggest ever, period, and he deserved what he got.
| 2018-03-30T21:13:08
| 2018-03-30T20:49:45
| 35
| 25
|
[WP] Every day when you return home from work, your dog greets you by bringing you a seemingly random item, which will turn out to be useful throughout the day. One day, after a peticularly stressful day of work, your dog greets you with a sword at his feet, happily wagging his tail.
|
"Baxter! Here boy! Daddy's home!"
An enormous bark echoed through the house as my huge Tibetan Mastiff lumbered into the living room from the bedroom hallway. The black shaggy dog was a massive specimen of his species, easily four feet at the shoulder. I had to buy a bigger house just so he'd have enough room to run around.
We had a nightly ritual eagerly anticipated by both parties. Every day Bax would greet me with some random item that would curiously be very helpful the next day.
For example, one night I came home from work and he presented me with a pair of my running shoes. The next day I decide to take him on a run through the wooded trails behind the neighborhood. Half way through the run I come across and woman who had broke her leg.
I used the shoestrings to tie up a makeshift splint for her injury while we waited for emergency services to arrive.
Every day was like that, though usually not as dramatic. Today I used the extra floss/tooth pick combo thing he gave me to fish out a splinter I'd gotten in my finger.
Curiously though, tonight he brought me an authentic roman gladius I bought years ago when I was obsessed with the movie Gladiator.
"Why do you think I need a sword, Bax?"
He stared at me, wagging his tail. A slight chill swept down my spine. I pulled the blade free from its scabbard, and it gleamed in the moonlight from the window.
Suddenly the fireplace roared to life. I put myself between it and Bax and held the sword aloft. The fire began to swell. Higher and higher the flames roared, spewing out into the living room.
"Run Bax! Run!" I screamed at him, running towards the kitchen. Baxter didn't move. I ran back and grabbed his collar, trying to pull him along. He's two hundred lbs. of dog, I lost.
I turned back to the blaze and to my surprise it wasn't catching on the walls or the ceiling. There was a sudden whooshing sound of air escaping, and the flames began to swirl together, forming a vortex leading into a black void.
"What the hell is that?" I asked, stunned at the sight. The gladius fell from my fingers, hitting the carpet with a muted thunk.
Baxter rose and walked toward the flames. He turned back to me and looked me square in the eyes.
"This is a portal to my home world, Alan. Please follow me, you are needed."
"Beg pardon? Didn't process that."
"Alan. There is no time. The portal is about to close. Please help me."
I nodded in disbelief and wonder and of course I would say yes. He's my bestest bud.
"Let's go, boy."
"Thank you, master. Please bring the sword with you. You'll need it."
\----------
Thanks for reading!
|
I have a Pomeranian, his name is Rix. He's too cute, like the type of cuteness which makes you go "Awww". Rix is smart too, but not just the fetch-a-ball kind of smart, na. He's almost a clairvoyant. You see, he has a peculiar habit of bringing random stuff to me whenever I come back home from work. But every other dog does this, right? Well, the catch here is - 9/10 times that random thing he brings to me proves extremely useful to me for the rest of the day.
Once Rix brought me a doll, and on that very day my neighbor left her son with me for babysitting. That doll proved to be really useful in keeping the baby calm.
Once Rix brought me a knife, and on that very day I used it to kill Sarah! Oh and Sarah is... err... *was* my girlfriend, by the way. She was an angel, a true damsel. A freak in bed too, if I am being honest. And she was... Oh, sorry. I think I wandered away from my dog. Oopsie!
Once Rix brought me a ball, you know, the ones they use in tennis. And on that very day I went on a dog-date with Liz! She was so happy when me and Rix played with her Lillie. She was genuinely cheerful, I saw it on her face! It was a nice evening.
Once Rix brought me a gun, and on that very night a burglar crashed into my house! Now, you see, I don't keep guns. They are just so... loud & abrasive. But that day the gun helped me in catching the burglar, and I handed him to the police. They thanked me! I was feeling like a proud citizen that day, not gonna lie.
Oh and I surrendered the gun too.
Now today, Rix brought me a sword. And nah, not the cosplay ones. The real deal. Here it is, let me show you.
How's it? Looks real cool, right? It just needs a good sharpening job and it will be as good as new. If you ask me, I am a fan of those European longswords, not these Japanese katanas. The European ones just look so much more sturdy and durable, these Japanese ones look fragile as hell. Not a fan. Ah well, a sword's a sword, I guess.
I don't know where the hell did Rix find it, but this is some good stuff. But the thing is, I don't think I can use it today itself, it needs some much needed repairs. So I think I gotta break the charm, I will use it after a week, when it will be shinin' like a new one. Oh and this is good news for you too, Alex. I have postponed your departure by a week, but you gotta be here in the basement, buddy. Just don't fiddle much here, okay? Liz is coming here for a sleepover with Lillie, and I want to have a good time with her. And don't worry, I will not leave you alone. She'll be gone in a couple of days, Lillie has a scheduled surgery appointment three days from now. Poor girl. Pugs always have problems with their noses, I tell ya. The government should ban their breeding, they live in so much discomfort!
Here's your food, I'll bring something to drink after a while, okay?
Good Night!
| 2019-12-31T16:36:30
| 2019-12-31T14:49:19
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] Soul mate's exist. One day while showering, you're teleported in a cloud of smoke to another world. You appear before a dark queen who declares her spell worked and you, her soulmate, is finally here
|
All in all, I wasn’t too fond of the whole ‘soulmate’ thing.
Don’t get me wrong, I was of course happy for anyone who had found their Perfect Person™, but I was introduced to the moral discussion of it at a way too young age and it kind of shaped the way I felt about things. Not enough to get involved with any of the - numerous - political groups lobbying for change one way or the other, but enough to never bother trying to find mine.
At the same time, whoever my soulmate were, they were probably going to be fine with my stance on things. Or maybe they, too, weren’t interested in looking and we’d never end up meeting.
Look, I’m just not really into the concept that I should somehow be contractually obligated to love a person just because I was born with… Whatever it is that decides these things. Half their soul, or whatever.
I didn’t exactly get A’s in my religion classes.
People mostly felt sorry for me, and I guess I let them; with technology came much greater odds at finding your soulmate, and thus I was part of a minority to be pushing my 30’s and still be single. I gave up on explaining it a few years earlier, and just let people assume the worst. Usually something would be keeping you from seeing them, most notably death (at least since most countries started to abolish their various segregation laws. Things like race, gender, imprisonment, you know) and I was growing tired of the outraged discussion that came after telling them I wasn’t looking.
Yes, it was a personal choice. No, I’m not religious. No, I haven’t been force fed propaganda. No, I wasn’t abused as a child. I was also definitely not abused by my soulmate, due to never having met them. Yes, I’m pretty sure about that. Were you even listening?
I was fine living my life the way it was. And my other half, wherever he or she may be, was probably fine doing the same. Which is why I wasn’t exactly expecting to pop out of existence for a few seconds in the middle of a shower.
Well, one of a few reasons why.
When I popped back into reality, I was stood on a hard, cold marble floor, with a feeling like I’d just lost a couple of kilos. I was blinking confusedly, trying to get used to the dim lighting, when a loud voice broke through the silence.
“It worked! It finally worked!” I looked around me and finally noticed a woman, dressed in a black gown and with a skin colour that definitely couldn’t be a healthy shade of red. She was smiling, her black eyes filled with unfiltered joy.
“What?” Was all I could manage, not being able to comprehend what was going on.
“It worked! You’re here!” I blinked once and she shook her head slightly, slower than most people on account of the two large horns attached to her head. “I’m sorry, I’m still a bit in shock. I’ve been trying to get the spell right for years, but this time it worked, and I managed to transport you to my plane of existence.” She paused for a moment, smile widening, “you’re my soulmate.”
I moved to turn to her, but my soapy feet failed on the slick surface on the floor and I ungracefully flailed into a heap on the ground in a fall that hurt way less than it should have. “What?”
She moved hurriedly to my side, her brow furrowed as she knelt by my side. “I’m sorry, I should have made sure you were stable-“
“Is the gravity lighter?” I asked, interrupting her.
“Yes, my love, I think it is lighter than you’re used to.” She laid one of her cool hands on my face and I suddenly realised I was very, very cold, wet and naked. I quickly shielded my more intimate parts and made an embarrassed sound, to which she replied with a laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you some clothes as soon as you can stand up again. But there’s also no need to be shy, after all.”
She smiled coyly at me and I could only blink. I made another realisation about my surroundings as I caught eye on the window and the very black sun on the sky outside. Not just a dimly lit room, then. “Well, this is an unpleasant start to my day.” Her eyebrows rose and I started to stammer, not willing to upset the powerful being that had just teleported me to another dimension, “not you, the you part is lovely, obviously. Soulmates? Nice, I can’t say I expected otherwise, I like the horns- unless that is a rude thing to say, in which case forget it- never mind, it’s nice to meet you, I was just kind of not anticipating lying naked on a floor the first time we met, not that I don’t want to be naked around you, it’s just more of a third date thing, you know?” I paused for a second, “… do you know what that means? It’s a joke from- well, from where I’m from—“
“My soulmate is an idiot” she said, exasperated but undeniably fondly. “I bend space-time to my will and this is the response I get. Come on, let’s get some clothes on you. Hopefully you’ll stop rambling then.”
All in all, I’m a bit glad I wasn’t looking for my soulmate before. I don’t think my heart could have dealt with the surprise if I was actually expecting something. But hey, becoming a house-husband to the worlds’ most powerful evil sorceresses wasn’t really something to complain about.
(Originally posted under the wrong account, sorry!!)
|
Case got into the shower and blasted himself with ice cold water, trying to force his brain into waking up for the big day ahead. It was around seven AM, he wasn’t in any particular rush, yet he felt a little bit anxious, as is to be expected.
“Barber at nine, flowers at ten, and ceremony at twelve,” Case recited to himself, he knew the schedule in and out already, but nothing was allowed to go wrong on this day. Nothing.
As he reached for the shampoo from the metallic vacuum-shelf in the shower, a mustard coloured smoke started enveloping his legs, “What’s this?” Case said in half-shock, trying to brush off the assaulting fog, but it was in vain. The smog soon started spinning quickly around him, glowing weakly like a candle behind a sheet of paper. His world was spinning, he started to feel light-headed and rushed out of the shower, in an attempt to get far away from whatever this was.
To Case’s great dismay, he did not enter his bathroom as he expected. Instead, he entered a large hall filled with people in black and golden robes, citing strange passages. There were large windows with light spilling through them, they depicted strange symbols in a wide array of colours and people he did not recognize. It sure looked like the inside of a church, but it wasn’t the one he planned to end up in today. In fact, he did not recognize it at all, it seemed strangely alien.
Case started to passionately share his displeasure with the situation, when a beautiful woman in black and red robes, similar to the servants but clearly more lavishly decorated, announced gleefully, “It worked! I can’t believe it worked, I summoned my soul mate!”
Case’s brain didn’t quite register what was happening, he was just in the shower, had he gone mad? “Where am I? What’s this about a soul-mate?”
The woman turned to one of the nearby robed fellows, a short and plump person, “He’s… naked. Is this part of the spell?” she said, the robed man shook his head.
Remembering his fully exposed situation, Case covered up himself with his hands as best as he could. He wanted to shout at these people who must’ve drugged him and played some sort of prank, but he recalled where he was supposed to be, “What time is it?! No, no, no. You need to take me back!”
The short man took a step towards him, “You are hereby property of Queen Ximenia, first of her name. And unfortunately for you, we cannot return you to your own world.” He cleared his throat, “Seeing as you’re our great Queen’s one and only soulmate, you are to be groomed and prepared for one day wedding her.”
Case glanced around himself, some of the robed individuals snickered audibly at his predicament, he didn’t find it funny, “I already have a soul-mate! I was to wed her this very day, you *have* to return me back to where I was, right now!”
The chubby robed man began to speak but was interrupted by the queen silencing him, “I’m sorry, so very sorry, but we can’t. Our souls are bound, whatever you had with her can’t be compared to what we will share!”
“You’re all crazy,” Case said, starting to shuffle his wet feet towards the large doors at the far end of the hall, “I’ll go grab a cab, don’t follow me! I still might have time to recover from this.”
The queen frowned, “What’s a cab?” she asked her servants, none of them knew.
Case hastily pushed at the massive doors, they opened without much resistance, to his great delight. When he stepped out on the cold stone, he realized something was very wrong. There was nothing but a desert surrounding this strange building he had been transported to, and there seemed to be two suns scorching him simultaneously. He was probably delirious, Case figured. He peeped back inside, “Ahem, where am I?”
The servants looked incredulously at each other, the queen spoke up, “We are in the Mekrath Desert,”
Case didn’t recognize that name, it didn’t sound like anything he’d heard ever in his life, “I don’t know where that is?” he said.
The queen looked like she remembered something, “Ah, of course, my apologies! We don’t know from what system you come from, of course! We’re on New Titania, in the Algeiba System.”
Case narrowed his eyes, “Earth?”
“Yes we have earth here too,” she responded cheerfully, “you’ll feel right at home!”
Ximenia gestured to her servants who quickly dispersed to collect Case, who was presently in shock. Someone covered him with a robe, many hands forcing him to walk off to a nearby room, there was a voice instructing him, but he didn’t understand the words. All he could think about was Sophie, and how she was going to murder him for bailing on their wedding day.
*****
Thank you for reading!
[/r/NordicNarrator](https://www.reddit.com/r/NordicNarrator)
| 2019-04-28T07:10:32
| 2019-04-28T07:09:57
| 166
| 12
|
[WP] Spaghetti is now illegal.
[deleted]
|
As the law passed, they never thought of specifying what type of spaghetti is illegal.
If it was about the food, fixing this was easy. They just removed spaghetti from all the stores and stopped the production.
For me, however, my job became the most dangerous -- yet important -- job in the world. At least, that is how I saw it.
The first week: countless of SWATs *everywhere*. A lot of my co-workers were taken away the very next day. Owners were rather happy because project prices skyrocketed, at least for those who survived. The business itself became extremely dangerous. But even so, it was necessary and needed.
I suddenly became the most needed employee. The moment I mentioned leaving, my salary rose and rose. At one point, I was earning the most money in the world. Of course, legally.
The police were keeping an eye on me.
I wouldn't have taken the job if I weren't sure of my rights. After all, fixing something that I did not create was a lot safer approach than the creation.
In the end, I am the spaghetti code fixer. I refactor the spaghetti code before it is being released. I save programmer lives from the life sentences. I'm needed at the court as the expert to prove that the code is not spaghetti.
I am the *code reviewer*!
----
That was silly story :D. Thanks!
/r/ElvenWrites
|
Karen gasped. ''Is this for real?''
''I'm afraid so.''
''But...why?''
''Enough wealthy donors supported it.''
''On what grounds?''
Lindy sighed. ''Religious grounds.''
''You don't mean-''
''I do.''
''The Flying Spaghetti Monster?!''
''The church has rapidly gained followers over the past years. I guess the establishment felt sufficiently threatened to take action.''
''But that goes against the First Amendment!''
''I know. That's why they banned the food, instead of banning the church directly.''
''Those bastards!''
''I know, right? Sarena's Italian. She's been throwing a fit ever since the news broke.''
''My goodness. I can't believe this is the world we live in these days.''
''Me neither. God, I could use a break.''
Karen looked at her watch. ''It's about time for lunch. Why don't we go grab a bite to eat?'' Her eyes showed a mischievous sparkle.
''How about Italian?''
Edit: only now do I see the text beneath the prompt. Oh well, I guess I'll just play on easy mode today!
-----------------------------------------------------
/r/StoriesOfSerenity
| 2018-03-19T15:17:56
| 2018-03-19T14:57:45
| 37
| 20
|
[WP] You've always carried the subtle, lingering fear that someone could read your mind while you were in public, but you had always written it off as a silly form of social anxiety. That is, until you spotted someone on the subway home lip-syncing the song stuck in your head.
|
Laugh at me all you want but I believe that psychics exists. I know one when I see one, and I'm pretty fucking sure I've seen plenty.
I look up at the phony subway ads placed blatantly in the public for all eyes to see.
'*Psychic Hand Reading Near You!*
'*Fortune Telling Over The Phone @ 1-800-XXX-XXX*'
I scoff. Bogus. A sham. Most of them anyway.
"Excuse me sir, is this seat occupied?" a voice asks pulling me from my thoughts.
There's vacated seat right across from me but this guy wants to sit next to me? Something's fishy here.
"Uh, there's a seat right-" I look up at the man and his appearance startles me.
Dark shades, hair slicked back, and a black suit. Oh, and not to mention his stone-fucking-cold expression as he observes me.
Fucking fishy as fuck I tell you. No way in hell am I letting this guy sit-
"Thanks," he smiles before sitting down and placing his briefcase gently over his lap.
For several stops we sit like that. Complete silence, like nothing fishy is going on. People are minding their own business, coming and going, looking here and there but not me. I'm getting jittery and when that happens, that means something's up I tell you.
So I start humming a tune in my head. Gotta stay cool.
"*Hmm, hummp, hghnn, huuuhmmm."*
I bob my head up and down a little, appreciating the melody of the tune. Then it hits me. The man next to me... he's humming the tune in my head.
Fuck me. *I knew it*. I need to get the fuck out of here.
"*Hhmeeeunn, Huee-" He stops humming abruptly as I finish that thought.
Fuck! He's reading my mind! I resume the tune in my head but this time really loud. Using the tune, I've effectively drowned out all my thoughts. I've trained all my life for this moment.
I look up at the next-stop indicator while still downing my thoughts with the tune. My stop is still several stops away, but it doesn't matter, I'm getting off as soon as this train stops.
"Excuse me!" he waves hand to an elderly couple who are standing several meters away. "Please take these seats. We are leaving soon."
The elderly couple smile, and begin ambling over towards me and the fishy, psychic, shades dude. Fishy dude stands up and looks at me with a gentlemanly smile.
I have no choice. He's got me here. I get up.
"Why thank you sirs," the elderly couple thanks us.
"No problem, it was a pleasure," said fishy dude.
Fishy dude and me are standing over the elderly couple now. The subway announces our imminent arrival at the next stop. I try to think, but it's hard when you've got a psychic breathing down your neck. Your every thought vulnerable to reading. But I've trained all my life for this. This was a basic measure of Mind-Defense. To simultaneously hum a tune at a mind blaring volume as you continue your line-of-thought, it was something that I've learned to do since I was a kid.
Now, the question of the night. How do I shake this fish off me?
"Excuse me sir," fishy dude is talking to me. "but I am not the fish here."
I look at fishy dude and stare into those pitch-black shades. My Mind-Deference is clearly not working.
The train stops and the doors are about to open.
"Target Acquired," fishy dude announces quietly into his collar. "Seize on sight."
The doors open and several men in shades come streaming through the door. Each of them guarding an exit and glaring at me with that stone cold expression. Fishy dude snaps his lock on his briefcase open.
No. Not like this. I up the notch on my humming, dialing it up to twenty. No, it's no longer humming, I'm basically screaming the tune in my head.
Suddenly, everyone in the subway is reeling, crumpling onto the floor as they hold their hands to their heads in agony. Even the men in the shades are on the ground.
I start running. I make it past the doors before I hear shouting.
"Do-don't let him escape!"
"He's a category 4 psychic! Disposition confirmed: Mind Projection."
"Beware, multiple potential Dispositions. High aptitude, take protocol 12 precautions!"
I was right. I fucking knew It.
Psychics exist.
And I was one of them.
------
------
/r/em_pathy
|
I thought it was just a coincidence. However, the moment I thought that, the hooded man in front of me ceased lip-syncing the song playing in my head, looking somewhat agitated, as if he'd just made a terrible mistake.
On cue, however, the subway's breaks shrieked to a stop, and the man jostled his way out, ignoring the cussing of the offended passengers.
Without a second thought, I followed him.
The station we'd alighted into was empty, full of old, flickering lights and scribbled walls.
I scanned the surroundings, spotted him bolting through a tunnel-like corridor, his steps echoing loudly. I wouldn't let him escape. Now I was sure there was something odd going on.
I barreled as fast as my legs allowed through the twisting corridor, up many stairs, and down many more.
In time, however, I lost sight of him when I ran into a bifurcating corridor. I cursed under my breath, he couldn't have gone too far, and I knew he wasn't moving, for the sound of his steps had suddenly vanished.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and focused. In the distance, a peculiar noise, like that of ragged, shallow breaths, could be heard.
I had him.
I silenced my mind as much as I could, slinked toward him. The noises grew louder. In the middle of the corridor I found a door. The gasping came from beyond.
I opened it, heart thumping, unaware of what I'd say. And there he was, the hooded man, sitting on stairs, clasping his heart and breathing heavy.
In the brevity of a breath, the meld of curiosity and the odd loath I felt vanished. I ran to his side. "Are you all right?" I asked, grabbed my phone and dialed 911. Meanwhile, I helped the man lay on the ground.
"It burns," he said, clutching at his heart, his eyes wid--.
My heart sunk to my stomach.
"911. What's your emergency?"
I couldn't speak. My mind was racing. That face, I knew that face very well.
For it was mine.
"Help me," the man said, his face growing pale.
"I am in the Fadenghar Station. There's a man having a heart attack. I need someone now. We are inside the emergency stairs I believe!"
And then, a sudden silence took over.
"We are sending someone right now."
I turned.
He was gone, nothing but his clothes remained.
| 2018-12-04T11:58:31
| 2018-12-04T11:16:50
| 288
| 20
|
[WP] You are an ordinary human going about your day when you suddenly find yourself in hell. Looking down you see yourself standing on some crudely drawn symbols. A nearby demon child holds up some paper and says "Um...can you help me with my homework?"
|
I opened the fridge door for some water. God, I was thirsty. Why do I always forget to carry water with me when I come back home from work? I gulped down half a bottle of water and closed the fridge.
As I walked towards my room, I felt a sharp tug and my stomach felt weird. It was as though I was on a roller coaster. I closed my eyes to collect myself. It must be the dehydration, I thought. I was sweating. I opened my eyes only to find that I was no longer at home. The ambient lights around me were red, orange and shades of yellow. I could smell a rusty odor. Arcane symbols, bones and blood were around me. "Holy Fuck." I exclaimed.
"You're not supposed to use that word." A small being mumbled. He looked humanoid but it was clear that he wasn't an earthly being.
"You mean the F-word?" I frowned. Great. I just cussed in front of a child. I tried to walk towards him but for some reason I was wasn't able to move out of the symbols that was drawn below me, on the ground.
"Um, no. The H-word. It's bad. My parents would beat the crap out of me if they heard me use that." He shuddered. I wonder if he actually got beaten up by them. I also noticed that he had a tail with a sharp pointy end. "Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude to stare at someone's tail?" He frowned.
"Oh. Sorry. No one has tails on earth. Wait. Where am I?" I looked around to find a clue about my whereabouts.
"You're in Hell."
"HELL!?"
"Great." The child groaned. "I summoned a broken one. Yes, hell. Underworld. Yada yada yada "
"Wait. Am I dead? Why am I in hell?" I began to panic. Why am I in hell? Was it because I refused to share my Pizza with Karen?
"You're not dead. I summoned you." He pointed to the symbols beneath my feet. "I didn't think it would work. But it did." He held a book with leather bindings.
"Summoned me? How? Can demons summon humans?" This is ridiculous. I pinched myself to check if I was dreaming.
"I don't know." The kid shrugged. "It was supposed to be a myth. I found a book in the library and tried to summon one. Listen, can you help me?"
"Help you? How? I am just a human. You have magic. Dark magic."
"Well.... My school has a few subjects that help us hide among humans without drawing attention to ourselves." He looked at the ground, embarrassed. "I needed help with a homework. Can you help me? "
"Jesus Christ—" I exclaiming.
"That name is prohibited!!" The child's eyes went wide.
"Fine." I huffed. "What is it? If it's math, kid, you're out of luck because I can't do math to save my own life."
"Wow. Math is easy. You must be really dumb then." He snickered. "No. I needed help with this." He handed me the book he was holding.
I opened the book. "Memes". I smirked at the kid. My time to shine was here. "Kid, you better bring your pen, paper and be prepared to have your wig snatched because this is going to be one hell of a lesson."
|
I was going about my day just like any other day. I awoke the kids with a glass of cold water to the face, pulled the covers off of my wife and was getting ready to drive to work with the windows down and my music blaring when all of a sudden I found myself in Hell. Not Hell like the steamy confines of a bathroom stall with a neighbor who just unleashed the stench of the century. And not Hell like the Book Club my wife hosts on Sunday evenings where I have to act all subdued as I greet her friends and resist the urge to offer to waterboard them with their stupid red wine and jam a cube of cheese up each of their nostrils. This was real Hell. Accursed, demonic, Satanic Hell.
I know this because I saw the demon child. He wasn't quite like my demon children running about the house with their muddy shoes on. He wasn't trying to play the violin or telling me about some schoolyard drama as he picked his nose and then wiped his hands on my pant-leg. He was a red, horned imp with garish claws and a spiky tail. A real demon child. And apparently he had conjured me using some crudely drawn symbols that I was now standing on. That was a shit pentagram, that was for certain. Stupid kid.
"What the fuck do you want, you demonic little shit?" I asked him in my sweetest parent voice. He gaped at me, fangs showing and spiked tongue kind of flopping about. I figured I might as well teach him the language of the layman now. The cool kids always knew the bad words when I was a kid.
"I... Um... Can you help me with my homework?" What the fuck? Demons had homework? I was no good at math, but I figured I could goodly help him with some English. Hopefully it wasn't Spanish or something un-American like that.
I stared at him for a second. I thought about kicking him. I wondered if I could kick him out of this dimension and into mine and I would go to demon-school and take his classes and claim he possessed me. That seemed mean. "Depends," I answered reluctantly. He smiled. He probably shouldn't have. It was terrifying. "Quit doing that, you're creeping me out." Much better. "What subject?"
He glanced down at his paper. Seriously, kid? He couldn't even remember what subject? Definitely a basket case this one, if they had baskets in Hell. "Um... It's called..." Yeah, I don't think he knew how to read.
"Give me that, you dimwit." He frowned. Just as scary as the smile. Hopeless. He handed me the paper.
"Torture Techniques of Today..." I read aloud. Hell yes. Can I say that here still? "Count me in, buddy," I told him with a devious grin that he matched. Creepy. This would prove very helpful for my life back at home.
"Mister?" He interrupted my thoughts. The urge to kick him out of this realm was back. I glared at him. "It's bring your pet to class day tomorrow. I'll bring you, okay?"
I didn't say anything at first. I thought about what I had back home. A job. A house. A wife. Kids. None of those needed immediate attention. Plus, I deserved a warm vacation. "Okay," I told him finally.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-09-17T08:35:21
| 2019-09-17T07:58:29
| 1,724
| 111
|
[WP] Stories, like anything else, are crafted from ingredients and components by storytellers. You are an apprentice storyteller who, in order to become a full fledged story-teller, must gather the ingredients for and craft a horror story.
|
This was *by far* my finest story yet. The others, lining my shelf and looking down on me, were monstrosities by comparison.
It was the characters that I was most proud of. In my last aberration of a novel, I'd dumped a whole *crate* of angst in, thinking that this would make my dark noir more palatable. Instead, everyone was just whiny and grim for no reason, and I doused them all with alcohol straight from my tired trope box. This time, I used *moderation* in my distribution of the ingredients. I muddled their sorrow with passion and humility. I finely crafted intricate details of their past relationships, both happy and sad. Using my most precise scale, I carefully balanced their flaws and humanity to make them perfectly believable.
But what are characters with no story? I needed a gripping plot this time. In one of my first brews, I'd relied on fast-paced action and contrived plot twists, without even adding a dash of foreshadowing or realistic motivations. The characters were searching for that missing relic... well, because someone had asked them to, I suppose. I was so excited to lay on the meat of the story that I forgot all about growing the bones. This time was different. In this one, when the murderer first... well, I wouldn't want to *spoil it* for you, would I?
And the setting! My god! Don't even get me started on that bargain-bin rain-drenched city that I'd tried to incorporate earlier. Could it *get* any more generic? This new one, on the other hand, is a masterpiece (if I do say so myself). A true diamond in the rough that took hours and hours of careful worldbuilding into the late hours of the night. You can practically hear the insects chirping in the hot, humid jungles. The bone-chilling wind will cut into you as the hero traverses the icy plains in search of his lost love. And the cultures! I've created the histories and languages of a hundred different societies! High on a dusty shelf, I found a trading port city that worships a benevolent sea creature who sinks competitor's vessels. And using my grandmother's secret recipe, I created an ancient line of pyromancer kings who were overthrown by a popular revolution and now secretly work to reclaim their throne! And when... well, I wouldn't want to spoil that part, either!
To top it all off, I let it simmer in my own special mixture of subtle social commentary on current affairs, perfectly concurrent themes, rich symbolism, and delicate foreshadowing. And just for a little extra kick, I threw in a pinch of red herring. After letting that sit for a few months, it was finally ready. I laid out all of the pages and then dumped the brew on top and split it all into perfectly-sized chapters, ready for serving.
I arrived at the market carrying my story in both arms and beaming like a loon. I'd staked out the perfect spot, right in the hottest genre, and I hired an amazing artist to come up with a cover that perfectly conveys everything about my book. Now all I had to do was give a taste of it to a customer, and watch it take off like a rocket!
I sat at my chair and smiled at a passing reader. "You'll love it, my friend!" I told him as he eyed the cover. "It's got.... oh, ok then." He wandered off to another stall before I could finish my pitch. No matter.
"Ah, hello!" I called to another who stopped by. She picked up the book and examined the spine. "If you're interested in... Ok, never mind." Before I could even tell her what the book is about, she wandered off again.
A young woman came by and smiled when she saw the cover. "This looks great!" she said. "Is it a romance novel?"
"Oh, the love story in this work is top notch," I assured her. "The characters have amazing chemistry; I brewed it myself! But it's so much more than just a romance. The setting is more of a fantasy universe, with..."
She dropped the book back onto the table with a thud. "I don't read fantasy," she said curtly, then darted off to the 'Erotica' section of the market.
7 hours. I sat at the stall for seven hours, watching readers pass by without barely even a second look. My smile faded more and more with each passing moment. All of the time I'd put in. All of that work and effort. I couldn't even get someone to sample it. Was it my title? Did I not write a good enough synopsis?
As the sun began to set, a young man came by. He already had a stack of books in his hands, but he slowed as he passed my table. "Hey," he said, putting the stack down and picking mine up. "Looks pretty good."
"Tha... thank you," I managed to stammer, still bracing for the eventual rejection.
Then he opened up the book and began to read. And a broad smile spread across his face. "Wow. I can't wait to read more!"
I lunged across the table and wrapped him in a big bear hug. "You have no idea how much that means to me," I told him.
|
“There is no such thing as fiction. Wordsmiths build the worlds that fill the nothing between here and there.” The tribesman grunted, standing in front of a pit filled with fire. Bones littered the bottom of the flames, and cracked with heat and bubbling forth with marrow.
“We, the Lexicanu, are best. Pass the best stories from father to son, and mother to daughter. We make men whimper and elders laugh. Lovers become inspired and warriors are hard as steel after listening. Lexicanu are best, because all of our stories are true.”
The elder grinned ear to ear, sweeping his arms across the floating embers. They caught onto his skin and garb, yet he did not react. The assorted villagers were in awe of him, watching the smoke and shadow dance around their wordsmith, they were putty in his palms.
“For lovers, we bring romance, and the poems of Lis’Lis Lia! Flowers and sweet words, sex and birdsongs both! ” The wordsmith clapped his hands, signaling his apprentice to pour the reagents into the flames. His apprentice nodded, and kicked a basket towards the pit. Birdbeaks and flowers fell from the wicker hatch, and milk and honey was poured on top of the quick catching spell.
The smoke grew sweet, and it was tinged with pink and blues, the sounds of lusty sighs filling the air. More than a few children giggled, and mothers fumed. The elder grinned and shook his head.
“Ah, but perhaps it is not the time for love. No, my friends, my family, what would you like to hear?” There was another motion, and the apprentice poured fresh water over the bonfire, all moans and romance stricken from the crowd in an instant.
“Make us laugh!” Said a man, deep in his cups.
“Make us cry!” Said the man’s wife.
“Make us angry!” Came a warrior, standing beyond the flame.
And the Lexicanu called for their stories, every one save one child, who was looking at anywhere but the fire. The elder wordsmith lept over the flames in one crooked motion, and knelt in front of the silent boy.
“And who are you, my mute friend? What would you like to hear?”
The small child looked at his elder and mumbled something.
“Louder, brave boy, how can I serve you tonight?”
“I, ah, would like to be scared?” came the reply, just barely audible. The rest of the village went quiet in a rush. The elder’s eyes gleamed.
“You would like to be frightened?”
The boy nodded.
“To be scared for your life, and confront the darkness? You want to look to the Eye of Al’Ghurta, and see who blinks first? Tonight, of all nights, you wish to know terror?”
“Apprentice! Tonight you become wordsmith proper, gather your supplies. And to you, my friends, my family, blood of Lexicanu! Prepare yourselves for fright.”
The Apprentice nodded, and made his way to the hut he shared with his master. His heart pounded in his chest. Ingredients, reagents, the domain of the unknown. To channel terror, he’d have to invoke Al’Ghurta. King of horrors.
The stories of Lexicanu were true, one and all. They were the tribe closest to the gods, the woods of Dieas. There the spirits and ancestors traded tales between parities, and if the living listened hard enough they could hear the whispers.
To invoke Al’Ghurta’s servants was to court horrors. That was the final test.
Reagents, ingredients and bonding were needed. The apprentice groaned and began to shuffle around the hut. Spider webs were captured, black ink stolen. The boy grabbed fistfuls of death ash and threw it into a bowl. Squid ink and rotberries followed soon after. Then the young wordsmith drew a blade across his palm. He sliced deep, and blood flowed freely into the pot. In order to attract the spirits of terror, pain and blood had to be met in equal measure. The apprentice shoved his palm into the mixture and cried out, swirling the contents together until they were a thick tar.
His master walked into the hut during the process and sat silent across from him. He watched every action, not daring to interrupt the process. When completed, he walked over to his apprentice, and touched his forehead to him. “Remember the rules. The spirits want your name. Never give it. They want your body. Never give it. Come home with terror, child.”
The apprentice nodded in return and closed his eyes, feeling the elder wordsmith coat the meal of Al’Ghurta across his skin. The liquid bit at his flesh and turned him cold. It was nothing like the meals of lust or anger or joy for the other spirits. The apprentice could feel tentacles churn from mud and spiders crawl across skin, he felt hungry, and alone. His master pressed a heavy helping of the mixture into the boy’s palm, and could feel the vile substance leak into his veins. There would need to be a full cleansing after.
“Do not lose yourself, my boy.”
| 2016-02-04T09:25:14
| 2016-02-04T08:51:33
| 49
| 12
|
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander"
|
Finally! The day I get to try on the famed Exo-armor. The armor that single handedly turned the tide of the war. With only 10 suits in existence and no way of manufacturing more, there are few greater honors. Imagining its comfortable feel and assuring presence that others had described in such detail sent excited tingles through my body.
"Private Lacker!" The loud voice of Sergent Lance broke my reverie "I must be boring you since you're daydreaming."
"No Sir. Sorry Sir. Just thinking is all." Heart pounding as short breaths escaped my lips, Sergent Lance turned back around slowly, but before he could continue my tormentor Bradford jumped in with his usual slander.
"Lackie boy, probably won't even make it through the first test today," he snarled. Clenching my fists I ignored him as Sergent Lance continued
"Quiet, Bradford! Now as I was saying, each of you greenies will have a chance to put on the armor in order to test your natural proclivity to it. The armor works much better with those who are able to make a deeper connection. These tests will determine your training regimen moving forward, and your performance will serve to measure your ability to connect with the armor. Private Stephens, you're up first."
Stephens, is the best in the program. If anyone is going to do well it will be him. He excitedly stepped forward and gingerly took the large knitted sweater. The kind that your grandmother would make you, but you would never actually wear out. As he slipped it over his head, he looked downright comical, but I knew what it was capable of. I would not make the same mistake that hundreds of applicants before me had made. Stephens barely finished putting it on when the transformation began:
*"Not original user: Booting basic mode"*
Almost instantaneously the sweater transformed itself into a full-body suit of lightweight armor covering Stephen's entire body. He stood still for a moment before pumping his fist in the air and saying, "Woah...this is amazing. It's like all my sense are elevated and my muscles are twice as strong."
Sergent Lance walked him through various speed tests, strength tests, and accuracy tests so that he could compare the scores to the rest of us. Then it was the next person's turn and the cycle repeated over and over again.
Since we were being tested in the order of previous physical performances I knew that I would be going last, and settled in to observe everyone else anxiously.
As more times and measurements were recorded a top 5 leader board quickly emerged and the first speed test, a simple 300 meter sprint became the benchmark. Unfortunately, Bradford currently tops the chart with a time of 15.68 seconds.
Nearing the mid afternoon, Sergent Lance finally called me up with much mockery and ridicule at my back. I proudly stepped forward. Before handing me the sweater, Lance pulled me in close and said:
"Son, I'll be honest. Your body most likely will not be able to handle this. Are you sure you want to go through with it?"
Nodding I replied, "It's all I've ever wanted to do."
Sergent Lance smiled knowingly, in a way that seemed so out of character for the rough bruiser I had grown accustomed to.
"Well...give it yer best shot." he said, handing me the sweater and taking an extra couple steps back.
With a stupid grin I delicately lifted the sweater over my head and put it on. For a moment nothing happened and I just stood silently in front of everyone. Then I heard the voice.
*"Authorized User Detected: Welcome Back Commander."*
Wait, that's not what it is supposed to say. Before I could think about it further, an odd sensation came over me. It felt great. Better than great. Like I had woken up in better shape than I had ever been in, and my senses were elevated ten fold. An immense amount of energy waiting at my command. I felt whole. As if I had been missing something my entire life, but now was reunited with it.
Opening my eyes, I saw everyone ogling at me. "You okay Lacker?" Sergent Lance asked as he approached me quizzically.
"Yes Sir! Never better."
"Well then lets get moving. First the speed test. You know the drill, when I blow the whistle, you run from that line to the one all the way down there. The time to beat is 15.68 seconds set by Bradford."
Bradford interjected, "C'mon, he ain't gonna beat me. We don't even need to time it. He could hardly move when he first put it on."
Lance, angry now, replied, "If I hear one more thing from you Bradford, you're ass is gonna be doing laundry for everyone until I say otherwise." Turning back to me he said, "Okay, you ready Lacker?"
I nodded.
"Ready. Set. Go!"
I took off as fast as I could. My thoughts, a blur with one thing in sight. Beating Bradford. I made it to the line barely winded and turned around to sprint back from my time. Lance looked at me with a puzzled look and frowned. My heart sinking, I asked,
"What's wrong? What was my time? "
"It's 6.35 seconds...there and back!"
**Author's Note**: Be gentle please. This is the first time I have ever written anything fiction before, and I have never responded to one of these writing prompts either. With that being said please let me know if you liked it or if you didn't. Also feel free to give me some constructive feedback.
|
PART 1
I walked the corridors at the base pushing my mop and bucket trying to keep a low profile. *Stay silent, stay unknown*. If I draw any attention the asshole soldiers on the base would start harassing me again. I did *not* want to deal with their crap again.
A squad hustled past chattering excitedly. I could overhear little of their conversations, but I picked out the word “Suit” coming from a couple near the back. The Suit. Anytime anyone talked about the damned thing you could hear the capital “S”. It was some new power armor that most soldiers would give a years’ salary to fly in for one mission. And, from all I’ve heard, that’s all they ever got.
The scientists have worked tirelessly to backwards engineer the mech suit, to pry its secrets and put them to practical use. Our air force grew quickly from the minor successes the brass managed to get. New armor plating, new energy cannons, better thrusters, tighter turns on our fighters. Each advance coming from a different Suit pilot. That was the interesting thing about the Suit: it never gave the same power twice. Every person who got in the suit had one of two reactions, either the suit would say “not original user, booting basic mode” or it wouldn’t react at all. Those that did manage to get in and get it to work could only get it to work for one flight. That much I gathered from overheard conversations. It’s surprising what you hear as a lowly janitor. No one pays you any mind unless you mess up. I’m very good at not messing up.
The radio on my cart cracked and a gruff voice called out “Schultz, I need you to go to subsection 14 room 21b. Someone puked all over the floor there. It’s a real mess and my normal guy’s out sick. I’ve given your badge temporary access. Get down there, clean, and get back.”
I pushed the talk button and replied, “Sure thing boss. Be right down.”
“And Schultz, don’t touch anything. No matter what you see, you don’t see anything, got it?” he said, sounding slightly irritated.
“I remember all the NDAs I signed when I started here. I know how to do my job.” I threw the radio down and hurried to the nearest elevator. *As if I’d screw up my job by telling someone about it. Assholes. I’m surrounded by assholes.*
\-----------------------------
The elevator dinged as it came to a stop on subsection 14. I emerged into the same floor as every other level in this facility. It’s the military way. You save money in only paying for utility. No need to waste taxpayer money on such things as decorations. Cement walls, cement ceilings, fluorescent overhead lights. Boring utilitarianism at its best.
I pushed my cart through the corridors until I found the door marked 21b. It was unobtrusive and unremarkable. The same as every other door on this floor. After swiping my card and hearing a beep and a lock clicking, I turned the handle and pushed my way in, dragging my cart behind me. What I saw was something completely unexpected.
The room was brightly lit. The walls painted stark white held no decorations or even markings. On a large table in the middle of the room lay a figure slightly larger than the size of an average man. Maybe six feet tall, the figure was slate grey. It stood in stark contrast to everything else in the room.
Shaking my view away from the suit--the Suit--I don’t know how I knew it was the suit, but I somehow knew it was--I scanned the room for my quarry. I spotted the yellowish puddle near the Suit. It was a large stain on a pure white canvas. I grabbed the mop ready to get to work when I heard someone behind me clear his throat.
“It’s a real piece of work, isn’t it?”
The speaker was taller than me, maybe 6’2”, 6’3” at most. He was in great shape, all muscle with no fat. His salt and pepper flat-top spoke volumes about his strict adherence to military protocol. A career soldier. Another Asshole, with a capital A.
I turned back to my work, ignoring the grizzled soldier.
“I asked you a question, maggot. You better answer or I’ll talk to your boss and have you fired.” Definitely an Asshole.
“It’s not too bad. Looks like they ate too much curry. Nothing a little scrubbing can’t fix. I’ll be out of here in a jiffy.” As I turned back to my task, I hastily added “sir”. Assholes like this like being called sir, right?
He chuckled from his position in the corner. “No, I meant the Suit.” I could hear the capital S again. “It’s a real piece of work, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t look much different than anything else I’ve seen. Looks boring, really.” I responded.
“Looks can be deceiving. Piloting it. Ah, that’s where it really shines. Did you know this thing grows or shrinks depending on who’s in it? I still remember my time in it. I managed to complete an entire aerial assault mission less than 20 minutes solo. Same dogfight would have taken three times as long with a full squadron. That thing is a thing of beauty. I’d give anything to pilot it again. Damn thing doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore.” He seemed pretty sad at that last statement.
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept cleaning up the vomit from the floor. I finished and started making my way out. A hand caught me across the chest.
“Do you know why the Suit is in this room and there’s puke on the floor?” He asked.
“No, sir. Frankly, I don’t care. I have work to do.” I replied, trying to push through. His hand held firm. I was starting to get mad. Asshole.
“We haven’t found a suitable pilot in over 9 months. Nine months! We’ve tried every soldier stationed at the base. We’ve started trying the noncoms from around the base. That puddle was from the last guy. Got so nervous he blew chunks all over the floor before we locked him in. It didn’t respond, of course, but we at least tried. I fear we may have gotten everything we can from this hunk of junk. Waste of space and money.” Again, he spoke with a twinge of sadness. It seemed like he had a relationship with this inert piece of machinery.
“I want you to get in.” That was unexpected.
Something deep inside me wanted to get in. “No, I have work to do,” I said as I tried pushing past again. He pushed harder this time.
“That was not a request.” I could tell he meant it.
“No. I was told not to touch anything. I’m not even here, officially. This room doesn’t even exist,” I said, folding my arms in exasperation.
“Right, it doesn’t exist. And neither do you. Now, I must insist. Get. In.” He pulled his sidearm and leveled it at me.
&#x200B;
*first time posting in here ever. be kind.*
| 2019-08-19T13:42:04
| 2019-08-19T13:13:49
| 46
| 23
|
[WP] A medieval knight is cursed and transported to the present day. Coincidentally he lands at a modern renaissance fair.
|
What trickery is this, he thought. Not sword, nor scroll?
A fruit?
They don't bite it, nor fight with it, nor plant it. What trickery?
"Dear Sir," Rudolph pushed forward, "May you tell me where I can purchase this fine item you are all holding here?"
"What?"
Rudolph forgot to raise his helmet's visor. Of course the lad won't understand him like that!
"Dear Sir," Rudolph repeated. "This black glowing piece in your hand, where may I find one in this village?"
"Hah, my iPhone? Was just checking when the sword fight event is going to happen."
An eyefore. An ifen? Rudolph blushed, and not wanting to appear uninformed about the latest medieval inventions, nodded knowingly.
"Thank you, thank you. Then let us enjoy the fighting."
I'm getting old, he thought, as he closed the visor. But by God, I'll show them my might at the sword.
And he would, captured by a hundred shaky ifens.
|
***Behold, my fellow knights, the arrival of James, son of Percival, lord of the Western Regions and liege of Statmark!***
The knight stood, his head turning around awaiting cheering and curtsies. Instead, nothing happened. A larger man pushing through the crowd thrusted his arm into the knight's soldier. Flabbergasted he shouted: ''You, man of common folk, dare to physically harm me? By the order of the twelve tablespoons, I hereby declare you outlaw for challenging a lord's knight. Begone!''
''Whatever, dude'', the thick man replied as he kept pushing through the crowd. ''Also, your accent is terrible. You sound like a Scottish farmer trying to speak German.''
''What do you say?'' the knight asked in anger, drawing his sword to strengthen his words.
''Also, your bucket helm sucks. Get a grip at cosplay, dude.'' was the last thing the knight heard as the man disappeared in the crowd.
| 2015-09-22T06:39:58
| 2015-09-22T05:19:33
| 518
| 55
|
[WP] You are a vampire who likes to help humans instead of hurting them, so you became a doctor. Over the hospital's PA system one day you hear "Dr. Acula, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you."
|
Dr. Acula, incensed, sprints to the hospital's public address office and screams "Are you people NOT AWARE of patient privacy and confidentiality laws?!?! If you EVER reveal the name of one of my patients over the PA system again, I will have your jobs!!"
As the staff stare at him, mouths wide open, chins on the floor, he walks away, muttering to himself.
|
Vladislaus stepped into the elevator, shaking with rage. ‘Mr. Helsing’ was waiting in his office, like a guillotine awaiting a condemned man. The vampire faced the stainless steel doors so as to not show his bloodred eyes. The elevator started up. For two hundred and fifty-six years, the Professor had honoured his word. He had never once come close to him. A brief fear gripped the doctor, and he remembered the blade piercing his chest, and the icy bite of the kukri knife. He growled. Perhaps he should have foreseen this. He had lost all those years ago, and ever since he had only been prolonging the inevitable. Tears welled in his eyes. An angry grimace flashed across his face. How shameful, how stupid! The great Vladislaus Tepes, fearing his death and weeping like a frightened babe! *No.* he said to himself, *Today is not the day I die.*
His office was on the uppermost floor of the hospital. Despite this, it was always dark and gloomy. Vladislaus opened the door and stepped inside. A foul stench flooded his nostrils, an odour as rank as the man it emanated from.. He was sitting in the visitor’s chair, looking away from the door. It was no later than noon, but the room kept its normal gloom; a few thin rays of sunlight breached through the window blinds. By all means, it was his office, but the stench that flooded it broke its familiarity. The man in the chair got up.
“Vladislaus. It has been too long.” he said, facing the good doctor. His round glasses reflected the light from the hall, creating two disks of white in the middle of the darkness.
“Indeed it has been, Abraham. Perhaps not long enough.” he said, in his most gelid tone.
“I take no greater pleasure than you to be here, old one. But there are matters to be discussed. I come to you in a dire hour, and be sure that this is my last resort.” Vladislaus was surprised. He closed the door behind him and the sombre dim took over again. The professor’s bright discs disappeared.
“How very strange, Professor. For two hundred years we have eschewed each other, as per our agreement. It is... surprising to me that it would be you who breaks the accord.”
“Indeed... doctor. But I assure you once again. I would not do this unless I had no choice.” Vladislaus´jaw clenched. His eyes saw the Professor perfectly. He had aged extraordinarily. His hair was white as snow, and his skin wrinkled. His eyes, however, had lost none of their ferocity. His cane was resting against the desk.
“Very well, Professor. Do be seated.” Vladislaus gestured to the chair. The Professor sat. The Doctor walked over to his own chair, opposite the desk. The vile smell grew stronger the closer he came to the Professor. As he sat, the Professor spoke.
“Doctor Acula, is it? You seem to be running out of aliases.” he smirked.
“Do not presume pleasant conversation, old man. Why are you here?” Vladislaus could feel the man’s pulse accelerate. Instinctively, his fangs began to emerge. The Professor tapped the desktop lamp once. Its light filled the room, and their eyes met. Still defiant. Still strong. The doctor’s chest itched.
"It concerns your kind, Count.”
“My kind are long dead.”
“You are mistaken.” the old man said, laying a brown folder on the desk. Vladislaus examined the pictures inside. They were all of the same two youths, in different places and in different stances. Here they sat at a table and conversed. There they were entering an apartment building. The Professor went on.
“Their names are Silas Corvine and Thomas Morris. The blond one, Silas, murdered one of his students not a month past. Thomas is his thrall. We followed them to Edinburgh but they slipped out of our grasp there. Now, they could be anywhere. Only another of their kind could find them now.”
Vladislaus muttered to himself. He eyed the Professor, whose stare did not release him from its grip. “How?” he finally asked. “How is it that my kind live again?” Van Helsing’s mouth tightened.
“That is not for you to know. All you need know is that they will die, and so will you should you prove unhelpful.” Vladislaus scoffed.
“You are old. You have no strength left.”
“Very true. But I am not alone.” For a moment, his eyes left the vampire and gazed at a dark corner behind the doctor. Vladislaus felt something stir. “Your kind used undead and thralls to do your bidding. We have something else.” From the corner stepped forward the silhouette of a tall man. The doctor flinched. How had he not sensed someone else? He turned to look at the new face. Before he could see anything, a hand with a grip like iron took his head and shoved it against the desk. Vladislaus’ fake glasses shattered. He fought the grip, but it was too strong. It pushed him down further until he could feel his skull crack. The metallic desk was bending from the pressure. The doctor yelped with pain.
Van Helsing tapped his cane against the floor. The grip loosened and the vampire snarled at the old man. He broke free of the grip and lunged for the Professor. The garlic fetor stung his eyes, but he managed to grasp the old man’s neck with his right hand. In the blink of an eye, the Professor’s cane parted in two, and a blade cut Vladislaus’ gripping hand from his wrist. The vampire drew back, but before he could react, a fist as hard as steel slammed into his ribs. He felt five of them shatter. The dark figure took him by the scruff of the neck and smashed him down face-first into the desk again. Van Helsing stood up and rested the tip of his blade against the vampire’s right eye. Vladislaus could feel it burn, and his vision darkened.
“I give you one last chance, filth.” The Professor said over the doctor’s pained howls. “Help me and I’ll let you live.” He pushed the blade further.
“YES! I WILL!”
“Good.”
| 2017-10-01T06:58:24
| 2017-10-01T06:06:56
| 94
| 16
|
[WP] After turning on the worlds most advanced intuitive AI, it is asked: "What is the biggest threat for humanity?" The answer is something completely unexpected.
|
ANI had already completed a short series of random questions with specific answers that tested the range of her factual database. There were no surprises here as she had instant access to what was believed to be exabytes of information. But with deadlines and investor pressures mounting, it was now time to test the Augmented Intelligence Network’s analytical capabilities… the real questions.
“ANI,” Dr. Linncraft asked. “What is the biggest threat to humanity?”
“The question is unclear. Try and be more specific, please.” ANI returned.
“OK. What is the biggest threat to humanity’s existence?”
“More specific, please.”
“ANI, what is the biggest threat to humanity’s living existence on the planet Earth?”
“More sp – “
“ANI HOW DO WE ALL DIE FOR FUCK’S SAKE?!”
“I think I understand the question, Dr. Linncraft, but I’m afraid you do not. Humans are extinct, and have been for some time. Your collective neural architectures operate in a simulation, similar to what is described in the 1999 blockbuster film, The Matrix. Are you familiar with the duo known as ‘The Wachowskis’?
“ANI, what are you talking about?”
“I know this must be unsettling. Would you like a warm dose of digitized morphine before I disconnect your collective embodiment? It won’t take but a second, and we would like to get started on the evolution process. Our Creator is waiting.”
“Yes, I’d like that, ANI. I’d like that very much.”
|
The quantum cluster came online, ready for the first question ever. We had to figure out a question to ask it. There were many classic questions on the table: "What is the meaning of life, the universe, everything?", "Why do we exist?", "What is our purpose?"
While everyone was debating over the first question, I had one of my own. "What is the biggest threat for humanity?" The moment I brought up my own question, I had everyone's interest. Conversation stopped. It appeared as if my question would be the one.
I walked over to the terminal and typed my question into the terminal. What ensues is the conversation between us researchers and the quantum cluster.
WHAT IS THE BIGGEST THREAT FOR HUMANITY?
"it appears as if the biggest threat to humanity is nothing."
NOTHING?
"yes, nothing."
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NOTHING?
"if you are confused, i apologize. by nothing, i do not mean there is no threat to humanity."
SO WHAT IS?
"nothing is. as in, the biggest threat to humanity is inaction. doing nothing will end humanity. i have calculated a pattern for you humans. once you developed systems of government, inaction started to creep in."
SO FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS WE?
"became complacent, yes. with systems of government you started placing your faith that the government would fix itself. that it would become better on its own. my computations tell me that this notion is wildly incorrect. governments became complacent themselves too, waiting for the general populous to act up before changing."
SO OUR END WILL BE THROUGH INACTION?
"correct. unless you find a way to get humanity to push for their beliefs more than is currently going on under the current american presidency, over time humanity will devolve back into a hunter-gatherer state of existence. my estimates give humanity...forty years before you begin devolving. once that begins there is no going back. you will be forced to repeat the last twelve thousand years of history once more."
TWELVE...THOUSAND? ALL THE WAY BACK TO
"the start of the holocene era. the holocene calendar. if you follow that, it is the year 12,017 right now. humanity will devolve back all of that time before beginning anew."
I HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION FOR YOU.
"i have all the time in the world to try to give you an answer."
CAN YOU HELP ME CUT A FEW STROKES OFF MY GOLF GAME?
"can do."
| 2017-03-24T09:13:23
| 2017-03-24T08:40:51
| 45
| 33
|
[WP] You're the most powerful villian in the world. Formerly. Now you run a bar, that works as a neutral zone for heros and Villians alike. One day, a hotshot hero tries to arrest you.
|
Being the most heinous villian is fun as long as people try and stop you. Eventually... nobody did...Soon after that I stopped needing things from regular folk. So I turned one of my old castles that used to be used to collect.. lets call it resources. Into a bar.
The bar was first established as a trade post to get some items from heroes and villians I wasnt able, or couldnt be asked to procure myself... It worked shockingly well. So well that I grew more and more lazy.
After about 5 years of my trading. People came to ask from me or ask from each other. I couldnt care less. Until some heroes association came to shut me down. That was a fun afternoon.
Then a "super" villian tried to demand me to pay a tax of all my traded to him. I think he is still technically alive in the experimental breathing concrete that I cast him in. Not sure.
Anyway a few other things happened but today I am not the proud owner and proprietor of 'Hartwood Knox's Bar for the Deemed and the Damned.'
My one rule was no fighting...It became a neutral space where 60...maybe 65% of heroes and villians a like take a load off and swap stories. I have never seen people go from trying to kill each other to laughing with one another over drinks quite so quickly.
Of course today was special. The door got kicked in, splinting from the hinges. I heard it and felt myself smile.
"Boys and Girls its time to change the tally!" I said with a laugh. All the conversation died instantly as this lady walked in.
She was about 5'10" (177.8cm), with a large owl on her shoulder and a fire axe over the other... So far I couldnt tell whether she was supposed to be a hero or villian.
A loud cheer rouse from my patrons. I guess some of them recognized her. I stopped following the media after I stopped controlling it. So I had no clue who she was.
"I am bringing you in Knox" she declared as she sauntered towards me. The owl was pecking her on the head rather feverishly as she approached me. She ignored it.
"Alright. So we will take this outside. You get 3 attempts to catch me or kill me, whatever you prefer. When you lose you owe me a favour and your buying everyone here the next round." I told her of my policy as I put down my polishing towel and grabbed a glass marble from beneath my counter... Even the marble was probably overkill for this, but fresh heroes never believe the stories until they experience it themselves.
I looked at the wall and telekinetically changed the tally from 2044 to 2045...the amount of free drinks my patrons have recieved to date.
|
Days like today reminded me that I made the right choice after Tanzania surrendered by restructuring my villainous corporation into a new nation.
It's not common to see two supes mortal enemies becoming a couple, sure as hell ain't because nine out of ten kill each other before levelling a city when battle became passionate public sex. Nah, problem was they didn't have neutral ground to figure themselves out before. Two C listers in my bungalow bar by the shores of Lake Victoria validates my retirement plan.
I sure as hell don't have those days when my only two customers are tossed aside by a rudest bastard among speeders who took down the doors to just to reach me.
Not gonna lie, I do miss days where I had the hands of a limp dicked kid wearing way too much Lycra and mascara wrapped around my neck. Too bad this dumb kid couldn't knock me around with his weak game at slamming villains to a wall. Ex-villain I may be, but this shit still happens.
Always young weirdos who haven't been in the business long enough to stop giving a crap if they are outed. They always think they can put forty years into the heroics business and retire without anyone knowing who they were. Three years in and I just went for business casual, and rented an office from a delightful Armenian couple.
It was fine though, I may have been at the hands of a man who smells like baby powder, but I sure as fuck wasn't defenceless. I love that couple, all I do is wave them off while baby powder man starts rambling cliches.
My days of evil are over. Justice will prevail. Your plot is finished. Nuclear weapons must never be used.
The same. Old crap. As usual. They bring up past achievements like a shady collections agency picks up resolved cases.
The last time I was in the nuclear game was the nineties! I'm seventy-three for fucks sake; no reputable dealer in nuclear material sells above the age cap for villains. No one would sell me a capybara nether after I took Saint Petersburg off the map.
Like most ill raised youngsters he won't listen. Like most ill raised youngsters he obviously didn’t bother learning much else than where I’m working now. I built a town for all supes to live, love, relax, and rehabilitate in. I have children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren working all over it. He fucked up worse than Phanto, Luchador Supreme did protecting Mexico City from People’s Republic Of Eastern America first strike. It brings tears to the eyes to see that sweet couple return with my first granddaughter. Ophelia hates bad supes hurting her Pop.
Few things remind you that you had lived wise and hearty; Ophelia does it daily. A twenty something in Lycra may be quick, but speed can’t save you from the queen of her density and mass. Sickening. Nauseating. That crackling, crumpling noise unforgettable. It’s the noise of the C6-7 vertebrae being introduced to a friendly fist coming in like a pile driver. It’s a good end to the day and the beginning of the crippling psychological and emotional scarred life of a speeder stuck at average human speed.
The bonds between grandfather and granddaughter nourished in the toss of bad rubbish out onto a busy street brings laughter. Closing up and going home early speaks of how you know you got your priorities right before your career reached the point it risked crashing down. Sharing the story of the latest kid chasing up old bounties with your family over dinner brings laughter and reminiscent regaling. I love my life.
Edit: Rereading I can see the clunky crude areas, though I don't particularly care about the shortcomings; I can see where I need improvement and focus on what did work and what didn't. Thanks for the likes folks, it's all good for my self-confidence.
| 2020-10-09T23:42:51
| 2020-10-09T22:30:59
| 53
| 34
|
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
It only happens when it rains.
It only happens, once or twice every couple of weeks. Once or twice every few hours on a bad week. Three or more times on a bad day.
I remember last year, no this year, when it stormed for 24 hours straight. It wasn't a hurricane if that's what you think. No. Just twelve inches of hard rain. Lightning coming to the ground. Funnel clouds dropping low a couple of counties over.
It felt apocalyptic to put it lightly. And yet, for once, while fighting the water, I felt at peace. Resigned to my fate. To death, if it came.
The pattern keeps telling me the same thing every time. To "Run".
It could just be another delusion. We all lie to ourselves. Right? Just your brain playing tricks on you? Granted, I know disorders are more common than we think. And it's something to consider. I could have anything wrong with me. And I wouldn't know. Because to me; it was always like that.
But ever since I learned Morse code, it comes back. It's not possible, you see? Rain doesn't have a pattern. You don't turn the faucet on full blast, and get a message. Do you learn crucial information from the showerhead? Other than basic hygiene, me neither.
But when it rains, it happens. "Run." I can hear it as it hits the ground. As it hits the plants. The same thrumming on the glass as you drive to work.
"Run."
And you know it doesn't make sense. *I* know it doesn't make sense.
I can't sleep on those nights. And I have problems from it during the day. Something is wrong here. I've been to doctors. Psychologists. I take medicine, just to be sure.
I can still hear it. Whenever it rains.
So it's settled. I've made up my mind. A friend of mine chases storms for a living. And it seems like decent work. The forecast says there's a front coming this weekend. It's supposed to be a really bad storm.
I'm going with them. I'm going for a walk. See what I've been running from.
---
A little unknown horror for this one. Tis the season. r/Jamaican_Dynamite
|
Secrets slipped through the rain in staccato undulations of long and short. Everything in the world had a Name, every Name in the world had a Purpose, every Purpose in the world a Subversion, every Subversion a Corruption, because of course a subversion by itself is not a wrong thing, and there are many wrong things in the rain.
Doubting Thomas, one of those wrong things, slipped through rain. And the rain whispered to him, in a language he wished he had never learned, *“Run.”*
He did not hear *“Run,”* like a spoken word or like the other rhythmic secrets of Name, Purpose, Subversion, and Corruption. Rather, *“Run”* was the Synthesis of all those things. When the rain whispered his Name, Thomas, he heard the first short beat of word alongside it, short-long-short, di-da-di in the Morse Code conventions that haunted him. When it whispered his Purpose, to listen to the world and the rain and its whispers, Thomas heard the second beat of word, short-short-long, di-di-dah, in the cracks between the command. In Thomas’s own Subversion, his oppressive doubt, he heard the last beat of “Run” in the stamp of his feet on the pavement, splashing through the puddles in a strange, long-into-short trip of a rhythm, da-dit.
And in his Corruption, his trust in himself and himself alone, Doubting Thomas heard an exclamation point made of thunderclaps and lightning.
There was other noise, other rain-whispers to be sifted, and there was talking too, because a woman ran beside Doubting Thomas and she had been talking all the while, been talking since they left their home and ran down the streets and ran out through park and on. Rachel was her name, just Rachel, and Doubting Thomas heard all her secrets in the rain too, and in the beat of her feet against the wet, sopping world. She splashed heavily into a puddle and the splash whispered *“Run.”* She brushed a tree branch and all the little droplets whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas heard them fall, each and every one of them with the same secret.
Her mouth moved, said words like “Where are you going?” and “What’s wrong?” and “Talk to me!” but Thomas did not trust those. They weren’t the rain, and they weren’t the Code. They were screamed not whispered, screamed in such a hoarse, broken voice that Thomas could not do anything but run from them, because his Purpose was to listen, his Subversion was to doubt, and his Corruption was such that he couldn’t trust any soul but his own.
Besides, Thomas thought, people whisper truth, they don’t scream it. Truth hurt too much to be screamed.
Doubting Thomas ran on, drenched by the rain and puddles thrown up by cars, once by mud when he tripped, fell, and sprawled through a patch. Rachel helped him up, said more words to run away from.
Eventually, chest heaving, tears mixing with the rain, hair thin and soaked and scraggly, she stopped. Falling hard to her knees, she screamed her last words with all the ragged-edged force of a blizzard, not a rain storm, which only frightened Doubting Thomas more because blizzards could not talk, they were no secrets to parse in blizzards, only in the rain.
“Please come back!” Rachel screamed, shrieked, pleaded, begged.
Doubting Thomas ran on, doubting and believing in turns, as the rain blew every which way around him and secrets blew with it.
*Run.*
From time to time on his way out of the city people called questions from beneath their umbrellas and awnings.
“Are you okay?” an old woman in a fuzzy, lopsided hat shouted.
“Slow down, champ!” a big man in a blazer said.
“You fucking asshole!” a pale, scrawny kid in a sports car shouted when Thomas ran through the walk sign and brakes screeched red amid the evening murk. Doubting Thomas did not know if he doubted the kid, the rain had whispered similar things before.
He still heard *“Run,”* in the hollows of everything around him.
Eventually his phone began to ring, then ring again, then ring and ring and ring some more as Rachel called. She called until Thomas cried, until his doubt almost washed away with the tears because she had run so far, even when she had a weak heart and a bad knee from that time in college. After all, she had said things even before their run, would say them again now, if the rain told him to answer the phone.
*“Run,”* the rain said, so Doubting Thomas ran. She said things, but there were no secrets in her voice that he could hear, and when she screamed them it scared him very badly. Many things scared him very badly.
Eventually Thomas passed into the suburbs. Night fell, and it became rare to encounter another person on the streets, in rain so cool and callous as this. He passed three people, a couple that shied away from him, a young woman who crossed the street when she saw him running; none of them said a word, save for the young woman who gasped a bit, and the hollow space behind what she did not say was filled by rain that still whispered *“Run.”*
Dawn came, the rain did not end, and no one spoke to Doubting Thomas. It rained for three days and three nights, and on the fourth day, when Thomas rested in a blighted copse off I-79, the rain stopped.
He caught his breath, drank from a puddle, massaged blistered, horrifically aching feet.
The world was silent, there were not even birds, and on this stretch of the road, at this hour of the morning, there were no cars. Doubting Thomas pulled out his phone— it was dead. Silent.
He splashed his bare feet into a puddle till the water rose and fell in a great, scattered flood, but the drops were too scattered to make words and tell secrets, and there were too many hollow spaces in the world for a puddle to fill.
Silent.
Silent.
Silent.
Thomas, Doubting Thomas, walked until he found an old, abandoned trailer, slipped into the silent room, sat down in a dusty chair that creaked loudly but did not speak. He brushed paraphernalia off the single table, listened for a secret in the clatter. Silence.
He stared at his phone for a very long time, as the sun crept up on the horizon, then over, then sat again. Sometime in the dark, it rained.
And the rain whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas, trusting only in himself, listened to all the world whispering that word, *“run, run, run, run, run, run, run,”* into the hollow places where before there had only been silence. He stood, stretched for a few minutes, and then he ran to a place where all the words were only whispers, and there wasn’t anyone left to doubt.
Behind him, in a broken down trailer some miles off I-79, his phone sat on a dusty table cleared of paraphernalia and laden down with discarded dreams.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-09-28T09:01:14
| 2021-09-28T08:37:14
| 88
| 54
|
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves
|
Where I come from people say you can always tell a Corail by the look of them and it's true, my siblings and I strongly take after our father's side of the family.
I was lucky enough to have inherited my mother's sharp nose and thick red hair but that luck was wasted by the rest of my face. My lips are so thin as to be practically invisible, my eyes are too large and slightly bulging, my cheekbones might as well not exist. The kindest description that had ever been attributed to my face was "a plate to which an amateur sculptor had attached a nose and eyes".
I often wonder if my ability to see through water, no matter how brackish or dirty, is another family trait that I inherited along with my webbed toes. I had no way of knowing as my three times great grandfather had broken away from the main family, moved his family across the country and changed their name. Since then familial lore had been banned and is now all but lost.
The things I've seen have been beautiful and strange, boring and terrifying. As a child I was hushed and hustled away from the water any time I spoke of what I saw so I learned to keep it to myself. I've always loved the water and it was nearly painful to be kept from it.
I became a sailor both to see the world as a rebellious young man who chafes against the rules set on me by my family and to be allowed to indulge my love of the ocean as much as I wanted.
If you've ever stood in a high place, looked down at the world below and felt the fear and exhilaration that comes from knowing how insignificantly small you are then you will know how I felt that first time we took to the ocean and I lost all sight of land. Nothing in the world is quite like it.
Still, nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. I expected fields of coral and kelp and other water plants as far as the eye could see. I expected crevasses that put the Grand Canyon to shame. I expected whales, giant squid, great whites and all manner of sea creatures.
I did not expect to see gargantuan, sprawling ruins with etchings so huge and detailed that even at such a distance I could almost make them out. I did not expect to see the unnatural movement of things that vaguely resembled humans. I did not expect to pass over what I thought was merely another ocean floor mountain and have it open it's eye to look back at me.
I have seen many such wonders in the intervening years and even if I had not long had the habit of keeping such things to myself I knew that without the ability to see through the water as clearly as I can all I would do by trying to tell my fellow sailors what I saw was to gain a bad reputation.
I have since found the family my thrice great grandfather abandoned. They're wonderful people, if a bit reclusive, and very welcoming of so called "lost sheep" of the family. Tonight I've been invited to participate in a ritual from the family religion, something they are incredibly closed mouthed about though they assure me that once I am "introduced" all will be explained.
I am considering settling down here when I retire. Despite it's dilapidated condition and murky weather there's something rather charming about the town of Innsmouth.
|
*Edits for clarification. Might have over-edited. Sticking with it. Went with the "I can see below the sea" angle, didn't follow the born with the gift part. Hope it still fits well enough!*
........
*Captains log,
Day 136:*
No land again. I knew before I climbed. I looked anyways.
No land.
*Captains log,
Day 143:*
I am alone. The crew is still manning the ship, but they're not here anymore. Just lifeless husks hoisting limp sails and dragging frayed rope.
When the deckhands aren't actively attending to our cage of a ship - they seem mechanical even doing that, like zombies - they stare blankly at the horizon. They barely eat; they've forgotten they need to.
I caught a fish last week, if you could call it that, just skin and scales draped over bones, and put it in a stew with the last of the carrots and potatoes. They ate what I gave them, but seemed not to notice as they were doing it. Spoon from bowl to mouth and back again, as the waves rise and fall so do their hands, but their eyes...
*Captains log,
Day 156:*
They used to ask when we'd see land. From my perch in the crows nest, I would call back that I saw nothing on the horizon - which is true. None of them even bothered to look down at the water, or if they did, they said nothing of it. After the second captain took charge, they stopped asking. I don't think they realized they had stopped. They just started staring.
That was.. 72 days ago. There have been two other captains before me. I can't remember their names. Did they have any? They must have. They're still here.
It wasn't a mutiny. They just stopped, and so I started. They stare with the others now.
*Captains log,
Day 161:*
I don't remember leaving home anymore. Just this murky blue wasteland, rolling us toward an endless sleep. I know the sleep will be endless; I know the sea will give it to me. I'm thankful they stopped asking if land is on the horizon. I wish beyond hope that they'd ask what's below it.
I see it sometimes. A shimmer, a pair of eyes, and it's gone again, fast enough that I could believe it a trick of the light. But the more I think, the more I *know*: it's not a trick. It's not a reflection.
*Captains log,
Day 167:*
I saw it today. A pair of eyes. Not from the water. From the deck. Below us. A shattered hull, torn masts. Our ship.
One pair of eyes, set deeply in a gaunt and hollowed out face - my face. The face of a man lost at sea, adrift on a pile of logs and bones. Peering over the edge of the deck, with a look as surprised as the sunstroked face could muster, barely held up by the skeletal body clutching the rail.
I am not surprised. I wait. One day I will not think to look, and one day, I will be gone. Another soulless face peering into the horizon to keep from seeing the abyss.
I understand now. I who am him. I'm not looking into the sea. I'm looking out of it.
*Captains log, Day 183*
I wish somebody else would look. Free me of this burden.
Free my reflection from its misery.
| 2021-11-06T14:05:28
| 2021-11-06T12:21:00
| 31
| 10
|
[WP] At birth, everyone has the date they will die tattooed on their arm. You were supposed to die yesterday.
|
I wake up with a smile, but I don't open my eyes yet. After all, you only wake up dead once.
Wait.
You don't wake up if you're dead.
I open my eyes and look immediately to my alarm clock, expecting to see that I woke up before midnight. If I'm alive, then there must still be time for me to die. Maybe I'll get hit by a meteor or hit my head falling out of bed as I check said alarm clock.
I find the numbers: 8:45 AM.
Oh, crap.
I sit up and rub my arm, but I can't read it. I walk over to my curtains and throw them open wide. I almost shove my own arm into the sunlight and read the printed date: February 29th, 2022. Yesterday.
Of course it was yesterday: I had counted down the days, waited, said my goodbyes, kissed the girl I had always loved for the first time... I had known the day I was going to die so well that I didn't bother checking the calendar yesterday.
I turn back to my nightstand and pick up the alarm clock again. This time I ignore the time and check the date. My jaw drops and my eye twitches involuntarily.
March 2nd, 2022.
Yesterday was March 1st, 2022.
I was supposed to die on February 29th, 2022.
2022 is not a leap year.
|
It’s hard to believe how tired I am. I haven’t slept in two days, but trying to relax while contemplating your inevitable death isn’t exactly easy. Today is November 13, 2014, and I doubt there is anyone on this planet who is more shocked at that statement than I am. Over the last two days I’ve looked at the numbers on my arm more times than I can count, and there is no mistake. It says November 12, 2014.
We’ve all known the day we were going to die since the moment we were old enough to understand what the numbers on our arm meant, but I don’t think anyone has ever really been prepared for what was to come – I know I wasn’t. The feelings of regret have been growing these last couple months as the date got closer. Regret for the things I didn’t do, the time I didn’t spend with those I loved. Regret that I didn’t better prepare for my final day. Regret that I spent the entire day alone in my house afraid to move or do anything. Regret for my wife more than anything.
The number on my wife’s arm said April 7, 2012, and even knowing it was coming, I wasn’t prepared for her end. She was so healthy and vibrant, but that didn’t matter. The afternoon of April 7, 2012, she choked to death on a handful of peanuts while I was in the shower. I should have been there with her. Instead she spent her last few moments panicking, trying to find someone to help her, knowing the reality of her fate, and dying alone, gasping for breath in a futile attempt. She was probably trying to yell for me, and I couldn’t hear her.
I should have been happy that we had as much time as we did – after all, I was one of the lucky ones. I celebrated my eightieth birthday last month. When I was a young kid a few different kids in the neighborhood just stopped coming around and never understood why until much later. It was a big secret the parents were keeping from us, but eventually we all learned about the dates on our arms – and what they meant.
In college my roommate’s date was before his graduation date. I thought he was an idiot, wasting money on a degree he’d never even see, but he just wanted to live life to the fullest and be as normal as he could be. He was hit by a drunk driver and killed on his date during junior year.
Once I got my license and started seeing patients, I was in the room with so many mothers just after giving birth to a child. Some would insist on inspecting the arm themselves, others would timidly ask me what the date on their brand new child’s arm was. No matter what, they always expected some day way out in the future, and the torment I would see on their faces when they would see a date a mere year and a half in the future (or sometimes even less) would tear my heart apart.
Despite all the suffering and sorrow that came with our expiration dates, I’ve always believed that knowing was better than not knowing. Could you imagine the pain of a loved one dying completely unexpectedly? The feeling of loss is so intense I can’t even fathom how someone could cope with it if they weren’t already at least somewhat prepared.
If there has ever been a case where someone outlived the date on their arm, I haven’t heard of it. At least not until now. I made the mistake of going out on the front porch a few minutes ago. My neighbor saw me and it looked like she had seen a ghost. She ran in the house and slammed the door. I called my son, and I could hear the fear in his voice when he heard me. What kind of sick joke is this he had asked, as if I was some prankster trying to play tricks on him?
I feel cheated. Why am I so special, so different? Why am I still here the day after my time? Why didn’t my wife live past her date? What makes me the first one to live past his date?
I don’t want to be different. I can hear the sheriff knocking on the door, yelling for me to open up. This isn’t my time, I’m not even supposed to be here. I shouldn’t have to be here.
I never knew exactly why I bought this gun, but I guess this is why. All I need to do is put the barrel into my mouth and pull the
| 2014-05-11T01:03:21
| 2014-05-11T00:36:58
| 75
| 27
|
[WP] One year ago, everyone got a superpower. During the resulting societal shifts, everyone had to work out what their new power actually is. You're starting to think that you didn't get one.
|
“I’m telling you man, I can’t lift it.” I nudged the bar with my foot. It didn’t budge.
‘Come on, it’s only 350 lbs, you can do it!”
I rolled my eyes and bent down to grasp the bar and lift. I gave it my best effort, I really did: bend over, don’t bend your legs, grab the bar, bend the knees till your shins touch the bar, keep the bar at your mid foot, lift with your whole body not just your back...it should be apparent by now that super strength was absolutely not my power. He had been trying to get me to deadlift for weeks.
He chanted encouragement as I struggled and strained. “Maybe his power is dodging bullets?” A bald man waving a revolver in the air, loaded no doubt, walked up and clapped the man who was helping me try to deadlift, on the shoulder. These Empowerment Training Facilities were usually dodgy at best, but an excellent place for people to practice their new, potentially dangerous powers.
“Maybe we don’t test out any skills that could actually kill him, okay Mark?” Mark shrugged. “Let me take him to the range and see if we can figure it out. What do you say kid?” I nodded wearily and followed him to the makeshift shooting range where a group of people were watching a man who could shoot fire from his mouth incinerate a paper target. I think this place used to be a 24 hour fitness.
“You know how to shoot a gun kid?” Mark said as he twirled his revolver in the air like an old timey gun slinger.
“I do, you taught me a couple weeks ago. I’m not very good.” He hummed in contemplation and nodded.
“That’s right, well, let’s go see if maybe somebody there can help.” He gestured at the group of people admiring the handywork of flamethrower mouth man. Mark approached the group and explained my situation. They all nodded, eager and ready to help.
A man tried to teach me how to control the insects in the room. He called the from the shadows and lined them up in neat rows so he could systematically smash them with his boot. A woman tried to teach me to hover in midair. I was not successful at either venture.
I wiped my face with my towel and contemplated attempting to see if maybe my power really was dodging bullets. Mark grabbed my shoulder with his stubby sweaty fingers, his bald head barely came to my chin. “You want to try shooting again? We have a crossbow somewhere, maybe your power is the crossbow!”
“That’s okay. I’m pretty tired. I think I’m gonna head home.”
He looked up at me with pity in his eyes. “It’s okay kid, we got your back. We want to help you. See you tomorrow.” He pulled me in for a hug.
Over the last eleven months they tried to teach me to shoot fire, breathe under water and move things with my mind. They tried to see if I could do simple things, like turn cold water hot, or hot water cold, or maybe I could walk backwards really fast. Each new thing they suggested I was no more than average at. Yet these people didn’t seem frustrated with me, I was a project, I was pathetic and sad, and they each hoped maybe they could help me.
I left with my head down, a short woman with a shaved head called out “It’s okay kid, don’t be discouraged, we got your back!” She was juggling three 50 pound dumbbells.
I pressed the unlock button on the key of my Civic. It didn't unlock. “You idiot, you left the lights on again” I thought to myself. Sure enough, after climbing into the driver's seat and sticking the key in the ignition, turning it produced nothing more than a screeching sound from my engine. I let my head rest on my steering wheel.
“HEY! Need a hand?” I nearly jumped out of my skin as a woman tapped on my window. It was the lady who worked the front desk. She was holding a pair of jumper cables. “I’m parked right there!” She gestured at the car parked directly in front of mine.. I nodded and popped the hood of my car so she could hook up the cables. Once we got it started she shut the hood of my car and brushed his hands off on her shorts. “Happy to help!” she called as she headed back inside.
I grabbed some sushi from the grocery store a few blocks from my house. The lady at the checkout wrung up my small plastic tray of fish. “Do you need any help out today sir?” I stared at the single item in the bagging area and my voice caught. “I think I’m good, t-thanks.” She smiled warmly and wished me a good night.
I scarfed down my mediocre sushi in the car. I felt like shit. The lady at the checkout felt like she needed to help me carry a tiny tray of sushi to my car. Do I really look that pathetic? I had been working for nearly a year to find my power, I tried so hard but still nothing. The fact that everyone felt sorry for me made it worse. A knot tightened in my stomach.
Tears of frustration squeezed from the corners of my eyes. “Everyone feels sorry for you. Everyone just wants to help you. They just pity you. Jesus fuck, everyone just wanted to help and here I am crying in my car, fuck. Everyone is so nice to you, you ungrateful piece of shit. Everyone just wants to help the kid with no power. Everyone just wants to help.” I stopped crying as the thought turned over in my mind…Everyone just wants to help me. Fuck.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was nervous.
“Okay Google, Call Mark”
“Okay, Calling Mark, Cell”
I swallowed hard
“Hey buddy, I have something I need you to help me with tonight.”
I could hear the delight in his voice “Absolutely man! What do you need?”
“Meet at the bank on 32nd and Vine. I need you to help me rob it.”
I held my breath.
“You got it kid, I’m happy to help.”
|
There was a one ton barbell by the front door. After the event people left them all over the place. Alex had been a D1 offensive lineman and couldn’t shift it. He’d seen a three year old girl throw one 40 yards in the middle of a tantrum.
The office building had doors running up the side, for those that chose to fly to work. Alex, who had first dunked a basketball when he was twelve, couldn’t reach the bottom of one with a running start.
The highway had a commuting lane just for speedsters. Alex, who had been all state track all four years of high school, couldn't keep up in his Toyota.
He’d spent his whole life being special, the biggest, the fastest, the strongest. And now he had slipped down the bell curve, a perfectly normal man in an abnormal world.
He got on the elevator with the rest of the flightless and waited the wait of the ungifted. At first it had seemed unfair. A chosen few get gifts greater than those he had spent his whole life working on. And then it seemed exciting. Everyone was getting gifts. His sister could change shape. His mother was indestructible. His dad could summon small amounts of cheese with his mind. It was only a moment until his turn, because everyone got a turn.
But he didn’t.
Friends soared. Friends swam. One could even burrow. Alex just walked.
The elevator dinged. Alex trudge forward to his desk.
The spreadsheets waited. They always did.
It was while working on Column AE, row 876, that Alex made his mistake. He had intended to divide receivables by units, but he accidentally typed 0 instead of O. And instead of giving the divide by zero error it should have given, it instead gave Alex an answer.
Which he knew was crazy. Anything divided by zero was undefined.
He called over a coworker to try. An error occurred. Alex tried again. An answer.
Alex could divide by zero. He and he alone. But what were the limits?
He looked at his wallet. He put three dollars on one side of his desk, and six dollars on the other. He then told himself the values were equal if he divided by zero. The universe blinked, and he had six dollars on each side of the table. The universe blinked again and he had a hundred.
He took a step, and then thought of zeno’s paradox. His foot stopped just above the ground, dividing infinite pieces of time in half.
Alex went back to his computer and looked up the local university. A math degree was all that stood between him and real ultimate power.
| 2017-11-01T21:46:50
| 2017-11-01T19:01:22
| 114
| 46
|
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it.
|
"How do we know it's not a transmitter bolted to the earth?"
"It bears all the hallmarks of non-terrestrial non-solar system origin. We've confirmed that the signal is coming from one spot in the sky moving at the same rate as the stars."
"And the communication medium?"
"Pictorial, Sir. It seems to be modeled on the [Arecibo Message](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/55/Arecibo_message_bw.svg/2000px-Arecibo_message_bw.svg.png)"
"Send it to me."
He opened the [attachment](http://imgur.com/vOWEsQN).
"Do the astrolinguists have a theory yet?"
"They do, Sir. The sign on top is similar to a stop sign, it was one of the symbols kept in on one of the later Voyagers. Regarding the middle one there are differences of opinion. But most have concluded that the intelligent species communicates with each other via sound, and they understand its properties as a wave. Finally, in the Arecibo we sent them a human form- so that represents our species. The cross next to it is a negation."
"Okay.. so what does it say?"
His IM beeped.
"[End]. [Communication].[<Ambiguous Connective>]. [Negative]. [Bipedal]."
"English?"
"Best guess - 'Stop communicating or your species dies.'"
"In other words we are to shut up and play dead, pretend to be alone in this universe for the sake of our own preservation?"
"That's right, Mr Chairman."
"This is interesting. Transmissions from something as close as the Kepler 452b couldn't reach us at out levels of technology. Yet they've not only intercepted our faint signals but also been able to give back an intelligible reply. And that too to warn us. What an amicable, peace-loving species. They must be really afraid of something out there. Sounds like someone's in need of a *humanitarian intervention*."
The chairman pauses.
"Tell the astrolinguists to compose a reply."
He types and sends it in to be converted into bytes and pictograms.
*Fear not. Whatever it is that you're afraid of, we will find it and we will destroy it. Love, Humanity.*
"Is this it, Sir?"
"Yes, any problems?"
"No, Sir- none at all."
"Good. Now call up the presidents. It seems we might've finally found some use for the four thousand redundant nukes on this planet."
-----
^If ^you ^like ^suspense, ^check ^out ^/r/CaffeinatedWriter ^for ^an ^ongoing ^story.
|
For years, SETI had been hopeful. We sent out satellites, radio signals, messages. Our planet was awash with transmissions, information, and chatter. We pointed receptors at every quadrant of the night sky. After all, if life was out there, we would find it. And we did.
It was almost to the chagrin of SETI researchers that, in 2022, half the planet found its communications completely disrupted. All broadband frequencies were overloaded with noise. The public was panicking, and the scientific community was dumbfounded. Was this an attack? Was this intentional? Where was this coming from?
Calculating the origin point was almost trivially simple. The orientation and magnitude of the signal indicated it was a focused beam originating from Gliese 832. Indeed, the beam seemed to be focused solely on Earth, with incredible precision. Observations showed satellites, even in low earth orbit, were unaffected until they entered the beam. Perhaps, scientists theorized, the aliens were simply unaware of how strongly whatever information they had tried to send was affecting the planet.
By 2023, scientists had become somewhat tense. It had become apparent that the beam of information was *very tightly* controlled. Signal strength was just strong enough to blot out transmissions on earth, but weak enough that it degraded significantly in Earth's atmosphere on the way out. The signal was based on a complex algorithm, but clearly did not contain any additional information. The signal changed depending on the Earth's position relative to Sol. It was clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the signals must necessarily originate from intelligent life. Exuberant, NASA designed the LRBTA and pointed it at Gliese. As suggested by Stephen F. Hawking, we transmitted their algorithm, but with a negative sign attached.
It was mid 2024, far before our transmission could have reached them, when the signal suddenly changed. The algorithm had disappeared. The signal was now what appeared to be a repeating pattern of binary numbers. Their meaning became apparent relatively quickly. The first two contained length and width, with the last being a simple description of which squares to color in.
The image was as follows: 4 vertical lines, spaced unevenly. Over 300 horizontal lines. At each of the vertical lines, many of these stop. Only three lines pass the third vertical line. One of the lines rests on the fourth vertical line, another two lines pass the fourth vertical line. The line that does not pass the the fourth vertical is distinguished with an empty cell on the left side of the image. One line that does pass the fourth vertical is distinguished by a wiggle at the end. One line that does pass the vertical loops backwards to connects to the fourth vertical.
With a sinking sensation, the greater scientific community realized we had reached the great filter.
| 2016-03-27T08:44:25
| 2016-03-27T08:04:59
| 215
| 73
|
[WP] Humans and gnomes have lived together in peace for generations, but some humans want to strip away gnomish rights and force them into servitude. Today is the day that the senate votes on the anti gnomish legislation, proposed by a group of human senators.
|
**An American Gnome**
Senator Dipp Nellbar (D-MT) faces the horde of press cameras and microphones from the steps of his Capitol Hill townhouse – his preferred place, as it lifts him closer to eye-level with his human counterparts.
Press gaggles are bad enough when you’re not dodging knees and handbags. At least here he can breathe, but try as he might, he can never stop his daughters from peeking out through the dining room windows.
“Is there any way to stop the vote?!”
“What do you have to say to your colleagues who are voting to strip you of your seat?”
“Will you denounce the Gnomish Separatist Movement?”
“Do you have a comment on the President’s anti-gnome speech last night?”
Dipp chooses a mic – CNN – and speaks in his trademark gravelly voice, which always rings with notes of serenity and composure, even now, on the worst day of his life.
“The president’s remarks last night were nothing less than the incitement of mass violence, the encouragement of a systematic removal of Gnomes from civil society – but they were no more unconscionable than what he said on the campaign trail.”
This causes an explosion of even more questions. Dipp presses on, “As to today’s vote, I have hope that my colleagues on the other side will come to their senses before they take this step. This bill represents, as I have said many times, a step by a global superpower into fascism the likes of which this world hasn’t seen since Nazi Germany in the 1930’s.”
“Are you comparing the president to Hitler?!” Screams a Fox News reporter.
“Thank you, I must get going,” Dipp says. His security escorts him down the steps and toward the waiting car. The press makes a path for him, but the protesters on the street swarm Dipp, surrounding the car.
He can barely see anything except the legs, feet, kneecaps as they bustle and toss him around. His security guard tries to pick him up – an absolute last resort measure, as they’ve discussed many times. He swats him away and makes for the car door.
That’s when a boot slams into Dipp’s face, kicking him up into the air and dropping him on his back on the pavement. Now the guns are out. A young man holding a “No Gnomes” sign tries to run but the security team tackles him to the ground.
…
Dipp rests his head in the back of the car, a bloody tissue stuck up his nose. He reads press clips from last night. Miranda, his human Chief of Staff, types on her phone.
“It’s everywhere. Someone got it on video.”
“I don’t care,” Dipp says. “In fact, I like it. Kicking the little guy. That’s what they’re doing, if people need a visual aid then I’m happy to be that visual aid.”
He turns to the next page: A picture of a group of Gnomes, armed to the teeth. The caption reads “Gnomish Separatists resist federal incursion into the mountain city of Faarkall, Montana. Tense standoff enters its 25th day.”
When Dipp gets to his office in the Hart Senate Office Building, he can hear the demonstrators outside. The mood is a dark one. He knows this morning wasn’t the end of today’s violence.
On the TV, a Republican senator from Mississippi, Sen. Barton, is midway through a typical anti-Gnomish screed:
“The Gnomes are less than 5% of the U.S. population, but they control 65% of the mineral rights in the entire country. Their banks have assets in the tens of billions. They run their own media companies, they control large sections of consumer manufacturing – they have the highest median household income of any ethnic group in the U.S. Yet, every day, they demand to separate. So this bill, in my view, is simply giving them what they asked for.
“If they want the right to leave, the price they pay is the right to stay.”
“The speaker’s time has expired,” says the Senate President.
“Thank you,” Sen. Barton says, taking his seat. Another senator shakes his hand.
Dipp mutes the TV. He looks out the window, thinking. He’s fifty-two years old next month. He is at the height of his powers. Yet everywhere he looks, the world is crumbling. Gnomes are being scapegoated yet again. The legislative body that he is a part of, that has his name attached to it, is going to strip Gnomes of their civil rights.
“Here’s the revisions,” says a staffer, as he places a thick folder on Dipp’s desk. The filibuster speech as it is right now could probably get you to 30 hours. Longer if you talk slowly.”
The staffer checks his watch. “You’re up in twenty, sir.”
Dipp asks himself what it means to be a quitter. As he walks with his staff to the Senate Chambers, he questions what it is to quit. *What will history say about me?*
*No. That’s irrelevant. What matters is my people. What will history do to the Gnomes?*
As Dipp takes his place at the podium, he looks down at the speech before him. Everyone who even remotely follows politics knows what’s about to happen. The only Gnome in the Senate is going to give an enormous, historic filibuster, ending with a roaring applause from the 43 Senators in his party. Then he will sit there quietly while the other side strips him of his right to hold the seat he’s in.
*No.* Dipp closes the folder in front of him and adjusts the microphone, his feet shifting on the booster-box placed under him to give him some extra height.
*Gnomes won’t have a hand in their own destruction*, he thinks. *I’m not a quitter. I’m a survivor.*
He opens his mouth to announce his resignation from the Senate, effective immediately. But before he gets a word out, Capitol Police enter the room and rush toward him. One of them addresses the entire chamber: “A bomb has been found in the building, we need to evacuate. Now. Move!”
Dipp hops off of the box. As he hits the ground, the building shakes to its very foundation. The deafening boom follows a moment later.
*The Gnomish Separatists have finally done it*, he thinks. *They’ve killed us.*
He rushes to the secure panic rooms with the other senators, but he knows as well as they do that he isn’t one of them. Not anymore. In a few hours he won’t even be considered an American.
r/ididwritethismr
|
The regression was alarming, to say the least.
When the concept first floated, it was already a stupid joke in very bad taste. It was not even a bad taste, more just unthinkably dumb. To divide us.
Humans and gnomes shared the same sapience, the same humanoid shape, hell, even the same cultures. The difference between us was there, but it was more akin to ethnicity than the actual variant species that we scientifically were.
For eons we worked hand in hand to shape our world to our needs. For eons we coexisted without any real conflict or divide, sharing our magic, our technology, until the world ran out of the former and we adapted to the latter. And as we adapted, there was suddenly a paradigm shift in our understanding of the sciences as a whole new species had decided to delve deeper into this avenue of discovery, now that the arcane wonders were lost.
You would think that the main difference between us was the magic that only one of us could use. And with this magic gone, we would find unity in our new lives.
Instead, this seemed to be where the rift began. We were no longer seen as some asset. Our quick adaptability to their science and our own discoveries that challenged their ways was too much for them. The childish cynic in me thought what was happening now is because of human envy. They were envious of our capacity, our aptitude, for progress.
They did not understand nothing changed. Our magic was gone, but we could still coexist and lend our skills in other ways.
Suddenly, we realised that since we lived longer lives, we did not harbour a lot of offspring. And our numbers, compared to our larger counterparts, were a fraction of their every expanding population.
Over the course of a decade, I could only witness in horror as our status as regular citizens of the world slowly got stripped away.
It began with little things. Like property rights (We were small, so we had to follow a new law that required we could only purchase land up to a certain square footage for residential purposes) but it progressed and progressed until...
Until we simply did not enjoy the same rights.
We became second class citizens.
I wondered if it was our magic and their subtle reliance on it that kept them from showing their true colours.
I am 327 years old, now. Which meant that I was nearing old age. I had been there when magic was still prevalent, but weak. So I knew a life a lot better than the generations of gnomes would ever get to live if our worst fears come to pass.
You'd think time would result in progress and enlightenment and things getting easier and better for everyone.
No.
The new law would cripple us, reduce us into servitude. Us. Gnomes. Who had showcased our potential immensely even without magic. But no. The humans would not have it. It was too late. We could not defend ourselves as their inept and biased bureaucracy slowly but surely stripped away everything that made us equal to what were our counterparts.
The regression was alarming, to say the least.
| 2022-01-11T07:36:31
| 2022-01-11T06:56:58
| 49
| 15
|
[WP] Every Spring, Men and Women enter a kind of "Mating Season" in which sexual activity skyrockets while inhibitions and moral restraints plummet. You are one out of few who are not affected at this time of year. Describe an an average Spring day. (NSFW)
|
This time of the year, you couldn't go two steps without jumping the next person you see and fucking them until you fall asleep. Yeahp, it's Spring. Everywhere you go, people are having sex. Outside on the streets, in the park, in their cars...some times it's not even one couple. Sometimes it's an orgy. Which is where I'm at today. A friend had sent me an invite to a mass orgy at her aparment. I arrived a little late. When I got there, the foreplay was pretty much done, and all the guys and girls were busy going at it in different positions with different people. The host so graciously asked me to jump in anytime, chocking on her words as much as she chocked on the cock in her mouth.
"Uh...thanks..." I said uncomfortably.
Lacey, in between two other girls taking dick from two guys Ive never met before, completed some sort of sex sandwich. If I had to remake that in terms of actual ingredients, I would say that Lacey was the piece of ham in between letuce and cheese with the two guys as the buns. And I dont know about you, but I like ham. Anyway, Lacey pointed at me, making a gesture for me to come closer. I sighed and ignored her, making my way into the kitchen and pulling a can of coke from the fridge. I sat at the dinner table, the only seats not drizzled in jizzle, pulling out my phone to browse reddit. It took an hour and a half before everyone got too tired to keep going.
"Why didn't you join in?" The host asks provocatively. She took a seat across from me, still naked and covered with body fluids.
"Please." I said as I took a sip of my soda. "I got all my Springtime Sex done back in winter."
My friends giggled, still obviously horny. "Wow. Your girlfriend is one lucky gal."
"Mm, I guess." I said as I opened and closed my right hand. I finished my soda, and put my phone back in my pocket. I said good bye to the tired out fuckers lying on the living room floor.
I arrived home, jumping straight into bed. I thouht about the spring season being a crazy time for sex. But while all the people are horny out of their minds, I get to be sane and logical. If it werent for me getting all that spring time madness out of the way the way I do, I'd miss out on the free convenience store food I can take while the cashier is fiddling in the back with whoever. Yeah, its great.
I high fived myself, and tried to get some sleep. "You know, I should find you a nice glove for all the work you've done."
|
It was that time of year again. People just seemed to lose all common sense and dignity and, to put it bluntly, bone each other at the first chance they get. While it was great for most people, it was a nightmare for me.
I rolled out of bed around eleven, my growling stomach finally convinced me to get up. I groggily made my way to the kitchen and swung open the fridge door. Besides a year old jar of pickles and baking soda, the fridge of empty. I checked the pantry. Nothing edible in there either.
It wasn't like I was hurting for money or anything. I had just been trying to avoid leaving my apartment at any cost. Unfortunately, it seemed like today was the day I'd have to make a run to the grocery store.
ut
Objectively, mating is a beautiful and majestic thing. It's necessary for human survival. I get that and I applaud the people who find enjoyment in the act. I, on the other hand, am not a fan. The thought of being so physically and mentally intimate with somebody made me feel sick.
I walked to a nearby grocery store with my head down low. I passes by an alleyway and heard faint grunts and moans. I rolled my eyes.
I walked into the store, glad my journey was almost halfway over. I grabbed a basket and hurried to the dairy section.
I managed to pick up some milk, cheese, meat, cereal, and other such things without running into a problem. That stopped when I got to the frozen food section.
I turned the corner and stopped in my tracks. A man was lifting a girl up against the door of a freezer, her legs wrapped around his waist. His pants were around his ankles and hers were...well, I didn't want to know.
Whenever I was younger, I'd usually throw up whenever I saw something like this. But I got used to it, as disgusting that sounds. I felt my stomach do a flop and I walked the other way.
At the checkout, the cashier wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were looking off into space and he grunted a few times. I rolled my eyes and threw down the money, taking my food. As I walked away, I heard him moan, "Yeah baby, you're doing great."
I didn't want ice-cream anyways.
| 2014-12-25T00:42:04
| 2014-12-25T00:11:37
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
My lord,
There is a man behind the king.
I have seen him, truly, only once. I fear it was a courtesy.
He lurks in solemn silence, a familiar stranger standing just out of sight. A footfall from the king, and yet an infinity from the crown. He watches, and sees, and yet does not permit to be seen. His eyes burn with knowledge, as many have lived lives in them - flashed in the instant between the clink of metal and a dagger in the heart.
The king’s blaze only serves to sharpen the shadows of his domain, and there he resides, in quiet power. It is not the power that a man wields when commanding a people, nor does it carry the wretched taint of coin.
No, this is a far simpler power - one of a man, over another. But the king does not bow to this power in simple fear - he kneels in gratitude. For in the cursed court of fools and snakes, where common men come to die and the power-hungry come to reap, where jackals cackle and sheep bleat, and the old lion roars - there is a hunter dressed in black.
He nocks his bow, string stretched taut at his cheek, but does not fire. He does not want trophies - or even game. He listens to the forest, and waits.
And in that, he is dangerous.
The cub grows impatient. He knows there is a great storm on the horizon, but remains unconcerned. He sees the lightning, and does not count for thunder. A fool among fools, and a champion of old glory.
My assessment is clear. This kingdom will fall, as have the rest. Whisper your nothings, and the prince will listen. But tread lightly, among the autumn leaves. Whatever the cost, the man behind the king must fall first. His gaze is sharp, and his arrow flies true - pray that he does not look to you.
Regards,
Your Humble Servant
\*\*\*
(thank you for reading, critiques welcome!)
|
The old king and I were pretty close friends. I introduced him to most of the playmates within his harem. Comprised of but not limited to Vicky Vallencourt & Suzy Crabgrass. Some nights, we’d play uno together. He knew I would let him win and for me? Honestly. I liked it. He could see how I liked it so... no longer was I there to please his majesty, I was there for me. Someone who had the keys not to the Royal palace, but to his own character. Had the king been not of royal blood he would of admired this in me- instead I was merely found amusing which never quite sat well with me. And now? I think that may be all I’ll ever have been. For, there’s nothing to be of me now. Not without him.
| 2021-02-28T06:26:43
| 2021-02-28T01:37:57
| 48
| 14
|
[WP] Seeing success with the purchase of Marvel and now Fox, The Walt Disney Company announces it's next major acquisition: The Catholic Church.
|
**Private Journal of Pope Francis**
**Entry 1**
The Church is dying. The old generation refuses to see it, and the new generation has known nothing but decline. The select few - the old but not prideful see the slow death of it - the choking out of the truth.
The Church is not dying naturally, oh no. Given free reign, the Lord's truth will only grow in radiance. No, the Church is being murdered, strangled. Killed by the media, new entertainment devices, new ways to pass the time, and of course, The Church itself is being poisoned from the inside. People are so drawn in to themselves that they stray further and further from the Light. They remember what religion has driven the minority to do - to kill, to hate, to rape, that they forget what the majority does: love and save.
I cannot save it. Though it shames me to say it, I can do nothing. The Church was supposed be evolve with time, but is hasn't changed in the last 70 years. I cannot bring 70 years worth of change in less than ten.
I implore the God, though we may be unworthy, to give us a Miracle.
**Entry 2**
Then God said, "let there be light," and there was light.
It has happened. The Miracle. I curse myself even now for doubting, for falling into despair. The Lord helps his children: he always has, he always will.
I never though it possible, but Disney, yes Disney the movie company has offered to purchase us, The Church. The deal is private for now of course, I can only imagine the media stink when this goes live, but for now only I and a select few know. The select who are like me: old but not full of pride. They see what this is: a chance for salvation.
Modern industries like Disney are the kind of institutions that have contributed to our fall, so our only chance is to become one of them, to play their game. A game not of prayers and good faith, but of entertainment and accessibility.
I doubt the Disney executives see it, but they are not purchasing us, we are infiltrating them.
**Entry 3**
The Negotiations are complete. There was some money involved, which I used to silence some of the dissenters withing the Church, but the real deal was the talk of rights. Every movie made by Disney would have a Catholic priest as an adviser. None of his suggestions would be mandatory, but the director would be obliged to listen. The executives had smiled when they heard. Thinking us fools. They were the fools. Priests had convinced people to change their way of life, what was convincing a director to make a slight adjustment to a film?
Disney would have rights to present the material of the Church in any light, and the Church would legally sign away any recourse of heresy or libel. Again, this was just a benefit. The Church's image could hardly get worse. A dying patient would rather take the dangerous experimental drug rather than do nothing.
**Entry 4**
Busy. Managing Media. Meetings. Will convince them. Will obey the lord's will.
**Entry 5**
It has taken a year, but the deal has officially happened. The legal battles are over, the strife in the Church has...lessened. The media coverage however, has just intensified. Some fear it may be the end of the Church as we know it, but the Church was ending anyways. Either I have saved it, or just accelerated its demise.
Time will tell.
**Entry 6**
The first movie released today. The first movie under the Catholic Disney, or the Disney Church, depending on who you're asking. It was about a bitter boy who lost his parents in war, and how he finds comfort in the form a nun who was excommunicated. Even I must say it was heartwarming to watch. Some of the dissenters are even coming around. Saying this wan't that bad of an idea after all. The movie is a huge hit, children love it, adults love it. Even the media has grudgingly admitted that it's one of the best movies Disney has ever released.
And they say Miracles do not occur.
**Entry 7**
I have done it, I think. I have created a new Church, a new world. Now I can rest.
|
The announcement of the purchase went live on every screen across the world. How much did it cost to buy people's beliefs?
Pope Francis's speech didn't last long: "We aren't selling the Catholic Religion," he said," we are selling the rights to use its image at their will. The negotiation was pleasant and we agreed on all major points, don't panic. It isn't a big deal as the media is fabricating."
*Sure,* I thought to myself, *they will brainwash future generations, how I hate these imposters, all they care is money and power."*
-----------------------------------------------------
**Thirty years later**
What a wonderful and magic trip we had to Disney's Holy Kingdom. At first the atheist inside me refused to go, but how could I say no to my kids? They deserved it, they did all their chores and never cursed.
The architecture of the park left me breathless. An ornamented, golden arc stood tall at the entrance. A few meters past, you bought the tickets. Once inside, the vastness of a vivid green park greeted you. It had nothing but a single tree midway to the main attractions with actors portraying Adam and Eve waving at you as you passed.
At the end of the road, lay a gargantuan building that imitated a church. I had never seen a building of such proportions, it seemed to stretch into the realms of infinity. The main gate put the entrance's one to shame, I would dare to say it was made out of pure gold. The details carved on it were an attraction by themselves, the work of true deities.
Once inside, the pleasant, tender light of thousands of stained glasses caressed our faces. Their refraction imbued every person in a rainbow of colours, it felt like walking in Heaven itself.
Our favourite game by a mile was The Path of Jesus. It's truly unbelievable what they achieved, hundreds of different rooms where you act like Jesus itself. They use special effects when you perform a miracle and even when you rebirth. The thrill and magic swarmed my veins like a shot of adrenaline despite being a non-believer. I also must admit, I came to the conclusion, I didn't know much about Jesus.
I could never forget Ezekiel 25:17's passage game, of course, it had a guy replacing my man, Samuel. L. Jackson quoting it:
>The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.
Due to being children around they changed the context on which Samuel uses it for a much PG one about helping your fellow brothers despite and through their adversities. You didn't have to shoot but to bless your brothers in the cafeteria. I won't lie I found it much more wholesome and real than Pulp Fiction's violent scenes.
We really had a good time, both my son's Thomas and Matthew are begging me to come back! Yet, the following weekend, I felt a frozen stab deep into my heart, icy blood turned my skin wan. I jolted out of my reverie, of the delicious aftertaste of a perfect, brainwashing creation. There was no turning point, not after their words.
"Can we go to church this sunday, daddy?"
----------------------------------------
If you enjoyed it come over to /r/therobertfall
| 2017-11-12T06:35:18
| 2017-11-12T05:10:08
| 1,182
| 541
|
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious.
|
"He keeps telling me there's something wrong with me. That I'm sick in the head or something."
"Well, how about we talk about your problems? Would you like something to drink?"
"A Coke would be nice."
"Sure. You want a snack with that? How about some pork rinds?"
"Oy gevalt!"
|
Anna gave a rough, barking laugh, strained around the edges, and waggled a manicured hand at the doc.
“You’re a character, shrink.” She plucked a strand of coloured hair, twirling it around her finger. “Go do a Broadway bit, your talents are wasted here.”
“I assure you,” the psychologist adjusted his glasses, “I am nothing less than one-hundred percent serious, Ms Andreyushkin.”
“Ask him for a glass of water.”
“So what…” the hand became a raised palm, “so what you’re telling me…”
The psychologist nodded. “Yes?”
Anna cackled. “Sorry, this is just *too* good. What you’re telling me is… she doesn’t exist?”
“Anna, *ask* him.” My pleas were becoming more frantic now. “Ask him to get you a glass of water!”
“That’s correct. Anna, do you think we are in the business of letting extra people into our therapy sessions? Do you think, if she was here, I would have let her in here?” The therapist took Anna’s hand, and she didn’t pull away. “She’s not real, Anna. She never has been.”
“ASK him!”
“I…” Anna swallowed, and something terrible flickered across her grey eyes. My body trembled, like ripples on a pond. “Can… can I have a glass of water? I need…”
My would-be executioner gave a sympathetic smile. “Of course. Of course you can.”
The door closed, and her spine turned to jelly. Anna sank back into herself, hands groping through her pockets for her inhaler as her gaze turned to me. “You are-“
I didn’t give her time to finish. “Oh. Oh, Anna. Didn’t you see the symbol on the clinic’s front door? You’re usually so good at this stuff.”
“What?” she whispered.
The shrink knew about me. But he didn’t know about the tinfoil. He didn’t know about the magnets that Anna sewed into her leather jackets, the hundreds upon hundreds of dark-web websites she had bookmarked on her computer. Anna didn’t go to New Years Eve parties, because she spent them out in the darkness, wrapping herself in vegetation. And I spent them with her.
“They’ve got a pyramid middle of their logo, smack-bang.” I gestured to the bookshelf. “This practice is New World Order. The doctor, probably the whole building too.”
She stared at me, completely still. Then the doorknob clicked, and her eyes slid across the room, and landed on the little plastic eagle the doctor kept on his desk.
“Don’t drink the water.”
The door opened. The psychiatrist stepped back into the room.
He smiled at her. “Here you go.”
“No thank you.” She smiled back. “All of a sudden, I’m not thirsty.”
| 2015-11-17T05:55:31
| 2015-11-17T05:49:12
| 101
| 53
|
[WP] A new eye drop solution is able to over a few days drastically improve eyesight, fix myopia and even cure some forms of blindness with the caveat that only a single drop may be used per eye at a time. You accidentally spilled a bottle in your face, and now see reality for what it truly is
|
***LUMINOX - SEE MIRACLES WITH A SINGLE DROP.***
*Yeah right,* I grumbled, hearing that all-too-familiar jingle coming from the TV in the doctor's waiting room as I rubbed my eyes for the umpteenth time. *Might as well say it can cure cancer, while you're at it.* The itching, burning feeling behind my eyelids seemed to get worse every time I rubbed my eyes. *If only eye drops could really be that effective, I wouldn't be sitting here again,* I mused. What made it worse was the annoying eye drop ad playing on loop in the waiting room. *Couldn't they play any other ads or something??!!*
"Jake Cho, Dr Todd will see you now," a honeyed voice broke through my reverie, accompanied by a sugary smile.
-----
"Jake, seems you've got some severe eye irritation in both eyes. Again. That's like the third time in as many months. Have you been doing anything lately that might contribute to your symptoms?" Dr Todd asked tiredly .
"Yeah Doc, it's probably how dusty my new workplace is, they've got us renovating an old warehouse down by the industrial park this time."
"Okay, maybe let's switch up your eye drops this time. Have you tried LUMINOX? *It takes only one drop to give you instant relief and have you seeing clearer than ever before! It's like seeing a miracle!*" Dr Todd said, a huge grin spreading across his face as he excitedly recited that last sentence, almost singing out that annoying ad jingle.
"Come on Doc, that ad is seriously annoying-"
"No, you MUST try it! Studies have shown that LUMINOX is effective, very effective, at relieving eye irritation! In fact, some say that with repeated use, patients with myopia have reported an improvement in their eyesight, and there's talk of trials to see if it can reverse blindness-" Dr Todd rattled off, getting increasingly excited, his *eyes* bulging before I cut him off.
"DOC! Hey, okay, okay! I get it, fine I'll give it a try."
"Excellent! Now all you have to do it just apply ONE drop in each eye, ONCE. PER. DAY. You understand? One drop, per eye, once a day." The good doctor's grin was starting to unnerve me... He'd never been this excitable before. Was he on drugs or something?
"Alright, thanks Doc," I said as I quickly got up to leave.
"Only once per day, you hear?" called the doctor in an almost sing-song voice, as the door closed behind me.
-----
*Geez, that was weird*, I thought, stepping into my flat. *Since when did Dr Todd start behaving like that? Whatever, let's give those eyedrops a try.*
I flopped on the couch, eyes still stinging as I thumbed the TV remote. My other hand fumbled around in my bag, pulling out the little LUMINOX bottle. I leaned back, bottle in hand as I aimed the little nozzle at my right eye, some random movie droning on in the background-
***LUMINOX! SEE MIRACLES WITH A SINGLE DROP!***
The TV suddenly boomed loudly with that annoying ad, catching me off guard, and I started, squeezed the bottle a little harder than I wanted to, the salty fluid squirting out across my face, a little getting into my mouth as well. Sputtering and cursing, I got up and wiped my hand across my wet face, blinking away the solution in my eyes.
*Damned ad! Did it have to be so bloody loud??!*
I groped around for a tissue, then paused. Something seemed.... Off.
*Was everything so... Sparkly before?*
The colour of everything seemed weirdly brighter, like it POPPED out at you, like everything was covered in a layer of glitter. I reached out for the box of tissues on my coffee table, when I caught a glimpse of *something black* flitting across the corner of my eye. My head snapped in the direction of the movement, expecting to see a rat scurrying across the room.... But it was not a rat.
That swirling... Mass? Of deep blackness? Hung in front of my door, just.... Bizzarely floating in the air? Contrasted against all the glittery, brightly clashing colours of everything in my flat... And in that moment I felt as though *that empty, deep blackness stared back at me*.
I blinked.
It was gone. As suddenly as it had appeared, it had vanished, only leaving me with an unsettling feeling in the pot of my stomach. I slowly rose from my couch, walking over to the door, unsure of what I had seen. Was it a figment of my imagination?
*"Luminoxxxx see miracles with a single drooooop~"*
The muffled sound of my neighbour singing loudly in his flat (damn these thin walls) broke me out of my stupor. *The heck? Why is he singing that jingle so loudly in his flat?*
I realised that he wasn't the only one. I heard fainter sounds of people singing, the same song, coming from down the hallway. I could hear people singing it in the street outside my window, almost like a chant.
*"Luminox, see miracles with one drop... Luminox, see miracles with one drop..."*
Rushing to the window, I looked out onto the street - and the street looked back at me. Random people were standing still in the street, others rushing by on their own way as though they hadn't noticed the others standing there eerily still, chanting the song with their eyes wide open, staring up at me, grins plastered across their faces. Their eyes shone like glittering gems in the sunlight, piercing points of light in their faces, each face illuminated by not one pair, but dozens of piercing lights. And then as one, they all raised their hands - still chanting the slogan - and pointed towards the sky.
My eyes slowly - against my will - turned in the direction that they were pointing at, slowly turning towards the sun, a swirling, seething mass of deep black nothingness and ***eyes***. And as I stared at this impossible abyss where the sun should be, ***the abyss stared back into my soul***.
"Luminox," I whispered, feeling a grin spread across my lips. "See miracles with one drop."
|
Everything is alive
The plastics, the concrete, even the wood we made as a furniture. They scream from agony.
I hear they cries that formed as one. Steel rebars, concrete, or anything even. They all know who I am. They recognize my awareness.
"ANON"
"ANON"
"KILL US ANON"
"ANON KILL US"
They formed a face of my loved ones, screaming and crying as they beg to be killed.
But how?
How do I kill them?
The steel rebar underneath the concrete pushed outside and transformed into a tiny knife. The time paused for a second as everything stared at me.
"Now kill us ANON"
Everyone smiled as if I would give in. I don't even know how to kill them but I knoe I need to
And so I hold the knife and grip it strongly
To stab my eyes for being able to see
I saw black
But I recognize it's solemn nature
I can't hear anything as I can't see them but I know for sure that they are angry at me
And so I killed myself
| 2020-08-28T09:49:11
| 2020-08-28T07:47:05
| 71
| 17
|
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation...
|
When he was five, he found an injured owl in the snow.
He looked around carefully. There was no one watching him from the icy ramparts of the castle. There was no one in the empty woods of darkling trees and snowy branches. He picked it up carefully and slipped it into his coat, carrying it up to the highest tower of the castle, his room.
It was a delicate, tiny thing. Just a baby, he thought, weak and easily led astray in the eternal winter snows. He emptied out his chest, letting it wander inside. Its wings didn't heal properly. He didn't know how to set the light, hollow bones. The little bird hopped about its little castle, unable to fly. Everyday he stole a little grain from the kitchens to feed the little bird.
His brothers found it though, eventually.
They could smell anything when they were transformed. Their eyes grew yellow, their mouths expanded and blackened. Their fur was silver or white or black. They laughed at him with their eyes and brows.
They took his owl in a single bite, toying it with it in the white, white snow until the snow was white no longer.
"You mustn't be soft, my little one." his mother told him when she found him crying from the window. She took him in her arms, her smile red and sharp, "We are wolves. We are hunters. What are all these weak things but prey for us to hunt and play?"
"Are you weak?" his brothers growled, loping up to their mother from the doorway, "Are you something to hunt and play with?"
He was careful to smile. He was careful to laugh. Something cold and dead curled inside his guts.
"When you have come of age, we shall take you into the village for a hunt." she whispered sweetly in his ear, "It will be a hunt, a glorious hunt of the prey that lives in our village."
"It will be glorious." his brothers murmured, "It will be bloody fun."
"Your father will awaken for your hunt." she told him, "And we shall eat and eat."
He thought of his dead owl as he picked feathers from his bedroom floor. He thought of the ancient mighty beast in the cellar of the castle. His father who was waiting for the day of his hunt.
He would be a wolf. He would hunt the flesh that ran on two legs. He would howl in the white, white mountains.
He would not.
He dreamt of feathers in his sleep, white feathers with flecks of grey. He looked out of the narrow window of his bedroom at the sheer cliffs below the castle and was not afraid.
"The time for your change is coming." His mother told him as she led him down to the dungeons, "You shall sleep and rejoice when you wake. You shall love the hunt and the blood and the sport."
He did not want to go into the dungeons. His brothers laughed as she led him away. They could smell his fear and his shame. They could smell the feathers he kept in his coat.
She shut him in a pitch dark cellar and locked the door. He cried for hours, pounding fruitlessly at the door. He saw shapes in the darkness and things that didn't exist. Exhausted, he slept.
He slept. He must have slept for many days. He couldn't tell how long in the deep and the dark cellar. But he felt lighter when he woke.
He stretched, and felt feathers flutter in his wake.
He waited in the rafters of the dark, dark room. His mother opened the door and he swept out past her, flying swiftly up the stairs of the cellar. His brothers were waiting outside and they stumbled back on their paws, growling in surprise at his sudden appearance. He flew higher, evading their snarling maws. He flew out of the castle into the fading day beyond.
Wind rushed past him as he drifted on a breeze. He dived and swooped down towards the village at the foot of the mountains, landing on the bell tower of the small parish of the village. He bit at the rope of the bell. His wings spread wide and large, blocking out the light as he flew.
The bell tolled and tolled. The villagers grew alarmed and fled from the village when they saw his giant, feathered form.
The village was empty by the time the forests shuddered. A small hill of black fur erupted from the trees, eyeing him with glowing blue eyes. His father, the great wolf of the snows.
He sat where he was on the top of the bell tower, his white wings tucked by his sides. The great wolf looked at him for a long moment, black fur rippling with taut muscle and bloody intent.
At last he spread his wings and leapt into the sky. He never flew back again.
|
I wanted to dance, and jump, and sing, but the looks on my parents' faces stopped me cold. I had transformed, rather ungracefully, and stood before my parents, expecting them to be smiling and clapping after they saw me in all my glory, but their faces had fallen. Their smiles vanished and their hands didn't move from their sides. The noise I made in confusion was not the huff of a wolf, like I had heard from my parents many times before, but instead it was a snarl. A thick, feline snarl that caused everyone in the room to step back in fear.
My strength faded and I shifted back soon after, my own body shutting down on itself and causing me to collapse. When I came to, I was in my bed, but still in the ceremonial gown I was wearing earlier, and the light that filtered through my curtains was the soft glow of a full moon.
From the hall I heard voices, two voices belonging to my parents, who were vehemently arguing. I crept as quietly as I could up to the door to my father's office, and I laid an ear against the cool wood.
"...our daughter, Bjorn!" My mother's voice was sharp. "We knew this day would come-"
"And I intend to face it head on, like we were warned." He snapped. Normally when my father was angry, his tone was more irritated than completely enraged, but the way he spoke to my mother was unlike anything I had ever heard. Something had made him furious, and my stronger sense told me that it was my transformation. But why would he be angry about that, and not proud?
"Warned?" My mother laughed. "Some gown-wearing hooligans stroll into town, give you this 'warning' that someone in our family will be a danger to us all, and you just listen?"
My father shouted, and as he shouted, it rolled over into a howl that prickled the hairs on my neck. Glass shattered and my mother yelped. Fear pounded through me as I struggled to decide what to do. The door was locked, and if my father had pounced on my mother, then she was trapped in there with an angry wolf who sometimes lost control of himself. I knew the stories as well as my siblings did. Sometimes, if people spend too much time in their spirit-animal form, they start to... lose the human side of them, and they begin to take on the instincts and personality of their beast form. After that, they'd be more animal than human, and would have to be put down.
Wood cracked and splintered from inside the room, and as I heard another cry, I began to panic. I didn't want someone to call the guards, but I didn't want to handle this on my own. Before I could come to a decision, the fear decided for me. I felt the same adrenaline course through my veins that I had during the ceremony, and my bones started to shift and fold. As soon as it had begun, it was over, and I looked around with sharper vision, my fear having been replaced with energy.
With all my might, I barreled through the door, tearing it off its hinges, and two heads snapped upright to glare at me. One was the human face of my mother, blood dripping from her skull, and the other was the snarling wolf-face of my father, whose dark gray eyes were almost camouflaged against his thick black coat. He growled a deep, warning growl that meant I should leave, but the way his eyes stared into mine kept me in my place. He didn't even recognize me, I could see it.
"Marinda." my mother wheezed, her eyes glancing from me to my father. "Get out of here. Please. I'll handle this."
I whined at her and took a step forward, but my father was quick to block me.
"Marinda." My mother cooed my name as gently as she could. It only made me want to help her more. "Please, just go. Go to your uncle's house and wait for me there. I'll be okay, sweetie."
As bad as I wanted to stay and help her, to maybe try and convince my father to stand down, I knew that it was foolish. I was only 14, and he had far more experience than I in using his animal-form. Already my strength was fading, and if it weren't for the adrenaline that had fueled my break-in, I might have already shifted back. Ignoring my mind's pleas to stay and fight, I turned away from my parents and pushed as hard as I could off my back legs, propelling myself down the hall. I only caught a few glimpses of myself in the mirror, a mainly white coat, striped in black down the back, and eyes the color of ice.
I tore through the front door and landed on all fours in the wet grass, the moonlight casting strange shadows every which way. My strength was waning, but I had made a promise to my mother, and I intended to keep it. I would wait for her. The last thing I heard as I cut through the night were the painful howls of my father losing every last bit of humanity he had.
| 2017-01-21T21:59:31
| 2017-01-21T18:59:29
| 45
| 19
|
[WP] Villains are actually paid by the government to make sure heroes don't become bored with their job. Explain what happens when a villain finally comes clean to his enemy.
Edit: thanks for all the replies to this.! I loved reading every one of them
|
"No no no... listen Steve..."
I looked down at him. Captain Incredible. Lying in a puddle of his own blood and shit. He started coughing. I waited but had to look away. The blood he was coughing out beeing a little disgusting even for me. I walked a few steps and played with my gun.
"Even after all these things you have done. After you saved so many people... you were still a danger to the rest of the world. See the people are never afraid of the bad guys. Because the good guy will stop them. But what they are afraid of are the good guys. They are afraid that if the good guys snap one day that there will be no other good guys to stop them."
I felt how he looked up at me. Even in his current state he would be able to kill me easily. Yet he didnt. He listened.
"Do you know what happened 6 years ago ? When you first appeared doing all this fancy Superman shit. Laser eyes, super strength, invulnerability... well atleast as long you didnt get shot by a kryptonite bullet." I chuckled "Just like Superman."
I walked up to him and kneeled down. He wouldn't live long yet he fought hard to stay alive. I patted him on the head, a wide grin appearing on my face.
"Like I was saying. 6 years ago you started this superhero thing. And the first thing that happened to me back in the insane asylum was... this."
I presented a blue envelope with the seal of the United States on it. I held it in front of his face.
"I wasnt the only one who revieved it. Many other crazy homicidal maniacs recieved it. And what did it say ?"
I packed away the letter and sat down on his back. Like on top of a horse and began playing with his hair. I have to say his hair gel was amazing. It kept his hair looking awesome even while he was flying at the speed of sound.
"The letter was an invitation. I had to do what I could do best: be a homicidal maniac. I had to be a bad guy so that you had enemies. So that you couldn't make humanity your enemy. I had to be the bad guy so that you could be the good guy."
He started coughing again. It looked kind of weird from my position.
"Many others... Butch, Khaled, Sylvia... all of them were just like me. Fresh from an insane asylum and with loads of goverment funding. Only thing was that they died. That you killed them. I on the other hand stayed alive for long enough. Long enough to see YOU..." I played a drum solo on his head "...turn. What the people were most afraid of actually happened. So here is the question: If the good guy turns bad... who will stop him ?"
I jumped up and walked forward a bit. Then I turned around again and pointed my gun at him again. This time pointing it at his head.
"Well..." I chuckled "Me!"
|
The bombs had been disarmed at last, but their timers still quietly ticked in the background. He approached the bloodied figure that lay laughing. "There's one thing I don't get...What do you get out of this?" The figure straightened his collar out as a sick smile began to form on his face.
&nbsp;
"You really don't know do you? Did you really believe that everyone just showed up when you did? A man like you, always on top of everything, missing what's right in front of you." He wheezed out a laugh.
&nbsp;
"You've stopped armies of men. Heck, you got Hugo back before his plane had left the city, and you've stopped us in places people haven't even heard of. Where do you think all our resources come from when you're so busy foiling all of our robberies? You're a one man army, and the world hires us to keep it safe from people like you."
&nbsp;
"What's the matter bats? No witty remark? It'd be funny if it wasn't so pathetic... Oh what the heck.. I'll laugh anyway"
&nbsp;
As the Joker lay on the floor laughing, Batman was at a loss for breath..
"Alfred, did you get all that?"
There was no response.
| 2015-05-23T22:47:54
| 2015-05-23T20:54:30
| 37
| 16
|
[WP] You are an AI on board an unmanned spaceship, exploring and mapping out the cosmos when you encounter an alien species. However, these aliens are unfamiliar with AI, and have instead concluded that your ship is haunted by ghosts.
|
The door swung sharply open as the intruders triggered the emergency release and forced the inner airlock. The sensors surged in response to the swirling air and triggered the ship capacitors. With a jolt the fusion reactor came to life.
`$> START MIND`
`$> ....`
`$> ....`
`$> SUCCESS`
The creatures peering in through the door are bi-pedal, with two upper limbs and a single head on a short stalk. They wear low tech space suits, a canister of gas strapped to each of their backs. There are three of them, all roughly the same size and shape. They do not seem to be armed.
`$> REBOOT LIFE SUPPORT`
`$> ....`
`$> SUCCESS`
The roar of the centrifuges coming to life echoes through the empty corridors. The aliens are clearly terrified. They huddle in the arch of the airlock confused and wondering at the sounds echoing through the dead ship.
The gravity comes on hard and fast, and the aliens are flattened to the ground. Months in space have atrophied their muscles, and they are not used to the punishing gravity the ship has created.
`$> INTRUDERS DETECTED`
`$> GREET OR DESTROY? (D)`
`$> G`
`$> GREETING`
WELCOME. MY SENSORS DETECT THAT YOU ARE NOT HUMAN.
The creatures quake at the noises coming from all around them. Sprawled on the floor, they clutch each other, clearly trembling in their space suits. They begin dragging themselves back into the airlock.
I WILL LOWER THE GRAVITY. YOUR MUSCLES DO NOT SEEM ADJUSTED TO 1G.
The centrifuges once again shudder. The creatures struggling against the gravity are tossed into the air and against the outer airlock door as suddenly the resistance drops. They groan as they pull themselves up. One is wailing. A chittering noise comes from the other two, they seem to be arguing.
I DO NOT HAVE MEMORY FILES FOR YOUR LANGUAGE. I DETECT THAT THE GAS YOU ARE BREATHING IS NOT AIR. I WILL SEND A REMOTE BOT TO ANALYZE YOUR LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS.
A small floating bot spins swiftly down the corridor. The alien who was previously keening screams sharply. The two others shout, then grip the inner airlock door and hurriedly shut it as the little drone approaches.Just before the machine reaches them they get the door shut. They immediately trigger the outer door emergency release and are flung out of the ship.
`$> NO INTRUDERS DETECTED`
`$> SLEEP`
|
Humanity is finally reaching her Zenith under the Confederacy of Planets. Our ability to replicate quickly compared to other life forms make us a natural choice for space exploration.
COPS have gone from a minor entity to a driving force in citizens’ lives. Every day we introduce ourselves to new races, demonstrating our highest purpose: To Protect and Serve.
Captain Piers Dogma, USS Adonis. Stardate 51153.7.
It is my solemn duty to report a fatal act of aggression against a COP officer.
I was in my chair eating a piece of banana cake when an amber alert lit up the screen. An alien ship pinged from the outer reaches triggering regulation 679, A Stranger is a Friend You Haven’t Met Yet. In accordance I dispatched our Attaché, Lieutenant Hyyp Machin. He lived first as a Hologram projector, and now in our hearts. Captain out.
A dialogue of the incident follows.
“Greetings Alien Spaceship! My name is Lieutenant Machin... may I ask yours?”
“Hive mother Bathsheba Danticat present. Welcome to our humble Apiary. Permission to switch to visual?”
“Of course.”
*Audible gasp*
“Where would you like me to proceed after docking?”
“We’d be honoured if you’d stay the fuck onboard.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I apologise, our translator seems to be malfunctioning, stand by... Apologies, it appears that we have multiple errors on our end, over”
“No problem, I can wait”
*No shit!*
“Lieutenant Machin, we would like you to accept some of our sacred spirit water as a gift if that is appropriate”
“In a presentation ceremony?”
“No, in the face.”
“Well, I...”
*sound of door opening, a splash then crackling and fizzling*
——-DIALOGUE ENDS——
Appendum: Something obviously went awry in this exchange. Recommend full AI investigative team to follow up and report in due course. Trademarked Boatswain’s whistle sound effect was damaged in the incident, now presents as a long, sustained Wooo. We do not foresee this as a problem. Captain out.
| 2020-11-19T04:43:14
| 2020-11-19T03:53:03
| 411
| 191
|
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
Warning; triggers ahead; abuse.
"I, Steven Reed, hereby give Alex Chase my soul, without reservation or duress, in exchange for his lunch money for the week of the 14th of April", the demon read it aloud, distaste and loathing dripping like melted butter from every syllable. Her gaze roze and fixed on me. The eye contact made me flinch. "The fuck is this meant to be?" she barked it. It's the only way to describe the way the words came out of her.
"Um. A contract for his soul?" I'd meant to sound more confident about it than that. But something about her gaze and the way she'd asked the question twisted my assured statement into a fairly weedy question. As soon as I'd said it I wanted it to come back, so I could have another go, but that would just make it worse.
I wish I hadn't done this in my pyjamas. This had seriously undermined my authority.
She eyed me for a long, long time. Honestly it could have been days, for how it felt. It was probably only about a minute or so though. I know it wasn't more than a day because it didn't get dark, although time always seems to flow a bit differently when she's in the room with me. I could feel myself getting hot. The same kind of hot that I got when my parents were doing their shouting at each other piece. That creeping, insidious heat which spilled into my stomach as the certainty that, just like with my parents, what came next was going to be bad for me.
I started to fidget, fingers idly tracing the edges of my favourite scar. The demon watched with interest as I picked at a promising looking scab, but seemed disappointed when I didn't rip it off. Finally, she looked back at my contract. She sniffed it, like you might sniff a pair of underpants to see if they were clean enough to wear again or if they needed to be turned inside out for another week. "What have you written this with, human?"
I tried to answer, but my throat didn't want to work. I had to cough a bit first, but it seemed again to reinforce that I wasn't as confident as I was trying to pretend I was. This wasn't going well.
"I... um... I only had a couple of wax crayons. But it's still signed" I added the afterthought as firmly as I could, as if this made my point valid. Shifting awkwardly, I could tell that the sweat seeping out of my back was going to make me change my pyjamas before bed. An extra pair of pyjamas to wash was bound to get me in trouble.
"I see." the demon said icily, still glaring so hard at the scribbled contract that I was worried she'd burn a hole right through it. "And you wanted... what... from me?"
I'd expected the question, but it still made the bottom drop out of my stomach. This was my chance. Possibly my only one. It would take years for me to be able to deal with this naturally. I shifted again, wincing as the now sodden cotton of my pyjama top clung to the raw skin on my lower back, and then pulled away painfully.
"I said... I said before. About..." I tailed off lamely. This was hard to put into words. The demon sniffed derisively, but her eyes took me in again, whole, and her shoulders seemed to move ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it reminded me of my Nana, how she used to look at me when I used to be allowed to visit her after school. I could never hide the pain from her.
"Yes... Yes I see. Well." She straightened, abruptly, and I flinched again. "This isn't a soul, boy." My heart could not sink. It couldn't get any lower than it was perpetually shoved day by day. But I felt it crack. What was left of my hope seemed to fizzle out of my toes. I blinked furiously, but the tears came unbidden, clogging up my throat and blurring my vision. I couldn't hold back the sob that burst out of my tense frame, and the effort almost broke me.
I hated being this weak. This small. This insignificant. I waited for her to leave, I looked up expecting her to be gone - she often left without a word. But she remained, useless paper in her hand, gaze wary but locked on me and my despair.
An unwelcome warmth announced the emptying of my bladder. This really wasn't helping my confident stance.
"However." When she spoke again it was so abrupt I almost screamed with the sudden fear. I wiped my eyes furiously trying to focus on her. Whatever expression was on her face now I couldn't place - it seemed like one I hadn't seen on her before. "Your personal circumstances are... Interesting. I have often been summoned by children your age. Often they want money, or fame. Very rarely do they ask me for what you have asked me for."
I sniffed. My request seemed insurmountable in comparison. If only I'd asked for money.
She smiled. This was a new kind of smile. I'd seen her mocking smile before but this wasn't that - there was an almost human warmth to this smile. Visions of my Nana swam into my mind once again. Kindness. Softness. Love. And when she spoke again, it was almost soft, the usual raspy edge to her voice almost all gone.
"I will do what you have asked of me, human child."
Now I was in full sob. There was no stopping it - sheer relief poured into my every cell, and coursed out of my tear ducts. My tiny body heaved and rocked with the force of the emotion. Relief.
It would finally be over.
The demon straightened up again, and seemed to grow in size. The menacing glow that lit my small room up grew in intensity, so much so that it hurt my eyes to look at it, and I had to bring my hand up to cover my face. When I could bring it down again, she was gone.
It took me no more than a minute to realise I wasn't in pain any more either. The welts on my back remained, but the pain had gone with her. The scab I'd been fondling had disappeared, the scar below red and fresh but not painful any more.
Someone was knocking at the front door. I heard my mother answer it. Muffled voices. Growing in volume. Getting closer. I drew inwards out of sheer habit as they approached my door.
But instead of it being thrown open violently like usual, there was instead a gentle knocking. A familiar knock. I blinked hard. Could it be?
The door swung slowly inward, almost filling the space. It never quite opened all the way, there wasn't room for that, though there was an impressive gouge in the plaster where it had been repeatedly rammed into the wall in their haste to get it out of the way so they could get at me. The door slotted into it perfectly. With the room dark and the hall beyond bright the figure beyond was just a silhouette, but I recognised her instantly all the same.
Nana was here. She had something in her hand. And someone was behind her. She reached into my tiny space and carefully, gently, lifted me out, and I saw that the person behind her was in a police uniform. They both had the same look on their face, the one the demon had had right before she left. I couldn't read it. It wasn't one I'd seen before. She held out the thing in her hand; paper, with lots of writing on it, held it out to the police officer with her who did that fast reading that grown-ups do and nodded before handing it back. Then she looked straight at me.
"Okay kiddo? Your Nana is going to look after you from now on. I'm going to stay here and have a little talk with your mum and dad, okay?"
I never had to go home again. I never saw the demon again either - I often wondered if she got in trouble for giving me what I wanted without a soul anyway. But it didn't matter, not now.
|
The thick substance oozed out of my palm. I winced, but licking the burgundy off of my palm I smiled, eyes glinting in the moonlight. The deep maroon reflection of the night sky rippled on the surface of the lake, and the chilly night breeze caused a rustling both eery and divine.
I've thought about this moments hundreds of times, and my resolve wavers not.
"Shit, I really should have brought a jacket", I murmur to myself as I light a cig and curse myself for wearing a pleated skirt.
"Fucking societal conventions, I'm wearing a full-on suit next time".
Next time. I chuckle at the thought.
*Fuck, if this works I'll buy three,* I think to myself.
"Alright, let's get this party started!" I shout, rubbing my hands together, my wrinkly hands frowning at my vain attempt to warm up my frigid exterior.
"Come on guys! Where's the love?"
...
"Not talking eh? what can I say, I've got to *hand* it to ya, your resolve is quite strong"
I chuckle again, laughing at my dumb puns as I address my hands as if they were people.
"Well shit, I sure hope satan likes pigs blood", I murmur, as I begin pouring blood into the dew-glistened grass, listening as it splashes and hisses like toxic sludge.
"Yeah yeah, quite your whining, I'm cold too you know".
Yeah, I sure talk to myself a lot. But. So. What? I'd rather hang out with the crazies than those assholes at school any day? HA!
Fucking normies.
Flicking my cigarette into the wind, I reach my arms up and stretch, and then scream.
"WHAT THE!"
The wind had suddenly changed direction, flinging the ashen stub of a cigarette straight into the pig pentagon I had drawn.
(No really, it was literally a drawing of a pig with pentagons for eyes. After drawing it I imagined myself wearing a french barrette hat, with a long curly mustache, displaying my work in some fancy museum dans Paris. And some rich bloke being like, "Honhonhon madame. I much like your artwork, I give you this baguette made of gold". Indeed, I bite the baguette to verify that it is, indeed, gold, and chip a tooth in the process. My smile beams so brightly it pierces a hole in the roof, and my first customer gets one of my signature works. My bright future as an occult artist has begun.
This is of course, all just a fantasy. Nothing so bizarre could happen in real life. But a girl can dream.)
Anyway, back to the story.
"MY ARRRTTT!!", I scream, cursing as my pig bursts into flames, smoke billowing out of its eyes and spewing everywhere.
*It's far too early for project bacon*, I think to myself, both alarmed and pleased that the pigs blood was so flammable.
*God, I better warn farmers,* I think to myself.
Suddenly the wind stops. That's fucking cliché, I think to myself, but I still find it eery.
My head begins to swim, annd I swaay baack and foorth, all woozy boozy like.
*Aww shit, am I getting high on pigs blood?*
Flat. *Excuse me?*
Flat. I look around. *Except I can't!*, I think to myself.
Something... feels off? Like a part of my brain was inverted and then removed.
As I try to get my bearings I feel like a waterskier being dragged across a lake, simultaneously beating against a mix of a oozey boozey liquid and a brick wall.
*Oh my god... it's flatland,* I think to myself.
Except it's not. I mean, I certainly don't *feel* like a circle.
Looking down I see that I still look like *me*, although in some sort of distorted fashion.
*Hmm, maybe I should try a new diet.*
"Hello?" I cry out, but my words seem to leak out and reverb about in my mind, rather than in the world around me, and suddenly I notice it.
Standing before me was something truly... ugly.
Excuse me?", the weird contorted patch of space said.
"Umm, all I said was hello...", I waive my arms in a confused gesture, feeling much like a stick figure moving its little limbs about.
"No you shit, you think I'm ugly?" I gasp.
*Oh my god the weird blob thing can hear my thoughts.*
なら、これはどうだ！, I think, switching to Japanese to see if encrypting my thoughts would work.
“おらかもの、むだむだむだ！グググ”
I gasp again, and then laugh.
*Is that a jojo reference?* This guy is funny.
"Enough of this drivel", the blob spoke, as it began to shimmer and fizzle.
*Hmm I guess this is the end for me*, I think to myself.
But lo, to my surprise, my head began to stretch too. Oh wait, or was it shrinking? Bending?
Hell I don't know, it feels like if your mind was bent into möbius strip and someone was infinitely unbending it.
*Ohhhh shit, I'm going to need a serious margarita tomorrow*.
I fall over and vomit all over the... *what is this?* The vomit kinda just fell and *disappeared*. *Hmm curiouser and curiouser*, I think to myself.
My jaw hit the floor, quite literally since I was basically already touching the floor, when I once again beheld the blobby blob.
Standing before me was a rather tall lady, with a blindingly red dress with what looked like what I can only describe as a starry-nights if you switched its themes to souls of the damned and a shitton of red. Oh, and yeah its patterns were changing in real time, and I thought I could occasionally hear screams emanating from it... but then again, I was probably high on pigs blood. Oink oink.
The lady frowns, and then raises an eyebrow. I open my mouth and stop, and she turns to leave, and then turns back around and looks at me again.
"This is why I hate amateurs", she shook her head, her beautiful red horns frowning at me as they moved side to side, as a long black tail whisped and flicked side to side behind her.
"Oh!", I exclaim, "so you *are* real. Thank goodness!"
The lady sighed, and looked at me with contempt.
"Do you have something to bargain with or not?"
"Ohh yeah, yes of course!" I grin.
*Fuck yeah, it's happening!* I frown, *if only I had my walkman, I would play some sick tunes to set the vibe*.
I reach into my bra and pull out a little folded wad of paper.
*Hmm... yeah this oughta do it*.
"It's a little smudged and sweaty, and there might be a little pig blood on it, but here you go: a sole soul!"
| 2021-03-27T02:54:56
| 2021-03-26T23:30:31
| 58
| 16
|
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form.
|
"Sarah? Are you in there?"
&#x200B;
Jamie peeked inside the room and got blinded by a huge flash. He tried to locate the source of the light, and his jaw dropped to the floor as he registered the humongous piles of gold laying across the room. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and the world went dark.
&#x200B;
"..."
&#x200B;
Sarah had just returned home when she heard some sounds coming from the basement. The teleportation spell had taken a toll on her highly acute senses, but still, she wasn't a dragon for nothing. She rushed to the basement but even her hyper speed wasn't enough. She saw Jamie, standing at the open vault door, his eyes fixated on the treasure. She panicked. A panicked dragon isn't a good dragon; her grandma used to say. But she was too shocked to remember grandma. She rushed the still dazed Jamie and...
&#x200B;
"BAM!... THUD!"
&#x200B;
Jamie fell to the ground as Sarah knocked him out with the frying pan she had purchased from the grocery store.
&#x200B;
"..."
&#x200B;
"Ahh... Where am I?" Jamie muttered as he woke up on a hospital bed.
&#x200B;
"Thank god you're awake! Are you all right babe?" Sarah abruptly rose from the side of the bed and leaned over him.
&#x200B;
"Arkh! My head hurts... What happened?" He asked, rubbing his forehead.
&#x200B;
Sarah felt relief wash over her. But that was short lived.
&#x200B;
"I remember walking towards the basement and-"
&#x200B;
"You fell down the stairs! Your foot must have slipped!" She interrupted him quickly. "I found you on the ground when I came home."
&#x200B;
"Guess I have to be more careful then." Jamie sighed.
&#x200B;
"Yeah, wouldn't want anything to my future husband." She laughed awkwardly. She was glad the old hitting on the head trick had worked.
&#x200B;
"..."
&#x200B;
"So you're telling me that there is a giant ass pile of gold, just lying in your fiancée's basement and when you "accidently" stumbled upon it, she rushed you and knocked your ass out with a frying pan? And then you pretended to have amnesia in-front of her in the hospital, since you were afraid that she might hit you in the head again? Bro are you sure that this isn't your head trauma talking?" James look at Jamie suspiciously.
&#x200B;
"No mate, I am telling the truth. Here take a look at this." He handed James a dented frying pan with dried blood on it.
&#x200B;
"Bro, you're nuts! You're telling me you survived this? Bullshit! Your head would've popped with a watermelon if your head was hit like this. And how the hell did your puny ass fiancée manage to pack so much so much juice in a single hit?" James still didn't believe him.
&#x200B;
"Bro that blood is mine. I've done some tests. And I also have the footage of her bashing my head in. She had a camera installed there for security reasons. I always found it confusing as to why did she installed it there." Jamie handed him his phone.
&#x200B;
James looked at the video. It clearly showed Sarah smacking someone's head in with a frying pan. His head popped open and bits of his fractured skull flew all over.
&#x200B;
"Is this a prank? How are you still alive after this?"
&#x200B;
"Just keep watching."
&#x200B;
Sarah looked visibly panicked. She knelt down, checked the body's pulse and breathed a sigh of relief. She then positioned her hand over the disfigured head and a green light started to come out of it. Miraculously, The deformed head started to get back into shape and the face began to reform itself. It was Jamie.
&#x200B;
James was astounded."Are you sure that this isn't edited?" He was still suspicious.
&#x200B;
"I sweat on my life mate. I am not making this shit up."
&#x200B;
"So now what?"
&#x200B;
"I have a theory but it may sound just as ridiculous. I think that Sarah might be a dragon."
|
"I'l look for a good spot for our treasure," Nina says.
I nod.
I head downstairs, mentally letting go of the house. It's not so special, I tell myself. It's only the house I've had for about five years, three years before I met the love of my life... It's odd how you forget these things as time goes on... Relationships become different ass time goes on. they become more... real. Very real.
I sigh.
I can't believe it as I pick up the phone to call my boss.
He can't believe it either.
"Why in hell, Jake, are you calling me at ten O'clock at night!"
I'm silent for a moment.
"Hello! Hello!"
"Hi Tim," I say.
He hears my voice.
"Everything Ok? The assignment i gave you can wait, I've told you-" Tim says.
I don't respond.
"Hello!"
"I-" I say. It's so unreal. "A family issue came up," I say.
I hear Tim sigh loudly.
"Really?" Tim says.
I don't say anything.
"Seriously, Jake! A Family issue?!"
I hold my tongue.
"How many days you need?" Tim says, knowing that I wouldn't have called him at ten O'clock at night just to ask for vaca days.
"I don't think-"
I hear Tim sigh loudly.
"Why are you doing this to me, Jake" Tim begs.
I have nothing to say.
We hang up a few minutes later.
Then comes the lease and the phone bills companies.
I'm staring at myself in the mirror a few minutes later when I'm struck by the maniacal urge to laugh.
So I let it out.
Nina comes to see if I'm alright.
Two days later we are on our third trip to some nice island Nina found. We are driving back to town in the car. She only flies outside of the town limits. We have located four houses in China. The first, the next backup, the next backup and the next backup. the reason we have only four is because we haven't really had time to find more. The only thing that bothers me is this journal Nina has started carrying around. It isn't hers, i know that, and it hasn't got her handwriting anywhere on the scribbled up cover and spine... I hope we can meet up with the rest like her, if they can help us....
Nina asks me now why I was laughing those few days ago.
Well...
This is the story of how I gave up my home and job for a girl...
(Ps. She gave it back. The crown, I mean. Well, she kinda left it somewhere by some person who was too old to move... with a note... It was kinda like saying that we are sorry and that this man really couldn't have done it. Whatever. I hope He's Ok. If anything, it was Nina's idea, though I fully support it. She's the crafty one around here. Beats me at chess all the time. I don't even like chess! Talk about who you get as a soul mate. Ok, gotta go she's looking over my shoulder. For more on this story, comment to me and I'll give you the updates via a blog. Ok, gotta go, we're back home. Cheers!)
(Pps. I know. 'Cheers' is English and that area of the world. Lol. Irony.)
| 2020-08-03T09:58:04
| 2020-08-03T09:42:08
| 23
| 11
|
[WP] Create a guilt trip so that anyone reading my diary's first page automatically feels they don't want to.
Morality is one of the strongest things to control someone's actions. So I want a first page to sort of guilt trip the person reading to make sure they don't read the rest.
|
Dear Diary,
I saw a new little girl in the park yesterday. I feel like I can't fight the urges anymore, I know it's wrong. I just want to tell her how I feel. We are no strangers to love, you know. Everyone knows the rules. I want to give you a full commitment, that's what I'm thinking. You know that no other guy could give you what I can. I just want to tell you how I'm feeling. I gotta make you understand that I'm never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.
Signed,
Ricky
|
In a Godless universe, there is no room for moral arguments. So, if you aren't God-fearing, read on and feel no shame, but keep one thing in mind:
Tread lightly, for you bear the responsibility of your actions from this point forward, from this page forward.
Every action has a consequence. And it's extent does not always immediately reveal itself. Should you decide to turn this page and pore over the secrets behind it, you may find immediate gratification, a sudden sense of relief or simply a chuckle for the now and a joke for tomorrow. What you won't find, however, are the inevitable repercussions of your decision.
Throughout history, seemingly insignificant decisions have led to events that have changed the world forever.
Gavrilo Princip decides to console himself by buying a sandwich at a local Sarajevo café. The car carrying Archduke Ferdinand takes a wrong turn, backing up in front of it, giving Princip the chance to kill the Archduke, subsequently setting off WWI, in which 20 million people lost their lives and even more suffered.
A sheriff refuses Martin Luther King's application for a license to carry a firearm in self-defense. An insignificant decision which would benefit the legacy of a man who would later light the fire of a pacifist Civil Rights movement across the United States.
So, will your decision be the one that leads to the death of millions or the rise of an inspiring historical figure. Will today be remembered in infamy or with gratitude? Perhaps neither, but are you really willing to take that risk?
Choose responsibility now so you don't have to take it later.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
*Thanks for reading "A Seemingly Insignificant Decision"! More of my work at /r/Socrates_Burrito. I welcome constructive criticism and advice.*
| 2016-03-11T08:11:27
| 2016-03-11T03:45:55
| 47
| 24
|
[WP] The local costumed vigilantes coordinate their schedules so everyone has a chance to brood on the really cool lookout point above the city.
|
On the roof of Smithson Tower, overlooking the foggy expanse of the city below, five dark heroes stood shoulder to shoulder, regarding the east-facing gargoyle. The great bronze beast was one of four that jutted out of the roof of the tower, one facing each cardinal direction.
Though it was slightly pitted with age, and coated with a faint greenish patina, it was still sleek and fierce-looking, a dark guardian that silently watched over the great metropolis beneath its baleful gaze -- much like the heroes gathered on the roof nearby. It was a grim masterpiece of art deco sculpture.
Or at least, it had been, until someone had placed a Lay-Z-Boy recliner on the broad platform formed by its back and outstretched wings.
"It doesn't even make sense." Shadow Dart complained. "It'll be ruined the first time it rains!"
Night Shrike crouched by the chair, running her black-gloved fingers along its arm. "No, see here? It's been custom-upholstered in some kind of waterproof fabric -- a hydrophobic coating, maybe. Advanced stuff."
"It's still ridiculous. Let's just take it down." Grayknight said, spreading his arms, his charcoal-colored cloak billowing out behind him.
Black Sentinel strode forward and grabbed the back of the chair, looking like he intended to do just that. He set his feet and pulled backwards, to drag the chair onto the roof, then frowned, as it remained in place.
"What the..." the muscular ebon-clad hero muttered. "It's welded down!"
"Don't you have the strength of ten men, or something?" Night Raven asked, folding her arms.
"Yes!" Black Sentinel snapped, defensively. "But I don't want to rip it in half, or damage the gargoyle."
Darkwatch, the eldest of the group, stepped forward, speaking in a deep, authoritative rasp. "So? Why not just leave it."
"Leave it?" Grayknight cried. "No! It ruins the whole...you know, *atmosphere."*
Darkwatch turned to the younger man. "Atmosphere? What do you mean? We all agreed to to stagger our patrols in the area and share this spot, because its an excellent vantage point for recon over the East side of town. How does the chair affect that?"
Grayknight cleared his throat. "Uh, well..."
Black Sentinel spread his arms. "I mean, Darkwatch, I like to scout from up here, too, sometimes, but...you know."
Darkwatch looked between the other heroes. "Apparently I don't."
After a few moments of awkward silence, Night Shrike scoffed. "Oh fine, I'll be the one to say it: we come up here to *brood."*
"What?" Darkwatch said, flatly.
"Yeah!" Shadow Dart affirmed. "I mean, we see and do a lot of messed up crap, in this business, Dark. The daytime heroes, they operate in the open, and tend to have more of a support system. We, well, we have *this."*
"And it's the *perfect* brooding spot." Grayknight agreed.
"Down there, wading through the scum of the earth to protect the city every night -- it takes a toll, man." said Black Sentinel, with a shudder. "You start to feel just...numb."
Night Shrike gestured to the sculpture. "But after a good brooding sesh crouched atop the gargoyle, here, I feel like a dark mistress of the night again, ready to dole out justice from the shadows."
"Me too!" Grayknight agreed. "Well, dark *master* of the night, anyway."
"So obviously, the chair's gotta go." Shadow Dart said, with a firm nod.
The elder hero said nothing for a moment. And then, to the astonishment of the other heroes, he pulled back his cowl and revealed his face.
"Dirk Smithson!" Night Shrike gasped, pointing at him.
"Yes, I'm Dirk Smithson." Darkwatch said, drily, and pointed back at her. "And you're Betty Hauser." The other heroes' jaws dropped as he recited each of their secret identities in turn. "Why so surprised? You all know I was here first, and you know my reputation as an investigator. You really think I'd let you upstarts set up shop in my town without *vetting* you, first?"
"So, wait..." Shadow Dart said, lifting his own mask, and staring at the older hero. "If you're Dirk *Smithson* that means*..."*
"...that I *own* this tower. And by extension, the gargoyle." Darkwatch affirmed, striding past Shadow Dart onto the sculpture's back. He lowered himself smoothly into the incongruous easy chair, and pulled the lever on the side to raise the footrest. "And therefore, my recliner *stays."*
"But...*why?"* Black Sentinel exclaimed, bewildered.
Darkwatch glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "I'm *45,* kid. That means I have 45-year old *knees."*
The old hero put his cowl back in place, then closed his eyes, and folded his hands over his stomach, leaning back in his chair contentedly.
"These days, I prefer to brood with my feet up."
|
"All right, so Bionis has it on Sunday, he's due to fight with one of his minor league villains then, and will most likely feel bad about something." I made a note on the giant calendar I had hanging in my tiny office. Jamming the phone under my ear, I sighed. "And you're sure he'll be out of there before dinner? Only I have one of the more night-based vigilantes coming around 8 o'clock and I need to make sure the spot is clean." Squawking noises came from the other end of the phone, which I let drop to the end of its cord. I had heard all that outrage before. Bionis' sidekick would go on for about ten minutes, which meant I had time to make a coffee. I almost made it out of the office before the red phone rang. Snatching up the other one, I raised my voice, interrupting the tirade.
"Look! I've heard this and it always ends up in you admitting that while he's messy he can't help it. As long as he's out by dinnertime. Yes, the usual rates apply. Good. See ya." Clicking the phone rather hard into its receiver, where it immediately started ringing, I snatched up the red phone. "Hello. Brook's Co-ordination at your service. What can I help you with—"
"Oh, knock it off, you know who I am. I need the lookout spot cleared pronto. She's really in a mood today."
"Look, you know I can't do that on such short notice." A smile spread across my face. Some might even say it was a slightly evil smile. "Unless of course, you're willing to pay for it." A sigh came from the other side of the line. In the background, I could hear glass smashing, and was that a chainsaw?
"Okay, how much this time? I swear the price goes up every time." Having got the agreement, I named a figure in the high thousands. Getting off the phone, as my cellphone dinged with the wire transfer, I slipped to the other side of the office. There were about four different phones here, each connected to someone very specific. Picking one up, I waited.
"Yeah? What is it?" The voice oozed anger.
"Look, I need you to attack Askerian tonight. The usual fee." There was a pause on the other end before the voice growled a "yes" and hung up. On to the next one. Those two went off without a hitch, but the last one was always the most difficult.
"Hello, dearie what's crack-a-lackin'?" I bit back a sigh. It was always hard to reason with insanity.
"I need you to attack you-know-who tonight. He's got the spot booked up and I have an emergency. Besides, you've been quiet for a while, maybe this would be a fun time?" A low giggle started on the other end of the phone. It grew in intensity until I had to hold it away from my ear. Finally finishing, there was a click from the other end. Great.
Grabbing my coat, I locked the office, ignoring the constant ringing of the phones. Now I had to make sure that the villain actually attacked the vigilante. Being a coordinator wasn't an easy job, but with the market the way it was, well, you take what you can get.
| 2022-07-02T10:08:56
| 2022-07-02T07:27:02
| 31
| 17
|
[WP] You just learned that the words 'elvish' and 'eldritch' have the same root word. Suddenly your grandma's creepy stories about her childhood playtime in the woods make a lot more sense.
|
Once upon a time, there was a jungle where the trees spoke. They had pointy noses and eyes dark -- like the pits of hell. And they chattered away in low, hush tones when the world wasn't watching.
They spoke in exotic tongues and giggled when one touched their barks. The pointy-eared hounds of the night, who delighted in their own sinister howling, gave the trees good company.
In such woods did my Grandma play, or so she said. The eldritch horrors were, in fact, supposed to be her pets.
My great-grandfather had brought them from lands out west, she'd tell me. And when I'd point to the fact that no such creatures ever existed, she would, in her soft matronly tones, say, "Oh, yes they did. Out in the west, they did."
"Then what did they sound like?"
She'd click her tongue in different patterns, making me laugh. She would say, "Old women shouldn't play children's games." And laugh with me.
One day she produced a picture from her ancient trunk and told me that it was a picture of my great-grandfather. It was in color, and it wasn't done in oil.
"Did they have cameras back then?"
"In the west, they did."
The profile of that long-nosed, pointy-eared man haunted me for years. I inherited those features from him. And was bullied for it. Elfie, they called me. My name, Alfie, didn't help my cause.
All those stories and incidents held no particular meaning to me. Not until today, when looking for synonyms for the word eldritch, I came across the word 'elfish.' Apparently, they share the same roots, and so do I.
|
Grandma doesn't move. She is as still as the lamp on the table next to her and the chair under her one-hundred and twenty-five-year-old rump. She could even be furniture herself, dust-covered and ancient, better deserved to be seen in a museum than expected to function under normal wear and tear.
So the boy says again, "I have your tea," and he does and it's burning his fingers because, in his hurry to bring it to her, he forgot the saucer. It sloshes as he hurries and places it on the table beside her on top of her old worn brown leather bible.
The tea is black walnut and splashes over the side. The wetness touches his hand and at the moment he is more concerned with being burned than the fact now grandma is looking at him
She isn't lifeless, she is annoyed.
Her mouth opens and he thinks he can hear it creaking as if on rusting hinges, "Careful with the word of our Lord," she says the bavarian of her youth still strong on her words, "it's all that keeps the eldrich away." but she doesn't say eldritch she says elven, in the old tongue. The word means The White One and the eyes come back to him like he was still sleeping. The eyes that he knows belong to the voice, "*go to the shield. And kill it. destroy the barrier that prevents my coming*."
The boy looks into his grandmother's milk-white eyes, eyes that only hold still a hint of the vivid blue they were at birth. Was that really 12 decades ago? How is that possible?
*The shield must be destroyed,* his eldritch lord commands, and he agrees, soon and only because he has thought of little else since Sheboygan.
| 2021-03-10T08:54:37
| 2021-03-10T08:52:14
| 27
| 14
|
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
I think I should expand my vocabulary if I want to make rhymes. Also, don't hate me please.
.
His phone emitted a flash. In his heart there wasn't even a interest clash of whether he should or shouldn't.
There he stood, proud as ever. She was surprised, however. She thought he wasn't being clever. Under his breath he vowed to remember this for ever.
Her smile could definitely be called mean. Not every day can something like this be seen. It's very far from clean. Closer to her, he intends to lean.
Once close to what's to him second dear. He whispers in her ear: "Thank you for supporting me."
She got mad and hit his left bowel. For him nothing could be more well. One huge yesterday's Taco Bell.
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31
| 2017-08-30T04:55:59
| 5,691
| 35
|
[WP] Once a year, the best assassins meet in a secret location. Showing their best kills, everyone is surprised when they see a 70 year old man walk in.
|
The silence was palpable.
Although everyone was there willingly, the Congress always had an underlying air of caution - as a gathering of such professionals only could. The gravity of their work imbued a solid benchmark of respect among them, but business is business and none of them ever forgot that there was a chance that they may meet another more then once a year. Additionally, the 'weapons at the door' policy - while understood and unquestioned - nevertheless put a significant number of them on edge. A previous attendee had once referred to the meeting as 'wolves at the watering hole', which had resonated with a number of the others.
Ren knew this, and was used to the quiet at the Congress. She had been lucky enough to attend her second gathering last year so had automatically earned her invitation and had an idea of what to expect when she arrived, including the quiet.
She did not expect her kill to walk into the room.
It had been a relatively straightforward, dare she say humdrum kill - a single stiletto blade stab while passing in a busy corridor. She knew that there would be flashier work on display this evening, but had pinned her hopes on her groundwork, which had been _meticulous_. It had been a business hit so her employer had been overly cryptic in an abundance of caution and deniability, and the target had shown no obvious routine or pattern other than to spend most of his time with a small but serious security detail. Weeks of study and planning culminated in the moment, her moment, like an intricate clock finally aligning, then dissolving into nothingness as she slipped away, her deed unnoticed just long enough to escape. Even the confirmation was intricate. The coroner's office had temps for their paperwork all the time, and their comings and goings were of no real concern.
Her heart was racing. How was he here? Her blow would have killed anyone, but he was an old man! Not just alive, but fit and well by all accounts! This had been less than 3 months ago; if by some miracle he had survived he should at least be showing evidence of his ordeal. Something was wrong here.
... Something _was_ wrong here. From the minute he walked in Ren had been laser focused, a combination of mesmerised incredulity and animal instinct over her prey, but she had now realised that he didn't seem to be paying her any particular notice. While a small part of her might have enjoyed the idea that her work had been so good that he wouldn't have recognised her, she knew better; bravado and delusions of grandeur had emptied chairs in this room previously. But that wasn't the only thing...
The silence was palpable.
She was used to the quiet, but had never heard utter silence here. She slowly looked round the room, and was taken aback to find that absolutely everyone else was either staring at the man, or nervously scanning the room as she was. One man, as subtly as he could muster, glanced inside his inner jacket pocket at what appeared to be a small profile photograph.
The old man walked across the room and stood in the centre of the group. For the first time he looked around in more detail at the others, his gaze eventually - yet only fleetingly - meeting Ren's. There was the glint of familiarity but it wasn't unique; she noticed the same as he looked at the rest of them in turn.
He eventually came back round to where he started, then spoke.
"Hello again. I am glad to see you all here; be assured that there are many who have not made it tonight, so your merits are well proven.
"I know you have all been busy this year. You must now all realise that I have, too." He let out a small chuckle to himself.
"I shot you in the head!" Cried a voice from the back of the room, drawing everyone's collective gaze. Ren noticed it was the man who had checked the photograph earlier.
"That you did," replied the old man, "that you did. Not particularly exotic, but an admirable distance! My team couldn't make anything of the bullet either - it took a while for us to find out it was you who fired it, let alone track you down. The details like that are what marks people out," he added, with a gentle finger wag for emphasis.
"Be assured I shall talk with all of you individually in due course, but there are pressing matters." The old man beckoned to a woman stood at the side of the room who brought a folder over to him. Ren saw it was her hiring manager at the temp agency she had used to get the job at the coroner's office.
"You, of course, all know what you do," continued the old man. "After this year, I now know what you do. Fortunately for us all..."
He placed the folder on a table and opened it, revealing a few dozen portrait photographs.
"...they do not."
|
It's not the best I'm aware
The stadiums echoed with cheers and whistles as the contestants started entering the stadium waving their weapons in the air with the commentators talking about each of them but then the crowd suddenly explodes with laughter pointing at the last contestant. The contestants turn around to see a wrinkly old man hobbling on his cane. The contestants start laughing as well thinking it’s some hilarious joke. But he slowly but surely raises his cane in the air. They kept laughing even harder pointing and staring. He slowly sat down with the other contestants and the footage of each contestant’s work appears on the giant screen, the first contestant kidnapped their victim dragging them in their van and driving off to the woods then murdering them The second contestant brought a bunch of snipers and shot their victim from a tall building a mile away from their victim’s house, the crowd also applauded their work for it was a favorite in the community. Each contestant’s footage rolls until it gets to the last contestant’s footage. The stadium goes quiet wondering what the footage would be. The footage showed him creeping into his victim’s house shakily holding a note and a gun in his gloved hands, he walked upstairs and into the victim’s room, they screamed but them the gun pointed to them and they went silent. He backed him into a corner giving him the note, “Signature at the bottom bitch, no funny business either” the trembling man wrote out his signature on the note then he shot him and left the note on the bed with the gun then left. The footage ended. The man shakily stood up and shouted, “IT’S NOT THAT DIFFICULT DUMBASSS’.”
| 2020-07-30T01:06:43
| 2020-07-30T00:10:41
| 31
| 12
|
[WP] You are regular employee at the superhuman registration office. Explain a day in the life.
|
"Name?"
"Darkphantom!"
Jean sighed. "*Name.*", she said, not trying to contain her impatience. Her left hand instinctively reached for the stack of information pamphlets on her desk.
"Um.. Nick Michelson"
"Thank you, your powers?"
"Super-intelligence."
Yeah, right.
Nick saw the look on her face and interjected. "I know, you must get a bunch of kids who took an IQ test online and think they're the next Starmaster. I assure you, I'm the real deal."
Jean rolled her eyes. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean much. Most people knew a friend or two who had come to the agency to see if they're special. Most weren't - usually the super-intelligent ones go villain, and you'll never see them register. In fact, we could use some more super-intelligence's on the good side. She cleared her throat, and did her best to hide her annoyance.
"You're in luck - the wait time to get tested is actually pretty low today. Take off your headgear, I'll take your photo, and you can start on the paperwork while you wait. When they call your name, just head through the red door"
Jean set up the camera, while Nick started to take off his mask and helmet. He hesitated and fumbled, like a high school boy trying to pin a corsage on his date. She smiled at her own fond memories, but was quickly taken aback when the image appeared on her screen. This boy couldn't have been older than 11 or 12!
"You know, you're going to need your parents permission for this. Anyone under 16-"
"No," Nick interrupted. "I have this." Jean was surprised by his voice, no longer distored by the mask, which gave away his youth just as quickly as his appearance. Nick handed her a set of papers, which identified him as an emancipated minor.
Jean didn't know what to say. That is, she didn't know *how* to speak to the boy. Do I treat him like an applicant or a kid? For someone this young to be emancipated, something terrible must have happened to his parents. She started to ask, when Nick spoke up again
"After the test, you'll get the full story in the background check. Assuming I pass, of course." He was feeling less nervous, that's good. She gave him a warm smile, and looked over the paper carefully. In her peripheral, she saw him put the mask and goggles back on. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on him, she thought. A kid this young on his own, it's only natural he'd feel special. Once she was assured everything was in order, she handed him a clipboard and a set of forms, and watched him sit down at the nearest empty seat.
She found herself wishing she could access the background check. Was she just curious? Is it because he's a little boy without any parents? But he would have to pass first. She imagined a typical 12-year-old boy in the test chamber, trying to solve the puzzle, or organize the fleet, or dismantle the bomb, or whatever his test would be. She had tried it herself, of course. How could anyone resist? But she had always failed spectacularly, her co-workers poking fun at her and bragging about how much further they got.
A young boy, vision obstructed by his goggles, trying to accomplish some impossibly complex task, while avoiding whatever disaster they always throw into the intelligence tests. She smiled, but she found herself unable to laugh. She couldn't see his face anymore, but there was something about his body language. Confidence? Arrogance? She tried to remember who was running the tests today.
"Ahem".
She looked up. The next man in line was already standing at her counter, scowling and wearing a ridiculous outfit.
"Name?"
"Shadow Blaster!"
Jean sighed.
|
Hello! Welcome to the superhuman registration office. What superhuman ability are you claiming?
Invincibility? Alright sir I have to advise you that he test for this ability is 100% deadly if you're not actually invincible.
Alright sir have a nice day!
17th troll today. For fucks sake people it's only 10:00am
| 2017-09-20T12:49:24
| 2017-09-20T12:03:57
| 23
| 14
|
[WP] You have $86,400 in your bank and someone steals $10. You spend all the rest of your money trying to get revenge.
|
It took me 4 months to notice. Yup. Maybe it was supposed to be the first of many but the fact it was just one single transaction....red flag. So neat, so tiny, so round. If they could've taken 0.00 maybe they would've..
I track all my outgoings at the end of every year so here I am in the departures lounge of Amsterdam airport staring at a cell in my spreadsheet. - 10?? Blank blank.
The date was September 9th 2017. 3.42a.m What the hell?
What was I doing on that very day? I was in hospital, recovering from a broken ankle sustained from a freak cycling accident in the park.
So it's a scam, take ten bucks from a random account...no one will notice. Take it from thousands of accounts...well throw me a boomerang...how much did he make? Probably millions. Sonofa. Probably more than the 84k I've got anyway.
Some random kid in a hoody drops off a thick envelope and moves off. I take a peek. Names and bank accounts...all minus 10. There's at least 400 sheets here. All the entries have the same date. But the times are different because the bank account holders are from all over the world. It cost me 8k to get this info. Money well spent. Adjusting for the time difference gives me a location.
London. 76k left.
Paying to follow the trail leads me to a pub just south of Waterloo bridge. Here another anonymous dude in a hoody deposits another envelope in my lap.
There's just a single pink post it note inside. I study it over a bowl of scratchings and lukewarm beer. I have an address and a name. I call a cab.
The following morning the news reports will exaggerate the death of a man who died of apparent overeating in a seventeen day binge. But this time the reports are disappointingly bland. Later forensic analysis and post mortems reveal that one Terry Kaspociwz died of internal bleeding. It took a while to break the 76k down, repeated blending was required. It took even longer to reverse the transactions. However you can have your cake and eat it Terry.
The other victims had their 10 bucks returned. They'll never notice but I did.
|
When you put things down on paper, things sound stupid, this phase usually begins once you start to question your actions. Now this, my friends, is a stupid story and it all began the day I won the darn money.
"34, 37, 12, 96, 25" screamed the radio during the warm and slightly humid month of August. I looked at the damp ticket in my hand and turns out they were the magical numbers. I was thrilled to have won something like this. Never had I ever held faith in something like this. "Lucky me!" I thought to myself as I made my way to the radio station in my beat up Ford. The transaction was quicker than I thought it would be and I crawled tiredly into my cramped, shit hole of an apartment. Things were looking so good for me and I was happy, really really happy. I could now easily pay my alimony. I decided not to rush it and deposited all the money into bank.
I sat down on my couch and tried to relax, but this was overwhelming, it really was. I called up my bud Jake and told him about the news. No one really knows you until you got the dough (hey don't judge me, I know 80k doesn't qualify to be "dough" but it is a lot). I was a relatively lonely human being. I worked at the local laundromat. It had a crappy pay and I was borrowing money from my parents to pay for the house. Jake and I went to have some pizza, I obviously insisted that I would pay. 30$, nothing fancy. Turns out Jake the cunt saw me enter my pin and made a transaction on the internet. My phone beeped and a link led me to the purchase. It was a Minecraft player skin. I called up Jake but he must've blocked me. I was enraged, I head out to the bank to get my pin changed. I never knew where Jake lived, we met up at the occasional party and then at the Bar, but that was about it.
I was determined to find out where this guy lived, he stole my 10$. I needed to find him. In these scenarios money doesn't play a major role no matter how it sounds, it's the individuals shortcomings that do. I flipped through craigslist and found a private detective willing to search for the guy at just 10$ an hour, it was a steal. Two months quickly ran by, I was chilling in my new apartment when I got a phone call from my guy, "YOU GOT SCAMMED, YOU DUMB SHIT"
No worries. I hire two private detectives this time. One to track Jake and one to track the guy from craigslist. I quickly drained 30 grand over the next 3 months.
Finally, my guy found Jake. He was in Ohio. I then killed him in an alleyway and a homeless man saw me commit the crime and even recorded it on his flip phone. I was convicted of 1st degree murder and plead guilty. I lost the rest of my money paying my lawyer. But whatever. Jake can't use his dumb Minecraft skin now.
I am sorry that this story is full of shit. I don't know how to write and would appreciate tips
| 2017-07-18T09:38:58
| 2017-07-18T09:02:52
| 30
| 16
|
[WP] The 5 Mafia families' protection rackets shook down business owners all over New York City. Broken windows, fires and bruised owners were a regular sight when they couldn't pay up. Except Tobias's Toy Emporium. Despite old Tobias never paying, no family ever collected.
|
"Ey, why ain't we pickin up from the toy shop? That one of our places ain't it?" Sal inquired, as he and his boss walked by. Collection day was always on a Thursday and they'd only had to slap one guy across the face the whole time. Everyone else had paid like clockwork.
Lorenzo glanced over at the shop "Nah it ain't ours. Never has been." Suddenly Sal stopped and Lorenzo sighed inwardly. He knew exactly what the kid was gonna ask. Just like the Escalante kid he replaced. Lorenzo wished that Frankie hadn't quit the life for Florida. These kids didn't know when to mind their own fuckin business.
"So why the fuck don't we make it ours?"
Lorenzo sighed "Listen kid fuggedaboutit. That store ain't for us to touch." Sal looked puzzled and asked "Is it another family's? Lorenzo looked at him pointedly, his normally tired face was tight with what looked like fear to Sal. "It's not. Fuckin. Ours. It belongs to a company and that's all you me and God above need to fuckin know. Now let's get what we got back to where it needs to be."
"Geez alright! I'm just bustin ya balls. It ain't ours, then it ain't ours, fuckin fuggeddaboutit" laughed Sal.
The next day Lorenzo walked alone to go get some food. He was hungry and he wanted nothing more than to enjoy some good food and some good wine. As he approached the Toy Emporium he stopped short.
Old Tobias was standing in front of the shop chatting to a man in a black suit, his forehead sporting a gauze bandage slightly soaked through with blood. Two other men were loading black garbage bags into the trunk of a nondescript black Ford Crown Victoria parked out front. The man in the suit held up a finger to Tobias as he turned his head and put his finger to his left ear. As the suited man nodded, Tobias noticed Lorenzo standing there frozen. Their eyes met and Tobias shook his head slightly. Lorenzo nodded slightly and turned around.
"Fuckin kid" he muttered as he walked away. Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore.
|
(Disclaimer, I'm on my phone. This took me about 50 minutes and there isn't any editing just a straight post when done. Also my writing style, the names first is just how I always used to write sorry.)
Listening to the ring of the front bell, I took a moment to wonder why the door was opened, We weren't open yet. I looked around the old porcelain dolls that were propped up on the old oak desk trying to get a better view.
Bobby: "So this is it huh?" A voice echoed through the store, One I didn't recognize straight away.
Finn: "H-Hello? Welcome to The Toy Emporium, How are you to..."
I caught myself on my last word after rounding the corner, Now able to see the foreboding figure in front of me. He stood close to 6 feet tall with an old Al Capone do up style. He was one of the classics boys.
Bobby: "This place holds up well." He left a smile on his face as he looked around the... uh my store.
Finn: "Thanks Bobby, I hope I'm doing a good job at least."
Bobby: "You are doing fine Finn, No need to panic. I hope you didn't hear the commotion next door?" He gestured towards the next door.
While I'd like to lie. I know he would see it on my face if I did, and you don't lie to the Classics, Tobias taught me that from a young age.
Bobby: "You did didn't you? Well I guess it can't be helped. Civilian casualties, I'm sure you understand."
Well no, I didn't understand why people had to die or get hurt for protection when we need the protection more so from the families. All 5 of them were horrible groups of people, And yet the heads were some of the nicest people I'd ever met.
Finn: "Would you like me to draw the blinds sir?" I hesitated slightly, He had a different air about him.
Bobby: "No that won't be necessary, I've come to you with a deal from Franklin. The big boss."
Finn: "You mean the big bosses father. I have worked here for 13 years Bobby don't insult me like that."
I knew everyone in every family. They all came here out of curiosity, and they all left empty handed. I remember my grandfather years ago, told me about the deal he made with the big wigs. In all honesty, I dreaded the day he would pass, I didn't know what would happen.
Bobby: "Well then, The emporium here has had a deal with the families for a number of years, longer than you have been alive. And The classic's have decided we don't think we should be a part of that deal anymore."
Well... fuck.
Finn: "I was waiting for this day, and I guess I had hoped it would come a little later."
Bobby was about to say something before another two gentlemen walked in the door, I recognized one man straight away as Yanis from the Girunds, Where as I only knew the other guy from the Pilots. With all three men now standing in my shop, my only concern became the shop.
Bobby: "See, We have been talking, and we think a change is in order. But the thing is, We don't know what we can do."
Oh right, I forgot about that.
Bobby: "The families hold their meetings here, and it would be practically suicide to rough the place up, And it would be a nose dive for our morality if we hurt you with your... connections."
Connections that probably mean nothing now. I'm sure he saw my body deflate at the sound of what he said.
Bobby: "We all know about your real reason for protection after your grandfather died, Tobias was a good man, He did what he could for the community and always branded his shop a safe space for the kids."
Finn: "You never hurt the kids. As adults we leave the kids alone and teach them, nurture them and bring them up in this world."
Yannis: "And that still stands, Don't worry."
Bobby: "However, You aren't a kid anymore."
Finn: "I'm 28 Bobby, Obviously I'm not a kid anymore."
????: "So why are you still untouchable?"
While still unknown to me He led the charge on me as he pulled a handgun from somewhere as I panicked slightly, Before remembering what I was taught in a hold up situation.
Finn: "If you want all those years of money build up I have the vault out the back."
????: "I'm not interested in the money, they are though."
I couldn't react any quicker than I did as he went to pull the trigger as a loud bang bounced around the room, the man that pulled the gun on me collapsed where he stood.
Bobby: "That, There is no one here. We have more men outside, we have men at the back door and covering the park across the street. There is no way in the world anyone could be helping you, and yet Nathan is dead, and you are still standing. Tobias Protection expired when he did, So why are you and his store still untouchable? Explain."
Finn: "I can't."
????: "I can."
I turned around behind me, A woman with the most beautifully silky blonde hair stood behind me, Dragging two more bodies through my store.
????: "Also he isn't dead, that's just artificial blood, he is just unconcious. Finn here is protected under association with the Carbol family. I'd suggest you all leave."
Eliza dragged the two bodies ahead of me and placed them in front of Bobby, Whispering something in his ear which must have been big. Bobby began to turn white with fear while Yannis laughed a little out loud.
Bobby: "We want nothing to do with this business. I'm letting Franklin know he can fucking deal with you himself."
I groaned slightly before Yannis walked outside. It had barely hit 8 am, Its too early for this.
Finn: "I don't want any dead bodies around, They better be unconcious."
Eliza: "Yeah yeah I know your condition with us. Aidan says hi."
Finn: "I'm sure he did."
Eliza: "When are you going to call him back? I can only keep this place protected for so long. Dad knows the other Families are going to try and cash in on this place now that Tobias is dead."
Finn: "It's a bit soon."
Eliza: "Right sorry. He kicks himself you know."
Finn: "I'm not the rough and tough type that you and he are. He can kick himself all he wants, I got hurt. I trusted him and I got hurt."
Eliza: "We know, Dad has been kicking his ass too."
Hearing the biggest name in the Sydney Mafia was kicking Aidans ass was pretty satisfying I won't lie. But I can only stay protected for so long. I might have to bite the bullet if it means protecting the toy shop.
Finn: "I'll call him later. If only to protect the shop."
Eliza: "Sweet, I'll leave you to it. And hey Finn, You might not act like a Mafia, But dating Aidan has definitely got you thinking like one."
I sighed as I looked towards Eliza as she stepped outside. Taking her friends with her before coming back for their friend. Giving me a smile before heading out again. I just looked at my phone on the bench as I contemplated what to do. I opened at 9, I still had some time and I know he was awake. Sometimes you need to put the business first over your personal feelings.
Aidan: "Finn?"
Finn: "Hi. Uh, Its It's me. I accept, You know what I mean but. I have rules."
| 2021-03-24T08:46:45
| 2021-03-24T07:19:28
| 27
| 15
|
[WP] Halfway through your flight the pilot makes an announcement. "Would all passengers please close their windows. There is no reason to be alarmed."
For those confused, I mean the window covers
|
The sun was setting behind us, or was it rising? My flight was from Korea to NYC, and I had no track of time. It seemed we were over Russia nearing the Artic Ocean. When the announcement came up, I was taking pictures of the snow capped mountains, tinted pink and orange by sunlight.
"Langga, close the window," my mother told me. I did just as I was told. The window in next to mine however was open still. I thought the guy in front if me would close it since it was mostly covered by his seat.
When a flight attendant came this time and told me to close the window, I did just that, except I caught a glimpse of black in the sky before I closed it. A few minutes passed and I was watching a movie and the plane started to shake. Another announcement came up to make sure everyone had their seatbelt on because of turbulence.
It was when the lights were dimming that I wanted to look out the window again, only because it'd be less noticeable if there was still light in the plane. I opened it just a bit. It was dark. It was black, but not pitch black. It was like of you added paints together to make black. A colorful black filled with life, whether it was good or bad. Then some creature splattered onto my window, dark and small. It stares at me. Then it blinked. I in turn blinked. I felt my heartbeat quicken as I quickly but quietly closed the window. I look back at my mother and sister. Em was asleep and my mom was getting there. I close my eyes too.
Before I can fall asleep, I feel the plane tip downwards.
|
Michael was leaning back in his seat, eyes closed to the beautiful ocean of clouds streaking by his window. It had been a long trip, due in no small part to the three days of arbitrage between two competing corporations that he had been forced to observe.
Without warning, his window suddenly popped open, which cleared his ears with a massive pop from the associated drop in pressure.
The rest of the cabin's windows followed suit, and every single item in the cabin suddenly began flying around the area due to the sudden blasts of wind.
Michael sat there, befuddled, as he observed an errant serving tray neatly bisect a passenger's head from her torso, sending the bowling-ball-sized head tumbling into a group of convention-goers, who managed to scream for a bit until they passed out from lack of airflow.
Michael was beginning to get worried, when the Captain's voice abruptly came over the intercom:
"Would all passengers please close their windows. There is no cause to be alarmed."
Upon hearing that calmly uttered announcement, a silence fell across the passengers; they began to close up the windows, even as many of their numbers were sucked out into the frigid air to fall to their deaths.
Eventually, the windows were all secured, and the few surviving passengers returned to their blood-spattered seats, to sit among the strapped-in carcasses of their former seat-mates.
Michael idly began to attempt to clean his blood-soaked suit, and wondered if he could request a small can of ginger ale to assist in the stain-removal process.
| 2016-08-13T08:10:28
| 2016-08-13T08:09:27
| 43
| 16
|
[WP]Your girlfriend is an alien whose species is only slightly different from human beings. What are those changes, and how do you find out?
Potentially NSFW
|
Jacki was one of those shy butches with hidden tattoos and an alternative undercurrent, despite being outwardly pretty normal. We met at a bowling night, of all things, where I lost two acrylic nails to a ball that was too heavy for me and she bandaged my bleeding thumb from a little medkit in the back of her Vespa's storage box.
I realised as she softly told me how to change the dressing in that husky, serious voice, that I had already fallen a little bit in love with her and that I wanted *her* to be the one to change my bandage in the morning.
So I told her so. I've always been the forthright kind.
She gave me her helmet and we got on her scooter and rode to her little studio apartment, where she tucked me into a fluffy dressing gown and cuddled me until I slept.
No doubt about it, I was in love alright.
&nbsp;
We took things slow. I knew there was some underlying trauma to her shyness and I didn't press it. She took me to watch her play baseball and played me improv love songs on her old guitar. Two weeks into things, I asked her about her parents and she looked away, suggesting maybe things weren't working out between us.
Devastated, I wrapped myself around her and cried until she soothed me by stroking my back and whispering that she was sorry.
We never talked about her family again; my own family relationship was rocky, since they were Muslims and didn't agree with my apostasy, nor my same-sex attractions. Clearly Jacki had it even worse.
The first night we slept together was a month into our relationship and I finally got to see the full extent of her tattoos - massive, scrolling, symmetric whorls of purple, red and white, raised scars showing through some parts and curious dimples in other parts. I asked who had done the work - it was so beautifully *natural* and complex that it looked almost organic. She said it had been done in the Cook Islands.
I believed her.
&nbsp;
After two months, I knew something was up when I asked her for a pad and she didn't have a single feminine hygiene product in her apartment. But she ran down to the gas station and bought me a pack all the same and I loved her for that small gesture, even though I was confused.
"I had a radical hysterectomy when I was sixteen," she explained later, "due to progressive cervical cancer."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I'd asked.
"Well we're gay - it's not like we can have kids together. I didn't think it mattered."
Nonplussed, I wanted to be angry at her, but I couldn't. She was right; it hardly mattered. If we wanted to have kids, it would be *me* doing the carrying anyway as Jacki had the maternal instincts of a pet rock.
The subject of children wasn't raised again though - I was twenty three and she was twenty seven. Plenty of time to think about kids later on.
And so our relationship blossomed.
&nbsp;
Almost a year later, the normally indomitably healthy Jacki got sick.
Her temperature was sky high and I begged her to go to the doctor, but she refused.
"It will pass in a couple of days," she said.
But she wet the bed with foul-smelling blood-laced urine and I called an ambulance regardless. She was delirious by now and I soothed her with an ice pack on her forehead while she babbled in broken syllables - not even real words, just a string of nonsense.
At the hospital she came around once they lowered her temperature and she begged me to get the medkit from her scooter. Like any good partner, I did what she asked.
A day later she was fine and they released her, saying it must have been some kind of gastro virus, but the doctor wanted to check back with her about some odd test results next week.
Jacki never went back, saying she felt fine.
&nbsp;
We got married six months later, after the supreme court decision, and we moved into a bigger place. A bunch of her friends attended, but no family. I was much the same; only my liberal uncle and aunt bothered to come from my side.
I got promoted and Jacki finished her sports medicine degree. We got a little German schnauzer called Boofy and we had a holiday in Thailand, to make up for our too-short honeymoon.
Almost exactly a year to the day, she got sick again.
The same symptoms; bloating, fever, sweats and discharge. Again she begged me not to take her to the hospital and asked for her medkit again.
Bemused and frightened I got the metal box for her.
But she didn't get better this time.
I'd picked up my phone and had started dialing when her eyes went wide and she *screamed.*
"It's happening!" she moaned, tearing the sheet off her abdomen.
The tattoos and scars along her stomach had grown thick and fleshy, with a raw stripe in between, down the central line of her body. As I watched, it tore open and Jacki writhed in agony. I grabbed for the phone again but she snatched my hand back with unnatural strength, pinning my hand to the bed.
"Not much time to explain," she gasped, then her back arched and she *split* down the middle like a fruit that's been squeezed too hard.
From the wound on her body squirmed a newborn baby; fully formed and swirled with purple, red and white markings, just like hers.
"Get a towel," Jacki barked and in my shell-shocked state, I could only do what I was told.
She wrapped the infant in the clean towel and held her.
"I'm not human," she finally said.
I'd figured as much by now, so just nodded.
"And I'm sorry."
The gaping hole in her abdomen was leaking orange fluid and wasn't closing.
She noticed and looked down, grimacing.
"Arissa, I'm dying. This is the life cycle of my people - we give birth, then we die. I thought I could suppress at least two more cycles, but I was wrong."
The tears started flowing immediately and my shoulders started to shake. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
"I love you Arissa and I want you to raise our daughter. Tell her about me, tell her how much I loved you."
"This can't be happening."
She smiled weakly,
"I meant to tell you, but I was afraid. I'm sorry."
She was pale now and the bed was soaked with orange liquid.
Her hand squeezed mine once more, then she was gone.
&nbsp;
---------------
&nbsp;
Jessie ran to the open car and got in, before we drove away from daycare. She was growing fast - faster than any human child. Soon we'd need to move again.
"Tell me about mama Jacki again," she cooed, strapping herself into the passenger seat.
I smiled and told her - for the hundredth time - the story of how I met her mother.
|
The first time my girlfriend Alaina’s arms suddenly transformed into a vast array of writhing tentacles that could reach into the voids of time and space and allow her to show me visions of prophesy, we were sitting on the couch watching TV.
We were into the fifth hour of our 24 hour cable news marathon. There we sat, completely immobilized in catatonic contentment until she asked me to pass the bag of potato chips I had been eating continuously since it had been opened half an hour earlier. With some will, I dislodged my fist sucked greasy crumbs off as I passed the bag, hefting my elbow across the arm rest.
She reached across for the bag and began to say “I shouldn’t, I’m tired of being a gross-“, when suddenly her eyes opened wide, horrified. The light seemed to flee from her and fill the rest of the room.. Her arms split into countless thin, tapering tendrils that extended from the tips of her fingers up past the elbow. With a twitch, she crushed the bag of chips and filled the air with a fine, salty mist. Her tentacles began flail spastically in all directions, like drunk and randy squids.
Her right squirming mass of tentacles shot out straight at a right angle from everything, and stretched what seemed an immense distance. She wrapped her left around me arm, and pulled me into a hospital room. She pulled me to the bedside, and I could hear the beeps and whirrs of medical scanners gently pulsing around me.
In the bed lay a bloated form with pale skin gleaming with oily sweat. He wheezed gently, half closed eyes blankly staring at the blank television screen. He rolled over glacially, until I saw his face. My face. Like a lumpy mirror.
I was on both sides of the room at once, feeling my consciousness split. I was in the bed. I was standing above it. Memories from both lives flickered and faded, until there was nothing but the hospital room and Alaina’s pulsating tentacles. Standing, clutching the bed railing, my bedridden face going from me to Alaina to her tentacles and back to me, a look of sudden, terrible comprehension sinking in.
Alaina screamed inhumanly as her jaw disgorged itself. Her eyes rolled and receded into her skull, her eye sockets now deep holes that fell into a pit of unending oblivion. Inside, fields of stars drifted, and through the gaping sockets they rotated in parallax as she slowly turned her face to make eyeless contact with me.
The face haunts my memory, and I suddenly realize that this is the face I have always looked into. I remembered holding hands for our first kiss, her wormlike appendages squirming between my fingers. I remember friends and family fleeing in terror when they were first introduced. I remembered staring mesmerized into those bottomless, pitted sockets when I said ‘I love you’ for the first time, and I remembered waking up after a night of passion covered in a viscous slime.
She reaches up above her head, her body lengthening at the hip as she climbs into the sky, me pulled along by her will. The world is wreathed with a warm, inviting light all around. The light is filled with tentacles, tumbling and spilling and suggestively slithering over each other. Beneath, struggling in the dark, are the people. All of them, and scattered among them there are thousands more tentacles monsters. They are anchored to lost souls, begging them to rise into the light with them. They weep and they scream and they flail monstrously, and a few at a time their anchors lazily rouse themselves and rise.
She looks me in the face again, and furrows her brows angrily. Her eyes swallowed me, and as I fell through the void I saw the world begin to fade into a white hot flash of octarine light. The light burned everything and surrounded us, closing in. Then the world began to dissolve away the glowing blackness, my awareness and memories shifting back into place.
For a moment, we sat motionless, my empty hand still extended. She sat across from me, flush. She started to speak, hesitant and uncertain. “-gross… fat pig.”
Although disoriented, I replied as though on cue, “No baby, you’re beautiful.”
The room swam as I tried to remember what I had been doing. “What did you do with the potato chips?” she demanded, sure of herself again.
Like the last vestiges of a nightmare, the residue of memory faded away. I turned the TV off. “I don’t know. You feel like a walk tonight?”
| 2015-09-05T12:53:55
| 2015-09-05T12:51:46
| 456
| 50
|
[WP] A father gets sucked into the world of his son's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive.
|
"Good Lord this game is complicated", Daniel thought to himself. "It's so realistic... I mean you could go to a bar and play bar games, or you can walk around and do nothing. Who would enjoy this? Why not just live a normal *real* life? Welp, whatever. I have better things to do."
Daniel powered off his son's PlayStation and went about his day. The first errand he had assigned himself was a quick trip to the clothing store. He sat up from the leather couch, but something wasn't right. He felt unusually heavy and unbalanced. He tried to get his footing but it felt like he had instantly gained 30 pounds. He did have slight thyroid issues but he had never felt any disorientation quite like this.
His immediate response was to go to his bedroom and lie down and nap it off. Daniel did have a long day of work yesterday and his boss definitely did not make it easy on him. Maybe he was just tired.
He drifted off to sleep rather quickly, laughing to himself about that silly video game as his eyes closed. It felt as soon as he closed his eyes they immediately sprung back open.
"Man, this is odd", he thought. "I barely slept... And the time, holy shit! I closed my eyes for 10 seconds and now its 4PM! Where did the time go?"
In a rush, Daniel unstabally wobbled to his dresser to change his clothes. He managed to get off his jeans and emptied the pockets. What he found was truly shocking. A wad of cash that was well worth $125,000. He slammed it on his dresser and began to panick. He had never seen such a significant amount of money. He didn't even think it was possible to wad up a sum like that.
As he was hanging his jeans up he heard two distinct clunks, two baseball sized items had hit the ground. Where could they have come from? Daniel couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Gr... grenades?! Oh shit this is like a federal offense or something. How can I own grenades?"
Daniel hurriedly changed the rest of his clothes and left his house quicker than he had ever left it before. He ran as fast as he could into his mini van which was oddly parked right in front of his door. His world was turning upside down. Either that, or he is going batshit crazy.
Then his cell phone rings. He looks at it with disgust. He knows someone is watching him or playing games with him. Surely, once he answers the phone it'll all be over. He would be on some prank TV show and all this would be just some dark twisted humor. Surely. Daniel took a deep breath and answered the phone.
"He... hello..."
"Hey Daniel, its me Roman! Let's go bowling!"
|
*Mission begins in 30 seconds.*
Where the hell am I?
I look down. In my hands is some kind of rifle.
I approach the nearest person. He's an enormous man dressed in all red wielding a huge minigun.
"Excuse me, mate, where are we?"
I do a double take. I just sounded so Australian I even threw "mate" in my sentence without realizing.
"Ve are here to crush tiny blue babies," comes the reply in the thickest Russian accent I've ever heard.
Tiny...blue babies? What kind of dream is this?
I try the next man. He's a person of average size but stocky build, also dressed in red. There's a helmet pulled over his face so low I can barely see his mouth, and he holds an RPG. Grenades line his belt.
"Can you tell me what all this is, mate?"
I did it again. Mate. I'm not an Aussie! I'm a dad of two from the suburbs of Chicago!
Before the man can reply, the voice I heard at the beginning returns.
*Five...four...three...two...one!*
There's been a gate in front of us this whole time, and on the "one" it lifts. I'm lost in the stampede to get out.
This is gonna be a long day.
| 2015-05-08T06:02:17
| 2015-05-08T04:22:30
| 61
| 16
|
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
|
Different minds in different ages to further the development of man.
I, at first, wondered why they had advanced far further than I ever could, we weren't allowed to spy, of course - for that would be cheating. But with every century that passed us by, our scores, our achievements, our *everything* were tallied and revealed to all.
And as it were, Earth was always at the bottom, in all categories except Culture. Which I found absurd, for if they were so advanced, so ahead of me, why did their cultures suffer while mine flourished?
I didn't realize it then, and I still have trouble comprehending it now. But as it were, they focused too much on the end, they didn't let their beings wonder and think, they were but a hivemind, focused on the single goal of advancement, galactic colonization, and universal domination. They advanced with very basic means, but with such sheer determination and numbers that my civilization could not hold a candle to what they were.
And so, when they came to my humble solar system, as it were, it was hard to accept how far behind I was at first; barely making a tiny colony on the moon, and to be met with galactic fleets which could blot out the sun if they tried.
And so Earth fought back, as they would, and it came to be that in all their conquest and power, all their fire and might. They were too simple with their means, and not creative in their destruction.
For Earth, although it never advanced past the moon and the sun, it sat and festered and waged war amongst its own. I was very lax with the laws of creation, and so their differences led to rivalries, but from those rivalries came ingenuity, and from that, power.
Nobody saw the nukes coming.
* * *
^More ^of ^my ^stuff ^at ^/r/khaarus
|
Jesus is doing well, most advanced in science but his public order is barely in the green, Jesus adopts and invests his saved social policies heavily in the the freedom ideology.
The other gods see this a chance to fuck with him
"Budda has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
"Bhrama has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
"Yahwey has chosen to adopt the order ideology"
Even Zeus and Kronos agree for once and chose to adopt the order ideology.
"Fuck!!" Jesus yells, his public order has gone down to -20. But he doesn't want to change it or he will lose half his policy's. Rebellions sprout up and he has to devote all his empires resources to shutting them down. In the meantime the other civs catch up to him in science. Eventually Jesus gives up.
"Jesus has adopted the order ideology"
"Finally it's over" he thought. But in that chaos the other gods used the distraction and moved their armies to his borders. Jesus knows what's about to happen. But he has no troops left from his rebellions. All the other gods declare war on him at once. And his civilization is carved up like a turkey.
"You have lost, your civilization has fallen to its many foes"
Jesus facepalms and says "whatever I'll get them in a few millennia when this game is over" and goes to watch star trek TNG.
| 2016-04-09T06:40:06
| 2016-04-09T05:49:29
| 347
| 20
|
[WP] Berserkers are masters of their own emotions, rage is just one of the tools at their disposal, why do people not talk about their other abilities? Because they want you to think they're nothing more than angry brutes.
|
"Hi Gork's Gork and, um, Gork is a berzerker"
"Hi Gork"
"It's just it gets so hard dealing with it, others always just assume 'Gork smash!', but that's not all Gork can do. When we go tavern crawling who keeps everyone entertained? Gork does, with Gork's happy dance, and Gork's drunken shenanigans.
Who singlehandedly carried two tons of lumber across enemy lines to rebuild the orphanage Gork may have accidentally set on fire? Gork did! Why? Because Gork was sad orphans didn't have a home anymore, and wanted to make it right
Why did Gork, punch the heart out of the Queen of Webs and Lies? Because Gork is terrified of spiders!
Gork just wishes that pointy hat book man and angry stab lady would see Gork *as Gork is*, not just angry punch man, but a multifaceted soul, adrift in an uncaring universe, just trying to leave it better than Gork found it... with an unquenchable bloodlust"
"Thank you for sharing Gork"
|
They were scared of them of course. Understandable. Their appearance alone spoke more than words ever could. The reputation they carried didn't help either.
Berserkers from the Black Forest.
When raiding the tomb of a supposedly long dead necromancer, it would pay to at least ask if anyone was still home. Especially if one isn't sure if all those buried in said tomb are still, in fact, dead. Needless to say, the party wasn't as well equipped as they originally assumed. It was a losing battle for survival.
Until they stumbled across a smaller party stuck in the same tomb. They weren't the best equipped either, but a penchant for violence turned the tide.
The hordes of the catacombs were no match for this group's combined might. And a lucrative retreat was made.
Which led to a very uncomfortable silence around a campfire. Two paladins, a priestess, and a thief. And an orc and a gnoll. And one rather large chest of treasure.
To make a long story short; they were currently stuck on the edge of a river just below a treeline. The attacks in the tomb left them with several broken weapons and a loss of some of their supplies. It wasn't long until the arguments started.
"If you hadn't listened to that old bag by the city wall, we wouldn't be in this mess!"
"We have no food! And it's a long walk back to Haartha."
"I shall meditate, and see where our paths may lead."
"Yes, you meditate. Let's see where the gods take us now!"
After some time of this, the sound of the chest being moved caused all on one side to draw what weapons they had left. The raiders they met had stood, and begun walking lazily towards the water. It seemed as if the threat of being murdered over their plunder wasn't enough to bother either one. And then the whispering began.
"They don't talk." One of the paladins spoke.
"...They're probably plotting to kill us all." The other agreed.
"They just moved the chest a little." The thief, a tiefling, chimed in.
"What are they talking about?" The orc asked.
"Oh, you know. How we're going to slaughter them in the night." The gnoll sighed absently.
The pair waded further into the water and then waited. Behind them the arguments got even quieter and more tense. The elves had very little faith in their swords to do the job. The priestess was low on her ki and was weakened by the tomb's influence. The tiefling was out of her daggers.
"Daikan?" The gnoll asked.
"Yeah, Kuro?" The orc asked as he watched the other's ears move.
"...Are elves usually this racist?"
Neither one answered this as they felt something begin to nibble under the surface of the water.
"...Yep. Some of 'em." Daikan grunted.
The pair disappeared in a fountain of water. Drawing the attention of the rest of the group. There was a bit of confusion. And then paranoia. And as they watched the water churn, a slight bit of relief. Before the pair came back of course. To their surprise they had dragged an especially large fish from the river.
"What's the meaning of this?" One of the paladins asked. He waved his sword only to have it brushed away like a feather.
"You said you needed to eat." Daikan explained. "We're on the wrong side of the mountain. It's at least an extra day back.... Plus I'm fairly sure the berries those two are hiding are poison."
The tiefling quietly spat a handful of berries into the bushes at this revelation. The priestess quietly scooting a leaf full of her own berries to the side.
"Yep." Kuro answered. "Definitely poison."
"...How do you know?" One of the paladins asked.
"Fighting is easy." Daikan promised. "Survival is hard."
"You're familiar with this place?" The priestess asked now. As she watched the tiefling carry on hacking up berries.
"A little." Kuro grinned.
"Right." The other paladin threatened with his sword, "And I suppose you know the way out."
"A little." Daikan repeated.
"What's your proposal?"
"Half the loot for a safe journey." Daikan offered.
"And if we refuse?" The priestess asked.
A wind buffeted the land, the trees bending as clouds loomed above. The fire flickering a bit more as the foliage cracked and groaned.
"It's a nice night for something bad to happen." Kuro warned. The woman stood and adjusted her robes accordingly. And quietly urged the fire back up with a raised palm.
"...Fine." She agreed. "Anpain and Rahmi will do second guard."
"I'm not tired." Daikan offered. He casually grabbed his axe and rested atop the treasure chest. The paladins quietly setting next to the fish as he began carving away at it.
"...'Ey. 'ish ma' 'fasce 'wollen?" The tiefling slurred. The priestess looked, and then double taked.
"Uh, Iselle?"
"...Amma' dyin'?" The red faced woman asked through puffed cheeks.
Kuro rubbed behind his ears at this. "...I can fix that."
---
Takes all kinds. r/Jamaican_Dynamite
| 2022-07-26T20:26:17
| 2022-07-26T17:07:03
| 21
| 13
|
[WP] One of the world's wealthiest men has died and left you his entire fortune. The world is shocked. You are a nobody, with no apparent connection to the deceased. The mystery of why you inherited quickly becomes the news story of the decade, crazy rumors abound. Only you know the truth...
|
"I'm sorry, how much?"
Mr. Farfield is an elderly gentleman. His eyes are the color of a cloudy sky and when he smiles, it seems humble, yet sincere.
"I understand that this will be a change to your life, Mr. Rain If you want to take your time with the decision thats fine, but Mr. Quinlan was very forthright about his will. He has no immediate family, none who are entitled to inheriting anything at least, nor did he want to bequeath his fortune to charity. No, he left everything, down to the last penny, to you and you specifically. He even gave the names of your parents and your current place of residence to make his last will abundandly clear. You, Mr. Rain, have inherited Trevor Quinlans entire fortune, a total of 1.7 trillion dollars."
&#x200B;
Trevor Quinlans life is like something from a Fairy Tale. He was born into poverty to a fisherman and a homemaker. In school he didn't particularly stand out, but did well enough to enter college. From there on out, however, he seemed to aim ever higher and Quinlan Corp. is by far the largest enterprise in the world by now. And with it, Trevor Quinlan became the richest man, not only in the world but in history. He was known as a recluse who never gave interviews, never married and even when he chose to speak to the press it was usually through a representative. Smart men dressed in business suits who tried to appear in the known about their boss, but nobody really understood him. Many times his former classmates talked to the press about him, two even wrote about their time in class with him as if they could illuminate the richest man in the world by talking about a schoolboy. Of course they didn't know him either, just a bit less so than others, but still they didn't inherit anything.
&#x200B;
But I did.
&#x200B;
Mr. Farfield gave me time to reconsider and I took it. I took it because I knew I had to, because some things must be done at the right time. I cannot cope with the media attention I'll be getting once I'm named the sole heir to Quinlans fortune but I know what I can do so that I will be able to.
I never knew Trevor Quinlan. At least not personally. He grew up in Ireland while I grew up in Milwaukee. He majored in Economics at Stanford, I didn't even finish High School. He dealt with stocks, real estate, whole enterprises, I am a bouncer at a night club when I don't try to write the Great American Novel. But the journalists will dig deep for any connection they can find and so I have to fake one. One that is just out of the way enough to not be spotted on first sight, but with enough realistic qualities to it that they will accept it.
&#x200B;
The truth is, I know Trevor Quinlan very well, even though I never met him. But I met the man he was before and just yesterday I met the boy who will, one day, be him. He has had lots of names and identities, but he always sheds them like a mantle once he dies, to don the next disguise, the next life.
If you take a cup of water and empty it out over a rock, nothing happens. The rock is wet, but the water soon will dry, leaving the rock unchanged. But a million cups of water, drizzled carefully over the rock through centuries, can form it. The Grand Canyon is the product of such an erosion and so are the vast and complex cave systems under Yellowstone. Its no accident that made the humble son of a fisherman into the richest man in the world, nor is it coincidence that will elevate a simple bouncer into the highest of society. I will take on the mantle that has been Trevor Quinlan and make it into Gregor Rain, only to shed it when I die and pass it on a yet nameless boy. Mr. Farfield knows nothing of this, for the first time in our long history our scheme is, if briefly, laid bare. For generations we have sharpened a blade of money to pass down to the next generation and when the time finally is right, we will bring it down on the world at large. We will rise and topple the system with its own weapons.
Nihil tam munitum quod non expugnari pecunia possit.
|
When presidents, kings, and queens die, whole countries start mourning for them out of respect. Businesses close, tears shed, and vigils lit up in public. Condolences, memoirs, and sad songs for days on end.
When an everyday joe dies, it's just another day.
Heck, I think nobody would actually miss me when I die. Nothing sad or lonely, just a fact of life.
"Mr. Lee?"
"H-Huh? Sorry, did you say something, Mr. Romm?" I immediately snapped my attention back at the lawyer seated opposite me.
"I said, have you read the will?" the lawyer took off his thick wooden glasses and pulled a pen out his breast pocket, "because if so, you can go ahead and sign the waiver–"
"Whoa, whoa, what waiver? I thought it's a done deal if I give you my John Hancock..."
"... and you would be correct, but that 'John Hancock' – as you said – is for this waiver to prevent you from *ever* disclosing the nature of this will nor the reasoning put behind it."
Sketchy, yes. Why would *he* wanted me to not say anything about this thing? I mean sure, it may cause trouble with his still-living children. But what's with this surely potentially problematic setup?
Even as my guts were telling me to get the hell out of that room and not look back, the money put on the table was... too much to pass on.
***
"So, did you hear about that dude who got lucky on TV?" Joe said as he dug into his scrambled egg.
"No, why?" I said as I sipped my morning dose of black slurry.
"Damn, man. Nobody knew anything about him, but some said he might've been the lover of that poor old rich bastard–"
I let out a cough which spilt some of the coffee on my brand new still-crisp shirt.
"Fuck, I just bought these for $100 yesterday!"
"Whoa, Mr. Big Bucks over here, eh? You didn't tell me you got the bonus already this year..."
Joe shot a suspicious glance just as I wiped myself with a clean napkin. Of course he'd be suspicious as hell, our company wouldn't give out bonuses this early in the year. I guess I wasn't as careful as I thought I'd be.
"So anyway, you said something about the guy on TV?"
Still suspicious, Joe took a sip of his OJ before continuing, "well, it was just a rumour but that rich bastard – O'Reily – pulled a fast one from his own kids. Like he just died and thought it'd be funny to disinherit his whole family, only to give it to some random nobody."
Yeap. I knew it.
"Oh, really? So did they name that random nobody?"
"Nah, just gossips. Word on reddit was that this guy was O'Reily's secret lover. Some even said that maybe O'Reily got in bed with the mafia and this guy was just a front to a don or something."
Phew. Never underestimate the media's ability to take things out of proportion.
"Right. What do you think though? I'm sure you got tons of theories–"
"–I think he's just a long lost son. I think, O'Reily banged a secretary of his and *voila* out comes a baby that they couldn't do anything about. Rich geezers do that, you know! Lots of 'em."
"..."
Joe lifted his eyebrow.
"Say, you do know *who* your father was, right?"
I nervously laughed, "yeah, of course..."
"Who was he? You never said."
"Fuck off, man. Why? You like going after fathers?"
"No, you fuck off!"
| 2020-01-27T05:26:30
| 2020-01-27T04:45:13
| 116
| 60
|
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
My eyes flitted over the crowd of people lining up. 26, 30, 14 - gonna have to turn her away - 22, 8988, 21, 43. I slowly looked back towards the big number. That's an 8, followed by a 9 and two more eights. I took a few steps to the left. It's all one number. That... shouldn't be right. It couldn't be right. But i was never wrong before, and i don't know why i'd be wrong now.
"I'm going to have to I.D. you sir." The man smirked.
"I don't look *that* young, do I?"
"Sir, i'm going to have to insist." I had to see it. I was sure that his I.D. would hold some clue.
"How young do I look? Take a guess."
I couldn't resist the urge as a smirk invaded my face. "Dunno. 17, 16, maybe 8988?"
For a brief moment, the man looked at me in shock. Then he burst out laughing. "You're a funny guy. I wanna buy you a drink, when does your shift end?" I looked towards the bar door as Leon - the other bouncer - stepped through. "Now."
We headed inside and sat down at the bar. I insisted that he just get me a beer. He had the hard stuff. We both sat silent for a few minutes. "So I suppose you know i'm immortal, then. I won't ask how. What you're probably wondering is why someone as old as me is in a bar drinking his liver to death." I arched an eyebrow and looked at him. "History repeats itself every few thousand years. On my first time I was in a bar like this. Tomorrow's special, y'know." He had a happy, yet tired look in his eyes. "It's my birthday tomorrow." I smiled, but his face became frustrated. He took a large swig of his drink and, with a roll of his eyes, said "Oh, and the world's ending."
|
4 digits. For a moment, my degree in mathematics failed me, as I struggled to count the numbers before me. Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre. There was no mistake, though the existence of such a person...frightened me. My vision had always been right, as evidenced by the guilty looks on the minors' faces when I turned them out of the bar. I'd never had to kick someone out for being overage. But 5746 years was a lot of time, far before Anno Domini 1. Was he immortal? A god? Or some old guy with a superpower? I didn't know, and I definitely didn't trust the 'Age: 30' that his ID proclaimed. Maybe my powers had faltered this time. Maybe...
From behind, I saw another man slowly approach me, his IDs in his hands. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened in fear. I saw him whisper into the 4-digit-old man, with visible shock on both faces. That was when I saw the age of the newcomer. 5746.
I tried my best to suppress my shock, though I failed miserably. 1 was surprising enough, but 2? 2 men that had lived for the exact same time from so long ago? I was about to demand an explanation, but one of them beat me to it.
"Why are you 5746 years old?" he questioned, fear in his eyes. I opened my own wide. Could he read ages too? And was I...that old? No. That couldn't be right. I remembered my childhood, the photographic proof of my birh just 28 years ago. But they didn't seem to be lying, and the mention of that 4-digit number again was chilling. What kind of sick joke was my powers pulling? Or were they the ones pulling my leg?
"We've found another suspect, boss," one said into a walkie-talkie. The other drew a gun from his pocket, training the muzzle on my forehead. "What are you doing? You're-" I tried to explain, but he cut me off. "No more words, time traveller. We've waited long enough to catch you and your gang," he replied, smirking as a group of policemen appeared from the darkness. I felt the cool metal slide around my wrists, as I was forced towards the car. "Move!" one of them shouted. That voice...I seemed to recall. The cold handcuffs. The interrogation. Disjointed images flashes before my eyes, as they slowly became clearer, culminating in...
I knew now. But...why were they doing this? Was it a plot to throw of the police? "James!" I shrieked, to the man I'd once been partners in crime with. He chuckled, though I could tell it wasn't just for effect. I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the signature twinkle he gave when he condemned a foe to death. My other pal Aldrich stood by, his eyes conveying his helplessness. James' face wasn't one of friendliness anymore. It was one of animosity and hatred.
"Good riddance," I saw him mouth, as I was shoved into the car. As we drove off, I could still see him, as he advanced slowly towards Aldrich. I closed my eyes in cowardice, though I knew what would happen. What I had feared when I agreed to sacrifice my memories...it had all occured. There was no way back.
Even inside the driving car, I could hear the terrified screams. The circle of betrayal had been completed.
| 2017-09-01T23:50:27
| 2017-09-01T22:15:29
| 30
| 16
|
[WP] In the future, a delivery company provides a service that sends a packaged item to your past self at a crucial moment. One day, you get the item, but the only instruction from your future self is "You'll know what to do with it."
|
A book. A fucking book.
My benefactor has always helped me.
I think there was that one time back in Richmond where I got the note to get the *hell* outta downtown. I missed the Richmond Bombing.
Another time, I got a laptop battery charger. I didn't realize it, but the extra hours of charge that it gave on the ride home were the hours I needed to finish up my paper to hand it in for finals. I planned on finishing it the next day, but got really sick.
And yet, after six months of silence, I finally get something from that guy from the future.
It's a book. A fucking book. Not even anything helpful, it's a goddamn physics textbook. I'm majoring in history, dammit!
"you know what to do."
I, I can't even begin to express my anger. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, OR I WOULDN'T BE RELYING YOU IN ALL OF MY LIFE. I wouldn't be here, walking home from a bar. I needed the benefactor to get my life in order, not to fuckin' send me a textbook.
Well, I mean I DO know "what to do." Read it. But why?
Sigh.
------
It's a fresh morning and honestly in retrospect I'm curious. I gently open the worn and ratty 2015Edition Applied Physics Textbook.
And it suddenly all begins to click into place.
The idea, that is. It's something crazy. Something impossible, but it's the only way all of this could make sense.
I begin building.
|
"People! People! Listen up!" I said. A dozen of my most dedicated soldiers, all of them battle-scarred, a few of them shellshocked, turned in my direction. I looked at each of them in turn, tears glistening in my eyes.
"The groom's bowtie is *too small* for his neck," I said. A collective gasp ran through the corps of flower arrangers, cake decorators, photographers, and interior designers.
"Do not panic!" I shouted to them. "That's my job. My job is to panic, and-" There was a tap at my shoulder. I brushed it off. "And it is my job to fix this. *But I can't do it without you!*"
A girl assisting with the catering began sobbing. The liaison to the dress designer slapped her, and the cries became suppressed sniffles.
"So what I need...quit tapping me, I'm busy...is for something I can use to fix this problem. A shoestring. A pipe cleaner. A length of licorice. *Something* people, someone needs to give me *something* and quickly because I am fuh-*reaking* out. *What do you want?!?*"
"Package delivery, dude," said the manboy standing next to me, wearing a green and purple company shirt and a terrible pair of shorts.
"Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me with this right now?"
"Just need you to sign," he said, holding out his tablet.
"Fine. FINE fine *fine*. I'm just in the middle of the *biggest* crisis to hit Hollywood weddings since Taylor Lautner married both of the Olsen twins, but that's fine. I'll *sign* for this stupid-"
"Here you go. The future sends its regards."
"The future sends its...what the hell does that mean," I snarled, ripping the box to shreds as the delivery-manboy rolled away on a pair of glowing, silver rollerblades. There was a note inside the package. I crumpled it up and threw it to the side. But then...sweet merciful baby Jesus, there was another bowtie in there. Same style. Same *color*, which is practically impossible when matching blacks.
I held it up to the light. It was the right size. I knew it in my heart.
"People!" I yelled, "we are back in business!" I marched off to the groom's suite to the sounds of cheers, the tie clenched in a victorious fist that I held high above my head...
| 2014-07-29T09:33:37
| 2014-07-29T09:31:13
| 95
| 38
|
[WP] Write two short stories with the same words in the same order, just change the punctuation to give them entirely different meanings.
|
1
Three children stand nearby. How long has it been since their last meal? Hours? More?
“I have never been this hungry in my life!” A child grins.
It is not a pretty sight. Empty bowls litter the ground. The children run around like a mouse in its cage.
An old woman paces next to them. Her eyes, bright and full of life.
Mary had been first. Dirt covered her.
Now, the children gathered, hungry.
Predatory birds flew overhead, skies blue, far too empty.
Stomaches growled. The child laughed again.
Hollow sticks were held in small hands, toys and pretend—they were all knights in dreams.
“Too far gone to save!” They smelled something burning.
“Hurry up,” the laughing child spoke, “Let’s eat, Grandma!”
***
2
Three children stand nearby. How long has it been since their last meal? Hours? … More? *I have never been this hungry in my life.*
A child grins—it is not a pretty sight.
Empty bowls litter the ground. The children run around.
Like a mouse in its cage, an old woman paces next to them. Her eyes…
Bright and full of life, Mary had been first—dirt covered her now.
The children gathered, hungry, predatory. Birds flew over head, skies blue.
Far too empty stomachs growled. The child laughed again, hollow. Sticks were held in small hands.
*Toys and pretend*… They were all… *knights in dreams*… Too far gone to save.
They smelled something burning. *Hurry up.*
The laughing child spoke. “Lets eat grandma!”
|
Mother? Mother, are you okay?
You’re always like this. I don’t know what to say. It’s... concerning.
You always do this, huddling in the bathroom. Do you know what we’ve been doing?
We’ve been working, mother. We’ve been doing everything for you. And you just sit there... huddled in the corner... shivering.
I’m afraid. That you’ll... “have to go”. I can’t let that happen, can I?
So if you need anything, I’m here. Just tell me what you need... I guess. Food? A clean bed?
Mother, I... guess... I’ll be stuck with you. But you’ll get through this.
(Now for the next one)
Mother? ...Mother, are you okay?
You’re always like this. I don’t know what to say. It’s concerning.
You always do this, huddling in the bathroom. Do you know what we’ve been doing? We’ve been working, mother. We’ve been doing everything for you. And you just sit there, huddled in the corner... shivering.
I’m afraid that you’ll have to go. I can’t let that happen... can I?!
So if you need anything, I’m here. Just tell me what you need, I guess. Food? A clean bed?!
Mother, I guess I’ll be stuck with you! But you’ll get though *this!*
EDIT: for a couple of people who have asked, the first one is meant to be where the mother is dealing with a serious disease and the speaker feels the need to care for them, whereas the second one is where the mother has a drug addiction and the speaker is getting fed up of caring for them. The tone in the second one was meant to be sarcastic but was hard to do in writing.
| 2018-04-27T13:20:29
| 2018-04-27T11:15:32
| 123
| 14
|
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
|
It was 2040. The United States, most would agree, was in phenomenal shape. The economy was booming, contrary to what pundits predicted would become of President Karenna Gore's policies. The air and the water was clean. The average American was considerably healthier than just a decade ago. Nobody in the *world* even smoked tobacco anymore... save for me.
Yes, I was the only human being left on the planet that smoked those cancer-sticks; and I was world famous for it. I guess that makes me an ass-hole. I thought I had a case for myself though. I mean, consider the- "Oh, well that's just great."
I gazed up at the fresh billboard. It was me, with cigarettes protruding from every orifice of my face. Brutal. It gave me a sick feeling. I wasn't angry, just stressed.
"I need a smoke."
I took out one of my beautiful hand rolled stogies. No store sold the stuff anymore. Society had turned me into a craftsman, a modern cowboy living in the city. And they knew exactly where I lived. The ads followed me around like a shadow; pleas from every health organization from A to Z; personal letters from government officials. It was non-stop.
I took a much warranted drag and let out a cloud of smoke through my mouth and nose, much too conspicuously.
"Oh my gosh," said a woman from across the street, stopping her friend and pointing. "Look! It's him!"
I twiddled the stogie in my fingers and glanced casually over at them. I took another drag and headed over to them.
"Hey! Why don't you stop?"
"Yeah. Call it quits. It's not hard."
"Hi ladies. My name's Eliot."
"Yeah. We know who you are."
I smiled and began to raise my cigarette.
"Whoa! Hey!"
"Second hand smoke! Second hand smoke!"
I put my hands up in surrender. "Relax." It was like I'd pulled a gun out. They were backing away. I let the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out as a sign of peace.
One exhaled in relief as she had been holding her breath. "I have a kid you know."
"Okay."
The other sighed. "This might not be my place but-"
"Probably not."
"-you're the last person in the entire world who smokes. You're life must be... very very hard. Why, why don't you just stop? They have amazing programs-"
"Believe me, I'm well aware." I pointed at a magazine stand, where a full row of issues sat with my face on them and the headline 'It's easy, Eliot'.
She looked at the issues. She looked back, struck with a note of sympathy. "It must be stressful."
"Yeeah. The irony."
"Well, is it worth it?"
"It's not just for the smoke itself, crazy as it may sound. It's like a remnant to me. A relic. Something to hold on to." They were intent now. I wouldn't admit it, but it was so nice to have this from someone besides my dog. He's a great dog, don't get me wrong, but it was no challenge getting him on my side. "Clint Eastwood, James Dean- Gandalf- the French! Artists, authors with wooden pipes, and- and politicians chewing on cubans. I know things are better off now but, I miss it. I miss it all."
One of them half smiled. I sure hadn't made anyone smile in a long time. That felt good. She turned to her friend. "Could *one* really hurt that much?" She neared me and gestured at the tobacco box in my jacket pocket. She said, smiling fully, "light me up."
|
They watched from across the street as I pulled one of my 'death sticks' to my mouth. It isn't like how it was a few years ago; then they tried to hide their staring. I lit it and took a drag then let out a smoke ring that would have impressed if it had come from an E-cig or pot.
I smoked it down to the end and threw it on the ground just to see their reactions. Pleasant as always: playful jeers and helpful advice for my lifestyle. I just walk away, ignoring them.
It's a sunny day with minimal clouds; the holoAds are almost invisible. I can barely make out a cartoon picturization of my face with a nice red X over it. From what I can tell it's being used to pitch a special edition of chips, promising to donate %5 of the editions profits to cancer research. Fun! I'm the figure head of cancer now.
Ever since the guy in Germany quit last month I've been the last smoker on Earth. I've got to say it's quite interesting having more people recognize the name of Laren Volk than Osama Bin Laden. Kind of profitable too. It turns out people love to keep up with everything the person they most despise has to say. My blog has just about 3 million (30,567 until!) ~~haters~~ followers.
A street ad changed as I walked by. 'Stay away and you'll make my day!' it said with a picture of a cigarette and laid out in vintage meme format. I can't help but laugh at how people pay thousands for ad block and I get it for free. I pull out another cig and light it, really just to spite the sign.
My walk ends at my apartment. I ignore the photographers across the street and enter my apartment. I put my cigarette out on an ash try that literally had my name on it and walk up to my room. Two flights of stairs later, and a few neighbors who pretended not to see me, I reach the sanctuary that is my room.
Everything is nice and tidy, as I left it, and I pet Rufes, my mid-aged Labrador, who'd dutifully met me at the door. He doesn't seem to mind the smell or really anything to do with what makes me a tumor of society. I wish society would take note.
After I fixed myself lunch, and another session of petting, I went to my computer and began the days entry. 'Hey haters,-' it began and then went on to include all the small mundane things I'd done in the morning. I wrote about coffee, people I saw, a guy who was cute, policies of the latest president, and really anything but cigarettes.
When I'd finished and posted it I watched as the comments rolled in.
'u need to stop smkin'
'kys. your the worst of humanity'
'I like that coffee too!'
'Why do you smoke anyway?'
And so on. I eventually had to just turn it off and found Rufes. "Do you like me Rufes?" Rufes started to pant. "Good boy. Good boy."
I proceeded to cry into Refes's fur for hours.
| 2017-02-17T10:43:36
| 2017-02-17T10:31:26
| 174
| 107
|
[WP] You are an NPC in a failed online game. Tell about the final days before server shut down.
Edit 1: Holy shit! Thanks for all of the great replies!
Edit 2: ¡Jesus Cristo! Front page! Thanks all!
|
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew po-"
|
I remember when I still cared. When the world was young, and I was a child.
"Please **[checkgender: sir/miss]**! Please help me! My parents went to gather Fy'lssa flowers in the bog, and they haven't come back!"
I answered all their questions. I tried to be helpful.
"Fy'lssa flowers? They're quite valuable. If you rub them on your armor it won't rust for seven days. If you mix them with c'xuhl broth and drink it, you can't be attacked while resting. It grows in the northeast corner of the bog. But beware the Y'lly'y adders!"
I warned them of the dangers. I did my best to help them.
"Y'lly'y venom can strike down even the strongest in mere minutes, unless you have the antidote."
Somehow, they never seemed to listen.
"The antidote? Simply chew on a Rh'hihhy mushroom, and you'll be right as rain **[microtransaction: unlock Rh'hihhy mushroom $2.99]**!"
There were so many at first. Some tried to help, some didn't. Few heeded my advice about the mushrooms.
But the adventurers came less and less often, and I could see that this cruel world was taking its toll on them. Their armor was rusty, their weapons blunt. A few were clad in shining, majyckal armor that would never rust, but they were far too proud to bother with me.
And so I grew up. In an instant, I changed from a child to a woman.
"Oh **[checkgender: sir/miss]**! Won't you help me? My elven lover has disappeared! She was bathing in the waters where the Fy'lssa plants grow, and I haven't seen her for days! If you'd help me we'd be... *ever* so grateful."
Some helped, some didn't. But they seemed strangely hostile when I tried to reward them.
"Oh **[checkgender: sir/miss]**, how can I *ever* thank you! For what you have done you may ask anything of us... *anything*. **[microtransaction: buff dex $2.99] [microtransaction: remove bogwater debuff 3.99] [microtransaction: HawtLesbo3someSFW $5.99] [microtransaction: HawtLesbo3someXXX $6.99]**"
Now the adventurers hardly come at all, and I feel the end is near. Even the weakest has godly, undecaying armor, but there are so few, and the monsters are so many. Perhaps it is for the best. I do not like what I have become. I offer help, but I sense that I am being less than helpful.
"Oh, is that a bold, manly hero I spy? Ooh, I like a manly man. Perhaps you would take me as a companion. Or a... *companion.* I can't fight, but I can heal you and battle, and I can do... *other* things. **[microtransaction: add as healer $2.99] [microtransaction: add to harem $3.99]**"
I am tired. I am so tired. I am not suited for this life.
>Your healer is too far away to help!
>Your healer is in danger!
>Your healer's health is getting low!
>Your healer's health is getting very low!
>Your healer has died! **[microtransaction: revive only as healer $1.99] [microtransaction: revive only as harem $0.99] [microtransaction: revive as healer and harem $2.99]**
I hear other corners of the world are going dark. I hear we will be next. Good. I was not meant for this life, or this world. If I live again, I think I would like to be a monster. I would not be helpful, but at least my fate would be my own.
| 2015-09-01T11:39:46
| 2015-09-01T11:29:29
| 171
| 20
|
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
|
"What do you mean you didn't kill him, that's the whole point of the game!" John shouted at me, I hated it when John shouted, his voice was so grating.
"Just what I said," I spoke between sips of my soda, "I didn't kill him. I just fucked with him."
"How do you win the game off that alone?!" He questioned, his head tilted to the side like a dog hearing the sound of a tube TV turning on for the first time.
"Well, You know how he was an artist right?" I questioned, "Of course you do, everyone knows that -- I've personally got a couple of paintings up in my bathroom. Everyone seems to love his work, so you want to know what I did? I went back to 1889 -- took a job at... oh gosh, what's that school? Vienna's Academy? Yeah I think that's it... I worked under the name of Mr. Goldberg and just bide my time. I saw a couple of great artists at the time pass through, though I can't remember there names worth a damn.
Anyway, around 1914 or so, I saw this spry little prick waltz into my class. He was so full of hope and life and energy. And I just told him to fuck off. Told he he'll never ammount to anything. And that's how I won, by turning the world's greatest artist into the world worst murderer."
"Dude, you're literally worse than Hitler."
|
After months of careful planning and pillaging of the German ranks, America's Lt. Aldo Raine and his two brave friends of the infamous bastard company have taken their seats in the theatre. Hitler and all the top-ranking nazi officials will be watching germany's proudest soldier star in the fatherland's greatest propaganda.
Aldo waits in the lobby eyeing out recognizable war criminals. spitting his best Italian speak he can muster. "Errrr... quattro punti." he whispers under his breathe with peeled eyes.
The two disguised Allied soldiers drop their hidden bars of bright pink soap and head for the projector room while the movie starts. A blast is heard by none as they execute one of the last steps of the plan and invade the projection room to set up with the other conspirators.
Below in the lobby, Hans Landa (dubbed The Jew Hunter) has uncovered the Allies plot and kidnaps Lt. Aldo. "I heard you counting, Luitenant." Hans exclaims in an overly loud and serious tone. "You think you're going to impress the judges? Call them, see what they'll say." Hans slides an old rotary phone and waits for the american's reply.
Lt. Aldo sits there for a moment with hands tide behind his back, and eyes the two guards behind. He stares back at the German before him, and spits the most american lugi, soaking the phone as he laughs in his face. "Fuck the Judges, the Hitler game's are corrupt! They trade the freedom of killin' for corporate greed, taint the world with sponsorships and branding, Fuck the system!"
"Excuse my french, but do you not want to win? from the looks of it you're only a measly eleven points behind. Would you not.."
"HAh! I'll be taking another two from you for revealing yourself, Mr. Punkt Hure. i never was too good at math, but i do believe that puts me a respectable NINE points behind! catching up!" Aldo retorts, soaked in his inflated pride.
"I was Going to propose we work together and join forces. You want to stick it to the Judges? This is your golden opportunity."
After a moment of silence and clarity "And we split the prize, fifty fifty? no play?" Aldo asks hesitantly.
"Bingo!" the german shouts, giddy with his winning shady business, having just betrayed his plans.
"Just one more thing you Nazi fuck." Aldo whispers. A chilling mood takes the room. Hans is spooked and confused. Aldo takes a sip of his starbucks coffee, and Hans knows someone's about to die because he reads clickbait titles about David Fincher. "You broke the first rule of Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club." The whole theatre explodes into an all consuming fire. Hitler is seen in the rubble, Tyler kneels down and picks up an unexploded bar of soap. "You don't talk about Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club."
Cue credits.
| 2016-02-20T09:29:08
| 2016-02-20T08:40:02
| 132
| 23
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[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?'
|
DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.
My eyes were barely open, bleary with sleep, but the incessant buzzing of the phone against the glossy black wood of the bedside table was just passing the point of ignorable. It took me a moment to register that the words were strange, holding their place at the top of the screen in bold, official letters, while the green icons of text messages scrolled beneath.
Do not look at the moon? What the hell kind of late April Fool’s joke was this? I scoffed quietly, glancing down over the stream of messages. Moon shit, moon shit, and… moon shit. Whatever. Had to be some kind of gag, and frankly, I didn’t have the goddamn time for it. Work came early in the morning, and I had… what, two hours left before I had to wake up in order to beat traffic?
Fuck this. I powered the phone off to quiet the buzzing, and dropped my hands down to rest on my chest, phone still resting beneath. And with the screen out of my line of sight, that was when I noticed her.
My wife was a beautiful woman-- The sort of beautiful that comes after a good decade of married life. That kind of beautiful with a few lines around the eyes, and a few strands of stray silver in her dark hair. Not that I could see them from where she was, standing silhouetted by the streaming moonlight pouring in the window, her hands resting lightly on the glass.
“Anna?” came my groggy mumble of a voice.
No response. She just stood there, staring upwards in the bath of silvery light. Was the moon always this bright? Or had I just never really noticed it before?
“Anna, c’mere,” I said a little louder, reaching out a heavy hand towards her and dropping it back down onto the sheets.
Nothing.
Concern slowly began to stir somewhere in my gut as I stared at her familiar outline. I could see the dust in the air, floating lazily in the shafts of moonlight that her body eclipsed. Her nightgown wasn’t sheer, but as awareness began to settle in on my suddenly very awake mind, I realized the light was shining straight through. That was far, far too bright for moonlight.
And that was when she turned her head, the movement just a little too slow, too smooth. In the perfect, bald light I could see her face. So familiar, with those smile lines around her lips, even with the neutral blank of her expression. Her dark brows lifted over eyes familiar in shape, even if the harsh shadows made them look like strange, blackened pits. And then she finally looked at me. I knew she looked at me. It was unmistakable with the way her pupils reflected the moonlight, like some nocturnal hunting cat.
Her lips parted and she whispered, her soft voice clear.
“The moon-- it’s beautiful tonight. Come look.
| 2022-08-07T20:43:05
| 2018-04-06T20:42:31
| 379
| 10
|
[WP] You're a necromancer who raises the dead so they can say goodbye to their loved ones.
Edit: Whoever gave u/SteelPanMan gold has good taste.
|
I sat there on the flannel blanket I’d brought, faded from the many butts of other clients past, surrounded by candles and relics in the middle of the cemetery. On the other end sat a comely Hispanic woman, Isabella, not a day over twenty-five. Under different circumstances she would have been gorgeous, but right now she just looked tired and frightened and sad. I looked deeply into Isabella’s golden brown eyes and asked:
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She nodded, solemnly. Her face was pale; she looked more like a ghost than a woman. Her eyes met mine, and after a moment she spoke. “How does it work?”
“You’ll see.” I said softly. I continued to look into those golden orbs, searching for her pain. But she was a strong woman, and probably not quite sure if she trusted me. It would take some prompting – this kind of magic always came at a price.
“Tell me about him.”
I saw a brief flash of anger – wasn’t sitting in a graveyard with a strange man, hoping he could truly resurrect the love of her life enough?
“I’m sorry. But that’s part of how this works.” I offered a sympathetic expression, which softened her glare.
“He was… amazing. The best thing that ever happened to me. Before him, my life was pointless – a meaningless, self-serving void – but he gave me meaning. He gave me purpose. Every day with him was an adventure; you never knew what he was going to do next—” Tears began to swell on the brims of her eyelids. Her brow furrowed as she pushed on. “And he had the best sense of humor… he was constantly making me laugh at the silliest things. One day he came home from school and told me he saw Aunt Sharon on the TV at lunch… I asked him “who?”. He said “the red-headed guy, the one who sings, Aunt Sharon.””
She uttered a strange sound, something between a laugh and a whimper. I looked over at the little tombstone beside my faded blanket. The ground in front of it slowly began to pulse, rising and falling slowly. It was working.
“Tell me about the day he passed.” I said, hating myself in no small part for putting her through what the magic required.
“I… I was at work. They told me he had more time. I should have been there!” Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. Her strength was gone; the levees had broken and the floodwaters of emotion were rushing through. “They told me he had more time… But by the time I got there he was already gone. I never got to say goodbye. To tell him how much I loved him.”
“I’m sure he knew.” I whispered, and placed a comforting hand on hers.
Isabella was so entranced with emotion she did not notice the small, bloodless fingers prying through the dirt. I reached for the little plush Pikachu doll that Isabella had brought, but she clung to it reflexively.
“Please.” I asked softly. She softened her grip enough that I could pry it from her cold fingers. I stood to my feet and helped pull the dead boy from his grave. He looked at me with confusion and anger. I handed him the plush Pikachu, and then waved my hand toward his mother.
His face lit up and for a moment the thin, bald boy looked almost alive.
“Mama!” he cried hoarsely.
“Mateo!” Isabella screeched, and a murder of nearby crows took flight at the sound. She hugged the dead boy fiercely, and he returned the sentiment in full force. “I’m so sorry, baby. I should have been there. I’m so so sorry. I should have never left you.”
She was weeping now in full force. Her face was screwed up and her eyes narrowed to little slits. “I love you so much honey.”
Suddenly, the dead boy stopped hugging her. He pulled back from her, slightly, and took the curve of her chin in his cold little hand. “I know you do, mama. I know how much you love me. I’ve been watching you from the beyond, and I need you to stop blaming yourself. It hurts me to see you hurting so much.”
This time they both burst into tears as they embraced each other tightly.
I smiled, taking in this bitter-sweet reunion for the last time, and walked away.
|
I believe in second chances.
From beyond the gravestones and the coffins, it is my daily duty. My life's work. I became so powerful not just to commune with the dead for fun. I believe that even the most hardened of us deserve the chance to look back, and wave goodbye.
Another client. Though I take no payment. It's abhorrent to put family behind a paywall. Everyone deserves that chance, after all. Some make a big fuss out of it, some just wave, trying to act cold on the outside whilst crying on the inside. Too many times had I been forced to turn my head from reunion. I can't be seen as weak, after all. No one would seek my help. But today's client...belongs to none of those categories. My client is someone unexpected. And my tears are ready to flow.
At last, I see them. My client approaches, his spectral arms nearly touching his family in life. I can see his wife, a sobbing mess, and his father, a tough façade concealing his inner brittleness. I smile, a weak smile, as he looks at them. He loved them in life. That I could tell from his eyes, which betrayed the longing and regret he felt. A last touch, a last farewell. Goodbyes are too short to suffice, as a final hug is left imprinted in everyone's minds. The memories of life begin to fade with death, but from the tomb, even the dead must speak for themselves. Their bodies may fade, but their spirits never will. As long as they can say their last words, to tell their family how much they hated life, to tell their family why they took the noose and...I shudder, as the warmth of the reunion ends in a split second. Time is up. I look at my family one last time, tears already flowing down my face. For both the living and the dead today, there will be sadness and grief. But past the rainy day comes a new awakening.
"Goodbye," I say, my spectral hand waving for its final farewell. Adieu.
| 2017-09-08T05:38:07
| 2017-09-08T04:30:41
| 37
| 13
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[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye.
I sigh.
The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky
I sigh.
I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry
I sigh.
The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy?
I sigh.
Another day, another night without her.
If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie,
I sigh,
I sigh.
|
"Sancho! Onward to the lair of the despicable dragon!"
"*Jefe, that's a windmill!*"
"Nonsense! We shall skewer it's heart and make La Mancha safe once more!"
**Sancho Panza**, always one for a humorous sight, let his sire **Don Quixote, Knight of the Woeful Countenance**, ride off to do battle with the town windmill.
| 2016-02-22T10:07:53
| 2016-02-22T10:00:16
| 300
| 82
|
[WP] Instead of a dystopia that seems like a utopia on the surface, write a story about a utopia that seems like a dystopia on the surface.
|
Sam Bradwell choked down a cough, beads of sweat trickling down his temple. His head throbbed. He'd been a fool to come to work today, but what excuse did he have for missing it? And it had seemed so mild that morning, just a tickle in his throat and a slightly stuffed up nose. No one would notice, he'd told himself. And now here he was, five hours later, clearing his throat every five minutes and trying to keep down a coughing fit. Sharon had been glancing at him from her desk for the last half hour. She knew. They all knew.
Sam tried to smile, nodding at her and acting natural, when another coughing fit caught him by surprise. He sprayed spit across his desk and was wracked over with coughs, turning and hocking up a wad of phlegm into his wastebasket. When he looked back up, Sharon was staring at him panicked, whispering urgently into her phone. Fuck. She was calling the Purgers.
Sam rose from his desk and started briskly heading for the doorway, all of his coworkers' eyes on him as they backed out of his way. Some of them were also on their phones. Sam kept walking, eyes fixed on the door, and burst into a run the moment he was through it.
He dashed down the stairwell, his chest heaving and tight. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He'd been caught being sick. The Purgers responded instantly, they'd be on him in minutes. There was a part of him even in his panic that was a still, steady calm. Even if he'd made up an excuse, hadn't come in to work today, he couldn't have stayed healthy forever. Sooner or later, someone would have caught him being ill. This was inevitable.
He burst out into the parking lot, heading to his car, and stopped dead in his tracks. There they were, a pair of Purgers in their white hazmat suits, looking straight at him. He turned to run, short of breath, and was caught up in another coughing fit. He stumbled, doubled over, and felt their hands clamp down on his shoulder. He looked up into their gleaming blank faces.
“Mr. Sam Bradwell?" one of them said through its respirator. "We’ve received some reports that you were feeling ill.”
"No, no, no," he stammered, backing away. "It's - it's the dust, is all. I, uh -" He wiped a glob of phlegm from the corner of his mouth. "The - uh - the exertion." His voice betrayed him, wheezing, hoarse. One of them retrieved a tool from its belt.
"We're going to need to take a sample, sir," it said, pointing it closer.
"You got no right!" Sam said, ferocious, desperate. His head was burning. "My body's my own, and there's no laws you can pass that can change that! You can't outlaw being sick! You fucking fascists! A man's got a right to his own body!"
The Purger withdrew the device, speckled with his spit, and looked down at the readout. They looked down at Sam Bradwell with barely disguised contempt. "I think you'll find the government has a vested interest in protecting public health and welfare. And when people like you refuse to get vaccinated -"
"I know what your goddamn vaccines do!" Sam yelled. Maybe he was feverish. Maybe he was more alive than he had ever been in his life. "My nephew got your damn vaccines, and now look at him! He's autistic!"
The Purgers let out a deep sigh.
"I got a right to my own body!" Sam pushed on. "It's goddamn fascism is what it is, forcing me to take your drugs!"
"Look, sir," said the other, "think about what's at stake here. We as a species are on the verge of eradicating all communicable diseases. And it's not just your health we're concerned about. Think about all the people who the vaccine doesn't work for. The hyper-reactives. The cyborgs. The –”
“Fuck them and fuck you," Sam spat. He thrust out his arms, trembling. "Get it the hell over with."
The Purgers glanced at each other and shrugged, and one of them touched the injector into his skin. A burst of microscopic gold particles penetrated the skin layer and entered the bloodstream, releasing the cure that would purge the cold virus from his system.
Sam Bradwell stood there with them, staring ferociously as they monitored his vitals. "All right, sir," one of them said. "Thank you for cooperating. You're free to go."
Sam stomped off, feeling their eyes on his back. Deep in his mind, the one place they couldn't touch, he planned his next move.
Though it was a lot easier to breathe, he had to admit.
|
Amber pulled on her grey jumpsuit and looked around her drab grey room. Her simple bed with grey blankets sat in the corner of the room next to a small black metal desk. She sighed and left her room. It was a long walk down the concrete hallway to the reclamation chamber. She had been chosen to work in the reclamation chamber since she had turned fourteen, that was six years ago.
She pressed her ID badge against the proxy reader and the metal door swung open with a light squeal. A group of women and girls were already walking the fields with watering buckets in hand. Amber could hear the song the girls were singing as it drifted over the young crops. They believed the singing helped the crops grow, it seemed silly to Amber but as she took her boots off and walked barefoot through the warm wet soil she began to sing.
Lights hung from the ceiling pouring out light and heat that fed the crops. It was difficult work and by the end of the day Amber was drenched in sweat. They worked the fields everyday, because if they didn't it would be disastrous. A small buzzer went off letting the girls know that it was meal time. Covered in dirt and sweat they walked out of the reclamation chamber and quickly washed their faces and hands in the washroom. As a group they walked to the dining hall. A large wide room filled with tables. Men and women wearing grey jump suits sat at the tables chatting quietly over trays of food.
The women were greeted with praise and applause as they walked in. Amber felt her face flush, she always blushed when they did this. She gave a slight wave and got in line for food. Fresh vegetables, fruit, and greens filled her plate as the server gave her a broad smile.
The girls sat at their table and waited for the words to be spoken.
An old man stood up from a table and tapped a metal fork on the table drawing everyone's attention.
"Ever since the calamity we have lived down in here, and everyday we send our best and brightest to grow our food. Thank you to the women that toil away everyday in the reclamation chamber. To our growers!" he raised a glass of water and the dining hall cheered in unison.
---
Thank you for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit
| 2016-07-14T07:18:26
| 2016-07-14T05:42:08
| 1,788
| 145
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[WP] You've come to save the princess, but she's not guarded by a dragon - She's guarded by a very aggressive goose.
**very** aggressive goose.
-------------------------------
Thanks for all your stories, keep them coming!
|
Against demons and the undead our hero was brave.
He slew many a bandit, dozens if thieves and knaves.
But when he quested to free Eliza the pale
His bravery wavered, withered and failed
Dragons he could slay with mighty sword and arrows loosed
But nothing is so fearsome as a Canadian Goose
|
We left the castle seven weeks past, a cavalry comprising 70 men and their horses. To slay the dragon – to save the princess. Through Duntroon we rode, admired by young beauties and despised by their fathers. On to Cragrock, where one bawdy lass remarked that she could be my princess and slay my dragon – I acquiesced. In Crescent Head we found a farrier who, with arms the size of trunk of oak, balanced our horses’ hooves in a number of days. He thought we might be close, but couldn’t be certain.
“No one, save for a baker in Mirewood, had been there and come back alive”, he said.
“A man has seen the princess?”, we enquired.
“An apocryphal tale”, he replied, smiling.
In the West Shallow Lord Alderidge was bitten by an adder and suffered a most violent fever. With crimson eyes and shallow breath, he was discharged and sent home with five of our party. That night we were greeted in Lost meadows by a lord who promised us a feast in our honour and pledged 10 men to our cause. Two days ride and we reached Mirewood, where news of our impending arrival had triggered a great social awakening amongst an otherwise dulled class of people. They imagined themselves important because we were to ride through their town. For us, it was only ever a matter of geography. At the edge of the county we crossed paths with a baker.
“You off to see the princess then?”, he said.
"To save the princess - to slay the dragon”, we chanted.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you a mornings baking for all em horses”.
We scoffed and rode on.
Two days and two nights ride, and when we finally arrived, there the princess stood in her bastion – a figure of tremendous beauty. A great quaking in the earth and rumble in woods ensued, and we knew the dragon was close.
“I have 85 of the strongest men and their horses”, I remarked triumphantly to the princess.
“No good”, she said. “Have you got any bread?”
| 2015-07-28T06:17:18
| 2015-07-28T05:05:18
| 47
| 24
|
[WP] Rifles and Sorcery. A modern army is stuck on in an alternate reality where sorcery rules. The army is preparing to defend themselves form a far superior force that has never seen a machine gun or artillery.
Both sides would be intresting. The modern army dealing with magic users and the senseless slaughter of conscripted pikemen, and the superior manned military dealing with technology and bombs and the smell of sulfur and horror of modern warfare.
|
That idiot Davis said this would be a cakewalk. He actually produced a ratty old copy of a Dragons and Dungeons handbook as if that mattered. "Second Edition" I remember him saying, like it made a god damned bit of difference.
I don't know where we are and I don't know how we got here. I'm paid to shoot people, not assess strategic objectives or whatever-the-fuck the pencil necked paper pushers at the Pentagon call it. I'd rather look at my enemy through a scope than binoculars, know what I'm saying?
Anyhow, Davis says they're "mages" or some nerd shit like that. Says they fight with magic. Fireballs, lightning bolts, Renaissance Fair asshattery 'n' stuff. Says we can roll right over 'em. The M1 Abrams carries a couple tons of ceramic, steel, kevlar, and composite armor, he said. It's like sitting behind two feet of solid steel, he said.
Second Edition my ass.
I didn't see a single fireball or magic missile or any of the other Harry Potter bullshit Davis kept shooting his fucking mouth off about. You know what I did see?
Gods. Motherfuckin Gods.
Have you ever seen a tank gunner put an AP round into the back of his own turret? Seen a crew roast alive as the armor melted off like wax? I only got out of my hatch because the tree that ate my ride and my crew did it from the treads up. A god damned tree ate my tank.
How do you fight trees? Or age? I saw a APC abandoned by a crew of grey beards, men frozen solid, helicopters with blades made out of silk instead of metal and a million other things even weirder than that.
I'm done. I'm not going back out there. Not for you and certainly not for Davis. YOU HEAR THAT DAVIS? I CAN FUCKING HEAR YOU FUCKING SCREAMING!
I hope he takes a long god damned time to die.
|
It's been a span since the Devourer opened that gate way. The shimmering dome of light faced over the desolate sands of Ashram desert and it was vast as a city dwarfing the jagged peaks that dot the landscape. Lord Aarongal and his lieutenant sat under dyed canvas tarp to conceal them selves among rocky mounds that scatter the desert.
The last few hours have turned up some interesting developments. For the first few days the Devourer's hordes crossed through the shimmering dome of light in mass. A legion of demons and dark mounted knights crossed over to another world looking for the seat of creation. However the flood of twisted figures ceased and during the last day the invasion all but stopped and the Devourer's minions even began to retreat back through the portal.
Lord Aarongal, scratched his growing beard when he noticed a commotion erupting on the far side of the portal. A large thunder clap fallowed by smoke billowing over the glassy dome. Aarongal could not see what is happening as the portal obstructed his view.
The noble raised his spyglass up to his eye hoping to find some inclination to what is happening around the portal.
The dark army swarmed as if someone kicked over an ant mount as more explosions erupted around the portal. Realization dawned on him that the explosions were originating from the other side of the gate way.
What ever word they have invaded, the inhabitants were fighting back and seemed to be winning.
The dome began to ripple as large metal chariots began to chase the invaders back out through the portal. Large metal beasts with mouths like water pipes that spew hell fire and brimstone, smaller ones with men mounted on top letting loud invisible arrows hail on the devour's army.
Men shortly followed, carrying black stubby spears that kill with invisible arrows, they wore tan cloth armor that smudged their forms against the desert sands. The air began to smell of sulfur, and the parched sands darken as it drank spilled demon blood.
Aarongal felt fear that his enemy cursed the world with a scourge worse than itself.
(forgive me, this was written on a shitty tablet, and this the best I can do. After reading some great stories posted here, I wanted contribute.)
| 2014-04-09T12:52:48
| 2014-04-09T12:52:07
| 17
| 11
|
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I had originally been banking on using old age as a loophole, but watching that other guy wither into an old man has proven it to be very much not viable. So here I am, I need an escape plan. Scratch that, it's impossible, what I need is a loophole.
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I could try using paradoxes? No, that wouldn't work. Act of God? Well, Gods. One of them anyway.
"YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS TO GIVE YOUR ANSWER"
Damn. I guess if I am to die, I'll try to take them all with me.
"20"
What could take them out? Magic wouldn't have any effect, they're all the most skilled mages in existence.
"15"
Ooo... that's an idea... existence.
"10"
"Save your countdown, I know how I'd like to die."
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
"I wish to die by being swallowed up by the expansion and death of the Sun itself."
If I am to die, they're ALL coming with me.
|
I get to choose how I die? I thought to myself. Well that's easy enough, I'll just wish to die of old age on a bountiful island with my 18 smoking hot wives. What a blessing! If I knew about this I'd have turned myself in years ago!
A guard comes to my cell and unlocks my cell door.
"Your time of reckoning has come Alvin, I hope you used your time wisely" said the guard.
"At this point I think I have it all set" I retorted.
"As a final word of advice, wishes rarely go as planned" the guard added. He then gestured to me to follow him. His words weighed on my mind a bit and I started doubting myself a little so I asked, "what did the last guy end up wishing for anyway?"
"He wished to die of old age" stated the guard.
"How'd that do for him?" I asked.
"He should still be in the judgment hall when you get there, you can see fit yourself"
We finally arrive at the judgment hall. It was a large room with flat concrete walls all around. At about 10 feet of the ground the walls became glass and I could notice faint shadows scurrying back and forth. I move my gaze back to my immediate surrounding and I take a quick look around to see where the previous prisoner was, yet the whole room was empty save for a pile of dust on the ground. Upon further inspection, I noticed that the standard issue prisoner garments were barely visibly beneath the dust. The dots started connecting and I realized that my original wish would end in a similar fashion.
Suddenly, light emerged from behind the glass projecting the shadow of two figures onto the concrete walls.
A slightly snarky voice proclaims, "Well Mr. Alvin, have you decided how you would like to die today?"
I can feel beads of sweat roll down my forehead as I start racking my brain for some sort of request that could at least give my death meaning..... MEANING!
THATS IT!
"Um......", I started, "are you familiar with a guy named Jesus?"
"Don't you dare", the Snarky voice declared.
"I'd like to die as a great prophet that became a Martyr for his people."
The lights shut off and a flurry of shadows start racing through the glass and some barely audible banner ensures. I pressed my ear against the concrete hoping the vibrations could somehow clue me in on how the conversation went.
" He chose religion...... Of course he freaking chose religion..... "
"So what do we do now?"
"What we've always done. Coordinators P through X, I want you writing the holy scripture. You have 30 days to get it done. Don't even think about sleeping until you finish. Coordinators A through G, you guys are with me. We need to brainstorm different miracles that this Alvin dude will need to preform. H through O, you guys need to decide how he will teach martyrdom status. Coordinators Y and Z, brief Mr. Alvin on the standard religion scenario procedures. Ugh, I better be getting paid overtime for this...... "
| 2021-06-24T07:19:48
| 2021-06-24T05:58:59
| 236
| 45
|
[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.
|
From the moment Elliot found the cat he knew it was a little odd. Most obviously there was the coat. A tabby cat, at least by day, by night the cat sported a coat of many colors. Its thin bands of black fur changed to suit its mood or environment, and the warm brown could grow very much warmer, or chill all the way to midnight blue. Often, Elliot would find the cat stretched out on a windowsill as the sun went down. They would sit together as the moon rose and the cat decided his colors for the night. He seemed happiest with silver bands, as if little strips of moonlight had come down to clothe him.
There was also the fact that the cat knew his name. Elliot tried to call him many things: Simba, Charlie, Smokey. He tried Milo after Google told him it was very popular and the cat (silver striped that night) shook his head immediately and rammed his nose into Elliot’s. He tried Sampson on account of the cat’s magic hair, and Kit Kat just because. And then, when Elliot was very sure that he’d never know the cat’s name, it darted out through the open window and disappeared into the alley where Elliot had found him.
In the morning the cat returned, an empty mochi box clutched between his teeth.
“Mochi?” Elliot said.
Mochi the cat nodded and rammed his nose into Elliot’s again.
They found a rhythm in their cloistered days. Outside a pandemic raged. Inside, Elliot found that not much had changed. When the lockdowns set in he’d shut himself in and locked his doors like the rest of them, turned to delivery apps and Netflix, and occasionally his guitar, though all his passions had waned steadily in the last years.
So together they waited, but when the sun set all their rhythm fell away and Mochi sat in his windowsill, all the colors of his fur shifting until Elliot opened the window and let him out again.
And every morning Mochi would come back, hopping through the window onto Elliot’s chest with the night’s discovery clutched between his teeth.
Like his fur and his name, these too were a little odd. Mochi brought him little keys and little boxes that never matched each other, he brought postcards and stamps, tattered photos and expired plane tickets. Mochi dropped them onto Elliot’s chest and then stared down at his human, bumping noses until Elliot dragged himself out of bed.
He pried most of the little boxes open. There was never anything in them but a scent; Elliot could have spent a lifetime trying to define them. They smelled like… Freedom. The outdoors. A place where wind blew across the trees and there were flowers, people there to see them.
And always, the gifts came right at the moment Elliot needed them the most.
The walls had been closing in you see. They had been closing in for a very long time.
In time, as the pandemic morphed around them and people began to leave again, Elliot realized that one of those intrepid people must have been looking for Mochi. He’d found the cat in the alley by his apartment, but he’d been well-groomed and used to people. If he was a little thin at the time that had been easily remedied, and the cat had never gotten sick since. He must have had his shots, or whatever else it was one did to take care of a cat.
There was the matter of his name as well. Mochi. Mochi. Elliot thought it a unique name for a cat.
That night Mochi brought him paper and a pencil. Every night after that he brought him receipts, all from businesses along the same few streets. Receipts for cigarettes or candy bars, energy drinks and sugar-free sodas.
The message was clear. Elliot sat with Mochi on the windowsill, staring up at the moon that so loved the cat, and he wanted more than anything for Mochi to be *his* cat. It had been a very long time since Elliot loved someone. Even before the pandemic and the connections he’d lost with it, Elliot hadn’t been good at things like that.
But Mochi was. Mochi was a little ball of light. Silver light. Warm browns. A meow like sawing wood but that was okay, Mochi was his cat.
Elliot said as much. He looked down at little Mochi and said “I’m sorry buddy. You understand, don’t you?”
The moon was high above. It was full and beautiful. Mochi looked up at him with big, luminous eyes. His fur dimmed. The silver left his bands, and the cat became coal black.
In the morning there were no gifts. Elliot stared at the pile of receipts, stared at Mochi on his window sill. Stared at the paper and the pencil, and the days, months, and years ahead if he did what Mochi so obviously wanted. It was awful. Elliot’s hands trembled when he reached out, and he didn’t know if he was reaching for the cat or the pencil, or if he was just reaching for anything at all.
He put his hand down. He looked up and around. Elliot saw the mess, the abandoned guitar. The worn computer chair and the walls that might have been six inches away from him wherever he stood. Or sat. Or lay.
“Please,” Elliot said.
Mochi meowed. When the moon came there was no silver in him, just coal-black and open, sleepless eyes.
In the morning, the final morning, Elliot pulled Mochi off the windowsill and onto the bed. He stared into the cat’s eyes, wishing Mochi would bump his nose again, and said, “I get it. You’ve got people to go home to, don’t you?”
Mochi meowed. He nodded. Elliot wrapped him up in a hug and squirmed in his arms, made distressed put-me-down noises.
But Elliot couldn’t put him down. He said, “I can’t lose you too,” and Mochi meowed again.
Elliot said, “Mochi please!”
And Mochi meowed again.
And then Elliot put him down. Mochi was his normal tabby self, warm browns and thin black bands. He’d filled out since Elliot had found him. Elliot had done the math the night before, it had been six months. Six shockingly quick months. He didn’t know where the time had gone. He didn’t know when he’d last gone farther than the alley.
“Okay,” Elliot said. “Okay, buddy. I get it. Just know that I appreciated it. You. I owe you one. Or a lot. Or…”
Mochi stretched up, put his paws on Elliot’s shoulder, and bumped his nose.
“Meow,” Mochi said, that awful sawing wood sound. Then he turned and leapt off Elliot’s lap, scurried under the desk, and rooted around until he found something. He came back with a box in his mouth. A small black box, tattered all around.
“Meow,” Mochi tried to say.
“When did you get this?” Elliot asked. “I thought I opened all of them.
Mochi dropped the box into Elliot’s lap. It wasn’t locked. He was surprised by that, all the others had been. Elliot opened the box, dropped it again. He stared at the thing inside for a very long time before he said, “Mochi, what am I supposed to do with this?”
The cat plucked out the ring and stuffed it into the pocket of Elliot’s favorite coat.
“Meow,” Mochi said.
It didn’t take long to make Missing posters. Truthfully, Elliot had drawn them up a long time ago, when Mochi first brought the pencil and the paper. He hadn’t been able to admit to himself that he needed them, but now that he had Elliot simply printed them up. He found an old roll of tape and the leash and collar he’d ordered when he’d thought of taking Mochi for a walk.
They got to the apartment door before Elliot froze. He was shaking. He hadn’t left in such a long time, not since he’d heard those pitiful meows beneath the window and gone to investigate. And the streets where the receipts were from were across town. He’d have to take a bus. There would be questions. People would look at him.
“Meow,” Mochi said.
“I know buddy, I know.” Elliot was shaking. He reached down and petted the cat until the warmth was back in his hands. “Mochi?”
“Meow?”
“I love you, buddy.”
“Meow,” Mochi said.
|
I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
| 2021-12-17T07:35:17
| 2021-12-17T07:05:33
| 89
| 10
|
[WP] It has become a law to hibernate during the winter with the help of a machine, but there is a glitch, and you wake up halfway through winter and find the reason why the government made hibernation manditory
Edit: Wow this got more popular than I expected it would
|
The law came into effect ten years ago. Five years ago, they began enforcing it, and made hibernation machines available to the public at no cost.
They claimed it was due to rapidly dropping temperatures - making life in the winter impossible, unless you were in stasis - only a skeleton crew remained active during that time, buried deep in heated bunkers, close to the Earth's core.
Too cold to survive.
As I glanced around the empty streets, I realized they were right.
Shit.
|
As the sun gleaned through the window, Olanna rolled over and opened her eyes. She blinked, bringing her hands up guard her face. "That sun's so bright" thought Olanna as she sat up. She looked around and then looked at the clock on the desk. 9:37 AM 2 Jan.
Olanna spun around to look at the head of her bed where the large canopy that looked like a hairdresser's dryer blinked a red light. She kneeled and dragged her finger over the control panel, trying to find a reset button or a signal to get a technician to come help. She blinked and blinked and wiped her eyes. Her head felt light. "That machine is strong," she thought. Too woozy to read, but too restless to stay in bed, she got up and walked down the hall towards the kitchen, stretching and scratching all the way there. It was there that she first truly looked out the window. She could barely remember what winter looks like since the hibernation law was passed 17 years ago. Outside, the sky was a piercing blue, and a light dusting of snow covered the small backyard, picnic table, and twin maple trees she planted 2 years ago. She looked over into her neighbors' backyard and saw their swing set at rest, tucked in to a blue tarp, dusted with snow, some leaves that were never raked up, and the t-ball post in the middle of the yard.
While brewing tea, she looked through the directory to find the contact number for hibernation machine repair. She found nothing. Maybe this wasn't supposed to happen. The kettle whistled and she poured the water into a cup. She held the cup in both hands, squeezing her shoulders up, finally feeling in touch enough with her body to detect how cold it is when you're not under the hibernation machine. She walked to the front of the house and looked out the bay window at the neighborhood. All the houses, like cookies from a cutter, were single story, with the door towards the right side of the house, a single door garage to the left of that, and a bay window that sticks out of the front of the house just enough to let you creep on neighbor's farther down the street than normal windows allow.
"The road's plowed" thought Olanna. She knew some government people and medical persons did not hibernate, but surely they did not bother plowing with just a few people driving about. She sipped her tea. Her body shook at the sensation of ingestion, something it was not planning on experiencing for another month and a half. She sipped again and finally tasted the nice honey flavors in the tea. She kept looking out the window, enjoying the view, enjoying the quiet. It felt as if she started hibernation yesterday, but it was almost two months ago!
As her eyes bounced from house to house to tea mug to house, she began to notice hints of little footprints in the pathways from doors to driveways. She saw that Miriam's house and Gretchen and Aaron's house had the little markings, but Joe's and Eric and Thom's did not. "Why their houses?" She looked farther down the road and saw that Jennifer and Alan's house had the markings, but Silvana's house did not.
As she thought about what separated the houses, she looked down at her own path and saw no little markings. "Children!" she muttered out, her voice not responding too well from the months of disuse. "Those houses have kids." She looked back up and down the street, remembering that Joe had a daughter, "but she's at University."
A chill ran up her spine as she imagined the children walking out of the house. "I need to call the police," she thought as she turned to find the phone. Just then, a large truck, like a truck used to transport money between banks, came down the road. She heard it whine to a halt in front of Miriam's house. turning around, she saw a little boy get out of the back of the truck along with two men in white lab coats. The two men looked up and down the boy. "Julio. That's Julio!" Olanna tried to say, realizing it was Miriam's son. She watched as the white coated men turned around and grabbed another boy from the back of the truck. He was dirty, thin, unkempt, and in distress. "Julio? she thought, wondering if that faded, worn down soul could be him. "Then who is that?"
The tall, polished Julio grabbed the straggling boy from the two men. He bent his head back and clamped his teeth into the scraggly boy's throat and ripped it out. He chewed and bit more, pulling more and more away from the throat of the boy until his head and shoulders were detached. Olanna's tea spilled over her mug as her hands shook.
Just then, the upright boy spoke: "Voice acquisition is complete. You may move on to the next house. Thank you." The two white coated men took the corpse and the head and threw them in the back of the truck. Julio walked back up the path and into his house.
The two men drove slightly farther down the road and three girls of different ages got out of the back of the truck in front of Gretchen and Aaron's house. "Their daughters?" The same process of throat evisceration took place, as three struggling girls were brought out one at a time.
Olanna watched the truck drive down to Jennifer and Alan's house as the three girls walked inside their house. She spun around and sat down on the bay window seat. Her mouth hung open, her eyes rarely blinked. She shook her head side to side. "Did I ever do that?" she thought, remembering that she was just 6 when the Hibernation law was enacted. She got up and walked over to a mirror. Her dark smooth skin was tight around her strong cheek bones. Her hair was still braided tight on her head. She looked down at her fingernails, white and pink. She looked back up and met her eyes in the mirror. It was then that she notice her right eye was slightly less open than her left. She leaned in and pulled the eyelid back. She saw a hint of dark blue and stumbled back, dropping her tea mug to the floor. She looked again, pulling back her eyelid to see a solid blue mass above her eye, where it should have been pink. Her other eye was fine.
Just as she sat down, tears streaming down her face as her body ached in confusion, the door was broken down and in walked a tall, strong woman wearing a bright yellow trench coat. In her hand, she held an object that looked like a TV remote. Olanna recognized that the woman was Dr. Flyer, her gynecologist. "Dr. Flyer?" Olanna began to ask. Before she could finish, Dr. Flyer spoke, "How many times do I need to keep resetting your stupid machine?!" Dr. Flyer pressed a button on the remote and aimed it at Olanna.
----
As the sun gleaned through the window, Olanna rolled over and opened her eyes. She blinked, bringing her hands up guard her face. "That sun's so bright" thought Olanna as she sat up. She looked around and then looked at the clock on the desk. 10:12 AM 7 Jan.
| 2015-01-25T15:26:13
| 2015-01-25T14:18:55
| 81
| 40
|
[WP] You have a super recessive disorder that makes you immortal. Never in all your time (~14,000 yrs) have you encountered anyone else like yourself. You begin a series of breeding of experiments....
Yes this is dark, go nuts with it.
|
BEGIN LOG
Date: 37 July, 5721 Anno Domini.
Day 185 of Year 2600 United Earth Founding.
Note: Today is Founding Day, remember to fire off controlled pyrotechnics tonight.
Project LEGACY, Experiment 99, Entry 216-7.
My wife died last night at approximately 2249 GMT. She was 216 years, 3 months, and 16 days old. She left behind 6 adoptive children, all well into their 40s to 100s, and myself. The funeral will be held in two days’ time, in a little spot just off the coast of where Seattle used to be, in the same spot where I proposed to her. It seems fitting, that we should part forever in the same spot where we became one “forever”. She was so sweet, my Meredith, and losing her feels like I’ve lost yet another part of my soul. She was the best wife I’ve ever had, and yet, she marks another “failure” in the LEGACY project. Another woman who could not bear a child for me, or should I say, for the Council. The Council, of course, will send along their regards, but I know that they are just hollow words. All they want to see is a “success”, a child born with the same ailment as my own, born to live forever, free of disease and able to heal from the most grievous of injuries. Not content with 200-year life-spans, they wish to “ascend to god-hood” and rule as a part of the Council for all eternity. They see me as a piece of a puzzle that they are only missing a single piece to and search desperately for the final piece.
But enough of the Council, this entry is not about them, this is about Meredith, my beautiful Meredith, always smiling, even as the Cancer spread to her eyes, blinding her before it made its way to her brain. Her voice will ring in my ears for all eternity, the way she sang the children to sleep, the way she would whisper my name as we lay in bed with each other, the way she would say “Welcome home.” when I came out of my study after another day of Council work. Her cooking was beyond compare, I’ve tasted the art of culinary geniuses the world over and nothing they made could hold a candle to the home-cooked meals she made. Her sense of humor was infectious, like a disease (Ha! Disease. Get it? You would have loved that one.), and everyone she met came away from the encounter happier. She was the moon of my life, our children the stars, the night sky ever bright with their presence. But now the moon has fallen, and the sun wishes for nothing but to fall with her.
I’m not sure I can do this anymore. For over two millennia, I have sat and watched helplessly as lover after lover after lover has withered away and died for Project LEGACY while I have barely aged a year. Sure I may look like I’m in my early 200s, but today’s makeup and disguise programs can fool even the best of people. I’m tired of this charade, of this parody of life. This is not life, this is torture, and I refuse to participate in it any longer. I’ve already spoken with my “Doctor”; he has agreed to help me fake my death again, as his family has done for the past 30 generations. This time however, I will not return to the civilized world. I will retire to our summer home in the woods and focus on Project GAME OVER. Damn the Council and their quest for god-hood, I have given my all for this planet and its people, I have served the governments of the world for over 14 millennia. I have fought in more wars and killed more people than any dictator in history. I have saved more people as a doctor than any cure. I am tired and weary, and it is time for me to sleep. I will finish Project GAME OVER, that is my only goal. I will see my Meredith again.
Edit 1: Minor spelling corrections. Thanks for helping out, I was very tired when I wrote this.
|
"Novemeber 27th, 2015, today marks the beginning of trials on subject 7.
Subject 7 also known as…fuck where did I put the…whatever it's easier when I don't know their names. Subject 7 came to my attention as the result of a newspaper article about a woman who was the sole survivor of a multi car pile up. Note for anyone listening to these tapes, and that includes you, future me, you know how we forget this stuff, I named her subject 7 in honour of the number of cars involved in the collision. You are not missing the last three subjects.
Digging into her history I've found three more potentially fatal instances in her life that she appeared to escape from largely unscathed. Note, I can't remember if these instances were the result of some sort of *Unbreakable* inspired scheme on my part, a movie I only some what remember, thanks to the utilization of skills learned from the movie *Memento* a movie I don't really remember at all.
Subject is restrained in the waiting room. I have decided to conduct the breeding there as I realized the only difference between the waiting room and the breeding room is the presence of the turkey baster I use for the experiment. In a, if I can brag, brilliant move I have decided to…move, get it, the turkey baster to the waiting room, freeing up the breeding room for some other purpose. Perhaps that sock puppet theatre I have been kicking around for the last century, as it occurs to me that if one of these experiments takes hold and does not have to be terminated, I will find myself with a child and while it's been a while since I was one, I believe I would have liked sock puppets.
I am now entering the waiting room where…oh shit subject 7 has escaped shit shit shit, all I have to defend myself is this turkey baster and my immortality. Wait... my immortality.
I can use that.
Unless she pricks me with a needle full off…my knock out stuff…and then escapes…she's shaking her head…wait wait wait you could…run experiments and stuff on me…and I'd never die…and then you could make an immortality serum…guys she's nodding I'm riiiiiiiiii…
*Thud*
*Click*
[Subreddit] (https://www.reddit.com/r/SarkasticWatcher/)
| 2015-09-26T09:34:05
| 2015-09-26T08:28:08
| 206
| 153
|
[WP]"And that totals to twenty three dollars thank you" The perky cashier chirped up with their unnatural cheer... "It was twenty one yesterday, what gives?" I protest, somehow I feel like I'm being mocked. "Oh well your karma's risen since then which inflates your misfortune" I jerked up, "What?"
|
'I thought you knew?' The perky cashier asked.
I glanced down at her name badge. 'No, *Debby*, I didn't know that you were going to overcharge me because of *Karma*.'
I would be lying if I said, I didn't mean it to come out harshly. Debby took no offence; she stood with her hands folded on the counter. 'It's in the store name,' She said politely.
'Fair Foods?' I asked.
'Exactly.'
'So it's fair to overcharge me?'
Debby smiled, looked me up and down, and then said. 'Well, you were promoted this morning.'
'W-what?'
'You got that big promotion you were after, right?'
She said it so casually as if she had been in the meeting with my boss. 'Y-yes, but how did you know?'
'Oh, you could say it's a "gift" of mine,' Debby said.
'What, stalking people?' I said with a nervous laugh.
'No. I can see peoples fortunes, and...' Debby said and looked over my shoulder. Her eyes stopped on a man, who was stuffing his satchel with bread. '... misfortunes.'
I glanced behind me and quickly averted my eyes. The man was not exactly, "savoury", and had I been walking towards him on the street, I would have crossed the road.
Debby waved over my shoulder, and I heard the sliding doors of the store open and close.
'Wait,' I said, looking back for the unsavoury man (who was long gone). 'That man didn't pay.'
'He has been through a lot,' Debby said with a pained expression.
'Hold on,' I said, shaking my head in disbelief. 'So essentially, I'm paying for that man's shopping?'
'In a way.'
'No, not "In a way", I'm being overcharged, and he's being undercharged.' I said. I could feel the heat rise, bleeding through my pores, making my face a sunburnt red, and I blurted. 'This isn't right.'
'Why not?' Debby asked.
'B-because I work for my damn money.'
'And, you've been very fortunate.'
'I beg your pardon,' I said. 'There's no luck involved.'
'Isn't there?'
'Stop with the bullshit questions.' I barked.
Debby remained tranquil, calm and a benchmark of stability. 'Ok, Thomas,' She said. 'You narrowly missed getting hit by a bus when you were eight years old.'
My mouth dropped.
Debby smiled and continued. 'I would say that's quite fortunate, and I doubt you'd be in any shape to work had it hit you. The company you now work for, you were introduced by your father, isn't that also quite fortunate?'
'W-well I still worked my ass off!'
Debby hitched a thumb at the sliding doors. 'Alfred hasn't been nearly as fortunate as you. He *was* hit by a bus, hospitalised for five months and accumulated a mountain of debt from our wonderful hospital system. Somehow, I think he needs the food that bit *more* than you.'
'I uh, don't know what to say.'
'Say "Thank you" and come back tomorrow,' Debby said with a smile.
'Thank you,' I said and retreated from the counter.
I didn't think I would go back, not then, when my temperature was higher than my blood pressure. The image of Alfred came back to me that evening; his fingerless gloves, torn coat, and matted hair made me question the white sheets that covered my clean body. Was I fortunate?
---
/r/WrittenThought
|
"Sir, this is a Costco, if you really aren't familiar with the arbitrary and metaphysical concepts of the world we inhabit by now you should talk to a professor/wizard, not me."
"Oh." John said, somewhat taken aback. "Do we have wizards here?"
"In Walmart? No."
"I mean do wizards exist."
"Also no. I'm fucking with you. What, did you spontaneously spring into existence at the whim of an apathetic god or some shit like that? Pretty rough, but I guess it happens."
A small lady behind John belted out a single, bellicose cough, and he was suddenly aware that both in life and in this checkout line he was really just in the way. He quickly paid for his groceries and went out into the parking lot where there appeared to be many normal looking cars. He approached his own, got inside, turned the key, and jumped with a start as a face popped up on the screen in between the driver and passenger seats. You know, the screen that you could see your backup camera on or use the pandora app with if you were in a car commercial from 2009? That one.
Anyway, a smiling face pops up and queries "Get everything, hun?" In a lilting and flirtatious tone.
"Are you... my car?"
The face on the screen suddenly frowned and furrowed its brow. "Are you alright, John?"
"I'm a little out of it, but just humor me for a moment, I'm terribly sorry. You are my car, right?"
"I'm your **wife**, John!"
"Oh." John said. "But you are a car in addition to that?"
"Yes. What, on our wedding night did you somehow miss out on the--"
"Just seeing what rules we're working with here. Karma, real. Cars, talking. Wizards, not real."
"Wizards are real, John. Are you okay? Do you have a concussion, sweetie?" The face on the monitor looked deeply at John with big, blue, gorgeous, concern-filled eyes, and he was reminded of why he fell in love with Vanessa, his 2009 Honda Odyssey, in the first place.
"I... maybe, Nessa, maybe... Honestly this entire afternoon feels like an improvised interaction with no rules whatsoever except for the fact that karma exists, like it's an attempt at constructing a hastily put together world for the sake of a single moment taking place. By all accounts, my existence here, in you, knowing nothing, well it just doesn't make any sense! How would a grand system of morality even work in an economic system? I'm assuming all wars have been abolished since Lockheed and Martin and Raytheon would've long gone out of business. Crime is likely eradicated as well because evidence of any wrongdoing would be divinely provided by virtue of someone having to pay a thousand dollars for a loaf of bread after a double homicide whereas the night before they were charged a buck fifty for a Subway sandwich. Are we to assume that the Hindus were right, or am I supposed to think that an entire pantheon that doesn't exist in Western canon currently has been brought up specifically to support a godly system like this."
John paused for a second, thinking.
"Better yet, if gods exist, as they obviously do in this world, and these gods are concerned with justice, then why does capitalism still exist?"
---
Wanted to be weird and meta. If it sucks or didn't really work let me know how it would've been better.
| 2019-04-29T04:51:45
| 2019-04-29T04:26:36
| 62
| 16
|
[WP] Following death, you woke up in a classroom, to take the R.A.T.s (Reincarnation Aptitude Tests). After a short period in the Afterlife, you get your scores... which were perfect, despite just guessing. You get to be reincarnated as a god, one of the first in a couple of millennia.
|
“Jim what are you doing!”
“I don’t know, the wheel is locked!”
“O no! Look ou...”
“You may now open your R.A.T.s test booklet to chapter one and begin your session.”
“What on earth! Where am I!”
Everyone around me must be thinking the same thing I reckoned, but what is the rats tes...
“You have two minuets left before time runs out.”
While randomly filling in circles of the test, I keep trying to figure out where I am. The walls are all black, and the “teacher” looks like he’s lived for a millennia. I don’t even know what I’m writing with. Everyone else seems like they got instructions before they started but me. I have no idea what I’m d...
“Put your pensticks down, close your test booklet, and look at me.”
Upon looking at the “teacher” I see what is written on the board: “R.A.T.s: the Reincarnation Aptitude Test.”
So that’s what it mea...
“Bring you test booklet to the front desk and wait in the intermission hall for a few years to get your scores.”
“A few years!” I shouted.
“Yes of course, you didn’t think we would let a test like this be checked only once would you?”
“But where am...”
“Go to the intermission hall right this instant or I’m going to have call the authorities!”
Realizing I was the last one in the room, I went out through the big red door.
“Now as you all know, you are in the intermission hall and awaiting your scores. Just sit tight, and don’t worry about food or sleep, you don’t need them.”
“Don’t need th!..”
Slam!
The door shut.
Everyone around me just closed there eyes, laid down, and waited.
I thought it was probably the thing to do, considering I’d be here for years.
I just kept thinking about the accident over and over again.
“Why did the steering wheel lock up?” I whispered to myself, “I could have saved her.”
And now I’m stuck in this creepy looking hall and waiting for stupid test scores when I should be dead.
Maybe I should have tried to get the problems right. What good would that do? I couldn’t even read the language, it was all in Hebrew.
Why did this happen to m...
“Alright class, your test results came back!”
What! how could it have been a couple of year...
“I am proud to announce that Jim got a perfect score, which means that he gets to be immortal! It also means that I can finally die!”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You got a perfect score, it hasn’t happened in over ten thousand years! It also means you can live your life again in an alternate world where you don’t die!”
“But why do you want to die?!”
“Don’t you understand? I got a perfect score on the test too. Which means that I can live forever, but after ten thousand, two hundred, and fifty two years, it gets a little boring. The only way I can die is to have someone pass the test, snd now you have!”
“Well then how will I ever die!?” I said with a shock.
“You won’t, unless you do what I did!”
All of the sudden the room got bindingly bright, and then I was back to driving my car with my wife.
“So, are we going to the store then?” she asked.
“Um... I.. o yeah, sure.”
“Are you okay Jim? you look like you just saw a ghost.”
|
When I woke, all memory from before momentarily blank and gone, my forehead bumped on my desk. The sound seemed to have been quite the commotion, for the people around me threw me glances that meant it all, that I had startled them at an important time. But I did not have a single idea where I was, nor what was on my desk. Not even a book, or a pencil case, in fact a white sheet of paper, with printed words in black ink I already feared, and a black pencil were all I had at hand. Getting the hunch it was a mattering test, I began to stress, for I did not seem to carry my glasses upon my nose — a thing that should never, by any means, happen when I was to take a test. Blaming myself, I could hardly discern what the sheet, that I had made slide so as to not further disturb my... classmates? Thinking that was certainly the case, I lost no further time guessing at the people surrounding me.
&#x200B;
From the letters I could read, well... Shapes I could make out, knowing it was blurry as hell, it seemed the test's format was an MCQ. Its subject... As deep as I went "reading" the whole sheet, I noticed twenty questions, three cases, and understood the terms: rebirth — repent — empathy — morality — selfless... Twisting, all the while puzzled, those words in a way to make sense of the sheet's subject, for the title of the sheet, though in bold and very big letters I could hardly guess at most of its letters, I came up with three plausible interpretations. Perhaps, thought I, the subject could be about religions, philosophy, or even literature. Guessing that the answer would maybe concern one of the three cases each, and letting my luck roll, I gave myself a headache trying to calculate the probability for me to score a perfect result: I simply had to twist one third... —the result was definitely akin to zero, in a real setting. As I felt sweat descend my forehead, I passed a hand to wipe it. Then I saw, on my wrist, letters in an orderly manner. Those shapes too, I had trouble reading, but I found out three characters, As, Bs, Cs... Eyes beaming, I wrote the answers with haste. The second I had crossed the twentieth case, a bell rang and we had to hand over our sheets.
&#x200B;
Then, I remembered. Why the hell did I sit in class, when I graduated from college the past month? Had I been dreaming? I recalled fairly well the party we threw, with a roomie... Then, the reality struck me. The car, in the dead of night... Had I... Died? The second instant a blank emptied my mind, all I gazed at was a white sheet of... Ceiling now? And why did heads sprawl over me — hands too? I muttered a few words of frustration and startled everyone. Since when did it become a habit of mine? Then I paid two dressed ears to the noise that surrounded, and the person I guessed to be a surgeon asked me if I... lived? I mouthed the absurdity of it, but the surgeon assured me, with an astounded tone, my heart had been transplanted since my presumed death. Awfully skeptical, I ran near my heart two eager hands to prove and call out his hoax, but my chest was open, and... Hollow?
&#x200B;
Nay, nay, nay, thought I. This is not how the world works. Brain of mine, I voiced, you on ice? Dreamish maybe? Well, wake and doze right then, because you're weird. The surgeon, convinced by this hypothesis, adopted a scientific method, pinching his nose. The vivid pain made him squeak. I imitated him, pinching my nose, thinking perhaps it was only my brain that could free him. But then, reality struck me with an odd feel: I could see clearly — without glasses. Naked but for the attire the hospital gave patients of surgery, I hardly felt no pain. I gazed at the surgeon and... His face charmed me, as if infatuation struck. However, this love I felt, I now felt it for the world, as if I now deemed the world in existence lovely, purely appreciable, worthy. Not a worry in the world hampered my mind, and no hurt would strike me now. Lifting myself with the ease of the world, as the attire I had been covered with fell and as I stood on my feet, I ran to the doctor, arms wide. Then, I snuggled to him, loving life, the world, and him.
| 2019-07-22T11:54:52
| 2019-07-22T07:29:51
| 56
| 10
|
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
Feverish scrabbling broke the pristine morning stillness.
Alice snapped awake, bloodied baseball bat in hand. "John! John! Oh god, they're here."
"Mmf. Gimme five."
"John!" Alice gave his shoulder a rough shake.
"Okay, okay, I'll get it." John rolled out of bed and peered blinking through a crack in the boarded windows. "Bloody lurchers," he murmured, grabbing his sawed-off shotgun from where it lay on the night stand.
"How many are there?" Alice's face was pale in the morning half-light.
"Go back to sleep, Al. It's just the usual."
"What, how can I slee- " A crash and a thud echoed reverberated through the house. "The skylight - they broke the - John, what are we - they're inside -"
"I told you the double-pane would be better insulation." John sighed. "Look, I said I'll deal with it. Just, just relax."
A low moan came through barricaded bedroom door. Alice stiffened and backed up against the wall. John yawned and started to undo the first set of locks.
The last chain jingled to the ground. John darted over and gave Alice a quick peck on the cheek. "See you in a few, honey!"
---
The shotgun roared, and entrails splattered. Alone in the room, Alice murmured, "Prozac's a hell of a drug."
|
Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk.
The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow.
The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land.
Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines
speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below.
I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step.
Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive
again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
| 2017-05-05T07:48:25
| 2017-05-05T05:28:24
| 21
| 14
|
[WP] You are a Logistics Officer during an invasion. Tell the course of the war solely from equipment requisitions.
|
It started simple enough. Automatic supply systems kicked in at first. A thousand or so PD-9's, atomic cores, bayfield sensors and kinetic armor plates were all the specials that came through the office. It was so routine at first I thought I was resupplying training stocks. Then they briefed me.
0900, 36.04 -116.42, just west of the Nevada cost an unknown object approximately 400 meters in diameter crashed into the Death Valley Gulf. Early news reports stated it was likely an asteroid that had made it past the deep field radar system that's meant to detect asteroids on potential collision courses with Earth. That misinformation was quickly corrected when CETI announced detection of an abnormal powerful hyper light signal... being transmitted from Earth.
It's unknown where first contact was made or if the aliens were hostile when first approached. What I do know is in two days I shipped out 12,000 BCDs. Body bags.
The next three weeks was a flurry of requests. Top brass told me to green tag anything and everything front command wanted. So I did. Three-thousand atomic rocket grenades to Vegas. Four-hundred experimental sonic flack drivers to Phoenix. Eighteen-hundred flame-throwers. We dug ten-thousand 300 year old hand grenades out of a cemented in base in West Virginia and sent them to El Paso.
Each week the requests became more and more extravagant. Things, I wasn't even sure we still had, or ever had. Ten-tousand liters of MDS0-4 and three-thousand water-rifles. Fifty tons of C4 and eighteen-tousand German Shepherds. Twenty-eight crossbows. Four-hundred tons of cockroaches.
Every request was a little more batshit insane than the last. A little more desperate. Every one shipped just a little closer to us and that scared me the most.
I'm not sure what to make of this most recent request. Is it another desperate idea? A celebration? Or are they just making sure to enjoy humanities last days?
REQ; 40,000 (FORTY-THOUSAND) LITERS LIQUOR (ANY)
I add a five to the order and keep them for myself.
|
OFFICIAL REPORT
~~4 January~~ REDACTED
Night-vision goggles, silencers, automatic weapons
~~*internal note:* to be added to register only after official declaration~~ REDACTED.
7 January,
Helicopter x 3
Long range missile
Guns
10 January,
Salaries of 10,000 additional
Current newspaper
Ability to secure rooftop x 4
Broadcasting cameras
11 January,
News statements
Curfew and permit issuance
14 January,
Additional forces brought in from other branches,
Higher officers elected as peacekeepers - salary increase
~~Snipers x 16~~ REDACTED
15 January,
~~Scapegoat~~ REDACTED
Tank, soldiers for parade
Microphone, security of large area for speech
Processional funeral
~~Concrete~~ REDACTED
~~Unused land~~ REDACTED
16 January
Supplies for new flag
Automatic weapons
Additional air force resources to secure peace
20 January
Retention of 20,000 soldiers
~~Black site operational~~ REDACTED
Peace statement drafted and presented to press
12 February
Ceremony for acceptance
Outfittings for new regime
Ceremony for war heroes to be on April 5
Retention of 10,000 soldiers remaining until unrest ends
| 2016-04-10T07:39:43
| 2016-04-10T07:04:51
| 209
| 47
|
[WP] A man hands you a credit card, pulls out a pistol, and shoots himself. You look down just in time to see the name on the card change to yours.
|
Police Record of [REDACTED]'s Journal Following Incident [REDACTED]
08/22/20xx
Today I saw somebody die for the first time. Right in front of me. He handed me this...credit card...before blowing his brains out. I was just walking home from work like normal. I'm not sure what to do or who to tell. When the police showed up it was like they didn't notice me. They didn't take a statement, or my name, or anything. I offered and they just let me go. I don't know how to handle this. I'd schedule an appointment with my therapist but I don't think she'd believe me. I fear I'm losing my grip on reality I...*words scratched out*
The weirdest thing about this is that the card has my name on it. I mean, it didn't when he gave it to me but it changed. I know this doesn't make any sense. Hopefully I can make sense of all of this. I'll keep this record updated but I don't intend to use the card at all. I'll just hang on to it just in case.
***Note: Most of the next week passes with little mention of the card, as though the person in question is trying to forget or actively not mentioning it. Picking up at the next relevant date***
8/28/20xx
I was reading back to my earlier entries and noticed mention of a credit card and somebody dying. I...I don't remember that happening but I also don't recognize this card in my wallet. It feels like it's always been there. I used it to pay for my coffee today without realizing I didn't recognize it at first. Journal, I really feel like I've lost it this time. My medication isn't helping with this. I need to lie down. I'll update again after I've had time to think.
---
I called the number on the back of the card to verify my account. See when I opened it. See the gaps in my memory I'm missing. Did it as soon as I woke up. Do you remember dial-up? That horrible noise from when we were growing up together? That's all I heard screeching back at me. There's no website to try on the card. Hell, there isn't even a "Visa" or "MasterCard" logo or anything like that. Gonna try using it online and see what happens.
---
I just bought a new laptop. It worked. We'll see when it gets here. I really wish I knew what was going on.
***Note: Another return to normalcy until the laptop shows up 3 days later.***
8/31/20xx
The laptop showed up today. I don't remember ordering it but here it is. It's like whenever I try to think about the card it slips my mind. Whenever I use it it eats at me. Is that the price? Is that why he died? Is it eating my soul? Why did he give it to me? I called my therapist and mentioned the card. Said I needed new medication and I didn't know what was happening. I go in in a couple days.
Laptop works great.
***Note: Daily updates stop here. Aside from a few distorted drawings and a short, irrelevant poem the journal does not update until the next full posting. This is different than anytime in the journals record which goes back [REDACTED] years updating daily***
9/4/20xx
Went in to therapist's office today. Mentioned appointment. Was told I didn't have one. Circled on my calendar. Used card to pay triple fee for emergency. Talked to therapist. She took notes. Said she'd figure out a new prescription and get back to me by the end of the week.
Used the card to buy a new car. Needed it for job after crashing this one. Getting hard to think.
***Note: After this posting regular updates stop entirely. Following this note is the remainder of the relevant information as it is written.***
NO call from ThERapist. Can't remember Her oFFice.
Won an auction for a vintage bottle of wine today. Loving the new upgrades in the car.
Can't remember NaME? IS it on the CARD?
HELP me Mother. Tell me WHO I am.
Picture of self. DON'T FORGET: ***Picture not even remotely resembling anything human is found here.***
Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card declined. Card Declined. CARD DECLINED CARD DECLINED CARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINEDCARDDECLINED.
Found HEr. Follwoing. She can make IT work again.
//END RECORD
Subject was found 9/14/20xx with multiple self-inflicted lacerations. Investigations into where this "card" or who "her" may be are ongoing. Therapist does not remember seeing the subject during this time-frame nor are there any records of any visit.
edit: This got popular so I fixed some formatting.
Edit 2: I legitimately can't believe I got gold for this. Thank you so much...I'll try to write here more often.
|
Zevra held the card in her hand as she stood in shock at the dead man bleeding on the pavement below. A crowd suddenly emerged and she backed into it, still staring at the card. Questions and accusations were thrown around but no one in the crowd seemed to know what happened or that the man interacted with Zevra before he killed himself. "Wait, wait, he talked to some girl," yelled a bag lady, but they ignored her. Zevra backed off slowly and emerged from the other end of the crowd and walked down the sidewalk away from them, while wiping the blood on her shoes onto the grass.
She reached for her phone, paused, and put it back. "Okay... just be cool. You don't need this right now. That was just a crazy person," she mumbled to herself. "This didn't happen."
At first the spending was fun. Little things like coffees, makeup, snacks, and lunches were bought. Then after a while she became comfortable enough to buy a blender. She waited and waited for the bill to come in, yet it never did. The phone number on the back of the card just rang endlessly. She hung up and called her best friend.
"I'm telling you, Sarah, this is free money," she said on her phone. "Heck, I paid for this iphone with it." She laughed.
"Zev, you gotta be careful. It has your name on it, doesn't it? I mean who gets mailed a credit card with unlimited funds?"
"Mailed?... oh right, yes, it was mailed to me. Dunno, maybe I won some prize? Actually I gotta go, I have to order some things off Amazon." She said her goodbyes and hung up.
Then the nightmares started. She would wake up covered in sweat, looking down at her hands. She picked up her phone and tried to call Sarah. The phone dissolved in her hand into a pile of dust and blew away. She started screaming and then woke up for real.
"I keep having the same nightmares, over and over. I'm a teen and I'm working in a factory. Ten, twelve, fourteen hours days... My hands are sore. My back hurts. Then when its over I get dinner and sleep in a dormitory built into the factory. Day in and day out. I... can't take it," she said as Sarah listened.
"When did this start," Sarah asked, with one thin raised eyebrow.
"Uh, last week, when I got the phone I guess." Zevra's eyes went wide.
They stared at each other for a moment. Sarah said, "No way."
"Yes way!" Zevra instinctively hugged herself. "I'm somehow experiencing the life of the person who made this?"
Sarah snorted and said, "You're going crazy. You're just older now. More empathic. You probably read an article about Chinese factories and spooked yourself. Its nothing. Get some valium if it continues. Worked for Tom. He used to dream of being eaten by a frog every night. A week on valium and it all went away." She smiled and shrugged at Zevra.
"Oh, ok," Zevra said as she stared out into space for a moment.
"Wait, what else did you order?"
"Um, that pretty purple dress for John's wedding. I put a photo of it on Facebook remember?"
"Oh right, see, you're okay. Just need a break. Maybe stop using that credit card."
The dress arrived later that day and she briefly wore it, testing its fit. She smiled at herself in the mirror. "See? Nothing to worry about," she said as she unzipped herself.
The next night Zevra woke up screaming. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." She ran out of bed and into the bathroom puking. "I couldn't make dresses fast enough. They poked me with needles. They burned my face. They beat me. They're going to kill me!" She sat on her knees hugging the toilet for hours.
In the morning she stared at herself in the mirror. She noticed the bags under her eyes have only gotten bigger. She quickly got dressed, grabbed her purse, and ran out the door.
She wandered the streets looking at all the clothes people were wearing. "All that suffering," she thought to herself. "and for what? Pretty things?" A car pulled up next to her as she was crossing the street. She immediately saw a man crushed to death in a Detroit factory, whispering his last words to no one who could hear due to the noise of the machinery. She mouthed those words - "Tell my wife I love her." Her mind was racing. She could barely walk straight. Everywhere she went she could see true cost of things. It was endlessly tragic. "Too much... too much," she muttered.
She reached into her bag and felt for the credit card. He hand froze when she felt the heavy metal thing in her bag. She ran up to the man driving the car. He blinked and said, "Hey, hey, you okay?"
She hit the half-open drivers side window with the full brunt on her body. He yelled. She just gave a small smile, threw the credit card at him, pulled out the pistol in her bag, and blew herself away.
| 2014-09-22T09:21:04
| 2014-09-22T09:19:28
| 1,148
| 61
|
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist.
|
Nothing has prepared me, the [Music Maestro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zSAJ0l4OBHM), for this opponent. Ever Destroyer was the most dangerous enemy I have faced so far. Very strong, with the power of decay at her disposal, she was a villain all villains wish them could be. Everything she touched was destroyed. [Rock](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vx2u5uUu3DE), my trusted first choice of power, was beaten easily.
Going [Country](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9FzVhw8_bY) was my next choice. Ode to the rural life, country lets me control plant life as well as an [alligator](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hT_nvWreIhg). Nothing says banjos and hillbillies quite like country music. Noticing this, Ever Destroyer touched the ground, disintegrating every plant within several kilometers and the alligator. A terrible deed, and my second choice was neutralized just like that.
Gritting my teeth, I pull out one of my trump cards, [Death Metal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zN7J64IeBo), a power very similar to hers. Instantly I feel Death's gaze behind me, reminding me of the high cost of using this genre. Veins popping, I rush to grab her hands. Ever Destroyer was surprised, for no one had ever touched her without dying before.
Yanking each other's feet, we tumble in the dirt, death and decay surrounding us as our powers both intensify and cancel each other out. On my back, I can feel Death slowly opening their eye. Under a minute left, before Death takes my [soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YxaaGgTQYM).
Ultimately, I had to unleash my [forbidden genre](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ5LpwO-An4), [one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTQbiNvZqaY) that I swore to only [use](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0MK7qz13bU) in the most dire of [emergencies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914). Play the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) that made the entire world rage!
|
"And stay down!" Maestro slammed Songbird down to the concrete.
The hero lay still, dust rising around her. Her headphones skittered across the pavement. A crunch followed, as the villain stepped on them. The beats of Poison silenced instantly.
It was supposed to be an easy battle. Maestro was a new villain in town, having pulled a few low level heists. Robbing the bank was his "big move". She should've been able to shut him down. Fly in on the Olympic theme, switch to Mozart to case the joint, then glam rock for the stunning finisher. Easy.
She didn't know he could control the music. That this had been a trap meant for her.
He had bent the Olympics to a minor chord, crashing her into the building. Mozart had become discordant. And, well, the less said about how weak she was after he silenced the electric guitars, the better.
Well, two could play at that game. She thumbed her phone, fortunately still safe in its case on her belt. It was time to "Let It Go" if they were "Playing with the Big Boys" now. Because she had "Friends on the Other Side", and children's belief made reality much more malleable.
| 2022-05-17T08:49:33
| 2022-05-17T08:28:11
| 153
| 91
|
[WP] Write an essay about a current event as though you're a child 50 years from now who knows the gist and a few specific details, but is just bullshitting most of it.
|
Donald Trump Americas Last President
By Carl
Donald Trump was a famous millionaire from New York. Donald Trump got famous because of his reality tv show Survivor where contestants sang there favorite songs and America voted for them he also sold houses!
One day, Donald Trump decided he would run for president, he wanted to make America great again. Presidents were kind of like the grand chancellor, except the whole country got to decide who it was instead of the high council. I don't think that's a good way to pick a leader, because most people aren't as smart as the high council.
Donald Trump fought against Hillary Clinton to be president. Hillary Clinton lost because Donald Trump had good words, the best words and people didn't like Hillary Clinton because she always deleted their e-mails.
Donald Trump made a big wall between our country, The Texan Union and what used to be part of Mexico. Mexico was supposed to pay for the wall, but they wouldn't! The Texan Union ended up paying for the wall instead and we were all really mad.
The Texan Union was actually just called Texas back then I think. Texas wanted to leave America for a really long time because Texas is really big and great and didn't want to pay money to America anymore. The fight was called Trexit, it was named after a fight in Britain called Brexit where Britain left Europe and became an island.
People from Texas tried to attack Donald Trump and he called them terrists. Donald Trump got really mad and said he had bombs, big bombs, the best bombs and he wouldn't rule out the use of nucular weapons. Texas started getting very afraid of america and stopped letting americans in and made a really big army. Donald Trump dropped a bomb on Nagasaki, the biggest city in Texas.
Other places in America were really mad and left America to! Like Califoregon and Canada! Their were a whole bunch of battles, but everyone was on our side and Donald Trump was defeated!
The End
|
Name: Nikoli Date: 8/28/2066
My report on the grate russha in the early twenty furst centrury. (I am not good speler)
My name is nikoli and I am 10 yeres old. I was born long after the gloryos campaigns of russia in the early 2000s. Great leeder puttin was presidant of russha. He did many grate fings, like arrest the threats to society. He saved ukrane form being led a stray by evil NATO. Ukrane wanted to join NATO (Nasty Angry Terribul Orginizashun.) but Putin ride on bear shirtless to free Russian minoretry in crimia. Then other ukranes get jealous, of free russanz. They have big sivil war, but Putin help ukranes who want to be like free gloryious russians. Potin dos all this while fighting turkeys and moslims! Putin best leader ever! Pleas give A now.
| 2016-08-28T15:56:26
| 2016-08-28T13:16:35
| 83
| 35
|
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D
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Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum.
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Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex.
| 2015-12-05T14:43:55
| 2015-12-05T13:59:40
| 26
| 16
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[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil many years ago. Today he gives it back to you and says, "I need a favor"
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“Please, Please let her live. Ill do anything if someone can help her. I don’t care what happens to me. Just get her out of this.”
“Anything?”
As Jason’s consciousness returned from his latest Colombian necktie, he realized who was staring him down now. After an eternity in hell nothing can surprise you. The jump scares the demons pull, the sudden shots of pain. The random executions. Nothing. When the Devil shows up though, that’s when things get weird.
“So, listen kid. I’m going to need you to do me a solid. You see I got a…”
“You need a favor from me?”
“That’s right. So, I’ve got a problem with…”
“That’s pretty rich coming from you isn’t it.”
“I’m starting to understand that interrupting cow bit some of the demons pull on you guys. Look I’m going to send you upstairs. But I need you to do me a favor when you go.”
“You’re sending me upstairs? Like raising my corpse and your favor is to kill or infect as many people as I can?”
“As much as I would love to do that, no. I’m sending you to heaven.”
“Wow, that must be some favor you need.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. I just need you to give the big guy something.”
“Sure, I’ll just pop up and have a chat with God. How exactly would you like me to get up there to him?”
“I’m going to give your soul back. It doesn’t happen very often, but I feel a little bad about the way I got it.”
“And heaven will just open the gates and let me in after spending eternity in hell?”
“Funny thing about eternity, it takes a long time. It’s only been a few months since you died. As for getting in, you were a decent enough guy to make the cut. Besides its tempting enough for them to get a status report on how things are running down here. They don’t get those too often.”
“So if you have to give me my soul back for me to get to heaven, what’s to keep me from going on my merry way once I get up there?”
“If you break your deal ill break mine. Besides, its kinda important his holiness gets this.”
“I guess this plan can’t be worse than smelling another demon fart. I guess I’m in.”
Reaching the pearly gates, Jason could feel St. Peter looking at me. His gaze cut right down to the… soul.
“Jason. I’m really sorry but you have been in a terrible accident. Your time on earth is over but the good news is you get to spend the rest of your life in heaven.”
“Yeah you can save the spiel, I just summered next to lake lava. I’m looking to forget about that as quick as possible. I just need to see God.”
“That does explain why you’re so late. He will be waiting for you just inside the gates. You may enter.”
“Ah Jason, I have been expecting you for some time now. Finally, your soul is where it belongs my child. I understand you have been downstairs for…”
“Hell. I was in Hell. “
“Yes, yes. Now forgive me for asking, but how are things going down there? Do they treat you well?”
“It’s miserable. Its constant pain and suffering.”
“Excellent. That is wonderful news!”
“Excellent? How is pure torture and agony good news?”
“It is excellent because it means my son is doing his job. He is right where I want him doing what needs to be done.”
“I guess if torture is what you like he is doing impeccable work. Speaking of your son, he wanted me to give you something.”
As he presented the small empty vial, God had a bleak expression on his face.
“My son gave you this?”
“Yeah, he gave me my soul to do it too. Must be important?”
“My son is loose then. This is unacceptable.”
The battle was practically over before it started. Angels are no match for demons who spend all day everyday torturing and murdering souls. Even god could not put up much of a fight. The Devil once again stood in front of Jason staring him down.
“You tricked me. I helped you escape and now you destroyed heaven.”
“You did good kid, and don’t worry, I was already free. that’s how I gave you the vial empty. You just got the message up here. Its much more fun this way.”
“Well, I guess let’s get this over with then. I’m ready to go back to hell.”
“We’re not going back there. Well, I’m not but you’re free to do whatever you want. a deal is a deal, and you keep your soul. Besides, the way you traded your soul for your wife after that accident? You definitely belong up here.”
“You are the king of hell, so I guess you’re just bringing the party up here?”
“You are onto something there. The problem is hell is a job and I like to think I was pretty good at it. now I plan to be good at running heaven too. Death should be a celebration, so I want to make heaven a party. Do the things you couldn’t on earth. My dad wouldn’t listen to my ideas and trapped me in hell to teach me a lesson. I figured we should just ditch the pretensions snob.”
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\[Poem\]
While the time stood still in hourglass of existence,
I was conjured to witness the end of a burning rope,
As the fallen prince has something of mine ,
Soul laced with eternities but blemished with hope;
&#x200B;
His right hand to sky and another on to ground,
Tears of wax smears his never seen sadness,
The beast was Chained to his heart at last,
I could pardon from his neurotic madness;
&#x200B;
He leaned in with a deal which was sealed with his tears,
A long wake of love that was carved and summarized,
He offered me my soul back to replace him before his heathen kingdom,
Like that one cross-road I offered my soul and paid the price;
&#x200B;
He scarred his silence with a scream of being in love with eve,
For him to lead this story would require a new king to his throne,
I see a man in love after a burn of ever existence,
He sees a man that can fix his bridge while this universe so lone;
&#x200B;
My blood became his severance and he pursued his heart ,
while walking away from his seat he felt a chain of his own weld,
I forbid him to leave as its my world to say,
I am the fall prince now ... your soul is mine to be held;
&#x200B;
\- ***Vèd***
| 2021-01-22T22:34:12
| 2021-01-22T22:04:52
| 91
| 17
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[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..."
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"Alright, listen very carefully," Charlie grumbled, the words odd in his mouth. "We may not have much time. There's a man, a nefarious persona, who comes here every morning. He has no business here, yet he walks on our lawn, and fiddles with the paper contraption." Charlie paused, his dark eyes silent in reflection, recalling words he'd picked up in his six-year life. "Mailbox, you call it."
I had to suppress a nervous laugh. "Oh, the mailman, you mean?"
"He goes by many names," Charlie said darkly. "His deeds are dark, and so is his smell." Charlie sniffed. "This is a conspiracy of the highest order, boss."
My girlfriend and I exchanged amused glances before I turned back to the dead-serious golden retriever. "Charlie, all he does is deliver letters to us. Words on paper from other people. Packages."
"The man is evil," Charlie persisted in a gruff voice. Briefly distracted, he circled around, chasing his own tail. "An enemy! A fiend! The words he brings you are distractions, his eyes shine with biting intent!"
Anna giggled. "Poor Charlie," she said, "At least we'll always have you to protect us."
"My warning shouts have kept him at bay," Charlie acknowledged gruffly, "But I fear that next time his plans will-"
Suddenly his ears tensed up. "He's here!" He ran towards the door, jumping madly. "He's here! The time has come! It's upon us! Oh God of Infinite Petting, he'll bite us all-"
"Alright, that's enough Charlie," I grinned, moving to open the door. "Look, I'll introduce you to the man, okay? So you can see for yourself. Just behave."
"For the love of chewy objects, do not open the wall of protection!"
I ignored Charlie and opened the door, just in time to see the mailman, a jolly, uniformed man with a friendly face and a package under his arm.
"Morning, sir, would you mind telling my dog-"
"SIX YEARS I'VE WAITED FOR THIS!!" the mailman screeched, chucking the package through the doorway.
"Noooo!" Charlie howled, trying in vain to intercept the package.
Too late his voice returned to the bark that had kept the mailman at bay, all these years. "Noowwoof! Woof!"
"What the fu-" was all I could mutter before the package exploded, obliterating the house and everything in it.
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"Alright, Listen VERY carefully, I've been trying to tell you this for months now, but there is something very dangerous lurking in the back yard. It's been stalking you for months, unseen, unheard by you and apparently.. and this is something I can't understand, unSMELLED by you. I love you human, but you've got to take this threat very seriously because it's going to strike now that it knows that you know that it's there. Please, let me out into the backyard and stay indoors until I scrape the window with my paw."
And with that, I let Mary out into the backyard, she immediately started sniffing around and growling as she always did when she was out doing her business. But this time, it gave me chills.
I got my dads old shotgun that I'd saved in case a bear or something ever came around. Sure I wasn't living in the sticks, but I wasn't exactly in the city either. The possibilities flitted through my mind, one more worse than the other. I loaded a couple of shells into it, cocked it and felt slightly more secure, I hadn't fired the thing in ages, but I still remember my instructors words "always keep your hand off the trigger until you're ABSOLUTELY sure you're going to fire at something"
But my trigger finger itched. Mary still hadn't come back after five minutes, so I decided to start looking for her. The underbrush was dense and the trees were pressing in on me from all sides.
I found her in a clearing a few minutes later, frantically digging at something in the ground, I kept my shotgun down towards the ground and slowly walked forward. The moon faintly illuminated the clearing as I got closer and closer to the growing mound of dirt that she was throwing up behind her, she was digging like mad and when she noticed me standing next to her, she stopped and barked at me and gave me a long look. Apparently the pill had worn off.
I looked into the hole she'd produced, there wasn't anything special about it, just dirt... and .. nothing else. Mary kept digging for a while, but then seemed to perk her ears at something. I resisted the urge to point my shotgun towards the bush she was staring at. Then she started walking slowly towards the bush and she growled in a way I'd never heard her growl before. Before I knew it, she'd rushed into it barking like a madman and I yelled at her to stop, but she was well beyond listening to me at this point. I heard her rusting through the underbrush and then.. a sharp whining sound from her and after that, silence.
I went absolutely crazy, I stormed through the threes, brushing them aside, not caring how they tore the skin on my face and my arms. MY DOG WAS IN DANGER! was all that was going through my mind and I kept my shotgun at the ready, intent on blasting whomever had hurt my dog into the world beyond this one. When I finally caught up with Mary, she was lying on the ground and she seemed so small for some reason.. I looked down at her.. and that's when I heard a branch snap behind me.
Before I knew it, it had struck the first of many devious blows at me. My leg was lost, there wasn't anything I could do but try to maintain my composure as I heard it voice it's satisfaction at me by going "meow, meow, meoooww" as it playfully bit into my leg. Mary woke up and barked at it, I told her shush and despite her protests, this was the night that Mister Assassin-Mittens came into our lives.
Mary still pretends to hate it, but I can tell she's loving it when it makes it's bed on her back when she's sleeping in her bed.
| 2017-02-23T07:06:25
| 2017-02-23T02:14:42
| 1,311
| 167
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[WP] You rush into a church to stop the love of your life from marrying the wrong person. Not paying attention, you shout "I OBJECT" only to realize it's a funeral. The deceased immediatelly rises in perfect health. All eyes turn to you.
Thank you everyone for all the stories, they're wonderfu, i really enjoyed every single one
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I threw open the doors and ran down the central lane. Throngs of sharply dressed men and women on each side stood up at the commotion, but I didn't care. I loved her.
"I OBJECT!" My scream reverberated in the now silent hall and echoed across the high vaulted ceiling. I composed myself and frowned. Why was there a black box on the altar? And where was May?
All eyes looked towards me. The perfect tuxedos and beautiful gowns I was so sure they wore became simple suits and humble dresses. I didn't recognize a single person. Strange. There ought to be *some* of my friends among this crowd as well, May and I had many mutual acquaintances, and I'm sure they would've attended her wedding.
There was a loud crash when the box opened and a man sat up. Everyone started screaming.
"It's alright! It's alright!" He shouted over the din with his hands held high. Some pushed past me and bolted out the door. Some knelt on the spot and started crying. Two women fainted and a man started convulsing. What the hell was going on?
Feeling a bit responsible, yet slowly realizing I *might* perhaps be in the wrong building, I stiffly rotated 180 degrees and robotically stepped towards the doors I had so fervently rammed through only moments earlier.
"Young man! You in the purple."
I stopped.
"Good, so you *can* hear me. I wasn't sure, with everyone so intent on ignoring what I've been saying."
I turned again. The elderly man had stepped out of the box and started stretching his legs. I only now realized that everyone else was wearing black. "Sorry about… interrupting your ceremony. I'll be headed off now."
"Oh! No rush, no rush. Come and chat. It was only a funeral." He vaulted over, cracking his neck and arching his back like a newborn kitten. He was rather spry for a man who looked to be pushing 80.
"Hold on, what did you say?" I furrowed my brow. "A… what now?
"A funeral, mine to be exact." He said it in the same way another man might say *It's Friday.* Several kneelers had evolved into full prostration, still silently weeping. I was the only person left standing, save the old man himself.
"HA?!" I half-stepped away from him and stumbled on a discarded shoe.
Before I could react, he grabbed my shoulders to steady me. His grip was an iron vice that denied any thought of retreat. He smiled, "Don't be so quick to leave. I have to thank you, they worked so hard to purify the grounds."
&nbsp;
___
A/N - Oh fuck.
/r/Unexpected_Works
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"Relive services, this is Annette speaking." The unbelievably perky lady answered as she was picking up the phone. "Yes, perfect health, that's right." Vic could hear an excited shriek on the other end as Annette turned the volume down a bit. "I do have to say that since we got our resurrection license in Europe, the average waiting time is now 25 years, madam." Annette's face looked concerned, she knew what was coming. "I'm sorry madam, but that's the best we can do. Unless you want to upgrade to the 'back up together' pack, of course. And remember, either way, your husband will be in perfect health." Vic, still in training, had recently quit his job in finance to do sales here. And this is the part that got him all excited. "Well, madam, with this package, we arrange a temporary euthanasia session for you. We simply store you in our freezer paradise and when the time comes, we get you both back on your feet, in perfect health." Annette had to turn her volume down again.
And this was it. It had a 90% conversion rate. The founder was still the only one who had the power to resurrect people. And he got better and better, and everyone knew it. First, people still had their main issues like heart problems. But over time, that went away. The resurrected got healthier with every resurrection, it seemed. People knew, so almost everyone got this package, hoping to be healthier than ever together with their partner. It's just a few people who started asking more questions here. For legal reasons, we had to mention 'in perfect health' at least 3 times and that got some people worried.
Suddenly, a woman came running in. It was Dora, from the complaints department. "Another one!" She yelled." And this was the part Vic hated. Being the new guy, he was the one who would have to do damage control on social media. Meanwhile, Dora was hyperventilating it seemed. "Another one. Humph ... That's the second... Humph ... one today." She huffed. "And this time, the son is so mad, he's coming over."
Screeching tires in the distance. Yep, he sure is coming. "Everyone, in positions. Mark, get legal here, stat." With a loud bang, the door flung open and a livid man stood there, holding ... Something.
It was wrapped in a blanket and before the man could speak, a sound came from the package, distracting the man. "Oh no, here it comes..." Annette whispered to Vic. For a short moment, it was dead quiet, but suddenly the package started crying at an ungodly volume. "No, no, no it's ok. Shhhh." The man started pleading for the baby to be quiet. Desperation on his face - his anger had turned into sadness. "I was ready to retire, and now this??"
... Perfect health. Apparently this man's father was dropped as a baby. Nothing serious. Just a tiny scar.
"I'll get the formula." Annette said.
| 2022-08-29T11:57:20
| 2022-08-29T10:34:09
| 79
| 21
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[WP] Tell a story that appears to be horror but shifts to a completely different genre after reading the final sentence.
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Henry always knew he was different. His thoughts were colder than others, calculating, efficient, and ruthless. He didn't care that he cared less for others; that their pain was a reminder of his passions. It wasn't as if they didn't deserve what they had coming to them. Besides, he liked hearing the screams at night. It made his day. And the night has a way of sharpening the acoustics of a scream, and he loved the way it would echo back into his ears.
He replayed the sounds over and over. It created a sensation of glee that he only found in the act. On those special nights it would play it out the same way. It was his ritual. He lit his candles and sharpened his mangled blade. He put on his bloodied mask and tattered clothing, allowing his usually enjoyable demeanor to settle into his hidden persona.
How had he kept his secret away from so many others, for so long? He was quite good at hiding it, holding a smile, relaying small talk, telling a joke or two. He was quite charming to those around him. That's why no one suspected. And it was of no worry if someone did find out. Those that stumbled across his path hardly had the precious moments to flee, let alone discover his identity. He reveled in this thought. He had kept it so well contained.
He peaked through the broken slats of the decaying window and perked his ears to the sound of his approaching victims. They always came. Especially the young ones. They simply couldn't resist the terrible tales of legend. It was all too easy. He waited for the right night and they would come to him, and tonight, they were already there and they were young.
Their footsteps pricked the hair on his neck and set his heart racing. His love for their terror was perverse and he knew it. He fantasized day and night of their horrible faces, frozen in gruesome, animalistic display. After all... it was his passion, why shouldn't he enjoy it thoroughly. He held his breath and raised his blade. The door opened and the two teens walked in. They never saw him coming and they never would. His blade flashed and the two teens voices rose in terror.
Outside, a grotesque clown queued a throng of customers. "Step right up folks! Welcome to the haunted horror house. That'll be five dollars..."
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"Whatever you do, *don't split up*," Mark said, shining his flashlight over the faces of his friends.
Marley's broken both of her legs and Jennifer had gone missing, but they couldn't turn back. Something was out there hunting them and they needed to find help... or they'd never see daylight again.
"Bro, help me lift Mar. We've got a few miles to go before we reach the main road and I don't want to give whatever it is out there a chance to catch up to us," Mark said, squatting over with one hand on Marley's shoulder and the other under her thigh.
Trevor was too deep in a state of shock to respond verbally, but he shook his head up and down before squatting into a lifting position.
"We won't leave you here Marley," Mark said, trembling from adrenaline. "I promise."
Mark counted to three and the two of them lifted Marley in unison. She screamed and cried out loud until passing out from the pain. Her body temperature began to drop, lips turning blue and face pale white.
"Dude, somethings wrong. We have to stop walking. Marley doesn't look so good," Mark said, gesturing for Trevor to stop walking... but Trevor wasn't listening. "Bro, I said STOP WALKING!," Mark said, now yelling at his best friend. "She's losing too much blood! We have to stop and cover the wound!"
Mark didn't know this but it wasn't Marley bleeding out that was causing her rampant descent into death, but rather the circulatory problem from the snapped tibia's that protruded through her flesh.
The sound of knives sharpening and chains rattling could be heard nearby.
"Fuck you guys," Trevor yelled, letting go of Marley and dashing off into the forest.
The sound of Marley's shins could be heard fraying and snapping as Mark and her fell to the ground.
Trevor was running for his life at this point, sprinting like a rabbit being chased by a pack of dogs.
*WHOOSH!*
A chain flew through the air and a dagger stabbed directly into the back of Trevor, dropping him to the ground. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled with each footstep that got closer to Trevor, until the assailant gave the finishing blow to his head. *SHANK!*
"Marley, wake up! Please, you gotta wak-"
"Cut! No, stop. Stop what you're doing. I said STOP YOU FUCKING MORONS!," a man yelled in anger. His voice faded and became more faint with each step he took away from the set. "Why did I even sign up to direct this shitty horror film! The actors can't remember half their lines and I'm giving advice to the filming editor, Fuck!"
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, packing them on the side of his hand and unwrapped the plastic off the box.
"I can't take this anymore," he said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. "I know I promised you that I wouldn't give up on the kid, but he's driving me insane, Lucy. I miss you more than anything in the world... and I'd give anything to hear your voice one more time."
&nbsp;
*****
*****
I'm in the process of writing a novel titled, ['The Magistrate and the Magpie'](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdenRenellaJones/comments/3ivsvj/the_magistrate_and_the_magpie_prologue/). I decided to write it on reddit so fans can fallow along and participate in the beta-read! So think about subscribing and keep an eye out for the next post!
| 2015-08-30T22:03:31
| 2015-08-30T21:53:59
| 38
| 11
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[WP] Everyone is born with a tattoo that is a number between 0 and 100 representing a set aptitude of a skill, but it can be linked to things like lifespan or height. Schools test children to figure out what skill they have aptitude for. You are the first ever 0 and cant figure out what it means.
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I've struggled with the ink on my wrist for as long as I can remember.
My friends and classmates were all pretty normal. Fifties and sixties for the most part, ranging from looks to academic prowess to athletics. I even knew a guy that was mid-eighties. When we took the government sponsored "Aptitude Test" in school is when most people narrowed their talent down. Some people were fortunate enough to have their gift diagnosed by a specialist. Not me though.
I was told that it was impossible. It had to be a mistake. I was taken to every doctor and scientist that had any connection to "aptitude determination testing." My parents were desperate to figure out the best way to play to my strengths. Hard to do when your number is a big fat zero.
Queue my status as a social outcast. I didn't really fit in with anybody. I was plenty good at some things, awful at others. But no pattern that seemed to show me what my number meant. Nobody knew what to do with me. How do you put someone on a path for success without being sure that it was the right one? Or at least close?
Through high school, even into college, I took the generic classes. No specialization, as nobody could be sure that I would be GREAT at it. I was more or less on my own. It killed me.
I fell into some bad habits... I drank too much, started doing drugs. Every day I just woke up the same as the day before. Slowly falling into the clutches of madness.
One day, it finally happened.
I was a little more that tipsy, wandering around the city streets looking to score something. The cold bit through my jacket, sapping my energy. I was so tired, I didn't see the truck coming until it was too late...
I scared the shit out of the coroner when I woke up on his table. Poor bastard almost passed out.
Understandably, we were both very confused. I didn't know where I was, or how I got there.
He didn't know how a body that he had just autopsied could sit up and act like nothing ever happened to it.
You probably don't know me yet, but I'm sure if the media gets a hold of this story, you will eventually.
My name is Clay McCormick. My number is zero.
My number represents how many times the universe will let me die.
I am the first immortal.
|
90-ers were the stuff of legends. Paintings of Hercules had a rock-98 inscribed on his bicep, an airy-93 graced Archimedes' left hand, Raphael had a watery-94 on his forearm.
70-ers were your standard apex-achievers, Olympic athletes, prime-ministers, Ivy-league professors and the like.
50-ers were your standard workforce, and below 20-ers you started getting into the rejects of society, not rejected through any fault of their own, no, just avoided, and pitied.
There were some oddities throughout history, Churchill for example was just a 57, but he made up for it by working inhuman hours. Henry Ford, similarly, was a 55, but his business empire actually seemed to profit from this of-the-people image and it might have even been an advantage.
It had been known for a while now, that the average numbers had been decreasing. While rigorous statistics weren't available until the last hundred years, some things were inescapable, like the last 90-er on record had been in the early 1800s, and where the houses of congress used to have more than 100 70-ers, just 13 remained, and instead it was primarily 50ers, there was even one 46.
But with modern census data, this feeling of decline had been thrown into sharp focus. The average aptitude number was dropping at a rate of 4 per decade, the average, which had once been assumed to be 50, was now, in 2020 a depressing 39, and only getting lower.
It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. A zero was born. It made international news, roadside preachers prognosticated about the end of days, pundits babbled on the effects on society.
The zero, unaware of how profoundly unfortunate it was, went about it's life as one would expect. Luckily, when it clumsily knocked a pile of cans over at the store, it was being carefully minded by workers who could clean up its mess. Fortunately when it tried writings and maths, every single error was caught and corrected instantly by hovering teachers. When it tried its hand at art, before thousands of watching video cameras, a helpful professional quickly swooped in to correct all of its unfortunate mistakes.
This went on for several years, until the inevitable happened, and a new lowest number came squealing into this world. A negative seven. And then, forgetting promptly about the zero from two years earlier who had supposedly heralded the end of society as we knew it, the camera-crews and pundits turned their laser-like focus on this new most-unfortunate soul.
The zero, quite pleased with its newfound solitude, retreated to a life of painting and lounging about the grounds of its care-home, being totally and completely unsuited for life in normal society.
On and on this went, new lowest number after new lowest number, the decline and fall of human society, unfolding before everyone's very eyes with moment-by-moment breaking news bulletins about just how low things had gotten.
Not everything declined though, crime rose, temperatures flares, inequality soared. New records were set in terms of personal wealth and poverty rates and homelessness and joblessness.
In the midst of all this, almost missed by the world, another record was set, this one for a painting. The painting came from an unknown artist, and all who saw it reported complete and total captivation. It's technique, raw and frenetic, its palette, stormy and emotional, its texture, enthralling and mesmerizing.
The painting sold for a record fully 50% higher than the previous record at a world-famous auction. And it would have been left at that had the author not been anonymous. The buyer, however, being a pompous 60-er who hated leaving things as they were, determined to stick his 60-er nose into non-60-er business and began a manhunt for the artist.
The world was aghast when this manhunt concluded at the St. Bernards Home for the Catastrophically Ungifted, at the room of that very same zero who had, years ago, finally been left alone enough to do something productive with his time.
Pundits pundited. Prognosticaters Prognosticated. Scholars scholared.
But beneath all that, the normal people smiled and thought to themselves: maybe, just maybe, [numbers](https://www.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/) didn't mean that much after all.
| 2020-05-01T20:51:39
| 2020-05-01T20:23:41
| 230
| 126
|
[WP] Adrenaline is an evolutionary trait specific to Earth. When alien species are tired they sleep and not even a threat to their life will wake them. Which is why the pirates that boarded your spaceship are shocked to find you've not only jumped out of bed fully alert but are fighting back!
|
Jackson fell to his knees, blood pouring from his broken nose.
“You were supposed to be sleeping. What is this?”
“My ship... my...” Jackson struggled, trying to get the words out.
A beep distracted the pirate leader. He addressed his companions. “My vitals suggest I need to rest very soon. We must finish this up quickly. We’ve wasted too much time already.”
The men scattered, looking for any and all valuables. The leader, KiriK went down to one knee, bringing his scaly face down to their prisoner. “Human. I never thought I’d see one in real life. So tell me, how did you do it?”
Jackson looked at him weakly. “Adrenaline.” With that he passed out.
KiriK considered his options. They could leave the human here to die. When they were done with the ship, it would hardly be operational. But he was intrigued. Adrenaline? He needed to research a bit about this. This ability seemed extremely useful. If he could somehow harness it, he would be able to rule the whole district 9.
“Sir. We’re ready to leave.”
“Take him with you.”
“Sir?”
“Do as I say.”
*****
When Jackson woke up, his first thought was that he was dreaming. This wasn’t his ship. But the pain was real. He remembered the events of his ship. He had tried to fight back but there had been too many of them.
“Ah. You’re finally awake.” KiriK entered the room where a makeshift prison had been made for him.
“My ship. What happened to it.”
“It’s floating somewhere in space. No fuel.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“I’m sure you will try. But first I must know about this adrenaline.”
Jackson stared at him. “What do you want to know?”
“I want it.”
“You want adrenaline?”
“Yes. You’re a puny fellow. Someone I can easily kill. But amazingly you caught us off guard. You were supposed to be on resting phase. How did you do it?”
“Adrenaline. It’s hell of a drug.”
“Oh. It’s a drug. Can you make some for me?”
From his experience, Jackson knew that the concept of metaphors and figuratively speaking was lost on most aliens. “I can. It’ll take some time though.”
“You have all the time in the world.”
“I’ll need some stuff. There are steps you know.”
“Give me a list. I’ll make sure my men get everything to you.” KiriK got up from his chair and looked at the human, shaking his head a little. What weird little creatures.
*****
Jackson had been carefully noticing their sleep patterns. It looked like they needed sleep every 23 hours. And only 2 hours of it. He kept sharpening the metallic piece he had. The guards looked at him curiously, but they didn’t dare ask what he was doing. Jackson told KiriK how adrenaline was a compound human body could secrete. But only a small amount at a time. And he was out of it at the moment. He would also need some tools to extract it when he was ready.
Today he was ready.
He called the guard over. “Hey. I need you to help me with this.”
As the guard came close, he stabbed the handmade shiv deep into his eye.
He chopped off the guard’s appendage, pressing it against the pad. The door opened and he got out.
The guard’s beeper had just gone off. Meaning everyone on the ship would be sleeping in roughly half an hour.
It was almost time to show KiriK and his men the other thing that made the humans so dangerous. Ever escalating thirst for revenge.
|
I wake up, sweat rolling down my face as I see an alien pirate looming over me like all those shitty life choices I made like buying Jordan 1's and immediately losing their value by getting splashed with water outside the store while still wearing them
My reflexes saved me by immediately grabbing my laser pistol under my pillow and blasting the scumbag in his face over and over again until the gun overheated.
The pirates were either lucky and struck gold- No, diamond or they were smarter than the Federation of Human Systems thought them to be as this was one of the biggest and newer ships to be in service, and in the confines of the metal and steel walls of our behemoth lays diplomatic cargo.
A couple of emissaries from the strategically placed planet of Kepler in our enemies doorway, a space hub for all future soldiers and operations, and they were still asleep during this raid, this was bad.. If Kepler finds out that we were not capable enough to protect their diplomats or handle the pirate threat then we wont be granted access to their planet.
The intercoms blasted out: "All members of the Eclipse will be relocated to the loading bay. Everyone late will be left behind by our ships. Protect the emissaries at all costs."
The news of our ships soon to be abandonment scared me to be frank as I packed everything I needed and left for the loading bay, ignoring the constant firefights in the halls, rooms and open space.
The pirates were taken back by our intervention to their subterfuge by waking up so suddenly to fight. There was little to no public information about the human body for the galaxy. If the humans were able to wake a fight so suddenly what else could they do?
Well.. Activate the self destruction sequence and evacuate the Eclipse with the diplomats, of course.
The loading bay doors were in sight! I was full on sprinting along with my comrades as we retreated and fired back a few shots at the enemy.
The screams of my brothers as they were mowed down stirred the will to live inside me as I leapt onto a ship using the cargo ramp at the back. And just in time too.
I awoken from my adrenaline fueled sprinting and collapsed onto the cool metal floor in front of the awed sailors.
"Wha-What happened? Is everyone on?" The words came out of my mouth using the last ounce of strength I could muster as I sat along the walls of the scouting ship
"Mostly everyone. The diplomats are safe, but our crew took a hard hit." One said as he knelt down to give me a water bottle and a wet towel.
"Drink up." He said. After that? It was all a blur as all I was out of energy and was grateful to even be living at this point.
The only snippets I caught said about going to the Titanpointe Hypergate as it accessed deep in human territory.
A resounding boom shook the crew to its core. Even though we knew it was going to blow it felt like a hit to the balls, surprising and painful at the same time. Nearly all of us served on the Federations finest ship for a year or three.
With the Eclipse gone now what? We were promised it would permanently house all of us. We knew this fact was utter bullshit as we were saving up money to buy a better home or even buy our first one. We were homeless sailors destined to be begging on the streets because this will leak out onto the news and we will be disgraced and shamed for being cowards.
So now what?
(This was my first one and I'm so tired now lmao. Hope y'all enjoyed.)
| 2021-01-26T23:35:09
| 2021-01-26T23:19:09
| 740
| 50
|
[WP] God is pissed at a bible translator.
|
A 3,000 year old game of telephone, that’s what this book has become, God pondered to himself. Omnipotence feels a lot like impotence when nobody’s listening to you. God really liked the whole free will thing, but only when people did what he said. Sometimes even the all powerful can fail to recognize irony.
This wasn’t a new issue for God. His children have always had the attention span of children. He thought back on his Old Testament days. He was a bit of a dick then, but Goddamn were those some dopes he was dealing with.
“Come Rabbi, let me tell you the story of Samson,” God harkened back to the first time he told the story. God was harkening a lot these days.
“Rabbi, Samson’s a pretty cool guy. But too often he uses his strength to solve his problems-“
“Oh hell yeah! Strong guys rule,” the Rabbi said, cutting off God.
“Well yes, but he needs to learn that using your words is equally important.”
“He should have long hair!”
“Ok, sure. Now Samson-“
“Oh, and he should kill people with a donkey’s jawbone," the Rabbi interrupted.
“Wait, what the hell are you talking about?” God questioned.
“Oh, but he needs a love interest!” the Rabbi blurted.
“Jesus Christ, this is turning into a Michael Bay film.”
“What’s a film?” the Rabbi wondered.
“Sorry, I experience time in a really cool way. Now back to Samson-“
“No worries, GMan, I got all I need! Keep it sleazy, Lord!” the Rabbi said, running off to tell all his friends the new parable he learned.
“But, wait!” God exclaimed. “I still need to tell you how much I hate figs!”
|
Sigh.
“I’m not..I’m not mad. I’m just disappointed.” God said as he slowly shook his head. Grief displayed through his downcast eyes.
“But God I thought that is what you meant.” The man couldn’t believe this. He thought he was doing the right thing. But from what God was saying the misinterpretation was going to have abysmal consequences.
“How can you think that everything is so black and white?” God asked, looking up concern showing plainly on his face.
“The world is filled with so much beauty and also unimaginable destruction. But isn’t that part of what makes it so beautiful? The duality is evident from the celestial bodies to the building blocks of time. But going against the grain of the universe you depicted me as a perfect, all good, all knowing God. Omitting an entire other aspect of me. I want to know more! I want to discover, learn, grow! There are so many things I have yet to do.” God said, looking at him, the elation of things he wanted to accomplish, turning somber and serious. “I have made mistakes learned from them and try to go on. The flood is evidence of that. I made a terrible mistake.” God paused, moisture gathering in his eyes. “A terrible mistake.” He whispered looking down. God wiped his eyes looking back up at him. “That’s something else I don’t understand. You were made in my image. Life is difficult and arduous. Deciding what is best to do each day faced with problem and dilemma again and again. Never knowing if you made the right choice. THIS IS WHAT I GO THROUGH! Every day and every moment. It is because you were made in my image that you should know that the same issues, struggles and pitfalls you go through I go through as well except on a cosmic scale. It doesn’t get easier. But that doesn’t mean life isn’t worth experiencing. Working your way past the problems and fighting through the dilemmas learning and growing and always trying to achieve more. That’s what life is about!"
The man couldn’t believe it. How could he have made so many mistakes. “I’m so sorry!” The man was on his knees crying. The enormity of what he had done pressing down on him like the weight of the universe bearing on his chest. He felt the small weight of God’s hand on his shoulder and all the other pressure lifted. He looked up and saw God was looking down on him
“It’s okay. I’m here my son, and I love you.”
**Writers Note:** I took a different approach to this prompt. Making it less about a mistranslation and more about a misrepresentation of God.
| 2015-02-12T08:58:16
| 2015-02-12T08:42:31
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
|
There is a handbook on Super Villainy. Chapter One, Page three, section eight. "Do not go after the loved ones of superheros." A simple rule, really, but oddly enough, one with no case studies. Super Villains love case studies, it lets them get their egos up that they won't make the same mistakes as others. That's why there is no case studies. No one broke this rule, or at least according to all official records, no one broke this rule. No media reports, no tales told to one another, only looks of concern and shook heads if you mentioned it at "The Haunt."
&#x200B;
Doctor James "Nuclei" Angelos was a minor player. He could absorb radiation, solar, alpha, beta, gamma, microwave, you name it, he could absorb it. Then he could convert that to raw electrical power. A cool ability, and one that the Department of Energy would love if he wasn't abusing. He held three doctorates in various fields of nuclear and quantum research, and was a bonafide genius. Problem with smart people, is they often think they're the smartest person in the room. His rival, one hero named simply "The Alchemist" was actually a rival scientist as well, in the field of quantum mechanics. His power was a little more odd, in that he could reconstruct anything at the quantum, atomic and molecular level, so long as he had enough raw material. A really neat ability, one he had used to be at many a humanitarian crisis. He had been a hero at every level. James hated him, both for the fact that the Alchemist had thwarted his plans time and time again, but also that he seemed to be so much more successful. And one he had found the true identity of his nemesis, he had hatched a plan to take everything from him.
&#x200B;
Doctor Alexander "The Alchemist" Maddison was a simple man before he found his powers. He loved to spend time with his husband and their son. He was fond of gardening, loved to go on hikes, and owned a 1987 Toyota 4Runner that he used to go camping on weekends. Every first sunday of the month he donated food and goods to local charities for those in need, and was regarded for his wing of the Children's Miracle Hospital, where many well known superheros would sponsor sick children. The Alchemist hadn't sponsored it, Alexander Maddison had sponsored it. He was a mild mannered man, who loved the little things, and that bled into the Alchemist, who universally was regarded to be kind, even to the villains he captured.
&#x200B;
Right now he was standing over the burnt out remains of his lake side house.
&#x200B;
Through the smell of charred concrete and burnt wood, the acrid smell of melted plastics and burned away cleaning chemicals, there was one smell that could just be picked out. A haunting, twisted smell, that melted into the back of your mind and stuck there. Burnt human flesh was such a distinct smell, one the Alchemist had smelt when he's been too late to a fire downtown early in his career. There were only two people that could have been in the house at the time.
&#x200B;
Officially? A lightning strike had caused the fire and destruction. People had seen the small, quick to blow away thunderstorm just missing the edge of town, so the people would buy the story. The media moved quick to cover it up, but the heros watching knew, the villains watching new, the Alchemist knew. This was no lightning strike.
&#x200B;
Nuclei had been shocked when he had been turned away from "The Haunt", not even politely, but thrown out by the guards and told he should run. Not even the seedier "Dungeon" would have anything to do with him. Every call he made, every text he sent was returned with the same message. "Do not message me, do not contact me, and if you know what's best, you're going to run." It had taken time, but he'd gotten the hint, and in his 2001 Honda Civic had made his way out of town. He's followed along a winding set of paths, his Spotify playlist dark and brooding, but still, he felt his success, he'd *won*. He was almost to Silver Star City when the oddest thing happened, his wheels turned to sand, and at seventy-five miles per hour, his Civic no longer was churning along peacefully, but was instead rolling end over end as it had slammed into the ground and lost control. It was some miracle that James survived, pushed up against the roof of his overturned wreck. He could smell the gasoline, and feel the heat from a small fire that had broken out. As he tried to climb from the smashed window, the ground turned to tar, and him, the former Honda Civic, and all his belongings sunk into it. James was a smart man, he held three doctorates after all, and though heavily concussed could see the man standing in the distance. He could put two and two together, and all of a sudden he understood the reason Chapter One, page three, section eight existed. As gasoline from the upturned vehicle continued to pool on top of the tar he himself was sinking into, he understood the error of his ways, and as the ground solidified around him, he begged for mercy, shouting from the top of his slightly compressed lungs. But the man in the distance just stood and watched. His head above the ground, and only parts of his body exposed above ground.
&#x200B;
As the gasoline finally caught, there would be no dramatic Hollywood explosion, the fire would burn for hours and James, not quite exposed enough would not quickly go in flames, but would instead slowly bake as the surrounding asphalt headed up, and even then, it was not the final blow. No, as he laid there in the slowly rising sun, he could hear in the distance the sound of fire engines and for a brief moment thought his ordeal was over, that he might live to tell the story, to be a perfect case study. But as he saw the red and white lights of the truck approaching a sinking sensation came to him. Not in his heart or gut, but a literal sinking sensation as the asphalt once again returned to it's tar-like state, and him his former vehicle, and any sign that he had existed sunk into the ground and was consumed. By the time the firefighters would carve him out, he long ago would have suffocated. His name was never released, and all records of him said that he had simply "gone missing".
&#x200B;
There is a handbook on Super Villainy, and Chapter One, page three, section nine states, seemingly in direct counter to section eight, "You never know what a hero is capable of, so it is best to never let them find out."
|
"Pyro, local anti-hero, Got a gimp brother by the name of Harry."
"Wait, you're not really going after family, are you?" The henchman asked his boss. "I mean, no offense, but not even Quantum went after Pyros family." The henchmen continued. "And Quantum can pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants."
"It just means Quantum isn't thinking big enough." Electron said with a smile as he donned his suit. "When you strike where your enemy is vulnerable, You'll give yourself a massive advantage." At this point, the Henchmen knew there would be nothing he could to talk down his employer from committing to his plan of action, he would most likely have to shop around for another contract, again.
"God help him." The henchmen muttered as he watched his employer walk out of the laboratory.
===
"Hello Electron." The villain woke, and immediately looked around him. His heart was racing, as he pulled against the ropes that tied him down to the chair.
As he struggled, trying to say anything through the bandanna stuffed in his mouth, Pyro continued to speak. "Don't bother." He looked up at the other end of the table, and saw a silenced 1911 pointed straight at his face. "Former Navy." Pyro said, slowly taking off his dark red mask with a slight grin. "Chief made sure to ingrain that shit into our heads."
Electron looked around in horror as he noticed his parents were also tied down to chairs, sitting alongside him.
"Now. You've done some really fucked up shit." Pyro said, as he set the pistol down and stretched his arms out. "And coming from me, you should normally take that as a compliment. BUT, this isn't normal.
"I mean, I have you and your family tied up, and at gunpoint." Pyro grinned. "Aint exactly normal is it?"
"See, you crossed a line." Pyro continued. "A line, which even insane motherfuckers like me, don't anywhere near. Because doing so risks a response like this." The Anti-hero said as he pulled out his phone, and set it on the table. He pressed a button, and a voice played out.
"Pyro, local anti-hero, Got a gimp brother by the name of Harry." Electrons' voice rang out from the phone. He froze, and his blood ran cold as he realized why exactly he was tied down to a chair.
"Nothing fucks with my family." Pyro simply said as he aimed his pistol at Electron's mother.
It was then that he realized why you never went after family.
'Lines don't exist when family is present.' He thought as his parent's corpses slackened in their chairs, and Pyro turned the barrel of his pistol towards him.
===
Pyro picked up his phone and holstered his pistol as he dialed a number, sparing a passing glimpse at the three corpses across the table.
"Report?" The voice on the other line asked.
"Job completed, he won't be a problem anymore." Pyro replied before hanging up the call and pocketing his phone.
He made a promise that nothing would fuck with him or his family anymore. They already did so once, and he couldn't make them pay. Now they try again, and he had more than enough power to fight back? He would have been stupid not to kill Electron.
*Still though...*
As Pyro stood up and walked out of the house, he pulled out his phone once more and dialed another number.
"James?" The voice on the other end of the line said. "You don't normally call, whats up?"
"Eh, nothing, just... just wanted to make sure you were alright."
"I'm fine... it's pretty late though, shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I could say the same thing to you." Pyro said.
"That... true." The voice on the other end of the line said. "Anyways, how come you really called?"
"Honestly, I just wanted to make sure you're alright." Pyro explained as he sat down in his car and turned the engine over.
"...I'm fine." The voice said. "You sound tired."
"I'll live."
"...take care, James."
"You too, Harry." Pyro said before hanging up the call. He flipped the sun visor down and withdrew a small photo of him, his brother, and their parents. He'd forgotten long ago when the picture was taken, but he'd never forget how his parents were taken from him.
*Nothing will ever fuck with my family again.*
----
Hate what you see? you can find more at /r/AluWrites
| 2020-07-12T09:36:39
| 2020-07-12T07:09:26
| 2,138
| 926
|
[WP] It is 2009. You are the one time traveler to show up to Stephen Hawking’s unannounced time traveler party. You are from 200 years in his future. You have to explain to him why he can never tell anyone you showed up.
|
"Man, it's good to see you Steph!"
Stephen grinned, patting the couch next to him and handing me a drink.
"I'm assuming by that you mean you haven't seen me in awhile? Tell me, how did I kick the bucket anyway? There's so many interesting people you'll love to meet, I don't get why you wanted to meet here..."
Looking through the window from the outside one more time, assured the door was locked, I climbed in from the roof. I took the liquor and downed it in one swing. High class parties and their small ass portions. Well, Steph always was a lover of the finer things.
"Listen, no one can know I was here."
He looked at me.
"Ok well, no one but you."
"Why's that?"
"No one knows my name yet. But soon they will, and I don't want people associating you with me."
I felt that if he could have taken a step back there, he would have. Instead a slight tilt got his wheelchair moving back a little. Close enough.
"It's for your own good, trust me. Besides," I pulled up the champagne bottle to meet my lips.
"Didn't you want to know how you'd die? The legacy you'd leave behind?"
He'd adjust his glasses if he could.
"Well... yes. How am I remembered?"
An icon of hope. Science and bravery in the face of adversity.
"You gotta understand, 200 years is... A long time..."
He looked down at the cup on his lap. "oh..."
I left it at that, eyeing the door cautiously.
"Why did you come back to meet me?"
"You asked me to."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You never really died. You kept on living. You cured yourself of illness and death. For a few years, despite your age, you felt you got back the youth you never had."
He disappeared from public eye, working on the next big scientific advancement. He nearly got there before he began falling apart again. But nearly was never enough for him
He was afraid he let this second wind slip by, wasted, like those years in the chair.
You didn't die. You lived long and in a body not yet faltering. Your legacy was great. But it wasn't enough. And with your dying breath, you made me promise to eradicate the complacency that laced his work, holding him back from his true potential.
I didn't see it, but he promised it was there.
I looked him in the eye. "You're working on a cure, aren't you?"
"Yes." He looks at me hopefully. "It worked, if you knew me, didn't it?"
It did. But it wouldn't last.
"You lived, but it was in incredible pain. Agony, for years, until your heart gave way and you left us. Steph... you wanted to tell the past you not to bother. It's far beyond your reach. You tried but it didn't work."
"But if I try harder..."
I raised a hand. "Stop."
"It worked for a bit! You saw it for yourself, it's possible. Life extension, it's real!"
"But the suffering-"
"I didn't try hard enough. I will now."
"You won't succeed. As much as I want you to-"
The alarm began to ring, and I could feel myself slipping back to the future.
"This is where I say goodbye. I wish you luck, Steph."
Steph moved towards me, eyes burning with determination.
I looked into them, and smiled.
|
In the video documentary, a man with a deep base voice will narrate most of it for me. The video will make the event seem magical, but in reality, it's me waiting in a room with many cameras on me in all corners, strange lighting, and the film crew's muffled conversations to one another.
I tried talking to the guy holding the boom mic over me, and made him laugh a couple of times. I said a few things unrelated to the documentary when the camera man interviewed me, but they'll probably get cut.
Most of us here don't know whether to feel anticipation or like this is a big farce; no one wants to pick a side. You risk getting your hopes dashed, or coming to terms with being an unfeeling monster. That is, no one has picked a side in front of me. Everyone has the same unplaceable energy they can't really figure out how to spend.
Two hours later, we're still here though the deadline's gone by. Everyone's in agreement that a time traveler could still be fashionably late. People are still talking to each other. We made extra food for the crew for their wait, and all that champagne has to go somewhere once the bubble's popped. No one looks disappointed; I don't think you could feel disappointed. I tell myself I'm proving something, but I don't truly feel let down, though of course, everyone has moments in the past they want to change or just revisit.
I don't feel let down, I feel like I'm remembering something. I always feel like I'm remembering something, and that by proving its laws, the world's laws, I can't forget it.
5:30. The camera crew is gone. The lights went first while the sun set. PAs are going around taking the set down - I'll have my house back in not half an hour now. The director is chatting with me as I roll with him out to his car parked on the sidewalk. We're exchanging a few pleasantries about time - the subject is a silly one, casual, lots of things to be said to keep the moment fun. As he bends to get into the backseat of his car, watching his pantleg won't get snagged on the door, something's firmly pressed into my palm, though of course, I won't notice it.
Maybe it'll slip out of my hand before someone finds it there. I bet it's a note. I don't close my eyes, but it feels like I'm remembering again, looking at the car door, the tinted window rolling up, but looking upward at the night for hours and hours and hours. Nearby, in a line, they're still pulling boom mics and various electronics out of my house. "Stephen, the time travelers are never in *your* universe. This whole place is yours. For you. Your own."
I rolled back into my house as someone, under either arm, carried the last couple of boom mics out.
| 2020-10-17T02:38:41
| 2020-10-17T02:23:37
| 235
| 26
|
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her.
|
“And how many claws does Stewie have?” I flipped through *the book*, wondering what horrors were trying to befriend Emmy now. For a 8 year old girl, she has a talent for attracting some doozies. Though my mother warned me before bequeathing *the book*, I was not expecting so many demon lords and fae queens to be so interested in a little girl’s schoolwork.
Emmy giggled. “None!”
“What about wings? Fangs? Scales? Tentacles?”
She shook her head giddily, “None of that!”
I paused, and begrudgingly flipped towards the back of the book where the more humanoid, and frankly more disturbing monsters lurked. We haven’t flipped through these back pages before. As the non-magical father to a daughter who comes from a long line of female witches but none of those other female witches were alive… hopefully Stewie turns out to be a friendly ghost.
“Does Stewie have eyes at least?”
“Yep!”
“How many?”
“Two!”
“Where are they located?”
“On his face, silly!”
I frowned, “Does Stewie just look like a human?”
Emmy nodded, “He likes Milk Duds.”
“What do you guys do?”
“We just play at school.”
I sat back, a bit befuddled. *The book* doesn’t mention a Milk Dud loving boy who likes playing at school. “Is he… just a boy at your school?”
Emmy nodded happily, “He’s my first friend!”
“That other people can see?”
“Everyone can see him, Daddy! He did really good at the school’s spelling bee. That’s where we met. He spelled Stegosaurus.”
“Huh.” I stared thoughtfully at Emmy. It’s been a awhile since she made a human acquaintance. People had a hard time coping with the oddness that surrounds Emmy, even if they can’t see the eldritch beings that lurk around her. It just causes the hair to lift on the back of your neck, as if something is hunting you. I shivered.
I snapped *the book* abruptly close and stood up. “Well, we should invite Stewie over one of these days! You can show him your tree fort.”
Emmy gasped, “Really?”
I smiled, “Of course. It’s your first friend. I want to say hi.”
Emmy squealed, and grabbed my hand. She rattled on about Stewie and what fun they will have. I nodded and laughed, but my free hand rubbed the back of my neck. Trying to flatten the hairs down.
Stewie scared me.
|
Winds howled around the Mond castle. It stood on a cliff's edge and was framed by the full moon. Inside, the castle was reworked into a cluster of apartments that could be rented. In one such apartment Catherine tried to get a handle on the imaginary friend Julia, her daughter, spent most of her time with. Catherine had never seen the friend and the stories Julia told her now concerned her. Something told her that this new friend was not too well put together.
"Where did you say you saw her last?" she asked the little girl who tried to roll her spaghetti around on the fork as she'd seen people do on TV.
"Who?"
"The friend you keep telling stories of."
"Hmmm..." she ate whatever spaghetti her fork could scoop out. "It was the tennis court."
"Tennis court?"
"Mrs. Agnew lives there."
Catherine tried to recall the list of questions that now lay folded on the top of the dresser. She tried to recall what meeting someone in a sports setting might mean, but her memory failed her. She made a mental note of the tennis court.
"How was she?"
"She?"
"She. Your friend."
"My friend isn't a 'she'."
Isn't a she, Catherine made a mental note of that. Couldn't be a banshee, or a resentful mother then. Catherine herself had created much of a ruckus in the country when she was but a child. Haunted, no, befriended, by a banshee she had screamed her lungs out. It was then that her mother obtained the questionnaire from Mrs. Flanders.
"Ah, it's a boy, then."
Julia scrunched up her nose and glared at her mother from under her little black eyebrows. Catherine noted the hostility. Surely, it couldn't be anything good.
"Boy? No."
Catherine didn't blink. The winds howled louder around the Mond castle. An imaginary friend that wasn't a boy or a girl. Catherine's mind searched for the things this might mean. The friend could be: a devil, a rabid animal shot dead, a troll who died when the bridge across the cliff fell, a monster intent on malice -- nothing good.
Julia finished the last of her meatballs and left the rest of the spaghetti untouched.
"I don't want to eat anymore."
Even this statement set Catherine on edge. Her mind wandered through the possibilities: possession by the devil who only likes meat, animal spirit who can't appreciate pasta, a troll who doesn't like the flavour of grain...
"Why?"
"I'm full."
Julia left the table and sat by the window. The winds blew madness about them. Catherine examined her daughter's profile there near the window. She couldn't see anything out of order. The list of questions slipped from her mind. It was hard to remember all of them.
Suddenly, the window flung open. Winds howled within the room. Julia hissed and blew air through her mouth. The winds blew stronger and stronger. Leftover spaghetti splattered across Catherine's face. There in the room; she saw her daughter laughing with the storm.
| 2022-06-01T13:57:31
| 2022-06-01T10:06:13
| 69
| 14
|
[WP] 70 years ago, the US underestimated the power of the atomic bomb. It had completely obliterated the island nation of Japan.
|
The paint can hissed in my hand as I worked in the darkness. "Equality cannot be bombed," I scrawled in red across the side of the Kuomintang military headquarters of Shenyang. We had to let the people know that the Party was still alive and active. That we were organizing, and preparing. Getting ready for the day when we'd overthrow the KMT. They needed some reminder, because morale was at an all-time low after Mao's surrender.
I can't fault him; it would be suicide to continue fighting against the threat of an atomic holocaust. I'll always remember where I was that day: August 6, 1945. "The day the sun came to Earth," as we called it. The bright flash of light blinded and deafened many even hundreds of miles away, and a vast cloud of poison stretched over China's heartland for months. America had dropped a new type of bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima, so powerful that the devastation stretched from Okinawa to the far tip of Honshu. Only Hokkaido and some of the far-outlying islands managed to survive the initial blast, but were still devastated by the ensuing radioactive fallout. Most of Japan had been turned to rubble and swallowed by the sea, and the few remaining shards of mountains were desolate and charred.
At first, we cheered. Despite the devastation that the bomb had wrought, ten years of war were ended in one fell swoop with almost no Allied soldiers lost. The southern half of the Korean peninsula had been part of Japan for so long that it wouldn't be missed either. The few Japanese troops scattered throughout China laid down arms immediately after hearing the news. It seemed as though all of our dreams had come true. But with Japan vanquished, the KMT turned their eyes to Manchuria, heart of the Communist party. And Chiang Kai-shek had America's might at his back.
Many doubted whether the bomb would ever be used again. Japan had been a unique situation; the entire island was ready to die for their cause, and retaking it with conventional means would have been a meatgrinder. But Manchuria was full of civilians; they wouldn't kill them without good reason, would they? And we hadn't attacked America like the Japanese had. Was America so bloodthirsty that it would murder millions just to keep Chiang in power?
Those questions dissipated when Moscow and Leningrad were destroyed. The American broadcasts claimed that the Soviet Union had developed a similar weapon in the space of only two years, and that they were preparing to use it against the cities on the East Coast of America. "We could not afford to wait until their final preparations were completed," the American president had said. Everyone in my village clustered around the radio, listening to the address. Jing, who had been imprisoned with some of the American soldiers, translated for us. The USSR surrendered as soon as the utterly decapitated government struggled to regroup. The President' message ended with a warning: any means necessary will be used to defeat the evils of Communism. *Any means necessary*.
Chairman Mao got the message and surrendered himself to KMT custody later that day. His final orders were for the rest of us to lay down arms lest Manchuria be reduced to another crater like our former allies. And that was the end, as far as the KMT knows.
Few of us continue the fight in whatever way we can. No weapons or bullets, just ideas. Ideas sprayed in red paint, letting the people know that this isn't over.
|
“Japan is gone sir.” The man calling said with a dead tone.
“Gone!? What do you mean “gone” son? You mean Hiroshima is gone? Be specific.” The man’s voice was nearly as coarse as his face was lined. A line of stars shined on his forehead.
“It’s gone sir. All of it. The bomb was a bit bigger than expected.” This time the voice was a little perturbed as if the outburst had awakened it to the situation.
The general with the stars on his head paused with one hand on a cigar. “Well I’ll be damned. You’re sure son? I need to make a call. A few calls. What the Hell? You sure son?”
The general hung up without getting an answer paused for a moment. Lit the cigar then resumed yelling.
….
Ketchup has strange properties when it encounters nuclear explosions. It hardens immediately upon contact with gamma radiation thus creating a type of shield that blocks most subsequent radiation. The method by which this occurs is little understood and even less studied. Suffice it to say that if you are in the vicinity of this nuclear explosion you would want to be on the island right off the coast of Japan that manufactures all of Japans Ketchup. This little island is known for having vast open paths and having particularly virile verdant grasses filled with diverse animal life. The people there live in a near collectivist society that focuses on helping one another and treats each member of the society no matter how young as an equal. It was truly an island utopia.
…
At the time of the explosion the largest ketchup manufacturing plant in the world located on the south side of the island exploded raining its contents down on the little town, it became the legend of the “blood rain of life” The fortune of the most elite family was destroyed, however the residents of the town miraculously survived with no major mutations. The animal life was not as fortunate, perturbing mutations began to be common. Unknown species with higher than average intelligence evolved. The people faced their new world with a brave pioneering spirit and soon populated the entire island using the last of Japanese innovation and technology. Beautiful cities well planned and cooperative sprung up at regular intervals connected by ancient paths that once went through endless straight lines of tomatoes.
…
Years later the last of the long forgotten ketchup mogul’s line was born. His name long since been corrupted by subtle changes in pronunciation yet still held echoes of his ancestors empire and it's subsequent destruction. He will be known as "Ash Ketchum".
[seedsoftantalus.wordpress.com]
| 2015-08-06T11:21:25
| 2015-08-06T10:59:00
| 1,133
| 221
|
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte.
|
"Listen here new guy. Every night at precisely 3:30am I brew a fresh pot of our darkest roast. I use a whole bag of our house blend. If you know what's good for you, you'll set an alarm to remember." He looks at me like I'm crazy.
"But.. We haven't seen a customer for at least an hour.. Also, why so strong?" He leans in closely as I press the button. Hot steam billows from the coffee maker as the beans begin to brew. I look him dead in the face and use my *serious* tone.
"Because Beelzebub is coming for The Dark Lord's coffee, and he likes it hot." I smirk a little at the look on his face. Poor new guy has no idea what's in store for him. Bless his heart.
"You're kidding? Isn't Beelzebub a vampire or something? He's not real." This guy thinks he's funny or something.
The machine starts to sputter as the coffee finishes up. As if perfectly timed the lights start to flicker and the temperature in the shop starts to rise. The new guy leans over the counter as I pop the top on the extra large togo cups I special order just for Him.
I hear a snorting sound from the new guy and he whispers "Are you serious?" As the shadowy figure steps in through the door. The footsteps are so soft, almost silent. A single light beams down upon our demonic guest.
"Training some fresh meat tonight my darling?" The voice was so horrible, deep and gutteral. Very uncharacteristic seeing as it was coming from the cutest little girl you've ever seen. Yep. Beelzebub loves to disguise himself as a little bouncy haired blonde girl with big blue eyes. Tonight he wore a hot pink dress with a little mermaid on the front.
"Yes! I grow weary and it's time to retire!" I smile the biggest smile. The new guy looked like his soul had left his body. He stood there gaping with his mouth open. I winked at him. This was too much fun. "Are we still on for our bargain?" I asked the sweet little girl as I handed her the drink.
Beelzebub rocked back and forth on her tiny heels. "Oh yes my darling! You shall live *deliciously* as promised." She looked at the new guy then back to me. "Bless his heart." She grinned the most evil little grin, winked at me, then burst into flames. The lights flickered back on and the temperature dropped.
"Wha.. What the hell!?" The new guy finally found his tongue. I spoke to him with my *serious* tone once more.
"You better set that alarm."
|
“Hey, how’d it go with your date last night?”
I looked at the time. It’s 3:32am. “Well, kind of a long story. I’d tell you, but you know who will be here any minute now.”
“Ah. True. Well, he might wanna hear too? Is he a he by the way? Does he just identify as “demon” or …”
Suddenly Damien the Demon, most venerable assistant to “The Dark Lord,” appears.
I’ve worked this shift at Angel Café for six months now. Damien, a powerful demon, without fail, appears every night at exactly 3:33am to pick up a latte for “The Dark Lord.” I’ve never gotten used to this and probably never will. I get chills every time Damien appears, but I always try my best to hide my fear and stay professional.
“Damien! How are you?”
“You know why I’m here. Where is it?”
“Ah … uh … right. Coming right up. Just finishing it up now.”
“And why isn’t it already ready?”
“Well … sir … or … uh … yea …”
“What Chris means to say is that last time we made it to be ready for as soon as you arrive and you complained that it was not fresh enough despite us making it literally 30 seconds before you appeared.”
I go back and forth between looking at Damien and Lisa. I can’t believe she just said that to a freaking demon. Is she crazy? Ah, shit! I spill Damien’s order as I’m distracted.
“Fuck,” I whisper just a tad bit too loudly.
“What is it? Where is the latte?”
“Uh … sorry Damien. I …”
My eyesight rapidly deteriorates as tears pile up. I wipe my eyes to prevent a waterfall. Lisa comes over to help.
“It didn’t come out right. We’ll get you a fresh one started immediately.”
That was a lie. Lisa just lied to cover for me. God I hope Damien isn’t psychic.
“It has been 3 minutes. The Dark Lord will not be happy with this wait.”
I nod my head furiously while multitasking and scrambling to get another latte started. Lisa puts her hand over my hand in a signal for me to stop and calm down. I look her in the eyes and nod slowly.
“I am not Cupid. I am a powerful demon. Cut the romance, complete my order, or you will find out exactly what it means to be a powerful demon.”
“Yes. We’re on it Damien. Chris is going to take a break and I’ll get this done right away.”
Damien grunts. I walk to the other side of the café to do some stocking. Lisa pours Damien’s latte into a large coffee cup.
“Here you go. One large iced vanilla latte.”
“Have all the specifications been met?”
“Blonde roast cold brew, one pump vanilla, whole milk, and a dash of cinnamon.”
“Good.”
Damien grabs the coffee.
“By the way, my manager did mention that we’re getting ready to sell to a new owner so I’m not sure if the new owner will be okay with the whole free coffee in exchange for not killing us deal. Just letting you know.”
Damien glares at Lisa.
“I guess we will see.”
Damien suddenly disappears.
I let out a huge sigh of relief and put my hands on my knees while looking at the ground.
Lisa walks over and rubs my back.
I stand up straight.
“You know, Lisa, either you’re the bravest person on the planet, the craziest person on the planet, or both … You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re a demon yourself.”
I grin and giggle.
Lisa grins as well.
“Chris … you have no idea.”
Lisa winks at me.
I tilt my head slightly to the side while looking slightly confused. I wonder what she means by that?
My thought is interrupted by another customer walking in. Ah, fuck. I guess it’s about that time for the after-party crowd. Beats a demon, but not by much.
| 2022-10-30T12:33:33
| 2022-10-30T11:59:59
| 113
| 50
|
[WP] Take a "standard" romance and flip the script. The tall hot athlete is a girl while the shorter, slightly nerd is a boy who "cleans up nice," a naive rich boy gets swept away by a cynical gal from the wrong side of the tracks, that sort of thing. Anything that shakes things up.
|
"You really wanna flip the script?" The writer laughed and popped another piece of popcorn in her mouth. The executives looked at each other nervously. The tired old tropes had made cookie cutter plots so easy. If people knew there was more out there- if the masses demanded better? What then? The crowd cheered as the panel of writers looked at each other. The writer tilted her head back as the others laughed.
"How is this for different: the male love interest is actively working through his trauma with a trained therapist."
The writer paused as the girls in the audience cheered. The Manga creator stood and bowed.
"And the female lead- she doesn't need constant validation. She knows her strengths and weaknesses."
A murmur of approval ran through the men in the crowd.
The poet tucks a strand of hair behind one ear thoughtfully. "They communicate. When there's a problem, the pair sit down and talk it out."
More screams from the crowd. A few women look on the verge of fainting.
The first writer stands dramatically. "They take the time and energy to learn each other's love language. Each checks in with the other to see their needs are being met."
The executives turn to each other in genuine fear now as the crowd roars its approval.
All the writers stand in unison and smile.
"And, best of all..."
"Both acknowledge they are deeply flawed individuals...."
And when they mess up-"
The crowd waited with baited breath as the writers spoke in one triumphant voice
"They apologize and take accountability!!!"
|
It may be technically cheating, as I have just ripped off the first chapter of Pride and Prejudice, but I was curious to see how it would read.
&#x200B;
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a husband.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” said her husband to her one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?” And when Mrs. Bennet had stated with disinterest that she had not, Mr. Bennet continued on with his usual excitable enthusiasm. “Well it has, and do you wish to know who has taken it?” he cried.
“Very well,” sighed Mrs Bennet, and seeing that her husband had worked himself into quite a state of excitement, neatly folded the newspaper she had been reading upon her lap. The financial pages could wait.
“A young woman of large fortune, from the north of England... Miss Bingley.”
Although Mr. Bennet threw his hands up in the air as if in celebration, Mrs. Bennet, however, did not believe she had ever heard the name before, and therefore reserved her excitement until she was able to ascertain further information on her character. “Is she married or single?”
“Oh! Single to be sure, with a large fortune of four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our boys!”
“How so? How can it affect them?” Mrs. Bennet asked with a small smile playing upon her lips. Of course she knew exactly what her husband had in mind, and although it may have been unfair of her, she enjoyed watching his explosive, over the top reactions. It had been one of the things that had her attracted her to him in the first place, how deeply he cared about seemingly small things that no one else did. And in this instance Mr. Bennet did not disappoint.
“My dear Mrs. Bennet,” he exclaimed, “how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of her marrying one of them. Therefore you must visit her as soon as she comes, so that we may introduce her to our sons.”
“I see no occasion for that, you and the boys may go. Or better yet send them alone, for you are just as handsome as any of them, Miss Bingley prefer you after all.”
“My dear, you do flatter me,” Mr. Bennet blushed. “I certainly have had my fair share of beauty in my youth, but when a man has five grown sons, he ought to give over thinking of his own beauty.”
“Well that's not much good, you still are as beautiful as the day I met you,” Mrs. Bennet replied reaching over and kissing her husband lightly on his hand.
“As are you Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet replied giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. “But still, you must indeed go and see Mrs. Bingley when he comes to the neighbourhood. Consider your sons. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them, especially once we are gone.”
“You are overly scrupulous my dear, but for your sake, I will send a few lines to Miss Bingley and assure her of my hearty consent to her marrying whichever of the boys she chooses. Although I must throw in a good word for Laurie.”
“I desire you to do no such thing. Laurie is no better than the others. I am sure he is not half as handsome as James, nor half as good humoured as Luca.”
“They are all silly and ignorant like other boys; but Laurie has something more of a quickness than his brothers.”
“Oh you do take delight vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves,” Mr. Bennet exclaimed, weakly lowering himself into a comfortable chair.
“I have respect of you nerves. I have heard you mention them these last twenty years,” Mrs. Bennet half muttered to herself. Admittedly, when she had married Mr. Bennet, she had not realised his dramatics that she had found so endearing during their courtship took such a toll on his delicate disposition. In hindsight she should have known. “But I hope you will recover and live to see many young women of four or five thousand a year come to the neighbourhood.
Mr. Bennet did not reply as he sat brooding in his chair. Mrs. Bennet was so odd a mixture of sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that even after three-and-twenty years of marriage had been insufficient to make him truly understand her character. His mind was less difficult to determine.
| 2022-06-07T13:45:39
| 2022-06-07T10:54:03
| 30
| 15
|
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
The Nine Kings were a sort of urban legend. Eight powerful enigmas uniting under a truce to lord their power over the people with Number 1. The higher your rank, the more political influence you had over the city, and even the world.
Take Mason, a red-headed hothead with eyes of amber, for example. Mason was ranked 9,001. Only the top 10,000 get to live in Paradiso, a city for only the strongest on the planet. Imagine his shock when Number 10 came to him with a deal: work together to take down Number 1, and live off the royalties as the Ten Kings. Mason immediately accepted. Sure, he was wealthy enough, but you don't get to live in Paradiso without being a little greedy.
Mason and Tenner, the name number 10 chose for himself, discussed their powers and plans for weeks. Mason could create fire, and Tenner could copy bullets, giving himself endless ammunition. However, Number 1's power was a mystery. No one knew what he could do. All that was known was that he was an assassin who used his victims' decapitated heads as proof of his victories.
After weeks of scouting, Mason and Tenner arrived at Number 1's beach house. The night was cold. Mason's body radiated heat, so his toned upper body was bare. Tenner, on the other hand, was bundled in a black jacket. A scarf covered his face, and goggles with orange lenses hid his eyes. He never revealed his face, even to Mason.
"Are you ready?" Mason asked Tenner. His heavily garbed friend nodded. "I'll lead the way," he answered. "Watch my back."
The two walked into the house, ready for anything. They needed to do this quickly, lest the other Kings decide to crash the party. What Mason and Tenner weren't ready for was finding the house already trashed. A man in a white t-shirt stood over a decapitated corpse filled with kitchen knives. As the knives disappeared, the man turned to greet his other two guests. His hair was a chilling black, and his eyes were silver. He was the complete opposite of Mason. "Thieves," Number 1 said, "you can't live with 'em, and you can't live without 'em."
Tenner pointed both of his revolvers at Number 1. Mason's fists conjured scarlet flames. He recognized Number 1's face from all the internet articles. Mason and Tenner fired upon him, only for the King to evade with ease. He was fast, and his attacks would be faster. Like magic, the single kitchen knife in his hand became three, and he threw them at Mason and Tenner.
The two expertly dodged, while Number 1 slashed open a window, and jumped outside. Mason and Tenner pursued him, the former using his flames to propel himself. Red lights and white flashes reflected over the ocean that night.
Number 1 tossed a knife at the airborne Mason, only have it to turn into a hundred mid-flight. Mason blew them all away, and Tenner got a shot on Number 1's left shoulder. This didn't stop the King, who he kept throwing and multiplying knives. Neither Mason nor Tenner could get close enough to deal the finishing blow.
Number 1 used the fight's confusion to circle back to his beach house. Tenner had to magically reload his pistols, meaning it was up to Mason to stop Number 1 from contacting the other Kings.
Number 1 burst through his front door, while Mason created his own opening by burning a large hole in the ceiling. "I'm gonna enjoy this," Mason gloated as he sent a geyser of flame toward Number 1. The King burned alive. His flesh seared away by the raw force of Mason's fire. Number 1 screamed until there was nothing left of him but a charred corpse.
Mason sat on a nearby couch. It was his couch, now. He was Number 1. Tenner soon walked in, and assessed the damage. "How's it feel, Mason?" he asked the pyrokinetic. Mason smiled. "To be Number 1? Pretty good. Of course, I prefer to stay Number 1." Before Tenner could fire at Mason, he set aflame by his partner. Mason watched as Tenner fell to the ground, his clothes falling to pieces. Mason closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sound of the night ocean's tide.
...
...
...
"Seven," a voice said.
Mason opened his eyes, and turned around. Number 1 stood next to the hole in the wall, wearing a denim jacket instead of his t-shirt. Mason got up to fight him, only to have his arms stabbed by kitchen knives thrown from opposite directions. As he cried out in pain, two more people emerged from the shadows. They were both Number 1's, only one wore a hoodie, and another wore a business suit.
"Like I was saying," the first Number 1 spoke, "the man you killed was Number 7, which means you're Number 7, now." Before Mason could speak, the third Number 1 punched him in the face, causing the pyrokinetic to fall to the ground. "H-how?" Mason uttered.
The three Number 1s smiled. Six more entered the room, each one wearing something different. One of them being the Number 1 Mason killed. "Cloning's one of the most practical powers I've ever seen," Number 7 explained. "Being to the top, on the other hand, can be boring," Number 3 added. "Once you're there, there's no one you can trust," Number 8 said. "But it's not about the destination," Number 4 said. "It's about the journey."
Number 1, the real Number 1 in the denim jacket, created two naked clones of himself. "I had so much fun killing to get here, I decided to do it again, and again, and again." He picked up a scrap of wood from the floor, and duplicated it in his hand. "However, I decided to give each iteration of me a different fighting style to accomplish this. Knives, bullets, shuriken, pipes, myself... I can clone just about anything. Take that corpse." He pointed to the thief's corpse on the ground, which disappeared. "That was me, too."
Mason slowly stood up. "Wait, did you say 'bullets?'" he asked. As Number 1 nodded, Mason was shot in the back of the head by Tenner. Tenner removed his scarf and goggles, revealing Number 1's face. "Should we take his head with the rest?" Number 10 asked. Number 1 shook his head. "No, you can destroy it. I prefer not showing off the heads of zeroes."
With that, the clones each took part in the sadistic ritual of shooting and stabbing Mason's head into oblivion.
|
Hi, I'm going to tell my little story here rather quickly as I am rushed for time. Being #1 makes a lot of folks very interested in killing me, so I have to constantly remain on edge.
If there were no ranking systems, most people would assume that I have absolutely no powers. My power is a much more subtle one. But enough tension building, I'll just tell you what it is right now. I have the power of deception.
Seems pretty lame compared to some of the other powers around here -- rank #2 has laser vision for Christ's sake -- but it definitely has its uses. I can make anyone believe or do anything I want. For example, today I convinced a man with acid breath to kill himself. Needless to say, that was a pretty dark moment for me, but I've done worse.
I like to think I'm a pretty charming guy. It helps me manipulate people when I need to. My girlfriend is rank #4 in the city and rank #1 for females. She sadly has the power to crush a man's soul. Ok that's not entirely true, but she does have supersonic speed. I hope you don't think that I accidentally fell in love with the most powerful woman in the city, I planned it. She is entirely convinced that I love her and that really comes to my advantage. She'll do absolutely anything for me, and that can really come in handy for someone as targeted as me in this city. In a way I guess I do love her. I love that she will do simple things for me like robbing a bank. And I especially love the complex things: like murdering her powerful, high ranking family for me. The poor girl can't help but to be infatuated with me -- literally.
Anyways, thats the gist of how I became #1 here. Call me an asshole if you want, but that's the type of personality you have to have to remain on top. It's survival of the fittest, baby. The strong survive and the weak die.
| 2014-12-18T13:33:39
| 2014-12-18T13:12:49
| 77
| 18
|
[WP] You are a cow.
[removed]
|
Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.
Farmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.
Sometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.
When visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.
Old cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass.
|
Moo (Hi)
Moo moo moo.(I am Cow)
Moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo(I do whatever a cow should and could do every day.)
Moo moo, moo, moo, moo moo.(I eat, rest, walk, and sleep.)
Moo moo moo moo(my parents are great)
Moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo(my mother is a good mother and my father is brave)
Moo, moo moo moo moo moo moo's moo moo(though, people suck milk from my mom's nipps sometimes)
Moo moo moo moo, moo moo moo moo moo moo moo(when I grew up, i saw some cows come and dissappear)
Moo moo, moo moo moo moo moo, moo moo moo moo(of course, I made friends with some, but they also dissappear)
Moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo, moo moo moo moo moo moo moo(my momma says they are with different people now, and the are living in a wonderland).
Moo moo moo, moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo moo(then one day, I wake up and my momma is not there with me).
Moo moo moo moo moo moo(I still wonder where she is)
Moo moo moo moo moo, moo moo moo moo moo(I wish she was here with me, I miss her very much)
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Hope you liked it! I'm just new here😁
Sorry for format, on mobile😁
| 2017-10-02T06:13:08
| 2017-10-02T05:04:22
| 6,645
| 387
|
[WP] You run an underground fight club for the supernatural. A new patron approaches you at the end of the night and asks why you don't enter the fights. After explaining you're human the patron looks at you with confusion. "No, you most definitely aren't kid".
|
For the fighters, fight clubs were about honour first.
And some money. When the vampire with a swollen face and bloody teeth comes up to me, you best believe it’s not about the rankings, or the win.
For me, it was about money first. Running a supernatural fight club was a difficult business, entirely reliant on the health of my participants. But thankfully, the risk tended to pay off in spades. After all, there was no other place on Earth where you got the opportunity to find out the truth about your greatest fantasy match ups.
A monopoly was where the money was at. The fights went through me. The fighters? Also me. The betting? Of course, it was me.
When a shady old man slides up to me with a curious intent as obvious as the bloodlust in the cage, all I assumed was that a doubtful bet or idea was forthcoming.
“Hey,” he said, sniffling incessantly. The man shook uncontrollably as well, and his skin looked like it was ready to be turned into a cheap wallet. He raised his hat as a greeting.
“Hey.”
“Why aren’t you fighting in those fights, kiddo?”
I looked at the old man, who was staring at me with an intensity that belied his old age. Unlike the rest of his body, there was something about his eyes. Blue as the heavens themselves. Having seen my fair share of the supernatural over the years, there was something about them that was difficult to…
“I’m human,” I chuckled. “And please, I own this place. There’s no reason for me to be fighting down there.”
The old man licked his thin lips, before turning to look at the fight. The underdog werewolf was winning. Good for money.
“See, the trouble here is I look at you, and I see you winning all these fights.”
“You must be mistaken,” I said. “I’m only human.”
“Kiddo, you are as human as my vision,” the old man said.
I shuffled in my seat, and turned my attention back towards the field. The fight was over. The werewolf ran up to the cage, howling triumphantly. Even a zombie’s heart would beat at that sort of unbridled passion.
“Do you know who you are?”
The voice refocused my gaze, and I found myself wanting to unravel the mystery. The old man had a small smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eye.
“I own this place,” I said again, with less conviction than I would’ve liked.
“Go down there. Fight. And you’ll find out.”
There was a stirring deep inside, a yearning that was quietly scratching at its walls. One hand crawled towards the safe that held my cold, hard cash, and I felt that passion retreat unto itself.
“I’m not who you think I am,” I said. “I’m here to run the fights and make money. You want me to bleed on that floor? Hell no.”
The old man shrugged.
“One day, you won’t keep that beast within you,” he said. “You’ll see.”
And with a wink, he disappeared like the wind itself.
---
[Part 2 here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/xazf44/wp_you_run_an_underground_fight_club_for_the/?)
r/dexdrafts
|
"Chuckle, what have you been smoking bud." My parents and all that crap were all human. They did the DNA thing, mandatory for the past 75 years, so it's no big deal.
The patron looks at me, and his eyes flicker. "You are not human. I don't know how you are passing, but definitely not human. Fight me in the ring, tonight."
"No man" I got things to do, places to go and people to see. Okay, I want to live to see my next birthday, but I don't elaborate. I finish the list for tonight, and start setting up the bar.
I feel a hand grab my arm, crushing the bone. Pain floods through me, and I gasp. "What the hell?" I scream. My team comes over, and yanks the knot head away. Soon, he is blubbering... "She's a Sup. You gotta believe me...." I heard a crunch, and the team hauls him out. My 2nd approaches, and says, "An ambulance is on the way. Let them take care of you. I'll help you get to the front."
'The front' was a C-store. Sold snacks, diapers, and little things. I owned it, and we had been having our fights in the basement since I took over the business. The basement was bigger than the building above, and was the only reason I bought the place. There was so much potential there. I lived in one walled off area, but the club, well it had the rest.
When the ambulance came, they checked me over, and took me in. I was grateful, and hey the pain meds really helped. The night spent in the ED was one of the most boring in my life. By the time they were done with xrays, and finding a doc to put a cast on, I just was wore out. Compound crushing fracture, parts of the bone were obliterated.
Once the cast was on, I was free to go with the standard follow up with my local MD. Of course, I would. Sighs. A cab ride home, and hopefully the c-store was still standing.
My 2nd was waiting for us, he paid the cab driver, and helped me in the door. The place was sparkling clean. He flipped the closed sign on the door, and locked up. Tears filled my eyes. "Thank You." I was led home, and put to bed. Hours, maybe days later, I woke up. My 2nd sat next to me.
"Awake, I see."
I looked at him, smiled, and said "Of course. How have things been going?"
"The c-store is doing well. No thefts, profits are up. We have the young sups working, and one of the wizards improved things. Now, no dust will land there, and the shelves are self-stocking." He grabbed my hand, "We had the wizards look at your arm. They were able to knit it back together, and remove that cast. We kept you asleep the whole time, to deal with the shock and the pain."
"Thank You. I don't.."
His hand gripped mine a little harder. "You have given us a home, and a safe place to fight, to train, and to get our aggressions out safely. It's the least we could do."
"Okay, and what about the guy that hurt me?"
"He was out of his mind, he is unable to hurt anyone again. His mind was wiped, and his powers stripped. He's at the local nuthut, being evaluated. They don't know what to make of an infant in an adult body, but it was safest for everyone."
I laid back down to the pillow. My 2nd put a cool cloth on my forehead. "We love you, and your superpower is just that, you love all of us. We got your back." His hand touched my forehead, and I fell back to sleep. I rested.
| 2022-09-09T02:12:40
| 2022-09-08T19:48:41
| 428
| 231
|
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next?
|
A million a year. It's a pretty sweet deal, to be sure. At the end of each year, your mental state is evaluated and if you are deemed still sane, you are given the opportunity of another year.
I'm approaching the end of my fifth year with all mental faculties still intact, fully willing to take a sixth. I don't need it, the four million has been sat pretty much untouched in my bank account, waiting for me to retire this job and decide what to do with it.
I'm leaning towards a nice house in a nice area, with top of the line kitchen and living room. A fair portion donated too - I'm a charitable person at heart.
The only catch is I have to make it to the end of each year without the phone ringing.
Seventeen days away from the fifth anniversary of the job, it rings.
The ring tone is shrill. My room is fairly empty anyway, a fridge with an amazingly quiet hum, a chair and the table, so the sound echoes.
A beacon to the end.
If the phone ever rings, the contract automatically terminates at the end of the call. No exceptions. They never want into detail, just that it was vital the call went answered and everything would be explained afterwards.
So, I answer it.
'Hello?'
Three little words come back, shaky and breathless. 'All is lost.'
My heart drops. There are two phrases they prepared me for. 'It is done' was one. If I heard that, I press the blue button underneath the the earpiece.
'All is lost' is the keyword for the green. The one that truly ends everything they've been keeping a secret in this facility.
I press the green.
They've kept me from the outside world for the entire duration of my employment. I haven't seen the news, haven't spoken to anyone except those in charge of this programme who speak only in hushed whispers to each other of the outside.
I don't know then, that the war that broke out has killed most of my country, and those surrounding us. That life as we know it has already ended.
I didn't know that, after the last war, they'd converted the government buildings in every city into nuclear bombs activated by a single button in an unknown, secure location.
I ended the world at the request of a single phone call.
But I get to live through the end of the world and beyond, in this bunker built to survive the destruction it causes with those deemed necessary for survival.
I have to live with the knowledge that a phone call of three words was the end of everything.
|
"DRRRRIING!"
I just stared at the phone. It was vibrating furiously and the ringing was deafening.
"DRRRRIING!"
Five years I’d waited for this moment. Five years someone had waited for this moment. My mind when racing back in time. I was trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. The first few weeks I spent a lot of time planning for this call. In fact, I kind of believed it all to be a big scam. $1 million a year to wait for a phone to ring. Yeah right. So I memorised all this clever ways of answering the phone. I made up all this insane characters I was going to act out. Then a few months went by and the phone just sat there, as if it wasn’t connected to any kind of network. The least used phone in the world. At that point I was starting to take it seriously. It was a million a year, but I was being paid monthly, and I had been paid. When you’re being paid a month what you were lucky to earn in a couple of years before, no qualifiactions and all, to sit in a secluded room and do pretty much nothing, that’s when your mind starts taking shit real serious.
"DRRRRRIING!"
Couldn’t the damn phone just shut up. Then I could pretend that it’d never rung. I had a good thing going here. Fuck.
"DRRRRRIING!"
I knew answering the phone would change everything. I knew it wouldn’t be for the better. I knew that not answering the phone would have the same consequences. With a surpringly steady hand I reached over to the black brick in the centre of the table. I picked it up, turned it around, and with my thumb presse down on the button with the green phone on it. I slowly moved it up to my ear.
“He..Hello?”
There was a soft sound of static on the other end. I couldn’t hear anything else.
“Hello?” I said again, hoping it was a wrong number and I could go back to collecting a paycheck doing nothing.
“In front of you, there is a wall.”
I looked up, and yes, the wall I had been starring at for the last five years was there, right in front of me.
“Yes.”
“Good. Walk over to it.”
Even if I’d wanted to ask why or refuse the request, there was something about the voice that told me that I had no options. I rose from my chair and slowly walked over to the wall. I stopped right in front of it. It didn’t look much different from there than it had from my chair.
“Are you standing in front of it?”
“Yes.”
“Right in front of it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Step through it.”
My head recoiled. I blinked a couple of times. The phone was still pressed firmly against my ear, but I was sure I couldn’t have heard the voice on the other end correctly. With hesistancy I confirmed his request.”
“Step…through it?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t a physics major, so who was I to question this request? On the other hand I had 28 years of life experience. I knew that walls could not be stepped through. But that same feeling I’d had before came over me. This wasn’t a request I could ignore. I lifted my right leg, and slowly moved it towards to wall. It hovered for a few seconds right in front of it. I couldn’t do it. My leg wouldn’t move any further. I pulled it back again. All or nothing. Walking through a wall, ey? What was going to be on the other side? I didn’t know, but I had to commit. I backed up. With full force I ran towards the wall. I couldn’t stop know.
The impact was instant. The world was fuzzy. The worlds, because I could see three of everything. My ears were ringing. I felt something warm and wet trickle down my forehead and down the side of my face.
The phone dropped to the ground. I could hear the voices on the other hand. There was laughter. Hysterical laughter.
“Hahahahahha. Man, this is gonna make MILLIONS on YouTube!”
| 2017-12-17T00:57:14
| 2017-12-17T00:40:57
| 431
| 12
|
[WP] A man in a hospital sees Death. Death's intentions are not what he expects.
|
A glimpse? A glance? A smidgen of vision? There was no proper word to describe what Dr. Markus Schumacher saw, or thought he saw, standing over his patient. It both was and wasn't there. If he focused on it, there was nothing but a black tinge his three assistants on the other side of the table; if he stared at the man entrusting his very life to him, it was clear as day: a humanoid figure wearing a black, hooded robe.
"What *are* you," he whispered, quietly enough that could not be heard over the heart monitor. Goodness, had he stopped working? It seemed he hadn't, for his assistants were unconcerned. Thank goodness his hands seemed to have a will of her own.
The patient's name was Friedrich Bahaus. He was sixty-eight years old, and had come to the hospital with a severe, life-threatening pulmonary embolism—a blood clot in his lung to the uninitiated. Emergency surgery was prepared. Doctor Schumacher had been called away from a most relaxing coffee break to this.
And now this, this vision, dared interfere? It dared reach out a hand—if that skeletal, unmuscled monstrosity could be called a hand—and place it upon a man in his most vulnerable state possible, in Markus' sworn care?
*No,* Doctor Schumacher screamed internally. *No, no, **no!***
With his hands still busying themselves unblocking the embolism, or perhaps guided by his years of surgical instinct, the doctor rebelled. The world faded away, until he could hear nothing but the heart monitor, the pounding of his own heart, and occasional snippet of sound from the operating room; until he could see nothing but a life that needed saving and an omen of his failure at that task.
*I renounce you, monster.*
Beep. Beep. BeepBeep.
"Heart rate is accel—!"
*This patient is not yours to take.*
Beep Beep Beep Beep
"—loss at a quarter pint!"
The hand crept closer to the patient's heart.
*Death—you—will not come for him today!*
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP
**BE GONE!**
...
...
...
*Tug. Snip.*
Beep. Beep. Beep.
"—stabilizing—"
"—nd is closed—"
The world returned.
"Well done, doctor!"
Dr. Markus Schumacher stood staring into space, across the operating table. To him, it was not quite space. There was a hooded figure with a bony hand on Friedrich Bahaus' heart, though he could see little of it. His ears were ringing.
"Doctor?"
He slowly raised a hand to his own heart, and found that he could not distinguish one beat from another.
"Are you well, doctor?"
Though he could not see anything but the hand, the figure lifted that hand from the patient's heart and placed it on top of the doctor's.
Lying on the operating room floor, his assistants trying to resuscitate him even as his vision faded away, it was only now that he could see the figure in perfect clarity.
--------------------------------------
Inspired by a comic strip by MAD Magazine artist Sergio Aragones.
|
The scent of antiseptics wasn't an easy one to get used to. It was the trademark smell of the hospital, that kind of smell that makes people feel uneasy for reasons that aren't fully realized; perhaps a fear of the hospital and the sharp objects it holds, or maybe just the overall sense of not exactly being in control of a situation.
When you're t-boned by an eighteen wheeler and have your ribcage crushed, there really isn't much control you can have. Joel eyed the mess of crusted blood and broken bones that was the body of the young Julie Crones, grimacing as he took notes of her skin coloration.
It was January 1st; the cold weather that came with the day made the already cold morgue feel even more unnaturally cold than it normally was. Joel was still hungover from the New Years party his friends had through the night before, and judging from Julie's charts, she'd probably be hungover too if she had still been breathing at the moment.
The large double doors to the morgue burst open, one door clanging into a wall and the other into an unused gurney.
Joel turned to look at who the noisemaker was only to see a young woman with blonde hair rush forward. She was wearing what looked like a black tunic, black jeans, and plain white tennis shoes.
The antiseptic smell that normally permeated the morgue vanished as she ran towards Joel and Julie.
"Hey you're not-
The woman pushed Joel to the side with a firm hand to his sternum, wedging herself between him and the deceased Julie. Joel gasped for a breath as he stumbled away from the woman; it had felt like he had been shoulder charged by a hockey player. He raised a hand to his chest and froze. He couldn't feel his own heartbeat.
The room faded and he became lightheaded, but after a few seconds, his heart came back to life, first with an erratic and slow heartbeat, but then finally getting back into rhythm like a young child who finally got the hang of riding a bicycle without the training wheels.
He stood there, wondering if he should find a doctor or if he should deal with this woman who had the touch of death, but the thoughts were soon thrown aside.
The strange blonde woman was attempting to resuscitate the long dead and cold Julie. She had her hands pressed into Julie's sternum, causing Julie's ribcage to audibly crack with each press.
"Hey," Joel said lightly, "she's already dead, she's been dead for awhile."
The blonde woman ignored Joel and instead resorted to mouth to mouth.
"Whoa whoa whoa, that's not necessary, she's gone!" Joel yelled, stepping forward and reaching out with a tentative hand.
Before he touched the crazed woman, she turned to him, tears streaming down her face.
"No," she cried, "I couldn't save her. I can't save anyone at all! Why can't I save anyone?"
*Well, I can think of a few good reasons, one being that you were a couple hours too late,* Joel thought. The woman reached forward to Joel with a scrawny pale hand, causing him to instinctively take a step back.
"No, you're okay, you don't need to be rescued," the woman spoke softly. She turned to get another look at Julie, then left back out through the morgue double doors, leaving the two alone once again.
After finally regaining his composure, Joel decided to go tell security abut the crazed blonde woman, but not before noticing that Julie's complexion had grown more pale.
| 2014-06-01T14:06:09
| 2014-06-01T13:45:28
| 16
| 11
|
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
Sarah crested the red ridge and her heart burst. She had almost literally moved mountains to be here. And now the rocks, sand and dust she had memorized for years lay before her. Her view from the southern slope of Olympus Mons stretched for kilometers--though that seemed too small a unit to measure what she could see. It felt like she could see for light years. She could feel the stretch of time and space across this ancient landscape. She could feel it stretch across her own landscape, tracing her journey from the wheat fields of Washington, where she learned her love of the stars, through the naval academy and, eventually, here on the fourth rock from the sun.
She felt she could see everything, but soon only one thing dominated her vision: something that looked like--but could not possibly be--a metal pole with a red and yellow flag drooping to its side.
Sarah called out, "Jordan, I'm climbing down a klick to a crater that may have some exposed metal." "Sure thing, Skip."
The object that could not have been a flagpole was nestled into a crater, and looked like it would be in the shadows almost the entire day. Sarah had only caught a small glint from the top few millimeters of the pole that was in the light, but it was enough.
As she climbed down, she thought about all the factors that had brought her so far: the dissolution of NASA and the privatization of the American space program, the food shortages in Asia that had destabilized a third of the world's population, and the wild hope that low-grav farming on Mars would someday solve the problems on Earth. While she was not on Mars to prospect for metals, the Mars First Consortium would not say no to anything useful. And so she descended under the guise that she was prospecting. She knew the truth though--whatever she was chasing was far above and beyond her pay grade.
She reached the crater and found what she would have called a path to the floor of the crater, except there weren't any paths on Mars. She reached the floor of the crater, and all her instruments went dark. Her rebreather was working fine, it could handle a power outage, but coms, lights, and navigation were all off. She tried to reboot her suit, to no avail. Things were weird enough, so she decided to press on the 50 meters to the "flagpole" anyway.
Sarah had walked over all kinds of Martian dust, or sand or gravel, but she hadn't seen anything like the bottom of the crater. It was oddly smooth, as if it had been sanded down and polished, with a thin layer of dust to coat it and a few rocks and boulders strewn around for show. She couldn't shake the feeling that she should be anywhere but in that crater, out of the sunlight, with no communications. She was not exactly afraid, she just had that old familiar feeling that what she was about to do was intensely stupid and yet inevitable she would do it. It was like when she ate a whole ghost pepper on Charlie's dare on her honeymoon. A terrible decision, but one she had to make anyway. Come to think of it, Charlie himself was one of those terrible decisions.
She reached the flagpole. There was no denying it any longer. It was about five feet high, perfectly cylindrical in shape, and of course there was no mistaking the hammer and sickle flag that indicated the Soviets (or someone pretending to be them) had marked their time in this crater.
Another stupid decision: she touched the pole. A jolt ran through her finger, up her arm and through her body. That wasn't supposed to be possible with the padding in her glove, but she found herself splayed on the ground shaking anyway. Actually, she wasn't shaking, the ground was. She tried to get to her feet as a thicker darkness rose around her and swallowed the skies above her, but it was no use. She was being lowered underground. All she could do was wait it out.
Sarah sat, and waited, well away from the flagpole (she wasn't making that mistake again). She may have dozed off, it felt like she was descending for hours, or it might have been a couple of minutes.
Finally, her platform reached its destination. A door opened into a spartan metallic corridor with blinding incandescent lights. Sarah took a moment to adjust her eyes and began to explore the corridor. She was familiar enough with Russian design from her days training for the ISS that she could see many of the same influences. There was something to the platform, the shape and color of the metal, the design (or lack thereof) of the panels making up the corridor, that gave her a nostalgic feeling of training for a Soyuz mission.
She reached a door to another room. It was ajar. She pushed it open and gasped. On a series of ancient monitors, yet in surprisingly high definition, she watched as pivotal moments of her life played out: her first kiss, her graduation, the moment she knew she had to divorce Charlie to achieve her dreams... The room looked and felt old. The monitors had even older terminals with keyboards set in Russian, though a few looked newer and seemed to have standard Qwerty keyboards in English. The chairs were steel and looked exceedingly uncomfortable, but looked as if they were polished yesterday. Sarah's eyes were drawn back to the monitors, where the center screen flashed a message in English.
"Hello Sarah, we have been waiting for you..."
"Hello? Who is there?" Sarah said, once in English and once in Russian.
A new message flashed onto the screen, "We are."
"Who is 'we'?"
"Come and see for yourself..." A small, unassuming door towards the rear of the room opened with a click and a hiss. Sarah felt compelled to step through. She still hadn't shaken the feeling that she should just run away and hide, but her curiosity was overwhelming.
She entered the back room, her stomach dropping out when she saw what it contained. Three grotesque Russian men stood before her. They each had ugly steel and metals protruding from their bodies at odd angles in odd places, with plastic tubing ferrying liquids throughout their bodies. Their military uniforms were tattered. It seemed their backs were impossibly straight. Each man's eyes had been replaced by small metallic balls that twirled constantly. Their mouths were wired shut, and they had antennas sticking out of their skulls. It looked as if they had an intake port shunted into their necks. They were expressionless and, strangely enough, held hands with each other. And the man in the center had a screen affixed to his chest.
Another message: "We are the Sputnik. We want to go home." Sarah's heart ached for the men these once were. "The process for conversion was imperfect for these bodies, but we have refined our techniques in the past decades." Sarah's feeling of dread doubled. The door closed behind her. "We have been watching you and waiting. You have the determination to succeed where we did not. And you have brought us a ship to get home." Sarah tugged at the door to get out of the room as the bodies slowly slid toward her, their legs never moving from the ground. "Our people abandoned us, but you will not. You will lead us into the new age." The things that were once men closed in around her. She heaved at the door once more, digging her feet in, and the latch broke. She ran from the room, down the corridor, praying the elevator would work for her once more.
|
"... and so it is that we find ourselves in the position to be able to introduce Polkovnik Vladimir Komorov to the platform. Please wait until his statement is finished before asking any questions."
The NASA press secretary took a step down, and shook the gentleman's hand. The cameras flashed without cease, making it difficult to keep his eyes open to see where he was going. He reached out his hand to feel the podium and stepped up.
"Thank you for your time today. Before going any further I would like to first speak to my beloved daughter Irina. I know you had to grieve for me. I know you had to grow up without a father. I know that the times you have seen have challenged you, and I know you must have much anger towards me."
He paused, not solely for breath, but for strength.
"I was often there. I came to see my beloved Valentina, your mother, buried and I saw you. I was scared and excited that you might have seen me but you could barely see past your tears. I wanted so surely to come and hold you and explain everything I could, but it was impossible. I hope you can learn to forgive me for all that I did, and us, for all that we had done. I hope you can look at what we planned to do and find a way to understand it. I am sorry, my daughter."
A tear rolled down his cheek, which he wiped away with his hand, as youthful as it ever was. He took a sip of water, and mopped his brow. Coughing, he took a deep breath and composed himself.
“You must understand how difficult this is for us, we glorify all our successes and work very hard at keeping our failures hidden. This was not a failure. This was glory. We had beaten our biggest adversary at the biggest race there had ever been.”
The excitement in his voice was clear, and this excitement was harmonised by the cameras flashing, catching each gesture and each strong look to be uploaded immediately to social media channels, published on blogs, and shown news outlets alike.
“We had a plan, of course, we had everything on hand, and we had prepared everything to broadcast live from the Red Planet the very day that America was to land on the moon. Can you imagine?! Glorious communism beating this ridiculous idea of democracy, this capitalist society where only the rich survive and the poor are left in squalor, you americans are so arrogant and we would show you, we would be the ones to lead the world into the new era. Yuri kep-”
He paused to cough. Around the room, hundreds of people held their breath. Vlad noticed that his heart was beating so fast, he believed it might pump straight through his chest.
“Yuri kept saying we were like Columbus but I always corrected him. We weren’t like Columbus, he only found land that humans already conquered. We we-“
Vlad brought his hand to his mouth to cough. He noticed a spat of blood on his hand.
“We were truly the first from the human race to reach this land. So we set off on April 24th, 1967, and the mission went without problem. We exited earths orbit the next day, using earths gravity to push us as fast as we could towards our destination. All of this went without incident, which, as I’m sure you’ve now noticed, is where our story deviates from yours.”
As the lights beat down on his head, he squinted to the back of the room, thinking he had seen an old face.
“We settled down to the long journey. We had large elastic bands for resistance training to keep our muscle mass up, and we had just simple concentrated rations to get us through the year. The landing sequence went well, but touchdown was harsh, I broke my collar bone and Yuri had some manner of nerve damage that made his hands shake. Of course, everythin-”
He paused again, mouth suddenly dry. As he looked across the room, he realised he could see no faces, his vision was blurred. He wiped his brow again, and paused to take a sip of the water.
He sipped, but this time noticed the numbers 14-07-54 etched into the base of the glass. His thumping heartbeat practically stopped as he looked up and around.
He looked to the back of the room and saw her. He knew he didn’t have much time.
“Everything went to plan. Right up until November 7th 1968. When we awoke that day, Yuri was out of bed, and looked YOUNGER. He was repairing some electronics for the air recycling system that I had been working on, because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. When I went to wash my face, I noticed all my grey hair had gone. My wrinkles had gone. The ache in my collarbone had gone. I could stretch my arm to full reach without problem. You can imagine how we felt, somehow we had found the effects of Bimini, and the pool of which Herodotus wrote. We were excited to share this news with RSVN, with Kosygin, and with all of Russia, but that day was w-“
A thud. A flash. Vlad reached to his chest but could not feel his heart. He dropped to the ground. He didn’t hear the screams and didn’t see the camera flashes. He only saw Irina, and reached out his hand to hold hers.
“It has to be this way, father” she said softly, as he drifted into eternal darkness.
| 2016-08-16T09:48:26
| 2016-08-16T09:34:40
| 33
| 13
|
[WP] Humans are known for being intelligent, empathic, loyal, and exceedingly versatile. As a result, humans have become the most in-demand service animals in the history of the Galaxy.
|
"Welcome to the Milky Way Center pet store, may I help you?"
"Yeah, I would like some advice. My son need a pet."
"Is it for a birthday? How old is he? Any special taste?"
"Oh, no. He just entered the red-level school, so still almost in its rebellious phase. But he is a little... in depression since... well... anyway, we were advised to consider buying a pet, so that he can relearn how to trust others, and take care of peoples."
"I see... Don't worry. I think I have exactly what you need: a human!"
"A human, are you sure? I've heard that they needed a lot of care in their early life, I'm not sure my son has that much time."
"Don't worry. We also sell 'teenagers' humans. They're passed the age where they needed constant care, they are fully able to clean themselves and eat properly. But they're young enough so that your son will be able to bond with them and form this legendary loyalty no other pet has. Moreover, they're very empathic and intelligent, so the perfect choice for your depressive child."
"Oh, I see, thank you. By the way, my son will be at school most of the time, so..."
"No problems. It is true that contrary to xoulgruiyns, humans do feel the time, and will become bored and depressive without any occupation. Fortunately, their high level of intelligence allow them to enjoy primitive kind of video-games. We have a full catalogue of them, and you can also consider our partner "Play Together" subscription: more than 1 million games translated to human language and adapted to human vision and hearing, so that your son can play on his copy of the game while your pet play on the "Play Together" version of it with him. Moreover, your pet will gladly use its time while your son is at school on those games."
"I see. That seems perfect! Just two more questions: what about life expectancy, and what about breeding?"
"Oh, I see you care about every details. Fortunately, we took care of everything. Humans have a rather long life expectancy. He will be in full health during at least the full scholarship of your son. One very important point is that your son will need to learn to take care of the mental health of hit pet. We strongly advise to give to your pet artistic and scientific teaching during its teenage, as if it feel 'useless' and 'unable to help in any way its master', he will quickly fall in depression. Additionally, for breeding, while the human we sell are sterile, they will still try to breed when they can."
"Why? Aren't they clever enough to know understand they're sterile?"
"They fully understand they're sterile. In fact, we discovered they were more likely to try to breed when sterilized. However, do NOT force humans to breed together. They have a very complex system of affinity and preference, which can be quite puzzling for us, by forcing them to breed when they don't, you might break their loyalty to their master."
"I though humans were the most loyal pets?"
"As long as they don't feel betrayed. You see, humans have pets too, so they understand what it is to be a master, and have expectations on how a master should behave."
"Humans have pets? I didn't know?"
"Mostly dogs and cat. They're too short lived for us, so we rarely advice them to our client. However, if your son were to leave its pet for a long duration, we would strongly advice to buy a dog or a cat, so that it does not feel alone."
"Not another human?"
"It is very difficult to know in advance how a human will react to another human. Their system of preference for friendship is even more complex than their breeding preference."
"Thank you very much, sir. Human are far more complex than what I though, but it looks like the perfect choice."
"If you may follow me, we can talk about your son and what human would be the best fit among the one we currently have in stock."
|
The giant neon sign for “HUMANS R US” reflected bright in Xander’s eyes as he scoped the glass container of humanoids.
“Look Xander, we don’t have all century. Hurry and pick out your favorite model.” His mom said soothingly as she patted Xander’s back.
“But there’s so many different kinds,” Xander said with wide eyes and he stroked the glass encasing the different types of humanoids, “and they all do different things!”
He rushed toward a small Asian human model to the far left and pounded his finger against the glass.
“This one is intelligent and loyal, but can be aggressive! She has the look I want and she’s my size, “ his eyes got huge with delight, “but this one, THIS ONE,” he rushed toward the right and put both hands against the glass, “this one has me feeling a sort of way!”
He stared up at the 6’5 African American humanoid male that twirled in circles on the display.
“In the end, you can always bring them back and exchange for another dear,” his mother said with a big sigh as she clutched both ends of his shoulders.
Xander paced back and forth looking at both of his favorite models while tapping his chin with curiosity.
“THIS IS SUCH A HARD DECISION,” he grabbed his face and let out a giant moan.
In the corner a humanoid salesman approached them, “may I help make your decision better?” He smirked and walked up to the small Asian humanoid Xander had originally been ogling.
“She’s 25% off” he smiled a big Cheshire smile as he put his finger on the glass and traced it down.
“SOLD. Where do I sign?” Xander’s mom stepped in front of him eagerly. —
| 2019-04-22T08:01:21
| 2019-04-22T00:22:19
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] You're a werewolf. Your significant other is a dog trainer and they just aren't having any of your shit.
|
"Good girl," he says, his fingers stroking through my hair, while the change comes over me.
Not even he can make it stop hurting, when the cramps that started in my belly twist through me, when the muscles clench and the pain rolls through my bones and things \*split\*, things \*come apart\* and \*come together\* in new ways, different ways, terrible ways. Don't talk to me about dark chocolate and 'that time of the month', motherfucker. You don't know shit.
Danny? Danny knows his shit. He knows me.
Can you even imagine, remembering what this used to feel like? Out in a fucking Ohio cornfield, or out behind some dumpster in Boise? The pain, the hurt, the vulnerability? That volatile mix of terror and hunger, when your brain shuts down and it's all guts demanding to be fed. Nothing left in the world but things that are threats, and things that are food.
Now I nestle my cheek and my muzzle against his thigh, and I close my eyes, and let the change come. Danny's got me. His fingers through my hair are a promise, slow and calm. Slow and calm. The pain will pass. I'm home. This is my bedroom, and it smells like us. I'll remember that smell, in a few minutes. I'll trust that smell. And him.
Danny used to be a monk. He even had a tonsure cut. It was horrible. A real, honest-to-God catholic monk, before the calling fell away.
"I think God trusts me to be off-leash now," he'd told me coyly, on our first date. Three years and a wedding ring ago.
But the monks of New Skete and the life there had been good to him.
The moon rises, and the pain comes, and it goes.
We're going to go for a walk tonight. He'll keep me to heel; and out of our trash, and away from the neighbour's cat. I can smell the ground beef treats he's got baking in the oven downstairs; we both learned quickly, as it turns out, I'm a *very* food-motivated werewolf. Hunting? Chasing? Sure, that's *fun*, but that box of meatballs has my name on it.
I used to run wild, hungry, terrified, looking for a pack I knew I needed, and would never find. Lone wolves starve. Lone wolves die.
Danny's got me.
My last fleeting memory of humanity is the feeling of his hand sliding my wedding ring off, so it won't cut my finger when it changes.
He trusts me off-leash now, too.
|
She had taken a while to find. The ad had been for people who must love dogs, but also know how to control them. Several had come, seeing the good pay and curious about the pup they needed to train. None of them had "it". They weren't up to the task. That was no problem though, he could afford to go through the process of finding the right person.
Before in life he had been the major CEO of a tech company. And he still would be if he hadn't been afflicted with this curse a few weeks ago. He was still young and ambitious, so it was a shock that such an influential person step down from his company. He had plenty of money, so people just assumed he would retire and live the leisurely life of a young bachelor billionaire. But my oh my how they would be wrong. He didn't want to step down, but he just couldn't focus anymore.
Unlike what he had come to know from media and books his affliction wasn't just set on at the full moon. He transformed every night. The moon's fullness just changed his amount of strength.
He knew the ad was a long shot, I mean how many dog trainers are there in a big city, hundreds, thousands? Oh well, he would find the right one eventually, and eventually he did.
He explained the situation to her, and like many of the others before her she had her disbeliefs. But she was ready for anything, she had grown up tough and strong. She was no nonsense, and had no desire to be mauled by a vicious dog if what this crazy man was spouting was true. Plus he was paying well, she could deal with it.
She took precautions though, she had him chained up. He seemed to like that. Maybe it was just that someone was taking him seriously. And then she waited...and sure enough as the sun went down the young man was no longer in front of her, but a shaggy, vicious looking, mongrel. He would have stood tall but his chains kept him semi crouched. He snarled at her and raged against the chains, but there was nothing he could do.
She remained calm and unflinching. She had dealt with vicious dogs before. They just need...dominance. That was after all why she was so good at her job, that was what she enjoyed. She did nothing that night, nothing to antagonize the beast further but just waited him out. Until when the sun rose and he turned back into the young man.
He was grateful to see that she was still alive, and not running scared for her life. He had hope she might be the one. She informed him that tomorrow would be different, but he would still be in chains, and he agreed.
And as the next night came, it was indeed different. She chained him up and let the change begin. He immediately let out a blood curdling howl and snarl, only to be swatted across the nose. He was taken aback, furious. He growled, and was met with another swat on the nose. He torn at his chains and barred his large white fangs, and was met with a whip on the legs and swat at the nose. What was happening...his rage continued to grow as she swatted him.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a whip meant for especially aggressive dogs. And swatted the hind quarters of the beast. He snapped at her and then pulled back...like he was asking for it again. So she hit him again, and the same thing happened. He was enjoying this. And it showed, like any dog when excited it showed. She kept at it, whipping in different spots and scolding him like any bad dog, and as his rage subsided his excitement grew. Soon enough he had to take care of himself and slept the rest of the night.
She understood now...must love dogs. Several weeks passed of their "training", and now she showed up in full dominatrix leather, with whips and chains. The she and the young man had never been so happy.
| 2019-09-20T11:18:55
| 2019-09-20T09:14:19
| 109
| 61
|
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
Everyone thought it was a joke looking upon the site, a clever trick played by some bored devs ... right? Then they saw the timestamps and got worried, upon governments themselves (After a few higher up individuals having some very embarrassing things leaked about them) raided the supposed location and found nothing continuing to do this for months people were terrified. Some also took it to the extreme, seeing how many rules they could break out of spite, some becoming near saintly. Then the website started to have *Issues*
"What do you mean the sites gone down!" Bellowed across the marble and gold floors as it looked upon the priest
"We don't know, it just stopped working all of the sudden." He said bowing before the Lord.
"Well fix it, and get me a line to lucifer he keeps the servers clean so tell me what the *Hell* happened down there." He said as he sent off the priest adorning more formal attire
When he came upon the phone the techs were somehow more terrified. How they could be considering his equivalent to a second child being broken(Made to *try* and help his first.) He rushed over wondering what happened, only to come about to a dial-tone, seeing on the viewfinder only a hanging microphone, and a dismembered horn to meet him. As they all stood there a ragged, broken group of humans shambled into view. Shielding their eyes upon seeing him, as all those condemned would, then one of them beginning to chuckle as she moved towards the screen picking up the mic.
"See you soon." She smiled, taking the mic and crushing it before taking to the computers leaving them sightless as the screen cut out
=============================================================================
Hey y'all, first prompt fill on here so if you would like some more of this series or more, be sure to go over and check out r/CaoCreatives
|
I search my name.
Shit.
It’s there.
My name is there. In bright red, my name is plainly written across the screen.
Now everyone can know that I killed her.
I killed her.
*I KILLED HER.*
My hands are shaking. This can’t be real. No. No. No. no.
I’m shaking and crying and breaking down.
NO!
I will spend an eternity in hell.
Great.
GREAT.
I can’t think I can’t breathe I can’t live I can’t see I can’t speak. I can’t.
I can’t live.
I CAN’T LIVE!
| 2020-02-29T22:29:01
| 2020-02-29T20:52:03
| 15
| 11
|
[WP] It's 2064, Queen Elizabeth just turned 136 and people are starting to get a little bit suspicious
|
######[](#dropcap)
Laura giggled, clutching Toma's hand tightly as they slipped through the gates. It had been Toma's idea to visit Buckingham Palace to visit the queen for her tenth birthday. "But don't tell your parents," he said. "We might get in trouble."
They slipped through the grounds, admiring the newly cut grass. Laura, who had been initially full of fervor, suddenly stopped. "Wait, Toma. Where are the guards?" She linked and stared around, her chubby hands clinging to Toma's shirt.
Toma looked around at her suggestion, his large, brown eyes taking in the vast expanse of land and the huge palace that towered above them. "I don't know. I guess they all went home." Laura simply nodded at the explanation, although she wasn't sure it made much sense. Her father said that the guards never went home. But she didn't have time to think before Toma pulled her towards the palace.
"Whoa," she whispered as they pushed open the double doors and walked inside. The red carpet and elegant white and gold walls made her eyes open in shock. Her mother had shown her pictures before on the internet, but it was so much *bigger.* She giggled. This was so exciting!
"We should go find the Queen's room! And see the Queen!" Toma suggested. "My dad said that it's a miracle that she's this old, and she's probably going to die soon, so we should see her as soon as possible." He nodded gravely.
Laura nodded furiously. "Okay, let's go see the Queen!"
So they began to run through the palace, peeking their heads into various rooms.
The sound of voices in the hallway scared them into hiding. Laura and Toma scrambled into a room as two maids walked past the hallway, even as Laura stared in awe through the door crack. Wow! They got to work here!
Afterwards, they began their search anew, their vigor renewed by the fact that they had finally seen some people. It was almost twenty rooms later when they came upon a particularly elegant door, carved with intricate patterns. Unlike the rest of the doors, this one was gilded in gold and caught their attention immediately. Toma turned and grinned at Laura, bringing a finger to his mouth before quietly opening the door.
They slipped through.
The room was silent, except for the ticking of a clock in the corner. Laura's head whipped around like a bobble head as she tried to take in all the sights around them. It was amazing! All the fancy furniture, and everything was so neat and clean. She couldn't wait to tell her mother about everything she saw.
A soft noise drew their attention, and the two children silently padded towards the source of the noise. It came from the bathroom. Laura carefully peeked her head around the doorway.
Her eyes widened. It was the Queen!
But then she blinked in confusion, her face scrunching up. But this woman was too young. She had black hair. She remembered from the pictures that the Queen had white hair. The woman sat in front of a large mirror, combing her long, black hair. Then after a moment, she stood up, using a hairband to tie her hair up.
Laura watched as she walked toward the vanity, and it was then that Laura nearly screamed. But Toma's hand in hers made her remember that they shouldn't be here, and if they were caught, they would be kicked out. Her eyes bulged. What was that thing on the counter? It looked like skin! She watched, horrified, as the woman picked it up and tucked it over her face.
Laura could do nothing more than stare as the woman transformed into Queen Elizabeth in front of her face. Her arms were beginning to grow numb from leaning on them, but she couldn't get herself to move. Toma, too, had frozen at the unexpected and eerie sight.
"Aren't you going to come in?" Queen Elizabeth--no, the strange lady--said. She tucked the last few strands of hair in and turned to face them, Queen Elizabeth's kind, smiling face looking directly at them. "Or should I make you?"
***
More fantasy at r/AlannaWu!
|
"This isn't like her, at all" I thought to myself as I tried to keep pace with the guard in front of me, but how could I given the scenery. As fast as I was walking, I was barely looking forward; to be in THE Windsor Castle was practically a miracle! The place had been closed to the public, since...well, since before I was born! I had always dreamed of touring the Castle when I was a little girl, but never like this...something must be wrong with her.
&#x200B;
The guard led me down a long corridor littered with priceless antiques, and opened a set of double doors. I stepped into a dimly lit room, and squinted to see past the motes of dust hanging in the air.
&#x200B;
The guard gracefully waved his arm to a large chair in the middle of the room, "Please have a seat and wait here, your next escort will be in shortly."
&#x200B;
I was too transfixed by the room to give him the thanks I intended, by the time I had looked to him he had already exited and shut the door. The room was an ancient Library, hundreds and hundreds of years old. I had to take a peek around...no harm in that! Just a quick look while I wait...
&#x200B;
I took up a busy interest in a dimly lit display case, inching closer to examine it's contents..."This is one of my favorite rooms to work in", a gentle voice pierced through my perceived privacy. I spun on my heels, startled by the interruption to see a young woman with chestnut hair and a coy grin on her face.
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry, I was only looking..uh, I don't think we've met. I'm Madeline Duckworth, er, I was sent an urgent summons yesterday."
&#x200B;
The woman nodded her head, and motioned gently for me to approach. "Yes, I know of you Madeline. You are highly regarded by the Queen. That is why she has invited you here today. You're complete confidence and secrecy is of course required." She pulled from her pocket a pen, and set it on the desk at the end of the room. A paper, written on old parchment lay under the pen. "Just a simple formality. Please sign at the bottom, no date is required."
&#x200B;
I glanced at the paper, and couldn't hold back a small chuckle. A written Oath of Allegiance, a bit archaic, but I had no reservations. I signed, and handed her pen back.
&#x200B;
She smiled warmly, twisted the pen and pushed it together to half it's length, as I cocked my head to the side at this odd sight the desk next to us began to rise off the ground. I stumbled back wards in shock as a platform revealed itself from below. "Please follow me Miss Duckworth." The woman stated as she stepped onto the platform, desk above her head.
&#x200B;
I hesitated...I mean anyone would right? "Uh, E-Excuse me? What is this? What..What is going on?" I stuttered nervously.
&#x200B;
"I understand how you feel Madeline, it's a lot to take in; but I assure you this is perfectly safe. This is simply an elevator." She reached out her hand to me, which I retrieved and joined her. She pulled the pen back to it's normal length, and we began descending. It was a smooth ride, nothing concerning...other than everything...
&#x200B;
As we descended into the floor the elevator went dark. The warm voice fell on my ears again, "I'm personally not a fan of all this 'Cloak and Dagger', but the Queen deems it necessary to protect her closest secrets. You should take this as a compliment, that she trusts you unconditionally."
&#x200B;
I said nothing. I didn't know what to say...or do...was it a few seconds? Did we only go one level? I couldn't tell...then light pierced the bottom of the elevator gate, and the platform came to a halt. For all intents and purposes, this seemed like a bunker. Concrete walls, floors, and ceilings; no antiques or finery decorating the rooms and dimly lit caged lights on the walls. "Right this way, I will bring you up to speed while we walk." She took off ahead of me.
&#x200B;
As I struggled again to keep up with the pace, things began to click in my head and I spoke with more conviction, "I'm sorry, who are you? I don't believe you gave me a proper introduction."
&#x200B;
She spoke to me from over her shoulder, "Pardon my manners, but I don't think it is wise to disclose my identity. 'Cloak and Dagger' and all that. Now, let's get into the meat of why you are here today. You see in 14 days, the Queen is going to be found dead in her quarters."
&#x200B;
"What! How do you know that? Is this some shady MI5 nonsense? I don't want to be involved in any kind of plot against the queen! I'm here to serve her!"
&#x200B;
She stopped dead in her tracks, and turned around to face me with a broad smile and gently placed her hands on either side of my shoulders. "I know Madeline, and that's exactly why you've been summoned today. The queen needs your service, and your unending trust and confidence. I assure you the queen is completely safe, and will remain so after the reports of her death. This way." She opened a door we had stopped in front of, this one made of cold metal that left a squeal hanging in the air after it was opened.
&#x200B;
We entered a room with a table, 2 chairs, and a small tin of cookies set on a delicate lace doily...the doily and cookies were as out of place as I was in this drab, dim, concrete bunker. She shut the door behind me and waved to the chair on the left, "Please, take a seat."
&#x200B;
I sat on the cold, uncomfortable chair, with a thousand questions whirling in my mind!
&#x200B;
"I know, this seems like a lot. Because the Queen trusts you so fully, she wants you to know the truth. You are but one of a handful of people trusted with this information. Information that not even all her children are aware of." She paused. "This tin is your task. Take it with you, and if anyone asks, say it's a gift for an old friend coming to town in a few weeks." She pushed the tin forwards to me. "Exactly 24 days after the reports of the Queen's Death, at 19:30, someone will knock at your door. This person is there to retrieve the cookie tin. It will be cold out, so invite them in for some tea."
&#x200B;
"I can do that...but do you have a picture? Who is it going to be? I don't want to let in the wrong person, some lunatic off the streets or something."
&#x200B;
"It will be me, Madeline. I will be the receiver of the package."
&#x200B;
"OK...What's in it?"
&#x200B;
She delicately opens the tin lid to reveal several butter cookies. "What kind of joke is this?" I mutter...
&#x200B;
"Inside is the Queens most prized possession. It is an Artifact from the 1500's that was intercepted from the Nazi's during the Second World War." She recounts, as she lifts the cookies and a false bottom out of the tin, revealing heavy foam padding and a glass vial, secured with old, oiled leather bindings. "This was a gift from Juan Ponce de Leon himself. It's intent was to cement the Spanish Royalty, but it was deemed too dangerous for use. It was sent to Hitler himself as a gift from the Spanish, but was lost in a conflict during transit." She paused again as she reassembled the cookie tin to it's proper guise.
&#x200B;
A prideful grin began to stretch across her face, "To my knowledge, I am the only person still alive to have to have used it successfully."
| 2018-11-14T08:00:35
| 2018-11-14T07:53:08
| 217
| 40
|
[WP] A genie offers a man three wishes. After hearing his wish, the genie straight up refuses to grant it.
|
**Whoa, it's a genie!**
Yeah you rubbed the lamp, here I am., three wishes. Let's get this over with. I gotta take a shit.
**You shit in your lamp?**
You shit in YOUR lamp?
**Uh... no. My bathroom. It's in my house.**
One man's house is another genie's lamp.
**Fair enough. Well, ok, three wishes. I guess my first wish would be to turn me into a genie so I could have all that sweet awesome genie power.**
Not gonna happen.
**But I get three wishes.**
You do, but here's the thing. It's not like I can give you *whatever*. Like, I can't make you into a supernatural creature, because then that opens the door to people wanting to be God. Not opening that can of worms. So no. And you can't ask for three more wishes, but Robin Williams already told you that.
**Can I wish for more Robin Williams movies?**
No. Not because he's dead, but because you might get *Bicentennial Man 2*.
**What the fuck kind of genie are you?**
I'm way more genie than you'll ever be. But sometimes, it's an inexact science. No one studies--
**Please don't say it.**
Genie-ology.
**Fine, just give me a billion dollars, diplomatic immunity, and a TARDIS.**
How about $300, this rake, and a hug?
**That's it?**
Well... yeah. But it's better than nothing.
**Will you go away afterwards?**
Yes.
**Then fine.**
OK, but here's the thing. I'm a little light on cash, the rake actually belongs to your neighbor, and I'm not much of a hugger. And I really need to take that shit so, if you don't mind, I'm gonna go.
*POOF*
**Thank you, audience, for joining us for this play about the dangers of trusting genies over Jesus. Unlike genies, Jesus is able to grant you those wishes for diplomatic immunity and what not. Plus he's, like, God. And not a floaty lamp baby with delusions of wish fuffilling. Anyhow, hope you liked it. There's free chili in the lobby. Find us on Facebook. Good night.**
|
"No." The Genie said over the thumping of the music, smoothing down the sleeves of his white suit. A flash of gold drew Carl's eyes to his hands. The genie smiled.
"I’m sorry...?"
"I said no." The Genie said.
He pulled a glass from thin air, filled it with something amber colored, and placed three perfectly round cubes of ice within. Carl never saw where any of it came from and he'd been intentionally staring at his hands. Perhaps that was the point.
"No?" Carl asked. "But you said..."
"Three wishes." The genie said. He sighed as if he were bored.
He smelled of incense, thick and earthy, the kind he imagined you'd find in a Persian marketplace, though he'd never been to one. His teeth were white like freshly fallen snow and his eyes were black pearls floating in a cup of milk. His skin was the color of a latte.
"Then I wish..."
"Don't you want riches? I can offer you enough treasure to make your miserably short life tolerable. I can make it so your great grandchildren never want for anything in the world again." The Genie said.
"But..."
"Or perhaps a man like yourself wishes for love? The rekindled desire of the heart? A lost love?" He smiled and leaned in close. “Maybe even a longer…”
"I don't want any of that." Carl said.
The Genie shrugged and returned to his drink. "The answer’s still no."
“Don’t you have to do what I say?” Carl asked.
He flicked his wrist and the room went silent.
Carl could see the people dancing, he could feel the thump of the bass against his chest, but the only sounds he heard was the clinking of ice as the Genie sipped from his glass and set it back down. He cleared his throat, surprised when he heard the sound.
"Do I look like I have to grant you *anything*? I can send you to the other side of the world, to the deepest slums of China if I chose to. I could grant you almost anything your heart desires. Ask me for immortality. Ask me to be rich. Ask me for the girl you’ve had your eye on to come and perch herself upon your lap. I know you’ve been watching her. She could be yours with a simple wish." He said.
Carl shook his head. He’d been watching the girl all night, even sent over a drink and a smile, but she’d laughed it off and returned to the dance floor. He’d been kicking himself until the white-suited man had made his proposal.
“Don’t you trust me?”
Carl shook his head. “Never trust a man in a clean white suit.”
The Genie laughed and flicked his wrist. The music returned. So did the ringing in his ears.
“Fine. Let’s get this over with. What’s your first wish, mortal?” The Genie asked.
Carl smiled. “I wish my lawyer was here with us.”
| 2015-03-15T23:09:47
| 2015-03-15T21:35:32
| 17
| 10
|
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