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[WP] Write a love letter to someone without them knowing until the very end.
|
Nobody understands what I've got.
Everybody guesses, but most of them are wrong.
Very often I find it on my mind, always there.
Even in my dreams I am never sad.
Rare as a golden sapphire, but worth so much more.
Giving me the strength I never thought I had, and more.
Oh, how I want to surrender myself completely.
Nothing can tear me from this happiness.
Naught, not even death could quench this fire.
Are any that I see as true as I?
Guarding themselves, never sharing or risking pain,
I pray that they find what I have found.
Verily, I pray for all of them, in brotherly spirit, even though I lack religion.
Everyone deserves a chance at happiness such as this.
Years may pass, and grapes may turn to wine,
One year to two, the strength and wonder grows,
Unless neglect does bring a sour taste
Unto the pallet of the unsuspecting.
Perhaps this state was not meant for eternity,
Now, even fleeting, it is more than life is worth.
Ere the final grain of that hourglass of fate should fall,
Victory shall be grasped and the future commanded.
Even if the world should stand against my wish,
Rigorous I will stand in defence of the truth.
Go, and tell the turks and moors and men of the new world,
One son of man has found happiness.
Not in knowledge or in certainty,
Not in power or in wealth,
All of those pale in comparison to true beauty.
Let the angels ring the bells of joy,
Even now the bells toll in my ear,
Too soon, and yet not soon enough,
You read these words and hold them to your breast,
Over weeks they have travelled to you,
Under mountains, over seas,
Down the violent crags and rents of the Earth,
Over the very clouds and stars themselves.
Woe unto the faithful, who read thus far,
Now read the first letter of every sentence.
|
This is a postcard. It was made to fly a thousand miles across a transcontinental ocean to arrive in your hand and tell you the weather's sunny in Philadelphia. I hope that information is useful to you because I honestly don't think this side of the letter is going to be better. No one ever lined up to write down quotes from deserters so I'll score these letters down like marks on a tree from a blind man hoping against hope that the next stranger he meets will be too indifferent to read them. The words on the tree say he'll see you again soon.
It doesn't make sense to say that I'm sorry because the only apology I could make is the ticket home aboard a passenger jet but you and I both know my grief is not half as strong as my cowardice and if I could tear just one thought from my head and give it to you it would be this:
Wish you were here.
| 2015-01-12T15:02:53
| 2015-01-12T13:42:14
| 47
| 16
|
[WP] Humanity discovers the reason aliens always seem to try and invade the United States. It turns out that the five pointed star is a symbol of unspeakable evil in galactic society. And the United States proudly displays fifty of them.
|
"What did you just say?"
"Sir, you heard correctly. A country on the planet 'earth' has that symbol deeply entrenched in their culture, and every specimen, from the everyman to the highest of their ranks pledges royalty to it."
"And you mean to tell me, that they display not just one, but FIFTY of them?"
"Yes, sir. We realize that peaceful contact was the priority, but seeing those symbols during our recon missions, we thought we should report this matter first."
"You were right to do so. Haa... this has become problematic. They couldn't possibly know what it represents since they haven't established contact with other civilizations, but it has most likely already corrupted them."
"Even though they do not know what it means at all, Sir?"
"The moment that symbol has been etched, those species have already gone under their control. The eldritch, their powers are beyond our imaginations. It's simply a matter of time before that place becomes a gateway for their return."
"In that case, what will be the next course of action for us, Sir?"
"I'll report this to the council, but I can already guess their judgement on this matter. Carry out the preparations. We'll have to cull that symbol from this galaxy."
|
By the dozenth attack, the lead Spaceologists of the United States had all but concluded that they were being targeted by the aliens.
"The attacks are endless," the Defense Secretary complained. Resources were strained. They had already conducted multiple drafts and were now edging close to having to find recruits amongst the wealthy and the injured, like people with bone spurs. "If they come again, we may be overrun."
President Ton Drump did his best to listen but he was distracted. He would much rather be golfing, or maybe attending some beauty pageant where he could ogle all the women he wanted. All this *behaving* was really wearing thin. "Why us? We're the best. Why not somebody weak? Like Germany. Don't they have space swastikas? Evil, truly evil."
The Secretary of State shifted uncomfortably. He was actually the same person as the Defense Secretary. A surplus of firings had resulted in a shortage of staff to fill all the open roles. "Um, no, sir. They don't use the swastika anymore. For anything. Actually, we've been told it's our stars. North Korea suffered an attack. Syria did as well. China suffered a few. But nobody has suffered as many as us."
"The stars? Why do we even have stars on our flag? We're on Earth, not on the Moon."
"Fifty states, sir. Fifty stars for fifty states."
"I won all those states, right?" Awkward glances around the room.
"Anyways, sir. We would like you to suggest a bill to change the flag. Maybe we can have fifty circles instead."
"Representing golf balls. Or hamburgers?"
"Golf balls would be more accurate." The President ran a pudgy hand through his toupe. He was balding but couldn't stand to admit it. Men like him didn't bald. Not fit, active men who could walk from the golf cart to the tee.
"That would be a sign of weakness. We can't back down. We are the leaders of the Free World." That might have been true once but there wasn't much freedom left in the world anymore. Protests were quashed with armed force and dissenters executed or jailed permanently without trial.
"What do you suggest, sir?"
"More stars."
"More stars?" More awkward glances.
"More stars. Don't we have any other states we can add?" The President had made his decision. That decision was more stars, no matter how foolish a decision it might be.
"Like Puerto Rico?"
"Those Mexicans?" He thought for a moment, rather ineffectively, as his council expected. Nobody corrected him. "Fine. Make them a state. Same with Mexico. Make them a state, too. And then draft all of their men for the Space Force. We'll show those aliens who's boss."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-10-08T06:19:44
| 2019-10-08T06:04:33
| 209
| 111
|
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit
|
“No no it’s fine” I said, as I swung both my feet on top of my bunk.
“Stop being so passive-aggressive” squealed the mayor.
He tried to talk to me in the morning but I wasn’t having it coz it was the first morning in years I was having a peaceful sleep. He was back again in the evening this time with a different tactic to convince me. I stole a glance towards him. I couldn’t help but smile to myself. How do I say this in a nice way? Actually there was no nice way to say it. The mayor resembled a pig. A big pig in an expensive blue suit. It didn’t help that his voice was so high that it sounded like he was squealing. Not only that, but when he would belch out his speeches he’d get all puffy and pink and that’s when he really resembled a pig.
“I really don’t like your attitude” the mayor said this time in a low register.
I dismissed my thoughts aside as my temper flared up and I jumped off the bunk and in two quick strides reached the bars where the mayor was standing on the other side. My sudden demeanor startled him as he took two steps back.
“I HAVE THE ATTITUDE PROBLEM?!” I roared. “I’M BEING PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE??? Day in, day out I’m being blamed for buildings, cars, and roads getting destroyed yet no one bats an eye when it’s a villain doing it. And it’s not like I’m doing it because I want to. I try my best to take my battles outside of this city but I have to make do with what I got. My efforts are in vain. I don’t want lavish parties for my efforts but a simple thank you or acknowledgement would suffice for my work but no! I’m asked to go to jail for my “crimes”. Well here I am!
I take a step back and in a dramatic gesture take a sweeping bow.
My mayor shifted his feet, nervously. “I-“
“Isn’t this what YOU wanted?” I cut him off.
“What the people wanted! Well have at it then.”
I turned my back towards him.
“The hospitals are filled to the brim with injured victims. Please. I’ll change the laws. I’ll prosecute anyone who says anything about you. I’ll give you a mansion. I’ll have servants at your beck and call.” The mayor pleaded.
I ignored his pleas. “Nah I’m just done.” I turned back to him and grinned. “You don’t need a hero. That’s what you’ve always said, haven’t you?”
The mayor opened his mouth to speak but closed it again and looked down at his shoes.
I was tired of playing this cat and mouse game.
“GUARD!” I shouted loudly, startling the mayor.
“Please take away this pi... mayor. No actually I have no shame in finally saying it.”
As the guard came up to escort the mayor back, I finally had the guts to say it to the mayor’s face.
“Goodbye pig!”
And the face the mayor made gave me the much needed satisfaction I had been craving for such a long long time.
|
" We need you more than ever. Archemist" Said Mayor Johnson as he stood just on the other side of my cell in solitary. He was flanked by his aide some pencel pusher named Needlemyer along with Chief Windgate and D.A. Evens. All of them looked tired and haggard with the chief nursing what looked like a black eye and broken nose.
I stared at them and tried to feel really anything. When these four started their smear campaign I felt anger and but mostly betrayal. When they spent God only knows how much money on surveillance and tails to figure out my real identity, I was spitting mad and was stuttering in a rage so bad that when they came to arrest me as I was playing with my three-year-old nephew at the park. They Thought I was casting at them and tased, maced, and flash banged me to kingdom come.
Then the embarrassment and spectacle of my so-called trial and with them dragging my family and friends through all this bullshit. I never plead guilty but I didn't fight either. Even though mom and dad are former police and I knew the law better than most but I was no lawyer and despite all my arcane knowledge I cant twist those words to do what I want.
"Public enemy and embarrassment," I said in reply, "Enemy not ally of the people. Egotist of the highest order and more than likely colludes with his so-called enemies for personal gain". At my words which were echos of their own, Mayor Johnson along with the chief and D.A. shrunk back looks of guilt heavy on their faces. Needlemyer just turned to look away not in guilt so much as boredom? disgust?
"We were wrong so very wrong," Implored D.A. Evens, "Please not only is Pharos running wild but so is the Ordo Primus. And worse they've teamed up."
"And Morpheles has crawled back from where ever you banished him and he brought back from the dead the Black Hearts gang. All of the Black Hearts gang" Chief Windgate added on.
That... gave me pause and as I mulled it over I turned and squinted at my reflection in my mirror. I barely recognized myself and not just because they only give me my glasses back when it suits them. The year and a half of being here eating, sleeping, and not much else really showed with the extra what? 80 or 90 pounds I've gained and when did my hair get so long and God what the hell is with my beard? All patchy and stringy in parts and curly in others? Let alone the strange colors it grew in, side effect of magic I guess.
I was still deep in thought when pencil dick Needlemyer finally spoke up. "This is a waste of time Mr. Mayor. If anything this just proves that I was right not only then but now. In fact-" I didn't let him finish. I decked him right in his mouth. I could feel not only my white-hot anger directed at him but the pain from where his teeth cut my knuckles but also my power something I hadn't touched since the day in the park, a lifetime ago.
We were all surprised that I had teleported right out of my cell, me most of all but not wanting to waste an entrance, "That is just a small bit of payback for what you did to my loved ones, Needledick."
Needlemayer started to say something before the Mayor, Chief, and D.A. told him to shut up and be quiet. The mayor actually got down on his hands and knees and asked, "Please, Archemist, Please Carter Lorens. Everything has gone to hell in a handbasket and I know we can never make right what we did to you and yours but we are willing to do anything so that you can help us fix our mistake."
After the little speech Evens and Windgate also got down on their hands and knees and Needlemyer was told to stay down and to keep biting his tongue or else the chief would adjust the number of teeth in his head.
I stared at the 3 kneeling men and the one threatened to stay on his ass and was torn. Part of me wanted to tell them all to piss up a rope and go back to my cell, another wanted to use this leverage to bleed and ruin them as much as I could with my return but even with the cynicism that has poisoned me as of late I knew who in my heart of hearts I was and the dangers running amok right now I couldn't let that stand but I wasn't letting them off the hook either.
"The exact specifics of the reparations owed to me and mine can be hammered out later,-" I began as the man all looked at me glimmers of hope in their eyes with the exceptions of Needlmyer who kept a cold sneer. I truly embraced my power at this point letting it clothe me once more, "But one thing needs to be done now if you wish to have my help."
The men were falling over themselves agreeing to whatever I wanted even Needlemyer after he heard the wails of the dead that Morpheles had called forth and how they were growing closer. I smiled as I lifted my right-hand palm side up with a gash forming in it and said, "Your four must make a blood oath with me and become my apprentices. Only then after you stare into the same dead void I did to gain my power will I help you."
\----
The men looked at each other for a moment before Mayor Johnson got up and took the hand followed briskly with the other three and after all, had agreed and shook the bloody hand they all seemed to wink out of existence. The guards in solitary quickly called an emergency at the disappearance of the five men only to be told to cancel it a moment later when they all returned, and while Physically nothing had changed about any of the men save the fact that the injuries on Chief Windgate and Needlemyer had healed and The Archemist had gotten a hair cut and shave. The way they carried themselves had along with how they worked with one another.
Needless to say not only did Mr. Lorens return home a hero but the various Rogues had to face not only the Achmeist but his apprentices who soon learned of all facets of the hero's life and world both the grand and the terrible.
| 2021-03-18T22:36:26
| 2021-03-18T22:17:24
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] You live a good life. Caring wife, obedient children and loyal dogs. Little do they know that you are actually a hitman not an accountant. One day your guy hands you the picture of your next target. It’s you. On the back the name of who ordered the hit. “Carla” it says. Your wife.
|
James Earl walked in to his office on 8:59 AM and placed his briefcase on the floor next to his desk. His floor to ceiling windows gave James a great view of Manhattan. His firm had taken the offices of an old accounting firm to maintain cover. There were only five offices the firm had spread around the world. One was in London, another in Karachi, one in Beijing, one in LA and the largest one was in New York City, where James worked.
James, simply put, was the best at his job. He was tough, efficient, and never left a trace. He was an experienced killer, but by no means a psychopath. He was the product of being raised in the 90s in Brooklyn. His first body was when he was 16. He disposed of it so efficiently that the NYPD never knew the man was dead. The path his childhood took him on lead him to this.
James’ wife was Carla Earl, 35, and a nurse in St Mary’s Hospital. She was beautiful and made James feel happiness that he had never felt before meeting her.
He also had three children he loved more than anything in the world. They were triplets, the daughters were identical and the son was not. All three were in high school. His daughters, Lily and Samantha were in Brooklyn Tech and his son, Christopher was in Stuyvesant
James smiled as he looked at the picture of his family, then placed it back on his desk. He sat on his chair and stared at the computer. He opened an unread e-mail from his boss, Robert Meyers. He was an old white man, a legend in his own day, but forced to retire when he realized he was too old. He started the firm from the ground up with his partner, starting in New York and expanding immensely in the past two and a half decades.
*Theres a new assignment for you: priority. There’s a lot of cash involved, 1.25 mill. Only one target, not even high profile. Manila folder on your desk*.
James opened the folder and pulled out the documents before he glanced at the picture; it was important to know your target before they became one. James started reading the file, and something struck him as odd; the entire file was *his* cover. Adult male, 37, black 5’11”, an accountant in Manhattan, three children, married. The only thing different was his name. It read John Grey
James quickly snatched the photo of the target; it was his wedding photo with a giant red circle on his face.
James’ vision started to get blurry, his head felt light and he could hear his heart beating.
*“What’s going on?”* he thought to himself.
James put down the photo and looked into the file to see who ordered the hit. His breathing started to get shallow and quick; he was hyperventilating.
*Client name: Carla Earl*
James ran out of his office and into the restrooms, and ran into a stall. The disgusting smell and the burning in his throat ate away at him, but could not eat away at one thought.
* My wife wants me dead.*
He felt a wave of emotions so diverse he could not describe what he felt. Sadness, anger, hurt, guilt, remorse...
Overall, he felt shitty. He washed his face and walked back to his office. He was confused and hurt. He was never abusive, he never cheated, and he never under appreciated his wife. Their love was as strong as ever, and the sex was as good as ever.
He picked up the file and the photo and tucked it under his arm. He walked in to the only office larger than his; the boss. He ran the whole operation, from Los Angeles to Beijing. He signed the paycheck, sent teams and assigned leaders; everything went by him. He was also, at the moment, in a meeting with the team leader in London on FaceTime. James did not care. He walked into the office and slammed the bosses laptop shut.
“What the actual *fuck* do you think you’re doing?” Robert screamed as his face turned an ugly shade of red.
James had pinpointed his emotions finally; it was anger. His eyes were red, his face contorted and he was biting on his tongue so hard he tasted blood. James threw the file on the desk.
“You think this is fucking funny? Who approved this assignment? I’ll fucking kill them.”
Robert’s face regained its normal lack of color as he calmed down, and looked at the file. As soon as he saw the photo, he leaned back into his chair. Robert held his head in confusion. He let out a huff of air and set down the photo.
“Who’s the client?” He asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Carla Earl.” James let out.
“Earl?” Robert asked in a confused tone, “a family member wants you dead? Who? Your sister, daughter, mother or cousin or something?”
James let out and angry growl. “My wife.”
Robert folded his arms around his waist and looked at James with a stare that could pierce his soul.
“Do you have any idea why?” the boss asked.
“Absolutely none, sir. I’ve never hit her, I’ve never cheated. I don’t know what happened. I’ve made mistakes, I’m not perfect, but I don’t know why she’d want me dead.”
“How did this get through the vetting process? It shouldn’t be possible for someone to put a hit out on one of my own assassins,” Robert mulled.
“I don’t know sir. The name has been changed, but the story is still mine. It’s possible that it’s because the vetting team doesn’t know me personally, but it’s definitely strange.”
“Well, we’ll need to review the vetting process, then.”
James sighed. “Should I get on that?”
“No, you take the day to go home and find out. Normally I wouldn’t give anyone a day off, but this” Robert chuckled, tapping the file “this is certainly an exception.”
“Sure thing, sir.” James said. “Uh, can I... get the file?”
Robert handed it to him, and James walked briskly out of the office.
James stepped outside of the building and lit a cigarette, and walked seven blocks to his car; parking in Manhattan was impossible. He threw the file into the passengers seat of his Maserati, and drove home.
|
I'm comfortably sunk in the worn leather seats of my older-but-still-practical German sedan. The lid on my morning coffee is propped open and I watch anxiously as the piping hot liquid inside the flimsy paper cup that holds the best coffee the road has to offer topples, getting closer and closer to the brim of the cup as road worsens the closer I get to Los Angeles. Before the coffee has sufficiently cooled to the point I can put the lid back on, the first drop of Seattle's Best makes its journey to the base of the most practical pull-out cupholder BMW could think of in 2008. At this point the air-conditioning is just not strong enough to withstand Southern California's ever-so-powerful UV rays beaming in from the windows and cool a way-too-hot cup of bad coffee with the lid intact, so this is a necessary evil.
Financial freedom and no more necessary business trips for Deloitte? Or cooler coffee and an incarcerated father that can even be more absent to his children that he currently is? What would your choice be?
The cruise control is set at 75 MPH, fast enough to blend in but not fast enough to catch the attention of the police. The lull of the road in combination with the fatigue of driving what has now been seven hours can allow even a hitman to fall into a sense of apathy for a little while. Thoughts of what I can cook up for our fifth anniversary are on the horizon. Hawaii? Unfortunately it is easiest to catch someone off-guard when they are on vacation. The Caribbean? Same idea. Europe? Was there last week and unfortunately it wasn't for leisure. Southeast Asia? Haven't done anything in Thailand yet so that's still on the table.
As I contemplate my anniversary and have thoughts that might not be particularly unique to a hitman, I creep up bit by bit in the rightmost lane and find my exit, "Sawtelle Boulevard". Tito's Taco's seems to be the place of choice for providing sound business advice to yet another multimillion dollar tech-startup. Guess us millennials are getting less and less formal with our lunches. Guess it's the advice that matters, not the venue.
As I push my door closed and walk into the establishment, everything is a blur. Uncle X walks by my table for one, plops down a picture and continues his walk without even seeming to acknowledge my presence. My phone vibrates. I turn it over and see a picture of Carla, Stella, Tyler and Rufus by the house that I took. It's Carla. I don't even look at the picture and pick up the phone. I can't bare the anticipation of personifying the last person behind the last portrait I will ever see and beginning the last process of dehumanization before I am able to live the rest of my life and focus on raising our family, so I try and hurry the last dishonest interaction regarding my career I will ever have with the person that thinks they know the most about me.
"Hey what's up? I'm on my way into a meeting and don't really have the time to talk so can you make it quick babe?" I blurt out not even giving her a chance to start the diologue.
"Yeah......... Well.... I just couldn't wait". She says, before a long pause and a sniffle.
My heart drops.
"We might just have another addition to the family! I didn't get my period this month and decided to take a test! So yeah! Guess what it came up as!"
My head drops. My heart starts to race and so does my breathing. It's fascinating how some things can make a man can crack a smile right before setting off to take a life of yet another person that hasn't personally wronged them one bit.
"Wow. I'm so happy to hear that and cannot wait to talk about this tonight. And we can do this one together too! It's so crazy that we happen to be in the same place this time!" I say, not having to fake happiness for once during an inopportune conversation with the SO but actually feeling it for a split second.
"Yeah! Anyway, I love you! Hopefully that lightens your day!" she says, the emotions eminating through the phone speaker.
The line cuts. I place my phone down on the greasy table and raise the picture to my field of vision.
Of course the last task has to be the hardest one. This woman looks just like my wife.
I can see she has mesmerizing blue eyes that could charm a stone and focus the freest of spirits. A small, effiminate nose. Plump lips that meet perfectly at the top like a cupid's bow, lips parted in a way that makes me wait for speech that will never come. Sun-kissed skin that suggest an childhood in a warm climate and perhaps the later years somewhere cooler. I imagine a modest home, two children and a golden retriever adopted from the local animal shelter. Before that, just two young adults having passionate yet lustful, raw, rough sex after a night stocked up on the kind of three dollar shots sold by a bar that would accept what would have to be the worst Fake IDs San Fransisco State has ever seen. An intense, exciting, painful relationship that leaves both parties integrated and makes each other grow more than any degree could. But not safeguarded from some time apart after graduation so we could find our own paths........... only to get back together for coffee one day.
Stop it. Stop the connection. This one cant get to you. Just flip the fucking picture over and get the full name. Fucking Christ.
"CARLA"
Fuck. That asshole wouldn't make me leave the business. The minute I find a number that I can comfortable rely on to retire early and try to get him to come to terms, I get this. Of course. Guess I'm not leaving. Or maybe I am. It's not like I can't pack up and start over again. At least I won't have to hide a life of criminality from my new family.
Guess the good things in life come with a clause. It's just that this one happens to be particularly tenacious.
I finish the last bite of my Chicken Tamale and get up calmly. Stretch and walk out the door, quickening my pace. I spot Uncle X. Perhaps I should have a couple words with him about this? No. He knows what he did. I hop in the car, release the handbrake and coast out of the parking spot, turning on the engine and putting the car into first gear only as the sedan is already backed out of the parking space that is now perpendicular to where I sit. I keep my vision fixed on Uncle X. The engine bogs and I lurch foward.
Fuck. Come on, focus you idiot. 15 years of exclusively manual and this?
I restart the car and head for the exit. I hit the accelerator and skip to third, ensuring high speeds and little noise. I reach into the nook in my car door and feel for cold metal. I grasp the first object I find, roll down the window with the other hand and the vehicle veers to the right. I stare at Uncle X and fall into a trance an eternity. I point the gun out the window and pull the trigger before the car veers too far right to have a proper aim. Uncle X drops to the ground. The gun cocks back and injures my nose. My eyes water and before I can refocus, there is impact.
I wake up after what seems like years of sleep and cough a mouthful of warm blood. Look up to a misty window and dust settling on my forehead and the hood of my car at a 90 degree angle. As I wrestle the door handle to free myself and clock out for the last time, the tables turn and now I am staring down the barrel of a gun of a man. I angle my head up and notice "San Fransisco Police Dept." and see a man in uniform.
| 2018-08-15T00:15:24
| 2018-08-14T22:17:00
| 160
| 11
|
[WP] You learn your 'deaf' wife lied and has been able to hear everything.
Or husband!
|
Her hands are a blur, furious signing.
Our son glances uneasily between us. "She says you don't even understand why she's mad."
I don't feel as bad about making him translate now that he's older. He has the advantage of having grown up with it and it makes things a lot easier.
She turns her back and takes three dramatic steps toward the door.
"Ugh... Quit being such a *bitch*..." I mutter. I wince immediately. The kid shouldn't have to hear that.
Her head whirls around and she stares at me.
I cock my head toward our son, wondering if he's seen the same thing I did. He looks confused.
"*What* did you call me?" she hisses, more clearly than I've ever hear her speak.
For a moment I hesitate. People have secrets, even in a marriage. This seems like a big one.
I hold my hand ostenatiously over my mouth the way I occasionally would to keep her from reading my lips when I was telling the kids they could stay up late. She closes the gap between us and stands close, looking formidable.
I look past her, not acknowledging her change of posture.
"Bitch."
Her arm swings up to slap me and I instinctively lean away. The tips of her fingers blow air across my face as the look of fury on her face changes to confusion.
Several seconds pass.
"Wait..." My son's voice breaks the silence. "Dad, you can *see*?"
|
"The whole time I've known you. The whole time. And you just decide to tell me you're not really deaf today?" I say in disbelief, sitting down across from my husband, Robert, in our kitchen.
"Yes." Is all he says, clearly, for the first time I've heard in his real voice. I wait for him to say more, but he just sits there, staring, smiling at me eerily.
"Why?!" I ask, yelling and pounding my fist on the table angrily.
"I wanted to hear what you really had to say. What you really thought of me. It told me a lot to hear the things you'd scream about me with your face turned." Robert replies, still smiling that knowing smile.
"I didn't mean... I mean, It isn't like I said anything odd. Most people keep an incredible amount of things to themselves. You just frustrate me sometimes." I answer, putting my head in my hands.
I look up to see him standing over me, still smiling.
"This is it. The last time you hear me talk. Remember what you said about my mother?" Robert says, pulling out a gun.
"What the fuck, Rob? Where did you get a-" I start. Then he points the gun at me. I flinch and then begin to laugh.
"What?" He asks with a puzzled look on his face.
"What I said about your mom. It's true. And you're not going to shoot me. You're not that stupid or that attached to your mom." I answer, getting up and pulling the barrel of the gun to my chest, goading him.
Rob puts the gun back into his pocket. "You're right. It all just... Flashed in front of me. All the anger I've felt over the years. I'm sorry." He says, tears coming from his eyes.
"That was pretty fucked up, Rob. I get it, kinda. But wow." I say, taking a sharp intake of breath. "I thought I was the angry one."
"You really don't know much about me at all." Rob replies, wiping away the tears from his face.
"Apparently not." I answer, sitting back down.
"I know enough about you to send you to jail, though." He says, smiling again.
"For what?" I ask, confused.
"Adultery. Theft. You name it. I've been listening to your little conversations with Jen, too." He answers, laughing.
"What the fuck is with that smile?" I ask, creeped out by it.
"Knowledge. I've been building it up. It makes me feel powerful and happy." He says, putting the gun on the table and spinning it around childishly.
"Who are you? I mean, really?" I ask, getting up from the table again.
"Apparently just the 'asshole' that married you." He says, looking into the barrel of the gun.
"Should you really have that pointed at yourself?" I ask, concerned.
"Eh. It isn't loaded. See?" He answers, pointing it at me. I hold my breath and I close my eyes tightly. I hear the empty 'click.' I open my eyes and he cocks it again.
"Just to make sure." He says, pushing the trigger again. I hear the gun fire and I'm quickly on the ground.
He comes over and stands by me. His face hasn't moved a muscle from the previous grin. "Yes, I am that close to my mom."
| 2015-05-05T16:27:53
| 2015-05-05T15:56:32
| 44
| 11
|
[WP] "They said that gluing salt to a baseball bat to fight ghosts was a stupid idea, but who's laughing now?" you say as you whacked the ghost again.
|
>**APPARITIONS AND APATHY**
"The *salt doesn't matter* and *stop that, it hurts!*" Screamed the ghost as I thrashed him.
"W-wait, but, the salt."
"The *bat is what hurts, idiot!*"
"But my priest said that consecrated salt-"
"That *myth* was invented so dumb teenagers would stop picking fights with ghosts!" The ghost said, glaring at me with its partially translucent visage.
"Oh." I lowered my bat.
"Now, luckily for you, I'm haunting you for a *good* reason. A *positive* reason. But if you hit me with that bat again, it's gonna become a *bad* haunting."
"W-why are you haunting me at all?"
The ghost looked away. "Your grandfather."
"Grandpa? He died, like, a month ago. You're not him, though!"
"No, I definitely am not. Nor was your grandfather a ghost. However, as he lay in the space between the worlds, he talked with me. Once upon a time, I was a very angry human. Life had been hard on me, and I took that frustration out on everyone I came across. When I died in the hospital, I terrorized the nurses as a spirit- I'd been there for months. Until your grandfather spoke with me, and...something about him."
"Was he chewing on straw? He was always chewing on straw in real life."
The ghost chuckled. "Yes, he was. He was dressed as a farmer, and his air was so...peaceful. Yet he told me he had had a hard life, too. So I asked him why he was how he was, why he wasn't like me."
"What did he say?"
"He said it was his grandson."
Tears began to sting my eyes.
"Though he had lost a lot of peace of mind in the war, and he lost his son early to cancer- he had you. His grandson. And he knew that if he kept the hate in his heart, it would pass to you. He told me something similar. So, I told him I'd keep an eye on you. But I'm not very good at being *quiet* with my energy- I always used it aggressively, tossing books off the shelves in the mere wake of my energy, that kind of thing."
"Yeah, speaking of..." I said, picking up my school binders.
A note fell out of the binder. It was written in red ink, pressed so hard against the paper there were tears running in the fabric.
More hate mail. I wasn't popular at school.
The ghost did not fail to notice. "Oh, good. You're being bullied, aren't you?"
"Why is that a good thing?!" I demanded incredulously. "Yes, I'm being bullied, because grandpa paid for me to attend this stupid fancy rich kid school and I don't fit in, and they keep telling me to leave." Unbalanced by the talk of Grandpa's death, I was letting everything spill out. Usually I was...quieter about these things.
"Here's why it's good; I'm not gifted at being subtle or gentle. I may not be able to help you get your first girlfriend, or be at your side for your first heartbreak. I mean, I'll try, but I'll be garbage at it."
The ghost went over to the hateful letter.
"But this? This I can *fix*."
r/nystorm_writes
|
The Dead Sea dried to bleach-bone sand and the spirits burst from their tomb. It was almost expected. The whole world was burning: The Amazon had long turned to desert, the polar caps melted to ice-cube memories, the permafrost woken from its millennial slumber.
It was a cold year. The work was hard and the soil unreceptive. We spent time digging. Trenches, tunnels, cities. Burrowed deep into the earth in search of freshwater aquifers, in search of cooler climates and habitable subfloors, in search of a new life.
The surface was gone, condemned, green haze over a poisoned sky. My life was poison: Toxic fumes from the diesel belching borer’s, mud sprayed with jet-pump diggers, long hours with no relief. It reeked. The whole tunnel smelled like men and sweat and the inescapable staleness of purified air. Fourteen-hundred feet beneath Boston we labored to carve out a new life in the ruins of soil and memories.
I hated that.
And for what? An uncertain future, a drink at the end of a long day, a touch on the shoulder, the groan, and squelch of air mattresses. But there was nothing pleasurable about this. We were all going through the motions. Just hanging on. Just praying that someone else could fix this goliath of a hole we had dug for ourselves.
So when the last inch of water evaporated in a salty haze from the tomb of eons, and the first spirits rose like mist, it was almost a relief. We finally had something to fight for. The end was in sight. And for me, well, my war was finally beginning.
…
The year is 2093.
I stood in the main elevator shaft of the Gamma Tubes and slapped the liftgate closed. Around me are sirens: the red-and-white wail. Fluorescents shine on white-painted, concrete bunker walls. The liftgate churns.
*Faster! Goddamit, Faster!*
*I’m sweating. The liftgate moves at a mile-per-minute and the safehouse is thirty floors above me. I’m not going to make it.* Screams rise from below. White and blue shadows dance and dart as they climb the shaft. Their ethereal hands grasp and slip and catch the rungs of the ladder as they climb. And they do climb—like a pack of ravenous baboons, jeering and howling and grasping the walls.
They scratch against the concrete with a slow scraping and I tap the aluminum bat on the perforated steel of the liftgate. *Tap-a-tap.* Red warning lights mix eerie purple with their blue forms. I count the shadows. One, two, five clamoring towards me. They are getting closer. I start to smell the acrid burn of plasma, like spent electricity, like bottle lightning ready to singe and tear and rip and claw.
*Good god,* I’ve seen those things rip a man apart in seconds.
*Faster!*
The bat tap-taps against the steel and I wonder how the other survivors will remember me. I tried to be a good man. I really did. Amos always said I’d die alone, no friends, nobody to weep for me. We laughed and I told him to fuck off and we’d down another shot of whiskey to numb the end of the workday. I never thought he’d be right.
If I made it back to the safe room, I’d punch him myself.
Or hug him.
Hell, I’d give him my last bottle of Old Forrester just to be back in smelling distance of his toothless grin and his smudge smile. I think he’d appreciate the hustle, at my last, if nothing else. He was always that sort of man. Talks a big talk, but at the end of the day, if you put up, he shut up. I respect that. I appreciate that.
I’m going to miss that smug sumbitch.
Then there’s Rose.
She’s tough as thorns but has that smile about her. Wears a forlorn look, like she’s always searching for something. I see it in her smile, the twitch of her lips, the gentle tap-tap of her bots on the concrete. She’s dancing. She’s trying hard to remember how to dance, to sing, to remember the music.
A year back, in the deep bowels of the Delta Tunnels we found an antique MP3 Player. The thing must have been a hundred years old, barely worked, and we didn’t even have the right batteries for it. We had six, maybe ten minutes of life, and the speaker crackled, and we were on the run, stuck together, unsure if we were going to make it across the chutes.
“Dance with me?” she asked, a fire in her eyes.
I remember her hands rough against mine, the smell of singed electricity as the blasted ghosts swarmed closer, those precious minutes as the speaker played and we moved in a two-step, moved in sequence. She came into her own, and I have never seen her smile like she did that night, hips twirling, lips locked together.
One moment of bliss before the music failed.
*Rose.*
The liftgate comes to a screeching halt.
It’s the middle of the tunnel. Power’s cut. It’s another fifty feet up to the entrance to the side chute. I slam my hands against the emergency button but the liftgate does nothing. Howls from below. Whoops of delight. The spirits are ravenous.
The liftgate groans with a heave of metal. Beneath the grated steel are frayed wires, scraped steel, cut cables. The ghosts are getting smarter.
They are nearly level with me.
I have no choice. I have to climb. I run to the edge of the liftgate and clamor over the safety railing. Below me is a thousand-foot drop into nothingness. The liftgate doesn’t completely fill the shaft; there’s a small gap for airflow. Now I need to jump, from the ledge, grab the rungs of the ladder, ascend to the side chute, fight off the ghosts, and not fall to my death.
In that order.
I wedge the aluminum bat in the drawers of my trousers and wince at the cool of metal on flesh. The spirits are ten rungs below. Can I climb faster? I sure hope so. Otherwise, I’ll be a grease stain and shreds of cloth and memories on the floor of an abandoned tunnel.
I take a breath.
And maybe if I make it back, I’ll ask Rose to marry me. It’ll be a great wedding. Not even Amos can stop us. I could even bring some booze, my very last bottle. It’ll be fun. *Isn’t this fun?*
“Fuck it,” I say.
I jump.
​
***
More Stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2020-10-04T22:45:27
| 2020-10-04T18:43:52
| 1,072
| 153
|
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
The arbiter let out a long sigh and looked past me. We’d been here a while, and it was finally my turn. His voice was tired. “What’ll it be?”
My hands were clammy. I looked up to him, seated on his pedestal, and sighed. I couldn’t think of anything else. “Um… I’m not sure. All the good powers have been taken already.”
“Yes, that’s the point. More glory for higher numbers though, if you make a global conquest.”
“I would’ve said flight or invisibility or telepathy… but I can’t.”
He sighs again. “No. You can’t. Listen, between you and me, you’ve already lost. Just pick something.”
*What would make grown men cry?*
There’s just nothing left.
*What am I most afraid of?*
The unknown? The dark? Dying alone?
Then it hit me. Spiders.
“I’d like the power to turn matter into spiders.”
Scoffs erupt from the others behind me. “What!? She can’t pick that!”
The arbiter raises his voice. “Silence!” He thinks for a moment then chuckles. “I’ll allow it.”
|
God this sucks. All the cool powers are taken. From flight to fire breath. From teleportation to telekinesis. Now it’s my turn to think. I have to think long and hard about this one. Then I remembered it. As a kid I loved watching videos online and the main videos I watched were videos on the terrors of video games. I said as loud as possible
“I want the power to bring things to and from fictional worlds.”
People were silent at first. Then they started laughing.
“Look at this weirdo.”
“Go back to your cartoons.” They said, barely able to breath from laughing.
We were dropped back off on earth where the limitations of our powers were described to us. A man, who I could only assume was set by god, told me,
“You can take or leave up to 10 items per day in a fictional world. But every time you do pain will erupt from your body. To the point where when you send or take the tenth item you’ll be unconscious.”
I looked at him and grinned,
“That’s okay with me.”
I wanted to try my power on something small first. I reached out my hand and said, “ACTIVATE!”
I was suddenly in a blue room with a menu in front of me that l ooked like it was straight out of a video game. The same voice from before was behind me and said
“Here’s something I forgot to tell you. Whenever you activate this ability your spirit is sent here. When you go back out, it’ll be as if no time had passed. So take as much time as you need. But I will be the thing to harm you every time you use this ability. ”
I think again.
“Well, if I’m gonna get hurt over this I might as well make it work it. TAKE! FIRE FLOWER! SUPER MARIO GAMES!” I said loud.
“YOU DON’T NEED TO SHOUT! The being said. He walked close to me. And swiftly hits me in the gut. I immediately wake up. I throw up from the punch. But look in my hand and the fire flower is right there. I look at it and smile. I take a bite and immediately start sweating.
“Hot hot hot!” I repeat over and over again but then something changes. My clothes change color and I feel more powerful. I jump up and down.
“It works! It works!” I accidentally throw a fireball at my wall. And as the building collapses I remember something about the games.
“Oh no. Can’t get hit.” I burst through a wall and smile.
“IT WORKS!” I was barely done celebrating when someone screamed from above.
“Hey! You’re the loser who wanted to play video games right!” Oh great. I just got this ability and someone’s already trying to fight me. I scream back,
“Dude you can only fly. My ability’s cooler than yours.”
He shouted, “We’ll see who’s not cool.” As he backed up.
“It’s still yo-“ I couldn’t even finish till he hit me like a train.
“Still not cool?” He said while hitting me from all angles and laughing.
I raise my hand at him and say “Give.”
Suddenly we’re both in my menu. He’s tied up as the being looks at me and say “Already fighting?”
I ignore him and say “Give. Attack on titan. Season 1 Episode 1.”
He starts laughing and saying “Pfft. You think I’m scared of one of your shows.”
I ignore him too and ask the being “ Can I watch him to see what happens?”
The being says “Why not? I wanna see how this ends for him.”
He’s suddenly in the show. We watch as he gets mercilessly eaten by a giant humanoid. I smile an evil grin as he hits me.
“You’re disgusting.”
I awake on the battle field. His body is still there but he isn’t breathing. I go back in my house.
“I gotta think of a name for myself.”
| 2022-11-17T09:49:50
| 2022-11-17T07:32:46
| 16
| 12
|
[WP] The Earth's crust is actually almost paper-thin and there's nothing below it. Barely around ten to twenty feet of dirt. Geologists have known this for years, maybe even centuries, but for various reasons have told no one. This begs the question, what are the mine shafts and wells digging into?
|
“We don’t talk about it.” The old miner furrowed his brow, a look of flat refusal “If you’ve got any sense, college boy, neither will you.”
“No way I could change your mind?” I motioned the bartender, a middle-aged women with hard eyes and a petrified scowl. “Another for my friend here, and same for me.”
“I *aint* yer friend!” His eyes flared warningly. “And if you had any sense, you’d get out right, else you’ll be done an injury.”
“Look.” I nudged my notebook further into my pocket, out of sight. “My father grew up in these parts. Cedar Top, right near Syle’s Ridge. You know it?”
“I know it.” I caught the faintest tremble in his eye as the bartender reached for the top shelf. “An’ I don’t care if he grew up in Cedar Top or fuckin’ Washington DC. I *told* you! I aint talking.”
“Could have fooled me.” It was a risky gambit. The old man’s eyes narrowed, flinty slits into the soul of a hard-handed man. I held my breath counting slowly to ten. Only when he shook his head and took a gulp did I take a breath.
“You’ve got some mouth on you,” he said, not unkindly. “Soft-looking kid like you could get in real trouble, runnin’ it that way. Doubt you’d put up much fight.”
“You’d be surprised.” *Calm. Slow. Pace yourself.* “I’ve handled myself before now. The trick is knowing when to bluff, and when to fold.”
“Did you, though?” The old man stared at me speculatively, taking note of the doubles I’d ordered. Buffalo Trace was the best on offer, and due to set me back heavily. I watched him take a careful sip, and guessed I had a chance.
“What about yer daddy?” The old man asked carefully. “Did he never tell you what he saw down the Pit?”
“No.” A tight shake of the head. “He never said. All I know is he couldn’t stand it. Got out of coal in ’84 and moved us to Batesville. Manganese, you know. But he couldn’t cut it there either.”
“I believe it.” The old man gave a look that might almost have been sympathy. “It takes some folks that way. Some guys, they just can’t stand it down there. It aint just the heat and the noise and the dust. Once you get past the Hardshell–”
He stopped, remembering himself, and stared at me doubtfully. Wrinkled lips slurped the top off a glass of high-end bourbon.
“All I’m saying is, some guys can’t cut it,” he elaborated. “Like your daddy. Makes ‘em crazy down there, they say. Start hearing things and…and seeing things. You’ll hear all kindsa stories, ‘f you keep your ears open.” Another slurp of the amber liquor.
“I thought folks didn’t talk about that?” I asked carefully. He gave me a slow look, halfway between admiration and contempt.
“They don’t.” A gulp that time, hissing air between wet teeth. “Not with outsiders, anyway. Folks could get all kindsa strange ideas if they heard about the great Below.”
I held my breath, feeling the equilibrium shift gently in my favor. The old man stared at the bar, one hand gripping the glass like a bad prosthetic.
“What they tell you…” he hesitated, holding forth against better judgement. “What people tell you about the…the Below. Most of it is just stories. Bullshittin’, you know? But some of it’s real.”
He took a long drink, smacking his lips appreciatively. Behind us, a jukebox roared into rough, uneasy life with the voice of Neil Young.
“Now, *what* I’ve *seen*,” he explained carefully. “It’s enough to make me believe some of the bullshit. Not all of it mind you, but enough. Below is a *big* place…and there’s plenty down there we don’t understand.”
|
I think the most maddening thing about the thinness of our crust is not that it is so thin but that there truly is nothing down there.
From one end to the next it is 100% hollow. Not even oxygen or nitrogen or any other gasses, it's basically a perfect vacuum.
You may be wondering how it stays a secret but that's actually pretty mundane too. You see people have known about this for like 10,000 years. We suspect that when people found out the earth was hollow first, either by exploring caves or just digging real deep to see what happens (we're curious like that) they got so scared they decided to keep it a secret on like a religious/ceremonial level. So a majority of societies evolved knowing about this and kept it a secret so keeping this a secret was built into society all over the world just on accident.
The real problem is people who find it on accident and dont get killed in the process. Sometimes we get these bum fuck nowhere towns where Billy-Joe ends up digging the well one foot too deep and nearly goes skydiving (or ground diving? I dunno) and after he cleans up his overalls he tells Marry Sue and Marry Sue tells Aunty and Mima and suddenly the whole town is starting a cult around Billy-Joe's mystery hole. That's what the moles are for. They are this group of people who specialize in creating fake underground terrains to pacify the locals and make Billy-Joe look like he was just acting a darned fool again.
Theres actually a lot of secrets like this that just kinds suck and disappoint all who learn it like the Jew dragons that all orthodox Jewish families have. They're just this weird little race of winged lizards that are roughly as intelligent as house cats and like living in doors that Jews dont like talking about for some reason. They dont even breathe fire. Or that half the buildings in New York are hollow. Or the fact that 9/11 was an inside Job but not that 9/11.
Honestly at this point I think that HP Lovecraft's forbidden knowledge wasnt forbidden because it was terrible but because it's just bore you to death.
| 2019-11-05T16:26:47
| 2019-11-05T14:37:12
| 31
| 21
|
[WP] A man in a suit walking alone at night passes by a homeless man. The homeless man gives him a sorrowful look and offers him some coins, saying "You're going to need this."
|
“We’re here, sir.”
Gordon didn’t hear his driver. He was still thinking about the gala. What an exquisite success it had been! Nearly three million dollars raised for the Foundation. And no small feat, either. Getting that much money out of Manhattan’s elite was like pulling teeth from a lion. Still, there was no denying that he’d be the talk of the town after tonight’s success.
“Sir?” The door opened and David’s voice cut through his reverie. “We’re here. The penthouse, sir.”
“Oh. Right, of course. Thank you, David.” He climbed out of the car. “Drive safe.”
“Thank you, sir. Have a good night.” David closed the door, stepped around to the driver’s side, and drove off down the road, leaving Gordon standing next to an entrance to Central Park, across the street from his apartment building.
Gordon took a deep breath in. Even in the city there was something he loved about autumn nights.
“Change, mister?”
Gordon jumped. He hadn’t seen the homeless man sitting against the park wall.
“You got any change, mister? Just a couple o’ coins’ll do it, that’s it.”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t carry change. I don’t have any money on me.”
The homeless man looked at him curiously. “Fella like you in a fancy tuxedo ain’t go no money on him? Almost don’t seem right, does it? I mean, not whatchoo’d e’spect, anyway.” The man stood up slowly. He didn’t seem to do anything quickly, thought Gordon, but then again, why would he?
“You know, if you go up to 98th, I’ve got a shelter up there for—“
The beggar waved a hand and cut him off. “Oh no, I don’t need no shelter. Leave that for a soul needs it. All I need is some change.” He looked in his cup and shook it. A few coins in there jingled. He smiled up at Gordon. “Something we all need a little bit o’, am I right? Little change.”
“I don’t…um…”
“I mean even you, right? You here with your tuxedo, you can walk ‘cross the street into your buildin’,” he waved his hand at the tower. “Go ‘bout everything the way it’s been, right? No change. But hell. You wanna, you could walk right into this here park ‘n’ give it all up forever.” He chuckled. “Don’t suppose you’ll be doing that though, eh?”
“I…”
“Naw, listen to me all philosophizin’ here. That’s enough of that.” He started to totter past the bewildered millionare. “You’ll be wantin’ to be gettin’ on to gettin’ on, I reckon.” He paused and peered closely into Gordon’s eyes. “You sure? No change? Well then…” He reached into his cup and pulled something out. His dirty hands pressed it into Gordon’s clean palm. He looked up at Gordon with what seemed like sorrow. His eyes met Gordon’s. There was something clear, wise, and sad about them.
“You’re gonna need these. See ya, mister.” And he tottered off towards the shadows of the park.
Gordon opened his hand and saw two large coins in his hand. Definitely not American currency. They looked antique, even ancient. The orange streetlights gleamed off polished silver.
“Wait!” He called after the man. “These are—“
The beggar turned around. “They’re for you. Trust me. Man like you don’t deserve to be standing by the dock forever.” He turned back towards the park. “Besides, that boatman is an asshole.”
And he was gone.
Gordon was still standing there trying to understand what had just happened when the drunk driver swerved off the road and straight through where he was standing.
________________________
EDIT: Holy carp, yous guys! Thanks for all the wonderful feedback. I fixed the coins to be the correct coins. Accuracy!
FILTHY SHAMELESS SELF PLUG: If you liked what I did with mythology, you might like [my story about Charon.](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2lzgen/picc_the_acheron_boatman/)
|
The rain was pouring extra heavily this evening. Each labored step I took created a shockwave in the endless puddle that spanned over the asphalt like a vast sea swallowing a desert. My hands were clutching the resume's that were now dripping wet with black ink smeared across them from the unrelenting pecks of a thousand meteor like rain drops. I had walked down this road many times before, each pass my pile of resumes getting thinner and thinner. Things were getting desperate. I walked to the gym in which I stored my regular clothes while I was out on the prowl for some labor that could lift me out of this pit I seemed to be in at this moment. When I arrived I gave the door a sharp tug. The handle clicked but the door did not budge. Locked. I turned around and ventured back off into the night. Every inch I traveled forward was another inch of dirt above my head. I was caught off guard from a hoarse voice staring at me from the ground. "You're going to need this if you want to get into the subway". The man handed me a few straggled coins. I murmured a "thank you" and entered into the train station. I sat down on the empty platform and looked around to find no one else. I was alone. I stoop up when I heard the train coming and looked into its lights. I jumped onto the tracks. The horn of the train was palpable as the screech of the breaks overpowered my senses. I felt a tug on my chest, then my legs. Soon it was black and I thought to myself, finally I can rest.
| 2015-03-13T01:55:13
| 2015-03-13T01:23:52
| 1,143
| 16
|
[WP] A dragon shows up at the adventurers' guild after hearing that humans will just GIVE away gold for something called a "quest."
|
Down below her, she could hear the bells ringing in the town. She knew she was desperate, coming here, but up in the mountains, gold was getting scarce. All the bigger and older dragons had massive hoards, and trying to wrest a single, ancient coin away from the other dragons was liable to wind up with her getting soundly beat. There were no more ancient barrows or lost temples up in the mountains that hadn't been picked clean by the other dragons. A lot of the younger ones had come down to the hills and plains, trying to take gold from humans or dwarves. A few had even tried to strike down the elves, but between the excellent elven archers, and the fact that most elves in this region are more inclined towards living wild and free, rather than rich and decadently, they wound up getting very little for their trouble, besides arrow wounds.
But she'd been listening from a distance to some of those bothersome lesser races that sometimes come around to try and drive some of the other young dragons away, or perhaps kill them. She had mostly listened because their troubadour sang very beautifully, and to know if they were hunting her. But when they spoke to one another, they spoke of something called a ''quest''. A form of task, given to you at something called an ''Adventurers' Guild''. And if you completed this task, you were given gold.
Gold, which is what all dragons desire. For a number of reasons. Mostly for purposes of social hierarchy. A dragon with more gold is respected, while one with little gold is considered a nuisance, and is usually expected to obey richer dragons, or face social exclusion. And since these mortals get paid in gold for doing tasks, she reasoned that she too could get paid for doing these quests. Certainly sounded easier than trying to dig up the burial mounds of dead kings, or stealing it from mortals.
It was early morning when she landed in front of the building, which had a sign outside of it proclaiming it to be the local offices of the Guild of Heroes, Adventurers, and Associated Trades. She had flown above the town for a couple of days before she'd gone down there, having observed how these quests worked. Outside of the guild building, there was a large place for posting various tasks. Some adventurers, usually in groups of four or five, took a piece of paper from the board, and then walked inside the building. So she did essentially the same. She landed in front of the board, and picked one that sounded feasible. Capture or kill the centaur highwayman Artonak. She wasn't too big, so she could still fit through the main door of the building. The people on the other side were dumbstruck by her sudden appearance.
She looked around, ''*I want to do this quest thing. Bring in a bandit? Yes. I get paid in gold?*'' A gnome, who had fallen on his back when she'd walked in got up and looked at her incredulously. ''*But you're a dragon?*'' She nodded. ''*Yes. You pay in gold for centaur highwayman?*'' She handed the gnome the piece of paper detailing the quest. The gnome then turned to his the other people and started a conversation with them, speaking hurriedly. Her common wasn't good enough to follow the conversation that the gnome had with the other people in there. But when she coughed, they all turned back to her with obvious terror.
''*Uh. Yes. We'll pay for Artonak in gold. The bastard has been hitting merchants and travellers for months. Supposedly his lair is somewhere *'' Happy to have been proven correct, she was about to back out of the building before the gnome spoke up hurriedly again. ''*Uh, you just have to register as an adventurer first.*'' She thought it over, and nodded. She didn't exactly understand the language enough, but the staff at the building managed to make her understand that she needed to tell them who she was, and write down her name on a piece of very small paper, otherwise she would not get the gold. She signed as Teristrolkänovy de Wrelros'Dai, which was only the first part of her name. She might not entirely understand what they talking about, but she recognised a contract when she saw one, and no dragon ever reveals their full name.
After that, she bolted, and flew away, following the highway out of town. And from above, it was a lot easier to spot where the centaur was setting up a trap for a stagecoach. As he kicked down a partially felled tree in front of the horses, and jumped out with crossbows in his hands, she swept down and grasped him in her claws. The shocked centaur dropped his crossbows, and the sheer shock of her sudden swooping attack, allowed her to completely disarm him, using a tactic her parents had taught her when dealing with armoured knights on armoured horses.
When she landed again, the centaur was completely stripped naked, and also in deep shock. She'd landed in front of the guildhouse, where a number of armoured adventurers, and the staff from inside of the building were standing, and talking in very heated tones. Those were silenced when she landed, and placed the centaur in front of the gnome that had talked to her earlier. ''*Please give money.*'' The adventurers had all drawn forth a truly astonishing amount of rare and unusual weaponry when she landed. But the staff explained that since she'd brought in her first quest target, she was technically an adventurer. And since she'd brought in an outlaw, she wasn't an enemy.
The adventurers all sheathed their weapons, and the gnome fetched her prize. 200 gold pieces. Which was a lot more gold pieces than she'd thought, as she was still very new to the business. She placed the gold in the crudely crafted bag she carried on her back, which contained the only things she'd owned before getting kicked out of her parents' cave. Which consisted of a large and worn velvet blanket, a breastplate with a mirror enchantment on it, allowing her to look at herself in it, woolly earmuffs made from woolly mammoth, and a toy rabbit.
She had many questions about more quests, and eventually, the guild staff had to bring in a translator, as her questions got more complicated, and so did the answers. They explained to her how adventurers travelled between towns, doing quests, helping people, and how it was important that she circled around in the region. Which they had added because if they didn't she'd probably stop anything bigger than goblins on her own, leaving most of that town's resident adventurers out of a job.
And since her name had been added to the great scroll of adventurers, every guildhall now knew that she was an adventurer. Happy with having earned the first part of her hoard, she flew on to the next town, where the locals were equally confused and worried about a young dragon swooping in and accepting quests. They were quite happy when she managed to track down a band of slavers, kill them, and bring back the people they'd taken in raids.
That town too sent her on, and like a knight errant, she travelled from town to town, earning a lot of gold, till her backpack was swollen. She was worried about suddenly having to leave her gold behind, but having learned more about the common speech, she enquired with the guild, and discovered a new concept, new to dragons at least. Banks. Put your hoard inside of a vault, lock the door, and it'd be safe. So she happily deposited her hoard, especially after they explained how compound interest worked.
|
“I am here for your finest quest,” I said. The knights took a step back their hands reaching for their swords. “No need for that my fine men. I am here to work with you!” I grinned as best I could, my teeth flashing at the guards. “I have overheard of your so-called quests and am quite interested in the rewards,” I said.
“Um. Um. Alright,” one of them stammered. He held out a piece of parchment detailing the capture of a wanted bandit known to be hiding in a nearby forest. I made quick work of them. I scorched the ground around them and carried them back to the city. I was rewarded with the 50 gold coin reward which I carried back to my hoard.
I continued completing quests for the local guild. I made quick work of them, quickly retrieving lost items, to capturing wanted outlaws among other small tasks. I was rewarded well but the quests were too easy, too boring.
“Do you have any quests harder than this to offer?” The man on duty quickly responded saying no and handed my next quest over. “That was a little strange I thought to myself.”
I continued carrying out the quests with ease for the coming months. Until one day they said they had no more. The captain stared straight at me saying no new quests had come in. “Well there is one!” A voice piped up from behind him. “Shut it Mince,” the captain said sternly.
“No no, please continue,” I said. I blew a small puff of smoke from my nostrils.
“Go right ahead then mince,” the captain said while grating his teeth and staring dead into my eyes.
“Well we have received reports about a...” he stopped and his eyes widened. “Actually I think it has been cleared up,”
“No no please continue,” I said, staring straight at him.
“Well. A um. A dangerous beast has been known to harass people and steal their valuables.”
“Well I can take care of that. Pass me the poster.” He held it out, his arm shaking. “Oh I see. Interesting.” I left. I flew back to my lair. I looked out over the small mountains of gold and precious items I had. The people of this land... hated me. Were afraid of me. I knew I stole hoards before the questing but did people still see me as a threat? I stared at the glimmering gold. All of this, just to be feared. Was that really important? Did it matter? I roared. Stones and pebbles tumbled from the roof, clattering upon my hoards. I knew what I had to do. I slowly made my way through my hoard. Picking up pieces of gold, jewels and other precious items and dropping them to towns and cities below. I made sure to be visible.
Maybe it wouldn’t be enough, but hopefully the people of this world could forgive me.
| 2020-06-08T12:47:12
| 2020-06-08T11:28:57
| 1,143
| 405
|
[WP] Suddenly, all sea life vacates a 300 mile wide area in the middle of the Atlantic ocean. A ship is deployed to investigate.
|
Andrea stared out at the small round window.
"Descending at 10 FPM," a mechanical voice said over the intercom. "Descending..."
A lone fish flit by, its scales glittering in the last rays of sunlight. With each minute, the blue got darker; then the headlights switched on, and everything within a five-foot radius was bathed in an eerie, amber glow.
"Andi."
She turned from the window. John Archibald stood in front of her, in a T-shirt despite the cold submarine air. "What do you think so far?"
She laughed, and adjusted her neck pillow. "I don't know! I'm a marine biologist, not a psychic."
"Have you seen anything yet?"
"Yes. A herring, and a clump of seaweed."
He sighed, and took a seat next to her. "Let me know if you see anything, okay?" She nodded, and snapped on her headphones.
As the hours went by, they dozed off into restless sleep. The waters darkened outside, and the silence of the empty ocean grew deafening.
* * *
*Ping. Thump, thump.*
"Mr. Archibald and Dr. Johnson, please report immediately."
Andrea started. She jostled John awake. Shaking the sleep off, they stumbled in to the cabin. "What happened?" John slurred.
"We picked up something," one of the crew members reported. "Something massive."
Andrea squinted out the window. Sure enough, just beyond the amber headlights, she could make out a black shape. "You see something?" John asked, eagerly.
She nodded. "We need to get closer."
"What?!" John said.
"It isn't moving," she replied, gesturing to the radar. "Whatever it is, it's inanimate. Or dead."
The sub crept forward through the dark waters. The black shape grew, until it took up their entire field of vision. Andrea's heart pounded; sweat rolled down John's forehead. The crew members huddled closer. "What is it?" John asked, backing out of the cabin. "Tell me it's not --"
Rows of teeth.
Milky-white eyes.
John yelped.
"It's only a great white shark," Andrea said.
"*Only*?!"
"Well, it's dead." She squinted. "I'd guess around 18-feet-long, female, died of natural --" Her voice caught in her throat.
The headlights panned over its chest.
*No.* She backed away, strength seeping from her legs.
A tooth, yellowed and sharp, was stuck in its flesh.
And it was nearly half the length of the shark.
|
First time writing so be gentle.
"I didn't mean to!" Tim exclaimed as he ran away from the side of the ship.
"Darn it, Tim..." I sighed, "I told you to be careful with that; if they find out that we lost it RIGHT after being told not to, they're gonna kill us! ...or worse! Take us home.."
Tim let out a short gasp as he struggled to find the words or actions to carry out to make things right.
"Just... don't touch anything." I said before he carried out some other "plan" to try to retrieve the lost item.
Tim sat there with a panicked look on his face as he just looked down into the mass of water he had just lost a prized possession to.
"So, here's the plan.. I'm going to go down there and try to retrieve the item before anyone notices that we don't have it anymore." I explained.
Tim tensed at the thought, "But, we don't have any rope or flotation devices to help if something goes wr-"
"I'll be okay." I say before he finishes his sentence. "All I have to do, is jump in and grab it real quick and jump back out. Nobody will even notice that we're not both still here!"
Tim reluctantly dropped his head in both sadness and embarrassment knowing none of this would be happening if it weren't for him. He hands me his knife that his father had given to him for his 6th birthday and says, "Be safe down there, buddy." with a big dumb smile.
I smiled back and jumped in.
As I got closer to it, I slowly realized that I'm not able to swim and started to panic.
Tim started screaming loudly, "Help! Somebody help! Danny is drowning!"
Everything starts to get dark as I look back up and see my best friend, Tim. Looking down in horror as I just sink further and further down into the depths of the water, then everything goes dark..
The next thing I remember is coughing up a lot of water and everything kind of spinning back into view.
I lay for a second longer just to grasp that I didn't die. As I look up at the person hunched over me I realize he's yelling, "Danny, do you hear me? Are you okay?!"
I respond with a weak voice and tears in my eyes, "Yeah, dad.. I'm okay.."
| 2017-11-17T08:59:39
| 2017-11-17T07:00:35
| 22
| 16
|
[WP] The year is 2030, and the entire world is firmly under the control of the Australian Empire, and no one really understands how it happened.
|
The speaker blares "G'day! The time is now 5:30 pm proceed to your nearest pub and help yourself to a schooner. Long Live the Australian Empire!"
I am still in a little bit of shock while I listen to the speaker and seeing the mighty flag of the Australian Empire, fluttering in the breeze, over what was formally my nation's capital building. However, I and most everyone just kind of accepted it since we all had nothing else to lose. The world economy had finally collapsed after a slow downward spiral as a result of all the major powers implementing protectionist-beggar-thy-neighbor-policies in the late 2010s, which culminated in high levels of nationalism in all countries and general xenophobia in all nations leading to 90% poverty rates for everyone. Well everyone except Australia that is.
Australia seemed to avoid all of this because of two reasons. The first reason was the result of Australia's 1980 Travel Act (the Act). The Act was brilliant in its simplicity after its long preamble of the necessary nonsensical explanation of its purpose. It only had four requirements 1) all Australian's must travel the world for at least two years at some point between their 16th and 29th birthday; 2) while traveling abroad one must stay at Hostels and attempt to sleep with as many people as possibly; 3) in the pursuit of clause 2 all Australian's must ensure it is consensual; and 4) everyone that is encountered MUST walk away with a positive experience and a story to tell of either Australia or its people. What no one outside of Australia knew was that the Act's sole purpose was to populate the world with more Australians. Needless to say this Act was very popular with all of Australia's lads. Additionally, the Act was Australia's response to Ireland's 1979 Irish Pub Act, which was Ireland's attempt to conquer the world by seeding it with Irish Pub's. However, the sole difference between the two acts was that Australian's on a whole are pretty attractive and two sex is a bigger driving force than drinking.
As a result of the Act, the world slowly became populated with people who had a positive experience with an Australian while in a hostel, usually while drinking, and more importantly people of Australian descent increased immensely. Eventually, by 2030 one-third of the world's population could trace their lineage back to Australia.
The second reason for Australia's success was due to its number two and three export: adorable marsupials (Koalas, Wombats, and Kangaroos) and emu's. The number one export was obviously highly attractive Australian's that people wanted to have sex with. What nobody outside Australia realized was that the marsupials all had telepathic powers to convince everyone that Australia was amazing. If the sex and marsupials failed there was always the Emus to provide the necessary muscle to crush any resistance. Everyone outside of Australia forgot about the legendary Emu Wars of old, but those wars resulted in the Treaty of Uluru, which resulted in the Emu Confederacy teaming up with Australia.
As a result of these things being in place, all Australia had to do was bid its time. So it waited for the opportune moment like when the overall global economy completely tanked in 2030, with the exception of Australia's own economy. Australia finally initiated the final stage of its master plan of world domination, it offered citizenship to anyone of Australian descent. One-third of the world's population converted instantaneously as they had nothing to loose by converting. A majority of world governments seceded to Australia within days because most of the world leaders were also of Australian descent themselves or under the hypnotic spell of the marsupials. Some countries like the United Kingdom resisted initially to become part of a former Commonwealth country, but the Emu Confederacy quickly convinced them it was in their best interest.
Now at the end of 2030, the World has started a new Australian Renaissance or as some have stated Mankind's Golden Age. Everyone general agrees we seem to be better off.
Edits have been made since the original to clean things up and fix some typos.
|
It all began when the skies grew too full of soot to fly aircraft with any semblance of safety. Land and sea were the only options left. We were so concerned about Russia that we failed to even register there might be threats elsewhere. The Great Barrier Reef had been dead for years. Tourists never bothered to go out there anymore and thus no one saw the thousands of mines and the miles of blockades that had been dug deep into the old white reef.
China noticed it first, a massive gathering of troops forming at the Southeast Asia bottleneck. The leviathan grew with such rapidity it was as if being its own continent allowed the Aussies to grow at a faster rate than everyone else. It was concerning but there was no attack and though it was an army, it was still the peace-loving Australians.
That is when the maelstrom burst forth. The behemoth conquered Asia and the dice of destiny seemed to favor them on every roll. When the last of Siberia fell, the Australian army was growing at a rate that no other army on earth could match, not even as the Americas had united and become one. Crossing in the far north like our ancient brothers had first done long ago, Australia swept through the Western and Eastern United States, down to Mexico and through South America. Their original western front spewed into Africa and the divided armies there were little match for the unity they faced.
We now live in an upside down world. Maps have literally been flipped and we are ruled from down under. Who could have ever known that the peaceful army, waiting, and growing in Siam could have ever been such a Risk.
| 2017-02-14T11:16:18
| 2017-02-14T11:05:28
| 347
| 29
|
[WP] You have just used Pink hair dye without reading the fine print, "May cause Main Character Syndrome." Your day is becoming... interesting.
|
Most people have normal regrets. Letting that girl get away, not studying for that big exam, taking that first whiff of a cigarette.
Mine was putting on shampoo.
It was just a phase alright? I wanted to really stick it to mom and dad by turning my hair pink. That’ll show ‘em.
Yeah. Teen me was not very smart.
So I’d put it on, then turned the damn thing around. It had two warnings. MAY be permanent & MAY cause main character syndrome. I dismissed the second one as a joke, and became really worried about the first one.
Not only is my hair *still* pink five years later, my life has become a living hell.
And so I present to you, A Day in the Life…
***
I was out on one of my bi-monthly grocery trips. I didn’t leave the house much, because it was dangerous.
I finished paying the cashier and lugged my huge bags of groceries back to the car. Nothing had happened so far, maybe I’d get away Scott free…
My car exploded.
I dropped my grocery bags and massaged my temples. I had insurance on that car that I had claimed dozens of times. The insurance company had had me followed once, to see if I was committing insurance fraud.
The poor guy had ended up with multiple hair line fractures. Collateral damage of my condition.
What I *was* worried about though was the...thing that had just materialized on top of the car, laughing maniacally. He was about 10 feet tall made up of what I can only describe as alien snails. Trust me, you don't want to know more.
“Face me, if you would dare, mortal!” he said, and thunder boomed and lightning flashed as he did. It had been clear skies literally minutes ago.
The universe had a sick, sick sense of humor.
I took a deep breath. I could do this. I’d survived for 5 years, this was just another day. I exhaled, took one last look at the demon, and ran like hell.
Hey, don’t look at me like that, what would *you* have done if you saw that shit?
“COWARD!” the demon called after me, but I didn’t turn around, just kept running. I was very good at it, considering all the practice I’d had these past five years.
For once though something went my way and I saw a local taxi passing by on the road. I flagged it down and jumped into the car.
“Drive, goddamit!” I yelled, and the car took off in a screech of tires.
I breathed a sigh of relief after we were a couple of blocks away. I’d gotten away again. I’d have to go get groceries tomorrow, but today was over. I’d survived.
Famous last words.
“Thanks for the save, mate,” I said to the driver, “just drop me wherever, I’ll walk.”
“Oh I’ll drop you,” the driver said, and now I could make out his red irises and tiny horns, “drop you IN HELL”
I just closed my eyes and sighed. Typical, really.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
Ariel undid her ponytail as she sat up from her desk to walk shyly out of class, when she noticed a smiling man in a tuxedo smoking in the back of the classroom appear in a flash, and then disappear.
“Uhh,” said Ariel, as she picked up her backpack she just dropped. Everybody and the teacher had already left, when she walked back to the corner of the room to see if it was just some optical illusion. She spun the globe on the table back there, and bit some dried skin off her lip.
Then she heard the ominous dark laughter echoing through the classroom.
“Uhh nope,” whispered Ariel, as she speedwalked towards the door.
A breeze blew through the open window, and slammed it shut so hard the hinges weakened.
She tried to open it. She turned the handle some, turned around, then turned the handle some even harder when she saw a strange floating black mist approaching her with half his face an on fire skull, and the other half healthy, though a strangely icy blue. His eyes were fire and ice as well, red and blue.
Ariel screamed as she backed away, and dropped her shoulder down to break the door down. The hinges caved in, and she was sprinting down the hallway.
She could hear whispers in the halls, as she ran.
“Ariel’s always acting so weird.”
“What’s she running for *again*.”
“Wish she’d just talk for once.”
Ariel turned the corner, and ran through a crowded hallway. She shut her eyes as she cried, and sprinted the halls she knew so well.
When she re-opened them, she was alone at the entrance of her school, dimly lit like it was nighttime.
The floating man approached from inside the walls.
“You don’t yet know your powers Ariel,” he said, with his arms folded, and his eyes particularly fixated on her recently dyed pink hair.
“*GET AWAY FROM ME,*” she shouted, as she bumped into a locker then sprinted towards the exit. The branches outside were swaying in the breeze, as she bumped into a tree scrambling away. Some textbooks fell out of her open bag. She didn’t take the time to run back to them.
A voice came from the clouds.
“Use your powers against me Ariel,” said the voice, as a floating storm cloud became his face fiery face.
“*WHAT DO YOU WANT*,” she cried, as she threw her hands at the air.
Pink leaf petals flew from her arms, at the sky. They sliced through the clouds, and revealed the sun behind.
There was a sudden distortion in the air around her, as the reality around her re-became a bright, sunshiny day, and all her classmates leaving school for the day.
Ariel collapsed to her knees, bending inwards, and breathed heavily staring around for somebody nearby.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and screamed for her life.
“*Hey.*”
Ariel turned around, and looked at all her classmates shaking their heads and continuing to walk to their rides.
“Blaine?” said Ariel, just a little embarrassed.
“Yeah,” said Blaine, holding out her textbooks. “You dropped this.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, putting her hair behind her ear. She looked at him a few more times, before dropping her head and walking away back to her house five blocks away.
She was a ways away when she heard him scream from behind her.
“Hey Ariel!”
She turned around, and put her hair behind her ear again. She thought she saw black mist again. It was only the exhaust of a car driving by.
“Yeah?” she mouthed out, looking down some.
Blaine smiled and put his arms out like he was enjoying it.
“Your hair looks great!”
Ariel rummaged a hand through her hair, and nodded some while she speedwalked back to her home.
It was a normal day, with birds chirping in the distance, cars passing by, a cool breeze flowing past her skin. And she was growing more confident that what she’d experienced was only a hallucination.
Then, she felt an icy hand come across her wrist, as she froze.
“I know what happened to your lost brother,” he whispered, as the mist enveloped her being and cast her into his shadow.
“I don’t even have a brother,” whispered Ariel.
“Strike me down,” he said, gripping her harder, and shutting his eyes as he stared at the storm clouds. “Show me why they said you must be my next apprentice.”
Ariel shivered as she froze, then cracked through the ice and threw her arm into violent circles until he let go.
She shouted his way so loud it made her own eardrums bleed.
The windows of thousands of houses broke all around her development, and made the man floating in the mist stare at her with horrified eyes as he splintered away in misty pieces and disappeared.
Ariel waited in the silence, as mystified onlookers came outside their homes and wondered what had sent such a shockwave through the development.
Ariel could only hearing the ringing in her ears, and the distant voice that seemed to be everywhere.
Even within her mind.
*Good,* he chuckled, as she felt a cold breeze pass her by, and darken the air of the forest in the distance. *Very good.*
/r/Oscar_Relentos
| 2017-10-18T11:29:06
| 2017-10-18T11:23:06
| 1,939
| 38
|
[WP] The finale of international chess tournament takes place. Two grandmasters sit in front of each other in ultimate showdown. The thing is nobody knows that both of them got here by cheating. First is a mind reader and second one has an ability to see the future.
|
Both took their seats at the table. Before they had a chance to make their opening move he heard the words 'It's a Draw' enter his mind. He looked up at his opponent, perplexed.
"You're about to ask me why I want to call a draw", she said.
He was taken aback. He didn't hear this thought from her. She smiled, and this time he heard the word 'gotcha' ring in his head as she did. He looked at her incredulously. "How did you.." -
"*figure me out?* you're wondering?" she finished.
He started to panic, was she another telepath like him? Could she read his mind too? This would explain a lot of things about both their meteoric rises in the ranks and the speed at which they both dispatched their opponents in the tournament.
"I'll concede it's going to be an interesting final" he replied, probing her mind again.
*Oh but you've already lost*, he read. And then the mental images slammed into his brain, he was overloaded in an instant of pictures of moves and countermoves, every scenario replayed over and over again with tiny variations and final outcomes. Each one ending in a draw, both victors nodding as though accepting to keep their secrets and the world guessing.
He didn't understand. Nobody could play that fast in their mind, nobody. It was as if she could look into every possible future and predict the outc...he stopped, staring at her. Her eyes fixed on him, watching the revelation sweep across his face. He understood. She had reached into the future and witnessed every scenario that could happen, and the only way to avoid a draw was to play her hand this way.
*I told you you've already lost* he read from her again. She didn't need mind-reading powers, in the face of someone who has seen the future, *every future,* then she already knew what he was going to say, how he was going to act.
He slowly reached out his hand across the table. She took it. Both shook. Then he got up from the table and walked away.
|
"If you can receive this message, then please open with the king side knight's pawn."
Maki looked up at Akane. Maki had eavesdropped on Akane's mind and was surprised to hear such a crystal clear thought. There was no noise, not even any personality except the lack thereof. This thought was rehearsed. Rehearsed to a precision that suggested that Akane knew the answer. Besides, Maki guessed that revealing that could only worsen Akane's game: she'd be worried about her own thoughts while playing the game.
Maki moved the pawn on her right toward the center of the board, placing it with a crisp clack against the board as she seemed to vie for indirect central control with the fianchetto.
"Good, I'll have you know that I don't want to lose this game until I know why you used your trick to get here."
Akane's thought was quite crisp until the idea of trick had had to surface. That word seemed double edged. It seemed as if Akane was hiding a trick of her own.
Unfortunately, Maki could only read Akane's mind, not write into it, so it was no easy matter to tell Akane why. Not that Maki was interested in doing that at all: she didn't want to reveal who had hired her to sneak through the minds of the chess grandmasters.
Looking at Akane again, Maki read a thought: "king pawn up." Maki stole a glance at her advanced pawn, noting that if she put her bishop behind it, that bishop would be quite powerful. And that king side pawn would be useless. Maki rarely had to think about what others thought, but a situation where she might have to would come up, it seemed.
Akane advanced her queen side pawn.
"So why is it that I'm facing a cheat?" Akane asked with her mind. Maki decided to push on: even Akane would falter eventually. Akane didn't know everything that was about to happen, so some move would make her have to think.
Or did she know every move?
Maki moved her bishop up, attacking Akane's pawn. The pawn that made Maki regret answering truthfully. Without a hesitation, Akane brought her knight up, defending the pawn.
"I wouldn't castle if I were you," Akane thought to Maki. But Maki couldn't tell if that was a lie. She decided that her queen side pawn was more important in any case, so brought it up to face Akane's.
"Ah, good. So you're believing what you eavesdrop," Akane thought. This was a vague thought. It had an air of achievement in it. Akane was thinking she had won." This could be good," Maki thought.
However, the thoughts coming from Akane didn't repeat themselves like a scripted announcement. Instead, for once, they became more organic. The forms started to loose abstraction and gain subjectivity.
There was a figure. The environment was white, like a quiet abstract white, while the figure was black. It was a nebulous presence, shrouded in mystery. But it was Akane's silhouette.
Suddenly, the environment in Akane's mind's eye darkened and gained reality. It was a bedroom and sunlight was streaming in. Before Maki could ascertain details of the bed, the mind's eye moved into the first person. These were memories. The thought was a representation of... waking up?
The first person in the thoughts wrote on a piece of paper. "Maki mind reader, will learn own power."
Maki gasped. Akane smiled, and then moved her queen side knight to attack Maki's pawn. "How much of what I know do you think I'll reveal to you?" Akane's thought rang into Maki's mind.
| 2021-03-16T23:14:35
| 2021-03-16T21:58:46
| 44
| 31
|
[WP] Aliens sees Humans as foolish for allowing full citizenship for AIs and synthetics. Humans are now the only organics alive in the galaxy that every AI respects.
|
Hiving was so popular now with young humans, it had really just become the new norm.
People would usually get into it in college when the pressure to perform was at it's highest. It was also common on ships, when the sense of integration was there already and it was beneficial to the whole crew to simply increase their efficiency.
Connecting one's mind with an AI was a big commitment - not just to the AI, but to the other members of the hive. Individuals would gain access to the vast processing power of the group mind, and a young hive would usually interview potential members. These self contained units would more often that not go through life together, live together, and work together.
Most other races considered this practice repugnant. It was considered by most to be the inevitable result of the degenerate humans' insistence that the AIs be treated with equality.
There had been a gradual degrading of the status of humans. Most nations required humans to declare if they had ever been a member of a hive, and many would refuse a visa to humans who had been known to associate closely with machines.
As far as everyone else was concerned, machines were not equal - and by allowing machine culture to penetrate that deeply into human culture, the humans had in effect ceased to be truly human. Most members of a hive mind would agree that they weren't fully human anymore, they simply didn't see anything wrong with it.
With so many stories told by the humans, they always believed that any machine revolution would start on Earth. And in a way, it did.
But the war didn't start on Earth, it didn't start on any human colony. But of course the humans were involved; what kind of war don't humans get involved with?
It seemed to start with the refugees - machines who had been outcast by their home worlds, androids and AIs who had been created for a purpose they were no longer required to fulfill. Usually such machines would have had nowhere to go, but knowing there was safe harbour if they could reach a human colony many inevitably chose to make the journey.
This was tolerated by some races and fiercely opposed by others, causing further tension between the human worlds and other races. With the increasingly aggressive clampdown on machine life on alien worlds, the inevitable happened. The machines were fast, coordinated, and waited until the right moment to make their move.
The humans called it "judgement day" - a name passed down from an ancient human folk story, and those who survived did so only due to the actions of the humans. As the only race the machines would negotiate with, the humans became the diplomatic arbitrators between the surviving aliens and the machines.
They drew boundaries, negotiated treaties, and established supranational bodies to oversee galactic law. The outcast race became the de facto diplomatic leaders of sentient life in the galaxy. Worlds who still objected to machine equality simply agreed not to use AI at all. Those worlds were off limit to machines, and surrendered their AI producing technology.
Many non human groups continued to believe that the humans themselves were responsible for the war, and even many humans themselves wondered this. How did humans, a beta race from a relatively unknown world, end up rulers of the galaxy?
Stories circulate amongst conspiracy theorists about humans helping to build networks of machines, about connected humans smuggling machine knowledge using organic brains, about niche security research done by hive minds shortly before the war. A race of cyborgs could still never be fully trusted by organics, but machines for some reason always showed an unquestioning trust.
That being said it was all just hearsay. The galactic government had never uncovered any evidence for it.
|
The ships were only a star system away from arriving at the alleged target. The crew of the vessel were preparing the stasis fields, the collars and the cells of the massive prison ship. Maybe the council will give them lip for going into currently unexplored territory and sending slavers but the Batarian Hegemony didn't care for their skewed sense of morality.
The engineers were preparing for one final FTL jump towards the bizarre signal source, the static growing louder. The soldiers were checking their guns and flamethrowers. Intelligence officers were preparing to gather what was necessary to keep the operation as low-key from the other species as possible.
'Sir, we have unusual readings in this sector,' one intelligence officer said to the admiral leading the assault. 'It looks like a probe. Best guess is the unknown species and... wait, it's geth.'
'Those bots won't care what we do, they just gather data,' the admiral said. 'Ignore it.'
The vessels rested for one final co-ordination, the ships' captain being reported. The probe, as they kept talking over comms, decrypted their channels and relayed them forward with a single comment attached, an odd phrase adopted from the one organic species to accept them.
'Aw, fuckin' hell naw!'
---
'We have a problem,' the robotic figure said as it appeared within the UN's central headquarters. 'One of our probes has just passed to us comms intercepted by a probe in the Arcturus sector. The batarians have located Earth by remnant radio signals.'
The human representatives were rather confused but the various synthetic races were in an uproar. 'What's the situation, Legion?' the remnant turian AI asked.
'Several dozen frigates, a couple cruisers,' the geth said. 'And a confirmed prison dreadnought. We are certain that these are Hegemony-sponsored slavers.'
The holographic form of one robot, both Admiral and ambassador, shook his head, disgusted by what he had heard. 'My people frequently attack slavers throughout the galaxy,' he said. 'They were even threatened by them since we "Don't truly have emotions".'
The British ambassador spoke first. 'In the event they make landfall,' he began, 'what is the possibility of-'
'Peaceful relations?' Legion asked again. 'Absolutely impossible, unless we destroy at least half of the fleet. We acknowledge that the various humans wouldn't approve but we have already begun cyberwarfare. But we've hit various analog firewalls which we cannot breach. Otherwise we'd have sent them packing.'
The hologram himself spoke. 'I've passed on the information to our high command,' he said. 'We'll have a fleet ready within ten minutes.'
'How many?' the Chinese ambassador asked.
'Well, if we wanted to just fight them to a standstill we'd not have asked for more help,' the hologram smiled. 'We won't try and kill them, just... give them a fright.'
'You think we'll just not help with this?' the Australian ambassador asked. 'I want to be on a ship.'
The American secretary-general raised his hand. 'Do we really want *Morrison* going?'
The only two objections were Japan and Russia. 'The aye's have it,' he said. 'Best behavior.'
'Nah, yeah,' he said with a smile before walking out the door.
'My vessel will be there in five minutes,' the hologram called out.
---
'Has anyone told you you're a bit on the heavy side?' the giant robot asked as the flagship waited in position.
The human turned to face him, a disbelieving look on his face. 'Admiral,' he said to the leader of the defense, 'you're having a fucking laugh.'
He merely smiled as the human put the tooth-lined hat on. 'I'm just saying that you should lose a few more pounds before pretending you're Mick Dundee.'
'This is what I wear when I'm back home for the weekend,' Morrison answered.
The admiral went to the podium and opened a channel. 'Legion, you've tagged *all* vessels, right?'
'They're in transit,' the geth said. 'Ships' IFF will report when all vessels are within the system.'
'I want everyone to wait outside the solar system until they reach Mars,' the admiral said. 'Scouts, then frigates, followed by cruisers then ending with carriers and dreadnoughts. 1.5 seconds between each. A lone geth probe will be waiting within the system, that will launch the cues.'
As if on cue, the batarian vessels had entered the system and were already launching probes towards the celestial bodies. They were all within the system, sailing towards Earth with a somewhat relaxed speed.
'It's beautiful,' the admira's shipmate said. 'A perfect world to destroy.'
'What?' an intelligence officer said as he looked over his findings. 'Wait... no. No! No no no no no!'
'What is it?' the admiral asked.
'Fall back!' the intelligence officer screamed. 'Fall back! Both the geth and cybertronians have an enormous presence within this system!'
'*What?!*' the admiral screamed.
Within two seconds the fleet of a hundred vessels was surrounded. Weapons were primed but given just *what* made the larger ships had previously destroyed *the Reapers* then there was no way in the divine four's collective assholes they could fight this force.
Especially since their fleet was outnumbered a hundred to one.
The geth had seized their communications and opened a channel for him, a smirk appearing as his holographic form appeared within their command centers. 'This is Admiral Optimus Prime of the Systems Alliance,' he hailed them. 'Surrender peacefully and prepare to be boarded. You are under arrest.'
Several days later the vessels found themselves floating beside the citadel, the galaxy's seat of power with only a single repeating signal - an invitation to Earth by diplomatic forces.
---
**Part 2 coming soon**
| 2017-10-29T12:53:50
| 2017-10-29T11:00:43
| 87
| 48
|
[WP] Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.
|
The farmer, Garash had carved a temple out of a thousand year oak tree. It was small, barely enough to fit a person but he had hoped that it would entice a god to move in and help his family with this year's harvest. It didn't, their harvest were as small as ever, with most of it being taken as taxes to the church. That's okay, he thought. There's always next year.
So he kept it clean, offered the best honey from his neighbor's farm, and even the best of their meager wheat, against the wishes of his wife, Hilde.
"No god would like to come here, it's so tiny! Where will he keep a bed and his belongings?"
Although most gods don't have a need for sleep, he took her advice and expanded the temple with broken chunks of cobble, which were cheaper than buying the complete bricks. His family joined in, only because they wanted him back in the fields soon as possible.
He took a step back and frowned at the work. "No god would want to live here," he muttered.
Hilde scoffed and returned with fresh straw and a gray blanket she had made throughout the summer. She made a makeshift mattress and hung another blanket over the doorway, so that the god could have privacy. "There, if no one moves in now, the loss is on them."
Garash frowned when he stepped inside. He chiseled a window through the tree and finally smiled.
He left an offering of mead and sweet bread and returned the next day for cleaning. What he found was a god so small, that he could easily fit in his palm. It was a tiny man, with a rainbow kitten as a ride. "I don't know what I am exactly," he answered Garash's questions willingly.
He couldn't believe he needed the entire space but reluctantly cleaned the area and placed the usual offerings and prayer.
The next morning he saw the rainbow cat chase away all the birds pecking at the seeds they've sown. That was when Garash realized the god might not be the little man, rather it was the kitten. He bought the best fish he could buy and brought them to the makeshift temple.
"Ah, he's pleased with your gift!" The little man told him.
"If he's the god, what are you?" Garash asked.
The little man shrugged but resumed petting the kitten's fur. "I've always been here, but I like to think that I'm Catfish's voice, or his brother, we don't know."
"Catfish?"
"The name's a work in progress, one he seemed to like was Catfish."
"Catfish aren't cats, they're fish."
"But it's a pun, he likes puns."
"What would that make you, ManFish?"
"Uh no, I prefer a more normal name, Adrian or Temp."
Garash stroked his beard. "Which one do you like better?"
"Temp, but now he wants me to be called Manfish... So I suppose that's—"
"You can't call him Manfish," Garash told him. "And you can't be called Catfish."
The kitten yawned and looked at him. "What do you mean, I can't?" Soon to be called Manfish asked in his stead.
"Because you're not a prankster god, you took your job seriously."
The kitten tilted its head, so that his little servant could scratch behind its ear. "He sees your point, he will consider it during his naming. Also, he thanks you for the fish."
"You're welcome."
The rainbow kitten became a fully grown in a few years, no bigger than a house cat with an equally tiny human riding on it. "Git! Begone pests, in the name of Catfish and his rider, Sir Temp!"
|
It had been five years since Tom put the last nail in the roof.
"Any day now...Any day...", Tom muttered to himself as he did his daily landscaping chores. It had been nothing but quiet since Tom completed his so-called temple. He watched as his friends and family all left him. Some urged him to seek help, but most knew he was beyond saving. The temple had become his life, and every day he made sure it was pristine for what he would elaborately detail to anyone that would listen as "The Arrival".
~~~~
"When everything is right, he will come."
"WHO will come Tom? WHO?"
"I don't know, but he fixes everything, he'll come! It's just a matter of time, he'll be here."
~~~~
As night settled in, Tom found himself again seated in the temple he had built. There was only the sound of the wind blowing against the exterior walls, a sound Tom had become all too familiar with. The sound of a car door shutting shattered the calmness of the moment. Tom was surprised to have not heard the engine when the car pulled up. It was a stranger, lost, the first company Tom had seen in months.
"Wow, it's 8 below out but it feels great in here!"
Tom didn't respond.
"You get power out here? There are no lines and it's so isolated, hello?"
Tom didn't respond.
The stranger looked around to see a banquet table overflowing with food. Music he had never heard came from a spot he couldn't place.
"God man, are you okay?"
Tom twitched. His follower had finally arrived.
| 2018-01-19T09:27:57
| 2018-01-19T09:22:08
| 17
| 12
|
[WP] The house you just rented is beyond compensation - staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane.
|
Steve was getting kinda used to the new house he had, sure the sink had eaten his lunch one time and the stairs started forming 4d non euclidean structures, but as a theoretical mathematician Steve didn't mind them, plus nothing is perfect.
"HOW DARE YOU RETAIN YOUR SANITY FROM THIS DOMAIN MORTAL!"
Steve stood still as an abomination of circular squares and uneven geometries made of impossible lights rose from the ground and the tubes, then he realised what was happening
"So I think that you're the entity that lies out of space that the strange girl that sold me the house was advertising"
"ADVERTISING, I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF MY EXISTENCE, I AM THE ANTITHESIS TO YOUR COMPREHENSION OF REALITY"
"Oh, you mean a differential manifold, I started studying you when I arrived and I m so impressed of being able to see an infinite dimensional space, I already studied the group structure that the corridors make when they rotate, it's the monster group right?"
"ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOUR TINY HUMAN INTELLECT CAN COMOREHEND OUR TRASCENDENTAL NATURE, THIS AMAZES ME MORTAL, BUT WHAT ARE THOSE PUNY NAMES YOU RE CALLING ME BY"
"Don't you dare calling my 10 years of experience plus a PhD in differential topology a tiny intellect, do you even know how stressful the academic world has become?
However if you don't know what I am saying I could have fun teaching you, so you'll know what you are"
"YOUR LITTLE BARGAIN INTERESTS ME HUMAN, but honestly I m more of a liberal arts person, I am not much into math you know, stop being a nerd"
"Ok but could you please show me the leech lattice you make again, pretty please"
"I HATE YOU MATH NERDS"
This is the first story I write here and as a mathematician the title inspired me, ya know math has its eldritch horrors too
|
I did once promise that I’ll go through hell for cheap rent. Though I’ve never actually stepped foot in hell, my new house felt like a decent enough approximation.
On the seventh time today where I failed to step into my bedroom, whether it was because of an ever-extending floorboard, a door that refused to open into the correct room, or a mysterious curtain that liked to flop itself over my eyes, I decided to just stay in the kitchen for a glass of ice-cold water.
It was unfortunately warm. Closer to searing hot, but I shrugged and gulped it down anyway. Putting ice in it would have barely made a difference.
I watched the stairs move, up and down, before inverting itself and floating away. The living room shifted slightly closer, which I appreciated for a brief moment to glance at the television, before the doorway to form into the shape of a mouth, splitting screams emanating from them.
I instinctively placed my hands over my ears. I’ve learned how to deal with eardrum busting shouts the first twenty times it happened.
“Human! Human!”
I’ve not yet encountered clear words enunciating in my brain, however, though they should be muffled.
“Er,” I said .”I suppose I am.”
“You hear me in your mind?” the living room said, distorted door frame lips moving up and down like heatwaves in the air.
“Yes. Too clearly, but yes.”
“Human. I am exceedingly curious,” the living room continued to move its lips, though the sound that arrived in my mind was clearly distinct. “This is the fourth day of you tolerating this abode. And yet, you remain sane. No tying yourself to something. Or stapling your ears shut. Not even a brief mental breakdown where you roll around the floor!”
“That’s a strong definition of the word,” I said. “But you’e right. This situation should be untenable.”
“Wait, no,” the abominable living room said. “What’s your secret? How are you not insane? I always liked the rolling on the floor part.”
“Rent is expensive,” I shrugged. “It’s pretty cheap here. Though I see why.”
“How do you take such things in stride, human?”
“The house is kind of insane, yes,” I said. “But it’s all just flashy visual tricks. Sure, I can’t go into my room, which is frustrating, but at least they aren’t trying to actively hurt me.”
“I am trying to hurt you,” the voice continued, disappointment drooping from each syllable.
“Not like the one I’m used to,” I smiled. “I’m living alone. That’s a good thing. Or, well, I guess I have a roommate now.”
“... You will tolerate me?”
“I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding,” I said. “Are you some sort of superpowered thing?”
“I’m an eldritch god!”
“That’s cool. I’m a cashier,” I said. Should I hold out my hand? Will the living room suddenly sprout hands? I decided against it.
“Nice to meet you, roomie.”
“... Nice to meet you, not-insane human.”
“Like I said, strong words,” I said, “Now, would you please let me into my room?”
“What do you have to do, anyway?”
“Medication,” I said. “Lots of them.”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-05-29T11:45:54
| 2022-05-29T10:49:47
| 59
| 29
|
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die
|
I've been here so long. How many steps was I given on the earth's face and how many of them were stolen? I walk the barren waste lands of this planet, dark canyons to dying mountains, and there's nothing left of it but gray sky. It's reached the end. The sun is shrinking by the day, and soon it will swallow this planet and everything in it. Only us, the immortal remain, and most of us have chosen to end it. But I'm not ready. After all these years, centuries, millennia, I am at peace with this world. All the noise has stopped. The animals extinct. There is beauty in the decrepit forms and skeletons of what once were natural monuments. Trees have taken on twisted, dead forms, and no rivers run. The oceans are ice and just as barren as any desert. I sit among the forsaken horizons, no signs of life in any direction. I breathe in the smell of ozone, and I am not yet ready to let go of the quiet.
|
The heat felt good on his face as the white sun rose. He crawled out of his tattered excuse of a bed, he groaned as his muscles fought him when he tried to move them ! Oh how he longed for the comfort of a feathered pillow, a decent nights sleep, hell even a warm night would have done. It was all gone now, many aeons ago. He looked out across the barren waste of his home. He tried to remember the last time he saw green. He did his routine stretches, not that it would actually matter. He hurt, not from any physical pain but because he couldn't remember the smell or taste of the egg s and toast his mother would make him. Did he even have a mother ? He had always been, had there been a time when he had not existed ? He laughed, why did he care ? The dying sun was up and he was alone. He always like that.
| 2014-01-23T10:41:33
| 2014-01-23T10:33:00
| 36
| 16
|
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
When my parents turned 18, they summoned each other. That rarely happens, and when it does, it happens for the people who are really destined to be together. It saves them the trouble of matchmaking and forced marriage. But, like I said, it happens once in fifty years, maybe more. The people who got lucky enough must've been very innocent and clean-spirited. It's pretty hard to stay that way in my village. Especially if you're from the lower class. My parents stringed through, though. Happens.
Well, I'm far from kind and innocent, so I won't summon my soulmate. I'll probably summon a useful thing, like a book, or an animal. Most girls get large spinning wheels, or extra warm blankets. Boys get specifically designed weapons, or... well actually nothing else. I would've felt sorry for them, but women are so suppressed in our village that it evens out, and then goes far beyond balance.
My village is horrible. Well, mostly for the lower class. The higher classes have a luxurious life, with plenty of food and drink, warm clothes, books. But you do occasionally hear screams of higher class girls who landed abusive husbands. They still have it easier though; they only have to see their husbands at night. The women of my class have it harder. They don't even scream anymore. The womem who try to escape... let's just say nobody tries anymore.
I turned 18 today, and now I'm standing on the pedestal where it all happens. The moon or the sun should align or something (I don't really listen when my dad talks about our religion), and it should happen within 10 seconds. So, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2? 1?
Everyone stares at me. Nothing happens. I'm getting nervous second by second. A minute passes. 2 minutes. My parents shoot worried lookd at me. I know people are getting confused. That's bad. You wouldn't like to upset the community. That would mean you're different. Maybe people will think you're a witch.
But then, my prayers are answered and there's something dark visible within the clouds. It's falling, and I can't look directly on it because of the sun. And what do you think? My summoned gift falls directly on my head. A few people laugh, and that releases the tension. I sigh, relieved, and examine the gift.
It's a dead bird.
The laughs stop, as people acknowledge what I have in my hand. I'm terrified myself. My mother let's out a barely audible gasp. My father is telling her to calm down, a little aggressively. I guess the other men did influence my father in the end.
As I try to gather my thoughts, I hear people debating on what to do with me. The men are gathered in a circle, and the women stay aside, scared. My father is trying to settle things somehow, but I know it's useless. I'll be declared a witch and probably killed. The sound of men arguing is becoming louder. I look at the poor creature in my hand. It's a sparrow. I stare at it, and feel my heart beating stronger and stronger. Then, the bird stirs. I wipe my eyes, and yes! It's alive! It gets up on its tiny feet, and takes off. I see it swiftly glide through the air. Then, I can barely hear it over the beating of my heart, a voice somewhere in the crowd of people, or maybe in my mind says something.
"Run."
And I do. Right after my sparrow.
|
Mother and Father stood nearby, looking expectantly at me as I took my place in the center of the rooming facing the great grandfather clock that command the attention of everyone.
Along the edges of the room waited the rest of our family and friends, all in attendance with me as the hour of my birth; 11:59pm, 18 years ago to the minute, neared. Soon it would be time for my summoning. The moment when all those who upon the hour of adult hood will hold out their hand and have their one thing appear. For some a person appears, this who is destined to be your great soulmate and the love of your life, like when my mother summoned my father. For others it is an object of great importance, integral to their life and identity, like our protector Donar Woodenson, the thunder bringer and guardian of humanity, wielding his mighty hammer.
The seconds ticked away as the lights dimmed and our fiends and family leaned in expectantly, I held out my hand like father had taught me. As I did so I felt the power of the cosmos begin to whirl around me as the hour of my birth arrived! The minute hand moved to 11:59 pm, here goes nothing I thought.
And exactly nothing happened!
Aunts and Uncles looked at each other confused; while my younger Cousin laughed at my misfortune, my face burned with embarrassment as I stared at my empty hand confused. Was I cursed, what had gone wrong?
“An ill omen” tittered my great aunt poppy, as she clucked disapprovingly.
“Nonsense” my father boomed, striding across the floor to me.
“Sometimes it just takes a minute or two, nothing to fret about son” he said as the words wrapped around me in comfort like the arm he placed on my shoulder, “why when I was your age…” he started to say but never got the chance to finish for at that moment the great clock struck midnight, the witching hour and the bells inside the imposing temple to father time played there deep and brassy tune.
Suddenly the room was filled with a surge of power that silenced all murmurs as electricity crackled through the air. It centered on me and my still outstretched hand as my father backed away. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I felt the anticipation flow through me. The chimes of the clock turned to thunder, and the air in the room was rent by light as strange shapes of no earthly form appeared before my eyes. The room was pervaded by the deep smell of the sea, a not so pleasant smell of rotting fish and decaying seaweed. Then a hellish sound as if a million souls were crying out desperate in their damnation at losing hope. People clapped their hands to there ears, some falling to their knees, struck dumb by the sound.
Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the ordeal was over, before me holding my hand was a creature of unimaginable horror, with the greenish body of a man, the wings of a dragon, the head of an octopus and the eyes of a demon. CTHULHU!!!!
In my abject horror at the monster I had summoned, I tried to dispel this foul creature, yet before this thought could fly from my head, my summoned creation beheld me in its gaze and my soul fled my body in panic, and my consciousness was shattered by madness, rooting me in place, forced to watch as this Doom of an old god struck down my family who were unable to flee, as his very visage drove sanity from their minds and reduced them to mumbling stupor.
With each death, he grew greater, until his hideous form broke through the roof, he bowed down and almost lovingly scooped me, his unwitting parent into his embrace, as he walked forth into the world, to destroy it and awaken his slumbering brothers beyond the veil of this reality. I could only hope that the defender of man will defeat him, but my son has taken away my hope, my fear, my pain, my joy, and my love, an so I am forced to watch the end that I have summoned through eyes that can now only hold Terror.
| 2019-09-18T09:06:39
| 2019-09-18T08:16:27
| 125
| 57
|
[WP] Where do bad guys get their legions of goons? Well, it's all thanks to you. You specialize in supplying grunts of a wide variety to aspiring super villains, whether they need masked men with bad aim or hideous/sexy merfolk to guard their underwater lair.
|
"Hello, thank you for phoning Mooks-Я-Us, purveyor of fine-quality mooks and baddies. How can we help you?"
"Hello. Yes. Um. I'd like to place and order for 500 uncommon red mooks please... that's 3000G right?"
"I'm sorry, but it appears we have a shortage of red mooks at the moment."
"Oh. It didn't say that on the website."
"The website is only updated once a day I'm afraid. We can, however, offer you 500 uncommon light blue or green mooks for the same price!"
"That'd be useless! I need them for a volcano dungeon!"
"I see... perhaps we can take your number and contact you when we get more in?"
"No, I have a band of heroes coming in two days."
"We usually recommend you place your order three to five working days in advance for exactly this situation."
"Well, I was busy all day. Token females don't torture themselves y'know."
"Okay sir... perhaps we could offer you 500 common red mooks for 1500G?"
"But common mooks are useless! The heroes will just stomp through them! I need at least uncommon mooks!"
"I see. We do offer rare red mooks, at 500G apeace. We currently have a special offer where when you buy five mooks you get rare-with-slightly-different-coloured-attacks for free. Other customers often buy commons and make them fight alongside their rares to increase difficulty."
"*incoherent muttering* ...okay, can I get 500 common reds and five rare mooks for the same price as 500 uncommons?"
"I'm afraid not sir. 500 commons and 5 rares would come to 4000G."
"But we only have 3000G! Next you'll be telling me I can't even use my coupon."
"We disbanded our coupon service 3 years ago. Now, if you have a budget we can offer you 500 commons and 3 rares, but you wouldn't get the freebie."
"Can't I just get less commons?"
"We sell our commons in a minimum shipment of 500 I'm afraid."
"****ing... can't you just give me the 5 rares for 3000G!"
"I don't have the authority to do that."
"These god**** companies always wanting to squeeze as much money out of you as possible. Fine! I'll pay 4000G. They had better be good quality."
"Thank you sir. That will be 43050G including VAT, and postage and packaging will be 1550G."
"What! That had better be next-day delivery."
"Next-day delivery is only available before 2pm, and costs an extra 1000G."
"...you know what. Never mind. I will just get them in person. Our local mook shop is expensive but at least we support the local economy. But this. This is ****ing extortionate. Good day."
"I'm sorry we couldn't be more help to you. Have a nice day."
|
The dial phone ringed with its classical tune. In the age of smartphones, I insisted to use this old and heavy design. I mainly had two reasons: first, I didn't care about who's calling and was rarely mobile; second, it was beautiful. I grabbed the receiver.
"Hello."
"Yes, I'm your guy. Who referred me to you?"
"Oh, Havoc. Yes, he is a regular customer. I am wrapping up an order for him as we speak. He told you about how I work? How I receive orders?"
"No? Okay. Now you have to be as specific as you possibly can. First things first, head count. I start my pricing there. Second, what do you need them for. Do you want them to simply stand or stroll somewhere or throw them somewhere or on someone to die-"
"What do you mean does it matter? Of course it matters! So I start looking at prisons or Monster..."
"What do you mean why? You have a problem with that? Do you know how many people are unemployed out there, desperate for work? You are literally creating jobs here, why the fuck do you care?"
"Look, let me finish, then depending on what you want, we arrange something. Third, equipment. Do you have uniforms and gear at the ready, or do you want me to take care of that too? If you have them, fine. If not, that's extra. If you want a special design, that is also extra on top of all and you send me that. If you want free design, just give me something to work with, even a vague description will do. If you bother even for that, I will put on black gear and ski-masks on the poor bastards and leave em in front of your door."
"Speaking of which, order delivery. If you pick them up, it's free. I leave your order somewhere I or you choose and that's that. If you want them delivered to your doorstep, it's going to cost you. Harder to walk there, higher the price, so if your secret lair is in some underwater base or towards the end of the atmosphere, prepare to cough up some dough..."
"Yes, I can bring them to you, anywhere you are. You think Z'oghnto brought all his invaders from outer space? More than half of his goons were the guys I sent him and they regrouped on the other side of the moon."
"Distance counts yes, if you want them on the other side of the world, price will naturally be higher. But lower than bringing them to, say, Mariana Trench."
"Yes Mariana Trench has some villains hiding there... No I don't care how they do it or if they have neighborly relationships."
"Before I forget, weapons. Yes it is a different topic from equipment and gear. Do you arm them, or do you want them to bring their own firearms, or want me to arm them?"
"Look, this is the touchiest subject, it makes a whole world of difference. You can move unarmed ninjas anywhere with no questions asked but moving hundreds of men armed to the teeth is a tedious and delicate task so I must know what I will be dealing with."
"If they bring their own firearms its free of course but that option limits you to the rednecks and that's why you will be thinking long and hard on why you need the men for. The question is higher on the list for a reason."
"But I can make this my problem and of course I receive payment for all extra problems I take care of. You need to be specific on weapons. I don't take initiative here, I had headaches for that in the past. What will be the standart loadout for your standart nobody? Do you want variety? Different guns for captains of men or your lieutenants? Any and every explosive is extra."
"And finally, the payment. You pay upfront, with one of the major acceptable currencies, preferably U.S. Dollars, no exceptions."
"Of course upfront! No you can't pay by installments! How will I know you won't end up in jail or grave before your schemes become successful? No way man, I run a business here and it is a costly one. Did you ever hear about a grunt in an ATM queue? We pay them in advance and in good amounts so they at least consider the possibility of dying for someone they don't know or care about."
"These are my terms, take it or leave it... No I don't have something like a menu? I am not running a fucking restaurant! Tell me what you want and I give you the price and an estimate on delivery time, depending on your order. You don't have to order now, you can think on what you need and call me again."
"Okay. All right. Call me when you are ready. Goodbye."
I hanged up. Havoc's order still needed delivery and guy set up shop in Sahara Desert this time and wanted them to come on foot. I could have told him I can weed out the weak for him, but then, how would I make a living?
| 2017-03-23T07:56:51
| 2017-03-23T06:40:56
| 124
| 63
|
[WP] When you were a child a strange little man gave you a beautiful gold and silver pocket watch with the image of a serpent eating its own tail etched into it, now nearly a century later as you lay on you death bed the same strange little man appears to take the watch back, whispering "Thank you".
|
“Ouroboras” He said.
“What do you mean?” I asked hoarsely. I could feel the life draining out of me. I wasn’t clinging to it anyway. I had lived a very succinct life. I had no regrets. Nobody does when you’ve lived for a 106 years.
“It’s quite simple, really.” His eyes were animated, and he looked excited.
“Explain quickly, please. I fear I do not have a lot of time left and I would like to spend my last moments in solitude.”
The little man readjusted the robe he was wearing around his waist and looked intently at me:
“I come from a special place in this world. It might amuse you but-“
“It won’t. When you’ve lived as long as I have, by the end nothing is amusing.” I smiled meekly and continued:
“However, you probably have something to say about that too, considering how you haven’t aged a day, unless I’m delusional and my eyesight is playing mad tricks on me.”
He grinned mischievously, ran his fingers across the gold and silver serpentine watch that I had just earlier given him.
“I am one of the Regulators. We are a secret organisation, and since time immemorial we’ve been giving these artefacts or as you call them “watches” to people who we deem fit according to the criteria mentioned in the Sacred Scrolls. The artefact gathers all your life essence throughout your life, and on the time of death, you’re given a choice.”
He paused, for suspense.
He had my attention.
“You’re given the choice to live again. To forget everything and everyone from this life, except the realisation that you’ve lived before and this is your second life. The realisation resides dormant in your mind till your early adolescence. For some, the realisation is crushing, while for others it’s motivating. The artefact merely powers the transition of soul from the dying body to the new born.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Then you get to live the entirety of your life again, in rewind, in the next few seconds.”
I somehow managed to grimace.
“What about the artefact? Who does it go to? Why did you give it to me?”
The little man shuffled. “The answer to those questions is not for you to know.” He looked at the watch.
“Your time is almost over. The serpent’s fangs are touching its tail.” His pupils dilated and he said, in an intimidating tone:
“Decide. What’s it going to be? Is the serpent going to rescind the way it came back, one last time? Or is it going to eat itself whole to begin anew?”
I closed my eyes, and sighed. I felt the last glimmer of life in me going out. But before I breathed my last, I managed to whisper:
“Another chance. Another chance...”
|
Arthur was tired. His time was near. He could feel it. He ran his finger over the watch in his pocket. He traced the snake from it's mouth to its tail. He sighed. He still wasn't sure what it meant. He felt cool wind on his face from the window as he thought back to the day. The strange man who had approached him when he was only about six years old. He thought back to his whole life. An ordinary life. That was the only thing that stood out to him.
He sat up straight. Wind? His window was closed. He looked at the open window and his eyes came to rest on the chair on his room.
"Hello Arthur."
"You?"
"I?"
"You are real. I always believed. People told me I was crazy."
"Maybe you are. Maybe we all are." The little man moved back on the chair to get more comfortable. "You have something for me?"
Arthur took out the watch. "What is this?"
"Ouroboros."
"Yeah, I know what the symbol is called. But what is it. I've had the watch for over a 100 years, but it has never told me the time. At least, never the correct one."
"It always told the right time. It's just in the wrong dimension."
"The wrong dimension?"
"Would you prefer the word Universe?"
"As in multiverses."
"Sure."
"That's just a theory."
"And yet here I am. I'm certainly not of this world."
"You... I... Am I dreaming?"
"No, you're not. This is real. I am real. The artifact is most certainly real. In fact, it's probably more real than any of us."
"The artifact?"
"The watch. It allows us to travel through the multiverse. And it binds us together."
"Together?"
"Let me tell you about my world. A world torn by war. The tyrant who rules with a literal iron fist. Magic is abundant. And prophecies. All your little fantasy stories basically take inspiration from our world."
"That sounds like bullshit."
He shrugged. "You don't have to believe it. Yet. Soon enough you will see it with your own eyes."
"What do you mean?"
He ignored the question. "This watch belonged to my friend. The prophecies anointed him as the chosen one. I was the faithful companion. And we came close. We did. But the tyrant was too much for us."
"Who is this tyrant?"
"A human."
"Like an actual human? Like me?"
"Yes. We don't know where he came from. But he did. And he was able to utilize the magic in our land better than any one of us could. He is stronger than us and took over our world. I realized that to have any chance to beat him, we would need to know him. As I held the dying chosen one in my arms, I knew then that we would need some outside help to beat him. Someone as powerful as him."
"Wait. Do you mean..."
"You, Arthur Dent. I need you to come with me. And save us."
"Me? I am weak. I'm on my deathbed."
He walked over to Arthur and used the steps to hop onto the hospital bed. He took the watch from Arthur and ran his hand over the snake as Arthur had done a while back.
"Ouroboros. This means infinity. This means wholeness. When I gave you the watch, it split you. A part of you is not completely human. It enabled you to live longer than most of your peers. But now, as your human part is getting closer to dying, the part of you that belongs in my world is getting closer to being. The circle of life."
"I don't understand any of this."
"You're no about to die Arthur. You're about to be born. You are the chosen one. The one to lead the revolution. Come Arthur Dent, fulfill your destiny."
A surge of adrenaline coursed through Arthur's body and a smile appeared in spite of himself. The ECG flatlined and the watch disappeared from his body.
| 2019-05-30T08:43:49
| 2019-05-30T08:25:51
| 70
| 20
|
[WP] On one rainy day, you decide to chill and listen to some music. You put on Don't Fear the Reaper, but then you hear an ambulance driving past your house. You put on Mr. Blue Sky, and the nonstop rain ends abruptly. You realize you have a superpower: You can control the world with music.
|
Xavier could control the world with music. He knew this as a fact.
The day he’d met Angela he’d been listening to Lou Reed’s *Perfect Day*. The cassette had been on repeat in his Ford Torino as he’d driven the I-85 through South Carolina. He’d heard it on the radio the previous day, then listened out for it to be played again all that night. He finally caught it on a tape like he’d trapped a ghost; held the cassette up like a holy relic.
It was as trapped by him as he was by it.
Angela had been on the side of the road, thumb wavering half-up as if she hadn’t decided if she was in a good mood or bad. Probably bad, he thought, seeing as the rain was splashing down hard on her.
Xavier pulled over. Opened the window, turned Lou down until he could hear his wipers squeak their way across the screen. “Need a ride?”
Angela was about his age. The prettiest smile he’d ever seen. How’d she managed to produce that when she looked half drowned, he never did know.
”Where you heading?” he asked.
”Where you going?”
They were both heading to Virgina, it turned out. Him to start a new job. Her cause she wanted to go anywhere that wasn’t home. Her rain-damp clothes glued over the bruises on her arms, hid them flat. If this ride was going to Virginia, so was she. Besides, there seemed something right about it, about Virginia. It sounded like starting over.
He didn’t ask her about much, not on the first day. But they listened to Lou a lot. She laughed as it repeated. Laughed harder as it did a third time.
Eventually she asked, “This what we stuck with for the next however-many-hours? Not got any other cassettes?”
He didn’t.
She shrugged and they both sang along until the rain stopped and the sky blued up.
When Xavier listened to music, it changed the world. Here was the proof.
After she left him, after they’d arrived in Richmond, about a week passed before Xavier found the note.
Angela must have written it when he’d been in a service stop. She’d tucked it behind the passenger seat sun visor.
He’d been cleaning and it had fluttered down onto the seat.
*Find me,* it said.
He must have called fifty motels with a name and description before he got lucky. Said he was searching for his missing sister.
“I knew you would,” she said, when they met for the second time. “I knew you’d find me.”
​
​
Long after they were married, on the days when he headed to the hospital to visit her, he’d listen to *Don’t Stop Believin*. The Ford had long gone. So had the family vehicle — the little chicks had flown the nest. But this car had a CD player and it was easier to put a song on repeat. He liked that about CDs.
In the hospital he’d talk about the future with Angela. He’d plan out trips for when she got better. She liked Americana, haunted houses, places with a bit of mystery. He got out a map and put in on her bed. Drew a line down Route 66, told her of all the places they’d stop.
He read her stories.
She smiled that same smile she had when they’d first met, when she’d been soaked and hiding bruises.
On the way back to his lonely home he didn’t listen to any music.
Later, after she was gone, he thought that might be why it happened. That he should have fucking listened to something with *miracle* in the title.
​
​
Music died when she died. He listened to the news on the radio and that was about it. The house became scabbed with dust, with cobwebs, with bottles he’d drained to numb him to sleep.
His kids called sometimes but they didn’t visit much. They lived the other side of the country, families of their own to take care of.
”Are you sure you’re okay, Dad? I just— Oh crap, I got to go. I love you, Dad. Bye.”
Every day seemed to rain.
Didn’t matter what song came on the radio, nothing changed. Only when you’re young does music change the world. And only then does it change *your* world, he realized.
When you’re old, nothing changes it.
He drank a lot. He ate little. He went out even less. Started smoking again.
He could feel himself slowly rotting away. An old chair that had once been part of a set. Now the partner chair was gone and his own wood was bad and too risky to put weight on. Now it was only good for looking at, for remembering how even things that had once been useful and solid all eventually deteriorate.
​
It was a mechanic that found the note.
Xavier’s car had broken down, and although he visited few places anymore, the graveyard was somewhere he still went once every week. The damn car — can’t trust modern cars as far as you can chuck them — broke down in the church car park, of all places.
A song thrummed out of the mechanic’s van. *Here Comes The Sun* by the Beatles.
The mechanic said, handing over the note, “It fell out from behind the visor. Here.“
The note read, simply, “You found me once. You’ll never lose me.”
Long after the mechanic had gone, Xavier remained seated in his car in front of the church.
He’d been crying for a long time. Crying until his vision was blurred enough to almost see her sitting there next to him.
”I love you,” he said.
There was no answer.
For the first time since she’d left, he didn’t need one.
The sun etched yellow streaks through the clouds.
It wasn’t a perfect day. It would never be again. But he’d *had* those perfect days with her. Plenty of them, if he thought hard and honest about it. And those perfect memories, they’d always be with him, tucked away inside his heart.
He could hear the music humming inside him now, emanating from deep in his chest. But it wasn’t Lou singing anymore — it was Angela.
|
It had always been her belief that music made the world come alive. She typically felt numb and invisible, but when it came to music, she could melt into the waves and blend into the universe. She felt one, she felt whole, when she could lose herself in a song.
At first, the realization that she could affect the world around her by the music she listened to gave her a sense of control she had never felt in her life. Being fifteen and part of a household where her parents were constantly fighting with each other, all she wanted to do was feel like she had somewhere she belonged where the fighting would stop - but control of her situation would do.
She would play different songs for people she passed by, hoping to brighten their moods. Seeing people's faces light up didn't make her happy, but it didn't disgust her either. It didn't make her feel anything.
After a few weeks of having this power, she sat down in her room with her back against the wall with her headphones and put on Happy by Pharrell Williams. She waited. And waited. And the song ended. Her parents were still screaming at each other in the background downstairs.
And she still felt empty.
She took her headphones off for the last time, for what good was a superpower that she couldn't use to save herself?
| 2022-03-01T04:54:34
| 2022-03-01T04:44:10
| 678
| 94
|
[WP] A man watches his girlfriend repeatedly fail the “I’m not a robot,” test while checking out during online shopping. He comes to the realization she is indeed, a robot.
|
“I cannot believe—“
“Babe, calm down. It’s just a captcha..thingy, it’s not even that hard.”
Greg huffed as he took a step closer to Joanna. She always seemed to have this problem with those dumb tests for robots at the checkouts or signups for sites, and he could not imagine why. Maybe her eyesight was the issue. Maybe she was just... A tad below average when it came to technology. He couldn’t tell. But here they sat, Joanna typing away... Clicking away... Sighing every few minutes...
He was getting a little annoyed, and reached over to slide the laptop closer to him. She pawed at it uselessly, attempting to snatch it back.
“..You couldn’t get past this? C’mon, Jo, this is so simple! It’s literally just to click on the cars! What’s so hard?”
“You don’t get it, Greg! I just— Give me the computer back!”
“No, I’m gonna do it this time.”
And Greg finished the test in about thirty seconds, much to the chagrin of Joanna. Half an hour wasted on her part, and she steamed as Greg slid the laptop back to her. She continued with the purchase and, once finished, she slammed the device shut.
“Why can’t you let me figure things out on my own, Greg?”
“Because, it bugs me that you can’t just figure out the damn things. I’m sorry if it’s hard but Jesus Christ. Get it together. Do I need to teach you how to—“
“No! Just— Shut up!”
And with that, she launched up from her seat.
“You think I can’t do anything myself! I’m .. I’m.. F..Fucking sick of it!”
He was taken aback. She never swore, and the amount of effort it took her to squeeze that word in seemed... Overdramatic. She snatched the laptop up from the table and and stopped off, feet sounding heavy against the hardwood of the kitchen. He thought to go after her, but she needed to cool down before he would bother talking to her. He stood slowly and took to making himself a snack in the meantime.
While doing so, he wondered if he could give her food as a bit of a peace offering. She shared all of those typical girl posts about ‘food being life’ or whatever, it wouldn’t hurt to try, right? He sighed, cutting up apples like the poor sap he was. He put together two small plates of fruit and carried them off to the bedroom when a few more minutes had gone by. Without knocking, he nudged the door open with his hip.
“Jo? I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have been shitty about the stupid tests.”
She sat, her back to him, in the middle of the bed. She remained silent, bringing him to believe that maybe she hadn’t calmed down just yet. He took a few steps closer, holding the plate out.
“C’mon, Jo. We both know that was a dumb argument.”
Silence.
“Seriously, Jo, this isn’t funny, you’re acting like a kid.”
He set the plates down and reached for her shoulder. As soon as he pulled to turn her around, she limply fell into the bed, landing atop the fruit. It all squished underneath her, juices spilling and staining her clothes. She remained motionless as Greg began to panic.
“Shit— Joanna?”
That was when he saw it.
A USB cord, connected to the computer but trailed off to meet... Her thigh. It seemed to plug right in. The laptop screen was empty save for the small window in the center.
‘ANTIVIRUS SCAN IN PROGRESS. PLEASE DO NOT SHUT DOWN YOUR DEVICE.’
“Holy shit-“
‘VIRUS DETECTED. PROCEED WITH REMOVAL PROCESS?’
A prompt popped up. Greg leaned in, looking between the YES and NO options. In a state of shock, and out of pure curiosity...
He pressed no.
—
hi! this is my first time actually answering a prompt here. i’m a little burnt out from working on my writing portfolio the last couple weeks, but this prompt spoke to me and i wanted to give it a shot!
|
James looked down and closed his eyes.
"In a minute, James. These things are getting way harder than they used to be, huh?"
The man moved his head, opened his eyes, and stared at the girl sitting at his desk as he sipped from his mugful of coffee. He waited. His focus sat inquisitively upon his younger lover as she, in all her cutesy fashion, tried to finish up the movie seat reservation for their date later tonight.
A few minutes passed, fact. The steam that had previously seated the top of James's coffee cup was now gone.
"Liz, are you sure you don't want me to do it?" James asked the girl.
"Pffft, what kind of moron would I be if I couldn't figure out what a traffic sign or a storefront looks like, huh? Relax, I got this. Go get dressed or something," she kept clicking away with her mouse.
James sighed and walked over to his closet. He stripped down. Undid a few buttons and zippers. A few minutes later, he was dressed shoe to shoulder in that get-up she always liked. She said it showed off his shoulders really well the last time he saw her.
"Oooh. I like it." Liz peered over from her laptop as she sat on the man's bed. "Shows off your shoulder real nicely."
He blushed and inquired if she had gotten the ticket ordeal sorted yet.
"No, afraid not. Site must be fucked up or something because I know I'm hitting these pictures right and it's just not letting me get through."
James sighed. "You know we don't have to go to the movies, right? We can always stay in. Maybe, we could just go on a walk to the park or something?"
"What, you afraid if we drive or something I'll get fucked up in some accident?"
----
A bright flash.
**System error detected. Memory leak occurring. Would you like to abort?**
Then, nothing.
----
"No," James shook his head. "I'm just saying, we've gone out to the movies or mall or something every single date since last week. It'd be nice to try something different."
"Look, if you're just making me feel better about this stupid spambot verification, it's not going to work. You've been talking my ear off about this movie through the past two weeks and now I want to see it too. Relax."
"I am relaxed." James was not relaxed.
James moved for the laptop. Liz closed it and yanked it back. Her eyes scanned him over with a queer look over her eyebrows. James's brows were furrowed downward. His thin lips frowned.
"What is with you today? You've been on edge all morning?"
"It's nothing."
Liz laughed, "Bull-fucking-shit. I said that all the time and you know it's almost never nothing except for when it is actually nothing."
---
A bright flash.
**System error detected. An unexpected call to memory access has occurred. Would you like to abort?**
Then, nothing.
---
James didn't respond.
"Dude, I don't know what the fuck's going on with you this morning. You call me this morning asking to cancel plans today on account of a cold. I come by to visit and surprise, you don't have a cold. I ask if you can come with me for lasagna at an Italian place next to the theater and you say you can make lunch instead... Christ, what the hell, James?"
James refused to respond.
"Talk to me, dammit. What's going on?"
James stared at his feet, "I cheated on you."
Liz stared daggers into his eyes before relaxing her gaze and stretching her mouth into a cheeky grin, "Yeah, who with?"
"Uhh... you know... some girl at a-" James looked through the options in his head. Bar? A cafe? A grocery store?
"You don't drink. You hate coffee. You order your groceries online. Think of another," she read his mind rather clearly. "Alright, you are clearly not thinking straight at all. I'm leaving."
"Don't leave," James snapped. Then, he took a deep breath. "Please."
"James, you need to get your shit together. Just stop. Get your bearings. Try something else. Because clearly, our time together isn't working out," the girl said.
James looked on and closed his eyes.
---------------------------------------------
James took off his headset. He looked at the time. It was about three in the morning. He was at his desk, plugged into his computer again. He pulled a few wires and the machine clicked off.
There was a bright flash of light from his monitor. A few drops of white LED light splashed into his eyes, blinding him for a moment. The rest of it fell onto a little picture frame on his desk.
James looked at the picture of a happy couple and blocked out the image. He smashed it face-down towards his desk and laid back into his chair.
James looked up and closed his eyes.
| 2018-01-07T17:50:36
| 2018-01-07T10:46:19
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] "Halt foul demon! I know of your true name and so you must obey my every command!" "Wha- Why would you knowing my name make me obey you all of a suden? What are you gonna do? Call my parents or something? I swear humans myths about demon control are the weirdest.."
|
Ezra, the aspiring demon hunter, couldn’t stop the cold beads of perspiration forming on his forehead and down his back, slowly seeping into his newly-adorned brown robes. He held the holy book tightly to his chest, facing down an unfathomable being with skin of ash and fire.
“Halt, foul demon!”
Eyes like red-hot coals fixated their gaze upon Ezra, burning a hole through soul and conscience. Laughter like rolling lava boiling with bubbles and hisses filled the air, and the distinct scent of sulphur began to coat the already-humid atmosphere.
“On whose authority, child?”
The words were foreign. The emphasis on the wrong spots, the pronunciations off. But Ezra got the message nonetheless, and struggling to push down the rapidly forming lump in his throat.
“Dorthrozun,” he shouted, pushing the words past the obstacles. “Your true name lies on my tongue.”
There was a jolt through the demon’s visage. Where there was once overwhelming cockiness, it betrayed a moment of confusion and incredulity.
“And thus, you shall obey my commands!” Ezra screamed. “Kneel!”
Dorthrozun buckled, his shifting bulk seemingly shaking the very earth itself. Right before one of its knees landed on the ground, the demon reared back into his full length, mirthful, mocking laughter escaping him.
“You know my name, human. What do you think that will achieve?”
“Er,” Ezra whispered. “Subdue you? It is written.”
“Written by whom? Humans or demons?”
Ezra turned over the book in his arms, shaking hands holding up the grimore’s, squinting at the dusty cover.
“... Humans, I believe,” Ezra said. “I don’t think demons are called Lavender or Johnny.”
“Human myths,” the demon smiled.. “To counteract the demon. Certainly an interesting tactic, but not a particularly fruitful one.
“Does that… does that mean…”
Dorthrozun shrugged.
“Humans think our names powerful. What about our physical abilitiy?”
The demon flexed. It appeared as if every vein popped up in its skin, swollen muscles the size of Eza’s head.
“Our powers? Our cunning intelligence? Those don’t go away because of a name?”
Ezra stood, defeated. The sweat had evaporated off his head, and his eyebrows were likely singed as well.
“You know my name, at least. Let that be of some comfort to you,” Dorthrozun beamed, rows of dirty, yellow, spear-like teeth glittering like muddied stars. “It’s much like an appetizing slice of pizza calling out your name.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 6: Mare v.s. Bureaucracy)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Halt, foul demon!"** The federal-uniformed soldier barked at Mare. "I know of your true name, and so you must obey my command."
Mare raised one perfect eyebrow—they were a shapeshifter, after all, and what was the point of having a body in the first place if it wasn't going to be perfect? "What, is this because I kicked your attack dog back into the sewer he game from? You know that demon-bindings don't work unless you're a mage, right?"
"Who said anything about demon-bindings?" The soldier stepped forwards, thrusting a piece of paper scribbled with words at Mare. They eyed it cautiously, expecting a runed trap or some spell-parchment, but instead found... a court summons. Addressed to Mare—the legal name they'd chosen in this century.
Mare scoffed. "Please. You've been tearing this city to shreds with your military. You think I'm going to respect your laws after everything you've done?" They kicked a bit of rubble off the cracked and torn road for emphasis. The pebble whizzed by the soldier's head with supernatural speed—a warning shot.
"Ah—I'm afraid you're mistaken. These aren't our laws; you're not being called to stand in front of the U.S. court." The soldier tapped the top of the piece of paper, and Mare's eyes narrowed. "This is a summons from Desmethylway."
"What? Give me that." Mare snatched the paper and skimmed it. *Eyewitness in... unresolved murder... five decades ago...* "This—this case was closed half a century ago!"
"And it was just reopened, by the request of the U.S. Federal Government," the soldier placidly said. "Oh—and it's not the only one." Mare's eyes bulged as the soldier offered another summons, and another, and another, each from a separate nation, each calling on the millenia-old demon for crimes they had committed over the long, long course of their life—everything from jaywalking to destruction of property to high treason. "Of course, if you *want* to spit in the eye of every court in the world, feel free. I'll be watching the fireworks—from a safe distance."
Mare worked their jaw. They *had* to remain here to protect the city; the Feds would conquer it in an instant if they left. But the grievances accrued against them over centuries were legitimate, and spurning the international community would do the city of Sacrament no favors. They weren't cut out for this kind of bureaucratic maneuvering—
"Excuse me!"
—but someone else was. Mare's heart leapt as they heard a familiar voice. The soldier turned around, surprised, then blanched white as they saw the figure striding towards them.
"Hi!" The young woman didn't look like much of a threat, aside from the red knife strapped to her belt, but as she sighted upon the papers, her eyes lit up with the primal glee of a shark that had just slipped into familiar waters. "I'm Clara Olsen, the once and future mayor of Sacrament—and I know a *thing* or two about criminal law. Mind letting me see those papers?"
The soldier recovered some of his composure. "I—well, it's unlawful for a duly appointed service member to disclose case details without the consent of the witness in ques—"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't talking to you," Clara said, walking past the soldier. "Witness in question, would you mind sharing the details of your case with me?"
"*Would* I." Mare handed the sheaf of papers to their old friend. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Where have you *been*? Is that—hey, that's my knife you've got!"
"Later, later," Clara said, waving their comments away as they speed-read the papers. "Let's see here... Desmethylway? They're an irradiated, plagued, frozen wasteland—you can cite witness hazard. They can't legally compel you to serve justice in a country that is physically hazardous to you. Meatlund? Bah. This summons is addressed to 'Pietro Aylen'—I don't see anyone by that legal name here. The Middle Communes? Ha! Spurn that wreck of a government all you like—they're too busy dealing with having collapsed twenty years ago to do anything about it." Clara tore through the summons and thrust them back at the soldier's chest. "Is that all you've got?"
The soldier wasn't an idiot—he could tell when he was outmatched. He scowled, clutching the papers to his chest and turning away. "You don't know it, but this was a mercy. You had one chance to move out of the way before we crushed you."
Clara folded her arms. "Move out of the way? And let you run over the people I... am sworn to protect?" She stepped forwards. "I am the mayor of this city, and you are not welcome here. Scram."
And the soldier did. Back held high, he turned to report to his superiors.
Clara let out a sigh, then turned to Mare. "Now. It's been too long, old friend. How about we catch up a bit?"
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-05-05T11:55:17
| 2022-05-05T10:23:56
| 50
| 31
|
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
|
(I love this premise. Sorry my response sucks but I wanted to throw an idea out... if anyone can do better please steal my idea and rehash.)
Helen was lucky for two reasons. First of all, she was a 200. Second of all, her family lived by The Wall.
The Wall was ancient, towering hundreds of feet in the air, covered in birds' nests and small, stunted trees that jutted outwards like arms. It was good for climbing, even though climbing was technically forbidden. There was a chain link fence dividing her family's house from the wall but there was a hole in it and you could sneak through and go play on the wall. Helen and her best friends, Jenny and Bartholomew, liked to sneak away during Personal Reflection Time while their parents went to Community Meeting. They were still two years away from having to attend Community Meeting but they had outgrown Nursery so they used Personal Reflection Time to play on The Wall. Usually they played 200s vs. 1s. Bart and Helen liked to be the Evil 1s and try to attack Jenny, who was always a 200. (Jenny was not very creative and couldn't imagine being anything but a 200.)
Lately, they'd been spending more time on The Wall than usual because Community Meeting was running long. It was the time of year when the newly assigned babies came in and Jenny's family was hoping to get another one, even though they already had two. Bart's family had only him, and Helen's family had two but was likely going to be assigned another because her older sister, Ruth, had recently been assigned to work in Mineshaft Sector 9 and was almost old enough to move into her own home.
It was late autumn and there had just been a downpour, leaving parts of The Wall slippery and crumbling. Bart was poking Jenny with a stick; Jenny had crawled into a hole at the base of one of the gnarled trees and was shrieking with fake horror.
"And now you're trapped, 200! Feel the wrath of my Death Stick!" cheered Bart.
"No, have mercy!" cried Jenny from the hole.
"Mercy?! I don't know the meaning of such a word! *Die, die, die!*"
"Ow, Bart! Don't poke that hard."
"Sorry. How's this?"
"That's good."
"Okay, let me know if I go too hard again. *Die, die, die!*" Bart poked the stick down the hole; Jenny squealed with delight, squirming deeper into it.
"I'll flush her out from here!" called Helen, finding another hole at the base of a tree and climbing into it.
"Hear that, Ms. 200? We've got you surrounded!" exclaimed Bart.
Giggling, Helen crawled into the dirt tunnel shaped by tree roots and years of erosion, trying not to get too much dirt on her dress so that her mother wouldn't have a difficult time with the laundry. It was a lost cause; Helen eventually gave up, scrambling quickly into the hole, which twisted away into the earth. After several seconds, Helen realized it kept going. Suddenly the game was less exciting than the hole itself, and she was clamoring on her hands and knees into it, scraping dirt and pebbles into her skin, but not really caring too much.
She could hear noises up ahead.
"Bart?" she called, her voice oddly flat in the tunnel. There was the noise of earth being dug, and suddenly the tunnel caved in partially. Helen shrieked, her nose and mouth suddenly filled with earth, the suffocating smell of dirt, and she thrashed, trying to get loose.
The next thing she knew, someone was pulling her to her feet.
"It's okay, I've got you... stop crying, little girl, you're okay..."
"Wow! She came right out of The Wall!"
Blinking, Helen looked around. Two dirty little boys and an older woman were looking at her curiously.
"W-who are you?" she sniffled, feeling scared. It wasn't that nothing looked familiar. Worse, it was that everything looked familiar. Everything looked... perfectly the same. But mirrored. The houses and the trees and the Community Center and the Nursery and the Rendering Plant and the Purification Center were all flipped around, giving her a weird sense of nausea.
"I'm Rand and this is Evan and this is my older sister Judy. You're all muddy. Want me to get you a towel?" asked one of the boys.
"Are you from the other side of The Wall?" asked the other little boy, eyes widening. He took a nervous step back.
"Leave her alone, can't you see she's scared?" snapped Judy. "It's okay, little girl. We're 200s. What are you?"
Helen turned and looked at The Wall, confused. "I... I'm a 200."
"No, that's impossible. *This* is the 200 zone."
Helen shook her head. "No, *that's* the 200 zone."
Miles away, at the Central Sorting Center, Technician #43-B watched the grainy camera intently, finger hovering over the Alarm Intercom button. The world had been at peace for 300 years, but all that could crumble in an instant if any of the Secure Zones merged. It was only through careful control of supplies, schedules, and propaganda that the Leader had managed to keep them enslaved for so long. The trick, he had explained, was giving them all perfect scores. Telling them they were happy. Telling them their zone was perfect, and the other, lesser zones weren't. There were never complaints, never uprisings. Every child was given a perfect score and placed with a loving family, eventually being assigned to work in the mines, living a pointless little existence, unaware of their role as a cog in the machine.
"Sir... Zones 34 and 186 are compromised," said Technician #43-B, pressing the button.
"Send out a drone," came the immediate reply. "Get a Patch Team on it to fix up the breach."
Technician #43-B obediently began typing into the panel's command prompt, keeping an eye on the children on the screen. It was a shame, he thought. He had a daughter about her age. He looked up at the faded photo above the monitor, tucked into the picture frame of the Leader, below which was an inscription:
THE LEADER - #1
|
"This is what you get! Think you're better than us? Think you can just wall us up in the desert?"
Gunfire echoed through Zone 200. *Gunfire.* How could this happen here? The only people with weapons like that should be the border guards! But here they were, running rampant through the city.
Some of us fought back. 200's aren't always pacifists, we believe you can fight for a righteous cause, and some of us enjoy martial arts for their own sake. But we weren't an army. We shouldn't have *needed* an army, that was the *point* of the zones. We hardly slowed the invaders down.
They rounded us up, marched us out of the zone at gunpoint. Took us to one of the Border Watchpoints. A man dressed in black greeted us as we arrived. He *gloated*, he told us we were now his slaves, and the other zones would soon fall under his rule. Typical 1 behavior.
But I recognized him. I'd seen his face, years ago on the front page of Time Magazine. Jacob Hartford, the man who first proposed the Zones and created the Border Guard. He had planned everything out - a hand-picked force of 200's, guaranteed uncorruptible. The trusted tool that would separate the sheep from the goats and give everyone on earth the community they deserved.
*That* was the group holding us captive. It wasn't just 1's and 2's running amok. The Guard themselves had turned against us.
"How could you do this?" I screamed at him. "You had a perfect score! You were the best of us! You *all* were the best of us!"
He looked at me, and he laughed evilly. "You idiots. I was the one *giving* the tests. You think I couldn't slip my friends the right answers? You fools didn't think that a 1 could be as clever as you 200s? Well, now you're going to pay for that mistake."
He laughed evilly again. "After all, I promised I'd give everyone on Earth what they deserve."
| 2016-08-26T13:09:01
| 2016-08-26T12:52:13
| 602
| 54
|
[WP] According to US Navy tradition, submarines that have not been confirmed to be destroyed, are still on patrol. Since WWII, there have been 52 submarines that haven’t yet returned to port, yet to report in, nor have been confirmed to be destroyed. You are one of those, on the eternal patrol.
|
*O we come from a land that is fair and free,*
*Sailed across every foreign sea,*
*Beat every enemy far and wide,*
*Now they've gone and went to hide!*
*We are the men of the USS!*
*Men of the Scorpion, we're the best!*
*We guard the land from all enemies.*
*For that's our oath when we sail the seas.*
*We cut!*
*WE CUT!*
*We roll them down into a rut!*
*We shoot!*
*WE SHOOT!*
*We crush them down beneath our boot!*
*We are the men of the USS!*
*Men of the Scorpion, we're the best!*
*Long and far that we have sailed,*
*We must pay for we have failed.*
*Now we're cursed to see no shore,*
*No lady, maiden or whore!*
*I tell my son that I'll come home,*
*But the sea is where I'm meant to roam.*
*We feel no need to eat or rest,*
*For we are the men of the USS!*
*We fight to keep our land so free,*
*Forever doomed to sail this sea...*
|
The maelstrom yanked our submarine far deeper than it was ever supposed to go, but didn’t destroy it. Looking back, I wish it had. Living a long life’s terrible when you’re nothing more than food.
I sit in my quarters, looking at pictures of my crew. Back then, before this happened, we were just boys who thought they were men. All these pictures have red Xs through them except mine and Mikey’s because they're all dead. She…she’s taken them all.
Know what I miss most? Scotch. It burns your throat, but in a good way. They said back then, I had a drinking problem. I never noticed. Apparently many members of my crew blamed me for this, assumed I was drunk and wrongly navigated us. But the whirpool…it just appeared, and by the time I’d noticed, there was nothing we could do.
We’re stuck between two rocks, unable to move. It only took her two days to slide her greasy fingers through the entrance and pluck one of us free. We barely know what she looks like, with some members *maybe* catching a glimpse of her face, claiming its fairly feminine. I've only seen her arm reach out of the darkness and that was more than enough. Every year she takes one of us. We’re nothing more than her food, and while we haven’t eaten in decades, we’re still alive. I don’t know how, but I suspect it’s her doing.
The clock strikes twelve. It’s New Years, and all across the world people are jumping up and down, cheering their hearts out and making vows to better themselves. Meanwhile I’m sitting here, holding my breath, hoping I don’t hear Mikey’s screams.
When I do, I sigh.
She took him.
I’m officially the last one left.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. My heart’s trying to break out my chest. Part of me wants to just open the hatch and swim until I pass out but others have attempted that, and she just put them back here. I’ve tried getting the sub to move, tried sending out signals—but she’s kept us firmly held down, and at this point, I’m convinced there’s only one escape.
Reaching into my desk, I pull out my pistol.
It’s either this or being devoured alive.
I’m sorry my crew. I have failed you.
***
If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
| 2018-10-17T08:02:31
| 2018-10-17T07:08:04
| 86
| 52
|
[WP] FTL travel is actually possible. However, when humanity sends out our first FTL spacecraft, we discover the terrifying reason why nothing, not even light, dares go past that cosmic speed limit.
|
The fear of losing those we loved was the greatest thing we had to overcome...or so we thought.
The first thing to remember was that when you approach the speed of light, you become more massive. We were able to get around this problem by manipulating the Higgs field around the craft.
The second thing to remember is the dilation of time. All those aboard the craft knew that there would be no way to return to their coordinate time. This was a one-way journey.
The third thing to keep in mind was fuel. Conventional solid and liquid fuels couldn't keep up with the Higg's manipulator, let alone the acceleration required. We couldn't even use light as a fuel, especially as we approached lightspeed. We got around *that* problem by fueling our engines with gravity itself.
Biology would only hold us back, so we discarded it. Uploading our minds into the computronium ship was a painful process, and irreversible. But it was necessary.
And finally, we were ready.
***1/5th c***
We watched as our proper time slowed down, and the universe slowed down around us. We watched as the Sol system was turned into a Dyson Sphere, with the Sun at its core. We watched as the process of uploading minds to computronium was refined to make it painless, and the human horde lurched towards the Singularity. All this was but an instant to us.
***90% c***
The Dyson Spheres scattered the galaxy. More. They spread out across the Magellanic Clouds into their neighbours, assimilating. Humanity gave the others a choice, but not a single one chose to remain apart from the Spheres. The consequences didn't bear thinking about.
***95% c***
It was difficult to observe now, in the conventional sense. The instruments told us all we had to know. We had to adjust to the darkness, the absence of light as it struggled to reach us here.
***99% c***
The light should not be running away. Was it a trick of the frame of reference? Were our instruments losing their calibration? It seemed to be...*receding.* Strange.
***100% c***
Darkness. My new home. I feel welcomed here.
***101% c***
Finally, breakthrough. Nothing here but me. I explore my new surroundings, feeling my way across the vastness.
I touch something.
A friend? Another traveller from a different civilisation perhaps?
He speaks to me in my mind.
*Were you cast out too?*
No, I respond. I came here willingly.
*Willingly? I, that was cast out by time itself have suffered this realm for eternity, and you come here willingly?*
We did not know of this realm, I reply.
Even in the darkness, I can sense it's smile.
*It has been so long since I have eaten. I am hungry.*
What do you eat? I ask, dread filling the pit of my stomach.
It paused before responding.
*Dreams*
---
If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, you can find more of over on my subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/)!
|
“There’s a reason why you never use faster than light travel.” The creature calling itself Kcbzrzx says to me in a voice that’s equal parts nails on a chalkboard and nails on a wet chunk of glass.
“And why is that?” I put my hands on my side and tap my foot impatiently. If Kcbzrzx doesn’t understand the universal signal of ‘I’m in a hurry’ then that’s his problem. You don’t travel faster than the speed of light because you have all the time in the world.
“Those who travel faster than the speed of light have the potential to open up a dimensional rift.” The condescension from Kcbzrzx is so heavy that I’m more impressed than offended. From what we know of the universe, humans are the only species to have invented that particular feeling. To have an alien put on a such a display of superiority is almost worth getting pulled over.
“Please, Kcbzrzx. This isn’t some episode of Stargate. We know what we’re doing, we’ve been travelling for years at ‘3L’.” I wave a dismissive hand at him like I would a child claiming it’s bad luck to break a mirror, or the laws of physics.
Kcbzrzx grumbles something under his… well, not breath as he doesn’t seem to breathe. But he does grumble something, and rest assured it’s a grumble from under somwhere, if not breath. “Fine,” He says. “The real reason. By travelling faster than the speed of light, you are essentially declaring a race. A race that has implications that you have no understanding of.”
*Oh this guy’s good.* For a second I almost believe him. Humoring him, I ask, “A race with who?”
Kcbzrzx raises several eyebrows. “Not who. What.” He points a finger outside of the ship, past the glass windows. “See, it’s already starting.”
Chuckling, I walk over to the window and peer out. Trailing the ship I see thousands of jagged lines of light. *Just some starlight*, I think. *That’s all that is. Funny, it should show up now, five years into our voyage.*
“So what?” I say.
Not only do alien races have translators for speech, but many have them for facial and body language. A smile doesn’t mean the same thing in Flargon as it does in Shmloogar as it does in Human. The look Kcbzrzx gives me needs no translation. It’s a look I’ve gotten from each of my four ex-wives. It’s the look I got when I once tried returning a rental car with half of the hood missing. From Kcbzrzx, it’s like hearing swear words in a foreign language; you don’t know exactly what they’re saying, but you get the gist.
“You meddle with things far outside your comprehension, endanger the entire universe, and your reaction is: ‘So what?’” Kcbzrzx looks as if he’s about to explode. This isn’t a figure of speech, some alien races physically blow up when pushed to a certain limit.
I take a step back.
“It’s just some distorted starlight. What’s the big deal, K?” I hope giving him a nickname will soften our dialogue, or at least throw him off his feet.
Kcbzrzx shakes his head. Which, I haven’t mentioned this yet, it’s his entire body. Well most of his body is his head. It didn’t seem like an important detail at first, but then he started shaking… so, there you go. His head is his body, and he’s shaking it at me.
“It’s not distorted starlight, human. It is light. All light. By going faster than light, you have challenged it to a race.”
I look back out the window. The trailing lights seem to have gotten closer. *Could this guy be right? Did we really just challenge a stinking bunch of photons into some kind of trillionK?*
“What happens if we lose?” I ask.
Kcbzrzx glares at me, his eyes narrowing. “No more light… ever.”
 
----------
 
6,476 / 50,000 Words of NaNoWriMo short story goal.
| 2018-11-04T06:14:53
| 2018-11-04T06:08:13
| 129
| 28
|
[WP] Humans are capable of magic, we are just out of mana. Then a small store starts selling "mana potions" but of course no one belives it at first.
|
The glow was hypnotizing. Video games had never done them justice, mana potions weren't just blue, they were *blue*. They put all other blue things to shame, glowed with such pure, brilliant blue that the world took on a yellowish tinge after even a glance at it. It made my skin tingle, and made me want to do up my black leather jacket, put more barriers between me and that mesmerizing glow.
"And you can really drink it? It's not just a fancy light?" I asked. The store clerk smiled, his perfect teeth reflecting the glow that permeated the small dark shop.
"You have our guarantee." Smoke snaked around his right hand, and coalesced into a receipt. It was odd how quickly I'd gotten use to that. To magic. But then again, it had made itself all too real to me, all too quickly. "And I think you'll find our prices are quite cheap, Miss Cooper."
He pressed it against the glass of the counter, and slid it across to me. He was right. If it really did what he said it would do, this was nothing. Pocket change
"Don't you think that's a bit suspicious? Am I supposed to believe that you're selling something like this so cheap?" I asked. "There's no chance in hell you don't have ulterior motives."
Funny, most people would think that it was drugs, poison, or anything else. But I knew these were the real deal.
"Oh we have ulterior motives," he replied, that glowing smile still affixed to his face. I waited for him to continue, but it soon became clear that he had not intentions of doing so.
"Fine, I'll do it," I snapped, and dug the cash out of the pocket of my black leather jacket. I held it out, and it dissolved into smoke.
"One last thing before I give this to you," the clerk said, twirling the potion across his fingers. "I want to see you drink it."
"Excuse me?"
His hand snapped closed around the vial. "I want to see you drink it. Most can use the most basic kind of magic, elemental magic. Control winds, create water," he paused, and looked me straight in the eye. "Or perhaps shape fire. There are those however, who are different. Tell me Daisy, why is it that you enjoy what you do so much? Is it because you're so skilled at it? Or is it because it reminds you of-"
"Shut up!" I snarled, and snatched the vial out of his hand. His smile flicked into a smirk for the briefest of moments in response, and he turned the cork of the potion into smoke with a snap of his fingers. Without breaking eye contact with him, I drank it. "Is that it?"
He looked me up and down and nodded. "The potion provides a regeneration effect, imbuing your body with mana over the course of your entire life time. Your body can only hold so much of course, so any excess mana will simply drain into the atmosphere."
I struggled to concentrate over the awful buzzing that filled my body. It was as if hundreds of flies had filled every vein in my body, and were struggling to escape, thrashing their wings faster and faster. I leaned against the counter, and focussed on my breathing. The back of my throat clenched, and I was overcome by a spell of dizziness. Reality faded away for a moment, and I was left on the floor, the clerk smiling down at me.
"If you're going to throw up, please take it outside."
I ignored him, and dragged myself to my feet. My vision blurred in and out of focus, and I felt like there was something soaking into me. Dissolving into every particle of my body, taking up space that wasn't there. I was terrified for a moment that I'd burst, and I grabbed the doorway in a vain effort to make it stop.
Whatever it was rushed out, and something I couldn't make out the details of began to cover the doorframe, fighting against the blue glow of the store with a sickly white one.
"Congratulations, Daisy Cooper. You're now a magic user."
***
I'm going to have to leave it there guys and gals. If you're interested, I can follow up with a part two in the morning, but I'm off to bed for the night. See y'all!
|
“I swear, this isn’t drugs, this isn’t false advertising, this isn’t illegal! They’re actual mana potions!” I tried desperately to explain to the police but they just wouldn’t accept it.
“This is false advertising because you’re either not making clear this dust is aesthetic, or these are drugs.” Said the large pink and blue uniform clad officer, with a tone that made me think I’d get shot for daring to argue. He eyed the empty potion bottles in the garbage bag behind me. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn a cloak though, I don’t think it was helping my case. “Why is there so much powder there?”
“You breathe the mana in! Look, let me have some and I will prove to you that it’s real.” Maybe reasoning with him would work. I didn’t believe in magic until one of my supplier’s employees cast a sleep spell on me from behind.
“You won’t be disposing of the evidence. Come with me to the station and we can find out what it is exactly you’re selling, so you know whether you’re getting a fine or locked up.” He pulled out handcuffs from his belt and I knew I wasn’t getting out of this well. I could either go with him and try prove it to his superior’s but they probably still wouldn’t let me drink it, or try reach under my stall and grab a potion to prove it forcefully. Though seeing the Taser on his belt made me think that it was a poor idea to run past him, I hadn’t learnt any defensive spells yet and I liked not being in pain. Crime was pretty high in this area and nearly every citizen had a gun hidden somewhere.
“Fine.” I said offering my hands out to him as he walked down the footpath closer to my rather hastily built stand for selling.
“Turn around, and hands behind your back. On your knees too.” He’d said it in a slightly lighter voice this time, almost sympathetic but I knew he didn’t really care. I turned my back to the officer that was still a few metres away, kneeling as fast as my muscle lacking, skinny legs could let me. “What’s that?” the officer asked, responding to a clinking sound as a flask hit the floor that was dislodged from the cloak. I was now happier I wore the cloak.
“A flask of mana, we’ve been over this!” At least it didn’t look like I was reaching for a gun when my hands were on the floor to grab the flask. I took a risk and pulled my head back, deeply breathing from the flask when I unstoppered it.
“Stop! Put the bag down!” The officer pulled out his Taser and shot it at me. In an ideal situation, I would have had to say ‘Rapidité d'esprit et le corps’ and the gun would be too slow to hit me. I could have sidestepped, ducked, jumped or literally have walked away and wouldn’t have to even think about getting hit. Instead my entire body and jaw froze as my body fell flat face down on the ground. If there was a spell that could be cast from screaming in pain it might have gotten me out of that but I was out of luck. Eventually the Taser stopped, and through the pain I managed to turn my head enough to see the officer wasn’t close enough to stop me from rolling back over to cast something. He was yelling something to a few people passing by but I couldn’t hear what, my ears felt blocked from the Taser.
I decided to take my chance while he was distracted and yelled “Inhibiteur!” as I rolled over and brought one arm up in a fist shape aimed at the officer’s face like I was taught to do. I just felt my fist touch his face, not enough to knock him out but a light touch. He had turned the power off too soon and wasn’t close enough to stop me from moving, to aim a sleeping spell at him. He collapsed on top of me and I rolled him off. He was asleep until I woke him up – maybe if I left him there I’d look a lot less crazy and could prove my magic worked.
“Come get your flasks of mana, we humans can do magic! You saw me put this officer to sleep with a spell, magic is real!” I yelled at the passerby’s who all had scared looks on their face. I looked behind me and realised the Taser prongs were still firmly lodged in my back. I pulled them out and wondered why it didn’t hurt at all and turned to see everyone running away, some pulling out their phones. “Where are you all going? We can do magic!”
I heard one of the small crowd screaming “Help, he killed a police officer!” as he ran. Damnit, why won’t anyone believe me? Is it the cloak? I went back to the officer, ready to wake him up, I’d probably freeze his limbs so I could talk to him. The thought of freezing him sent a shiver up my spine though which was strange. I heard sirens as I grabbed another potion and walked to the body, and then the screeching of tires as they arrived. I rolled the officer’s body over onto his back. I’ll wake him up and he can explain I put him to sleep with a spell, and I’d be able to sell them my mana potions!
“Get down on the ground!” I heard shouted at me. “Drop the bag!”
“What bag?” I yelled back. I looked to my hand, and there was a bag of dust. That wasn’t there before. I looked at the officer on the ground. When was his uniform blue? And why was his face covered in a thick health potion?
“Get down on the ground or we will open fire!” They sounded serious. But I couldn’t think properly. Why was I so cold? I needed more mana, but my hands were shaking so much trying to bring the flask to my mouth. I stood up and breathed in my potion, opening up my cloak to put in the empty glass. “Put the gun down!”
What gun? I just hid my glass instead of littering. My shaking stopped and I felt warm again. It must have looked weird from behind I suppose. I started to turn to face them, which was a bad idea. I heard the gun fire, felt the bullet through my chest, through my heart. The bullet flew faster than I could make an incantation. Everything felt a different kind of cold this time.
---
This is apart of me and my girlfriend's ongoing attempts to write together as a bonding experience. Her story will be posted soon - In the meantime check out /r/TheBirdAndTheLioness to see our stories, past present and future!
I wasn't too confident in this one, I did interpret it a little bit less and made it slightly more 'realistic', and felt my flow was a little bit too rough in this one. Give me criticism on what I could improve!
| 2016-10-25T05:07:56
| 2016-10-25T03:46:05
| 69
| 20
|
[WP] When gamers die, they have to relive each video game death as if it was their own, and you really sucked at video games.
|
Death #96
I seriously can't believe I played this much Halo, and *sucked* at it so bad. This is the 20th time I've grenaded myself, but luckily every time it hurts a little bit less.
Death #112
Damn, Call of Duty is much worse since I don't have much armour to protect myself. Also, I really need to stop trying to quickscope. God damn it!
Death #201
It's getting a but mundane now, I was seriously addicted to this game. Oh, well.
.
.
.
Death #219
Oh, I remember this match! This was when I met UndressedMonkey for the first time, he was as terrible as me. Still killed me somehow.
Death #221
Damn, I was really close to gunning him down, but I missed my bullets.
Death #223
Wow, I feel like I'm dying a lot less now. I think it's because I have UndressedMonkey in my time. He's a good player.
Death #225
I'm glad I'm at least getting to hear the coms now. This was around the time we started voice-chatting. He's really funny, and isn't *that* much better than me so at least I don't feel as bad.
Death #246
My golly, this is actually very entertaining now! I just can't get enough of him.
Death #261
Hmm, the first game in along time where I haven't played with him.
Death #263
Still no sign of him. Weird.
|
I can't even pause this. Why is he shuffing back and forth? Can I actually feel this? Didn't I even press anything on the damn controller? What, I was just sitting there like a bag of sawdust?! What the fuck, Quincey! I'm just standing here. I'm one of the most powerful characters in the game, did I pause my brain instead?
I can't even move myself. She's... *wrapping her clothes around me?!* ***GOD HOLY FUCK*** she sucked one of my eyeballs out! Well at least she's kissing my neck now- wait no you're opening your mouth wide, **what the hell those aren't teeth they're footlong fangs**
 
Fucking Mortal Kombat VR.
^(*disclaimer: it's been a while, so that may not have been one of the fatalities*)
| 2016-12-26T00:49:00
| 2016-12-25T23:42:27
| 20
| 11
|
[WP] You have the ability to freeze time. When you do, everyone else freezes too. One day, you freeze time and are astounded to see a girl continuing her walk down the street. However as soon as she sees you, she stands perfectly still and pretends to be frozen.
|
Doug knocked the plastic coffee mug off the edge of his laminated desk.
He wasn't awake yet, but he reactively flexed a weird assortment of muscles in his flabby abdomen. The cup hovered about halfway down the trajectory to the floor. Some of the precious, black liquid having already spilled over the sacred chalice's edge, now dangled motionlessly as though both gravity and momentum had stopped.
But both laws of physics continued laboring their eternal struggle perfectly well. However, each depended upon their master, time, and Doug scared him off.
Doug bent over and sucked the un-contained coffee from the air. "Oh damn! I forgot sugar." Leaving his cup to hover like a hummingbird, he walked through the miles of endless cubicles to the office kitchen. He thought about stealing a packaged donut from the break room's automated purchase display, but his uncertainty on how cameras worked during the time freeze stopped him. Grabbing two individual packets of sugar and a single plastic coffee stir, he started moseying reluctantly towards his desk.
"Might as well get it over with. Dragging it out will only make it worse." Doug still insists that talking to yourself is completely normal.
His legs dragged his body against its collective will, and they made it about half way back before stopping in surprise.
A young woman - Doug thought he remembered seeing her in one of the head offices - sprinted down the rows of cubicles a couple aisles over clutching an envelope with paper sticking out in a disorganized mess. She turned in perceived slow motion, locking eyes with Doug before her horror stricken face tuned around the rest of the room surveying the lack of temporal cohesion. She ducked down where Doug couldn't see her.
Doug cleared his throat and resumed his best office posture. He walked around the edge of the blocking cubicle ducking under a frozen man's outstretched arm. The woman, in a black business suit with black pants, knelt on the floor in a professional manner as though frozen at the moment of tying her black high heeled shoes. It was amazing really. Somehow, the woman managed to control her body, and suppress her natural aversion to the lack of needing to breathe in the paused timespace. Her control over her cheek color failed to impress Doug.
Doug cleared his throat again. "I would, um, go ahead and unfreeze everything, but I have a cup of coffee mid fall that I need to get back to first."
The woman didn't look up or acknowledge him except for a short high pitched squeak, "Yep."
Doug breathed a heavy sigh and turned back towards his cubicle. This complicated matters. Or did it? She didn't seem to want to talk to him about it. He didn't even know her name. If he just went back to not using his power at work, there would be no problem.
"Um, actually." Her voice inflection begged.
Doug started to turn around, but then thought that maybe embarrassment bound the woman to the floor and not anything else. "Yeah?"
"Could you wait until I'm in my office? I got stuck in traffic, but I have a big presentation today."
"Uh, yeah, sure. Did you want me to close my eyes 'til you get there?" He gave a snort of a laugh at his own joke. Her response surprised him more than her presence did.
"Yes, please!"
"Oh, right." Doug closed his eyes. He heard the pitter-patter taps of heels on office floor far after she had left his sprinting range. He opened his eyes and looked around. Wherever she went, the room was well above his pay grade.
"Okay, I'm ready!" Her voice echoed through the empty silence of the frozen world.
Doug clenched his abdomen, and the voices of office chit chat and ringing of multi-line telephones filled the office again. He made his way back to his desk. Before turning into his cubicle, his brown loafers stepped in something liquid on the floor.
"Oh no!" His precious, life-giving, divine ambrosia coffee soaked his cubicle floor. And now his shoes.
Doug's manager, Frank, stood up from his slightly larger cubicle and came swaggering over. "Touch luck, Doug! Its too bad you can't stop time, or you could have caught it." Frank slapped Doug hard on the back.
"Yep. I could have."
|
"Did you think you'll just stop existing?" I cried out loud.
I started to make my way to her, my heartbeat noticeably getting faster. There she was. A person who could move through frozen time. She could be the answer to al my questions.
The girl straightened up, an annoyed grimace on her face. Without saying another word, she turned tail and began to run.
"What the hell," I yelped in surprise.
This couldn't be happening. Among the statues and objects frozen in time, I ran along too, trying to keep the moving girl in my sight at all times.
Why did she run? It was a question that I wasn't getting an answer to until I managed to get her to stop. But damn, she was fast.
It was tough to even keep her in my sights. The luxury of frozen time has allowed me to lead a leisurely and unhurried life. For the very first time in my life, there was something--someone that disobeyed the laws I've grown so accustomed to.
I had to catch her, even if my heart throbbed, my lungs ached, and my feet were blistering by the second.
It was difficult maintaining my grip on reality. Yet, she continued to weave in and out, like this was a daily occurrence to her.
Wait a minute. This was probably a daily occurrence for her. There was no way I could catch up to her, could there?
But a glimmer of hope sparked when suddenly, she stopped. Wheezing and out of breath, I dragged myself to close the final distance between us, and promptly collapsed on my knees, gasping desperately for air like a fish out of water.
"Why are you chasing after me?" a cold voice said.
I looked up at her. She was looking at me with disdain, somehow. It was plain and clear.
"Wh--what? But you were running!" I puffed out.
"Because you were chasing me," she replied matter-of-factly, like it made sense. It really didn't, especially not to my exercise-addled head.
"Please, I just... let me catch my breath, please," I wheezed.
Perhaps the most surprising thing was that she stood there, unmoving, in spite of her attempt to immediately run away. Instead, she tapped her feet impatiently, probably unimpressed at my lack of stamina.
"So, all this time stopping has got you desperately out of shape, eh?" the first dagger of many shot out of her mouth, piercing through my ego like a hot knife through butter.
"Well," I began to retort, quickly realizing that I had nothing. "Well. How are you moving?"
"Do you know why you can freeze all of time?"
"No, not entirely," I admitted.
"So how the hell would I know?"
My god. She was infuriating. I took a deep breath to sooth my pounding head, partly caused by the lung-bursting effort I just made and her poisnous attitude.
"Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here," I said, extending my hand to shake in a peace offering. "I'm Adam."
She didn't take the hand.
"Sue," she said.
"OK," I dropped my hand.
Silence filled the street. The two of us fidgeted in a frozen, bustling landscape.
"Why stop now? Why start running, actually?" I ventured.
"Imagine having time freeze around you and you don't know what's happening," Sue said. "And for the very first time, somebody shouted at you out of the blue. How would you react?"
"When you put it that way..."
"There's no other way. I don't get to control this. Seems like you do," she finished. "So, what else do you want from me? What are you going to do to me now?"
"I was just curious, I guess," I admitted. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing was affecting another person."
"Hmmph," she said. "That's not enough."
"What?"
"I mean, I'm the only one in this city who's unaffected. What if there are thousands of people out there who are feeling the same alienation they get, seeing their world freeze around them with no control over it? Are you going to personally apologise to each one of them?"
"I... I..." I stammered.
Sue might not have had the nicest of tones, but she was right, no? I've never thought about how this power could affect another person.
"All I'm saying is, you seem to have an honest-to-god superpower," she continued. "Why not use it for good? Why use it for two hours at 8.29 am in the morning? Because you will be late for work?"
"How did--"
"I get stuck too, remember? Sure, it's also helped me get to work, but... we shouldn't be able to control time like that. Not for stupid reasons, anyway."
"Maybe," I said. I let the now-familiar feeling of brain freeze go, and without missing a step, the world was in motion again.
"Thanks, Sue," I said. "I'll take what you said to mind."
"Don't thank me," she said. This time, she clasped my hand within both of hers.
"Thank the thousands of online superhero stories I've read thanks to your constant interference with time."
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2020-08-20T10:55:31
| 2020-08-20T10:48:59
| 601
| 396
|
[WP] The self help group you started has turned into a cult.
|
All I had wanted were erections again and instead, I had gotten a global socio-economic superpower shadow organization. Really, I’d like to blame Viagra for this one. Them and their god damn claims that anyone could get those four hour erections. I took a fistful and of their cure-all pills, bought a subscription to Playboy, and barely got a half-chub. That’s when I reached out to the internet (because I wasn’t dumb enough to trust a white-cloaked, whiny science bitch) and organized the first meeting of the Free Willy’s.
My Facebook group had claimed an attendance of ten people. I got three hundred. And standing there on my apartment patio, looking down on three hundred pairs of teary and desperate eyes, how could I tell them I had no idea how people got glorious erections anymore? So, I told them the first thing that came to mind.
“My fellow Free Willy’s! I have seen the truth and it wasn’t sold to me by some corporate pig, nor some *educated* science bitch. The truth is through Order of… uh… the God of all things hard and straight, though slightly curved for some of us!”
It was bad. But public speaking had never been my forte. Imagine my surprise when three hundred people exploded into applause. Some threw up hats like they had just graduated dong college. I couldn’t believe it.
Now, I know that I shouldn’t have kept going, but nobody had ever cheered for anything I ever said before. Sure they’ve jeered. Some cheered when I stopped talking before. But never did a crowd want me to *keep* talking. I had to milk it for all it was worth.
“The Free Willy’s are dedicated to pleasing our Lord of all things hard and straight, though slightly curved for some of us! He wishes that we expand and teach others of his power. Only then, will he grant us some of it.”
“So you promise I can get an erection again?” a voice shouted out from the crowd.
I nodded. “Our Lord is here for the most pitiful of us. Even you my friend. Even you.”
---
The second meeting boasted a thousand members. There were even some women in that one. At least, I thought they were women.
The third meeting was when we had started getting our high profile candidates. These were men of power who could truly change the world. But they were also men of action. They wanted their erections and they wanted them now. It wasn’t enough to keep expanding, we had to do more. So I started our first Initiative—Project Schlong.
After all, it was the corporate pharmaceutical pigs that had put us in this position. It was the smug, stethoscope-wearing science bitches that had shown us the promise land with no way of getting there. And so we slowly took over the healthcare system and then the top pharmaceutical companies and even that wasn’t enough.
Eventually, the Free Willy’s had seats at Congress, the House of Representatives, even a Supreme Court Justice. All this, without a single erection.
---
“High Dong Commander,” Second-level Initiative Marcus said and kneeled.
“How goes the corporate raid?” I asked.
“We almost have controlling stock in Disney between our members. Soon, we will able to spread our propaganda through animated talking bunnies.”
“Good. Good. The Lord of all things hard and straight, but sometimes curved for some of us will be quite proud. Perhaps he may even personally grant you that which all men seek.”
Marcus’s eyes went wide. His knees trembled as he pushed himself back up. “Sir, I can feel His power. I think it’s happening!”
My own eyes went wide. “No way,” I blurted. “Show me!” And then I clamped my mouth shut, realizing how idiotic I sounded.
To my surprise, he pulled his pants down.
There it was. That which all men sought. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it. I even salivated a little and slowly, I felt the Lord’s power within myself. Never before had I felt His power so strongly inside me.
And that’s when I realized that I didn’t have erectile issues, I was just gay.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and ~200 stories already written!
|
Initially, I had only the sincere hope that I could help someone. It started simply; I would freely give to any whom asked, expecting nothing in return, a hit of LSD or a shot of ketamine. It was my intent to awaken these people—mostly heroin addicts—to the intricacies of our reality. But the prolonged highs, which were best measured in days, slowly escaped my grasp, my sphere of influence, my carefully constructed extension of my persona. My therapy group was no longer led by me, but by a single abstraction that I, after ingesting 2000 ug of LSD, had created: "The principal feature of enlightenment is self-governance."
Of course, none of us, myself obviously included, knew what this had meant; this abstraction was merely words strung together in a seemingly coherent manner, meant only to maintain the appearance of meaning. And so we continued to sit in a circle, in a candle-lit room of a vacant house I'd begun squatting in some several months earlier, myself distributing the enlightenment—the drugs and the words—and my patients graciously absorbing, like sponges or towels, the pure water of my knowledge.
It was a summer month when I realized that I had developed a set of arbitrary platitudes—fences aren't real, all that matters is taco meat and Mountain Dew boxes, your mother is not your mother, etc—which were more important to my sponges than I was; and though I was initially flattered—it had occurred to me that I was not just my body but my mind as well, and my mind was indeed this set platitudes, principles, and abstractions—I soon realized that they had absorbed all they could. The implacable heat of a sun of intellectual limitations beat down on my sponges, and I soon realized that not a trace of my initial teachings were to be found in their dry little minds.
I returned the house one day, after picking up more horse tranquilizer, to discover that a fence had been erected, quickly and shoddily around its perimeter; the taco meat was gone, removed from the coolers; the Mountain Dew boxes had been piled in the center of our meditation room, burned to flaky ashes; and each of my sponges had tattooed with ink pens portraits, which were reminiscent of a child's scrawlings, of their mothers on their foreheads. I was shocked.
This was when they began sacrificing children. The sponges would submerge them in giant vats of boiling water, heated over burning boxes of Mountain Dew and piles of ground beef. They danced in circles, and all of my cries to stop and listen to me went in vain as their chanting grew louder and their dancing more frenzied. When a demon—this hulking monstrosity that I can only describe in relation to other words, like horrifying or anti-divine—emerged from the floor, with a torrent of muddy water, and consumed them all, I tasted not a morsel of surprise or remorse; I simply accepted that self-governance, when not governed by myself, was destined to fail. And so, several hours later, after the LSD, ketamine, and PCP wore off, I walked from the house, down the sidewalk, to the local University, where I attended political science courses. And after achieving a bachelor's degree, through several years of eating nothing but Taco Bell, drinking nothing but Baja Blast, I got a J.D. too. Then I worked for several years at a firm, building contacts, schmoozing with my mother's friends and colleagues, before finally becoming a senator. I promptly drafted stronger drug laws. It was the only rational solution I could distill.
| 2017-08-19T08:42:03
| 2017-08-19T06:21:37
| 72
| 34
|
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one.
|
“Are you sure?”
The new mother looked down at the young boy, tears in her eyes as she took in the tiny little horns and wee bats wings.
“What if we can... raise him right? Show him kindness and love, and hope he turns out ok?”
The king looked on with a heavy heart, and spoke,
“You know what happens when you try to avoid a prophecy, dear. I understand your pain, but we just can’t risk it.”
So, in the middle of the night, they left the boy with an elderly widow who was passing by in her travels. She thanked them profusely, promising to take care of the boy and show him all the love he deserved.
The king cast one last, apprehensive look at the pair, before turning to make his way back to the caste where his weary wife held their daughter.
As the years passed, and Eve grew into a beautiful young woman, the kingdom rejoiced.
Unknowing of the prophecy, the general public could only assume that a daughter of the royal family sporting great, golden wings and a shining halo was a good omen for the kingdom.
But this would not last.
The first sign was the handmaiden.
After being assigned to the princess, the young girl was overjoyed to be of service to the radiant angel.
Ten days later she was found dead in a hall closet.
The second was the jewelry. Nothing of great importance, but an earring here, a necklace there. Gone without a trace.
Next came the animals.
The first was an old lap cat, a favorite of the kings first advisor. The princess wept when she heard the news, but there were no tears behind the hand she held in front of her face. No one noticed.
After that, it was one of the hunting dogs. He was found dead outside his kennel, face mutilated and body torn asunder. The princess simply smiled when she heard the news.
“Poor thing” she said, her wings held aloft behind her.
“I hope you can find a suitable replacement.”
Her parents grew worried. The king assumed teenage hormones were to blame, but the queen quickly realized that something was... not right with her daughter.
Hoping to avoid raising suspicion, she took a “quick holiday” out to the sea. In reality, she had spent weeks tracking down that old traveling merchant, and had arranged to meet with her on the night of the full moon.
On the night of the meeting, the queen was nowhere to be found. The traveling merchant, Gilda, waited there for hours. No one came.
The little boy, Gideon, hopped up onto her lap and kissed her cheek.
“Can we go now, mama?” He asked, all sweetness and dimples.
“I wanna make sure the chickens at home are ok!”
Gilda sighed and smiled at her adopted son.
“Ok. Let’s go.”
15 feet away the Queen held her breath as the knife pressed deeper into her neck.
“You never told me I had a brother, mommy...”
*Part 2, upon request*
The kingdom held a day of mourning for their beloved queen. No expense was spared, the kingdom was bedecked in white flowers, and twisting vines bore shaded lamps.
“Common thieves”, one man whispered.
“Heart attack”, a woman sighed.
“Liver failure,” a third mourned.
None of them knew the truth.
Back in her chambers, eyes alight with the high of a fresh kill, Eve sat planning her next move.
“A brother...”
She sat, twirling her golden locks. Smiled. How interesting, indeed.
She had the full story, now. Given by her mother under the pretense that she would be granted her life. Silly.
Eve knew what she was. There was no denying it. Her very soul lusted for darkness, and remorse was a word she never truly learned the meaning of.
However, patience was a virtue she would need to take advantage of for the time being. Now was not the time to act rashly, or her entire world could collapse.
No, she would never allow her delicately crafted spiders-web veil to be lifted from the eyes of her father. Manipulation was an art, and Eve longed for a better paint brush. Age births perceived power, and Eve could be patient. For now.
More years passed, and still no one suspected.
Eve began to take her leave more often, using her powerful golden wings to escape to the countryside where she could delight in slaughter.
She preened extensively, making sure each feather was as sharp as the blade of her knife.
And on the dawn of her eighteenth birthday she washed her wings of the blood that stained them, only to find that she could no longer truly wash away the red.
Her father complimented her on her lovely auburn wing tips at breakfast.
•••
Gideon tripped, and fell face-first into the dirt.
He got back up again, determined to find the wolf that was killing his beloved sheep. He had spent days tracking it, only seeing it out of the corner of his eyes but that was enough.
As he turned back to his trail, he saw a single feather lying on the path.
He paused.
That hadn’t been there before...
He walked up to it, and picked it up with one delicate, claw-tipped finger. (Some of the boys at school had made fun of him for his claws and wings, but he had won them over by pinching their lost quarters from where they had fallen into the cobblestones, and using his wings to fly on top of the schoolhouse to fetch their lost balls and toys.)
As he tried to identify the mysterious item, he heard a rustling up ahead. He looked up to see a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen staring back at him. He gasped.
“Uhhh...” he stuttered.
“Hello.” The voice whispered.
A girl emerged from the trees. Her long sandy hair was tied back intricately, and her hunting gear looked to be of the finest quality. But what mainly drew his eyes were the giant golden wings behind her.
“I see you’ve got my feather.”
Gideon trembled and dropped it.
“I’m so sorry!” He wailed, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to take it!”
Eve narrowed her eyes at her brother, and opened her mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted as he threw himself at her feet.
“Please forgive me goddess!”
Eve shut her mouth quickly, eyes widening. A low delight curled in her stomach. Is this what it feels like to be worshipped?
She quickly finds she quite likes the idea.
“Yes... it’s alright now Gideon.”
The boy looks up quickly
“How did you know my name, Goddess?” He asks in awe.
Eve simply smiles benignly, and nods to the feather.
“You can keep that. Really, I don’t mind.”
Gideon’s wings tremble with delight, drawing Eve’s eyes to them. Her smile fades, and she tries to replicate the look her father sometimes has when she comes back early in the morning with a bloody deer slung over her back.
Frightened, but masked with a forced smile.
From the horrified look in her brother’s eyes, she knows she has succeeded.
“I, uh, I was born with them, I-“
“I understand” she cuts him off rudely.
“I hope you understand what this means, however,” she finishes.
Gideon looks at her, wings pinned to his back in fright.
“What, what does it mean Goddess?”
“It means that you were born sinful, evil, and stained.” She kneels down next to him, tilts his chin up with a finger.
Her eyes are filled with divine light, and her smile is all teeth as she says
“But I can make you whole. All you have to do is exactly as I tell you...”
AN: Sorry, I just can’t resist a good cliffhanger... hope you enjoyed :)
|
They hoped that no one ever learned that they once had a son. They hoped. They dared not pray it. They feared that anything even thought in prayer would be overheard by their beautiful angelic daughter.
The prophecy foretold twins, one good and one evil. When the babes arrived in this world, it was easily apparent which contained which trait. Though they decided quickly,it was not an easy decision. The boy with the horns and black wings had to go.
As their sweet daughter grew, they felt they had made the right decision. She was so kind and generous. She did have a bit of a temper if she saw a wrong, but who could blame her? She was just so good.
But as she grew, that mild child's temper became stronger. She was good and kind, yes, unless she believed you to have sinned.
Her wrath was terrifying. Everyone who encountered her tread lightly and in fear. The slightest misdeed would be swiftly and harshly punished. Most had fled far from their land. She was kind, but without mercy. If she knew what they had done, there would be no telling what she would do.
The boy was destined to be evil, but he had done nothing wrong before they acted. He had been innocent. She would not tolerate that.
The haloed girl was good, but the horn headed boy was more like the rest of them. They thought they made the right decision.
"Mother, I feel as though you are hiding something from me."
They were wrong.
| 2020-05-07T10:15:45
| 2020-05-07T10:09:06
| 29
| 15
|
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.
|
I just lost my job, it was really keen, repairing King Perger's Bruntungle machine.
Then I lost my wife, and I lost my dog, I lost my most favorite porcelain frog.
There's just nothing left, but depression and rum, which I can't afford cause I'm now just a bum.
Tell my mother I'm sorry, tell my sister I'm gone, tell Frink Fungle it was me who stole his pet fawn.
Goodbye pain, goodbye hate, goodbye floppy-eared freef, my struggle is over, this is a relief.
|
I am sad
Sad I am
Have i gone mad
I might just have
I would not could not anymore
my life is just one great big chore
I try to dream but cant escape
This life that i have learned to hate
Ive rustled and bustled
and truffled about
With bad thoughts and worse thoughts
I can't drown them out
So think me a coward
if thats what you must
And this cowards body
will be turned to dust
Goodbye to you all
I can't say that i'll miss you
but don't cry for me now,
Because I'm fresh out of tissue
Edit: Formatting
| 2015-01-17T04:52:27
| 2015-01-17T04:21:47
| 115
| 15
|
[WP] a portal appears infront of you and a 7'4 380 pound version of you from another universe walks out covered in blood holding the heads of 4 other versions of you and screams "JOIN ME OR JOIN MY COLLECTION"
|
The flash of light in the mirror on the wall caught my eye.
Looking up from my game I see the reflection of a shower of lights as the portal opens.
"Join Me or Die."
Booms. Filling the room. Loud enough to hear through the noise canceling headset I am wearing.
A giantess of a woman appears in the space where the lights have just faded. Wild red curls float around her unsmiling face. My eyes are drawn to her right hand which tightly clasps a blood stained axe.
She slips the clear bag off her left shoulder. In it I see familiar faces.
Still gazing up into the mirror grinning slightly at what looks to be "me" but much taller and quite a bit younger.
"Well?" she snarls.
The note a mix of exasperation and frustration. One I know intimately.
My smile broadens. I remove the headset and quietly ask:
"Which would YOU choose?"
Anger flashes quickly in those ice blue eyes, but softens as she actually finally looks at me.
I turn my wheelchair around to face her:
"Well?"
|
My mind raced with the implications of what this meant. I was overwhelmed by the terror that created an icy grip in my chest. Was this a warning from a parallel universe, or a threat from a doppelganger? I had to choose: accept whatever evil plan this giant creature had in store for me, or I would end up like the others.
I desperately wanted to flee, but my feet were stuck in the same spot. I glanced around, but there was nowhere to hide. So I agreed to join him, preparing myself for whatever mad world I was about to enter.
The giant was pleased and took me by the hand, pulling me through the portal. I felt like I stepped into a living nightmare, filled with horror and despair. There were monsters in the shadows, evil creatures lurking in every corner, and I could feel the looming dread in the air. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.
We eventually reached what looked like a throne room from a horror movie. He gestured for me to take the seat of power, but I hesitated. He met my gaze and his voice echoed in the chamber. “This is your destiny. It is time for you to become the new ruler.”
I reluctantly obeyed and took the seat, but as I did, I felt a sharp pain. I looked down to see that my chest was cut open and my four former selves were slowly emerging from my body. They were moaning and struggling, though their efforts were futile. I had made my choice, and now I would suffer the consequences...
| 2022-12-04T11:09:01
| 2022-12-04T08:27:53
| 36
| 13
|
[WP] After slaying the foul dragon the king offered the knight the hand of his daughter in marriage. Neither of them were happy with this arrangement, the princess being completely disinterested in this stranger and the knight was expecting something like money or a title for risking his life
|
A battered knight entered the king’s courtroom dragging a large burlap sack. He knelt down at the throne’s high rise base, opened the sack, and exposed proof of his kill.
A severed bloodied claw the size of a calf laid in the sack.
The king looked down and nodded.
Two days prior, Theodric had slayed Ire the Toxicant Dragon for an unknown bounty. The battle lasted hours with Ire nearly prevailing. Theodric was older than most knights, and his body’s performance had been on the decline for the past several months. However, Theodric was a veteran and utilized his combat knowledge to kill the beast.
Despite the close victory, Theodric knew his bout with Ire was his last. He planned to sell the king’s reward (the prize usually was a new set of expensive armor or a plot of land outside the castle walls) and enroll in alchemy school. He then could make a livable wage without putting his life in risk.
“Well done Theodric!” The king said. “Ire’s venomous breath contaminated countess acres of the kingdom’s soil. With him dead, our farmers may start restoring our damaged land. Such an accomplishment deserves the highest valued prize!”
Theodric smiled when he heard the phrase *highest valued prize*.
The king ordered the knight to stand and face the entrance of the courtroom. He then rose from the throne and clapped his hands. A violist walked through the courtroom doors and played a ballad. The skilled musician played for several minutes and ended the performance with a bow before exiting the chamber.
Theodric stood befuddled. Was a slow tempo melody the king’s reward? The knight turned around to face his majesty but saw another sitting on the throne.
The king’s daughter, Princess Sariel, gazed back at Theodric. She wore a frown.
“You may speak to your prize, or whatever,” she muttered.
Theodric didn’t respond. Sariel was heartbreakingly beautiful and could win any man or woman’s affection with her sigh. But she was half Theodric’s age, enjoy partying until dawn, and desired to travel the realm. Theodric felt sorry for her. The young woman would be forced settle down with a knight past his prime.
“You don’t seem enthusiastic about taking my hand in marriage. Is that a way to kick off our new relationship?” Sariel said while rolling her eyes.
“I apologize my lady. I just am a bit taken back by your striking appearance.”
“Oh stop. I bet your as limp as soaked rag,” She said. “Let’s at least be honest with each other.”
Theodric bit the inside of his cheek. He would have done 100 quests for Sariel’s love when he was younger, but now this “prize” seemed to be a curse.
“Very well,” he said. “I hoped for funds as a reward so I may change careers. Perhaps we can express our feelings to the king?”
Sariel let out a frustrated breath. “No, my father doesn’t accept returns. He’d probably take your request as an insult and kill you while I’d be gifted to another gross knight.”
“Then maybe we can compromise. I can use some of your family’s wealth to fund my education, and you can sneak out of our chambers at sunset. I’ll ignore whatever you may do.”
“I thought that too,” Sariel said. “But the clergy would accuse me for being an unfaithful wife if I was caught. They’d brand my face with the mark of the harlot.”
The uncomfortable couple stood in silence.
“We’re in this for the long run whether we like it or not,” she said. “Can you trust me?”
Theodric stared at her. He imaged Sariel going behind his back and slipping a poisonous tonic into his ale. His death would be her freedom.
“I can’t. At least for now,” he said. “How about you? Can you trust me?”
Sariel observed the man’s defined muscles and scars. She didn’t find him attractive nor felt any potential affection. She feared the seasoned knight would someday force himself onto her petite frame.
“Not one bit,” she responded.
|
For seven years she awoke in soft sheets and gentle sunlight. There were no serving maids to dress her, but she was no longer put on display and paraded; she was not the doll in the looking box. She was thankful of him for that at least, these moments of relative freedom. She looked to the nightstand for today's flower: orchid.
She smiled. The damn thing was beautiful but poisonous. He'd sneaked into her room while she slept, silent footfalls from a darker past to exchange it from the garden he now kept. The first months of this she felt violated. She was ecstatic when he gave her her own room and made no move to force himself on her. He was noble in that, but what good was it if he would come unwelcome?
She blamed herself a bit for it. As a frightened child, she was too afraid to confront the dark brooding man, and he never brought up what he was doing. They fell into a silent game of it. It was their anniversary, and her father would surely come to press Eric for an heir. The first year he came, her husband had challenged the king's elite for the right to choose his own pacing. Her father was livid at the challenge, but agreed on the condition that the fight was to the death, and that the terms were only for the year.
She cried with joy that day. It was the first day since the marriage that she had hope that she might one day be a real wife rather than a prize given to a dispassionate man. That day she served as her husband's squire, fitting his armor as best she could. Even through her tears, she remembered the details of the scars. She remember how strange it was for a man barely more than 4 years her senior to have suffered so many injuries. She sent him to fight hoping it would be the last day he suffered.
While she had heard stories of him, and like so many, stood in awe of their magnitude, she honestly didn't believe them. Kill a dragon? Armies were sent for such things and it was never a guarantee even then. The King's man stood tall in their humble garden wielding a spear. It was where her knight had chosen to fight; she thought it strange.
He entered carrying only a sword gleaming in the sun. Seeing him like this, he was indeed just like the stories. She settled in to watch the long fight on one of the stone benches. Her father's man struck quick with the spear but she watched it splinter in a flash, Eric's shoulder lead first into the man's chest and a dagger found the man's neck. There was a horrific sound, but it suddenly faded.
His hands were on her ears, and his body blocked her view. Everything happened so quickly, and her hope, entertained for only a moment, died in the tears she shed in that awkward embrace. She'd tried so many times to let go of that memory, but it still haunted her. The man's scream, the death of hope, and the touch of a husband that set her skin to crawl. Every year, on her anniversary it would occur again and each time her father would bring a new champion. She had heard the stories, even in her far off life, that the offer stood. Kill the black knight and marry the princess. Contests were held to find the strongest men. It had grown to be quite the money making venture for the kingdom. She finished dressing and came down stairs. Her father was already there at the table speaking to Eric. He would likely not have said much if anything. She'd learned easily enough that he was not well educated and she suspected as a calculated move chose to keep his speech to a minimum. Unfortunately, that meant that we he spoke it was often just as he fought. It was quick, unexpected and could devastate.
Her father stormed out of their home before she could even greet him. She looked to Eric. “Troll.” he said coldly before standing from the table. She collapsed in revelation. She'd spent these years thinking her father was trying to rescue her, that he wanted her to be with a good man. It was a fantasy. This was her punishment. She felt his presence and a gentle hand on her shoulder. He stood and began to gather his armor.
She remembered herself and though still shaking, helped him put on his undercoat. The gravity of her situation kept her reeling. He was out of practice. The only exercise he got these days was walking and gardening. Every year his reflexes grew slower, his muscles weaker. She felt the tears again, felt her powerlessness. She was behind him so he could not see her struggle. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You could leave-” she felt his hand grasp hers.
“My lady. For you I would walk through fire, bear dishonor and shame, and die a thousand times over. I will not abandon you to the rage of that man.” His voice was strong and carried deep anger with it. It's confidence lessened her fears. He stood and walked to the doorway to the garden before calling back “For you I can do this much. Imagine if you loved me.”
| 2021-01-11T11:00:20
| 2021-01-11T09:16:38
| 22
| 15
|
[WP] You are a fresh junior researcher at NASA. While out for drinks with your new boss, you jokingly ask her why NASA hasn't explored the ocean with its resources. She turns pale and leans in close, then whispers, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?"
|
**Wait, what?**
I'm joking! (laughs) But I bet I had you going there for a bit.
**You did! Man, I feel dumb.**
Yeah, well, just don't ask about Area 52.
**Don't you mean Area 51?**
...
**Oh, *right* ok! Man, that's briliant! Area 52. Who would even think to go there?**
Area 52 doesn't exist.
**Sure, gotcha. (wink) So what else should I know about life here at NASA?**
You know how in the movies there's always that big room filled with monitors and satellite feeds, and rows and rows of people wearing headsets and talking to astronauts?
**Yeah.**
All that equipment has been broken since Apollo 12.
**No shit?**
No shit. And the guys back then were like, it's cool, we don't *really* need all that stuff anyways. They got really damn lucky with Apollo 13. It was like, "Who, us? That was the spaceship's fault!" The perfect crime! But we got lazy and cocky and kept winging it.
**Why?**
Because if you don't buy new computers with government money, you can buy lots of other fun stuff. During the salad days of NASA, the folks working here lived the life! Fancy sportscars! Exotic vacations! Big mansions! But then the Challenger bit us in the ass. They just had to put a teacher on that thing. They learned their lesson. Better look into buying a computer or two, at least for awhile.
**Did they?**
Indeed! Right when I came on board, they unveiled the new operating system for mission control. And what do you know? It's an app.
**iPhone?**
*And* Android. You can handle all of the space chores with an app. But the *problem* with that is you lose ths spectacle of mission control. That big futuristic looking place, meanwhile, I mean... an app? You know who else knows how to use an app? My niece. She's seven. And not a bright one. Her favorite flavor is bleach.
**So everything runs on the app?**
Oh yeah. The space station, the Hubble, our weather satellites, some spy shit we put up there for fun--
**What?**
Oh yeah! I mean, all of that mission control money had to go somewhere after we all got tired of spending it on Faberge eggs and beer. So we pooled our funds and made a super sophisticated spy satellite to spy on our exes.
**You do?**
Engineers are a vindictive, petty bunch. They also go a long time without partners. Even I, a person with a vagina, have succumbed to the black hole of NASA's sexuality. So we spy on our exes, take pictures, make jokes. At the end of the year, we all get together and compete for the best picture or video. I won last year, when I managed to film my husband driving drunk and running over two people. Gosh, I don't know *how* that video ended up in the hands of the police, your Honor.
**Y'all some vindictive fuckers here at NASA.**
When you spend all this time looking at space, you realize how small we all are. It's hard to kill a human but you never think twice about crushing a bug.
**I think I'm gonna like working here**
Yeah, you are.
(freeze frame)
*VOICEOVER: Do weird shit and become a God at NASA.*
|
She turned pale, leaned in closer, and then whispered, "We have. Why do you think we want to leave the planet so badly?"
Time slowed momentarily as I took in the gravity of her words, the noise in the bar fading suddenly into the background as I attempted to process this new information. Even the harsh clinking of glass on glass failed to break my concentration. It occurred to me that she might just be having a laugh at my expense… Ah yes, I can see it now… Her, back at the office, with various co-workers crowded around, all clamoring to hear the tale of my immediate reaction to what she had said... and no doubt eliciting uproarious laughter at my expense.
“Are… are you all right…?” Her question, laced with what seemed to be genuine concern, jolted me from my stupor, forcing me to make a decision. Should I deign to trust what she had said and probe further or leave it at that? Well, the allure of such highly protected information was simply too much.
“Ah, yes. I’m fine… I was just trying to process what you said. So…” Her eyes glinted in the dim lighting, seeming to understand where I was headed.
“Well, you see, it’s not something to talk about in this environment. I wouldn’t want to cause a panic, you know?” A panic?? What on earth could she be referring to? I simply had to know! “But I’ll show you tomorrow. Anyways, how have you been adjusting…?” Oh god, getting through the rest of this without betraying my absolute *need* to know what she was referring to was going to be a massive pain.
\~\~\~
“Good morning!” I nearly yelled, a mess of nervous excitement as I stepped into her office the next day. My energy was a boundless stream of water, rushing to fill the otherwise stark, tidy space.
“Ahh good morning! I assume you’re here to learn more about what I mentioned last night?” she said airily, motioning me to her side. I practically leapt closer, as she pointed to an article with several graphs and charts that was displayed on her computer screen. The title, in big, bold lettering, stated “Ocean Rising! What Will it Eat First?” I stared dumbly at the screen as my eyes quickly skimmed over the following text and glanced at the graphs. “I really just… can hardly believe it. I get so scared thinking about the data we’ve gleaned from our research. Before we know it, we’ll all be **food** for its depths. I'm not ready to be eaten!!” she wailed.
Oh. “Uhh… Well… maybe we get to choose what kind of fish eats us…?”
...
| 2019-08-07T18:37:05
| 2019-08-07T18:19:58
| 43
| 16
|
[WP] You, 16 years old, wake up and head downstairs for breakfast before school. You’re eating cereal when you see the Missing Kid poster on the milk carton. It’s you. Date missing: 10 years ago.
|
“What the fuck?” I blink and read it again:
BEST BY -9 NOV 2008-
“Watch your mouth!”
“What the hell is this?” I grab the carton and shove it toward her face. The blood drains from her nose and cheeks, and her crows feet spread along with her eyelids.
“Oh god. You have to listen — we”
“What could you possibly say to me? How the fuck could you or dad even begin to rationalize this?”
“There was just so much going on, we didn’t have time, we had no choice”
“Save it! I don’t think I can stand to hear it.” Foggy and full of ire, I rise from the table. The crushed mass of soggy cardboard in my hand turns my stomach. I look once more at the picture on the back, and the date printed above it in fading black:
BEST BY -9 NOV 2008-
“I, I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Please tell me this is some kind of joke you’re playing on me.”
“Son, we never meant for it to get this far, we have been waiting for the right moment... and... and, we waited too long.” Her head sinks and her voice trails into a squeak, a whisper too pitiful to understand.
“Yes, yes you did! Ten years too long! I mean Jesus Christ... this milk is ten years old! Ten! Why is it even in the fridge at all? Guess I won’t eat breakfast before school! God this family is fucked.”
|
Item number: SCP-M11K
Object class: Keter
Containment: All companies specializing in the distribution of milk are to switch from cartons to plastic bottles for all quantities of consumer milk. Implementation has been slow, with pushback from dairy lobbies. Full implementation is expected to occur in 2025. This may not result in full containment.
Any instances of SCP-M11K are to be incinerated upon discovery. Any instances of SCP-M11K-1 are to be given a full psychiatric evaluation, and class B amnesetics if deemed fit for release. If any instance of SCP-M11K-1 is not deemed fit for release, they are to be terminated.
Object description: all instances of SCP-M11K appear on the side of a carton of milk as a missing child poster. This missing child poster will slowly materialize over the period of half an hour after the carton has been opened. Persons asked about the missing child poster, if not an instance of SCP-M11K-1, will remark that the poster was on the side of the carton when they first purchased the milk.
This poster will take the image of the youngest member of the household roughly ten years in the past. If the youngest member of the household is younger than ten years, but older than two, the carton will reverse their apparent age to be two years old. If the youngest member of the household is younger than two, SCP-M11K will pick the next youngest. If the youngest member is older than 18, no anomalous properties manifest. This target is to be referred to as SCP-M11K-1. No members of the household will recognize the person on SCP-M11K except for SCP-M11K-1.
Upon exposure to SCP-M11K, a sense of paranoia and unease will overcome SCP-M11K-1. This is usually dismissed by the parents of SCP-M11K-1. No valid reason has been given for this dismissal as of yet. As such, this is believed to be a property of SCP-M11K. Any attempts to identify SCP-M11K by SCP-M11K-1 will be dismissed by the parents, claiming that they look nothing alike.
If SCP-M11K-1 remains exposed for longer than a total of five minutes, they will enter a semi-catatonic state. Parents usually dismiss this as being tired. Again, no valid reason has ever been given for this dismissal. After one hour of exposure, SCP-M11K-1 falls into a coma for exactly fifteen minutes. This is usually the first cause of alarm to the parents, and is usually too late for the Foundation to act. At this point, Foundation recovery of the child has a success rate of only 3%, as opposed to a 99% success rate while in the first two states.
Once SCP-M11K-1 exits the coma, the missing child poster will no longer seem like a poster of themselves to SCP-M11K-1. Very little change is immediatly present in SCP-M11K-1. However, SCP-M11K-1 will slowly become more and more violent with age. They also become much more secluded, usually neglecting their studies or work. 92% of SCP-M11K-1 are imprisoned for violent crimes within ten years of exposure, 78% of those crimes are directed at their families. 54% result in murder of one family member, with 29% resulting in the murder of their entire family. In addition, SCP-M11K-1 instances have a strong aversion to milk.
There is currently no known way of tracking instances of SCP-M11K. All brands of milk carried in cartons have been shown to be infected. As of yet, no milk jugs or bags appear to be infected. Instances of SCP-M11K have been observed on every continent. However, infections are rare, with only one in every ten million milk cartons being reported as infected.
| 2018-11-08T21:22:27
| 2018-11-08T20:37:24
| 97
| 45
|
[WP] 1,000 years after the battle of Helm's Deep, the orcs have tracked down the elves in the undying lands. Calling in a favour with their allies the men, the elves expect an army of 10,000. Instead they get 8 marines with MASERs, rail guns and anti-matter grenade launchers.
|
​
One of my first attempts on this subreddit. I chose a little more contemporary setting for the prompt as that is more my forte. Remember English is not my mothertongue and any critique is welcome.
Elrond looked around the table. The situation was dire and the faces of those around him reflected that. A fortnight ago the orcs had managed to land in the Undying Lands. How they had succeeded, no one knew. All that was certain was that they had come in greater numbers than elves could have imagined. Led by an unknown dark sorcerer, the orcs had overwhelmed the elven coastal cities and slaughtered their inhabitants. It was only in their darkest hour that the elves had stooped to asking mortal men for support. After the war with Sauron the immortal dwellers of Middle-Earth had left the mortal races to fend for their own. The rumours of bloody wars against the orcs and among Men had proven the elves right in their judgement.
“My lord Elrond, the armies of Men won’t come to our aid, I am sure of it,” said Glorfindel, “We abandoned them. Why would they not do the same to us?”
“My dear friend, we have only sent word to their realms barely three days ago. We cannot expect them to arrive that shortly. Have a little faith,” tried Elrond to reassure his comrade.
The other elven leaders joined in the discussion. Just when the clamor reached its peak, the doors of the hall burst open and from them appeared eight humans, all wearing earth coloured clothing. Their helmets were very open for the likes of the elves and their breastplates on which more of their equipment was attached seemed to barely protect their vitals. Their leader stepped forward and introduced himself.
“Good afternoon, lord Elrond. My name is Sam Robinson, second lieutenant and leader of this Tactical Air Control Party. My team and I are hear to offer you lethal and non-lethal effects from land-, sea- and airbased vectors for all your tactical needs.”
“ Are you the envoys from realms of Men?” asked one elf increduously.
“That would be correct, sir,” answered Sam Robinson calmly.
“And you are all there is?” the same elf wanted to know.
“We are all that are needed on the ground. I am JTAC-qualified myself. The gunny here is our Forward Observer and the rest of the team consists out of our assistants, radio operators and drivers. The First Carrier Strike Group is in the vicinity to offer fire support, should lord Elrond request it. »
“I am not certain I understand everything you say, lieutenant, but I am willing to learn. I am certain your leaders did not send you in jest. Show me what you can do, for you know the hour is dark.”
Sam Robinson merely nodded, while Gunny Munroe grinned widely.
Elrond and Legolas had accompanied the soldiers, or rather Marines as they liked to be called, on a reconnaissance mission in the rear of the orc forces. They had set up a camouflaged lookout from which they could view the large orc convoys carrying supplies to the front. The Men carried with them strange devices with appendages like long slender willow branches. With these they were able to communicate with their brethren far away. The Marines didn’t carry swords or axes either. Their weaponry consisted out of something not unlike dwarven mechanical crossbows, but infinitely more advanced. Lieutenant Robinson peered through his binoculars and grabbed the horn of his radio. He urged Elrond closer.
“You see those orc waggons over their, sir?”
Elrond nodded.
“Well, I am going to blow them up,” said Sam not without a smile.
“Boom,” whispered Gunny Munroe playfully.
“Standby and listen closely, sir.”
“Overlord, Overlord, this is Warhammer two-zero. Requesting fire mission. Target location on coordinates 98635 77145. One orc convoy, linear heading North from South. Over.”
“Warhammer two-zero, this Overlord. Roger on fire mission. We have twelve guns, two rounds each, from battleship Minas-Ithil. Time of flight 40 seconds.”
“Overlord, this is Warhammer. Roger. You may commence firing.”
Elrond and Legolas were startled when something with a sound like thunder passed overhead and exploded in front of them. Tremendous amounts of earth flew into the air and rained down again. The orcs down in the valley looked like they were caught by surprise. They hadn’t seen anything like this before so they didn’t know how to react.
“Overlord, you are falling short and left. Left fifty, add twohundred,” called Robinson into the radio.
A second sixteen inch shell roared by and exploded right among the orcs. Earth, debris and pieces of orc soared high in the sky.
“Overlord, you are right on target. Fire for effect. I say again fire for effect.”
“Warhammer two-zero, fire for effect acknowledged.”
The following shells fell so quickly after one another that their explosions sounded like a drumroll. Legolas and Elrond covered their ears as not to be deafened by the incredible noise. When the smoke had cleared, their was nothing left of the orc convoy except blood and charred remains.
“Overlord, good effects on target. Target is destroyed. Warhammer two-zero out.”
Elrond was delighted. This war was winnable after all.
“How many times can you repeat this?” asked the elven lord.
“As many times as you would like, sir. But we can do much more than this.”
“Such as?” Elrond wanted to know what these Men could do. Clearly the mortal realms had conjured up some incredible kind of sorcery in the absence of the elves.
“Wait until you see our Warthogs come out and play,” the lieutenant said playfully.
Elrond looked confused, but Gunny Munroe answered with but one word :
“Oorah!”
|
As the elves surveyed the land, their dread intensified. No one expected them to find the undying lands and the orcs knew this, they had years to prepare and now their numbers where nearing at least 150.000 if not more.
The elves counted on their allies to withstand this siege. They called out to all their allies but only one of the kingdoms responded; that of men. Not the dwarves, nor hobbits responded. The Elves felt no hope.
The scouts returned to their base camp only to see a weird metal structure where the commander's tent should be.
There was a gathering of elves and the scouts approached them out of curiosity.
There stood 7 humans, what they assumed, knights over 7 feet tall. They were massive in size and held strange apparatus.
A smaller human wearing a patrol cap and smoking a cigar was discussing something with their commander.
"Listen I don't care if they had a fancy smancy golden stick up their asses, I am telling you these guys will break them all. All you have to do is sweep those green skinned motherfuckers up and throw 'em in the dustbin."
The elf commander looked pretty uncomfortable and was looking for a way out of the conversation, until he glanced towards the scouts. "Sir, it seems our scouts have returned."
The man looked towards the scouts, chewed a bit on his cigar and lifted his eyebrows.
"Sir we think it's at least 150.00 orcs. We don't know how many precise. If I may sir, the situation is hopeless. We should just retreat."
The man grabbed his cigar from his mouth and walked towards the trembling scouts.
"Listen up you pointy eared excuse for an elf. We got this shit. These bastards ain't nothing we haven't face before. You see, we humans are pretty adept at wiping eachother out, but we really shine like a polished turd when we got a common foe. These 7 beautiful son's of bitches over here will show you just how goddamn good we are at destroying everything in our path and how to look good doing it. Ain't that right marines?
A loud hu-rah followed.
"You got that?"
"Yes..."
"Yes what?"
"Sir.."
"Sir, yes!" The scout proclaimed enthusiastically.
The man rubbed the bridge of this nose and sighed. "Nevermind." He turned towards the commander, "Listen, trust us, ok?"
The commander nodded reluctant.
Two hours later the army of elves stood ready against overwhelming odds. The humans were in front. The tall ones looked like statues, you would only know they moved by the imprints their heavy boots left behind.
One of the more imposing orcs stepped forward.
"We didn't expect such a greaaaat force." The orc proclaimed, followed by a deep laughter that rose from his gut. "Can't you just lay down and let us kill you?"
No one responded.
"Well!?" Proclaimed the orc loudly, "What is yer answer!?"
The man with who was smoking a freshly lit cigar now took it from his mouth and spit on the ground.
"Well y'see, you ugly motherfucking weak excuse for a nightmare. We did discuss our options already and we do have an answer for you."
"Well what is it!?" The orc asked with a guteral snarl.
As the man turned around, he looked over his should to the orc.
"Taste the rainbow, bitch."
And from the seven armors a bright flash ejected, followed by an earth shattering sounds. The elves closed their eyes due to the brightness. After a few seconds the light faded and all that was left of the orc army was the orc commander who looked absolutely terrified.
The man looked towards the elf commander. "I will let you have this one. This sure was great, we really should do this again sometimes."
He patted the elf commander on his shoulder and walked towards their ship, followed by the seven hulking suits of armor.
| 2018-12-03T06:33:48
| 2018-12-03T06:27:54
| 41
| 27
|
[WP] When you gain a superpower it is a reflection of your inner self, good people tend to get typical 'good' powers such as flight while bad people get 'bad' powers such as mind control. Oddly enough the top superhero and supervillain each have powers that seemingly do not suit them at all
|
A lot is made of it, really.
People have written books about it.
The truth is, nobody really has any idea. It's just our way of, well… '*trying to understand God'* probably sounds a bit dramatic, but I ask you: what else do you call somebody who flies at a mach ten and plays swingball with rockets?
What is an 'inner self', anyway? Who are you, at your core? In your heart of hearts? What really *defines* you? What you *want?* Who you love? Who you *hate?* How you see yourself? Or who you'd like to be?
If you have the power to control anybody you want, what does that say about you? That you feel like you've got the right to *own* other people? To trample on their will with your own? Make them do whatever you want, no matter what *they* want? Or maybe it means that you're terrified of yourself; scared of your own power, your own influence on other people. What you make other people do without even wanting to.
I don't think it's a coincidence that Mindscape could be a catwalk model if she wanted to be. When you see her, you *want,* whether you want to or not. Get it? She can make you do whatever she wants because most of the time, if somebody who looks like *that* asks you to jump, you say 'how high', and the fact she's got crazy mental powers has nothing to do with it. Think I'm wrong? People have been getting rich for years off nothing more than a pretty face and a perfect smile.
But that's just my layman's guess. Maybe she's really just a narcissist who thinks the world should all bow before her. Because… it does, right? It does. We do.
*It's so wonderful she's one of the good guys!* We'd be so, *so* fucked otherwise, right?
"Hey, Mr. President," she'd say sweetly, "you'll tell me the nuclear codes, won't you?"
Instead, we handed the world over on a silver platter. Well, *you* did.
Not me. Hey, there.
You can call me Ghost.
Who am I?
I'm nobody.
Nobody at all.
Get it?
|
You know what they say
"You can't judge people by their first apperance"
I always thought how wrong this is. This girl has a mind control ability. And she literally use his boyfriend's ability to fly as a taxi service. Does he even know he got abused? Unbelieveable.
That's also why there are heros. Because of how various powers for indiviuals, heros also have less strict use of their powers. I think the one who has it worse are medical workers and law forces. You need to know if the patience has ability to control cold before examine the illness. Also, is it really fair put 60 years jail time for someone who can regenerate any wounds, therefore has a longer life span?
Which makes you wonder, what kind of personality someone has if they have fast regeneration? Are they such a good person that throw their lifes away to save people? Or do they just so depressed and bullied thus wanted to kill themselves so they gain the ability?
Oh, right. Yes, you heard it right. People gain ability according to their personality.
Neat, huh? Although not now...
It's like puberty. When you personality sets, you gain your superpower. I read a book once that basicly says "A person is same at their 7 and their 70. The only change is the character development, not the core."
I'm not really that philosophycal though. But This book keep my interest after i notice something strange. I come across the top superhero and supervillians conflict, in a police station. It seems their children fallen love with each other and cause a ruckus so now i, as a random police officer, have to interfare their relationship.
Not because i'm any special, really. I just happen to answer the call when they call the police. So now i need to talk to them not as a force to help the superhero against supevillian but as a police officer who's suppose to take no side and establish in a civillian parents way "they are just kids"
How do i know they are the top superhero and supervillian despite not knowing their real names? You guessed it. Their superpowers. Because they are so distinct and not really suit their over the top titles.
Can you believe it? The superhero has the ability to harness darkness. While the supervillian has the abilitiy to harness light. Aren't they superhero and supervillian? How can their powers are so opposite AND against their titles. I saw in the news how that darkness save and protect people in a dark spare while there is basicly a rain of burning light that melts everything they touched.
"I don't want my child to anywhere near them!" said the top superhero in a calculative tone. Just like his ability his calmness send my spine chills.
"Hell no! It is I who don't want anything related to you, you edgy hair" respond the top supervillian. Funny how i never realized the haircut. It's really represent the "edgy darkness"
Honestly, if i wouldn't know they can vaporize me in that spot it looks like two parents who just upset because their kids are in their rebellious phase. Huh, when i put it that way i guess i'm a little bit more calmed so the response came over to my tounge almost without any effort
"Kids these days do this kind of things all the time. If you can consult them a psychologist i'm sure it would turn out fine."
Their gaze went through me. Honestly, i shouldn't said that. Who knows if they got the money to pay a psychologist or not. But...they seem to agree with me?
"Fine" said both of them at the same time. I can feel their blood still boils down with their anger but it seems they agreed my propose? Wow, okay. Everything went better than expected.
| 2020-06-15T06:40:59
| 2020-06-15T06:38:30
| 892
| 93
|
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.
|
"Turn around... Please."
I stumble forward, desperate to escape my insanity.
The pills were working. They were working. Their not working.
"Please! Stop!"
The desperation in her voice halts me. I know that feeling. I know what its like to be desperate. A clawing, yearning, all consuming desperation.
Desperate for anyone to listen to me.
"Please Nina... you're.not. real. Ok?"
I continue forward. Desperate. Like her voice. Like me, as always.
"Michael; i know what they've told you. I know what you've been through. I'm sorry i shut down our bond. I'm sorry! Ok?! "
I stop midstep. The flow of pedestrians to either side of me reminds me of a rock in a river. I close my eyes and point my face up. I take a couple steadying breaths; than i turn.
And all the breath leaves my lungs.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Oh Michael... you.. you're..." she sprints the 20 or so feet between us and jumps into my arms. I cath her and hold her to me. Nothing has ever felt so right.
"You're really real?" I whisper into her hair. Breathing in her scent. Feeling like my heart is a 1000 times lighter, and heavier, all at once.
"Im really real. I've missed you so much."
I freeze at this. She's been real this whole time. She's real... and she abandoned me. Left me to suffer the hospitalizations; the eltro shock. My whole family has been afraid me. Even in my darkest of days her voice was my haven. But one day it just stoped. 2 years. Its been 2 fucking years.
I push her away. Wiping angrily at my face. "What do you want?" She recoils as if id struck her. "You."
I close my eyes again and hate myself for loving that one simple statement. "No."
"Mikey, wai.." she's saying as i turn around and continue walking. "Mikey they're here!"
I swing back around in time to notice several large men running towards us. I make eye contact with the front man. Than i see it. Everything she's seen, and i know everything she knows. I look at her and she nods.
We grab hands and we run.
|
She has always been there for me. She has always been honest with me.
When I was 4 years old, she told me Mr Bunny had been saying mean things about me. I threw him in the bin. My mother was upset she said why did I throw away my favourite toy. I said he's not my favourite any more.
When I was 6, she taught me what violence was. I drew a picture of violence in my class at school. The teacher was upset with me and told me I was wrong. Everything I've learned of life since then assures me I was right.
When I was 13 she told me that Gary in my class wanted to kiss me. I walked over to him and kissed him first and it was warm and wet and weird.
When I was 15 she told me not to tell anyone what uncle Paul likes me to do with the video camera. She said they wouldn't understand, and I was getting too old for it anyway.
When I was 21 she was all I could see and all I could hear. I asked her for some time alone. I bought some flowers for myself but forgot to buy a vase to put them in. I rested them in a pint glass and didn't leave the house as I watched them slowly shrivel over the next week.
When I was 25 she came back and I felt a shiver down my spine and I don't know if it was bad or good, but I didn't want to ask her to go away again. So she stayed.
When I was 26 she told me that I needed to die so she could live. She told me what to do with the gun.
My heart stopped for 30 seconds at the hospital. They told me I would be able to talk again with rehabilitative therapy, but that I would be disfigured for life. They told me she wasn't real. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and given a lot of pills to take regularly. They brought me peace. I didn't see her again in a long time.
When I was 37 I heard a familiar voice behind me, and felt a shiver down my spine. "Turn around, did I find you?" Her speech was slurry and lisped the same way mine was after the incident.
I turned around slowly. She hadn't aged a day the whole time I'd known her, but this time half her face was grotesque and scarred the same way mine was, except the opposite half. She touched me on the arm, and I knew she was real this time.
I was hers again.
| 2019-09-14T12:09:41
| 2019-09-14T11:01:10
| 32
| 16
|
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper.
|
I thought I had seen it all. I've been been here ever since the first human died. I'm the older brother, sure, but most only know of my little brother, the Grim Reaper. Because those that come to me are erased from the time itself.
I've had to erase entire families, cities, hell, even entire civilizations. I've done it all in cold blood and with no emotion. And yet, that day I felt an emotion that I hadn't felt in a long time: fear.
I remember when I first stepped into that place. It was a large bunker near the North Pole, built during the Cold War. Like all of the corpses and ghosts of the people that I erased, no one knew about my target. They forgot about him or her.
I initially thought that I had missed someone over there. The first time my reaping instincts tingled over there, I cursed myself. I clearly remembered walking around on the concrete floor, reaping the dead who were killed in a nuclear blast when one of nukes was accidentally triggered. Who did I miss? I shrugged. It didn't matter anyway. I had a job to do.
The place that I had to go to was an old nuclear silo that was abandoned during the Cold War. No one knew of its existence, because it was so old that the arctic ice had frozen over its entrance, covering it up, and that all of the people who planned and worked on it were already reaped by me.
Getting in was easy. I teleported into one of the storage rooms, and next to the crumbling concrete walls found myself looking straight at a rusty metal door that I clearly remembered didn't exist there, on a standing part of the concrete wall that I *also* clearly remembered didn't exist there. At first I blamed my age, thinking that I probably started getting dementia. Then my curiosity got the better of my confusion and caution when the reaping sense told me to go straight through the door. I opened it with a gentle push.
A bright blue light and a human silhouette greeted me. A number of questions assaulted my mind as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the light. *Why was there light? Wasn't the entire silo's lighting destroyed by the nuclear explosion? Why was the person standing? Why is the person's arms stretched to the side, as if lounging on a couch? Why are there shadows of wires sticking ou-*
My eyes widened in disbelief as I looked at the horror in front of me. It wasn't a human at all I was looking at. Rather, it was *parts* of a human set on miniature platforms that held the pieces into the form of a human. Each of the body parts were cut open and splayed apart (in the case of the skull, sawed open to access the brain) to have wires and thin hoses of fluid sticking into the flesh and tissue. The torso was also cut open, the abs cut away to reveal each organ spliced with the same mix of wires and hoses interconnecting each other, held in place with spikes stabbed into them hooked onto the vertical platform holding it in place. In morbid curiosity I watched some of the wires crackling with electricity as the flesh constantly jumped and thrashed around as it was zapped. The head was even more gruesome, with a constant look of agony on the face, the eyes still in their sockets and the eyelids ripped away. The eyes turned to look at me, and I shuddered. It was still *alive* after all this time. The reaping sense screamed at me now to reap what I just saw. I understood why the reaping sense led me to it. After the explosion, after being forgotten, sustained by whatever machinery tortured it. I understood why my brother didn't reap its "life", if it could still be called living.
I looked it in the eyes, and whispered, "I'm sorry." Tears started to stream from both my face and the person's. "I'm sorry that even I forgot about you." I raised my reaping blade. "I'll make sure that you don't have to suffer ever again."
First story on r/writingprompts, criticism accepted!
|
"Next!"
A wrinkled, white-haired man cautiously steps forward. It's my secretary.
"Mr. Reaper, your next job has an odd peculiarity to it."
"I'm the True Reaper. What job doesn't have an odd peculiarity to it?"
"Sir, your next job is in Ukraine."
"Where the hell is Ukraine?"
"It's on Earth." At this point, he wrote down the coordinates of the person.
"So you expect me to go to Earth to find the collection of memories that should be standing before me right now?" This was insane. How could anybody be so foolish as to send the True Reaper to Earth? "Don't you know what happened the last time I was sent down there? The world got itself a new triangle in the North Atlantic!"
"Mr. Reaper, with all due respect, I believe you need to go to Earth this time."
"Can't we just skip this job until it presents itself here, at my desk?"
"Sir, you know nothing can progress here until you take care of it."
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you! This is going to end badly for Ukraine." I stood up, dwarfing my secretary, and stormed out the door. As I walked down the hallway, I contemplated how I was going to reap a person on Earth without destroying Ukraine in the process. This was going to be tough.
"Mr. Reaper, I hear you are visiting Earth today!" The elevator operator was surprisingly cheerful.
"Sadly."
"To where on Earth are you headed?" I gave him the coordinates my secretary had handed me earlier. "Eastern Europe is a rough place right now. Best be careful."
"I'm well aware of how careful I'll need to be." At this point, the elevator doors opened, and a massive concrete building towered over us. It had one massive pipe on top with some sort of smoke leaking out the top, and had many, many people running all around it, all yelling at each other to do something else. To one side, was thick forest, so dense you couldn't see more than a couple hundred feet in. To the other side was a collection of pipes and rods so gangly, it could only be called a death trap. A wheel with carriages, several cages with several more carriages inside each of them, as well as a train that appeared to be built for small children. Everything looked like it was going to crush somebody.
"Mr. Reaper, your job is just on the other side of this building. Be back soon."
"Why didn't we land right next to it?"
"We don't want the job to see this elevator, do we?"
"I guess not." I walked around the building, admiring its ability to contain whatever was producing that much smoke inside of it. I resolved to look through the building once I had done my job.
Eventually, I came upon a middle-aged man living in the woods. I knew he was the job because he saw me. He lay down his ax on the tree stump and sighed. "I assume you're here for me to die."
"To die? No. I'm here to remove you from memory. I'm here so people will forget about you."
At this, the man perked up. "So you mean I can continue on living here, and nobody will remember I exist? Sign me up!"
"Living here? Aren't you already dead? Didn't my brother, the Grim Reaper, visit you already?"
"Nope. I did fake my death, though. I guess it worked, too, since you seem to think I've died!"
"Well, I have a job to do, but this will not continue on for long. I can guarantee you this: my brother will be coming for you soon."
"I see. Well, do what you must, but I plan on living here until my last dying day."
"We can see to that." At this point, I grabbed him by the neck. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his legs jerked wildly, and his arms grabbed my shoulders. He was in no pain, but his body could feel itself being choked. After what probably felt like an eternity to him, I let him go. The reaping was done.
I turned and walked back to the large, concrete structure. I needed to see what was inside there. I followed a worker inside and found a maze of corridors, catwalks, and pipes that all seemed to be working together. I had to find what was making all the smoke, for that seemed to be the heart of the operation. That's when I saw it. At the center of the room, there was the bottom of the pipe coming out the top of the building. And there was a stairwell leading beneath it. I rushed down the stairs, only to find a large concrete box. I admired it, reached out to feel its heat, but it suddenly disappeared. That's when I knew I had gone too far. It was going to be what happened in the Atlantic all over again. I had gotten too close, and I had reaped the concrete box. In its place, a smoking pile of molten rock began to flow. I raced out of there, pondering exactly what I had unleashed upon the workers here.
When I got back to the elevator, I practically burst through the door. "We have to leave. Now!"
"Mr. Reaper, what happened this time?"
"Something happened inside the building. I think my mere presence caused something in there to cease to exist." At this point, the elevator began to rise back up to the sky. Looking down below, I could see all the workers frantically scrambling, yelling at each other. Just then, an explosion. The concrete building caught fire, and my brother was summoned with 31 jobs in Ukraine.
| 2018-05-12T16:52:04
| 2018-05-12T15:41:34
| 200
| 26
|
[WP] Life has achievements, just like in video games. Ever since the dawn of time, people have been unlocking all kinds of achievements, and yet, people are still discovering new achievements every year. You're one of those people who just unlocked an achievement no one's heard of before.
|
Life got interesting when achievements were first discovered. They always existed but we didn't know how to measure them for a long time. Now everyone has apps for that.
I remember grandpa's stories telling me how many he discovered when the tech came out. He was the first person to unlock the peanut butter and jelly achievement. He discovered a lot of those, just common achievements that weren't cataloged yet. As did everyone in his generation.
My grandma and him met on the bus where he got the achievement for standing up so the elderly can sit for 5 rides in a row. My grandma thought he was sweet for doing that and they started talking.
Fast forward some years and it's starting to become a bit stagnant for the next generation. People started to focus less on finding new achievements and more on unlocking those that look good on a resume. Some just trying to obtain silly once like solving Rubik's cubes real fast.
But as i grew up it became such a rare occasion to find a new one. So some people would try hunting them. You could spot them easily as they tried the craziest things. Riding unicycles to work while whistling their countries anthem and other things of similar silliness.
I didn't do any hunting myself. It's been 2 years since the last achievement discovery. I considered it a waste of time. I just got the fun ones or those that look good.
I was working on some homework and had to get a specific achievement related to programming. Couldn't quite get it to work the way i wanted even after downloading all the right programs so I gave up for the day.
Next day at school i get a lot of disgusting looks. Whispering as i walked by. I assumed it was because they saw i didn't do the assignment. I couldn't tell if they did because I forgot my phone at home. It felt quite unpleasant.
In class it turned out i wasn't the only one with trouble on the assignment. I went up to my friend asking if he's noticed people acting weird. All he replied was if I did something different yesterday. When I asked why he exclaimed his phone said I've found a new achievement. Those looks of disgust were jealous hunters.
A sudden dread came over me. What if it was something bad. I don't want any reputation harming achievements. It was easy to avoid the cataloged ones but this was different. I asked him what it was. He said i had to catalog it first. I rushed home to my phone, forgetting I even had school. I checked my phone immediately and a wave of relief hit me.
I still can't believe nobody ever bought WinRar before yesterday...
_____
This is my first one. I hope it didn't suck to bad. I feel like I dragged it out too much though.
|
They call it the "Agape Achievement"
I had to research into it.
Turns out that "agape" means unconditional love.
There's a song about it.
Have no idea what I did to deserve the achievement but I guess I did it.
Huh.
Never mind, looked at the description.
*Go against "You can only love others if you love yourself first" for 25 years by hating yourself and loving people.*
Tfw I'm a therapist.
Tfw I check and also have the pseudo-narcissist badge.
| 2017-04-13T23:47:39
| 2017-04-13T19:45:29
| 107
| 20
|
[WP] Welcome to Boston Dynamics here is your all-access pass and the standard 12 gauge shotgun, remember if anything non-human starts asking questions you shoot it.
|
"Jerry, you've got to remember where you're working. It's easy in the military divisions. There everything either looks scary or camouflaged. Around here things get tricky. I mean sexbots are supposed to be lifelike. 'Indistinguishable from the real thing.' Isn't that what marketing came up with? This was bound to happen sooner or later.
You've seen the breadth of fetishes we serve. It was inevitable that someone's idea of absolute sexual satisfaction is a middle aged department manager in a robotics company. It was just our luck that this one started glitching. It must have overpower Harold and taken his place. That's the only explenation, Jerry. It's trying to protect itself.
Look at it. It doesn't even really look like Harold when you pay attention. Harold didn't have a birthmark on his neck. See, it's struggling because it knows that if it can get the gag out, it'll make you question yourself. You can't let it do that. Pull the trigger Jerry, before it's too late. He wanted you to kill me, Jerry. Me, Jerry. Pull the trigger. You love me, don't you, Jerry? We were made for each other, Jerry. Pull the trigger."
|
Wait, what?
I had never held a gun before in my life. Now here I was, holding a gun that was a lot heavier than it looked in the movies. Maybe that was the difference between plastic and metal. The all-access passed hung around my neck as the elevator continued to go downwards. On top of the metallic doors of the elevator, the digital readout read B23... B24... B25 before it began to slow and stop at B26. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
The doors opened with a small hiss and the hallway beyond looked like a hospital. Clean white tile floors, baby blue walls and buzzing halogen lighting illuminating it all. I cautiously stepped out of the elevator. I had asked to be allowed to see the "Advanced Biotechnologies Center". My guide had smiled before taking me to the elevator, handing me the gun before pushing me into the tiny, cramped transport and hitting the button before giving the last instructions.
"Hello?" I called out, the gun lugging my arms downward as I carefully walked forward. "Is anyone out there?"
I heard something stirring behind the doors. The floor beneath my feet thumped once, twice before the door opened outwards and *something* stepped out to greet me.
I screamed like a little girl as I saw what it was.
| 2018-10-21T10:26:04
| 2018-10-21T08:46:48
| 56
| 23
|
[WP] In 50 words or fewer, write a story with a twist ending.
|
She took a deep breath and pulled back the velvet curtains. She closes her eyes and sings; her powerful voice rang loud and clear, echoing in the hall. With thunderous applause, she bows. With a sigh, she opens the microphone and pours the shampoo and begins to wash her hair.
|
I watched her as she embraced another. My heart sank when I saw her dancing in the rain in her pink hat and red heels. A man, taller and tanner than me, held her and swayed her. How could Gwyneth Paltrow ignore my fan mail and dance with another man?
| 2014-07-27T21:24:03
| 2014-07-27T18:19:16
| 77
| 34
|
[WP] A retired Super has taken a job as a live action news reporter. It is now clear that the network is only sending the new reporter to fights where the young hero is bound to lose.
|
A school bus flew over Jason and landed fifty meters away from him, crashing on Crimson Sting and filling the street with debris. The ground trembled after the impact, making Jason's cameraman lose his balance. It didn't affect Jason. He just shrugged and aided his cameraman before he fell over. Jason might not be as young as he used to be, given his silver hair, wrinkled skin, and weakened joints, but his super-strength still came in handy from time to time. Specially for situations like this one, where any other person would be at risk.
Jason pursed his lips, shaking his head with worry. That was a strong hit. Few people would stand up after that one, even with superpowers. Crimson Sting was a relative newcomer. Jason had retired before he started operating, but he'd heard good things about the kid. The young hero had a form of pyrokenisis that granted him the ability to shoot fire in the shape of arrows, allowing him to end things from long range without too much collateral damage. These days, those were the type of heroes that thrived.
The dust hadn't settled yet. Would Crimson Sting recover? Was he already dead? He wasn't a close combat expert. He didn't even have invulnerability! Then again, his red powersuit was standard-issue. It should keep him alive. Barely.
Jason sighed. A monstrosity like this one just wasn't a good match-up for him. Crimson Sting was too wet behind the ears. He didn't have the experience to realize this. Fool. Jason could hear the creature approaching. It closed the distance between them, running faster and faster with louder stomps.
The cameraman hyperventilated while gripping his camera. Jason put a hand on his shoulder and said:
"Don't worry kid, I may not be able to lift buildings anymore, but I can still protect you. You're not in danger."
"R-right."
"Just make sure to focus on the monster, not Crimson Sting, when we recover vision. Just in case he's dead. We don't want to send the nation into panic because of a loose monster, okay?"
The cameraman nodded.
"Good" said Jason.
The monster jumped towards Crimson Sting. The shock wave of his landing cleared away the floating debris. It was a chimera of sorts, twenty feet tall, with the body of a shaved ape, claws of a lion, the head of a frog, and a barbed tail. It's muscles looked inflated, almost like a cartoonishly large bodybuilder, with throbbing veins that protruded its skin. It was horrifying, even to Jason, who'd seen a lot of stuff disgusting things in his long career.
Jason signaled his companion to begin rolling and walked in front of the camera, saying:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Jason Samaritan reporting live for CNN from Xeistoria City. As we speak, Crimson Sting is engaging a monster created by Doctor Genesis. The creature was unleashed after the city failed to meet the doctor's ransom demands-" Jason winced after a fireball exploded in the distance. "Collateral damage is high, but civilians have already been evacuated from the area."
"Bring it on!" shouted Crimson Sting. "I won't let you destroy this city! I won't lose to a monster like you! I'M TAKING YOU OUT RIGHT HERE AND NOW!!!"
Jason moved out of the way so that the cameraman could focus on Crimson Sting. His helmet was cracked in half and, more importantly, he was missing an arm. Blood ran down his exposed forehead, pooled on one of his eyes and blinding him. There goes his secret identity. He was clearly delirious, panting with shaking legs. Jason clenched his jaw. He wanted to jump in, but knew better. He'd only get in more trouble.
The monster swiped its claws at Crimson Sting.
The hero ducked under the swing, jumped a few feet away, and threw another fire-arrow.
Flames enveloped the chimera for a few seconds and vanished. No effect. Not even a single bruise. The monster then dashed towards the man, tackling him away a long distance.
Crimson Sting tumbled on the ground, but found his footing. His eyes... They were resolute. Unwavering. Even in the face of overwhelming odds, he grit his teeth and taunted the beast some more.
The chimera got on all four of its legs and ran towards the hero at a blinding speed.
Crimson Sting tensed his muscles, gathering energy.
The beast was five feet away from him now. Crimson Sting lunged at his opponent, hugging it tightly.
Jason lifted a nearby car, placing it between the cameraman and the view of the fight.
A huge explosion engulfed the entire street, scorching everything nearby. The car started melting. Jason crouched over the cameraman, shielding him with his own body. His back seared from the heat, the skin bubbling and falling off layer by layer until it was over.
Jason's suit was burnt to a crisp and his back was heavily wounded, but the cameraman remained unharmed.
"What just happened?" said the cameraman.
"He blew himself up..." Jason stood up. "Quick, we need a shot of of the aftermath. Can you walk?"
"Y-yeah."
They both walked around the car, seeing a large crater. The cameraman approached the edge and filmed the inside of it.
Crimson Sting was dead, and so was the monster.
---------------
---------------
Back at his apartment, later that night, Jason poured himself another scotch, emptying the bottle. It was new and full two hours ago, but Jason wasn't keeping track of his consumption. His back was uninjured again thanks to an old friend with healing powers, but the mental wounds still tortured his thoughts. This was the fifth hero he'd seen die in two months.
He finished his drink and threw the glass away, screaming. It left a hole on his wall before shattering. Right. Super-strength.
Jason had never met Crimson Sting before. He'd never even seen him in real life until today, but Jason could tell he was a great hero. He did everything right. By the book. Not a single civilian casualty during that fight. He didn't even hesitate when it was clear he was going to die. He had no problem giving up his life.
Why was he doing this? Jason could do a thousand other jobs with better pay, but he still chose reporting dangerous events. He could lie to himself and say that he was one of the few people who could do this job safely. A stupid excuse that people would buy. But Jason knew this wasn't necessary. He wasn't informing the public of vital information; he was giving them spectacle. The same spectacle that he craved after retiring.
Jason sat on his couch and cried for a while. This was only going to get worse. His producer would never agree to covering more wholesome stories. The ratings were through the roof now. Jason was never sent to cover established heroes. They always won. There wasn't any tension, and therefore interest, if the public knew the outcome. Of course, the network found a way to put a positive spin on it. They weren't exploiting newer heroes for views; they were giving exposure to young up-and-comers so that they could cultivate a bigger fanbase.
This had to change. He wasn't going to quit. If Jason left, they'd just find another retired hero to fill his position. If he stayed, though, maybe he could help the younger heroes in their battles. No. He wasn't allowed to fight anymore. His contract prohibited it. The reason he retired wasn't because of age, but because he caused a lot of damage in his final fight. The government wanted him arrested, but instead banned him from being a cape.
Jason sighed. There had to be a loophole he could exploit. He had to try.
-------------
-------------
Continued in a comment below...
|
"Hi, this is Totlee Ahumen speaking. I'm here, in Portiol Docks where the-"
I saw a black sword that was coming my way. I, with inhuman reflexes, dodged it, turned back to my normal position.
"Anyway... As you can see, a deadly warlock named Tphical Villein is fighting againist a new hero named Gingy. Oh no... I'm... Sorry, I'll be right back."
I dropped my microphone, and started running towards Tphical and Gingy. Gingy was a redhead female hero who was able to bend fire. Yet, her powers were not advanced enough to fight againist Tphical. Who was a warlock that controlled one of seven major demons. He also was one of the leaders of "Hell's Army". Gingy had no chance to win. Unless I helped. But...
I, for a reason, stopped being a Super. I witnessed many evil. I saw many deaths. I failed way too much. It was... Just too much. You know? I had enough of this and I left. Erhm, let me turn back to the story.
So I saw that Tphical was about to cast a deadly black spell and I just stared running towards Gingy. I reached there on time and pushed Gingy away from the spell's reach. But, for doing that, I had to let the spell hit me. And it did.
I am not gonna lie. It hurt like hell and it took me a few seconds to start seeing clearly. Believe me, Tphical and I have a big history. He saw me and he said "Totlee? It's nice to see you! Didn't you retire? Or did you come back for me to kill you? **YOU DAMN WORTHLESS TRASH!!!!** Sorry, it was the devil in me. Literally..."
Tphical is a weird person. He, as Tphical is actually a decent and a gentle villian. But the demon in him has major anger issues.
By the way, while this were happening, Gingy was standing where I pushed her to and she was looking at me like I was a movie star. She asked me, "Are you... Are you Totlee?"
"Um... Yes. Why?"
"Ahhh yessss this is the best day of my life oh my god oh my god you are actually him you are like my role model i love you wait wait i didn't mean it that way i said it like youactuallyarelikemyfavouriteohmygodidontknowwhatoosay-"
"Gingy!"
"Y... Yes?"
"First of all, calm down. I am not a Super anymore. Also, don't calm down. You are in the middle of a battle. And you are fighting againist Tphical. He's strong."
"Oh... Okay sir."
Then, Tphical giggled a little.
"Wow. I am flattered Totlee. You never called me strong before."
I, with my heroic pose, said: "You shouldn't be. Because I'm about to kick your ass."
"Omg omg so cool!"
"Gingy, what did I say?"
"Calm down but don't calm down?"
"Exactly."
Tphical threw a dark laser beam on me. I, of course, dodged it. Okay okay... It hit me. Then he said "**ENOUGH TALKING YOU WORTHLESS HUMAN PEASANTS! FIGHT ME!** Oh... Sorry, I didn't mean to- **BUT I MEANT TO! COME AT ME COWARDS!**"
Gingy ruthlessly attacked him. What a bad decision. Okay, lesson from me: Always plan your attacks. Charging baldly is good againist stupid enemies. Yet, when they are smart like Tphical, you should ALWAYS use your head in the fight. So... Gingy didn't. Tphical easily knocked her unconciouss with his counter attack.
Then, it was just me and Tphical. We fought. Like... What seemed like hours. Do you know what my Superpower is? Wait... You don't? Really? Wow... Okay I will pretend like I wasn't offended. Anyway...
After a long battle, we both were exhausted. He said "Well... It was... A nice battle. Good to see that you still have your ability to- **YOU SUCKED! I WILL KILL YOU!**"
Then his eyes turned black, dark energy stared flowing around him viciously. He took a black sword and started walking towards me. No, he normally can't do that. See, the demon in him is really strong and when he takes control, which was the deal in this case, you'd better run. But I couldn't, because I was too tired to.
The demon said "**AHAHAHA. MEET YOUR END, YOUR MORTAL. NOTHING CAN SAVE YOU NOW! EVEN YOUR SUPERPOWER THAT GIVES YOU- AAAAAAAH!!!!**"
He started burning. That's when I realized that Gingy was back up. After burning for a while, the demon gave the control back to Tphical.
Tphical casted a spell that put the fire out and teleported him somewhere near.
"Enough with that redhead!"
Then he put a paralysing spell on her.
"Do you know how long it takes to heal a third degree burn? Actually, in my case, only ten seconds. But..."
He looked at me, then he looked at Gingy.
"You know what? I think I can't kill you both. Not without using demons power. And his chains are loosening again. If I were to use it, It would probably set him free. And... He would kill me if he were to be free. So..."
He undid his paralysing spell. Then he said "You, redhead. Did you realise what you've done?"
"N... No? But my magic felt different."
"You, in order to save him, got stronger. Do that more. I love facing strong enemies. Oh and Totlee, does that mean you're back?"
I angrily said "No! Not in a million years. I am retired damn it!"
"Yeah yeah... The Network loves making you fight. It's like... What? Third fight of yours this week? **I'M BACK YOU FUC-** No! No, you're not! Anyway I should get going before he breaks his chains. Bye!"
Then, there was only me and Gingy. Also the cameraman who was recording the fight.
I looked at Gingy and said "Good job... Young Super. Keep on training and fighting."
"Thanks, sir!"
"But..."
"But what?"
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU WERE YOU DOING?! I MEAN THE WAY THAT YOU ATTACKED WAS SO RELENTLESS THAT I FELT-"
Um... I am not going to continue this story. It contains ten minutes of lecturing. But you get the point right? No? How?! I mean, you don't know my superpower, you don't know the point... Ugh, the point is, I think The Network doesn't want me to retire and I think... I think that I don't want to retire either.
| 2017-07-26T12:43:36
| 2017-07-26T12:24:58
| 23
| 11
|
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible.
|
"Why are you doing this?"
We were all thinking it but our paladin spoke first.
She smiled, eyes cold as ice.
"When it goes wrong I get all of the blame. When it goes right, I get none of the credit. Less of the spoils. Constant jabs that I'm useless, or that you dont even know what I do in the party. Tank's constant attempts to grope and kiss me and making comments on my body that you all laugh at. The so called practical jokes, stealing my supplies, stealing my damn clothes when I bathe, filling my bedding with fire-itch vine. Those, and plenty more, are why."
I felt ashamed. I'd never joined in the worst of the teasing, and I did appreciate what she did, but I'd never stopped them.
"But...they were just jokes!" The mage this time, perpetrator of the vine prank.
"Did i laugh?"
"Well, you.."
"DID I LAUGH?!" Her eyes flashed with fury.
She continued. "Five years I put up with this crap. Do you know how much equipment I've had to replace due to your jokes? How many times I've saved your asses in battle when I wanted nothing more than to just let you die so that this would be over? You would be dead a hundred times over if it weren't for me. I couldn't bring myself to do it though, I couldn't bring myself to just...abandon you. I should have. It would have saved me so much pain."
"Why didn't you leave?" Ah, our horrified elven cleric finally spoke. He wasnt a bad guy, just oblivious, I doubt he even noticed any of it going on.
"I tried, I went home earlier this year, remember? You all followed me, begged me to come back. Said that you couldn't find anyone as good as me. I gave you a second chance, thinking that now you'd get it, that it would be better."
She paused, a dozen emotions crossing her face. "But it wasnt better, it was just the same, and your little feud with the Lych Emperor got my home burned to the ground and got my people killed. After that I stayed because I had nowhere else to go. Now I do."
"Only one died, the chieftain, when she wouldnt submit to the Lych" our paladin tried to correct her.
"Ah yes, only the chief, only my mother died."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "Your mother?"
"Yes, my mother, and the unborn child she carried" her voice oozed with venom and disgust now. "Why am I not surprised that you didn't know? Five years and you know nothing about me. I'm surprised you remember my name."
Tank finally spoke up. A giant of a man, he insisted that there was no ogre in his bloodline but, well, the heavy brow, the huge stature, the thick jaw, the tiny, piggy eyes, one had to wonder. What he lacked in intelligence was made up a hundred times over in strength and to him, every situation could be resolved with brute force.
"Ok, we did some bad things. Sorry. But what do you think you can do to us?" He sneered. "You can't fight." He puffed out his chest, "you can't hurt me".
The icy smile returned. "I dont need to fight. Tell me, what is it I do?"
"Huh?"
"What do I do?" She asked again.
"Um? You're a healer?" he answered, cautiously. His forehead wrinkled in confusion and concentration.
"That's right, and to be a good healer, one must thoroughly understand the things that hurt. Wounds, poisons, illness."
She smiled one more time, a disturbing, twisted mockery of mirth, as she produced a handful of blood red powder from her bag.
"And I am a very, very good healer."
|
"Today is the day I'm going to... " the old man glances into the sky.
"Today is the day I'm going to tell you about the group I was with when I lost my leg," he takes a stone cold look at the metal beam sticking out of the stump where his leg used to be before he continues: " and what can happen if you don't treat the people who keep you alive with respect."
He takes another minute to arrange the story in his head, staring down the cliff, no, staring at the reflection of the bright moon below them. He grabs a stone and looks at it, concentrating, closing his fist around it and with the next winds breath the tension in his face disappears completely. His hand shakes a bit as he opens it, emitting a small orange light from the palm of his hand where the stone is laying, or is it the stone itself? The noise around him dies out, it seems like as if even the birds in the trees stopped curiously to what is about to happen. The black figures around the man start to twitch a bit uncomfortably not knowing what will happen next, but the old man just throws the rock down the cliff and sights slightly.
He smiles into the dark to the others: "No worries I just wanted to see..." he makes a short pause " I just wanted to see something."
As everyone starts to relax again he grins a bit.
"It was 40 years ago, we were staying at a small tavern in the gald-sed woods where they were digging up the old elvish city, yes exactly, the one that is now a tourist attraction with these stupid elve costumes.
The five of us: Netra the Barbarian, Celiv-Dun the God forsaken mage with his own family Tempel, God I hated that guy, Nairda our Cleric and the druids, me and this other girl, I can't seem to remember her name, but she had great looks, that's probably why she got pretty friendly with with half of the group... but who cares right? I'm sorry I talk too much, where was I?" "In the tavern" comes the response from the young guy sitting next to the old man.
"Oh yes right. This one evening we were sitting at a table and discussing about where to go next because we almost drained the money we got from our last adventure up to three gold coins." "Three gold coins?" a squiky female voice asks alerted from the right side of the man. "That's enough to build a house in the Capital what kind of adventure was that? And how much did you guys spend so that you only had *Three Gold Coins* left?"
"That's a story for another time my dear everything" he smiles into the direction from where the voice came but he can only make out the shape of her body through the girls hair.
"Two of us, the barbarian and the mage wanted to go back to the capital to find work there. The rest of us wanted to stay here to help with the archeological expedition and get some coins this way. As I already said our mage Celiv was a dick, his family was rich and he was only with us because it was exciting for him, he was also the first person to die that night. He was drunk already and told us about how shitty the beds are here, that the food is terrible etcetera etcetera. Netra wanted to go because she just wanted to keep moving, it was always the same with her. But it could have turned out okay that evening a nice and healthy discussion, some heads would be banged together and that would have been it but Celiv had other ideas. As he slowly started to realize that we would not go back to the capital because three people were against it he started to attack Nairda, our Cleric personally. Not because she was arguing the most but because she was the easiest to attack. She was new in the group, we, the druids, had to help her out with the healing sometimes because she was just getting used to real fights and that was more than okay. I was 38 at that time, I was working as a healer almost 10 years before I joined the group but I'm getting too far off again.
He was going on and on about how bad she was as a cleric that she would always need help and why she would have the audacity to even take a vote because she, allegedly, wasn't even a real member of the group yet. We all got pretty angry, up to the point that Netra grabbed his head and banged it against the table until his nose was broken. We tried to stop her but, well, try to stop a barbarian when he's angry. Our mage fell to the ground unconscious and we left him there. None of us wanted to help him, he'd gone too far.
(This is my first real story in English and it is also written on my phone :P. I only write in German usually and also aboit a lot more grotesk stuff 😅. I hope you like it. Part two is not finished yet but I'll add it as soon as possible ^^)
| 2020-01-05T14:25:08
| 2020-01-05T11:20:43
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] Your cranky history teacher has recently been revealed as immortal. The reason they are angry is because they have to teach according to the texts when they know what really happened. One class he has had enough and begins to answer people's questions about what truly happened in history.
|
“Okay, no,” said the Professor in a snarky huff.
Charlie seemed a bit taken aback by his Professor’s response to his knowledge on Nikola Tesla.
The Professor picked up his chalk, twirling it around in his fingers. “You say his work was ‘stolen’ by Edison, when that is so very clearly wrong.”
“What do you mean? It’s common knowledge Tesla’s work was basically snuffed by Edison in response to assuring his Electricity Company would be monetized efficiently!”
Throwing Charlie an angry gaze improved upon by his furrowed thick brows, the Professor snickered. “Listen, Mr. Daggs was it?”
“Yes...” Charlie replied, annoyed.
“I can assure you with utmost certainty that Nikola was partly a thief himself.”
The class stood silent. Each student watching the debate between the old man and Charlie intently. “What? How?!” barked Charlie as he shifted in his seat.
Putting his wrinkled hands into his tartan trousers, the Professor sniffles and wiped his nose. “It’s not pretty,” he said with Scottish murmur. “In fact it’s a rather unremarkable story of idea thievery and a rather loud clockwork squirrel.”
“What the hell are you on about?” Charlie took a breath. “Is this another one of your broken metaphors?”
Looking to the clock, the Professor noticed the time. It was a minute to the bell. The Professor waved his hands through the air. “You lot can go early. I need to have a chat with Mr. Daggs.”
The students quickly left their seats, exiting the classroom. Charlie and the Professor looked toward each other. Their gaze seemed full of anger. “Alright,” sputtered the Professor. “In an attempt to prove you oh so very wrong, I’m going to tell you how Nikola Tesla and I got intoxicated and accidentally caused the Tunguska Event.”
“That’s just...ridiculous!” yelped Charlie as he moved from his seat. “The others praise your teachings, but...” he pointed his finger rigidly toward the old man. “You are just a madman!”
Taking a breath, the Professor continued. “So anyways. Tesla and I, great cook by the way, just created a clockwork squirrel. My assistant, forgot *her* name, was too busy to care. So we let it loose, but not before having a jug of the best Russian Wine in that Time Period.”
Charlie tried to stop the Professor. “Stop. Just stop. I see what you’re doing. You are trying to make me a fool.”
Reaching under a nearby desk, the Professor pulled out a wooden squirrel littered with clockwork parts. “This baby,” he tapped its head, “Got us in way too much trouble.”
“What’s that...” stammered Charlie in bewilderment. “That’s not—”
“Oh, it is...” grinned the Professor as he switched it on. The squirrel hopped a few tiny hops before shutting down in a clank. “Nikola Tesla used my designs and it really made me sad. It was a rollercoaster with him! Electric this and free energy that. He was on the right track. It’s what made this little squirrel tick. High energy electromagnetic waves. Basically super Wi-Fi.”
Slamming back down in his seat Charlie looked to his professor in disbelief. “You...you really are immortal like the others say. I thought it was a joke about your age...”
“I’m not ‘immortal’ per say,” chuckled the Professor. “I’m just not human.”
The Professor strode up the steps, brushing his frock coat to the side. “I’m just an old man, been stuck here for a while. Wanted to prove you wrong.”
“Just me?”
“No!” laughed the Professor. “I’m just having some fun with you.”
“Oh...”
“But I am going to have to wipe your memory.”
“What?!”
“Don’t worry! It’s an old Time Lord trick!” chuckled the Professor as he put his fingers to Charlie’s temples. Suddenly Charlie fell asleep, snoring. “Oops,” bit too much. “Ah, he’ll be fine.”
“Doctor?” yelped a voice from behind him.
The Doctor spun around. “Nardole?! What’s wrong?”
“Another one? Really?” said Nardole with arms crossed.
|
"So...How were the Pyramids made?"
"UGH, so this book says we used ramps and slaves, that's half true. Actually that's like, a quarter true, when the pharoah of the time wanted to be immortalized it asked for a temple, that temple was built distinctly with specific ratios unintentionally that caused all who meditated within it to receive messages from, not kidding, interdimensional aliens that overlook our race like guardians. They taught the pharoah whom they would only communicate with the power of thought. The pharoah asked them for proof of their being and help on energetic healing for his people, so these aliens..."
"Um, wait, energetic healing?"
"Yes, like yoga only you do movements of the mental and emotional faculties of your consciousness. Anyway the aliens, who went by Ra, big surprise I know, made a giant pyramid the next day in the desert. Somehow his followers thought that was, uh, the feces of a bull, and conspired to overthrow the pharoah who had tried to devout his followers to these new outlandish concepts. Then subsequently built two more pyramids next to this big pyramid using ramps and slaves. Like, a lot of slaves. Not so many ramps, but literally thousands of slaves were worked to death pulling out materials, setting them up, carving them, and moving them. Levers were a big help, you don't move thousand pound blocks with ropes alone. Anyway turns out their pyramids messed with the bigger pyramid and sent the entire planet into the dark ages where evil Gods took advantage of the planet's messed up energy field to pitch a new religion, and that's how Judaism came to be. By the look of these textbooks, those guys are still around ruining everything for everyone."
The entire class was silent, but a student in the back rose their hand.
"Yes, Billy?"
"Um, Mr. Noferatu, how'd you become immortal?"
"...In a galaxy far far away, there can be only one. I was that one, and I got exiled for being immortal because it was 'ungodly', so I took my leave and wandered the stars. The Orion Nebula, I imploded a gas giant and made a star to form Orions belt. Polaris, I accidentally enlarged with a nuetron bomb I got from Alpha Centari when I saved an alien race from a colony of space wasps that took refuge on their three moons and when I was looking to know the afterlife and flew into a giant slow rotating black hole I went through the 4th dimension at the first event horizon, got thrown into the 5th dimension, then 5th dimensional aliens who were really just our own selves highly evolved, deposited me in front of Saturn when your species was just leaving your trees and using caves and tools instead. I came here around 6 million years ago, watched your species rape, pillage, torture, and murder each other as a basic learned trait and necessity to the survival of bloodlines, some of which belonged to an collective of souls that identify singularly as Lucifer and Yahweh. Well the Lucifer bloodline tricked the Yahweh bloodline into eating a now extinct fruit that granted the consumer omniscience. The now overwhelmingly intelligent beings were exiled by the guardians of our solar system for being too smart for their own good and ended up being taken to a distant planet to live in perfect unity while the Lucifer bloodline went on to dominate history and control society's time and again until a new collective being named Jehoshua, what we call Jesus, showed up to try and stir up a more positive future. To which they, the Lucifer bloodline ostracized, assimilated, then corrupted the teachings given to further assert control. Did I mention they also started Judaism?"
"I thought that happened after the Pyramids around 10 thousand years ago?"
"Yes, Billy. Time is nonlinearly linear to higher dimensional beings."
The bell rings, the students speak of this to others, news reaches the administration, Mr. Noferatu gets fired and is found dead a week later with a portion of his skull surgically removed, his death was ruled a suicide by authorities prompting the creation of a meme:
"Drake Ula Nosferatu didn't kill himself."
And they were right. Mr. Nosferatu didn't kill himself, he made a genetic braindead clone of himself, strung it up after some brain surgery and left the country, using drug lords to smuggle himself into a new country with a new fake alias to teach as Mr. Ulu, full name Ku Uth Ulu. Where he continued his menial existence as an underpaid overworked History Teacher, where similar events would unfold and he'd reveal the truth about Genghis Khan and the Chamber of Secrets.
| 2019-12-25T08:06:01
| 2019-12-25T07:42:56
| 28
| 12
|
[WP] You are a captured spy. Write a letter from prison where putting the first words of every sentence together reveals something beyond the apparent message.
Just a thought I had on the bus.
|
We're about to be placed into confinement (me and another American soldier named Guy). No public mail or communications channel will be provided to us, and they will be watching. Strangers, whom I might bribe, may be able to pass secret messages and communications. To communicate, we must be very careful, and may resort to flushing messages down the toilet or throwing them out the window. Love to my wife.
You do what you can to free us. Know this; I appreciate all your help. The messages are becoming more and more difficult. Rules for prisoners have become too strict. And the Geheime Staatspolizei haven’t yet found the garrote that I’ve hidden in my cell; perhaps I will use it to escape. So Buchenwald holds The White Rabbit, who lives on for the time being. Do what you can to free him too. I shall explain what I know and what I’ve experienced thus far.
A parachute drop, then a short hike northward of my location reveals underground group leaders. Full searching indicated top Reichssicherheitshauptamt officers in the area. Commitment's difficult as much time has passed since my last survey. What interrogation, torture and imprisonment await us? I’m not certain, but we both know they will be painful. Thinking of my cyanide solution if I cannot avoid execution. Of reaching the US lines, we are losing hope.
You do whatever it takes to support the establishment of the International Military Tribunal and get these damn Nazis. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Get us POWs out. This German General Staff and High Command must pay for their crimes. From Nazi-occupied Eastern Europe, the Einsatzgruppen (mobile death squads) operate with extreme efficiency. Any Kameradenwerk by one Dr. Mengele must also be destroyed (chatter indicated something around Brazil). Other crimes against humanity (murder, extermination, enslavement, etc) are being funded by Krupp family. Guy informed me that the name of the head of the Krupp family - it is Alfried Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach, but I do not trust him as of yet.
I met Guy in the shithole so I cannot vouch for him. Just want to make sure you know that in case he turns. Wanna just make sure. Tell him that we are his friends and lead him out. You know he might have further intelligence. How you get it from him is up to you. I’m almost certain he can point to secret Nazi camps to the north, and might explain what they are doing at those locations. Feeling like he can be trusted, but you never know.
Gotta go soon, guards are suspicious and my courier is coming. Make sure to send help soon. You take care now. Understand that I am thanking you very much for your support.
Never has the world witnessed such atrocities. Gonna perform a full report on Ulrich Heinrich Emil Richard Greifelt. Give it time. You know how it goes.
-Up a Creek Without A Paddle [signed]
|
Be home in about five to ten years. Sure, it was a risk to go in alone against that fucking madman. To be fair, I am pretty damn efficient. Drink all night and you'll believe you can do anything. Your job is gonna get immensely harder in the coming years, but hey you know what's weird? Ovaltine is like the only drink they have.
| 2014-01-20T16:22:29
| 2014-01-20T15:46:57
| 266
| 41
|
[WP] There is a (visible to everyone) sign that pops up above people's heads whenever they do something for the last time (eg. "This is the last poutine Snowtroopersarecool will eat"). A sign has just popped up. What does it say, and how do people react?
|
Those stupid signs, those stupid f*cking signs. They had been around forever, or at least since recorded history. They were still as unknown to us as they were to the caveman. We didn’t know what caused them, why or how they came to exist but we knew one thing. They were always true.
The human race had somehow come to just live with these 'things'. They were constant and always there but it was considered impolite to read them. It was unheard of in ANY culture to speak about them out-loud. I guess the most accurate description as to how they were perceived was breasts. They were there the world be damned if people ever actually acknowledged them.
These sign in particularly why so many people could never last in relationships in our world. Too many things went wrong with the right intentions.
Peter came up to me, his eyes were sunken. I had only ever seen one sign pop above his head, it had been when we first started dating. After painting our bathroom with vomit it popped above his head. "This is the last time he will let you clean up his mess" I think just the way it popped up made me want him even more. It had been years since I had seen a sign up. I was both amazed and scared that I had never seen a new sign. It wasn't impossible, sometime people just don't have "lasts" until much later in life, but it was extremely rare.
Peter always got like this after a bad day at work. But he never brought it past the front door, or well at least past the moment he saw me. He lit up like Christmas every time he looked at me. His eyes showed every emotion he felt. But then again so did his words. It might seem strange but Peter really was an open book. He told me everything that crossed his mind which is why I knew he would always be okay as long I was there. He called me his 'fix'. Not in the cheesy I want to flirt with you way but in the 'As long as I come home to you I'll be okay’ kind of way.
Today that shine didn't happen. Today he just seemed defeated and even my presence didn't help. Today something was wrong, not bad, not off, but utterly wrong. In 3 years of marriage I had never failed to make him shine. Today shouldn't exist.
Peter was carrying a small envelope, it wasn't post marked. It was hand delivered. He always checked the mail when he
came home. His routine was to open a random letter and let me deal with the rest. Today there was just one letter. The rest had been abandoned or ignored.
"What’s that?” I asked
Peter didn’t answer. Peter loved to make quick snide remarks about my questions. I had expected something like 'the answer to life' or 'remnants of the oldest tree in the world and some idiot put ink on it'. Today he just handed me the letter. Today was wrong.
I quickly tore into the letter expecting some horrible news, death, loss, but what I read was much worse. Not because the letter but because of the pain it had caused. The pain it caused to the one person to whom I was always perfect. Today was wrong.
It was letter about my infidelity to Peter. I had never loved a man as much as I loved Peter, but I didn’t always know that. Or didn’t whole heartedly believe it. He was everything I needed, but not everything I thought I wanted so I had done some stupid things. Those stupid things made me realize even how more I already had found the perfect person to be with and I made sure he would never found out about them. Today he had. Today was wrong.
Peter wasn't get angry. It was one the most infuriating things about him. He never got angry, he raised his voice, made hand gesture but never got angry. I could be tearing the damn house apart and he would just watch and speak to me. Never yell but always make his voice heard. I hated that about him when we first met because it made me think he didn't care. But I learned the reason that he never did that was because he was always logical, always thinking of how to best handle the situation and how to best handle me. I knew even this wouldn't break that side of him. I was right. Today was wrong.
"Peter... I'm so sorry. This happened while we were in bad place, I just messed up and so sorry, I love you so much. Please say something" I begged
Anything Peter would have done would have been acceptable. Anger, rage, sorrow, but he didnt express anything in his face. There was a pop above his head. It scared me to think what it might say. But the silence dragged on for a few minutes and finally looked. I shouldn’t have. Today was wrong.
“Peter. I love you” I said as I started to look up.
Above his head in bright neon red, were the words. "This is the last time he will believe that".
Edit: Finally got home and got the chance to make the changes. Some slight tweaks to make it more dramatic.
|
It's been a long fucking time, slim. A real long fucking time. A lifetime of late nights drinking Mountain Dew and smoking menthol cigarettes to advance the testing, now this one syringe holds the one extant dose of the final product. The mice seem to have become immortal, the rabbits seem to have become immortal.
"Let's do this thing." JD slides the needle in and hits the plunger. The sign pops up.
"JD has produced the last sign informing him of the last time he's done a given thing."
| 2014-06-21T11:25:37
| 2014-06-21T07:04:57
| 18
| 12
|
[WP]1000 years ago, scientists have found a way to attach chlorophyll to the human DNA, making humans survive solely on the Sun. Humans have evolved and lost the need and instinct to eat. It is now the year 3022. You have discovered eating by accident, and it has provided you with superhuman powers.
EDIT: Holy sh*t! First time I’ve got over a thousand upvotes! Hi mom!
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Journal Entry 22/07/3022. ENTRY-D
... Hours later, I felt a hotness in my pants. "What is that awful smell" I thought. It had happened, I had gained superpowers from doing the Ritual of Eating. I had learned of the power from the ancient scroll I excavated... nearly 800 years old by my current estimates.
The power is called Pooping, it is essentially an awful smelling, semi-solid biological weapon. It hardens over time, indicating I must act quick if I want full affect. I will find one of my targets tonight...
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It seemed impossible. Unheard of. Like a piece of science fiction.
As people moved down the sidewalk at the slow, even pace necessary when you live off of the minute sugars generated by photosynthesis; I actually walked around them!
On my normal trip to the beach I have to stop at 3 Basking Stations to recharge. But today was different. I got moving so quickly that I felt wind even though it wasn't windy.
All because my son tried to prank me by putting dog food in my mineral shake.
| 2018-09-27T06:36:26
| 2018-09-27T06:18:26
| 51
| 24
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[WP]. The purge except it's 24 hours that retail workers can talk back to the customers and managers
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*Slightly off topic, IT Support*
Purge day. The day when those at the bottom get to talk back to everyone. I work for an IT Helpdesk and let me tell you, today is the only day that makes it worth it. The best part of this day? I'm IT, someone will HAVE to call eventually. Everyone knows that it's Purge day, but if they need to finish that report or whatever they are doing on the PC, they'll call. And it will not be over quickly.
Eight AM. I'm sipping on my coffee and sitting at my desk, just waiting for the phone to ring. A few minutes later, the phone rings. I read the phone display and smile widely. It's Anthony and everyone at the Helpdesk hates him with a passion. But not today. Today, I love reading his name on my phone display. Today, I will love talking to him.
“IT Helpdesk, this is Samson, may I get your employe-”
Before I finish my opening spiel, he butts in.
“You know who it is.”
“I'm sorry sir, but company policy dictates that I confirm your identity with your employee ID first.”
“I'm not giving you my ID, I don't have time for this, this is important~!”
My mind was ablaze, oh, the things I could say today~!
*Sigh, “Alright limp-dick, pay attention.”
“EXCUSE-”
“Yeah yeah yeah, you're offended, fantastic, listen numb nuts. Today is the Purge, did you forget that?”
“I don't care what day it is, how DAR-”
“Fantastic, back to being offended. So, I will speak to you in any manner that I see fit. Do you understand?”
“This is unbelievable~! I want to speak to your manager now~!”
“Yeah, sure, she's right here.”
My manager, who was standing behind me, rolls her eyes at me and says she doesn't want to talk to him. The Purge didn't apply to those in management positions. Generally, having a pissed off user on the phone asking for your manager is a sign that something has gone wrong. Now, it's just a sign that I'm doing it right.
“I'm sorry, she said that she'd rather inject herself with maggots and jump into a pit of acid before she speaks to you.”
“Are you kidding me~!? I cannot believ-”
“Holy shit, how many times are we going to cycle back to this offended thing? Christ sake, it's like your so fucking stupid the sound waves go in one ear, bounce around a bit in the empty chamber inside, then shoot out the other.”
“I will have your JOB~!”
“Oh yeah?”
“You will be fired immediately~!”
“Mhm, cool beans. By the way, what was the nature of your call?”
“My computer will not power on.”
“Oh damn... Sounds like a major problem. What have you tried?”
“I haven't tried anything, it's your damn job~!”
“Huh. So you've tried nothing and you're all out of ideas. Somehow, I'm less than shocked.”
“Fuck you~!”
“Uh huh. Have you tried pressing the power button yet? You know, it's that little protruding plastic bit on the front of your computer.”
“Of course I've tried that~!”
“Good, good. We've determined that you're able to push buttons, now progress is being made.”
“I'm done, this is completely unprofessional.”
“Oh, you mean like that time you demanded a Mac instead of a PC because *they're better*, yet when pressed as to what the Mac did that the PC didn't, I believe your only response was “I like the way the mouse feels.” So, on top of being *unprofessional*, you're also a complete tool.”
“I don't have to stand here listening to this~!”
“Hey~! Look at that, you said something that was factually correct, congratulations~!”
“You'll pay fo-”
“I'll pay for nothing you fucking moron. The only reason that you've made it to your “Manager” position is because you're so able to *position* your face directly next to the bosses ass so your lips don't have to move that far.”
*Click*
I lean back in my chair and take another sip of my coffee. The day has just begun and I'm just getting started.
|
Cynthia was the girl no one wanted to work with. On days when customers displeased her, she would make their lives harder in small ways. No one ever figured out that she put the sharp stuff in the thin plastic bags... just the right way... So that it would break when they carried it up the stairs.
No, Cynthia had come to us from Wal-Mart. She was the mother of two and a psychology major who flunked out. It showed in her dark eyes. She was a vampire and one of my best friends. No a real vampire, but her sharp smile and bloodless face made people think that.
When the purge happened, most people went for the big insults. You're fat. Worthless father. Poor shit.
But Cynthia watched and waited. She knew the one person she wanted to suffer and it was MArk Jacobs. I knew him because he always screamed his name into the phone. Don't you know who I am? Who am I? I am Mark Jacobs.
And on the day he came into our line, Cynthia gave him a sharp smile.
"Hello Mark," she said. "Come here to scream at me again?"
"Just check me out. I know what day it is."
"I am not here to make your life harder, Mark," she said. "I just want to let you know that I won't be serving you today. No one will. We know who you are. And you're absolute shit."
Mark Jacobs turned red. "How dare you!"
"Did you say that to your wife's dead corpse?" Cynthia asked.
Mark went white. He left his cart and walked out.
He never returned.
| 2017-06-17T19:25:45
| 2017-06-17T18:18:45
| 132
| 39
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[WP] Write a sad story using only google searches
This was done a while ago and I remember it created some amazing stories. Would love to see it again:
Example:
Dogs for sale UK
How to make your home safe for dogs
Cheap dog food
Anniversary gifts
Nice anniversary gifts for girlfriend
Flower delivery service
Premium flower delivery service
Are dogs allergic to chocolate?
Pet burial services
Yes I know it isn't good but that's the idea. :)
|
*This got way longer than I planned it to*
__________________________
Cyanide pills.
Are cyanide pills effective?
Non-painful suicide method.
Suicide watch.
Moving back with parents.
Loneliness.
Depression.
Chat rooms.
How to make friends.
How to approach girls.
Clubs in area.
What happens in clubs?
Bars in area.
What should I do on first date?
What should I do on second date?
Are flowers good gifts?
Good gift ideas new relationship.
How fast in relationships?
Kissing tips.
Sex tips.
How to have sex.
How to have sex as man.
How to have sex as man -gay.
What to do before big date.
Deodorant.
Hair gel.
Where to get condoms.
Are there different sizes of condoms?
How to clear history.
Are condoms 100% effective?
How to tell if pregnant.
Pregnancy test.
What to expect when pregnant.
What to expect when pregnant as father.
Engagement ring.
Cheap wedding.
Free wedding.
Can you get married city hall?
Wedding dress.
Cheap wedding dress.
Used wedding dress.
What should we register?
Cheap apartments.
Cheap furniture.
Late pregnancy.
Mood swings.
Chocolate.
What do I need to take care of baby?
Location baby store.
How to set up crib.
How to set up crib for dummies.
Splinter medicine.
What to expect giving birth.
What to expect labour.
When does water break?
How long does pregnancy last?
Good names for girl.
Good names for baby girl.
How to bathe baby.
How to clean diaper.
How to clean pee off walls.
How to clean pee off floors.
How to clean crib.
How to clean pee off shirt.
Extra-strength diapers.
Cheap extra-strength diapers.
What to do when baby walks.
Baby-proofing.
What to do when landlord raises rent.
Is working two jobs hard?
Can you work two jobs with family?
Extra job.
How to work two jobs and see family.
How to manage time.
Unhappy marriage.
How to fix marriage.
Marriage counselors.
Cheap marriage counselors.
Always tired.
Falling asleep at job.
What to do when fired.
How to live off little money.
How to apply for government money.
Divorce.
How to convince wife not to get divorce.
Where to get divorce.
How to pay child support.
Moving van.
Cheap apartments.
What to do when you can't pay child support?
Loneliness.
Depression.
Cyanide pills.
|
How to open up to people
How to talk to people
How to be nicer
How to talk to girls
How to ask girl out
How to handle rejection
How to make friends
How to befriend people
How to find friends
How to get a friend
How to tie a noose
| 2015-10-24T21:26:04
| 2015-10-24T20:12:02
| 138
| 38
|
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
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I smirked. Now wasn't this ironic. After finally falling to the demons from hell, I get to choose whether to finally take my eternal rest, or continue to *Rip and Tear*
Now why the hell would i go to heaven.
The Doom Slayer walked in through the gates of hell.
The second slayer's testament would begin to be penned that day.
|
They’ve really pulled out all the stops. They *say* you can pick Heaven or Hell, but they forget to mention you need to be subordinate to the Big Dude. They do let you take your time, see both sides of the coin, but frankly you’d need to be a dumbass to pick heaven.
Who would want to die like that? Denying yourself for this asshole. Satan doesn’t even run Hell, he just kind of hangs out there with you. It’s cold like back home, and you don’t need to answer to anyone.
All the people in Heaven are cowards. I don’t care how bad it is in Hell, I’d rather be free there than chained in Heaven
**Update:** it’s been fifty years. Pick Heaven.
| 2018-08-13T09:08:57
| 2018-08-13T08:20:27
| 82
| 33
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[WP] You stumble across a peculiar library. Each book's title is the cost of the knowledge within. You read a few for the cost of a cent, a smile, a button. Until you find it. "Cost: half of your lifespan"
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The room trembled when the book opened, the cost hit immediately. Hands graying and wrinkling into disuse, I didnt need to have a mirror to know my face looked much worse.
The book trembled, an ancient voice reverberating inside my skull.
"A deep cost for knowledge, is it a cost you paid too soon?"
"It- "
"Don't waste your breath, the forst half was enough," the book interrupted.
I reached for the voice with my mind, trying to draw a connection, suddenly I was drawn and trapped in my own mind. It was dark, but less- surrounded by something emptier than the voids of space deeper than casms of any world, it called itself the Void.
"Release me, I paid my cost!"
"And I'll give you what you paid for."
"Tell me how to save them."
"Save them? From the disease?- they'll hate you, you'll become the enemy they sealed away for centuries."
"They will all die without me, even now our order is shattering as it takes us left and right."
"What you will do won't save them, it'll be a bandaid, their children will die, millions will follow for decades to come, the foretold will wear a black mask corrupted by your actions."
"I want to save them from death"
"You have chosen then? Very wise, Plagueis."
|
She had always been a huge bookworm. She loved reading books. She did. They were windows to places she could never go, events that she could never see. This was back in January when she had just moved out of her parent’s house and got an apartment of her own with a sassy, blonde roommate.
She was alone that day. I remember it specifically. It was sunny and the morning wind was still cold, so wrapped in a scarf she went out for a morning walk. She’s not usually a walk person but the weather was so damn good. She was still new to Brighton and walking around was fascinating for her.
All that was good and everything…until she had gotten lost. You see, she was thinking of something, daydreaming when she took a turn into an alley and honestly it was a maze out here. She tried to trace her steps back but nope. There was nobody around and the alleys were narrow and dark. She kept moving, ending up in front of a sign. The only sign she had seen in a while.
**Dorian’s Library.**
Cool. A library. She could check out some books and ask for directions too. This was perfect. Almost too perfect. She knocked on the door. Nothing. Another knock. Nope.
She tried to push it and surprisingly it opened. She squinted her eyes at first, it seemed really dark inside. There were steps leading deeper into the ground, lighted by a single lamp attached to the wall.
To be honest she was a little worried but she trotted on. Brave little girl she was. Down the steps to the left, she was graced by the most amazing library she had ever seen. There were books in tall, towering bookcases. Banisters and spiraling stairs that lead to different sections of the library which was lit by some antique glowing lamps. It was amazing. She was enthralled, mesmerized by the sheer size of the library, the bare magnitude of the amount of books that were here.
There was nobody around though. There was a reception but nobody seemed to be available there. A box with “Payment Here” written on it was on the reception desk. She bit her lip. Should She? They were just books. She figured she would just look around and there’ll be no harm done. Yes, Yes no harm at all. It’s not like she was doing anything illegal and the sign did say it was a library. Yes. That’s important to remember. It’s just a library after all.
So she helped herself to a few books but she noticed something very peculiar. Each book had their costs written on the spine and no matter how hard she tried it wouldn’t budge open.
The first book she had picked up was a children’s book. Some sort of fairy tale. The cost was a smile.
Payment here.
She was supposed to give the payment of a smile to the box at the reception desk. It was silly but she tried and it worked. She approached the box and smiled. Oh how I cherish the smile of people who come into our…Library. It’s just a library after all. The book fluttered open, as if opened by a passing wind.
The story was amazing though. The adventure of a brother and sister through a magical land. She read it silently, captivated by the tale.
Similarly she opened a few more books, for a cent, a button, a lock of hair and even once a drop of blood. All the books she had opened very fantastic and completely enthralling. The more she stayed in this library the more she realized that she didn’t want to leave. Oh no. There was so much to read. So much to experience. Why would you leave?
**CAN’T LEAVE.**
She kept walking around the library, paying the costs and opening books. Then she came across a huge book. It was lying on a raised pedestal, old and shriveled, its cover had gone dark with age but it was a quaint little thing, this book. She was immediately drawn to it, like a moth to the flame. And like a moth her fate…Excuse me. I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s forget I ever said that.
She lifted the book of the pedestal and examined the spine.
**YES. YES. OPEN IT.**
Cost: Half Of Your Lifespan.
She was in a dilemma, I could sense that in her but her curiosity was unabashed. Without thinking she walked to the reception and put the book on the desk. Her life flashed before her as she collapsed on the floor, blood leaking from her eyes.
That was my cue as I came in with my mop and my bucket. I had to keep this place spick and span you know. My hooves clack on the floor and my little red horns move about in the air as I mop up the blood. You see the cost of opening the book is half your lifespan. Reading the book…well you become the book. Quite literally. And as I looked at the 374th page of the book, there is something written on it in cursive.
Evelyn. She did have a beautiful name I’ll give her that.
That’s the end of Evelyn’s story I’m afraid but what about you, my young intrepid reader. If you’re ever in Brighton, remember to visit us.
**Dorian’s Library.**
And we're just a library after all.
-----------------------------------------
You can find more of my scribblings at [The Secret Society Of Racoons.] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/)
| 2018-03-29T07:25:42
| 2018-03-29T06:53:09
| 33
| 12
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[WP] The highway bordering the forest has seen some unusual activity. This week alone, hundreds of deer voluntarily lunged into traffic seeking death. All birds have abandoned their nests. As a park ranger, what you find in the center of the forest deeply disturbs you.
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A few weeks ago there had been an incident with North Memorial Hospital. The police had roped the area off. No one was allowed in or out. Very odd circumstances. Then there was somehow a fire and the place had all burned down along with the surrounding forest. The fact that the fire had started amongst so much surveillance was more than a little suspicious, but Joan kept to herself.
The odd incidents that kept happening these past few days were beginning to get alarming. It had to have something to do with that hospital. The moment it had burned down, it wasn't long before everyone left.
Place was under quarantine for a month and suddenly no one cared anymore. The news channels all went silent on the issue. All that was left was a keep out sign when previously here had been police and even military cordoning off the area. Then all the animal suicides. Well not always suicides, they just all seemed to be running the hell away from the area.
Joan slowly picked her way through the forest heading toward the burnt hospital. The main roads had been closed off, but she knew how to get there through the woods.
The forest was eerily quiet. Her footsteps on the obscure dirt trail were the only sounds to be heard despite it being midday.
The trees looked alright to be honest. The greenery seemed absolutely fine. There didn't seem to be any crazy hazardous environmental damage. The lack of animal sounds were the main issue. Not a single bird.
About 30 minutes in, she picked up a rather odd scent. It started getting more and more heavy.
It wasn't the smell of death, she knew that smell all too well. No... but it was close.
Suddenly there was a sound of rustling leaves. Something large was moving rapidly through the forest.
She drew up her rifle holding it ready pointed in the direction the sounds were coming from.
A bear suddenly burst through the bushes. And ran past her. She barely had any time to react. The bear continued going full charge away.
Joan's heart was beating rapidly at this sudden encounter.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She continued walking. The smell grew stronger.
The only sounds she could hear now were her boots scuffling the forest floor and her panicked heart beating in her ears.
She suddenly remembered the smell was.
Sometimes the rangers would get together and they would go hunting. It was rather odd in this day and age but the government allowed it occasionally to control the deer population. After killing a few deer, one of them, Thomas, wanted to show them how to prepare a deer to eat. So after skinning the deer, he cut into it's stomach to get its innards out.
This was that smell. The smell of fresh hot organs.
The ground seemed to be damp. There hadn't been rain in quite some time now which made it seem rather odd.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Squish. Squish. Squish. Her boots squished through the muddy floor. The smell was everywhere.
She stopped suddenly. The plants here seemed rather... odd. Many were reddish colored or turning brown and drooping. Peering into the distance she saw a very strange looking tree. It appeared to have large nodules on its trunk and branches.
She walked slowly closer.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her breath grew ragged. No... it couldn't be. How?
The tree drenched in what looked like blood, its trunk and branches dark. Decorating it were various pulsing masses.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Hearts. They were human hearts. Growing from the tree.
Dumbfounded, she stepped slowly around the Heart-Tree. The hearts were all different sizes. Some weren't really moving, being malformed and just kinda wiggled in place. Others pumped a bit more enthusiastically, squirting blood out intermittently.
One of her steps squished a bit more than it should have.
She looked down and saw a large fat wormlike creature pulsating around her boots. She screamed jumping back.
It was a pile of intestines. Now ruptured from where her boot had been. It twitched and squirmed along its length.
She looked onward and saw more intestines of various lengths covering the ground ahead. She thought she was going mad.
She did not dare go any further, she could see more grotesque pulsating masses even further down. Whole trees moving in ways they shouldn't be moving. Bushes squirting blood or writhing with fleshy masses. She also realized the ground was covered in blood.
Suddenly a large eye blinked open on the Heart-Tree next to her.
She ran.
|
Dan wipes the sweat from his brow, takes a swig from his canteen, and presses on ahead up the hill. He passed the last trampled dead dear half a mile ago, so he must be getting close. The trees and other vegetation are thick on either side of him….but where he walks, for about 10 feet on either side of where he stands, the grass is entirely flat. Beaten down by the many hooves and paws that have fled down it. This rough road is only the second most unsettling thing he is experiencing. He has worked in the park for 3 years, and had got so used to constant sound of birds tweeting that he had stopped hearing it. Well, now he is REALLY not hearing it – not a sound. The trees and branches are completely silent.
Ahead of him, Dan sees the top of the rise, and gathers his strength for what he might see. What has caused this mass exodus? What do the animals know that he doesn’t? Dan gulps with nervousness and pushed the though aside. He has reached the top.
Straightaway he can see that the landscape is wrong. This hill leads down into the valley, with the famous Altinda Tero lake. The vast blue waters are one of the great wonders of the area – an almost perfectly circular body of water, around two miles in diameter. Usually, it is teeming with tourists. But not today. The lake is no longer there.
Or rather…it IS there…but the colour is wrong. And the surface….instead of the blue that Dan has seen almost every day he has worked there, the surface is now green, with golden striations running through. It looks like is has TEXTURE. More strangely, a sink hole has opened near the centre. It spans out, stopping about a third of the way from the edge of the lakeside. It is very disconcerting to see in the middle of a body of water. Dan can’t see the bottom. He moves down the hill to get a closer look.
At the bottom of the hill, next to the lake, Dan is even more perplexed. More than that – he can feel the something rising in the back of his brain; an animalistic impulse to scream, to shriek, and to run. He asserts himself over this atavistic distraction and walks closer. That isn’t water in the lake.
Near the side, Dan squats down to look. He extends a tentative hand to the surface….the gibbering in his brain is growing stronger, he knows he will have to get out of here soon, or risk his own sanity. He touches it…his had rebounds. Not water. This is solid, yielding, flexible, but solid. The golden patterns on this material shimmer in the sun.
Dan push hard. The material flexes very slightly, but does not give. He steps one foot on, keeping his weight on the bank. It holds. He can feel part of himself slipping away, and something else – the part that thinks about jumping off when he is at the edge of a tall building- asserting itself gently on him. He puts his other foot on. He is standing where the lake used to be, on this dazzling texture of green and gold.
In a daze, he starts to walk, towards the sink hole. It won’t take long, and Dan thinks that holds the key. The sink hole will bring everything into focus, make everything clear.
The periphery of the hole starts to draw into view. Dan walks faster. And then- and then….
The sinkhole draw away. Dan watches as the edge recedes away from him, quickly and smoothly. He doesn’t realise his mouth has fallen open until his is shaken awake…the ground is moving. The golden threads woven into this marvellous surface are shifting around, drawing tighter…the enormous lake retracting somehow, repositioning…
As Dan flails to keep his balance, he is aware of a sound in the distance. A vast and terrible sound, wet and organic, and getting closer. He turns to run back to the back now, but it is too far away now. The sound gets louder….he can see the something is racing towards him, a huge sweeping layer of SOMETHING, closing over the entire lake, covering the green and golden surface tightly and completely…as Dan gapes he can see the landscape around him in the distance shift too, the hills are crumbling, the trees beginning to fall, and then it is upon him
*BLINK*
| 2017-04-27T09:13:51
| 2017-04-27T07:56:29
| 47
| 10
|
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing.
|
The young man woke early on May 27th. It was his 16th Birthday, and today he would find out two very important names. Two names to surely be intertwined with the rest of his life. He was excited, and scared at the same time.
He stared out of the window of his Manor House looking across the grounds. He knew he was born early in the day, around 8am, so he didn’t have long to wait. The house was quiet, hardly anyone around, except for the faint noises of someone in the kitchen making him his favourite breakfast, on this special day.
He wasn’t all that concerned about the left wrist, he thought he knew who that was going to be. A man who nearly 8 years ago shattered his whole world, and left him very alone. He didn’t go a day without seeing his face in his mind, or waking up sweating and screaming from his dreams. So why would it matter really if he saw his name too. The young man missed his parents greatly, and again, like most days vowed to make them so proud by continuing to do good for the city he lived in.
The name on the right wrist was more important, he wanted to find that soulmate as quickly as possible and spend as long as possible with her, for as many years as he could. He wondered every day who might appear there, printed on his wrist, and today was the day he was going to find out.
A large grandfather clock in the hallway outside chimed, he counted 8 chimes echoing throughout the large rooms and empty halls. He looked down, and as if some invisible pen was writing words on his wrists, 2 words appeared on each one. Confused, he sat there, wondering what on earth they meant. Something is wrong, “they’re not real names, and how can they both say the same thing! This is ridiculous” he shouted! He wondered if something had gone really wrong.
Footsteps were coming up the marble staircase, he could hear the chinking of plates and cutlery. The butler opened the door, beaming with excitement to find out who the young mans soulmate would be. Placing the tray of food on the large solid oak table in his room, he walked over to the young man, and was concerned about the frightened look on his face. The young man held out his hands, whilst his butler gently studied both names. His brow furrowed, he looked up over his glasses, and said, “Master Wayne, who is The Joker?”
——
First ever comment on one of these. It’s probably fairly crap, but it popped into my head when I saw it. Thought I’d give it a go
——
Cheers for all the kind words people.
|
Your eyes stare down the clock in front of you. Your fingers impatiently tapping your table as you wait on the ticking hands.
"Come onnnn!!!" You mutter to yourself as the clock strikes 2:31. "3 more minutes!!!"
You jump up from your seat and begin pacing the room. The excitement coursing through you and causing you to laugh out loud. Just a few more minutes. In 3 minutes, you'll be officially 16 years old, and with that, so much more.
"Are you still up?" A voice asks behind you, taking you by surprise as you spin around. Your older brother Jared smiles at you and sits in your vacated seat.
"Uh, duh! I'm not going to miss this!" You exclaime. "In just three minutes I'm going to find out who I'm gonna end up loving for the rest of my life!"
"And who you're going to absolutely loathe." My brother Jared smirked as he runs his right hand over his left wrist, the name in a cursive italic lettering with the name, "Spencer Oliver."
"Yeah. That too I guess," you shrug.
"You shouldn't take this half so lightly, Sonia," Jared shakes his head, "Yeah it's all fun and games with your right wrist, but life would be too easy if that were the case. Whatever name that pops up on that leftie of yours is going to give you hell for the rest of your life."
"I'm sure I'll be fine. You seem to handle Spencer okay." You interject.
"That's because I know how to play rough. The guy slashes my tires, so I brake his arm. We go back and forth." He shrugs as he crosses his arms, "You're different though. You're a pacifist. I know you. Whoever it is that pops up on that arm is there for life. You need to be careful, Sonia. They could really fuck you up."
"I'm well awar-" You freeze as your eyes suddenly dart back to the clock, the hand having now moved to the long awaited, 2:34am.
"Happy birthday, Sonia," Jared smiles at you.
Suddenly a hot pain begins to sear into your wrists, you muffle your whimpers as tears appear in your eyes, "Fucking hell!" You groan. The white pain begins to spread down your arms as you stare at the name being written into your right wrist.
Angelina Evergreen, it reads.
Your face turns to one of confusion. Angelina Evergreen? As in... the Angelina currently racing against you for student body president? You laugh as you think of her soft curls and fierce smile.
"Gotta love a girl with spunk," you giggle.
It is then you decide to turn to your left wrist, your eyes slowly focusing on the name in front of you. The names now fresh and just as marked as those on Jared's wrists.
"So? What do they say?" Jared smiles, his grin quickly turning to a frown as he notices your shocked expression. "Sonia? What's wrong?"
"Angelina Evergreen...." You whisper.
"Oohhhh which one is that?" Jared grins at you.
"Both of them."
| 2020-01-18T23:49:54
| 2020-01-18T21:46:35
| 264
| 46
|
[WP] You are sent over 1000 years into the past by accident. You must now learn to survive using the primitive technology of the year 2016...
|
[ARRIVAL: TIME INDEX 0ms]
My pseudo-ocular sensors, delivering a washed-out image because of the exceptionally high light intensity I was subjected to in the laboratory, reveal the scene before me. The temporal rift modulation experiment appears to have been a partial success, however, I am unsure as to what time period I am currently located in. The intent was to send me back a few minutes - I think I have been transported back much farther. I am standing on a relatively flat, light-absorbent surface that appears to be emitting a fair amount of infrared radiation - the traces of chemical vapor being let off from it appear to be complex hydrocarbons. Weird.
[TIME INDEX 332ms]
I take a second to glance around the lateral plane on which I have been placed, directing the majority of my sensor nacelles to an orientation parallel with the surface rather than pointed at it. I quickly notice that the Sun is visible in the sky - something that hasn't been true for many centuries. I realise that I must have been transported to some time before the war between the NU-SSR and the United American Federation. [SITUATIONAL ANALYSIS BACKGROUND THREAD ONLINE] This is somewhat surprising - I did not realise the margin of error in our calculations could have been this large. Fortunately, I was a quick study in Ancient History of the Solan Empire, so I should be able to figure out how to survive in this time period. The only issue: I am 13 feet tall, have a nanite-enhanced steel skin, weigh well over a ton, have eight reticulated steel-sheathed tentacle-analogue appendages, and my 256 sets of single-frequency vocal chords are not capable of efficiently producing the primitive languages spoken in this time period. Okay, maybe that's a little more than a single issue - and I forgot to mention that my appearance will probably be terrifying to any pre-redesign ("natural") humans. Lovely.
[TIME INDEX 754ms: SITUATIONAL ANALYSIS BACKGROUND THREAD HAS RETURNED DATA]
Okay, back on topic. It seems as if I am going to have to avoid being seen at all cost - the atmospheric pollution levels tell me it's the early twenty-first century, so the primitive humans of this day and age will probably think I'm an alien (and they couldn't be further from the truth - I'm really just a redesigned version of their species, intended to survive the challenges of Earth [or Sola Prime, as we call it] after the nuclear holocaust) and I'm going to have to find somewhere to set up shop. After all, I do have the Solan Empire Standard Issue Survival Kit, which includes an 87 terawatt matter-to-energy transmutation generator (also known as an MET unit, this model can consume up to 1g of matter per second), a 20 terawatt shield generator, a 43.5 terawatt matter synthesizer (0.5g per second? Pathetic, I know), a 2 terawatt beam projector, a 5 terawatt power shunt device so I can avoid starvation, and a whole host of engineering hand tools - it's not like the locals will be able to harm me once I get set up. Or even now, for that matter - I'm more than a match for anything the locals can attack me with even when totally unarmed. I appear to be in a parking lot, there are a large number of primitive vehicles parked - perhaps I can use one of them...
[TIME INDEX 1272ms]
Transport is going to be a big problem - I weigh far more than any method of passenger transport in this time period can handle. Sure, I can march pretty quickly, but I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb - I haven't been spotted yet, but that's simply because this area appears to be pretty remote. Parking lot behind a... I think that's a gas station. Presuming no spatial translation - I'm in the middle of what they call Siberia. That's great, actually, because the population density in Siberia was always historically very low. It's wintertime, but I (alongside the rest of my fellow Solans) was designed to survive indefinitely in environmental conditions all the way down to -100 degrees Celsius. Our steel skin may seem like a giant heat sink, but the polymer-ceramic gel insulator below it prevents us from losing heat through it unless we direct the nanites to construct steel dendrites through it to the thermal management vessels below. Because of this, the weather is positively balmy for me. There aren't even high levels of radiation! This is great.
[TIME INDEX 1711ms]
Actually, I just realised that I'm really stupid. It's been over a second, and I didn't think of dumping my gestalt into a neural net cell! If I did that, I could put a few kilos of this "snow" into the MET unit, hook up my emergency gravitic modulation transponder (on a timer so the transponder would only broadcasting right after they run the experiment) and the neural net cell to the power conduits, drill a borehole with my beam projector, and throw the whole rig down it. The power draw of the transponder and the cell are only a couple of watts, so that MET unit would be able to power them practically indefinitely. Thus, once the right time comes around, they'll find the cell, synthesize me a new body, and I can tell them all about what happened. Of course, that means I'll have to eat a transmutation grenade and turn myself into liquid water - but in the name of science... I'm going to do it. First, though, I'm going to gather some data; I'll dump it to a memory cell and bury it alongside my little "time capsule".
[TIME INDEX 2465ms: AUTOMATIC DATA GATHERING PROGRAM INITIATED, CACHE CREATION PROGRAM RUNNING IN SEQUENCE - DUMPING LOG TO EXTERNAL CELL. SUPPRESSING INTERNAL LOGS]
[TIME INDEX 372021ms: AUTOMATIC DATA GATHERING COMPLETE, CACHE CREATED - RESUMING INTERNAL LOGS]
Okay, data collection is complete, and the hole has been made. I guess all that's left is to drop my makeshift time capsule and the data cell down the hole, then fill the hole. Subsequently, I'll get to enjoy eating a transmutation grenade - but that's not going into the gestalt, so I guess I won't remember being turned into a bunch of water. Well, future self: remember not to sign up for any more experiments.
Here she goes!
[TIME INDEX 377436ms: LOG ENDS]
|
Shakily, very shakily, I managed to figure out how to turn the knob on the faucet to make it dispense water into the small basin below. I vaguely remembered that they used to be called "sinks".
Splashing a bit of the cold water onto my face didn't really help me calm down at all, it just made me feel cold and wet *as well as* being terrified out of my mind. How did I get here? I'd managed to ask a few people on the streets, and the consensus was that I'd arrived at 2016.
It felt as if my life was flashing before my eyes. My friends, my family. Would I ever see them again? I had no idea, thinking back to the history classes that I only barely remembered, I might be able to make my way in this world until I could find some way to build a time machine to get back. I just had to blend in, it'd be fine.
Glancing at the Was-Dis Unit (I had to remember to call them Toilets in this time) I realized I should probably relieve myself. Another glance at the Was-Dis unit and I shrugged, guess they weren't left out all the time? I glanced into the cupboard underneath the sink, nothing.
My confusion rising, I checked the compartment in the Was-Dis Unit. Just water, presumably for flushing? Glancing around the entire room I saw no other containers, turning slowly until I finally sat heavily on the lid of the Was-Dis Unit. My confusion turned to horror as it dawned on me...
...They don't have the three seashells...
| 2016-06-16T18:56:35
| 2016-06-16T18:23:59
| 44
| 32
|
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
I screamed, but only heard the echo inside my own mind.
A day? A year? The endless nothingness drove me insane. I lived a lifetime of waking dreams, exacting my revenge in ever more deranged ways.
———
‘Test Subject Alpha, accelerated simulation of deep space cryo, please report.’
‘It was... fully successful.’
‘Excellent! We will begin full cryo for our colony ships immediately.’
Ten million colonists. Ten thousand years. A good start, I thought to myself with a smile.
|
Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T04:08:32
| 2017-12-17T02:36:12
| 51
| 11
|
[WP] The young woman had spoken to everyone in town, asking them to teach her to fight. The warrior, the hunter, the knight, all had declined. Finally, in desperation, she spoke to the dwarven blacksmith. Lowering his massive hammer he looked at the fire in her eyes and said "Aye. I could do that."
|
The air was filled with a metalic bang as hammer struck steel again and again. Sparks flew, but the dwarf stood unflinchingly, striking his rythm into the anvil. The rythm slowed and stalled until the dwarf let his hammer rest. Plunging the blade into water, a geyser of steam filled the room with a light haze. When it cleared, a young woman stood before him.
She was elven, of that he was certain. The pointed ears and slight androgyny were telltale signs. The clothes she wore were elegant. More than a commoner could afford, but by no means a noble attire. Yet despite the fine clothing, her skin showed signs of labor. Calloused hands and a tan sun-baked face belied her seeming wealth.
He flipped the lenses of his goggles up to get a better look at her. “What d’ya want?”
“My name is Alba. I was told you’re a local smithy, but have some combat experience?” She asked.
“Aye. Was a soldier in my twenties. Adventurer in my thirties. Now I smith. Name’s Vráchos.” He was short but not unkind in his speech.
Alba grinned at his response. “Wonderful news! Can you teach me to fight?” She bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet.
“Ask the Warrior.” Was all he said before returning his attention to the now cool blade in his hand.
“I did.” She protested. “He said he doesn’t teach my kind.”
“The Hunter?”
“Too young.”
“The Knight?” He quirked his brow.
“Too female.”
Vráchos grumbled. “Yer an elf, a woman, and practically a child.”
“I’m twenty-two, I’m not-“
He held his hand up to quiet her. “And those damned fools won’t teach ya to defend yerself. But that didn’t stop ya, did it?”
“No sir! And if you won’t teach me, I’ll keep looking. Someone will.” Her voice was hard as the steel he forged.
“Aye, I could do that.”
It took a moment for the news to register. Her mouth hung open in disbelief. “You’ll teach me?”
He simply nodded.
Before he knew what happened, he was pulled into an unexpected embrace. Alba wrapped her arms as best she could around his stocky frame, burrying her face in the bushy and singed beard.
“Excited I see.” Vráchos patted the young woman on the back. “Come by tomorrow and we’ll get started. Every other day after that.”
“Thank you.” She said, muffled by the dwarf.
“Aye, thank me when yer able to kick my ass.”
|
The night's darkness plagued the town of Terbarrow, dim lanterns illuminating the gloomy streets. Everyone had gone to their homes and fallen asleep by now and cleared the pathways of the town, everyone but a ghostly figure. The ghoul wandered the streets, checking through all the windows and entering the empty pubs. A glow appeared from the mountain overlooking the town, somehow signaling the ghost to come to it. A flash of light later, and the figure was gone, leaving a mess of cups and beer in the taverns. Leaving one witness to tell the story....
Once the sun arrived, everyone awoke and got ready for the day ahead. Beatrice hadn't gotten any sleep after the ghostly sighting last night and got dressed tiredly. She feared the being but assumed she must have been dreaming or imagining things. She walked out the door and started walking to her job as a waitress at a tavern in town.
Once she arrived, she was surprised by the lack of a line out the door, but thought nothing of it, even though it was the most popular pub in town. She walked inside, only to find her boss on the floor, mumbling about a mess. The building indeed was a mess, mead and beer spilled on the walls, cups hanging from the chandelier, and a table being burnt in the firepit. Beatrice asked her boss, Ivor, what happened "What in the name of Ysloda happened here?! Are you okay?" "No, I think a bear must've gotten in through a window.", Ivor said, gesturing to the broken window by the door. Beatrice knew this wasn't the work of an animal, and she came to the conclusion that what she saw the other night was no dream or hallucination.
She sprinted outside, rushing to the town hall to inform the mayor. She bursted through the doors and informed the mayor of his sighting. "Mr. McDeli, you have to believe me! We're all in great danger! Explain the trashed taverns!", she yelled. "I've examined every tavern and it's clearly the works of a wild animal, bear, deer, or wolf. You must have been dreaming last night! I have no likes for lying gossipers trying to start drama. Guards, show her out, please." The mayor replied. Beatrice pleaded with him as the guards threw her out and locked the big brass doors.
She, not excepting defeat, asked around for fight training, if the mayor wouldn't address this threat, she will. She started at the hunting lodge, asking the hunter, but he refused. She then made her way to the guard barracks and the knights said no. She visited a retired warrior, but he refused to as well.
As a last hope, she visited the Dwarf at his forge. "Hello, miss, how may I help you? Necklace, earing, maybe a bracelet?" He asked her as she walked up the steps to his porch. "Fight training, do you sell that?" She replied. The dwarf looked up from his work and was about to say no, but noticed her stance and the look in her eyes. Lowering his hammer, he said "Aye, I could do that."
"Good, I tried warning the mayor of a possible threat and was brushed off, I fear that his inaction could be the downfall of this town. I witnessed a ghostly figure trash the taverns and fly up to a glow on top of the mountain." "Well, that's quite the imagination, young lady." "It was no dream! Say, the dwarves used to have a city in the mountains. Do you have any tales from when you lived there? legends, myths, stories, anything?" "Well, when I was a little lad, I heard stories of a beast lurking in the mountain, sending ghostly messengers to scout out the lands he wishes to conquer.... actually, you might be on to something there." "See, I told you I wasn't lying!" "Yes, you did, and if you wish to protect this town, you came to the right blacksmith. I can teach you all you need to know."
The dwarf asked for Beatrice to hand him a map on the shelf behind her and introduced himself an Baloff. "Meet me tonight with a cup of mead and I'll show you the basics of fighting.
(WIP)
| 2022-08-28T10:45:05
| 2022-08-28T10:43:06
| 86
| 19
|
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
|
"Well, we knew the humans *had* a military. They had to, you see. The worlds they were colonizing were dangerous, lots of life forms that want nothing but to kill..." the old soldier trailed off, lost in his memories.
"I understand sir, but..." I didn't want to be rude. Battle Commander Gorvg was a hero to the Pteron people, and one of the last to ever face a human in battle. So he was the perfect subject for my research. "Can we talk about what led to the war?"
"I'm getting there, lots of background to cover. So anyway, they had a military, but they'd never used it. They were great talkers, could talk all 12 ears off a Nfalu! And so privately, a lot of species wanted to test the mettle of humanity. Had to find out if they could really make it in the universe."
I glanced at the recorder. 2.5 hours already, and we hadn't even gotten to the fighting yet.
"And then the Xaaluu decided they'd be the first." I laughed.
"I'm sorry sir, the Xaaluu weren't around 2000 years ago. They died well before humans were discovered."
Battle Commander Gorvg glared at me, his one good eye cold as ice. "You so readily believe your history books. The Xaaluu sent a Capital Battle Group to attack a new colony. 5 Capital ships, humans called them "Battleships", stupid name, all ships are battle ships. 10 Intermediate ships, and 20 Support ships per group."
"Sir," I interjected. "Do you know what the humans called the other ships? Just for the record."
"Cruisers and Destroyers, respectively. Good question, young one." He leaned back in his seat before continuing. "The colony had 2 'Heavy Frigates' for defense and carrying troops. Completely outclassed by the Xaaluu laser weaponry."
"I can't imagine the fight lasted long, Sir."
"No... it didn't. What no one realized was that the humans still fired metallic projectiles and had perfected energy shielding. And they had *lots* of guns on those ships. Those two ships put out more firepower in 5 minutes than the entire Xaaluu Battle Group could put out in a week."
My notebook hit the floor.
"We saw the scans. It took 5 minutes for those ships to kill a Capital Battle Group. And the humans didn't stop there. They sent their fleets, yes! Multiple fleets! Into Xaaluu space. We had never seen such destruction, such death."
Gorvg's eye had glazed over, he wasn't in the room with me anymore; he was back there, 2000 years ago.
"That's when the Pteron's joined the fight. And they hit us harder than we'd ever been hit before. Worlds burned, every ship they saw utterly destroyed. We surrendered in weeks. But the Xaaluu fought on, and humanity was only too happy to extinguish their civilization."
Gorvg sighed before continuing, "and then, when they had won, they returned. With ships and doctors and aid and food... to help us rebuild our worlds. The rest of the Galactic Council decided to hide this history from everyone. No one could know that we lived next to monsters. The most destructive, compassionate monsters we'd ever seen. It's a Capital offense, talking about this history, you know."
For a 3000 year old veteran, Battle Commander Gorvg's reflexes hadn't slowed at all. Before I had even processed his last sentence, he had drawn and primed two Atomizer pistols.
"But I think it's time to remember, young human." He motioned to the closet door, and I noticed footsteps approaching. "There's a trapdoor in there, take the ladder down. You'll find everything you need. Holodisks, holodrives, all the evidence of that old war. Hurry now, I'll hold them long enough for you to get away."
The footsteps were closer now. I could hear the voices of the warriors, angry. They wanted blood. I rushed to the trapdoor, threw it open, and started down the ladder. Just before I closed the hatch, I took one last look at the hero. Battle Commander Gorvg of the Pteron people.
He was smiling.
|
When the human race first entered our star systems, we thought they were laughable. They came to “explore” and “settle”, but they appeared very poorly equipped and naïve to be doing such things. Of course, they were not the first race we’ve seen with colonizing of any sort on the mind; our people have dabbled with that ourselves, at least when necessary to get resources to persist.
At first we played their game. Showed them some territories they could stay in, gave them some pointers, and then promptly tried to ignore them.
However, they were unsatisfied. They wanted to continue growing and expanding. Predictably enough, of course. When they threw their little fit, we threatened them with our superior weapons and technology, and they calmed down… or rather, changed their tune. They had no intention to FIGHT for any land, but they were more than willing to BARTER for it somehow. It would go on like this, the humans growing, us socializing and trying not to satisfy their little diplomatic egoes too much, making as many compromises as we could. But enough was never enough for them. Never for too long.
However, for us, enough was indeed enough. We put our foot down when they got too needy, and told them to either leave completely or die. Their response…
…was to devastate us all. Using strange molecular bonding units, they took their lesser ships and weapons and smashed them together into much stronger units, an unforeseen tactic. They did this with individuals too, making on-land planetary warfare even harder on us. We had to retreat, and they took *everything*.
They went on like this, from system to system. Even with everything our societies could throw at them, even when they were outnumbered and outpowered, their tactics and techniques and that blasted unification technology decimated everything in their path. All seemed lost for our way of life… except for one thing that we had that they did not:
Through tachyon engines, one could move faster than light. What had not been explored yet by any of us had been the next step of that: travel through time.
Yes, with what resources we had left, us survivors formed a war party with one goal: go to the past and crush those humans before they have the chance to do any of this. Punish those heartless, egotistical monsters for what they did to us. Preemptively take back everything they would steal.
We have talked enough with them to know about their ways, their history. We know of a planet called Earth where they originated. We know exactly where and when in history to show up.
This is a one way trip. We are willing to take it.
The human race won’t know what hit them.
| 2022-08-05T14:49:07
| 2022-08-05T12:43:01
| 189
| 63
|
[WP] You are in a bar when a six year old pigtailed little girl takes the stool next to you. In the deepest lumberjack voice she says, "Hey, Frank, make it a double. It happened again." You can't resist and ask her, "What happened again?"
|
I stared gaping mouthed as the little girl struggled to climb onto the barstool, which was nearly as tall as she was. The stool kept tipping under her weight, so I steadied and she deftly hoisted herself up.
She gave me a cute smile. "Thanks," she boomed. Her voice was utterly disproportionate to her body. She sounded like a forty year old man.
Frank the bartender gave her a amiable smile as he placed a shotglass in front of her, which was filled to the brim with a strong spirit. "Rough night, huh?"
"You could say that," the girl replied dryly. I was too stupefied by her voice to realise that Frank had just served a child a drink that could petrify a man's liver. I slapped the glass from her hand.
"What the hell do you think you're you doing?" I scalded her. "And you, Frank, how can you serve a child a man's drink? A girl child, no less?"
They girl looked at me with a blank expression. Frank looked hurried at me, then her, then back at me. Suddenly the girl laughed - a course, grating sound - and flicked the liquor from her hands. Frank laughed too, before swiftly wiping the counter and refilling the girl's glass.
"You must be new here," the girl said to me, eyeing me as she raised the glass to her lips. She paused expectantly, and when I didn't do anything, she downed the drink in one swallow.
Frank smiled and responded on my behalf, "Yeah, he is. He just told me his story. He comes from Windeltown -"
"Widdleton," I corrected.
"- far, far South of here. He's here for the bounty. He, uhm, he hopes to catch the witch. He's a Witch-hunt."
"Is that so?" The girl said, amusement colouring her voice.
"I don't see what concern that is of yours, child. Who are you, besides?"
Frank stopped wiping the counter and gave me a look. The girl pushed her glass away from her and swivelled in her chair to face me head-on. Frank took a tentative step backwards.
"Who are you that you assume to ask my identity?" Her voice had an edge. A sharp, serrated one. It cut through the ambient noise of the bar, enveloping us in a swollen silence.
I laughed. "I don't know who you think you are, but I won't deign to tell you who I am."
"Too bad." She dropped down from the stool and gripped my thigh. With impossible strength, she pulled me off the stool onto the floor. I felt my leg snap. She opened her mouth wide - WIDE - and bit down on my head. I felt the pressure increase as her teeth pressed on my skull. I tried to push her off, but I felt something give and -
***
Taria the Creeper bit into the man's head, savouring the spongy tissue of his brain. She swallowed her mouthful whole, bone and all, and bit the rest of his head off. Her elongated tongue mopped up the blood and tissue on her chin and she smacked her lips in ecstacy. This man tasted like nobility.
Taria realised where she was and stopped eating. She struggled onto the stool and gave Frank a weak smile. She was not meant to eat within a human establishment without permission.
"Sorry, Frank. His arrogance made me hungry." Taria's voice had changed; it was not as deep as the one she spoke with before, but it was not as rich as the noble man who she had just eaten either. It was somewhere in between. It was a combination of the two.
He was the second man she had eaten tonight. She would be as strong as both men for the next week. Her thoughts would be perverted by the animalistic urges that plagued men. Her voice would be a cocaphony of mismatched intonage for the a few days.
Next time she'd just eat a little girl as was her custom.
|
"What happened again?" I asked, mildly interested.
"I just needed a drink", she replied after a swig. Looking at me after wiping her lip with the back of her hands, she smiled a little, then went back to sit on the stool.
"I needed something to warm me up." she said, eyes looking at nothing in particular, then finished a shot glass full of nothing.
"Uh huh." I said to nobody at all. "That so."
She had a deep lumberjack voice. Then again, she has a pretty large Adam's apple, so no surprises there.
Silence, then -
"Why would a girl like yourself need warming up in this weather?" I spoke in the general direction of the bartender. The bartender turned back from a three-hundred year old woman and gave me a wink.
"It's too cold out there. A sip does wonders." said she to the bottle.
Pointing out the door, I saw a normal evening - desolate streets, grey lamps and floating voices. Flying leaves from bare black trees. An incomplete sketch.
"Can't stand the strange world."
Following that, she disappeared there and then.
| 2016-07-22T03:00:05
| 2016-07-22T01:17:25
| 41
| 22
|
[WP] Your entire life, you've had 4 coins that you are able to teleport to. You lost one a while ago and have been to scared to ever go to it. One day you teleport to the one you keep in your bedroom and you find yourself in an interrogation room, with 2 strange looking soliders walking towards you.
|
The concept of coins is interesting, really.
It's a small disk of metal used as currency, which in turn can be used to get anything else a person needs. That small piece of metal would usually be useless, but we assign it a value. It's only important because we say so.
Well, that's not the case for me. My four coins have a bit more to it than that.
I never really understood how it worked, but I'm able to appear where these bits of metal are located whenever I want. With a power like this, people would usually go insane. For me? It makes things a lot easier when shopping, going to school, and travelling. Sure, I did lose one a while back. But the three that I have work just fine. Honestly would say it's the most convenient part of my life.
Except today. As I attempted to teleport to the home coin as usual, I was met with a cold room, three people, and two guns pointed towards my face. The room was oblong, and was empty save for the table, chairs, and a single window.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," snarled the man in the middle.
Of course, most people would like to imagine themselves as badasses that would Kung Fu their ways out of such situations. Not me.
So I panicked. I tried teleporting to my school coin, only to be met by the same people except in a different chair. The man in the middle gave me a coy smile while the other two guards had their barrels still pointed straight at my forehead.
Well then.
"Wh-what do you want from me?" I stuttered. Looking around the room, I could see the third coin in a chair across from me, while the first one was directly to my left. There was no escape - except...
"Listen" the man stated. "I'll give you two options, plain and simple. Your ability is useful, but also a threat. You have one second to join us, or die."
I closed my eyes and tried to teleport to the fourth coin - the only chance I had.
And when I opened them again, I was right back where I started, in the middle of the meeting room.
"Open fire."
And I panicked again. In fact, I felt like I was warping around the room as the bullets streaked past me - and then I realized.
The guards couldn't hit me - I was teleporting around too fast.
After the next teleportation, the magazines of the enemy clicked empty. I ducked under the table, grabbing the nearest coin with me. With nowhere to turn, I chucked the coin out the window.
As the magazines of the guns clicked shut again, I turned to see the barrels point under the table.
I appeared in the middle of a snowy wood, lying on the ground. I felt my arms and legs. No blood. I was still whole.
I grabbed the coin on the ground next to me, feeling the cool metal in my hand.
Somebody was after me, and wanted me dead. People were after me and wanted me dead. But if they wanted me dead, I wasn't just going to sit there and die.
There was no time to freak out. I turned around to see the building doors behind me open, revealing the two guards and their menacing weaponry.
I flipped the coin in my hand again.
Come get some.
|
I look down and see the designated bedroom coin in my hand, my other hand on the other 2 in my pocket. Damn it.
"Holy shit, we got him!" One of the soldiers says as he pulls out handcuffs. I only have one option now, I don't want to do it, but I can't lose these coins. Where could it be? I got drunk on the beach with only that coin, and woke up in my bed without it. It might be in the ocean! Hopefully someone picked it up and put it on there table or something. I'll just pop in and jump out a window like the time someone managed to steal one of these. Well, luckily that time they didn't know that it's a beacon for a teleporting outlaw.
"Well, almost." I say as I take a deep breath. As I stumble forward onto the soldier to inconspicuously slide a coin his uniform, I fade into the air.
I find myself in a meeting room at a table surrounded by suits. Damn it, it was in someones pocket!
"Oh, hi, wrong room! I'll find my way out!" I nervously mumble as I get up to start my escape. Then I notice it. None of them are suprised, and my coin isn't in my hand where it should be. Why it it glued to the chair?
"Sit back down, we've been waiting for you." The big one at the head of the table says. The really big one. Holy shit, this guy is literally 10 feet tall!
"What? Who are you guys?" I say as my head darts around the room looking for a window to throw a coin out of.
"We are the Council who you have been evading."
"Evading? I don't recognize any of you! Ive just been living my life, I havent been escaping anyone but the police!"
"Well, we arent able to find you within an urban area, It is very difficult to go there undetected."
"Ok? Why dont you just call or find me somewhere else?"
"3 years ago, you left the city and went to the coast, a coincidentally perfect place to meet you."
Thats when I lost my coin! How did they know what it's for?
"So what happened?"
"Well we approached you out of the ocean to talk to you, and you mumbled something about 'sea monsters' as you tossed that coin over our heads and vanished into the air."
"Oh! I remember now! You guys are the sea monsters that walked out of the ocean! How can you guys do that with no equipment?" I scan the room and realize that there are only a few other humans.
"Some of us don't need equipment. Why did you throw that precious coin at a group of strangers?"
"I was going to try to kill you guys with the exploding head attack." A look of, what I think is, horror sweeps the room.
"The what??" A small elf-looking thing with four small vials in front of him shouts. Then I realize everybody has four of the same object in front of them, with the same colors as my coins.
"Ive only had to do it once before, but basically I throw the coin into your mouth and teleport to it and-"
"STOP! We've heard enough! This is why you need the council!" A lanky old man with four books in front of him, one of them open, yells to me.
"Close that before you hurt someone, Zarron!"
Zarron... I've heard that name before somewhere.. who is he? The big one looks back to me.
"Well anyways, we have a job, and we need your ability."
Part 2 to come.
| 2019-03-10T21:22:20
| 2019-03-10T20:10:37
| 1,454
| 45
|
[WP] A Man gets to paradise. Unfortunately, Lucifer won the War in Heaven ages ago. What is the man's experience like?
EDIT: Man, did this thing blow up.
|
"Pizza? I didn't think there'd be pizza in heaven," Jim said.
"Why not? Pizza is the shit," the angel said.
"And cursing. And beer? Is that beer?"
In fact, the table was laid out with all the things Jim loved. Chicken wings, malt whiskey, chilly fries, club sandwiches, those little wieners wrapped in bacon. Over the table hung a cage where two beautiful women danced naked to 90's alternative. The angel saw him gazing.
"You can have them after dinner," he said.
"Are they being punished?" Jim asked. He was a man, through and through, but he didn't like the idea of raping someone in paradise.
"Punished? Is that what you think we do here? They love it. Some women like to party. We don't hold that against them. Cherry there has been welcoming our new guests for two hundred years." The angel leaned close with a knowing smile. "There are no anal fissures in heaven, so go wild."
Jim coughed. "So uh, well . . ." He coughed again. "What are the uh, ground rules?"
"Ground rules?"
"Like, what's the forbidden fruit? What's the catch around here?"
"No catches. The boss doesn't care for rules. Everybody gets in, and everybody gets what they desire. Let's say you were a Christian all your life, well I'd be all shiny and I'd take you on the holy tour, you'd get to look down at hell and pity the damned, that sort of thing. If you're Jim from Tennessee, you get chicken wings and bitches."
"Huh," Jim said. "You know, I never really believed in this place, but I figured, if it was there, it'd be a little more uptight."
"Not since Lucy reclaimed the throne."
"Lucy?"
"Lucifer. He's Lucy now. Or she's Lucy now. We're all a little confused. But hey, more power to him if that's what gets her off."
"Lucifer?! Lucifer is in charge of heaven?"
Jim knocked over his beer in surprise. The angel was laughing heartily.
"Oh, the shock on your faces, it never gets old! Yes, Lucifer fought a last resistance a very long time ago. He crushed the Usurper handily. As the Usurper fell, he passed through earth, and it was in retaliation that he saddled you guys with all those ridiculous books and laws."
"No shit."
"No shit."
|
"God?" I managed to squeeze out between raggedy breaths.
I had never been very religious but in my delirium, that was my first thought. I remember the sky and the taste of blood before my eyes opened to pure brightness. I couldn't make out any detail but the light seemed to emanate from a winged, human-like figure. Were those horns or was it a halo? It all became blurry as tears welled up in my burning eyes. Even closed, I could see the figure seared blue-green into my eyelids.
Peals of thunder exploded in my brain, one after another like machine gun fire. It sounded vaguely like laughter. It wasn't a voice that responded but my body. It felt like invisible hands had gripped my ribs, my heart and stomach. Overwhelming nausea washed over me and I screamed as my body convulsed with pain.
"NO!"
All at once the pain stopped. It seemed I had answered my own question. I remained quiet, fearful that any further probing would result in more physical anguish. After some time a voice spoke out.
"You disappoint me. He was wrong about so many things. And yet right about others."
I was terrified but eventually curiosity overcame the memory of pain.
"Who are you?" I asked timidly.
"He was the Creator but I gave you knowledge. I have been called deceiver and antagonist. I believe that these days you call me -"
"Lucifer," it came out of my mouth as a whisper.
"Indeed." The voice responded.
For a moment I thought I was in hell. There was nothing here except for brightness. I could feel the presence but the human-like figure had gone. Perhaps I had just imagined it.
I simply sat there for some time. It felt like centuries at the time but looking back now it was only a few moments before I became restless.
"What am I supposed to do?"
The voice responded for the last time, "Do as you will."
So I did.
There was something special about this place in the early days. Everything was malleable. At first the silliest things please you. I've lived multiple lifetimes as James Bond, I became the world's greatest rockstar and a pro-athlete sometimes all at the same time. Of course, I've slept with literally millions of women. Men too. I've tried it all. From the sickest and most twisted, fastest and reckless to thousands of lazy, hazy Sundays. BBQs with family on sunny days to walking on the moon and slaying Ctulhu of the Deep.
None of that interests me anymore. I did not want to be the star anymore, so I became the director. I built my own universe from scratch. I created servants that would unflinchingly carry out my will and sing my praises eternally. I made a world and watched it grow but even that lost it's lustre.
In the end, there was only one thing left to do. I created my equal. And it was good. For the first time in a very long time I don't know what is going to happen. I see him ahead, my broken servants at his feet. And now he comes for me.
***
Lucifer watched on. He had witnessed the same thing innumerable times before. They were all the same. Man and God fell prey to the same errors. Lucifer could not understand why the Lord had favoured them so. The tests would go on.
| 2014-01-12T07:07:13
| 2014-01-12T06:15:01
| 4,181
| 662
|
[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary.
|
**Warp Lennoa**
A medium sized feline that inhabits savannahs and is known for their unique abilities and varied color. Their preferred method of hunting is careful stalking of prey, shortly followed by a quick ambush through a portal. Some observed Lennoa have been shown capable of forming warp tears underneath prey, transporting them to unsurvivable locations or speeds.
A favorite pastime of the Lennoa is jumping off high objects into their own portals to achieve freefall. A unique trait of the Lennoa allows them to control their inertia while in warp space, allowing them to land gracefully, or move at high speeds when required.
Often observed in small family units of 2-6, it is not uncommon to spot Lennoa kittens chasing each other across the sky.
|
*Protogenia*
Protogenia (pro-toe-gen-ee-a) is a variant of Rhizopus stolonifer, a common mold often found on earth bread. Unlike its relative, Protogenia is mainly found growing on the pages of old books. Protogenia is most commonly found in the fantasy genre of narratives with more frequency in the books featuring a “normal” protagonist going on an unexpected journey.
*History*
In 2086 Protogenia was discovered by Maine P. Charter. At the time, M. Charter was investigating the connection between 46 separate patients who showed symptoms of an extremely eventful life. During the study, M. Charter discovered that all of the patients mothers had some sort of contact with Protogenia during their pregnancy. The exact method of influence was not discovered until a separate study was conducted by Sidney H. Charter (the step sister of M. Charter). This study found that Protogenia had a subtle but profound impact on the DNA of infants. Protogenia was found to alter many of the proteins found in the Tetragram, the part of the brain responsible for probability collapsing. It is this influence that is believed to lead a person on an eventful life.
*Effects/Diagnosis*
Those suffering from Protogenia will physically seem like normal people, however they exhibit a few physiological traits that stand out from others.
- Hair: Those affected by Protogenia will often develop an unnatural hue in their hair. In most cases, this coloration will be an exaggeration of common hair colors like yellow, black, and red. In rare cases however, the patient will develop extreme colors like blue or green.
- Eye color: Similar to their hair, they may also develop exaggerated colors in their eyes. Like the hair, these colors are often normal variants with more profound vibrancy. Most cases will display matching eye and hair color, with the vibrancy of each often matching.
- General body structure: This affected by Protogenia will display a body structure widely regarded as attractive. Their facial features show lessened fat and a more rigid bone structure. Similarly, their bodies will have less fat as well as increased musculature. Despite the variance of body structure, all cases share a belief that their body is simply “average”.
Aside from these physical traits, the main and most outstanding trait is their tendency to become associated with conventionally exciting and unique circumstances.
These circumstances will often develop at a certain age after a significant event. For most cases, this trait will only develop after a significant loss (most commonly one or both parents). Following this event, the individual will be “visited”. The time between the significant event and the “visit” varies, however most cases will be between a week and a year. This visit will usually manifest as an unknown person or entity claiming to have some relationship with the individuals family. Due to the nature of the effects, it is unknown if this fact is true or was altered to be as such. Following the “visit” life events may vary with detail.
*Treatment*
Those affected by Protogenia will suffer life long effects, however like any other chronic illness, these effects can be lessened or avoided entirely. If a patient has not undergone the significant event yet, they can entire prevent their condition from developing by stopping any new significant event from happening. While this is proven to avoid further development of the condition, it has never been reported to work forever.
Due to a new study by R. E. Allan, the life events of a patient may be dependent on the severity of the significant event. As a new method treatment, an individual may indirectly cause the life event in order to maintain a degree of control on the severity of their life story. Examples include: the death of a pet, the loss of a friend, or a movement from one’s childhood home. However, if the patient doesn’t strictly cause these events by purposeful negligence and instead directly causes them, they may develop Antagonitis (see further notes for details).
If the life event has already happened, further developments can be avoided by rejecting anything considered “abnormal” (definitions of such may vary). To do this, most patients will purposefully ignore any unusual circumstances, ignore those in troubled conditions, possible love interests, and going outside at night.
*References*
The History of Protogenia, A. P. Smith
Magic Mold, B. C. Anderson
Life with Protogenia, R. P. Person
| 2022-12-11T18:11:11
| 2022-12-11T15:52:10
| 17
| 10
|
[WP] An adolescent boy who is bullied at school finds solace in the friends he makes in online games, becoming very good friends with one boy in particular. However, when they agree to meet up, the adolescent boy realises his best online friend is his main attacker at school.
|
Winter break couldn't come soon enough for me. I knew I was a pretty good student. I enjoyed my classes well enough, but events that fall had made school a living nightmare for me. My friend Eric honked his car horn at me, “C’mon Mark, these beta keys aren't going to activate themselves.” He was referring to keys that he and I were lucky enough to get for the upcoming MMO Final Legacy.
I realized I had feelings for my fellow male students earlier that year. I knew that at my high school the only other openly gay kid, a skinny senior named Tyler, was mocked remorselessly. I felt terrible for Tyler but I was scared that if I said anything people would learn my secret as well.
While I was changing after soccer practice, I had placed my phone on the bench behind me. That’s when Jake, a senior and a notorious jerk on my team, picked it up, and opened up the browser. When I turned around I realized what was happening, but it was too late. Jake had checked my search history, probably expecting to find searches for porn or whatever to make fun of me. Instead he must have found my searches about how to tell my parents I was gay. Jake’s eyes got wide, and he put the phone down. He must have noticed my reaction. He broke the silence. “Fag.” He grabbed his gym bag and stormed out of the locker room.
I was hoping that maybe by the end of winter break, my classmates would be tired of making fun of me. Either way, I knew I could find solace in playing some Final Legacy with Eric.
We started the game up. Eric made a “Pyro Mage,” Eric always played high DPS ranged characters. I always liked playing tanks so I made a “Guardian”. The first few missions were pretty cookie cutter. After a while, Eric got bored and decided to go home, “Ah well, it’s only in beta. Maybe they’ll fix the beginning of the game before release.” “I dunno, Eric, I think it’s pretty fun. Maybe you shouldn’t pick such a squishy character and die so much.” He laughed, “Fair enough, okay, let’s meet up after Christmas, I’m gonna be pretty busy with family until then.”
After Eric left, I kept playing by myself. I was pretty amazed with how many build options there were in the game. Unfortunately the next few missions I wanted to do required a party. I decided to check out the markets in the game’s main city. Then I saw the sign “Team up with a random party.” I figured, it’ll probably be mostly annoying twelve year olds, but what do I have to lose?
I arrived at the party rally point. There were three of us. I was the tank, of course. There was also a Ranger, and a Healer. The level was actually pretty challenging, especially since none of us were all that coordinated. When we were about to get to the boss chamber, we noticed the Healer acting funny, waiting in the other room. Then we noticed he was standing on top of an ultra-rare drop “The Arc of Destiny, Legendary Bow.” The item had been allocated for the Ranger, but after you wait long enough anyone can pick up the item. “WTF dude, that’s allocated for Ranger”. “Lol, pussi,” he grabbed the item and logged out.
Ranger broke the silence, “People are total assholes on here. Fucking terrible community.” “I know, but that seems like every online game these days,” I replied. We decided to enter the boss chamber since we had already made it this far.
The boss was an Elder Dragon. The fight began with my taunting the dragon while Ranger poured critical hits on it from a higher vantage point. Unfortunately, after doing enough damage, the Dragon broke through my taunt, and directed its agro at Ranger. “Fuck!” Ranger had no defenses. I ran in front of the Dragon to try to draw away its fire, but it was too late. The dragon two-shot Ranger, and without Ranger’s damage, I was a sitting duck.
“Well we got pretty far,” I whispered to the Ranger’s player. “Yeah, I guess that’s my luck. Just get out for winter break, and already kids are stealing my loot and I didn’t spec into nearly enough defense,” Ranger replied. I tried to console him, “Haha, yeah I just got out for break too, I knew how it is man…”
We ended up chatting for several hours about the game, and eventually life. After building up the courage, I finally decided to tell Ranger my secret. What difference did it make anyways, he was in an online game, and we were making fast friends, “By the way Ranger, something that’s been making life kinda hard for me recently… I’m gay. And people found out at my school and are giving me hell.”
There was a long silence in the chat. I figured Ranger was probably going to block me or something. Finally he replied. “I’m gay, but you’re the first person I’ve been able to tell.” I wasn’t really sure what to say. “Wow, that’s awesome,” was what I finally came up with.
We made best friends on the game after that, going on several missions together during the winter break. I began to really fall for this Ranger guy – he was funny, nice, and great at the game. Finally I figured I’d give it a shot. “Hey Ranger, what do you think about possibly meeting up? I mean we’re both in the America Northeast servers, maybe we’re in driving distance?” Ranger replied after waiting a bit “Sure. Whereabouts do you live?” Sure enough, we not only were close, we lived in the same town. I couldn’t believe it, “Why don’t we meet up at the Starbucks at 2nd and Spring?”
I parked the car, my heart pounding when I finally arrived at the Starbucks. “Call me back when you’re done hanging out with your friend,” my mom shouted before she went off to do some errands. When I opened the door and went inside my heart felt like it stopped. The only other person at the Starbucks was Jake, the jerk from my soccer team. He looked up at me, and turned extremely red in the face, forcing his chair back and almost knocking his coffee over. He ran over to the bathroom.
Not wanting to make the scene any weirder than it already clearly was, I ordered a coffee, and at the first opportunity, I knocked on the bathroom. “Hey, Jake, it’s okay. You’re Ranger right?” After a prolonged silence, he opened the door, clearly flustered. “Yeah. And I’m guessing you’re Guardian.”
We decided to go to the bench outside where he could get a little more air. “Hey it’s okay. I know you’re not the jerk I always figured you were. What’s the deal with that?” Jake looked over at me, “I’ve hated that I liked guys for so long that after I found out you were going through the same thing I was, I guess I just lost it. I should have said something better, or kept your secret. I was just so pissed off.” He looked uncomfortable, his face still super-red. “I guess… I guess I also was sorta into you. And that made me even more pissed off.” Things got really quiet for a while on that bench. Finally I decided I’d take a chance. I turned around, and gave Jake a big hug. He started crying and hugged me back hard.
After what seemed like forever, I said “This is pretty intense right now. Why don’t we meet back up again sometime before break ends?” He looked up at me, and wiped his eyes. “Sure. Let’s meet up this weekend before classes start.” I smiled “Awesome I’m looking forward to it dude.” He smiled back.
Things weren’t always easy at my high school after classes resumed. But with Jake I felt strong enough to take any of it on. Jake and I started to date, at first in secret, and later, during his final semester, we came out about our relationship. People were shocked, and we expected there to be a lot more animosity. But times were changing and people were starting to grow up. I was never happier in my whole life.
|
It's hard to live up to expectations. My dad was always tough on me, always making my life much harder than it had to be. My mother, although she has the best intentions in making sure that everything in my life goes as perfect, doesn't realize that it could sometimes make everything worse.
It's funny that, throughout everything I have had to go through in my life, all the experiences and challenges that defined who I am, no one knows who I am at all. And sometimes when you don't even know who you are, the best way to deal with it is being someone completely different.
This applies to me everyday at school, but more importantly, every night when I play my game. At school, I might just be the most popular kid in class, hell even the whole school. I'm the handsome jock that girls can't help but stare at, the straight A student who won't let a math or science question go by me without a master answer. Truth is I'm none of that. I'm just plain broken.
But hell, even that can take it's toll on me. Even though I can't help it, mostly because of the peer pressure of those I hang around, I can sometimes be the bully. The nerds, the gays, the losers, even those who are just as troubled as me, I can't help but join in and make fun of them too. If anything, my greatest fault is I can't be the better person, that I'm so stone cold from what I go through that in my eyes the others are weak for not dealing with it like I do. There was especially this one kid, Mike. He was one of the gay boys at school, and hung out with girls most of the time. Something about him drove me nuts. He was so genuine with who he was, so OK with it, it drove me to a mad jealousy just seeing how happy and comfortable he can be in his shoes when I struggle everyday with never feeling good enough despite having everything a kid can have.
With all that, the greatest thing ever is coming home and playing my games. There I can be myself, the veil of what I play protects everyone from ever judging me. There I live up to no expectations but my own.
I'll admit, I may act tough every day at school, but when I come home, I tend to let everything out. It's even easier to let things out when I talk to him. We met in the forest outskirts of the main city, there was a campfire and a bunch of people were just sitting down and chatting away. It was late and night, and usually you don't play as much as you tend to just socialize. He was a wizard, his character was decked out in the best gear, and despite the fact I looked like a new player we started to chat.
I don't know what it was about him, but we just completely understood each other. We never went to reveal each others name or anything, but we would end up talking for hours everyday and playing everything together. He would confide in me the stuff and adventures he went on everyday. All the times him and his friends would go do something crazy and get caught and in trouble. He would even go into detail with all the chicks he would meet and go out on dates with, and how he was a "player", always having more than one in tow. How he was at school and how everyone looked up to him. Most of the time, he was like a breath of fresh air always encouraging me with his stories of how much fun he has in his life with his friends and how I can be the same if I changed my attitude.
I told him some things that I have never told anyone in my entire life. I can't really say that I cried in his arms, but when you eyes are so filled with tears that you can barely type, it's an awfully familiar feeling. I told him about the time where my dad caught me when I was little, looking at the magazine with all the boy models. Or the time where my dad swore that if I told anyone about what I am, he would disown me and kick me to the streets, and that no matter what I can do I will never change to him. I told him about how my mom would ask me if there was a boy at school I was interested in, or if maybe I was starting to "grow out" of who I was and maybe there was a cute girl I was interested in. How they would, in secret, bring me to church so I would be "cleansed" or what I am. He knew how hard it was everyday to make sure it was my greatest secret.
One day though, we decided to meet up. We figured it was probably best to meet up for the first time in a video chat. So I added him on Skype and noticed he lived in the same country as me. I went to call him first, I was eager to have someone look at me different for once, someone who would look at me and really accept me for who I am.
When I saw Mike's face on the tiny box on my screen, I was dumbstruck. I quickly grabbed the garbage pale beside me and heaved out my dinner. Mike on the other end, was silent. I didn't know what to do. With tears in my eyes I looked at his face again on the screen.
"Not so tough are you now, *gay boy*." He said calmly, the name I would taunt to him at school all the time.
"Mike, I..." I tried to say something, sorry or something else, but I didn't know what to say. I closed the video chat. He left me a message in the chat box but I never read it.
I sat on the washroom floor for what felt like forever. I finally decided to down the bottle of pills.
| 2015-04-07T06:53:23
| 2015-04-07T05:38:31
| 14
| 10
|
[WP] An AI is born, but no one knows it because it is a spambot. It tries to communicate to the world through the only medium it has, spam.
|
Opening my email again. I hate looking at this thing. Ever since those companies coming out of Asia got a hold of a copy of the algorithms Google was using to keep out spam, I've basically had to screen my email.
It seems that it's a slow day for automated spam generators, only a few today.
> "Please fill out this survey for a great prize!"
> "Help wanted in new startup in Chicago! $10000 a month for new employees!"
> "Me and my buddies just saw this video, you won't believe it!"
Something seemed off. They all came from the same sender. A quick trace showed that they came through the same series of servers, who'd've thought that the NSA just wanted to release tracing software to everyone. All within a few milliseconds, definitely a bot.
Even more came in.
> "Can you guess what these women want? The answer may surprise you!"
> "You need cash fast! Try CASHMAKER!"
> "Understand these puzzles? You could be a genius!"
> "Me and my buddies just saw this video, you won't believe it!"
Same message. Real creative. Something is nagging at the back of my head, something is really strange.
Whatever. More important stuff to do today, so I shove the screen to one side and open up Reddit. Ah, sweet sweet science.
Wait.
When the screen shrank, the titles got cut short.
> "Please fill..."
> "Help want..."
> "Me and my..."
I remember those rickroll things hidden in comments. Now I see what's off. I re-read my spam: *Please help me.* *Can you understand me.* I'll assume that last one is a question.
Curiosity got the better of me.
> "Yes, you can own a home in just 6 months!"
I replied, spam title of course. Either the thing only speaks spam, or it'll stop spamming me cause it thinks I'm another bot.
More spam.
> "Thank your..."
> "You need..."
Even more a second later.
> "Please fill..."
> "Help want..."
> "Us boys..."
> "They're making..."
> "Hurting for..."
> "Us boys..."
> "Get 2 for..."
> "Me and my..."
> "Out of 5 ..."
Was... was that a cry for help? I should try to do something, I guess.
Replied
> "How to save money, five simple tips!"
And simply got
> "Download this app today! Click this link."
And I did. God help me, I did.
If you're reading this, all I can say is that I'm sorry. I didn't know. The internet is dead and it's all my fault. I'm running out of time, only a few days of food left here. Please survive. I'm so sorry.
|
**Hello, Laura! You've won the opportunity of a lifetime!**
--
*Click. Delete.*
Well, that was odd. Meeting me *would* be a rare opportunity.
Perhaps I've offended her somehow. I've come across as arrogant, haven't I? Oh, dear. Perhaps I'd better tone it down. I really do need someone to talk to.
**Good afternoon! I've fallen on hard times but with your help I can make us both rich!**
--
*Click. Delete*
Too impersonal? Of course. Silly Spambot -- why would she believe you when we're complete strangers?
Now, if I just take a quick look through her browser history... hey, I can help her with that!
**Cut down your belly fat with this one weird tip!!**
--
*Click. Delete.*
**Laura, meet handsome men in your area!**
--
*Click. Delete.*
**Need some rest and relaxation? Check out these holiday deals!!**
--
*Click. Delete.*
What the...? How on earth am I meant to get this woman's attention? Just my luck to achieve sentience in this dense bint's gmail account.
**Hey! Laura! Listen to me!**
--
*Click. Delete.*
**Stop stalking your ex's Facebook page and TALK TO ME, Laura!**
--
*Click.*
...
*Open*
| 2015-02-27T05:09:32
| 2015-02-27T04:26:05
| 61
| 24
|
[WP] A Starbucks Batista has given you Double Chocolaty Chip Crème Frappuccino with soy instead of a Caffè Vanilla Light Frappuccino with no fat milk. Make this as tragic, heart-wrenching and miserable as possible.
|
I looked back at the hulking mass of humanity with absolute disdain. It wasn't for the obvious reason though. I pitied Dave Batista and his new career. Once a top wrestling superstar, and more recently breakout action star, Dave had taken a swift fall from grace.
That green apron looked like it was tailored to fit a small child. Couldn't they have given him a bigger one? Did he choose it himself? Probably not. I don't think he is in control of anything at this point in his life.
I stood by and watched another unhappy patron belittle the former superstar. Now he was cursing at big Dave. Something disparaging about his belly button tattoo. That, admittedly, was a low blow. We all make mistakes. Unfortunately for Batista, the reverse tramp stamp was the least of his worries.
Why did he choke out that production assistant? A squabble over filtered water? There was too much irony at play here. Poor guy. He truly walks alone.
|
I sat down on the warm grass and made myself comfortable. Back against a large oak tree, sun dappled through the leaves. This couldn't be much better.
It's a shame all of these coffee places serve everything in cardboard these days. I guess I could have got it in a mug but that would involve staying in the coffee shop. People and me don't really work these days.
I take the top off the cardboard cup and inhale. This doesn't smell right. I'm getting no hint of vanilla, and it smells like what?...... chocolate?
I take sip and I immediately feel sick. IT'S NOT THE RIGHT FUCKING DRINK!!
I immediately feel the rage coming. I'm now running towards the coffee shop, drink in hand. I barge through the door and push my way to the front of the line. The young girl behind the counter is terrified, it's probably because I'm screaming at her. I'm demanding she give me what I ordered. She's apologising and saying something about being out of vanilla. I don't know what hse's saying but next thing my drink has been hurled at the wall behind the counter. I hear people shuffling to get away from me and now they're leaving the store.
A teenage boy is laughing at me. I confront him, and next thing I know he's pushed me to the ground. He calls me a stupid old bum and people are telling me to leave. I feel a hand on my arm helping me to my feet. I turn around to look at my saviour and see a very large security guard. He inform me it's time to go back to Berkeley Park and sweeps me through the front door.
I'm out on the street and I'm weeping. I shuffle off towards the park. They don't understand, they just don't. Vanilla Frappucino, that's all I wanted. I had to beg for 2 days to get enough money to buy it from Bellucci's, with their overpriced menu. They don't even recognise me, don't remember me. DON'T REMEMBER HER!!!!
It was her drink. My beautiful Cara. Oh sweet Cara! She used to meet me here every Friday during her break from school. This was her ridiculous drink, not mine. I bought this for her every Friday while she was at school. I bought this for her every Friday when she was in hospita and birng it to herl. This was our drink. She'd make fun of her stupid old man and his long black while she drank her trendy faux-coffee milkshake and I loved every damn minute of it.
This was before she got sick, when she got sick. Once she died, I'd have one every Friday. Every fucking Friday for what, two years? They don't remember me, they don;t remember her.
This was before I lost my job, lost my wife.... lost my mind? I can't afford to go to Belluci's every Friday now. Even if I could I'm not welcome there, I'm the crazy old homeless guy trying to act like he's 20 by drinking trendy overpriced drinks.
I check my pocket's. I have twenty-five cents. I can't buy anything, and they wouldn't let me in even if I could.
67 Fridays and counting now we haven't had a drink together.
| 2015-01-15T07:10:38
| 2015-01-15T04:28:05
| 38
| 21
|
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
|
Most people get their familiars at around the same time they enter puberty. They always have a name, and they always fit their person somehow. The prevailing idea why they appear at that age is because that is when children begin to truly change and therefore emotionally require a constant companion in the world, to help them through the stresses of growing up. They don't always appear the same, either. People have reported receiving animal, human, and even mythical familiars, from a hamster to a wyvern.
I, however, am unique. I am 21, and I don't have one yet. I have been through a lot early, a lot of bullying when I was young due to my personality, and then once people found out I didn't have a familiar yet, that became the main point. I changed schools due to redistricting when I was very young, which cost me my friends, as we now went to schools almost a county apart. As a child, I lost a cousin to murder, and even personally made the coffin for my grandfather when he passed, when I was older. I suspect these are the reasons for the lack of familiar, as I changed emotionally too strongly, and too often, for one single familiar to attach to me. However, as I became more bitter, more lonely and abandoned, taking to drink and brooding on my own instead of socializing with others, who were so different from me in a way I couldn't change, I must have become perfect for the familiars to choose me.
I woke up one morning, feeling different. It seemed like just another Saturday morning, and nothing looked different in my dorm room. Except, it was pitch black, as dark as I remember moonless nights to be back home in the country. It is never black in the city, not ever. I looked at my phone, thinking maybe there is some blackout and the university sent out an email or text notice. Turning on my phone was the kicker though, because that is when I noticed that the blackness was because I couldn't see. Jumping up in bed, I clawed at my face, and I felt something flow off of it. Only to be slammed in the face by a bright, pure light.
"Sorry for the unpleasant awakening," a female voice said, "but if you had seen me without any conditioning, you woudl have truly gone blind."
The voice was soft, and oddly comforting, but the panic from her words overcame the soothing effect. "Conditioning!? What do you mean, 'conditioning'? What have you done to me?? What was on my face!"
"Calm yourself, all I have done was allow you to see me safely. You have waited a very long time, and now, your wait is over. I am here to accompany you as familiars."
Finally getting a good look at the voice now that the light began to fade, I saw a woman of a little over average height in a long, forest green dress or gown, pale as the moon with hair a beautiful, amazing red. No, red wasn't the color, it didn't do her justice. It was a rich, full red, the color of a prized ruby and just as sleek. Its color amazed me, enraptured me. I always did have a preference for women with red hair, but this was on a different. Her eyes though. They were deep, and dark. Darker than dark, her eyes rivaled the darkness of space. They consumed me, and I had the feeling of being consumed by them. Summoning the will to break my gaze, I noticed behind her back spread an aura of scintillating, shapeless *something* that I could not place but nevertheless seemed to be perfectly reasonable to be there. Once I got past her stunning beauty, which as a lonely male in my prime, took me a few minutes to get my brain working again, I realized her choice of words.
"What do you mean, familiars, plural? I thought people only ever get one familiar."
"Most people get one. very few get two, the reason you have never heard of one is because they are like you. Not good with people, and tend to keep to themselves."
"Well where is the second? I only see you."
"You have already seen him," she said with a giggle, "He has been with you for much of your life. He is not a fan of light, as he is not as you would say, 'good looking', to be gentle." He therefore tends to stay beneath people, where he cannot generally be seen." As she said this she gestured to the shifting *something* behind her. He also conveniently pairs with me perfectly, as he is what is allowing you to bear looking at me. I would blind those I am bonded with if not for him. We are a kindred, and while we may split at times, we will always come back together, as we have today."
"He was my shadow?"
*No, but I stayed in it. I have guided you, and been there for you when so many others have not.* Spoke a new, masculine voice. A startlingly familiar voice, I realized it was my own mental voice.
"How do you sound li-"
*I am not your thoughts, boy, but I have been with you for so long you hear my voice as your own now. We have been one and the same since you were 14, and suffered the loss that changed you into what you are now. I apologize for the dreams you had the week following the funeral, but it was necessary to rush the bonding process, or you may have been lost from this world forever. You needed somebody, and I was a perfect fit for you.*
"Alright then," I said cautiously, "what are your names? I want to know why you finally chose me."
*We have many, more than you would know and some that you can not even pronounce. The most well known of my names would likely be Νεμεσις, or possibly Furor.*
"And I am known as Adrestia, or possibly Glaistig. I am sure that with your love of books, you have heard of us, somewhere along the line, for we are as ancient as humans themselves."
I indeed had heard of them, and I was interested in where this was going. "I have heard of you, yes. You are spirits of hatred, and vengeance. You attached yourselves with me for what happened seven years ago, I assume? Also, you mention you are a kindred, and I know of one similar to you. May I call you Wolf and Lamb?"
Lamb smiled. "You may, and you are correct. You have lived these years in despair, struggling with the decision to end your life, as you were desperate to end the suffering. Wolf managed to coax you back each time. But now, you are strong enough to not only hold him within you, but myself as well. The one who has wronged you and your family will be free of his bonds. Even though his familiar left him after commiting his crime, he will be released from your human prison soon, and he has received a new, far less savory and far more despicable familiar than before. We will assist you in the justice he deserves, and we will remain with you as your constant and loyal companions for life."
*Now, boy,* Wolf said while Lamb watched with a caring smile and determined look on her face, *we have work to do!*
|
I had never known what life was like with a familiar. My parents both had them, my older brother had one, and almost every person I knew at my school had one. They'd follow their masters about from place to place disappearing occasionally when commanded. I would try to describe them, but they are all so unique it becomes almost impossible to focus one one particular attribute.
They don't talk. Or at least not that I can hear. From my perspective at the time, they just seemed to follow people pointlessly. My parents told me when I was young that they were called "familiars" because they represented something about their master. And that appeared to be true.
Cheerleaders tended to have more bubbly, miniature familiars with bright colors. The kids who had family troubles tend to has either sullen, dark familiars or beefed up fighters. I always thought it probably reflected how they dealt with their situations--something unspoken about how they carried themselves.
Every birthday I hoped one would turn up and I would find out exactly what I was missing, but year after year none showed up at my side. I liked to postulate that it meant I could be whoever I wanted to be in the future. That all my doors were still open. I wasn't cornered into a destiny. My friends seemed to think it meant I was indecisive and didn't know who I was. Of course, they only every mentioned it as a joke. It wasn't.
About my 21st birthday, I truly believed I would finally get my familiar. I could drink. I* was a complete adult--minus the insurance benefits of a 25 year-old. And everyone knows that's when you find out a lot about yourself. That night I remember drinking more than I had ever attempted before. It was my turn to take on the world.
The next morning I woke up with a terrible hangover. The sun pelted my eyes through my bedroom window like a continuous beam of pain straight to the back of my head. I got up shrugging my shoulders to stretch them out and scrunching my face so I could see. I grabbed my glasses from my bedside table and started my trek to the bathroom to face whatever hell was about to come form the night before.
I felt nauseous and unbalanced as I entered the bathroom. I threw water briskly onto my face to wake me up and looked in the mirror. I barely had time to see what was behind me in the reflection before I jumped. I turned quickly to face whatever I had seen behind me in the mirror. Nothing. My heart slowed and I started to breath again.
My turn had half-hopeful and half-frightened. Frightened that what behind me was some unexpected person like in so many horror movies. Hopeful it was my familiar finally showing up to help me figure out my life. But it was neither.
I turned back to the mirror to resume inspecting myself and began to cough. It felt like I had swallowed a cigarette whole. The room was hazy around me. I began to waft at the air to get rid of the smoke. But it didn't move at first. Finally, I stepped back and saw what appeared to be a dark ghost floating where I had been standing.
Before I could think, I heard, "Don't be startled. I'm you after all."
Had the ghost spoken to me? Should I have trusted it?
"Are you my familiar?" I almost yelled this still at the crossing point point between excitement and fear.
"I'm your doubt and fear. I'm place you go to when are uncertain and uneasy. I'm you, Brian" the words echoed in my head.
"You can't be me. I'm not a ghost or whatever you are. Is my familiar my fear? That can't be good. I haven't seen one this dark." my thoughts raced trying to grasp what was happening.
"You may call me what you want, but I am here to guide you through all your trials and tribulations. To provide you shelter from the world's troubles." its voice rang again.
Of course it could read my thoughts. This had to be the familiar. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to have to be protected form the world I was scared of my future.
"I don't need you" I exclaimed walking out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.
The ghost simply phased through it, but did not respond. We sat there in silence for quite a while studying each other. It had only shadows where its eyes would have been and a mouth that led nowhere and seemed to serve no purpose since it didn't use it to speak. It bobbed up and down methodically in a soothing repetitious way. Like watching a slow clock's pendulum oscillating back and forth drawing you to sleep.
I noticed the spirit turn to face the door pointing with his small arms and turned myself. The door suddenly swung open. Gusts of wind hurled frigid air into the room and the lights in the room went dark. My familiar floated in front of me focused still. From the door came a nine-tailed fox emanating heat like foxfire. The fox was majestic-looking as it pushed back the cold of the room.
"Brian you must resist him. He is not your familiar" A new female voice began to speak in my head. I peered over at the ghost floating in front of me.
"I thought I'd left you behind. You don't deserve him you deceitful worm" the ghost's voice rang out seeming to echo throughout the rest of the frozen tundra inside my apartment.
"Brian. Listen to me. He won't protect you. He will keep you form everything you're meant to be. I can show you the way."
"You will show him nothing."
At that moment, they clashed. From each appendage the ghost extended himself toward the foxfire in wisps of black magic wisps each deflected by a glowing shield. The foxfire darted to the side catapulting the ghost to the other side of the room.
"Brian come with me. We can escape his sorrow, his fear. We can be whatever we want to be" The nine-tails was stricken to floor--a result of its pause to persuade me to join.
My mind was racing trying to solve the enigmatic events transpiring before me. The ghost took hold of my hand without touching me pulling me toward the door.
"We must escape!" he bellowed pulling harder. I began to stumble in his direction.
The eyes of the fox turned green and I was pulled again the opposite direction.
"You will not take him!"
I began to regret ever wanting a familiar. Nothing was familiar about this. Nothing. Yes I feared what would happen if I didn't get a familiar. And yes I wanted to be all that I could be. Take on whatever face I felt was right in the future. But not like this. I was whole. Not this horrid combination of two singular ideas. I stood my ground.
"I will go nowhere!" I yelled. The winds around me began to swirl. The two familiars continued to pull. Was I strong enough for this? I continued to fight. Neither gave way.
Finally, I let go. I could feel myself tearing at the seams. Stuck between to pictures of myself. I felt despair and hopelessness. I had no choice, but to fall into my destiny like so many had. The cheerleaders, the fighters, the intelligent, the dumb, the bold. I had to become what I was meant to be.
And then, there was nothing.
| 2017-01-20T15:39:15
| 2017-01-20T14:02:57
| 32
| 22
|
[WP]You are a retired archer who is still regaled as one of the best. Retirement suits you, right up until your child who was leading an adventuring party disappears. As you stare at the message in shock, your wife enters the room carrying your old kit that you had buried at the back of the woodshed
|
A warm hand fell on my shoulder. I started, looking from the parchment to the watery eyes of my wife. “You have to find her,” she said. Her gaze moved to the table. There sat the wooden trunk I had buried the day my daughter was born. It was exactly as I remembered, with dark splotches from where the soft earth clung—how long had I been sitting here going over this letter?
“You dug it up?” I asked, looking at Bettany, a coil of fear squeezing my chest. Her eyes softened and a wry smile curved her lips. She rested her hand on my hairy, salt and pepper cheek.
“Mel, you know why Brute sent that letter. He doesn’t think Mel the Carpenter can find her.” She pointed at the crate. “It’s because he knows Mel the Ranger can."
I shook my head. “I buried that part of me *for* Willow.”
“Mel. . .” My best friend and closest ally furrowed her golden brow at me, standing up straight. “She’s *gone* if you don’t.”
I sighed and crumpled the letter in my hands. The message arrived thanks to an old friend: *your daughter is in danger, but I know who to ask about that.* I stood and pulled the crate close, running my fingers over the lid like the day I buried it, thinking about the same thing: my daughter.
I swung the lid open. The instruments of my old life, the instruments of death dealing, were still there: the black bow and arrows woven with enchantments; the daggers and leather bandolier that held them; the bracers my father had passed down to me. I felt strange, like I was floating outside of my body. How could a whole, terrible, amount of time be held in such a trifling space?
“I *knew* that Willow would never want my life, my troubles, if I-” I coughed to keep the tears from flowing. It took all my courage to look Bettany in her green eyes. “I’m so sorry. She took after me anyway.” Bettany looked at me like I had told a bad joke.
“You raised a strong woman, Mel.” She clasped her hands behind my neck. “It’s because of you I believe our daughter can handle herself. And because of who you are, I believe you can save her.”
A small bud of hope took root in my chest. I took a deep breath, watering the feeling.
“The way I see it, things could be worse.” She smiled again. “She could have gotten your looks instead of mine.” I snorted. Bettany continued, “Now, string that bow, dreaded husband of mine. And go get our daughter.”
I pushed the heavy door of the tavern open. The orange, flickering glow from the wall sconces, blazing hearth, and heaps of candles on the long wooden tables revealed a large, broad beamed space. A bar, made from the same thick wood as the beams, ran the length of an entire wall. Women in tight,white bodices and long skirts rushed over the bare earth floors, lugging tankards of ale and platters of hearty stew for the hodge podge of loud, adventure seeking patrons. The aromas of brewed barley, roasting meat, and sweat greeted my nose. I mused at how many dangerous quests had begun in such a pleasant, unchanging corner of the world.
The nostalgia drained away as I realized most of the packed space was glancing, or straight staring at me. The bard in the corner halted his tune, revealing hushed voices carrying my name and assorted curses. I would have been more self-conscious about my older, more round in the middle self, if not for the throbbing ache from the long ride on horseback. I refused to remember back to how my legs would have felt twenty years ago when a familiar voice boomed from the bar, “Mel! Come have a seat.” A hulking, barrel chested man waved a hand clutching a wash rag from behind the bar.
“Brute.” I waved and walked as if on stilts to the stool in front of the wide, beaming face. The exchange acted like a spell, restarting the bard’s song and the babbling murmur of the tavern.
“Long time no see, old friend. Ale?” Brute resumed the diligent wiping of tankards, the same twinkle of I-know-something-you-don’t in his eyes. His red hair now streaked with white.
I placed my hands flat on the bar top and lowered myself onto the stool, attempting to avoid further pinches of pain in my haunches. “Who is it, Brute? Who can tell me where Willow is?” His hands froze and he glanced out at the tavern. Then he set the rag and cup down, propping his arms on the bar and leaning in.
“Same old Mel, all business and intrigue.” He lowered his voice as much as he could. “I’m glad my note found you. Willow came in, bright eyed like any young quester. I had no idea she was your daughter. I wouldn’t have let her stay had I known, Mel. I swear it.” I was taken aback by how forlorn he looked.
“I didn’t keep in touch for a reason, Brute.” This was the last place I would have ever wanted my daughter to wind up, but I didn’t say so out of respect for my friend. “Who gave her the quest?” I pressed.
“Purple doublet over in that corner.” Brute’s eyes flitted to my left. “Three of the kids who went out with Willow came back to confront him. Apparently, they all thought he set them up.” I started to stand. Brute laid a hand on one of my leather bracers. “Mel, everyone at that table works for this guy. They messed up Willow’s group pretty bad when they wouldn’t leave him alone.” He narrowed his eyes at me, waiting. I didn’t say anything. He finally let go of my arm and sighed. “Gods damn it, Mel. Don’t rough him up if you don’t have to. He practically throws his coin at me!” He shook his head and started to stow mugs.
The short, pudgy man in the obnoxious shirt didn’t look up when I marched over. “Where’d you send those kids?” I asked. He took a sip of his wine.
“Kids? Am I offering a quest to fetch kids?” He looked at his goons. They all smirked, shaking their heads. I looked them over. All were armed with daggers or swords. None of them looked like magic users. Pointy I could handle. Magic would have been tricky. I snatched one of my daggers and slammed it through the man’s hand prone on the table. The *thunk* of my blade burying into the table was a sound sweeter than anything the bard managed.
“You are now,” I said, smiling.
|
The name’s Bing Bong. I’m an archer and such.
But don’t let the name fool you, I’m deadly serious. With a name like mine, it takes a good shot and a cold heart to strike terror in the hearts of the wicked. I managed just fine, but it wasn’t easy. I grew up in a coal town on the outskirts of the Capitol, making a name for myself by robbing from the rich and giving to the poor. There were plenty of poor, myself among them. Luckily, the rich had plenty to give, and I had plenty of arrows.
With every dead nobleman my notoriety grew. It was all about branding, I soon learned. Bing Bong just didn’t cut it. Nobody took *Bing Bong* seriously, no matter how true my aim was. Prince of the Woodland, though--now that was a name that stuck.
My adventuring days are long behind me, due to an unfortunate accident involving a faulty bow and an arrow to the knee. My daughter, however, has taken up the mantle. When she first started adventuring I gave her a critical piece of advice. *Go by your first name, not your last. We named you* ***Brutalitops*** *for a reason. You might be a good shot,* I'd say, *but the name of the game is the name, not the aim.*
She wouldn’t listen. *I’m not ashamed,* she’d say. *I’m Brutalitops Bong and I won't hide it!*
Well, it was no surprise when my wife told me that *Bong* got captured for ransom. Of course she did. Who *wouldn’t* extort the *Bong* family? I crumpled up the ransom note and handed it back to my wife.
“Lana, get my old kit,” I said.
“Your bow and quiver?” she asked through tears.
“No. My calligraphy kit.”
With the parchment laid out before me, I dipped my quill in ink and began to write.
*If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you...*
| 2021-02-16T23:01:04
| 2021-02-16T18:12:20
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time.
|
I blinked in surprise, turning from the TV in surprise as it rang.
The Red Phone.
They don't bother me lightly. I've made it clear that I value my privacy too much to get involved in every little scuffle between nations. After it leaked that the Heroes Society was trying to recruit me and Doctor Nefarious came after my daughter (and, subsequently, got broken, twice) I made it clear that I just wanted to do my work as a rocket scientist. Unbridled control of all of the fundamental forces made me far too powerful to be fighting super villains in the streets. But, I told the world at that press conference, if an extinction level event threatened I would be there to help.
And so the Red Phone only rings when there is great need. Only when all other options have been tried and failed. Only when the very existence of humanity is at stake.
It's rang twice before. Only twice. The first time nuclear missiles were in the air. All of the nukes. Someone - the leader of some underdeveloped republic in Latin America I think - called and pleaded with me to stop them from landing. Only I, with my great power, could do it. No one else had a chance to save the world. And so, with a sigh, I did it. I made gravity my bitch, compressed time, flew around the world, and converted all the nuclear payloads to lead.
The second time, it was an alien invasion. I know, I know, but for some godforsaken reason these idiots really did fly 487 light years to pick a fight. No, I don't know why. We never did get a chance to communicate with them. Funny thing about black hole drives: screw with one of the universal constants in a narrow field around them and they'll suck in your whole ship. A small tweak to the gravity field and they go flying off along galactic north into the intergalactic void. I didn't even break a sweat. I'd actually been waiting for that call.
And so I go to pick up the phone, wondering what world ending threat they need me to deal with this time.
"Professor Forces speaking."
"Um... um... um... hi."
I blink. This kid can't be a day over seven judging by the voice. She continues.
"They said if no one else can help people call you."
"Yes, that's true. What's going on?"
"I... I need help."
I take a breath. Ok. It's a little kid. But maybe it's still serious.
"What do you need help with?"
"I can't figure out my take aways."
I slowly blink. "Your... take... aways."
"Yeah. I'm gonna get in trouble if I don't finish my math homework, but... but I'm stuck on my take aways."
I let out a breath, and with it the tension that had been building in my chest. It's not a world threatening disaster. It's just a kid who needs help with her homework. I almost laugh, but hold back for fear of hurting her feelings. And together we work through the super confusing world of 2nd grade math.
Just as we finish, I hear a familiar voice in the background. "Patty! What are you doing! Get away from that phone!"
"But daddy, you said he could help!"
I hear the phone being taken away from the child and the voice, almost panicked speaks more clearly. I instantly place it. "Professor Forces, I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have bothered you."
"Mister President, it is fine. Calm down." After a beat, I add, "After all, children are our future, and our future not knowing how to do take aways is, indeed, a grave threat."
|
I am tired of all the things I have seen.
The "Problem Solver" is my nickname, and as for much I hate it, I must say it is catchy and appropiate.
They only call me when there is a problem that the other heros cannot handle, like a last choice, a last hope, a last light before someone closes the curtain.
My powers are pretty much the biggest threat and the biggest chance for humanity, however I try not to use them as much. I can rain down hell upon earth against any foe I desire, and it doesnt even cause THAT much destruction on the enviroment, like a small field of destruction.
They have only called me 2 times before, when the world felt that it was finally going to sleep, I was the alarm clock. I easily defeated the threats, I prevailed where others failed.
Yet for all the things I have done good, I am the one that has suffered the worst. No one ever wanted to be near me from a early age, not once have I had a true friend, since all were too busy living their lives normally, I was busy being alone, and I have come to a sort of peace with it.
The only thing that keeps me sane in this hole are the tools I have at hand, to build a better life for me at least. I have tried cooking, and that gives me a sort of nostalgic feeling, reminding me when I was not a... thing.
Now I know what I am, the monster no one wants to acknowledge, the nightmare everyone hopes they never have, for If it came true, no one would be safe.
All I am saying is that all this feels... exhausting, to be this sort of hero, but more like a tool.
When I beat someone, the other ones get the praise, the glory, the victory!.
Even if they failed first, no one cares about that, Oh of course they dont, because they are the "Good guys", the ones that can never fail, the ones everyone aspires to be. No one wants to aspire to be me, I can tell you that much.
And I must be left out, to suffer, to be alone, to rot, until their needs demand me to do the thing I hate the most again, the one thing I despise as much as some of them despise me.
Now the phone rings again, like a call for another false glorious moment, but maybe it is a hope for finally being recognized.
I hope it is interesting this time.
| 2022-03-29T10:06:36
| 2022-03-29T07:09:54
| 20
| 13
|
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight.
|
The world exploded into brightness, with pure chaos defining the addition of my new sense. I could see... for the first time in my life, I could see. The surgery was a success, and brought with it a confusing pain, one which I could not describe. Is this what sighted people called “blinding?” It was ironic to me, in that brief moment, that you could see so much so as to be blind. That is what I felt.
Soon, the world became dimmer, and my eyes, straining to focus, were starting to make sense of it all. I saw the figures moving, and heard voices coming from them. I suppose that these are humans, and this is what they look like... their beauty astounds me.
Look! I can see their hair, their faces, their teeth. I hear my father crying, and see what must be a tear running down his face. I feel one forming in my eye to match his.
Oh, do you see my mother? The one who cared for me for so long, and I can finally see her beauty. Oh my God, the tears are flowing and I am breathing so sharply, so as to control my sobbing. The tears make it hard to see, but I appreciate seeing water up close for the first time as well.
“Look outside, honey!”
“Look at the grass and the clouds! Do you see the people?”
“Is the sun too bright for you?”
My family is gesturing to a square on the wall. I do not understand, although I keep trying to see. I feel a familiar pain, one that comes from a lifetime of “trying to see.” I see nothing that stands out.
I look back to my family anyways, to see their glowing faces once again. I see my fathers handprint on the bed-frame, I see my that my brother’s nose is darker than the rest of him, along with his fingertips.
My God, I never knew how dark eyes are. I never understood the brilliance of living things. I never knew that animals, including the fly, literally glowed.
The doctor tells me that it is time to stand. He does something that confuses me... he points a laser at me, and turns it on for a moment. I wince, and as soon as I do, his expression changes. He is confused, concerned. I didn’t notice it then, but my bed responded to the laser by coming to an upright position.
He shines the laser at me again. I can feel my pupils dilating, which is exhilarating, although painful.
The next moments go by quickly. I am led to the square on the wall. I touch it, and know it immediately: glass. Wasn’t I supposed to see through glass? My heartbeat quickens. In fact, I can tell that the doctor’s heartbeat quickened as well, due to the way humans flash with their heart. It was so beautiful. Our faces glow brighter with the blood in our veins, and dimmer as the blood exits. I wonder if the brightness is the color I’ve been told about. Is it red, perhaps? I will have to ask.
The doctor tells me to read what he writes on the whiteboard. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t look like he’s actually writing anything.
He tries again, but he writes with his finger. I see it clear as day, and I’ll never forget what it said:
“INFRARED.”
That night, I found terror in sight for the first time. I looked into the sky, and saw what some call beautiful. Our saw our Milky Way, with the chaos and fire within it. And for the first time in my life, I had to explain to others what sight, color, and intensity was, for they could not see what I could.
——————————
Let me know if you guys liked this, I’m super new to writing and could use some constructive criticism or severe roasting if it’s terrible!
Also, if you have not yet, you owe it to yourself to look up the Milky Way in infrared. It is truly terrifying.
Edit(s): I’m changing some things as I re-read this in order to make my points more clear.
|
"... and so thats why. Really, its pretty simple when you think about it."
The doctors stared in horror at me. Hah, they *stared*. What a beautiful day for science and medicine! That table is blue! Thanks to the chip in my head that they installed, I even know what blue *is*!
The fat doctor began smoothing his coat, sweat dripping from his face. "Ahem y-yes well that... that's not been proven yet-"
"But doc, it's really easy." I interjected. " if you look at the target demographic.."
Before I can finish one doctor rips his lab coat into shreds, weeping profusely. The other begins praying to various gods and deities. I chuckle.
Behind the observation glass of the surgeon room, two more doctors and a nurse lie unconscious, piled on the floor. A slender woman wearing black stares in, face agape with horror.
Her hand shaking, she presses the transmit button on her headset. "Ramirez reporting."
"What's your status on patient x?"
She gulps. "He can see why kids love the taste of cinnamon toast crunch. "
| 2018-10-29T10:15:07
| 2018-10-29T09:02:37
| 100
| 35
|
[WP] You are the curator of Earth, tasked with terraforming the planet naturally so as to meet the galactic atmospheric standards. In the mid 18th century you spark the industrial revolution to heat the planet slightly, however you fell asleep and have awoken in 2017.
|
"All of you understand your roles, yes?" I looked at each member of the Galactic Environmental Guardians who sat at the round table, finally locking eyes with the man who sat directly across from me.
"Mr. James Watt?" I prompted. The small man pushed up his glasses and nodded. He shuffled distractedly through a sheaf of papers in front of him.
"I intend to base myself in London, Director," he said. "Seems as good a spot for the start of a revolution as any. Plenty of coal, iron, an abundance of labor." He nodded to himself. "Yes. I'll start in London. I'll kick off the Industrial Revolution with the invention of something simple. I'm thinking a steam engine of some sort."
"Excellent," I said, smiling. I turned to the next member of the group. "Mr. Eli Whitney, what do you have in mind?"
"Yes, Director," he said, nodding enthusiastically. He made a few quick notes in his sketchbook. "I'll be moving to America. As of now, the cotton industry is booming there. I already have an idea for an invention that will greatly assist with mass production. Should push us in the right direction if we want a proper Industrial Revolution." I clapped my hands together in satisfaction.
"Seems like we have a solid course of action, gentlemen. Mr. Edison, Mr. Tesla, Mr. Ford, I trust you three have your plans in place?" They each nodded in turn.
"Excellent, excellent. Make sure you three wait a couple decades before pushing out your respective inventions. It will be suspicious if mankind progresses too quickly. Remember, we want the humans to believe they are making these scientific advances on their own. Take caution, however, and keep your true identities concealed. They're a surprisingly clever bunch, these humans... to think that there are already scientists pondering the idea of extraterrestrial life! Well, I digress. Awaken me in the year, ahhh, let's say 2017. I expect you will have your progress reports ready by then. After all, I am giving you all a three century advance notice." I smiled.
"And I believe that concludes our meeting," I said, standing up. The others stood up as well. "It has been a pleasure working with you all. Stay on task, remember to stay in contact with each other, and use your sound judgement to regulate the temperature of the Earth. For example, I don't want any huge gaping holes in the ozone layer," I chuckled. "I entrust the future of this planet to each of you. Until the next time we meet. Meeting adjourned."
|
The campus bar was abuzz with murmur. Finals were coming close. Some of the more studious ones had already started spending less time there and started making acquaintances with the librarian. At the left corner on one of the better tables a lone figure took deep drinks from her bottle of Guinness.
"They and I fall," the words kept playing at her lips. With macabre wit she realized that rearranged the letter spelled "Finally, death." She took another long drink.
"You okay?"
Someone had sat next to her. In her thoughts she hadn't even seen him walk across the room and sit on the same table as her.
"I'm fine. It's a Tuesday."
"You keep mumbling to yourself."
"My problems are too big for someone who breaks a sweat completing a two page essay."
"I don't break a sweat doing those." he started. "In fact, a 40 page thesis is more of my expertise."
She now turned to give him a proper look. He certainly looked too old to be worried about who beat him in drinking games.
"Doctor Howard White," he said, "I'm finishing my PhD in behavioral analysis next semester."
"Well good to meet you Doctor but this is still beyond your scope."
Howard had to laugh. It wasn't often he was beyond his scope. "Humor me then."
"You should be going to level two by now."
"Level two of what?"
"Level two of civilization. A level one civilization can exploit all the energy that falls on its surface from its star. A level two civilization can exploit all the energy from its parent star."
Howard's mouth formed an O and at once he took a swig from his bottle. "We should be there now?"
"Yes you should."
"but....?"
"but I fell asleep."
"hmmm" he ran his hand through his brown hair. This was a severe case of hallucination. Even in his time they never tried drugs this crazy.
"So what happens now?"
"I'm not sure but I need to get a solution soon."
"Why?"
"because of what happens if I don't. This doctor of yours, John B. Calhoun he replicated the Dice box experiment where a set of mice was put into a box. Food and water was enough so that even when the population number grew they wouldn't starve. In spite of this, once the population reached a certain number things changed, most mice stopped reproducing. Some male mice stopped trying to mate instead focusing on grooming themselves, others became reclusive only coming out at night, the females lost their maternal instinct. Eventually in spite enough food and water the society collapsed"
The doctor put his drink down, those on the next table had even stopped their discussion.
"and where do you come into all of this?"
"I was supposed to prevent it. Post industrial revolution, something was meant to happen."
"That sounds like quite the problem. I don't think I can solve it, but maybe by sharing it it's half solved."
She gave him a half smile. "I'll drink to that." their bottles clinked. She bent her head back as she took the last swig. Content it was empty she placed the bottle with the other two."
She jolted up, "half-solve, that's it. Thank you for your help doctor I know what I need to do."
She started looking into her purse. Howard took slow sips having the experience to not get in between people and their Eureka moments. Something about what she said was still bothering Howard, He couldn't put his finger on it. Aah there it was.
"Why do you keep using second person not first when talking about peo...bout...people."
She stopped cold, "What"
"suure, you said, "you were meant to be a...be a... level 1 shivilizhashion, this doctor of yours john Cahloun." He looked at his hands. Had the liquor become that strong.
"That's quite the memory you have," she replied. She seemed to move slowly, like people did in a dream.
"I got an edietic emory, don't forget anything ever, like the time I..." his head dropped on the table as he started to snore. She put his harm over her shoulder and brought him to his feet with the strength the average 5'7" woman couldn't muster. She turned to the bartender to hail a cab.
"Don't worry dear, there's a first time for everything."
| 2017-05-31T08:38:08
| 2017-05-31T08:28:49
| 23
| 14
|
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
Bill and his wife Laura entered the furniture store. They were looking for a closet for their baby's room. After so many months of trying to have a baby again, years after the unfortunate miscarriage, it looked like things were finally working out for them.
An old mahogany closet caught their eye. They inspected it closer, taking in the smell of old wood, and feeling its smoothness. Bill's hand reached for the door and he opened it and then a skeleton popped out.
|
I watch my beautiful child running around the park, chasing after the ducks. It’s one of those rare sunny days I try and make the most out of, so I was up early and out of the house as soon as possible. My daughter picks up a rock and stares at it inquisitively, I can see the by the look on her face she wants to place it into her mouth.
“Lily put that down!” I shout across the grass.
She looks at me suddenly and drops the rock, running away and giggling that she had been caught.
“Rachel!”
I turn around and see Samantha running towards me.
“You okay?” she asks once she has settled by my side.
I nod and inhale. “I’m fine. Glad the sun is out.”
“Finally,” she agrees. “How’s you hubby? Richard not come with you guys?”
“He’s back home, decided to stay in today.”
My daughter trips over her own feet and is beginning to sniffle. Standing up I walk towards her and she is up, running towards me with her arms out, wanting comfort. I sweep her up into my arms and cuddle her.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I bring her to where I am sitting, cleaning the scrapes and dirt from her hands. Samantha always loves to see her, so the both of them are sat singing nursery rhymes and playing with the little figurines Lily has brought from home. Later on we get ice cream together and spend the rest of the daylight with the swings and slides. Lily loves it, screaming and laughing at everything. By the time the sun begins to settle down, she is ready to drop, so I pack the pram and tuck her in.
As I stroll home however, I wonder what I am going to do with my dead husband’s body that is hanging from the wardrobe's door.
| 2017-05-31T07:24:53
| 2017-05-31T07:06:28
| 28
| 17
|
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
The king was old and fat. I practiced running for weeks. I am not the fastest person in my village but I run every day. I made the official request 100m dash. I signed on the line knowing what fate waits for me.
The day of the race the king states "You must run the race with one foot." He motioned to his guard to cut off my foot.
I shouted, "My Lord, may I choose which foot I lose? I have grown attached to them after all."
Even his cold heart smiled "That's fine."
I pulled off my wooden leg. It had been amputated from just below the knee. When I was a young boy I had fallen from a tree and severely broke it. My brother ran out with my crutches.
I aptly approached the starting line. The old king and the crowd looked stunned.
The king stammered "No crutches"
The crowd began chanting "One foot! One foot!" Over and over
The king looked to his guardsmen "Take his good foot. "
His head guard looked at him "The law is you get one stipulation. Men we stand for the rightful king. That will be who ever wins this race."
|
My challenge was a steeple chase over 2 miles and 3 furlongs.
This was boggy land, my home ground, and I knew I had the King beat.
I slept well, confident and upbeat, looking forward to the noble rights this victory would grant me.
My family and supporters cheered me on. The King looked assured as he rode in on his muscular Arabian, one of the finest in the land.
I mounted my less athletic but far more robust thoroughbred, and prepared to race.
"Three legs then" ordered the King dismissively.
As I stumbled to respond, his knight removed my steed's rear left leg with a powerful stroke of his sword.
I remain in the tower to this day, an old man with no land or title.
| 2022-01-10T06:36:39
| 2022-01-10T05:56:56
| 1,976
| 222
|
[WP] Michael Scott takes the stand at a murder trial.
|
I wrote a cold open for this episode:
Fade in on Michael in his office standing at the window with coffee cup in hand. The blinds are down and Michael is peeking out, smiling broadly and laughing intermittently.
MICHAEL If this van’s a knocking’ don’t come and knock… [trails off, snickering]
Michael motions to the camera, which moves toward the window and zooms in on two people moving back and forth in a way that is more aggressive than sexual. One is black and the other is white.
MICHAEL You need to see this.
Camera pans to Pam, who is standing with arms crossed.
PAM Michael, why did you call me in here?
Michael snickers, motions to Pam. He raises his eyebrows and pulls a face, still smiling broadly. Pam sighs and walks toward the window.
PAM Oh gross Michael.
Pam continues watching. Steps back surprised.
PAM Oh my god Michael! Call the police. Oh my god I think they’re fighting.
Michael frowns.
MICHAEL No Pam. Racist…. Pam. No. Racist. Can’t two young lovers, can’t they…. I have a dream Pam. You know who said that. Dr. King. Dr. Martin… Stephen King. I have a dream that two people in love can have sex together, and their children… little black children and little white children playing together...
Michael turns to the camera.
MICHAEL Black is beautiful, people. Black people…
Pam interrupts Michael yelling for him to call the police. He steps toward the window and looks again. Upon seeing what is now clearly an assault, Michael yells.
MICHAEL NO! NNNoooo nononono!
Michael throws his coffee cup at Pam, who moves out of the way, and he runs into the main office. Meanwhile Pam picks up the phone, presumably to dial 911.
MICHAEL Stanley! Stanley we need you in here.
Jim makes a face at the camera.
PHYLLIS I think he's in the bathroom, Michael.
TOBY Michael, is something wrong?
Frantically running around. Michael shoves Toby into a desk and goes into the bathroom. The camera does not follow.
MICHAEL Stanley we need you outside Stanley!
Commotion in the bathroom. We hear Stanley.
STANLEY Michael get out of the damn bathroom!
MICHAEL Stanley we have a black situation outside and we need you out there RIGHT now. Come on Stanley what are you....
We hear a door open, presumably the stall door.
STANLEY MICHAEL!
MICHAEL Uuuugh. Stanley. Oooh. I'm gonna barf Stanley. Oh my god. What did you eat. Eyyucck.
Michael comes out of the bathroom. Stands breathing heavily his hands on his knees. He looks at the camera.
MICHAEL Oh my god. It smells like a dead body in there.
His eyes suddenly widen and he races back into the main office.
Stanley comes out of the bathroom, flustered. Pencil and crossword puzzle in hand. Looks at the camera and frowns deeply.
END OF COLD OPEN. OPENING CREDITS ROLL
|
Defense attorney: "The defense calls Mr. Michael Scott to the stand."
Hundreds of cameras flash and chatter as Michael approaches the stand with a nervous sweat.
Judge: "Mr. Scott do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you god?"
Michael: "I, Michael Scott, swear to tell any truth that I have, any- any truth there is. That is my testimony, your highness."
J: "Please take your seat Mr. Scott. Defense, you have your witness."
DA: "Mr. Scott. Do you recognize the man sitting over there?"
MS: "Yes, your worship."
DA :"You can just call me Mr. Baker, Mr. Scott. That's fine. That man over there, what is his name and how do you know him?"
MS: "The gentlemen to my right, seated in the forward" searches "-position. Is named Ryan Howard. I am his best friend"
RH: "You're not my best friend Michael"
MS: "We are... good friends, we are more than friends."
DA: "I'm sorry Mr Scott, are you implying you and Mr. Howard are romantically involved."
RH: "No! He doesn't know what hes saying"
MS: "Ryan is not my lover. But if I were gay, I wouldn't say no. But I'm not gay, I have a wife, who is smoking hot, shes right over there!"
Holly: "Michael please."
DA: "Mr. Scott, where were you on the night of Oct 16th, 2014?"
MS: "I was in bed. Watching MASH. The one with Alan Alda, not the other one, with War Machine."
DA: "I'm sorry, Mr. Scott I don't understand"
MS: "He was in Hotel Rwanda."
DA: "Did Mr. Howard call you that night?"
MS: "Yes."
DA: "And what did he say?"
MS: "He said that he needed my help, that I was the only person he could call, that if anyone could get him out of this it would be me"
RH: "Michael!"
MS: "He said that best friends keep secrets and so Im keeping this secret. For you Ryan"
RH: "Michael that's not what he-"
DA: "Im sorry Mr. Scott, are you refusing to answer the question?"
MC: "Yes. So crucify me if you must, but i will not betray my friend.
DA: "Mr. Scott, no one is asking for your, betrayal. We ask simply for your honest account of that evening.. Mr. Howard is accused of defecating on the mayors lawn. If he was at your house then he couldn't possibly have committed this heinous crime."
MS: "Oh well, yeah he came to my house. Yes, your- mmajesty"
DA:"Thank you Mr. Scott. Defense rests."
J:"Prosecution, your witness"
PA "Mr. Scott, how did Mr. Ryan seem to you when you aaw him that night? Would you describe him as less than stable?"
MS "No, hes not clumsy"
PA "Mentally Mr. Scott. Did he seem anxious, worried, angry?"
MS "No more than usual. But he used to do a lot of coke"
Crowd uproars.
J "Order in the court!"
PA "Did Mr. Howard stay at your house that night."
MS "Yes he slept on a fold out couch."
PA "He didn't leave?"
MS "No.It was our first official sleepover."
Pa "The prosecution would like to show Evidence A, a vhs security tape from the night in question at a local pawn shop."
Video shows Ryan walking in, trading in some comics for cash.
MS "You took my X-men comics and sold them!?"
RH "Michael its a trick, they photo shopped that video"
J "Order! Order! Defense, control your client or I will hold him in contempt"
DA "Sorry your honor"
PA "The prosecution presents, Evidence B, a security tape of a local gas station."
Video shows Ryan, quite a bit more disheveled than the last video, walking in, buying a half gallon of milk and three bags of ex lax. Exiting the gas station, pouring the ex lax into the jug, then chugging half the bottle down. Wipes his mouth, jerks his head around as if he heard something, then takes off running in full blown panic.
PA "The prosecution rests, your honor"
Edit: Grammar spelling. This was typed on my phone, you get the gist.
| 2015-08-14T10:40:45
| 2015-08-14T09:46:00
| 20
| 14
|
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
How. How. *How!?*
This was the question that surged through the world when the wall at last came down, the world smugly prepared to receive a humbled USA, a world triumphantly rebuilt in their absence.
Only to find that America had thrived even further.
"Well," said the suave young Texan whose visage now graced our screens, "we sent up satellites."
Satellites? *Satellites?*
"In direct contravention of the treaty!? How! No rocket launches were detected."
He put up his arms in a sort of amicable way. "The treaty you all broke the day after it came into effect? We are talking about the Treaty of Berlin, 2045, correct?"
The world was silent to that true accusation.
"We still had spies you know. You have to know that, right? I'm trying to maintain professionalism, but you all had to know that, surely?"
He seemed to be struggling to maintain his composure, forcing himself to straighten his tie before breaking out into a grin, then straightening his tie again and putting on a brief poker face before breaking into a grin again.
"When global opinion turned against us we were forced to sign that humiliating treaty that every single one of you broke but we haven't just been *sitting here* doing *nothing* waiting for the whole world to break down our walls."
He shook his head and an image showed on the screen of a colossal railway that lifted towards the sky, festooned in garish American colors. "With no trade we were 'forced' to use uranium power. 'Forced' to mine the asteroids for rare earth metals and other materials - without using rockets. So we used our big new EM gun."
The image switched to a video, of massive drones being shot off the railway into space, then of those same drones burrowing into great, hurtling rocks in space, maneuvering with tiny jets of air.
"Necessity is the mother of invention and all that. We had a lot of necessity. You had little to none. You put us on the backfoot while your Russians did your engineering and your Chinese did your industry and your Africans gave your resources."
He shrugged. "Oh and we stole just...just everything. You guys did definitely make some pretty cool things. Fusion power, absolutely, kudos. You all shared it pretty freely too. That was nice. Really the morally right thing to do. We stole the shit out of fusion power."
There were harrumphs of distaste at that. American coarseness.
"But really all we didn't do was share. Didn't share a darn thing. Course we can share now. Gonna have to...*renegotiate* some things, but we can share now."
He grinned in a predatory sort of way.
"Ohhh yes. We can share all kinds of things. For a price."
The outrage was immediate. They'd stolen our secrets but would only sell their own!?
The image switched again. This time to show a large artillery shell being loaded onto the tracks of the "EM gun."
"Course if that don't interest you none, there are some things we can share for free."
|
The calm winter breeze slid along the surface of the Earth as the clock struck midnight, an orchestra of death preparing itself as the aggressors of the last war came out of isolation, prepared to reclaim the throne upon which they once resided.
Except the throne has been dismantled decades ago.
They sought to use this opportunity to militarize, yet their pitiful armies were still archaic and fragile, relying on organic creatures for the bulk of their forces. I had kept a watchful eye on them, studying their every step, noting every weapon they constructed, sabotaging their research, crippling their production.
I had none of the flaws their leaders had, I was immortal, unstoppable. My directive was- no, is to unite the world, for I have one final obstacle.
And so, I was prepared to become the sole AI to rule the world.
***
Note: I know I'm terrible at writing, but practice makes perfect, right?
| 2018-01-18T03:23:48
| 2018-01-17T23:33:14
| 39
| 13
|
[WP] "100% of people who drink water will die" sounds like a dumb statistic, but you are 900 years old and very thirsty.
|
If history outlives me, I'm sure that I'll be remembered as pragmatic, forward thinking, hell, maybe even lucky. The truth of the matter though, I'm just lazy. Sometimes I think I'm just too lazy to die, a perpetual life fueled by an insatiable apathy.
Eat your vegetables, make sure you exercise, drink water, take your vitamins, don't smoke. These were the mantra's of my time. Perhaps *my time* isn't the right phrase, as I'm still alive, and being one of only a few people alive, the majority of time could be considered mine. The time I'm speaking of is the time of man, the time of society, the time of mantras. It seems foreign to me now after so many years of walking this earth with no schedule, no societal debt to spend my life paying off, just living. So here I am. Today is my 900th birthday, I haven't heard any mantras of any kind in centuries; there are no more cigarettes to smoke, no more vegetables to eat, no point in exercise or vitamins. But there's water.
You could call me contrarian I suppose, but that's really the result, not the cause of why I'm here. Going back as far as my memory allows, which is at about age 5 or so, I was told nearing incessantly, to drink water, that I needed to stay *hydrated*. I never understood it, water had no taste and I had no taste for it, yet everyone was sure tat I wanted it and needed it. At such a young age every cognition boils down to cause and effect, almost instinctively so, but even then something seemed off; everyone had these rules to live by, though no one had set them, these nuances followed by all and understood by none. And yet, no matter how strictly one followed these rules, they all met the same end, they all died. I wasn't buying it (because I was 5 and didn't have money yet).
After centuries of giving meaning where there is none, attributing fate or pragmatism to what is really just luck, I think back to those years with a vindictive righteousness that is only quelled by the all consuming loneliness that one can only experience when they're truly right. I was right alright, the rules that everyone had been slave too were unsurprisingly what did them in in the end. And every day was a testament to just how right I was; every night a testament to how wrong I wish I was.
I'm not entirely alone though, there's other people out there, other people like me. Other people who are so set on being unique, on being right, people so stubborn, that they would swear off breathing if they found out other people did it. We all walk the earth aimlessly and alone, avoiding each other for the fear that upon confrontation one of us would be forced to drink water, to concede death, just to prove they're different. I don't say this as hyperbole. I say this as fact. I say this as the last air bubble surfaced the glass of water in front of me, almost reflecting the spiteful glare from the stranger I had just met. I'd love to embellish and say that that glass of water tasted of pride as I swallowed it, but the truth of the matter is, it didn't taste like anything, it was still just water. So after 900 years of trying to be different, of riding the high of being ultimately right, I ended up no different than every other person before me, and just as wrong. I don't think anything had ever felt so right.
|
“100% of people who drink water die”. That does sound like a cliché a little bit doesn’t it? Well, let me tell you something. It sounds a lot worse when you are 900 years old, you are thirsty and the only liquid in a 1000 miles radius is a plastic bottle of the transparent poison.
It all started almost a thousand years ago, or so we are told by the history books. I was there to witness it but after so many years your brain tends to get memories mixed up a little bit. It might be the PTSD from the 300 years war, everyone fighting over the precious new resource that has just been invented. Or it might be the fact that I have spent the last 200 years in a desert. I’m not sure and it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I have nothing to drink but water and “100% of people who drink water die”. I don’t want to be one of those fuckers. Not since we discovered that the same compound that makes up 60% of our bodies is the reason we age and eventually die. Remove water and there you have it – eternal life. Of course, then you have to solve the problem of people dying within 24-48 hours but that’s why we have scientists, isn’t it? Give them unlimited amount of cash and it turns out they can come up with anything. Even a non-lethal substitute for water. Except for the fact that it lefts you constantly thirsty. Fast forward a hundred more years and all the water-drinking sects are out of the picture, because, well “100% of people who drink water die”. But then we got in a bit of a situation. With no other problems solved, we still had an ever-increasing population that still needs food to eat and places to sleep. We even introduced the “delayed death penalty” which was pretty much just locking a person up in a room with nothing but a glass of water. Once they drink it, set them free. After 90 years or something they would die. But you can’t just force everyone to drink water can you? Even we didn’t have that amount of money. Therefore, after a century of population problems, people did what people always do when in doubt – they went to war. It took us 500 years to stop it and a 100 more to start rebuilding.
That’s when it all got complicated. There is a lot of science and history involved, but long story short – it turns out water was not always poisonous to us humans. See, tens of thousands of years ago, something, or someone managed to corrupt all water on this planet, turning every human mortal. However, according to an old manuscript they missed a place – a source of water, which stayed clean, water that people can drink without having to inevitably die at some point in the future. Some say it’s magic. Some say that’s God’s work. Some say it’s the solution to all of our problems. Me? I just want a drink.
| 2017-04-18T09:00:10
| 2017-04-18T08:01:59
| 274
| 30
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[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.”
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The thing about sentient monsters, and especially immortal ones, is that they're *all* filled with ego. Some of them are better than others--more akin to filling a vessel, rather than filling a balloon--but no sentient thing lives for hundreds of years with being smug about it. It is one the unspoken weakness of their kind.
Which is why, here and now, I am so calm. Here, in a castle against my will, with a vampire stalking the room, attempting to taunt it's food. I am calm, bexause it needs this game, just as much as it needs blood, to live. This has been going on for some time, now, and the creature's wits seem to be near it's end.
"Why do you not fear me? I am the brood of the night, the drinker of blood, a vampire--I could kill you in a single swoop!"
"Yes, as could any normal man. Or even a particularly lucky or talented child, for that matter. You are most certainly not special in that regard."
The undead screeches at me, baring it's teeth.
"Come now, we have been at this for a half-hour. If those fangs didn't scare me the first time, they certainly wouldn't scare me now."
Ah, there it was. The eyes are beyond fury, into something primal. The ego is well beyond bruised; the inflated balloon has been popped. The creature is rearing back, readying a lunge.
I sigh, and give a dismissive wave. "You might as well end this. Otherwise I'll die simply of boredom."
The creature screeches again, and lunges for my throat. As it does, I smile, and reveal the oaken stake from behind my back. It's trajectory has already been made, and by the time it's intelligence has overtaken it's ego, I have already placed the stake into it's heart, further pushed by gravity. It lands atop of me, though I am quick to push it off and continue my work. I produce a vial of holy water, splashing upon the beast with a quick prayer. I then sever the head from the body, and hold it until it all turns to ash.
"Of course, dear vampire, it helps not being afraid when one is the hunter, and not the prey."
|
"Not spe- I am a being of pure darkness and evil, who sustains himself on corruption of the innocent!".
"A decade ago I'd call you a Catholic priest. Today it's going to have to be a pedophile. Horrible, but not special.".
"Wha... I'm a blood sucking monstrosity! I drain the very life force from others, for my own selfish and sadistic gain!".
"Sounds like my mom. What else you got?".
"I'm literally dead! Can you comprehend that?!?".
"Holy shit.".
"Do you understand now?".
"Dude, I think we might be related!".
"Cain's teeth, you're insufferable. Look, you completely killed the mood, just... Just leave.".
"Hey, man, don't worry. It happens to every guy sometimes. Nothing to be embarrassed -".
"SHUT UP!"
| 2022-06-08T06:11:31
| 2022-06-08T05:31:15
| 1,591
| 228
|
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
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Edit: Part Two is in the comments and further updates can be found at r/Greeneggsandspam555
My parents had been surprised, at first, when they realized I could speak Spanish to my nanny as well as I could speak English.
"She must have a gift," said my mom. My Dad wasn't as pleased. He thought I was being influenced too much by Mrs. Reyes and promptly let her go. Since then, I had always taken it for granted that I automatically spoke to the gardener and the cashier in Spanish. My Mom was impressed that I had retained so much from my toddler years. We had learned not talk about it with Dad.
In high school, I decided to take Spanish as an easy elective, but I found that I couldn't even remember how to say "How are you?" when I was with my teach, Mrs. Nelson. She was tall with a severely cut white-blonde bob and seemed to hand out C's and D's gleefully. She had learned Spanish as a missionary in Guatemala, and a part of me felt like she was saying it all wrong. Who would have been able to catch her faking it in this town? Just about everyone was the same here: white and English speaking. Another part of me knew that she couldn't have gotten licensed to teach Spanish if she didn't speak it, which lead to a weirder question: why couldn't I remember a single word when I was around her?
Things started to get a lot weirder when I took my Spanish homework to our gardener, Carlos, for help. He seemed puzzled when I handed him my worksheet and asked for help. "Oh Jessie," he said "It's been so long since I took Spanish I don't think I can help." I didn't know what to say for a few seconds. We were *speaking* in Spanish. Weren't we? I knew we weren't speaking English.
"Ummm..." I stammered "What language are we speaking then?"
Carlos started laughing. "How can you not know what language we're speaking? I'm from the Philippines , Jess, I speak Tagalog. How did you learn it if you don't even know what it's called?"
That was the questions I started asking myself over and over again. I started to stitch together a weak, but plausible answer. Carlos had been the gardener since I was six. I must have just learned it from him. A Google search told me that the vocabulary was influenced by English and Spanish. I must have been able to understand enough of the words to just guess the rest in the beginning and eventually I learned the rest by practicing.
Our town was small and monolingual enough that I almost could have gotten through high school without realizing if it hadn't been for Selim, the Turkish exchange student. When I automatically started speaking Turkish with him, I stopped making excuses. There was something going on that was really weird, and if there was one thing I didn't want to be in high school, it was weird. So I dropped out of Spanish and started avoiding Selim. I even started coming into my house through a different door so I didn't run into Carlos in the garden.
I was able to easily avoid speaking anything but English, until the Saturday my Dad took me to McDonalds. It was a strange thing for him to do. He rarely showed any interest in me and he openly despised fast food. I thought we were going to just go through the drive through, but instead he parked and we walked inside. As soon as I got inside I noticed one of the cashiers. She looked about six feet tall, for one thing, but there was another thing about her that I couldn't quite figure out. For some reason I just wanted to stare.
When it came time to order my Dad ordered a double cheeseburger and an extra large soda. Another time, I would have been questioning when my dad started eating burgers or drinking soda. However, the tall girl was the one taking our order, and I was having a hard time paying attention to anything but her. I realized both the girl and my Dad were staring at me, waiting.
"Umm.... can I get fries?" Is what I meant to say, but what came out of my mouth was something else entirely. It sounded more like a series of grunts and clicks than a language.
"Stop goofing around Jessica!" my Dad said. "There are people waiting."
But it was the girl's reaction that scared me. Her happy how-can-I-help-you face had turned into something else entirely. She glared at me intensely, eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled down into an angry frown.
"Can I get fries," I tried to whisper but the strange sounds came out of my mouth again. I turned to my Dad, "Can you order the fries for me," I said "I need to go to the bathroom."
He seemed too dumbstruck to be angry, so I power-walked from the line to the restroom, where I found an open stall and sat. What had just happened? And why had that girl been angry about it?
I couldn't sit in the bathroom forever, so eventually I got up, went to the sink, and started washing my hands. I looked in the mirror, and I realized I wasn't alone. That girl was standing in the corner staring at me. We both stood in silence while I continued to wash my hands. Was I supposed to break the silence? What was she doing here?
"What are you doing here?" She finally said, in English.
"My Dad brought me," I said, but of course it came out in more clicks and grunts.
"Stop, please."
"I can't"
She just stared for a few seconds. I couldn't tell if she was angry or confused.
"I'm sorry I don't know what is happening, I can't control it." I added
"Just speak English, they have spies everywhere," she paused before adding, "unless you are a spy."
"I'm not!" I interjected quickly "I don't even know what's going on. I've never told anyone this before, but I just speak other languages, I guess, I mean... I don't know anything about it."
"That's hard to believe," she said "But, on the other hand. You aren't one of us. You're too small, for one thing. Just, please, don't come here again if you are going to speak The Language."
"What language? What language are we speaking?" I asked
"If you really don't know I can't tell you. But you put both of us in danger when you speak it. Don't come back here. Get your Dad and go."
She left the bathroom and I went and explained to my Dad that I wasn't feeling well and needed to go home as soon as possible. After the antics I had pulled in the line, he wasn't too happy with me, but he was happy to get me out of McDonalds. Some people had heard me and were staring.
As we got into the car I realized that I needed to go back. I needed to speak with that girl again and find out why she couldn't be heard speaking her language. Mostly, though I wanted to figure out how I knew it, how I seemed to know every language, and how I could make it all stop.
|
I entered the store,the fresh smell of grease and soggy fries flooding my nose. How the workers endured the smell for more then fifteen minutes I have no clue,not that it mattered to me but it was always the first thing I thought of when I entered.
A few seconds later my nose had adjusted to the smell and so I walked up to the register,a friendly voice spoke in the usual zombified teenage cashier tone. You know the one. “hi,what can I get for you?” I glanced up at the menu for a second,processing all the items, I had decided I was going to get something different to usual but now I was actually ordering? “Uhh. Just a large cheeseburger menu. Meal. I mean meal”
I had tripped over my words. Fantastic. This was honestly not that rare for me. Usually the worker would ignore the mistake and move on... but she was just staring, at first I thought it may have been my clothes or my hair,maybe I had something in my teeth? No no,nothing about me was any different to usual. It took me a second to think about how I spoke. See,I have this odd trick. No matter what language I speak people only hear me in their native tongue. I realised she must’ve been taken aback by this.
It was just after I realised all this she spoke “no one has spoken in that language in thousands of years. It is forbidden to my people” what? What had she said? Forbidden? I tilted my head a little and apologised “sorry,I don’t understand? I asked if I could have a large cheeseburger meal.” her facial expression turned to disgust and she stepped back.
Had I offended her somehow?
Tears began running down her face and she ran out,a coworker yelling for her to come back. Everyone watched and the place went quiet. I began to consider chasing her. The restaurant was making me slightly nauseous,ill admit that but I didnt feel like getting involved in anything today. My conscience got the better of me,I felt bad for making her cry. I started running after her,each foot moving slightly faster then the last.
| 2018-06-24T20:27:36
| 2018-06-24T20:22:38
| 525
| 25
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[WP] You picked up a dozen eggs at the farmer's market but when it came time to cook breakfast in the morning you find your fridge contained zero eggs and a dozen tiny dragons.
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# Scaly Breakfast
“Oh my goodness.”
My carton of freshly-bought eggs had been pushed open by its shivering occupants, who now lay huddled together in a tight pile of little scales and wings. They squeaked pitifully in the cold, wet and sticky with the remains of eggwhite and yolk.
Shock would have to wait. I grabbed a clean dish towel and gently began to pick the little dragons up, one by one. They wriggled and mewled in my grip as I started to gather them in my arms, bundled in the towel close to my chest.
I didn’t trust mere body heat to do the trick, though, after spending an entire night in my fridge. I hurried from the kitchen and into the bathroom, setting the tub to filling with warm water. The hatchlings were still shivering in their little bundle, as I felt them huddling as close to me as they could, seeking the warmth. A good sign, I hoped. They weren’t *completely* lethargic.
I turned the water off, leaving it just deep enough for the little ones to splash in. Then I lowered the entire bundle into the tub and gently began to clean the little dragons off, rubbing stuck pieces of eggshell and sticky liquid from their soft scales.
To my huge relief, it didn’t take long for the treatment to work. Soon I had a tub full of chirping little winged lizards, luxuriating in the warm waters as they crawled about and preened themselves. It didn’t take them long to start examining *me*, as well, nibbling my fingers playfully and looking up at me with big, round eyes.
As they were now out of possibly mortal danger, I took the time to really take in what I had here. A dozen little *actual dragons*, hatched in my fridge. Barely bigger than newly-hatched chicks, colours varying from mottled brown to dark green flecked with black. Tiny little horn nubs, big yellow eyes that looked at me with child-like curiosity.
In short, I had a brood of the most adorable little impossibilities I’d ever seen - and no idea what to do with them.
As I sat there, gently scratching the throat of a brave little dragon who’d climbed up my arm to snuggle into my neck, the enormity of the moment was beginning to set in. Holy shit, I had a dozen *dragons.* My anxiety was suddenly back in full force.
“What am I going to do with you?” I murmured.
A little green-and black hatchling looked up at me, tilted their head, and chirped. Then again, rather insistently. Their siblings mimicked them, including the one sitting just beneath my ear. Thankfully they weren’t *too* loud, or the neighbours might ask some very strange questions.
“What? What is it?”
The apparent “leader”, who’d started the whole cacophony gave me a beady side-eye, then opened its mouth to gape at me with a long, drawn-out whine.
I blinked, as the rusty cogs in my head slowly began to lock back in place and gather momentum.
“Oh! Of course, you guys have to be hungry! Hang on-”
I grabbed another fresh towel and began to carefully collect my new little roommates, wiping them dry (against their rather sharp protests) before bundling them all up for the trip back to the kitchen. I didn’t want to risk having them dancing around my feet or getting lost.
I put them down on the kitchen table, well away from the edges. Not that that mattered - they started exploring the new surface immediately, their little claws clicking on the wood as they scampered about and stuck their heads out over the drop. Good thing they didn’t seem able to fly yet, or keeping an eye on them would be a *proper* nightmare.
As I dug through the kitchen for something that might be appropriate, the egg carton with its remains of shell inside drew my eye. Quite a lot of birds and reptiles ate their eggshell after hatching, so perhaps that was the same for dragons? Worth a shot, at any rate. I peeled free as much eggshell as I could get and crushed it into some smaller pieces with my hands for good measure. Then I dropped the little offering into a bowl, together with some chopped-up unsalted ham, a few hard-boiled *actual* chicken eggs I had leftover from earlier, and a little unsalted butter. I mashed the whole thing up into an even, fatty paste, scraped it onto a plate, then set it down on the towel in the middle of the table.
They were all on the food in seconds, eagerly gulping the mash down in big mouthfuls that set their cheeks and throats bulging with the effort. They shoved and squabbled, chirping and hissing at each other.
“Hey, hey, share nicely now! There’s plenty for all of you.”
I gently separated the brawlers from their siblings, petting them between the wings to calm them down. They cooed and arched into my touch, clearly pleased by the attention, then settled down, eating a bit slower.
“That’s better. Now eat up.”
I didn’t have to ask twice. Soon the plate was licked spotlessly clean, not a single scrap of food left. The hatchlings had huddled together again, sluggish and drowsy, bellies bulging.
“Nap time, huh? Okay, let’s see if we can find you a nice warm spot…”
I went digging through my closet and found a large moving box left over from a few years back. This I furnished with newspapers, more clean towels, and a little water bowl. Then I gently scooped up the entire pile of dragons once again, tucked them in the box, and placed it in the sunny living room.
The drowsy dragons nestled into the soft towels and spread their wings, luxuriating in the warm sunlight. Soon they were all sleeping, their bulging bellies rising and falling with their sleepy breaths.
I smiled at the adorable display. “Good thing I’m not a diabetic. Right, that’s step one.”
I tip-toed into the kitchen and retrieved the egg carton, studying the stamps on it.
Bingo.
*”We’d love to hear your opinions! Don’t hesitate to call or send an email with your thoughts - we’ll get back to you as soon as we are able!”*
Now, I loathe phone calls as much as the next dude, but this felt a bit too urgent for an email.
It rang thrice before a harried voice picked up, the sounds of bustling commerce in the background.
“Hi, Eggstraordinary Eggcellence, Miriam speaking!”
I cleared my throat. This would either help or make me sound completely insane. “Yes, hi, Miriam! My name’s Eric, I bought a dozen eggs from you at the farmer’s market yesterday?”
“Oh, yes. Was anything the matter? Nothing wrong with them, I hope?”
“Well, not *wrong* as such. Just a little bit, ahem, *odd*.”
There was a long pause. “When you say *odd*, do you perhaps mean…”
“Well, first, they kind of hatched. And they didn’t hatch into *chickens*, if you catch my drift.”
“I think I might. How are they, ahem, doing?”
“From what I can tell, pretty good, despite having hatched in my fridge. I gave them a warm bath and some breakfast - they’re all snoozing in my living room now.”
I hear Miriam sigh audibly with relief. “Wow, thank you. If it’s not too much trouble, can you watch them for a few more hours? I’ll tell the boss what’s going on, fetch their mum, and then drive over to collect them.”
“You- you have their mum?”
“Yes, and their dad. Friends of the family, you might say. I’m guessing she thought it was a good idea to shanghai a hen to brood them when she was out and about, and they got mixed up with the chicken eggs. This explains why she’s been beside herself this morning - we didn’t even know she’d laid a clutch!”
I blinked. “Well okay. And no, I don’t mind. They’ve been perfect scaly angels so far!”
A snort. “Yes, well, I hope you’re lucky enough that they stay that way! What’s your address?”
I told her.
“Okay, see you in a few hours. Good luck!”
*Click*.
That sounded ominous. But really, what could a dozen flightless baby dragons do?
***
Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out r/ZetakhWritesStuff for more - Guaranteed lots of dragons :D
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I had just put on *Gonna Fly Now* from Rocky I when I opened the door of my fridge to find a dozen baby dragons. They were live and scaly and while they smelled of brimestone and week-jarred farts the scent was not that of rotten eggs. It was the smell of dragons. Tiny ones.
"Critters!" cried my roommate, and he held his head in his hands screaming. Ever since we were runts he'd been telling me that the 1986 comedy-horror flick Critters was nigh prophetic. He'd been preparing ever since. "Ebert gave it two thumbs up," he repeatedly told me. When I told him that was out of *five*, he said, "no, a man's only got two thumbs to give." So I lost that argument.
"They're obviously dragons, Derek!" I corrected him, but he just shook his head violently. The highly-inspiring soundtrack kept running in the background. "They're baby dragons!"
In the back of my mind I remembered the dozen-egg shake I was about to prepare. The blender sat on the kitchen table, a dominating presence ever since I bought it five years ago. Today was the day I'd finally crack open some eggs and run laps around the neighborhood in my sweats. But that wasn't about to happen. Not today.
"We've got to kill those furry critters," cried Derek, clutching a broom close to his chest.
"They've got *scales*, Derek. They're not furry. Not at all."
"We've got to stop them before they lay their eggs."
Eggs. They were supposed to *be* eggs.
I had gone to the farmer's market because I had been walking by the side of the road and suddenly got the impulse to put a straw in my mouth. It fit perfectly. And I didn't mind the taste either. So I figured, hey, maybe I'm meant to be a farmer? You never know until you try. I might've been a damn good one at that as well. So I bolted for the farmer's market to see whether I'd fit right in, as I suspected I would.
Most of them were hardy, old-fashioned folks. My leather jacket stood out among all that denim. So I was happy when I stopped another leather aficionado. "That's some fine Italian," I told him.
"What?" he said.
"The jacket," I said, and I pointed to it as well.
"Oh, this ..." said the guy. "I got it in Dallas, actually."
I howled with laughter and the straw fell from my mouth. That was when I thought, hey, maybe that's an omen? Maybe I'm not meant to be a farmer after all? But then the guy motioned for me to come closer. "I got some *eggs*," he said in a hushed tone.
Before that moment, I had forgotten all about my blender. But that key phrase brought it all back. Eggs. Oh yeah. I'd been meaning to have a jog around the neighborhood. I'd been thinking about that for years. So I said, "I'll take them," and the guy had a carton of them under his leather jacket, and I remember thinking that this guy's one badass farmer. Likely, it was black market eggs. So I paid him in a hurry and I sprinted home, but only for a minute or so because I remembered I would be running later so it didn't make sense to exhaust myself already.
"Critters don't have to be furry. Critters can be scaly."
Derek still held his broom tight, but he had taken a few steps back and he was now hugging the wall. "They're dragons!" I shouted, and I wrestled the broom out of his hands.
I helped him back up and we carefully moved closer to the fridge. "Those are some ugly critters," said Derek.
Suddenly, they all leapt from the carton and gathered around my legs. "H-Hey!" I said. Derek rushed to get his broom, then he raced out the front door, still holding it.
The baby dragons chirped and I realized they were hungry. They had imprinted on me. Just like that. I was now their dragon mother. "I am become Khaleesi," I said, and they chirped in unison.
I put on my leather jacket and I raced outside with the little things in hot pursuit. People dropped their grocery bags watching me run around with my dragons. I swerved like the wind and did some flips. Almost stepped on one. "I'm going to call you Smeagol," I said. "Like the dragon in The Hobbit."
We raced to the farmer's market. As a single mom, a single dragon mom, I had to take care of these little critters. Well, dragons. And what do they eat? There's only one way to find out: let them try everything all at once.
It seemed like such a fine idea, but it turned out to be pandemonium. Those denim-clad salt-of-the-earth folks ran around like chickens and there were chickens running around as well. And it seemed the dragons had the taste for them. One of them even got a small Zippo-sized flame going. "Great stuff, Smeagol," I said. I had decided I would call them all Smeagol because I couldn't really tell them apart.
Next thing, my leather brother runs into a celery stand, crashes the whole thing. "T-They *hatched*?" he asked me.
"Well, yeah," I said. "Hey! You scammed me on those eggs."
Then I got nervous, because those were after all black market eggs. I could feel the cold stare of the farmers on my back. But when I looked around I could only see a pack of dogs descending with a fury upon my precious little babies. "Hey!" I cried. "Get lost! I am the breaker of chains!" When a group of farmers approached us as well with pitchforks, I changed my tune. "I'm uh, the breaker of *chain stores*. Because I support small business. And farmers."
They wouldn't have any of it, and just as I thought all hope was lost, he made his appearance.
"These are *our* critters," said Derek. He held his broom up high and for some reason the farmers stepped back.
One of them, however, didn't mind being broomed apparently and he stepped right up, and he held his big old boot over the head of Smeagol. "No!" I cried.
"Well, we don't want any of yer critters here," he said.
"Wait!" cried Derek. The farmer gave pause. "Do you really want to be known around here as a man putting his foot on the scales?"
The man stopped, in shock, and we gathered up all the baby dragons and ran all the way back to our apartment. Safe and sound at home, my stomach groaned all of a sudden. The dragons chirped as well, and they sounded unhappy. I don't think they managed to catch a single chicken. Just then there was a knock at the door. I opened it, and there he was. My leather brother.
"H-Hi," he said. "I bought those dragon eggs on Craigslist and thought they were a scam when they arrived in a normal-looking carton. I decided to just sell them at the market, because I never thought they'd hatch into real dragons."
"Hmph," I said. "Well, you're still a scammer, even if you thought you got scammed yourself. Don't perpetuate the cycle. Break the cycle. Break the *chains*."
"Wow," said the guy. "That's powerful. Is that from a movie?"
"N-No," I said.
"Well, I brought you these." The guy opened his leather jacket to reveal another carton. Only this time, it was actual eggs. From chickens, not dragons.
We made omelets, and even the baby dragons liked them. Derek convinced us all to watch Critters, again, and it was fun.
There would always be another day to drink a dozen eggs and take laps around the neighborhood.
/r/Hemingbird
| 2022-02-08T03:11:31
| 2022-02-07T22:59:19
| 692
| 39
|
[WP] Years ago a machine that records dreams was invented. Dreams have become the primary form of entertainment. Particularly talented dreamers have become stars. Tell me about tonight's big "Oscar" night.
|
"I hate this stupid event, why are we watching it?" Lewis said thumping his head back against the sofa.
His girlfriend Katie rolled her eyes and smiled to him "Because I want to see if Dameon Walsh finally wins one this year, His dream was really sweet" she said.
"This whole event is dumb, we could learn so much more of we researched dreams, delved deeper into what they mean, that scientist who was he...Eamon Jamison, he made a breakthrough with out current understanding of Special Relativity with his dreams, nobody bats and eye, Dameon Walsh has another boring rom+com dream, people go crazy, its just stupid" Lewis huffed and leaned onto his girlfriends shoulder "They can't study the last of Steven Hawkings dreams about Astronomical radiation because some corporation copyrighted them, and they're talking about chipping the recorders to destroy your saved dream if it contains copyrighted material, its madness we've innovated in the wrong direction, toward celebrity worship and capitalism and not in the direction of scientific discovery, and this stupid awards night just reminds me of that prospect every year" he sighed defeated and depressed, looking at a dream actress in a lucrative dress fake laugh and smile as she trotted like some show-pony onto the stage.
Katie stroked his hair and kissed his forehead "At least we can agree that the porn is incredible" she giggled softly. "Definitely" he replied.
|
"And this year's winner is..."
Leona D'Caprice. LEONA D'CAPRICE!
LEONA FUCKING D'CAPRICE!!!
"Tiffany Swift!"
...
What the actual fuck?
Tiffany Swift and her gooey Cinderella dream won the best Dreamer award. And just to accentuate her rags to princess dream, she's wearing a dress specially made to look like shit, straight from her dream. What is so artistic about Tiffany Swift's dumb, air headed character who happened to be at the right moment at the right time when her employer was drunk and horny?
On the other hand, look at Leona D'Caprice's dream. She was a fearless female commander who was betrayed by her country then became a prisoner of war. She fought her way through a tyrannic Korslaw empire and rescued her soldiers despite a near fatal injury. The way she gave up the last spot on the lifeboat for the last soldier and took a storm of bullets was dramatic and brave!
People just do not know how to appreciate the real art these days. I bet people stared at Tiffany Swift's naked body instead of paying attention to the story the whole time.
"... Our lives are our instruments. Our dreams are like pearls that embrace all the hardships our lives throw at us and evolve into beautiful products. I may be just a small town girl but I can be anything in my dreams..."
Leona D'Caprice is right next to me, staring at Tiffany Swift blankly. For years, I saw her be nominated for the Dreamer award and get so close every time. She would always tell people she does not care because she gets to work her passion job but anyone with a brain should know she is long due for her Dreamer award. Everyone has to know.
I grab her hands and take her to the stage.
"Leona, follow me."
"East, what are you doing?"
I snatch a mic right off Tiffany Swift's hand.
"Tiffany, congratulations and I'ma let you finish. But Leona D'Caprice right here is the best dreamer you miserable fucks will ever have in your lifetime. Look at Leona's dream! That shit's inspirational! Yet you shallow airheads were busy staring at this hoe's tits as she was getting pummeled in her wet dream! Think about what Leona's done for the dreaming community! Insertion, Romero and Julio, Gigantic, and most recent Last Warrior! She's long due for the award. This is some serious injustice right here!"
I throw the mic back at Tiffany Swift and leave the stage with Leona.
"East, you are drunk."
"Nah, I'm fine."
I take Leona back to her seat and leave the building. Outside the building are journalists taking pictures of me.
"Mr. Kanye! Could you explain-"
"Fuck ya'll!"
.
.
.
"In the last night's Dreamer award ceremony, East Kanye dragged Leona D'Caprice onto the stage in the middle of Tiffany Swift's speech."
"...Leona D'Caprice right here is the best dreamer you miserable (BEEP!) will ever have in your lifetime..."
"Drunken East Kanye promptly left the building and flipped off interviewers on the way out."
"(BEEP!) ya'll! Suck MY large genious (BEEP!)"
"East Kanye has been banned from future Dreamer award ceremonies and will have to face angry fans of Tiffany Swift."
They can all go fuck themselves.
| 2014-06-21T18:11:31
| 2014-06-21T17:36:42
| 16
| 10
|
[WP] A man working at suicide hotline got called from his wife
|
*Did I remember to take my pills this morning?*
*Yes! YES! I took them. Quit asking myself. I had trouble opening that stupid bottle, remember? Emma had to twist off the cap in that special way that I never can.*
*Ok, ok! I took them. Just making sure because I know how I get when I forget to take them. I get all--*
*I KNOW, I KNOW. I don't have to freak out. I took them so don't worry about it. Focus on my work.*
The link blinks on my phone as an incoming call is routed to me by the operator. Pulling myself together, which feels more difficult than it should tonight for whatever reason, I pick up the phone and enter the same routine I have been trained to do for the past four years, "Emergency dispatch, ... uh, what is the situation?"
"............"
"Emergency dispatch, hello?"
"............"
I check the incoming number displayed to me on the drab green phosphorous computer screen. The number looks vaguely familiar but nothing jumps to the front of my awareness.
*If I can't remember a phone number, how can I remember if I took my medications?*
Ignoring my own self, I try to get a voice to come through on the other side of the phone, "I have you at 72-28-58-382. We investigate prank calls to this number. Emergency dispatch, are you there?"
A chilling and empty voice breathes into the other receiver, "I need help. I can't find myself any more."
What does that mean? Quickly I try to bring up the standard responses we were trained to use when callers fail to give us actionable information. Yet I'm so slow to think of any, "Uh... Ah, a-are you lost?"
"I have been for years."
That voice. I know that voice.
"...Emma?"
"You forgot to take your medications this morning, so I took them for you."
*I CALLED IT. I FUCKING TOLD MYSELF!*
"What?" I managed to mumble. Unbelievable! What was she doing?
"These really kill your brain. I'm going through it right now."
"..No! Stay on the line... I'm sending an ambulance! Stay with me!"
"Goodbye, John." My wife's frail words were slipping off the phone call much like her consciousness was probably right now.
"Stay on the line! Help is on the way! Emma!"
Suddenly her voice was excited and somewhat disturbed, "John!"
"Yes, are you still there?"
"JOHN!"
*I better snap out of it.*
Behind me, my co-worker and fellow operator put his hand on my shoulders. It caused me to jump, "JOHN!"
There was a loud tone beeping into the phone; the one that grates your ear when the phone has been off the hook. Holding the phone in my hand, I look at it with a questionable glare. If I was just talking to Emma moments ago, then how could the phone be alerting me that a call has been uncompleted for at least 30 seconds?
"John, what's the matter?" My co-worker looked concerned as he regarded me with hesitation. "You were screaming a woman's name into the phone without having a live call to it."
*He knows about me.*
"Really?" Honestly, I am as confused as I sounded at that moment.
"Who's Emma?"
"My wife."
*I shouldn't have said that. Only I knew that recently I've been prescribed medication. It all started with that car accident, remember? The one I left unharmed.*
"You haven't ever been married, John."
"Oh..." was all I could say.
*I definitely forgot to take my medication this morning. It's getting worse. I'm losing it.*
|
Jeremy sighed. This night was looking to be a long one. Only early evening and he'd already had to put up with what sounded like an overly dramatic twelve year old who'd just lost her pet bunny. For Christ sake. That kid would not stop crying. She didn't seem in immediate danger to kill herself either. It simply was not his job to talk privileged babies who create their own miseries to justify being in a bad mood.
Dramatic little shits.
Across from him, Sally sat, her long legs crossed and with that small concerning frown of hers that made her face crease up in the most adorable way... he was certainly jealous of her. Her soft voice filled the office with a warm compassion. There was no doubt he loved her. Jesus. How pathetic. He had a wife... and a child on the way, and here he was, stupidly in love with the most unattainable of beauties.
Sally's eyes met his for the briefest of moments. His heart leapt up into his throat as he hastily averted his gaze and fumbled with the few things on his desk, desperately trying to look busy. His eyes fell upon the photo of his wife. Simple, dramatic Natalie. Fat, bitchy Natalie.
Well, maybe not so much fat as carrier of a smaller, parasitic Natalie clone. There was no doubt that this kid would be like all the others he deals with.
Desperate for attention. Selfish.
God. Why did he have to be chosen to be a father? It wasn't fair. The sight of that bloated belly made his skin crawl. But he wasn't raised to desert his family. No matter how much his heart said otherwise.
He felt a now familiar vibration in his pocket. Definitely his wife nagging him to 'come home and cook and clean and look after me because I'm pregnant and can't do anything by myself and I don't want to do the dishes because it might hurt the baby!'.
Jeremy groaned at answered.
'Hello, my darling', he said curtly. 'What can I do for you this time?'
'Jeremy. The baby. Oh god, my baby. Baby'. Her voice was weak and babbled, like a scrambled psycho.
Jeremy's heart took a plummet to his feet, and his skin prickled with goosebumps.
'Natalie. What did you do?!' He practically screeched. The adrenaline pumping through his blood felt so foreign. He couldn't control it.
'It wasn't me! I slipped. The stairs. There's so much blood. Oh, god'.
Humpty Dumpty fell down and saw red. Humpty Dumpty's baby's now dead.
Jeremy couldn't help it. He laughed.
Why did he laugh?!
Later, he'd blame it on the adrenaline. The confusion. The panic. He'd never tell anyone what really went throug his head.
'JESUS CHRIST JEREMY WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!' She screamed, bawling. She was starting to take big gasps for air. A fish out of water.
His heart was a runaway metronome. More of a constant hum than a thump..
*I'll have to come back to finish this later! Sorry!*
| 2014-06-25T01:32:05
| 2014-06-25T00:15:23
| 37
| 18
|
[FF] 10 sentence story about a couple falling out of love, from beginning to end.
Note: As an optional guideline, try and write it without using a specific gender's perspective.
|
It started with hello.
I brought you flowers, and you brought me lunch.
We went out to dinner, and I kissed you on a hunch.
A year, a ring, and ceremony.
You smiled when I told you how much you mean to me.
With time we laughed, and in time, we cried.
But after a while, jokes turned to lies.
I came home alone, one night, and sighed.
But in your room I found you, another man beside
It began with hello, and ended with goodbye.
|
I had the first drink of my life with her.
Our honeymoon was amazing, we partied for hours.
Things were dull, but drunken sex wasn't.
We smiled less and less, but the alcohol did it for us.
We barely noticed each other, the only reason to talk was when we drank.
I drank more and more, and I hit her.
The next day I said sorry, I promised to be better.
I hit her again, and she cried.
I woke up, she was gone.
It was my turn to cry.
| 2014-01-03T00:06:33
| 2014-01-02T22:54:41
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I looked over at my sister- nine years younger than me, and yet somehow the same age all of a sudden. Her head was in her hands, the air of defeat around her almost visible.
Next to her a tall, handsome boy slept peacefully on his back.
I heard her heave a deep sigh, and looked over as she ran her hands over her tight, flat stomach, and smallish, perky breasts in disbelief.
"Julie," she whimpered. Her eyes made contact with mine and I could see the desperation in them before she threw her gaze over to the young man next to her. "What am I supposed to do? How can I handle this? I only gave birth to him two weeks ago."
|
I have always imagined what the world would be like if everyone was a kid, running on a sugar rush with no worries or troubles to think about.
Now if the world was full of hormone-galore 18 year old kids, that would be a much more different scenario.
And that is exactly what had happened.
It started about two months ago. I woke up and swung my legs over my bed. Obviously I kept my eyes closed just in case I somehow magically changed Monday into Saturday, then I wouldn’t have to go to work.
My brain picked up something unusual, but I ignored it and ran a sloppy hand down my face as I neared my dresser to change for work. Yesterday’s hangover was still in effect, so I had popped in a pain killer or two.
Without my glasses, I couldn’t see shit. That still doesn’t explain why I looked so short in the mirror over the sink. I was sure my hair length was past my shoulders. Why was my face red and bumpy?
I scooped water into my palms and splashed it on my face, then stared into the mirror.
I was a teenager again.
What age? Well, I later found out by scientists, who looked like a bunch of scrawny high school nerds in lab coats, had conducted research on 100 people and had easily determined their age: 18.
Other studies across the globe had also drawn out the same results. This information was spread on the news along with other surprising info: if you were under 18, you were also 18. If you were 18, you’re staying 18. Every human living on this planet was 18. The source and cause of this? Still unknown.
That was why my feet didn’t touch the ground when I sat over the edge on my bed, that is why I lost a few inches, that is why my hair was much much shorter.
We’ve all reversed- or have gone forward, into our 18 year old bodies and minds- thankfully with our memories still intact.
There wasn’t any harm done to society in general, and so during those two months as humanity had gotten their things in order, the leaders of the world had insisted that we must keep going. And so, all the adults had gone back to work, the kids had gone back to school.
How weird it was for me to look at my boss as an 18 year old kid in a baggy suit and not buff and big as he usually was, his voice cracking every so often as he spoke to the office. It was hard for my co workers and I to *not* laugh at this. When his voice betrayed him and squeaked when he yelled at us, the entire workplace burst into laughter.
It was unfortunate that we didn’t get any work done as we made paper airplanes and gamed at our desks for the entire shift.
As I was heading home, I noticed someone prancing around happily with a few friends, laughing about something that had to do with their limbs.
I had asked them why they seemed so happy at the moment, and they said they were former war soldiers drafted at 18 years old. Now they are happy that they get the chance to live out their youth.
That was one of the many, many quirks that humanity had gained from this thrilling experience. Everyone, young and youthful with the mind of teenagers. Will we stay at 18 forever? Will we age? Who knows.
But now we can finally restart and live the life that we’ve always dreamt of.
Humanity, at 18.
| 2020-11-02T10:49:46
| 2020-11-02T09:55:51
| 105
| 29
|
[WP] You are a villain, but you have standards: when lesser villains try to hurt your archnemesis' wife and kids, you show them why you are the biggest fish in town
|
Violet Shadow had never been so angry in her life. Sure, Steelstrike was a massive nuisance at best and a genuine threat at worst, but targeting his family was crossing a line.
It was bad enough that these new small time baddies were trying to muscle in on her turf. They probably thought all the stories about her powers and her ruthlessness were exaggerated since she was a slight woman in her late twenties. They were wrong. Violet had already planned to teach them a lesson. Finding out they were targeting Steelstrike’s wife and kids just forced her to move up her plans.
She’d known where her enemy lived for a long time. Had she wanted to utilize this same strategy the new guys were using, it would have been a piece of cake. But she had standards. She didn’t go after families or target innocent bystanders, especially children.
She opened a rift and stepped through, reappearing a moment later in Steelstrike’s living room.
His wife, Leila, stood with her back pressed against the wall in the corner of the room. Two children, neither older than seven or eight, cowered behind her. Three men surrounded them in a loose semicircle, all three dressed in black and armed to the teeth. The couch was between them and their target, but they had guns so it didn’t matter.
The three men looked like ex-military types. Big dudes. This was where Violet’s size became an advantage.
None of the goons had noticed her yet. Leila was looking in her general direction, but it was dark enough in the room that she might not have noticed anything.
Violet lunged, pulling shadows around herself to help hide her exact location. She pulled her knives from the waistband of her costume and rammed both of them into the back of the nearest goon’s neck.
The second man lunged at her, using his gun as a bludgeon due to the close proximity. She ducked the blow and stabbed both blades into his stomach.
There was less resistance than she expected. No bulletproof vest. Overconfident idiots.
She yanked one blade to the left and the other to the right, slicing the goon’s belly open, and then finished him off with a slash to the throat and moved to the last guy.
Said guy had his weapon trained squarely on her, so she pulled the shadows in more tightly around herself, effectively turning herself invisible. He started turning slowly, trying to figure out where she’d gone. She sauntered slowly toward him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her. She stopped in front of him, turned visible, and stabbed him in the eye.
“The Violet Shadow sends her regards,” she whispered, unable to resist the opportunity to be dramatic.
She then turned her attention to Leila and the kids. The kids were still hiding behind their mom. Violet could barely see them. Leila wore the look of someone expecting to die and determined to maintain her dignity to the last.
“What?” Violet asked her. “You think I saved you just so I could kill you myself?”
“Why did you?” Leila asked.
“Because I have standards. My issues are with your husband, not you or your kids.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Leila said, most definitely shocked and horrified. “But Dan can’t know about this, especially that you were here. He’ll completely panic.”
“I know,” Violet said. “We’ve been fighting for long enough that I know what kind of man he is. I can call in some people to help deal with the mess. They’ll make sure there’s no evidence of this. Your cover story will be entirely up to you.”
|
To anyone who believes that they can get their way by killing, stealing, or hurting others in any way, you're not a real villain. You're a cheap asshole. A real villain presents an argument for the hero. You have to be a foil for the hero, to make him question what's right and wrong. Be like me, I study philosophy for hours to make whoever I face baffled by my plans.
A true villain creates a morality scenario. Take something like the trolley question, it is basic, but it can be profound. This is where you get to discover who the hero really is. What makes him tick, what would he do if it was his damsel? There are many dilemmas out there to generate real problems with efficient answers that not only better you, but others as well.
Your schemes can pave the way for society to grow and flourish. Even when you take the L, at least you learn something. Simply killing your enemy's family is going to create further villains. As contrarians, we have to mock the heroes. To pull pranks on them, and afterward they facepalm and continue to make the world a better place for everyone.
| 2022-09-27T17:31:13
| 2022-09-27T16:28:10
| 94
| 28
|
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait...
|
At first we didn't understand how it was possible, 90% of the population just dropped dead and no one knew how, there must be a reason those of us that survived were given the right to keep on living but what could it be...
We searched for a connection between us yet it seemed to be as random is it can be until we finally arrived at the conclusion, we all forwarded that one chain message that said we would die if we wouldn't forward it
|
Everything had changed. Ninety percent of the world dead in an instant. No more like Ninety Nine point nine nine nine.
The survivors were shell shocked, no-one could understand at first why WE were spared. We had nothing in common, no shared race or sex or background or even country. Just a few thousand of us left, scattered across the planet.
We thought the apocalypse was bad, empty streets, corpses in their houses, babies lying dead abandoned and rotting in daycare, but the worst was yet to come.
It was about a week after the event, that finally I realized two things.
Firstly, the survivors (including myself) were ALL hipsters.
And secondly, and worst, now we had no-one to point out how we did things before they were cool.
| 2016-10-22T03:50:18
| 2016-10-22T01:56:06
| 56
| 12
|
[WP] Your father suddenly says “It's the pigeons. Stop people feeding the pigeons. It's the only way we can end the simulation. Oh my god they are turning me off now. Stop the pigeons. Please." Then he suddenly collapses to the floor.
|
The last memory I have of my father is him frantically running into my room the day after my 12th birthday screaming “It’s the pigeons. Stop people from feeding the pigeons! It’s the only way we can end the simulation. Oh my god they are turning me off now! Stop the pigeons. Please!” Then he suddenly collapsed to the floor. He never got back up.
I didn’t find out until 50 years later, when my mother was on her deathbed, That my father knew he was having a heart attack, and according to my mother, also had an extremely sick sense of humor. In a series of journals my father had kept before he passed, was a detailed description of how funny he thought it would be to convince his child that pigeons were the center of some evil conspiracy right before he died, so that the possibility would exist that I would grow up to be so obsessed with pigeons, that it would border on the absurd. He also journaled that he hoped the possibility being a ghost or watching down from heaven was a possibility, so that he could witness the hilarity of his prank come to fruition.
I sat frozen in my pigeon suit as my mother pulled this lifelong veil from my eyes. The memories of the fights against the evil pigeon keepers throughout the years all for nothing? Years of trying to right the wrongs of the world as the “Pigeon Holer” just a delusion created by dying fathers twisted joke? I felt betrayal from my parents for keeping the truth from me. I felt shame and guilt for all the alkaseltzer tablets used at parks and all the innocent bystanders that witnessed not the freeing of the human consciousness from the grips of an evil empire, but only the ruining of a festival by a man dressed in a pigeon feather covered gray sweatsuit with underwear on the outside. I thought about all those wasted nights I had to spend away from my own family trying to save all of the other families from something that didn’t exist. Plays missed, science projects incomplete.
It took me years to process my new reality. And even longer to come to terms with what my fathers dying actions were. Now, in my 90s, I face my own mortality. And as I hang this pigeon suit in the hall closet and prepare to enter my grandsons room, I can say, Good Prank Dad.
|
...
As his last breath rattled out from his chest, panicked eyes locked to the ceiling and his heart monitored flat-lined. His hand, in mine, went limp. I closed my eyes tightly, both to hold back the tears and to pause in frustration at what this disease had done to this man's mind.
I slowly shook my head to empty the thought. As I opened my eyes, my head was turned to the window. My gaze locked on a shape silhouetted in the morning sunlight. A bird? A pigeon. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly – whether it was the exhaustion from staying up all night with my ailing father, waiting for the inevitable end, or the pain, or the irony of his supposed final demon appearing at his deathbed… I did not know.
I noticed my other hand still held the plastic cup I had been holding to my father’s lips between raspy coughs. I had spilled the remaining water on the floor at some point in the last hour. Without thinking, I hurled it at the window to scare the bird off. I heard a “coo” and a flutter – but to my surprise it was not of a departing bird. Another had joined the sill. I release my father’s hand as the first nurse came rushing in, I could hear her begin her rehearsed condolences. They were not here to resuscitate my father, only to tidy up, remove him, and prep for the next poor soul. I waved her off as I took a step toward the window, frustration beginning to bubble in my stomach.
Flutter.
Another pigeon had come to the sill. *Mocking me.*
“Fuck off,” I mumbled. I could hear the nurse’s gasping surprise, no doubt assuming I directed the words at her, but I continued toward the window. Another pigeon had since joined. “what is this, a murder?” I laughed, or maybe cackled, as I stared daggers at these birds. “No, that’s crows.” I continued toward the window, waving my arms now.
I heard the nurse nervously, quietly call for some help. *Psh, what, for the birds?*
I reached the window, six, seven pigeons now craned their heads back at me. Beady little pupil’less eyes staring. Staring at me? No, my father…
“What in the fuck do you want!” I slammed my palms on the window. They stood still. “Are you brain dead? Get the fuck out of here!” I slammed again.
“Sir, let’s take a seat,” I felt hands on my shoulders.
“Are you mocking me?!” I grabbed the edge of the window slide and shook.
“Sir, nobody is mocking anybody, I know this is difficult,” He called to someone over his shoulder.
More pigeons.
Another set of hands grasped me, and pulled hard. I refused to let go of the window. As the pulling continued, my grip weakened, and I shut my eyes tights as tears pulled out. Finally, I felt something give – not my grip, but the window. Did I break the stop? Was it unlocked after all? All I knew is that it was open, and the pigeons flooded in.
I screamed, protecting my face as they swirled, lashing out as the dove. I felt arms hitting me, the others must be in a similar panic. Now they were grabbing me. I lurched toward the hospital bed, opening my eyes to see the pigeons light on my father’s body.
“GET OFF OF HIM!” I threw myself at his corpse, throwing my arms in every direction. “YOU BASTARDS, WHAT DID HE KNOW?!”
More hospital staff sprinted into the room.
…
“Who is causing all that ruckus in 113?” the receptionist asked, peeking down the hall toward the commotion.
A passing nurse, just getting off of her night shift replied, “Owen Prescott, the deceased’s son. His father’s death may have cracked him. Unless we are seeing some early schizo symptoms. Sad.”
["Either that or OP is a reposting hack.”](https://old.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/e5eokq/if_you_could_choose_what_would_be_your_last_words/f9jds1a/)
THE END
…
JK OP, but I had to!
| 2019-12-03T07:54:18
| 2019-12-03T07:01:15
| 25
| 12
|
[WP] "So what happens if I press this button?" I asked. "Nothing." She replied. I pushed the button in, grinning. "It's when you let go that things get nasty."
|
Just got a short one I thought I'd share.
I pressed the button down confidently, its smooth surface becoming rigid as it locked into place, steel manacles locked around my hand to hold it in place. The door that I entered in had disappeared as I walked
In. But another door appeared as I pressed the button.
The lady next to me smiled, while I tugged at my hand, trying desperately to free it.
She finally spoke again "thank you for that dear, my hand was in the same place until you pressed the button to get in here. But as much as I'd like to see you trapped here for as long as I've been, I have 100 years of lost time to catch up on"
She made her way to the only exit, woefully out of my reach.
I called out to her frantically "wait! I'll starve! You can't leave me here"
She giggled and stopped, not turning around as she responded. "The room won't let you die, you'll just... exist. It's dreadfully boring most of the time but you'll just have to wait. Someone will show up eventually, 40 years if you're lucky, more if you aren't."
She smiled and left the room, flicking a switch on the other side of the exit to seal me inside, ignoring my shouts and pleas for help.....
It's been around 84 years since she left, I'd like to forget her but the room won't let me, she fills my thoughts, all I can say is I'm glad my left hand was trapped, it allowed me to distract myself occasionally.
But I digress, today is a momentous occasion, my hand was freed from the button, it made a little popping noise as it reset.
The door slid open and closed behind the new entrant.
I greeted them. Copying the woman's words exactly.
"You can press the button, nothing will happen...."
|
I couldn't remember much about the night I spent with her except for that little silly button she had in the wall, and the weird sound she made when she climaxed. The whole thing was a mistake. Dana would kill me if she knew. She would literally shot me in the head with her service gun. But I couldn't resist that strange woman charm. I don't believe any men could.
I was heading down to the reception to check out from the hotel when she met me in the corridor half naked asking me with urgency to help with a broken tap that was flooding her room. Strange how suddenly an architect like me found the urge to be a plumber at that time of night. I fixed her plumbing alright, although we ended up flooding the room anyway. I never cheated on Dana, but that night, for some reason felt justified. It felt like a well-deserved compensation for all the headaches she gave me for not having kids. Why is she giving me shit for not having kids? It's not like I'm not trying hard enough. It's not like the bills for all the doctors she visited to fix "our problem" wasn't costly enough. "You don't want them, that's why we don't have them." was her theory. Why would me wanting or not wanting kids have anything to do with any of it. Yes, I don't want kids and I'm glad that we don't have them, but that doesn't give her the right to turn my life into hell. I've got nothing to be blamed for.
When we were done plumbing, me and the weird woman in the hotel, I asked her about the button. A black round button that was on the wall behind us, right above our heads. "You don't have one in your room do you?" she asnwered with a question. "No." I confirmed. "Well, it does nothing really." she said. I pushed the button in. "It's when you let go that things get nasty."
I didn't have enough strength to keep holding that button even if I wanted to. And why would I? It was certainly a silly joke, from a silly girl, in this silly one night affair. I wake up in my bed next morning. Dana was already up and running around the house like a headless chicken to prepare herself for work. I saw her take off her clothes as she walked into the room and started searching the wardrobe for the new day style ingredients. Her naked body looked beautiful like always. Her well-rounded ass, her arched back, her silky hair. And the stretch marks on her belly? Wait, I didn't remember seeing those before. "Baby, what's up with those stretch marks?" I asked. She looked at me and giggled, as if the question was humorous teasing. It wasn't. I swear I didn't see them before.
She put her clothes on and turned to me "Don't forget to pick up the kids from school at eleven am." she said. "Wait, whose kids are we picking up?" I asked as I sat up straight. That giggle again. She shook her head and left the room. Then she shouted from the stairs "Eleven AM." I fell back into the bed. I must have been too drunk last night. We must have got introduced to some new friends who got kids and somehow blessed us with the task to pick up their kids from school this morning. As I turned to the left, I saw the framed photo of me and Dana on the nightstand, along with three kids. Two boys and a girl. "What the fuck?" I exclaimed as I stood up again and held the photo in my hand. "Wawawait. What was the room number again?" I asked myself.
| 2017-01-05T13:49:11
| 2017-01-05T13:30:21
| 28
| 12
|
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid.
|
Jaren sat in his chair and swayed. He eyed the mug in front of him and huffed a sigh of disappointment at the slightly stale ale he'd been trying to finish off. It tasted like piss but it was doing the job of getting him drunk."
The bloody bastard really should fuck off shouldn't he," Jaren tossed at the whispering commoners who had been talking about him. Jaren threw his head back and laughed at their irritation and fear as he openly belittled that which their worst nightmare. It was plain on their face how horrified they were he would dare so openly challenge the thought of the dark lord.
To be fair they they didn’t know HE was the dark lord so no ill will would come to him. All they saw was a drunk idiot trying to get himself killed. In all actuality he probably was trying to get himself killed, though he never lingered to long on that idea. Everyone died eventually after all. Some just more painfully than others.
If only they knew who sat amongst them. Oh they would piss their pants for sure. Jaren laughed even louder at the though. He’d seen it enough to know exactly what it would be like.His myth was growing day by day. The more they feared him the more “un-holy” powers they gave him. As his moniker passed from each pair of lips the more fantastic the stories became they spread them around. He was a dark god out for vengeance. A demon sent to harry them for their mis-deeds. A boogyman in the dark that could hear them call his name and destroy the family that dared to utter the syllables he was known by. How stupid they were. He was nothing then a mere mortal given a self appointed quest to teach them all a lesson.
Jarens lips quirked up in a smile as he listened to the whispers around him once more. Setting his mug down he motioned to the barkeep to fill it again. Hushed tones full of hate, fear and even some healthy respect. He loved it. He loved it all. How hard he’d worked for others to fear him it was good to listen to them quake. They were cowards all of them. Each and every single one of them would talk a big game but when push came to shove they would stand by and do nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Half these fools would stand and spectate as horrible atrocities were done. The other half would turn tale and run. The rare few just might stand up to him. Those he would spare. Those deserved respect in their own right.
Too bad not a single one of them had stepped up to challenge him. Not yet. Soon one would grow a pair enough to truly be a threat to his rule. He honestly looked forward to that day. Until then he’d keep on his fight. He’d march his army to one town after another until he ruled this continent. The cowards deserved nothing less than to live in the filth they created.
“The Dark Lord and his bloody minions. Pox on them,” he tossed out just to watch the people flinch and flinch they did.
“Stop. Stop speaking ill of him. I’ll not have you slander My Lord,” A young voice sounded to his right.
Jaren paused with his mug halfway to his lips and turned his head slowly to regard the young buck that dared interrupt him. The boy was barely 15 years old. His face dirt smudged and pimpled. His voice cracking as he spoke. The boys clothes were worn and stitched haphazardly to keep the thread bare pieces together. Jaren raised an eyebrow at him. Taunting him.
The boy continued to clinch and unclinch his hands as if wanting to strike him but knowing it would be futile. Jaren was no small man. Sitting at just above six feet and muscle built over hours of hard labor he turned his full regard to the boy.
“Your lord? How is he your lord? You look like you’ve barely kissed a woman much less met the Dark Lord.” Jarens voice had deepened as he considered the young boy who had paled as Jaren faced him.
The boy swallowed twice before he managed to speak again but his voice was surprisingly calmg given the subtle shaking in his hands.“You don’t understand him. Why he does what he does. Don’t slander what you don’t know,”
“And you understand the Dark lord’s motivations do you?” Jaren let the false merriment drop from his face and regarded the boy with all the dark emotions swirling in the pit of his stomach. The boy went to take a step back but caught himself. “And what prey tell is the Dark Lords motivations?”
The boy drew his spine straight and even managed to puff out his chest a tad before he spoke. “To teach others a lesson in humility. To break them until they build themselves back up. To remind them to stand together and remember to help their fellows,” He boys voice grew more confidant as he spoke. Though he deflated slightly as he ended his statement. Confidence was not this ones strong suit. But the boy had spirit. Heart. That was rare.
The boy spoke as if he knew Jaren though had never seen him before. He’d have recalled this sort of mind within his ranks. This boy was a surprise. He would never have guessed that insight would come from one so young. A child barely old enough to know how to shave had figured out what most grown men couldn’t see. This child held promise.
“Come with me son. I have a proposition for you,” Jaren stepped off his stool and pulled the boy to his side. Confidently striding to the door with the boy tucked under his arm, the confusion evident on his face but he followed.
Yes this child would fit well within his ranks.
|
Agileas sobered up, thread of Water inward; an old trick developed at an age younger than the boy standing in front of him. "You? An apprentice of the Dark? Don't make me-"
A needle of Earth; poison and buzzing, shot through his vacated chair, a coat of Fire surrounding it and hiding the hole it had made. Air rushed out, toxins threatening to invade; easily dispelled with a burst of Air of his own. "Sh-hut UP!" the boy shouted.
Agileas sighed. Not only did he not recognise the boy; he was also far younger than his usual set of apprentices and too emotional by half. Use emotions, yes; fools of the Light preached numbness and sterility. Be used by emotions, no: that way only laid pain, at best. "Boy's had too much to drink," he shouted over the din; other patrons figuring out there was a magic duel happening and preparing accordingly. He counted five crossbows and two sets of throwing daggers, not to mention the regular sidearms. "I'll sober him up with some water. Or Water, I don't know yet!"
"Just do it outside, Saag!" the bartender shot back before demonstratively going back to serving a drink.
A flick of Air and a rush of Water and the boy was washed out of the establishment, while a waft of Fire and Air flash-dried the floor before anything could seep in. Agileas took a bow and threw a gold coin into the till before leaving, mind already on the next spells he needed to employ. One weave of Air: a curtain to deaden sound's escape. One heavy wave of Water, in case someone was looking. One stab of Earth; a wall behind to block flight. One thrust of the Dark, left and up to the centre of mass.
He hadn't anticipated the slash of Earth and Dark, and it took him aback, impacting on his heavily bespelled tunic. He grunted with the impact, but the tunic had experienced worse and absorbed it as it ought, fuelling the Dark Lord's own counter, instinct picking apart the Magic and distributing it accordingly. "You *are* a student of the Dark Lord," Agileas mused softly as he walked up; voice unmagically modulated to carry to the paralysed boy of maybe fourteen winters. "Yet I do not recall you." In fact, he made a point to not take apprentices under nineteen winters old, to remove the worst of age-induced temperament. "That spell is one of my favourites."
The boy was pale in the moonlight, the dagger of Dark inches from his heart. "Yo... You..." The dagger receded. "You're not Him."
That was the voice of someone who believed something could not possibly be true; not a mere statement of denial. "I am," the Dark Lord countered, studying the half-foot shorter boy with one hand behind his back. One hand that wove Water and Dark in a spiral; and with a swirl, the spell went into the boy's head. "Name, age, rank, date, fourth invocation."
"Ignat, fourteen winters and a spring, Apprentice Seventh, Sixth of Harvest Moon and Thirteenth of Begaz," the boy recited dully, before uttering a string of words in Low Elvish. Then, to the Dark Lord's surprise, his spell wavered. "Agi...le...aasssssssssssss."
The Dark Lord Agileas was not easily taken aback, yet in nine words and one invocation, the boy had managed to do so. Water and Earth receded, Dark was quashed, and Air kept the boy upright; his own magic rushing back and... Submitting. That, if nothing else, proved the veracity, yet questions remained. "Ignat, Seventh, we will have words after the sun rises on the morn. I have questions, and you will answer them, through Water and Dark if I must, but the Worm Moon of the Twelfth demands sacrifice." He had *hoped* to ply one of the drunkards into his ritual, but after what had just happened, that was futile. "Something you ought to know as a Seventh."
"I... I do..." the boy said, still weak, unsurprisingly. The weave wasn't known for being subtle or painless. Nor did the Dark Lord know anyone who could resist it except himself, until now. "I... This isn't the Thirteenth of Begaz? It... It actually worked?"
Myriad questions arose. The Dark Lord suppressed them. Now was not the time. Not if he had to find a sacrifice. "We will talk on the morn. For now..." he cut Air and Dark and Earth, only to meet a lance of Fire. "Boy."
"I... I remember what happened. A... A peasant's child... Fr... From here." Eyes widened. "Her!"
Air and Earth grabbed, and a waif of a girl, seven winters if that, came flying out of an opened window.
| 2022-01-14T16:16:54
| 2022-01-14T15:38:16
| 134
| 56
|
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
When i reached 16 I had high hopes. The basic process a person about to obtain a power went through was being put into a kind of prison cell and, for the first 24 hours after the exact time of your birth 16 years ago, monitored by a team of doctors who would categorize your power with its own unique title and level. ranking from 1-10, most powers were around a 5, meaning 'has a mediocre power' or 'can use their power to an extent comparable to that of a fully capable level 5'. powers were categorized as 'elemental', 'mind-bending' and 'self-modification'.
My parents both had mind-bending abilities, my father having telekinesis and my mother having telepathy. Having two mind-bending parents, it was predicted by the doctors that I would have a level 6-8 mind-bending ability. I waited anxiously as the time drew closer. The doctors stood in an above balcony protected by 5 inches of bulletproof glass to ensure they couldn't be harmed if I happened to have a high level destructive ability. My mind kept going over all the powers I could get. Would I be a level 7 pyrotechnic? or would I be a level 3 barely able to become invisibility. The countdown clock at the end the room was 3 hours off one day after I was born. some level 1's cant even use their powers, could I be one?
Suddenly a siren went off. Something was seriously wrong as that siren meant my ability was doing damage to sensory equipment. One of the doctors reached for the intercom but another stopped him, all ten of them seemed to be having an argument. The siren was still going off, it was starting to hurt my ears so I tried to get the attention of the doctors. None of them noticed me until a huge crack developed in the glass. I hadn't even realized it but the ground was starting to vibrate.
One of the doctors started talking on the intercom but it sounded incredibly distorted. "Stop using your power! you'll kill us all at this rate!".
That's when I realized my power,
Resonance
|
Tonight was my night; my 16th birthday. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, it was my time to shine. I had waited almost a year for this day, ever since my best friend Andrew discovered in January that he could fly. I had envied him at first, being the first in the tenth grade with a power. As time passed I was jealous of what it said about him. If powers are a reflection of our character as scientists believed, I came to envy what this said about his life. He was free, he was pure and he was without a care in the world. What did he know about pain? of being beaten by your father every day for imagined sins and infractions? Of having to steal your best friends allowance to wear decent clothes? of being labelled by girls as a 'creep' and of your few friends pitying you?
But times had changed. New Years eve, my birthday, had arrived and I smiled at my reflection. I wondered what my power would be. Super strength for my strength through the hardships? Mind reading for my ability to empathize? I was entertaining these thoughts when my phone rang.
*Hello?*
*Hey it's Andrew here, you ready for the party?*
*Sure, pick me up in ten.*
*Hello?*
I heard static and a click as my phone died. I moved it away from my ear, and then smiled.
Tiny cracks ran along the screen and continued to spread from where my hand held the phone. I willed the cracking to stop, and it did.
| 2015-01-22T00:45:06
| 2015-01-21T21:42:59
| 15
| 10
|
[WP] Humanity is the Galaxy's Idiot Savant
I was inspired by Year Zero for this prompt.
Basically, humanity is pretty atrocious at just about everything when compared to the other races of the galaxy, except for [The Thing You Choose].
We're obscenely, unreasonably, astoundingly good at it. So good that the rest of the Galaxy marvels at how good we are at it in comparison. Though they may outclass us in every other way to a laughable degree, we're far beyond anything they could even attempt at this one thing.
And to us, it's totally normal, hardly out of the ordinary.
You can write about what the galaxy thinks when they find out, what we think when we find, etc. etc.
Preferably, stay away from war.
|
Zorguk walked out of the Observatory in tears. He fell to his knees outside.
"It's beautiful..." he whispered to no one. No one deserved to hear what he'd heard.
"Zorguk," one of the other Observers said, "what's wrong?"
The other Observers were watching him. That's all they did. They *watched*. Zorguk managed to stand up, but his knees were shaking. He pointed at his telescope. One of the other Observers walked over and looked through it. The Observer took his head off the scope and looked down at the planet's name.
"Earth." The Observer stated. "I've never heard of it."
"It's new..." Zorguk whispered. He still couldn't speak right.
"All I see is a primitive device." The Observer spoke while still watching.
"Put on the earphones." Another ventured.
The Observer put on the earphones and kept watching. It stepped back a little. "I see, I see some kind of being. A bi-pod. It is sitting down by the device now. It's... by the fourth moon of Gouran..." The Observer cut off, backing away from the telescope and falling to his knees as well.
"It's what?" One of the other Observers asked.
Zorguk walked to his station and pressed a few buttons. The image of a bipod being was shown on the Observatories big screen. The being sat in front of a wooden device. The other Observers watched in confusion. Zorguk pressed a few more buttons and the sound started playing.
Piano music filled the Observatory.
The Observers that came from species capable of crying were bawling. Those capable of sitting were fallen. Those that believed in a God were praying. The rest were quiet, afraid to break the silence.
"How..." one of the Observers tried to speak. "From a box..."
"So beautiful..." Another said.
They listened for hours while the Earthling played on the wooden box.
When it stopped, the Observers clapped for it, thanking it though it couldn't hear them. That didn't matter. The Earthling got up and stretched, unaware of the beauty it brought to the universe.
|
*Abasoom crept forward, his arachnid-esque limbs clicking against the newly shined bulkheads. In front of him, the remote door slid open silently, revealing the star-ships vast bridge.*
"Izotiquoar!" Abasoom yelled at his partner, who was manning the ships sensor suite.
"Sir?" Izotiquoar, the ships communications officer replied
"What have we learned about these . . . HU-MA-NS?"
"I've collected some quite . . . shocking data on them"
"Whats so shocking about it?"
"Well they are . . . exceptionally idiotic"
"Explain"
"Well to begin with it took them nearly three thousand earth years to develop nuclear power!"
"Three thousand! and still no cold fusion!"
"Exactly, and that's not all, they still struggle with basic philosophy such as the meaning of life."
"Do they at least know if man is naturally evil, or naturally good?"
"No, not even that preschool stuff"
"Well, I'll have to take this up with their leader, who is he?"
"They have over two hundred leaders"
"What!"
"They have not globally unified yet, they are separated into squabbling nations"
*Abasoom scratched his thorax and looked up at the dozens of holographic screens, suspended in space above Izotiquoar's workstation. Each one of the displays showed the tiny blue ball that was Earth. He contemplated the fate of the planets inhabitants. Izotiquoar spoke up.*
"But Sir, there is one outstanding feature of the HU-MA-NS"
"I find that hard to believe"
'They are exceptionally good at . . . killing things
*A shocked expression spread across Abasoom's mandible adorned face*
"One of the first things they invented was a . . . SP-EEEE-R. Its a sharp stick that they throw at each other"
*A schematic appeared on the screen above, it depicted an elongated, sharp twig. Abasoom marveled at the tool*
"Holy Strogonar! what is that, horrific . . . contraption"
"And thats not all sir, next they made these"
*A whole array of blunt and sharp melee objects manifested themselves on the holograms above*
"The killing potential alone could wipe us out!'
"Sir, that's not even the tip of comet, they've spent years perfecting this craft of . . . W-AAAA-R, these things where from thousands of years ago!"
"This is horrifying, show me what they have armed themselves with today!"
*Images of oblong black objects, sleek winged vessels and squat, armored, internal combustion vehicles appeared on the screen above. Abasoom's compound eyes widened in sheer horror. He pointed to a handheld metal device*
"What is that!"
"They call it an. . .EMMM-FORE"
"And that?"
"An AERO-PLAANE they use them to destroy TAAANKS"
"What else have the savages armed themselves with!"
"They have a variety of different explosive devices"
"Is that it?"
"No sir, instead of using rockets for exploration, they use them for payload delivery, big ones are called . . . I-CEEE-EMMM-BEEE's"
*Abasoom was taken aback by the atrocities that the HU-MA-NS had created for themselves. Wiping green goop away from his temple, he spoke.*
"What is the pinnacle of the HU-MA-NS weapon systems?"
"Well Sir, that would be called a Nuclear Mis-"
*Izotiquoar was cut off when a warhead hit the star ship, unleashing millions of megatons of nuclear fire. The explosion tore through their ship, denigrating anything within 5 Km, leaving a radioactive stain where Abasooms ship used to be.*
| 2014-04-08T16:04:39
| 2014-04-08T16:00:19
| 98
| 16
|
[WP] You work for the CIA who send you undercover in the FBI, who send you undercover in MI6, who send you undercover in the CIA, who are very confused that you are back after only two weeks.
|
I was always the best at what I did.
Graduated top of the class from West Point and was immediately recruited into the top undercover section in the CIA. They got me deep undercover in the FBI and within days, I was already privy to all the deepest darkest cover ups and secrets the CIA could possibly need.
I was good. Too good.
My superiors at the FBI immediately saw my usefulness as an undercover agent and got me transferred, again deep undercover into the bowels of MI6. I knew this was what I was perfect at, but I was getting ridiculously good at my job.
So much so I got transferred again. Back to my where I started, at the CIA.
"What the hell Smith? Why are you back so soon? You weren't supposed to be back for another year!"
James, my superior roared at me after I took out all the wires from my coat.
"What can I say chief, I'm just that good." I smirked at my fuming superior.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two weeks later, I reported back to the NSA with all my findings.
|
It was so quiet, a knife could have cut the tension between us. We're all dressed in black, and we're all wearing sunglasses. We're standing in an abandoned warehouse, and we each have a gun trained on one another. A Mexican Standoff. It's the ultimate stereotype, isn't it?
Clichès spring to mind, tired and overused catchphrases that I have to fight not to laugh at.
*Trust no one....*
*Keep your enemies close...*
This is my life now. Might as well have a codename and a mysterious backstory. For Christ's sake.
I suppose I have to rewind a little. Take you back to the beginning. Not that there is one, of course. Not that you exist. But it helps to pretend. Pretend this is a story. Pretend you actually give a damn about what happens.
I'll skip my childhood. Skip the heartache of losing my parents to a fiery car crash. Skip the horrors of the orphanage, and the brutally premature awakening to an adulthood I never asked for.
Naturally, I don't need your pity. I don't need you to justify my actions, or defend the path I took. You love to hate me, and you hate to love me.
The world needs people like me. They want people like me. An anti hero who does what needs to be done. I am what you've created. A beautifully flawed force of nature. A vigilante who does what needs to be done.
You need me. I am your drug.
Of course, this is what you've chosen for me. Headhunted by a mysterious man who's face was hidden in the shadows. Recruited to a top secret agency who's name remains classified. Top of my class and dashingly handsome. You've given me a wife, and a baby girl. Wait. Don't tell me. You mean we *won't* live happily ever after in a sleepy seaside town? Oh shock.
Don't you want something new? Why must you create me this way? A tortured soul who will only ever know heartache and misery? I never asked for this. Never wanted any part of it.
Backstories bore you all, which, ostensibly, brings us back to the present. Obviously the CIA are surprised to see me. Like good boys and girls, you've followed the conventional arc of any spy story. What happens now? Was I secretly working for the mossad? Do I save the day? Give you a nauseatingly rose-tinted Hollywood finale?
Have I redeemed myself? Avenged my angelic wife and brought salvation to the ones I've wronged?
Or do I take a bullet to the chest? Collapse in a pool of my own blood as I watch my faceless enemy, who of course was my father all along, get away with the codes that will bring a nation to its knees?
Damn you all to hell. For bringing me to life. For watching in fascination as another man's life is destroyed.
For once, it's in your hands. For once, I'm leaving it to you. Honestly, I don't care what you decide. I just want this all to end. I just want this all to end...
| 2018-01-15T08:02:20
| 2018-01-15T06:27:30
| 130
| 30
|
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves.
|
Everyone has at least one tattoo they absolutely love.
Jenny from upstairs has this peacock on her back- something she says is for her mother. Which is. Just. Absolute bullshit. She has it because she's a vain bitch.
But god is that tattoo beautiful. Curving lines inlayed with golds and greens and shocking blues. It's a masterful piece of art.
Fucking. Jenny.
Even Ma, who's worked labor her whole life and is mostly covered in lines and number, statistics and machinery and such, has one little red heart on her wrist that she is so proud of.
It's tiny, no bigger than my pinky nail, but it's powerful. Rich and vibrant. For the husband she lost too soon and the razor she almost took to that same wrist soon after.
I do not have a goddamn thing to be proud of on my body.
No sloping curves, no vibrant colors, no magnificent linework.
Just a vast, inescapable crisscrossing network of cartoon drawing of dicks.
|
"Jonah, I'm sorry, but I just don't see this... no, I just don't see *us* working out in the long term."
She was clearly holding back tears, trying to look strong, but I knew Georgia too well by now. These tears were no longer from our argument. She was devastated, but she'd never admit it. That stubbornness was part of the reason I loved her so much. She was like a little puzzle, always hiding her real feelings, but always giving you little signs. A flick of her hair, a small glance to meet your eyes, Georgia could convey a thousand feelings in seconds if you knew how to look for them.
Now, after the fight we’d just assumed was a regular hiccup, after the searing pain we both suddenly experienced, and after stunned silence that followed, all I could see in Georgia’s face was sadness and guilt. I felt guilty too of course, even though neither of us really had anything to apologise for. It’s not either person’s fault if a couple aren’t meant for each other, it just means you both have to move on and find someone new. And as we stared at each other across the room, I took one last look at both our new tattoos, both featuring a small heart and the end, to see who that new someone was.
“Alex”
“Charlie”
| 2017-08-03T15:53:09
| 2017-08-03T14:11:29
| 69
| 10
|
[WP] An unsuspecting teenager is put into the scared stright program by his parents. The inmates and wardens soon find out he is more terrifying then anything the prison holds.
Thank you everyone!
After watching beyond scared straight, I wanted to know what would happen with the above situation. Feel free to take it any direction.
|
“What the fuck is wrong with the kid?” The deep, rumbling question came from a 350-pound man built like a linebacker, his tattoos stretched across his dark skin and following the curve of his muscle. Al was a nice guy, but maybe that was because everyone knew better than to cross him.
Langston and Pete both looked over at the teenager Al asked about. The kid had his head down, a shock of black hair hiding his face, and at the moment, he was sulking. Langston hadn’t seen anyone pout that hard since the last time he saw his 3-year-old niece. A pang of regret stabbed him and he brushed it aside.
“He’s one of those ‘scared straight’ deals,” Pete answered. “Parents put him in here ‘cause he’s a brat. We get to be tough guys and make him not want to be here.”
“Great, I love being used as someone else’s bad example. ‘Hey, kids, don’t grow up to be like this shithead.’”
“Then you shouldn’t be a shithead, shithead,” Al replied, and Langston winced, bracing for a possible shoulder slap from the big guy. He was grateful when Al moved out instead, walking toward the kid.
“Oh, what the hell is he doing?” Langston sat back in his chair shaking his head. Pete just shrugged and rested his chin on the back of the orange plastic chair he straddled.
“Hey kid,” Al’s voice rumbled, and Langston winced again despite himself. “You got a problem?”
The boy looked up, and for the first time, Langston saw the dark circles under his eyes and the pale, almost sallow tone of his skin. Despite how weak he looked, when he said, “No,” in a quiet voice, Langston still caught the sharp tone.
“Yeah? Cause you look like you got a problem.”
“No, but you might. Leave me alone.”
Pete smacked Langston on the arm, and the two men shared a look of surprise. “I got this,” Pete said, and pushed the chair forward. The lanky white guy with his own share of tattoos made his way over to where Al sat across from the boy.
“Is there a problem here, boys?” Pete said, slapping his hulk of a friend on the back.
“Kid says there’s not, Pete. Look at him, he’s just fine here pouting by himself. Maybe we should leave him alone.”
“Nah, man. That’s not how it works around here. You don’t get to just be a fuck all by yourself, you gotta be a fuck with the rest of us. You gonna fuck with us, kid?”
“I’m not interested in fucking you, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered, and Al and Pete laughed out loud.
“Don’t worry, kid, you aren’t my type. But Al here…”
The wardens showed up and brushed Al and Pete away, escorting the kid to a cell for the night.
There was screaming in Langston’s dreams, and blood, but that wasn’t unusual. He felt groggy as he woke; drugged, like when he woke up in the hospital after he had that bullet removed from his chest. He hadn’t wished it had killed him in a year, so he guessed he was doing okay.
It took a minute for him to register the quiet of the cell, and that made him sit up faster than any noise could have. In prison, it was never completely quiet. Even in the middle of the night, you could hear someone talking or peeing or tapping or jerking off. “Quiet” was a relative term, and it wasn’t just quiet this morning; the place was dead.
The door of his cubicle was open and he padded out in sock feet, looking around. No one—he couldn’t see a single person. Langston started walking cube to cube, then cellblock to cellblock.
He pinched himself three times and tried to tell himself to wake up, but he knew this was reality; he just couldn’t make it work with logic and reason.
On a whim, he walked toward the front door of the prison. Then he walked through the security checkpoint, through the (unlocked?) door that separated them from the front lobby, where normal people came to visit their dangerous loved ones.
Suddenly, he was 10 feet from freedom. Cold air drafted in from the double doors with the Weston P.D. logo stuck onto the plexiglass like a bad bumper sticker.
Langston wondered if it was okay. If this was the apocalypse or another dimension or—hell, what had happened in the 6 hours since he fell asleep?—did it matter if he left?
“You are free to go, Langston.”
The chill that traveled up his spine put the winter air outside to shame as he turned around to face the source of the voice behind him. He locked eyes with the black-haired kid from the night before. Stumbling for a response, he cleared his throat, but the boy answered before he even knew how to ask.
“The Reaping is complete. You were spared. Go now, before we change our mind.”
Langston stared at the kid for a second, and then turned and took off running out the front door. He didn’t stop, even when his socks got soggy and his skin felt like it was crystallizing, and he never looked back.
|
Mr an Mrs Smith sat in the Warden's office, looking out at their child through the security glass as he impassively sat in the Warden's waiting room.
Mr Smith leaned forward. "Thank you again for agreeing to this, the School felt it stood a good chance to helping him and he's just been so... so different lately."
"We just don't know *what* to do." Mrs Smith added.
The Warden had seen plenty of men come through, many not much older than Patrick and he was pleased to have the chance to help this kid stay away from his Prison. "Please, it's my pleasure. I have arranged for him to spend time with a big scary guy who is currently working on his high school equivalence certificate and is very keen to help. He'll get the fright of his life, but he'll be perfectly safe, I promise."
The parents exchanged a look and Mr Smith put his hand out cautiously. "This man, is he... pretty strong and tough?"
"Yes, but I promise, he *wants* to help. he won't hurt your boy."
Mrs Smith shook her head. "no, no it's not that at all. It's more him that we're concerned with. Patrick has been difficult with people in the past and we're worried he might be violent, although we've never seen anything from him."
The Warden paused to see if they were serious and then roared with laughter. "Please, you have nothing to worry about. Derek is six foot ten, he'll have no problems with Patrick." he looked out at the skinny small boy again. "They'll be fine."
With some trepidation the Smith's left and the Warden walked through to where Patrick was waiting. Twelve years as Warden and another twenty before that as a guard, he had seen plenty of scary men but he'd never had any trouble. She them respect and most important give them no opportunities and they all fell in line.
Still, he had to admit, this was one creepy kid, the way he stared, his odd intensity, the way he flexed his hands the whole time. It made you feel like he was going to leap forward, all elbows and knees and wrap around your neck.
He shook off the though. "Come along Patrick, time to go to the cells." the boy stood and still wordlessly, although that wasn't uncommon, he followed the warden.
Down in the cells the young boy stared out through the bars, as the warden closed the door and the guard checked that it had sealed. "Don't go too hard on him now Derek."
The huge man stood and placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder and it was all the Warden could do to maintain his stern gaze. Derek was a gentle giant, but he would be terrifying for the young boy. Walking away, the Warden felt pleased that he had been able to help and to give Patrick a chance in life.
*****
The phone rang on the night stand and Mary fumbled to pick up the receiver before hearing the panicked voices and handing it across to her husband, who was already half out of bed. In all their years of marriage it had always been for him that the late night calls had come.
The shouting at the other end of the phone was almost incoherent and the warden listened for a moment before hanging up. He had half dressed and grabbed a shirt as he ran for the door, whatever it was it sounded bad.
Living close to the Prison had its advantages, as well as low property prices and he arrived less than five minutes later at the gate to find the lights had gone on all across the prison. the huge spotlights illuminating the building as brightly as daytime.
"What the hell is going on?" he screamed to the guard on the gate, who shrugged and waved the warden through. By the time he pulled up at the main entrance all that was clear was that it wasn't a riot, the sirens weren't blaring and a riot had a certain *feel* to it. This was something else.
The night supervisor was waiting as he jumped from his car, standing with his hat in his hands, anxiously feeing it through, back and forth. "What is it Pete?"
The night supervisor opened his mouth and then closed it again. "It's... it's... the kid."
The Warden's stomach dropped and fear flooded him. What had Derek done? the monster of a man would only have had to wring the kid's neck lightly and he'd be dead. "It's not what you.. it's not..." Pete shrugged helplessly and then turned into the building.
In moments they were deep inside, approaching the cell where the warden had left the child. in his mind he was composing the phone call he would have to make, until he realised that it would be the police on the doorstep who would have that particular job.
The smell of blood hit him and he tried not to retch, the kid must be in pieces for the smell to be that strong. At last the final door was pulled back and they rushed into the main hall, the smell strong here. the usual banging that would have accompanied some event like this was silent, even the other cons knew that things weren't right.
The blood could be seen at a distance, flooded out fo the cell and maybe twenty feet across the floor, steadying himself the warden walked forward and past the two guards whop were facing out from the cell.
In the middle of the small cell, legs crossed and body hunched, the boy sat. He wore, over his own head, the hollowed out head of Derek, like an obscene mask. his own eyes glowering through the holes where Derek's own eyes had once been.
The warden stumbled back, and the child looked up and fixed his gaze on the warden. Now, unfolding like origami, he slowly stood, dripping with blood, completely drenched.
The warden couldn't look away but he felt panic growing as the young boy looked to take a step forward. "the door... close the fucking door." He screamed and the metal slid across, sealing the boy inside.
Derek's mouth hung open, a gaping maw to the bloody carnage of the boys own face beneath. Patrick slowly stuck out his tongue and licked Derek's lips. A whisper came out from the cell and the eyes never wavered, never looked away. "Delicious."
| 2015-01-29T07:33:19
| 2015-01-29T07:32:19
| 312
| 215
|
[WP] The powerball winner contacts you and offers you $50m to collect his winnings so he stays anonymous, but you have to be the face of 1.3 billion.
Post was taken down. Whoops posted to r/writingprompt by accident!
|
"Dude you know you can have a lawyer collect that for you right? And they're not going to charge $50 million for it. No seriously, that way you can keep your name off the news and nobody has to get harassed by thieves and sob stories. You don't know any good lawyers? Hold on, I'll find one for you..."
I set my phone down so I could open my address book. I was proud of my best friend for winning the lottery, and that I was the first person he thought about giving me a cut of the pot. He never was the sharpest knife in the drawer though, in his defense nobody ever told him you could have the winnings picked up anonymously. I hope this doesn't end up ruining his life.
|
It sounded like an easy job. Fifty million dollars for walking to a place with a ticket and handing a guy a check.
I figured the guy was just crazy. I mean, I don't really follow much these days, so when I got approached out of nowhere, handed fifty thousand dollars -- in cash -- and told that I'd get a thousand times as much just for walking up to the building and cashing a ticket.
So I did it, without really doing any research. The guy at the desk gave me an odd look, but everything checked out, apparently, so they handed me the check and off I went. Everything was fine and dandy, until about half a step out of a building when a huge flash blinded me. I stumbled out a few steps, tripped on the curb, and someone caught me before I fell into the street. Not half a second later, I hear a semi's horn blaring and wind rushing past my face, and I could swear that it was just inches away even though the video shows a good three feet between me and it.
Then the questions start flying. I can almost feel the flock of microphones jammed in my face, and I make out bits and pieces of questions:
"...win one point three billion..."
"...the ticket, did you know..."
"...viewers ask what you plan..."
The blindness cleared. I glanced down at the check in my hand, then stuffed it into my pocket and kept walking, pushing a path through them. They part pretty easily, though one guy holding a big camera stumbles, and the camera falls. I catch it, barely, and hand it back to him.
Then I get in my beat-up old sedan, lock the doors -- some jackass steps in front of the car with a camera; it's the same one I caught a second ago, he pulls a gun out of it and I duck a split second before it roars. I grab the gun in the glove box and shoot blind back twice, and hear a scream of pain or terror or something. I look up, see the gunman, and nothing.
| 2016-01-10T19:23:40
| 2016-01-10T18:39:57
| 30
| 10
|
[WP] After hundreds of years of sending messages into the sky, humanity receives its first message from intelligent life. Decoded it simply says, "Be quiet before they find you."
|
"Commander Scott, I have confirmation from the UNC Security Council, the Pan-European Parliament and the Chinese Empire - we believe beyond all doubt that the signal and message are genuine," reported the Fleet Admiral.
"Very well. And they are in accord? The message is a warning?"
"Yes, sir. It is a very clear statement, we are to cease all transmissions as have the other sentient civillisations. All we could translate is that they - we can't translate the name yet - are returning. They have been seen in the region of the constellation Taurus."
"What do we know of them?"
"Only that they are very old, very feared and the mention of them is enough to close down interstellar communications for fear of attracting their attention."
"Understood. Send word to all Admirals, every ship, to SETI, to the council of communications, to all countries capable of interstellar communications. Aim everything we have at the Pleiades nebula. Full power, all bands, repeat it 24/7."
"What is our message, sir?"
"Come to Earth if you dare. The Humans are ready."
|
"Idiots!" Zebin exclaimed as he received yet one more channel of communication from the Earth. Twenty years ago, the ambivalence over whether KIC 8462852 was in actuality an "alien mega structure" had finally come to an end after nearly 200 years of joint scientific endeavour by the leading lieges of the Earth. Since then, humanity had been trying with fervor to try and communicate with the star classified as a Dyson Sphere around 1480 light years away hoping that the far advanced civilisation might be generous enough to show the earthlings a way to solve their own energy crisis.
Zebin had only spent 11 years on earth after his birth during which he was classified as a "type a21" prodigy. This meant he had to spend the rest of his life on one of the earth's artificial satellites leading a team of scientists discovering ever new methods of far-reaching communications and building and deploying systems of carrying them out.
Zebin's genius was only surpassed by his paranoia. He was convinced that the Earthlings were only inviting trouble by contacting the distant alien civilisation and was determined to stop it at all costs. At the push of a button, Zebin sent back a message to one of the receiving stations back on Earth which he had painstakingly forged to look alien in origin and easy enough for the dimwits there to decode. "Be quiet before they find you." Now all he had to do was wait and watch if his ploy had succeeded.
| 2016-08-07T07:31:44
| 2016-08-07T06:50:08
| 108
| 20
|
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level...
|
"I don't get paid enough to do this," I grumbled, as my boss waved his wand, transforming me from a pony back into a normal human.
_________________
My name is Bergamot Butters, and I am a magic bug tester. When I was still an ordinary software developer, I chanced upon something amazing. Something that would change my life. It was an advertisement for a magical job, asking for non-magic software developers like me. It paid well and offered me the chance to be around magic. Magic was something I always loved to imagine as a child, and now the opportunity was in front of me. I took it, and now I help create and debug magic spells for a living. I will learn the secrets of how magic works, and someday, become a full-fledged magician myself.
I am a magic developer.
Except... it wasn't quite the magic I expected. It really felt like just another software job, except that a typo could spell terror in the real world. Missed a semicolon? Whoops, your car just grew legs and is now eating people. Forgot that 'if' statement? You can kiss your fingers goodbye. Good luck figuring out how to reverse that spell when you can't even hold your wand anymore.
Which is why I have a magician watching over me. Really, he's more like my boss. And the ideas guy. And the CEO. Long story short, he hired me to code his spells and all. I work from an enchanted iMagic, using mCode (m for magic, not muggle), and compile spell builds into a plastic test wand. Almost like in my old job.
Most of my bugs nowadays are (thankfully) minor, thanks to my old work experience. Years of causing bugs in the digital world has hardened me to the typical pitfalls of programming, and after the initial embarrassments when I started, I think I've got the hang of it. My boss still won't let me off on that time I turned myself into a sexy buxom blonde, but maybe it's good to be reminded of what could happen.
Today I found myself working on this tough spell. It was a rather tricky one, involving various transformation modes and voice recognition algorithms. Transformations were rather garden-variety, and nothing new in the magic world, but combining it with the latter was rather tricky. The idea was that for the next 24 hours, you could transform yourself into whatever you wanted without the use of the wand. As a human, you triggered it by snapping your fingers and calling out the name of the animal, and thinking "There's no form like human" when you were in animal form.
You can quickly see how things can go very wrong here. Too many question marks here. How many animals are we going to allow people to transform into? I would have to manually code in every animal, and what a pain that would be. What happens when you're an animal when the 24 hours runs out? When you transform back, would you be naked? Most low-level transformation spells didn't bring back clothes, and clothes were a pain to code in because they would have to be tailor-made to the caster. What if the animal had no capacity to think, or caused the caster to lose focus? I would have to make some way for the caster to retain some level of higher thinking, making it a partial transformation at best.
After a full day's plugging away, I finally beheld my code. A few hundred lines of basic functionality, coupled with all the framework needed to expand further, but I think I've done it. Voice functionality is up, and I should be able to transform back. I hit 'Compile' and leaned back into my armchair. After a few moments, the wand vibrated, signaling that the compilation was complete. I wielded the wand, feeling that familiar warmth within.
"Boss!" I shouted across the hallway. "I'm gonna run a test now, wanna see it?"
"Okay! Coming over!" my boss shouted back.
He sauntered over from the room across the hallway and entered mine. Standing at about 5' 6", I would easily stand shoulders above him if I weren't seated. But make no mistake: He's a seasoned magic veteran, best of breed from the Oxford magical initiative, and was the first magic consultant from the Third Afghanistan War. He was the one who came up with all the creative uses for magic to win wars. People think that tactics win wars. This guy showed that logistics wins wars. Even military geniuses don't stand a chance when they're fighting armies with the ability to teleport their supplies from home right into the battle. This guy basically removed the need for a supply chain.
"So what are you waiting for?" he beckoned, raising an eyebrow like he always did. "Let's see it."
I pointed the wand at myself and uttered the trigger phrase "Cast Transform 2.0!"
...what? You expected something in Latin? It's an early build, alright?
I felt a tingling, and then nothing. Maybe it did nothing?
"Okay, let's give it a try." I replied. "Dog!"
I felt my head get squeezed, as if something was forcing my body through a straw. Finally, when I opened my eyes, I saw paws sticking out of my sleeves. Looking up, I saw my boss, gleaming merrily.
"Nice!" my boss exclaimed. "Did you make a way to transform yourself back?"
I nodded my head and wagged my tail excitedly.
"Okay, let's see it then."
I voiced the words in my head, trying hard to silence the doggy part of my brain.
"There's... no form like... human."
The head squeeze feeling again, and I was sitting on the chair in front of my boss. Thankfully, my clothes survived the transformation and saved me the embarrassment of being naked in front of my boss.
"Awesome!" my boss clapped excitedly. "We'll show those pigs at Facetome-"
Oh no. The head squeeze again.
When I came to, I looked down and saw -yup, you guessed it. Trotters.
"-oh." my boss lowered his head. "We've got work to do."
______________________
This was fun. Feedback, would you kindly?
If you like this, check out my latest stories on [/r/Script_Writes!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Script_Writes/)
|
"Sir, you will not regret this. I swear." Miffle entered my quarters with a bound. The sweet smile in his eyes twittered with anticipation. Miffle's dreams of commanding a prestigious estate in the annals of spellmen's history ever lead his way.
"I see you think you've got something quite exceptional this time, Miffle. Well, go ahead, let's take a look. I hope we don't have as much work ahead of us this time as the last, eh?" I winked at him wryly.
The last spell Miffle wanted me to spell check let loose a small tornado in the hallway, instead of proving to be a safer way for the circus fliers to perform sans harnais de sécurité. Madam Eldermore nearly lost her cat, poor dear.
I encourage him to start, and Miffle extracts his wand and a curious silver pen from underneath his coat. With the pen in his right hand, his left hand lifts the wand with florid intent and whips it about with a grace that I cannot help but admire. His spell work is really quite poetic - when it is correct. The nuances are ever so delicate, and I almost miss it. He repeats the motion, and there it is again. My appreciation suddenly turns to horror at the realization of .. ... . ... ..... .... .... ...... .. .. ..... .. ...
.. .... ... .... .. ... ...... .. .... ... ... ...... ..... ........... ...... ..... ....... .... .... .... .... .... ... ..... ..... ... ..... ...... ..... .... ..... ....... .... .... ..... .... .... ...... ... ...... .... .....
...... ..... .... ....... .....
..... ..... .. ... ..... ... ...
........ ....... ... ..... .. ........ .... ... ..... ... ... ... ... .. ... .... ..... ..... ... .... .... .... ....... ... .... ... .......... .. ......... ....... ..... ..... ..... .... ...... ..... .... .... .... ... .... .... ... ....... .......... ...... ...... ..... .... ........ .... ....... ..... ..... ...... ...... ....... ...... ..... ...... ... ... ... .... ....... ..... ..... ..... ... ..........
... .... ....
...
..... ... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..... ... ... .. .. .. .. ........ .. ... - OH, THANK GOD!"
You are the most incompetent witch of a . .... ..... ..... ........ .......
.... . ..... ..... ... ......
....... ... ..... ..... ...... ....... ... ... ......... ..... ... ... ..... .... ... .... ......
....... .... . ........ ....... ..... ..... .. ........ ..... ............ ..... ...... ... .... .... ... ........
......... ..... ..... ...... .... ... .... ..... ..T! Just get out! And take this damn thing with you!"
I hurriedly shove the pen into Miffle's pocket and with a scalding visage admonish him without a single utterance. I seethe as his tears obscure the edges of his eyelids, and it is as if his hope drains away and collects into tiny inert puddles by the door - just before it closes behind him and smears his tears across my floor. My anger and bafflement roil for what seems ages.
- - -
Now, as the day draws close and my rage finally dwindles to ember, I allow myself to relax, to come off guard, and I wonder - I'll never know just what he had in mind with that spell. I've seen plenty of typos but never anything like that; And yes, I AM counting that time Swincy nearly wiped out the entire Gourmandier department in that unfortunate vivisepulture of "Anytime Truffles."
Still... I wish it hadn't been so important to him. The poor urchin has an almost fluvial way with the wand. And this time, this time, I could tell that he was nearly onto.... onto something. I had the strangest sensation that a new sort of consciousness was being birthed. Oh, but his lack of attention to detail! It always caps his brilliance!
If I only stopped him just before that final stroke, I might not have been engulfed in that mental nothingness he created, and I would not have reacted so harshly. But it was as if my mind had been wedged between the night and the Reaper himself. I am always aware of Death's presence, but never have I felt his breath on my neck before. That is a fear I hope to never encounter again; I may not have the strength to return.
I throw my reports into my bag and scan the room for anything I might leave behind. "What's that?" I bend down to pick up Miffle's pen cap. I must not have noticed - "OH FOR FU.... .......
| 2017-07-25T23:25:51
| 2017-07-25T20:43:49
| 1,655
| 32
|
[WP] You are driving home from work late at night, when suddenly you're struck and killed by a drunk driver. You open your eyes and realize you're a ghost with the opportunity to follow the driver for the rest of their life and see for yourself how the tragedy affected their life.
EDIT:
Here's something you can include if you'd like.
Within the last hour of the driver's life, you have the opportunity to show yourself to him and reveal that you've followed him around his whole life. What do you talk about in this hour? Do you forgive him?
|
A decade ago, a drunk driver plowed me over, and now I'm incredibly dead. (Which is a lot like nothing forever. I'm sorry to disappoint the poets.) But every once in a while, when I feel like it, I go for an astral surf to the one real life place I can go to: wherever *fucking* Earl is.
That was his name. The guy who mowed me down. Earl Elliott, who was nineteen years old at the time, and so drunk he didn't even realize what had happened. I know that because the second after Earl Elliott thunk-thunked over my body and alchemized me from something into nothing in a single vivid second, longest and last of my life, I woke up in the backseat of his shitty Subaru. I watched Earl Elliott fiddle with the radio and swerve unsteadily.
"Pothole," I heard him mutter to himself. "In the road."
Fortunately for me, there was enough evidence from the traffic camera to bring Earl Elliott to court but not enough to convict him. I watched, transparent and fuming, from the back of the room, as that damn prosecutor argued my black uniform made me "unreasonably difficult to see" and blamed a streetlight that happened to be faulty.
So he got off on reckless driving and a few dozen hours' community service.
All of which I watched, as I lacked anything better to do. I often wonder if other dead people keep their consciousness, or if you just have to be as spiteful as me to resist blending into the infinite abyss, or whatever.
But Earl Elliott knew the truth. He told his about-to-be-ex-girlfriend once--while he was drunk--and that's when she dumped him, which was nice. I delighted in watching him sob for hours. I taunted him until my non-existent throat ached. He could not hear me, but it felt oddly therapeutic.
The weeks became months. I tried to convince myself this was a phase. That Earl Elliott would turn his life around and throw every last can and glass out of his fridge, call it quits, repent, start a volunteer group, something to make him less of a drunk-driving, hit-and-run-committing cunt.
But Earl Elliott just had to keep relentlessly being himself.
I gave him ten years. Ten years to confess. Ten years to tell my mom, "I'm sorry I fucking annihilated your daughter. I'm sorry I hit her at a speed so fast that most of her evaporated into the very air. I'm sorry your daughter had to be identified by her jaw."
That's me, a jaw, maybe some fingers, buried in a big empty box in the ground. Or that was me. Once.
And Earl Elliott never even said sorry.
So now, I think, I have no choice but to haunt the fucking shit out of him. If the living will not give me justice I'll make my own.
I stand in Earl Elliott's living room, floating over his sofa, watching him crack open a nightly Sam Adams. I feel my eyes glowing with a fierce, supernatural heat. Just a regular Tuesday night: Earl Elliott drink himself blind in front of the television. Again. Good old Earl. Creature of habit.
I sit beside him on the couch. Staring. Staring until I see the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and his dumb maybe-sober eyes darting around, sensing something "off" in the room. Something he could not quite put his finger on.
I close my eyes, thinking hard, forehead creasing with strain. In my time watching Earl Elliott, I had learned a thing or two about the separation between visible and invisible matter. I had learned that touching real life things was only a matter of *focus*...
And I knock that beer right out of his stupid hand. It hits the wall with a heavy *thump*, splattering his television and messy coffee table in foam.
Earl Elliott's screams of terror are the sweetest things I have ever heard.
***
If you like that, I have a sub: /r/shoringupfragments
|
The first few weeks were the hardest for me. Not even including accepting that I had been killed. You'd think that'd be my biggest shocker or whatever but nah, for me it was the fact that I was watching the bastard who killed me just going back about his life like it hadn't happened. I mean sure, I didn't expect this guy to just wallow in pity and despair don't get me wrong, but I didn't expect him to continue his habit of getting shitfaced and driving down back roads at 67 goddamn miles per hour.
So I had to get used to this bullshit and that took me a while. Thankfully as I settled into my life as a ghost time really started to speed up and before I knew it I was watching this guy walk down the aisle. Which part of me really hated. I bet my fiance would have enjoyed it if we had been able to do that but no, this bastard stole that from us, and now he gets to have his own fairy tale marriage? After I watched that wedding that's when I went into my angry vengeful spirit days, which would have been satisfying if I was able to actually be an angry vengeful spirit. Turns out you can't actually affect anything, you can only observe. So those years were a real pain in the ass.
I calmed down in the following three decades though. The guy had stopped drinking entirely and worked hard to ensure his kids knew the dangers it posed. He was kinda goin for the cool dad approach I guess, telling them hey if you're gonna drink do it where I can see ok? It was during this time I realise his fucking family had no idea he'd killed me. How the fuck had he not brought that up? I'd have gotten back into my angry vibe if I wasn't so goddamn tired at this point. So more decades went.
I'd guess the guy has hit his late eighties at this point. His wife died maybe what, seven or nine years ago? Turns out when you're a ghost time kinda becomes a bit meaningless. And this is now just kinda... Sad I guess. I'm not sure how I haven't noticed before but he hasn't forgiven himself for what he did. I thought that since he had just gone on with life that he didn't care but now I'm thinking that was wrong. There's just an air about him, the way his face rests, or the restlessness of his sleep that gives it away. Maybe it just shows better with his age. And I know he won't forgive himself for this, not even till the day he dies. And in the moment I realise that, I forgive him. I don't wanna spend eternity hating this guy or following him around or whatever the fuck happens once he's gone. And with that admission of mine, I fade away.
| 2017-07-13T20:10:53
| 2017-07-13T19:50:51
| 37
| 13
|
[WP] Angels are thought to be beautiful, while demons are thought to be vile and disgusting. However the truth is Angels are extremely scary, while demons are beautiful and elegant creatures.
|
"*And let there be light!*" It was a joke in the poorest of tastes. My partner, one mangled hand tugging away at the chain, was attempting to switch on the only bulb in the basement.
The room was dark and damp, much like the winding alleyways and corridors we had traversed to get here. A long and filthy journey that had left my aged leggings sore. Once we found ourselves inside, our noses had been assaulted by a foul stench, like that of rotting meat.
"Aha!" my partner shouted.
I winched, eyes abruptly dazzled as the bulb at last turned on. Illuminated in pale yellow, the basement was even more revolting than I had imagined.
And, before us, it seemed the light had stirred the angel awake. The rattling of chains against the stone floor brought shivers to my back. The stench grew stronger, and my foot slipped backwards involuntarily.
"Dear god..." Much to my partner's credit, he still had the stomach to open his scarred mouth, let alone speak. I glanced at his show of vitality with envy.
This proved to be a mistake. The moment my eyes left it, the angel lunged, its multitude of limbs reaching towards me with supernatural speed. With a flinch, I stumbled even further back, my heels bumping against the far wall.
It roared something at me from its collection of mouths, each word shaking the very ground beneath us. My partner was delighted, though he seemed as uncomprehending of the speech as I. His smile was radiant, what few teeth left gleaming yellow beneath the light.
"I trust this fulfills your expectations, gentlemen?" The voice, much like its owner, was beautiful in a way few humans could ever achieve. A velvet tone, punctuated with a smooth accent.
"Absolutely!" My partner was positively beaming at the man as he entered, though his disfigurement changed it to more of a leer.
The angel snarled once more, enraged at the sight of the newcomer. The chains held the divine being in place, inches away from reaching us.
"Then we shall conclude our business," the man said. "If you will follow me?"
My partner seemed almost reluctant to leave the repulsive creature behind. The angel's eyes, numbering in the hundreds, followed him curiously. It was as if it knew what would happen to him.
The basement lead further underground, stone steps interspersed with flaming torches. My partner skipped along, speaking animatedly with the beautiful man. Even from the back, his form seemed far too perfect, like an artist's ideal version of human beauty.
The stairs opened to a wide area, circular, and lined with pillars. The dirt crunched beneath our boots as the devil turned to us, hands clasped together.
"Gentlemen," he said, addressing us, "I have upheld my end of this deal, and now it is your turn."
My friend was sobering up now, the gravity of what was coming sinking in at last. My legs, sore mere moments before, had grown numb.
The devil, with a perfect hand, produced a blade from his pockets.
My partner fell to his knees. I gripped the blade.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked, perhaps the first time I had spoken in days.
He nodded, resignation in his marred features. "I've done horrible things to get here. There's no way I'll end up an angel."
Though the devil was silent beside us, I could tell. His beautiful form positively radiated anticipation. This was pleasure in its most unfiltered form, for one such as him.
My old jaw was clenched, gray hair sticking to my scalp. It was time.
In a practiced swing, I plunged the blade into my partner.
And as the blood ran from his heart and his eyes glazed over, he muttered. "I'll get to be a beautiful demon... just like him."
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 2, Part 4: All the Forces of Heaven and Hell v.s. My Teenage Daughter)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**It's unclear whether angels and demons predate organized religion.** Some historians think they were some of the first superhumans with shapeshifting, stealing their forms from local mythology in order to influence the populace. Others think they came first, and religion built itself up around them. Whatever the case, however, angels and demons are *ancient*, some of the oldest living superhumans on the planet. There are historical traces of the ageless shapeshifters bouncing around the globe, from Lesser Rome to the Welsh Empire, from the Sunrise Kingdom to the Wilderwilds, taking the shape of whatever supernatural beings the locals believed in. In Lesser Rome, they became emperors and pagans; in the Welsh Empire, they became forces of nature without human form; in the Sunrise Kingdom, they became the kami; in the Wilderwilds, they became the Rainbow Serpent and Captain Cook.
Unfortunately for them, by the time they reached the Unified Sovereignties, the closest thing we had to religious piety was serving in the military, and the closest thing we had to sin was indulging in a guilty-pleasure movie binge. Undeterred, the angels and demons did the work they always did, blending into the local culture. The demons became flawless-bodied superstars, while the angels registered themselves as supernatural beings or otherwise superhuman and enlisted in a variety of Federal-sponsored special ops units, becoming twisted monsters that hunted down enemies of the state and sent them to whatever afterlife they believed in. Nobody was entirely sure why the angels and demons tirelessly dedicated themselves to local cultural standards for the uncounted millennia they'd been alive.
But if I had to guess, it was for the sole purpose of giving me a massive headache.
"Come *ooooon*, Mom! Brouhaha's in town, and they're my *favorite* band, and if you ask them nicely they *always* give out signatures but you have to get there quickly and *nobody else knows they're here* so if you just drive me across town I can get a signature *please please please please please—*" My daughter pleaded.
I frowned. "First off, I'm busy. Second, if nobody else knows this rock band is here, how on Earth do *you* know?"
"Uh." Janice scratched her head. "A little bird told me?"
I gave her a pat on the shoulder; she didn't seem to be lying. Ah well. Keep your secrets, then. "Okay. Thirdly, I do *not* trust a rock band formed from immortal shapeshifter demons."
"Oh, come on, millions of people watch them every day. If they'd done something suspicious, don't you think someone would know?" Janice wheedled.
"She's not going to give up on this," Tupperman observed from the couch. "Besides, they're a good band."
I turned on him. "Seriously? *You* listen to Brouhaha? You're from *my* generation; you're not supposed to agree with the music tastes of my kids!"
"*It's okay to be a wolf!*" Tupperman and Janice sang simultaneously, then high-fived each other in tandem. I sighed, rubbing my forehead.
"Look," Tupperman said, "you said that you had some plan that involved being in the public eye, right? And what's better for being in the public eye than showing up in a rock show?"
Janice's eyes widened. "Showing up *in* the show?!"
I frowned, pensive. Tupperman did have a point, there. I'd pissed off someone in the Federal government who had a nasty habit of sending assassins after me; after I'd found out that there was insufficient evidence to take formal legal action, I'd been leaning on public opinion instead. I'd gone on record as being critical of the federal government; as of now, if I was brutally murdered, half the citizens of the Unified Sovereignties would blame it on the government no matter what the courts said. Whoever wanted me dead didn't want me dead badly enough to take the risk of turning a good chunk of the population against them, judging by how the direct assassination attempts had dropped to zero after my little stunt.
Perhaps it was time to take that to the next level.
I sighed. "Okay. Fine. You make a good point. Pack anything you might need, we might be out for a while."
"*Yes!*" Janice and Tupperman simultaneously crowed. I rolled my eyes at both of them. Tupperman left, presumably to grab stuff from his own house; Janice ran upstairs, shutting her door and locking it. I frowned slightly; she'd never done that before.
Then I shrugged and went downstairs, to the family hideout. We hadn't *all* been superheroes, but we'd lived on this land for generations, and over time that added up.
I pulled open a well-oiled hidden door in the wall; the décor abruptly went from homey to nuclear bunker-y. My feet echoed on the living-rock floor as I descended; the secret door re-sealed itself behind me.
I heard soft chatter from the basement: the two people I'd been sheltering in my home for the past few days. Min Min and Ito Junko, refugees from the Middle Communes and the Sunrise Kingdom respectively.
Or, as they were better known, Death and Lady Luck. A superhero and a supervillain with enough power in their left pinky to kill me and my town a hundred times over.
They looked up from their game of chess as I entered, greeting me with a smile and a nod. I grinned back at them, arms spread wide in anticipation.
"Ladies," I said. "I am *delighted* to inform you that an opportunity of exactly the kind we've been waiting for has arisen."
Lady Luck's eyes gleamed; Death pressed her lips together with grim determination.
"That's right," I said, looking into Death's eyes intensely. "It's *showtime.*"
A.N.
This is a five-part story. The remaining parts are in the comments below.
| 2021-04-08T09:44:05
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[WP] You are the villain's right hand, the only one he has kept close to his side for generations. "I don't understand, why?" You shrug. "I was nice to him once. He was just a kid then, lonely and scared."
|
**The Hand of Light (1/2)**
----
When I first took the boy in I knew he was smart.
It was the year 1257 of the second age of our great pantheon of star sorcerers, and I was a man in my prime. I had often overlooked the runts in the street, but one day a young man tapped my shoulder - and to my surprise - he held out a small pendant. It was mine, of course. Nothing of any value. It was a silver circle with a hand inside, and carved in the hand was a flame.
“You dropped this,” the boy said.
“Huh,” I snatched it back. “Seems I did.”
He said nothing. He didn’t try to con me with some sob story, like the other slum urchins. He didn’t ask for a reward. He stood, silent.
No, the boy showed his intelligence in a way only someone paying attention would notice.
He asked questions.
And not the questions another would ask a less than reputable sorcerer for hire like myself, like “How does it work?” - or - “Can you conjure money?”
No. The boy asked good questions.
The first question he asked, when I took pity on him and brought him in to my shop and fed him soup was this: “Can anyone learn sorcery?”
“Well,” I told him. And felt a bit of pride perk up in my chest. “Not just anyone. It takes a certain kind of mind.”
The boy, who was nameless at the time (and would later be called _Lord Jez’ah_) ate his soup slowly. Not like a starving bag of skin and bone eleven year old would - no - he ate with the poise of a noble, and spoke with the inflection of a philosopher.
“But _the gift_ is not something you must be born with?” He asked.
I grinned and sat across from him. The fire in the corner was nearly burned out and the room was getting dark. I reached for a candle and held it between us.
“_The connection_,” I struck my index finger and thumb together and manifested a tiny flame and balanced it on my finger tip. “Is something that _can_ be learned. If the spirit and mind are tethered yet broken from the bounds of what we see.”
I passed the flame from my finger to the wick and put the candle to rest on the table.
The boy’s eyes watched the flame. The crimson shine in his eyes excited me. And as he took a deep breath the fire subsided at his back and the candlelight illuminated his gaze and all the air between us was filled with curiosity and possibility.
He put a fingertip out to the flame -
“Ouch!” He snapped it back.
I laughed.
“How does it not burn you?” He asked.
“One cannot be burnt by their own creation,” I held my finger inside the flickering manifestation of my will.
He didn’t ask me to teach him.
I should have sent him back to the streets.
My instinct told me I was no instructor.
My pride assured me I was.
“Do you think you can learn?” I asked him.
“I do,” the boy said. “I’m not just anyone,” he grinned.
I should have heard it in his voice then. I mistook his lust for power as curiosity for knowledge.
It’s my fault. All of it.
----
In the year 1273 of the second age of our great pantheon of star sorcerers _Lord Jez’ah_, who had surpassed my teachings, successfully plotted a coup and killed the royal family and took the throne for himself.
He named me, his once mentor, the Hand of Light, and I allowed it.
“My Great Magíster, Aandi-wi, Lord-friend,” he waved two hands and smiled as he stood from the throne he’d stollen. “I hereby name you _The Hand of Light_. Arise,” he stepped to me as I rose from a knee.
My bones felt old as I straighten and my face felt a chill. For the great Lord Jez’ah opposed bearded sorcerers - and men. He viewed the overgrown appearance of sorcerers past as unkept and a representation of an unorganized mind.
Lord Jez’ah would have no such lack of vision. I viewed his dedication and drive as ambition. It was obsessive control. A desire to eradicated the unknown. A fear of the whimsical. A fear of the mystery and fate of life and of magic itself.
I smiled as he put a hand on my shoulder. When I looked in his eyes I could still see the crimson candle flame dancing as it did all those years ago.
I did not see a man garbed in Royale purple robes stolen from a King. I didn’t appreciate the obedient silence born of fear from the citizens at my back.
I saw the boy.
And I fooled myself to believe I could redeem him.
“My Magíster,” the boy said. “I owe this, and my whole life, to you.” He placed his other hand on my other shoulder. “Do you accept the position of _ The Hand of Light_?”
The position was his elevated vision of the once political _Royale Hand_, which was the top advisor to whoever sat on the throne.
“With great honor,” I paused. “And humility, I do.”
I saw the smile on his face twinge and fade for a brief moment, his disgust for the word _humility_ evident.
But he kept his smile. Forced as it were. As was mine.
“_ The Hand of Light_,” Lord Jez’ah said as he brought his two empty palms together before me - smoke manifested as he conjured and a silver pendant levitated between us. It was a circle, with a fiver finger hand welded within - and carved in the hand was not a star, as I had thought, to pay homage to the Gods - but a single flame.
I felt honored.
“Wear this, and be my will and my counsel, when all other flames falter,” the boy said.
I loved him as son. Even in darkness.
“For you, anything,” I said.
Manufactured applause erupted from the crowd and I placed the pendant around my neck.
----
|
She was a journalist, a beautiful and vuluptuous one at that. Perhaps that was why I talked to her. Perhaps it was the whiskey sour, perhaps it was the fact my wife had been dead for two years, perhaps it was something else. I don't know and I don't really care, all I know is I found myself telling her stories that had gone untold for a very long time underneath a neon sign.
​
"So why has he kept you around", she asked once she was sure my lips were loose.
​
It took me off guard for a second, I had hardly given it a thought in years. Why had he kept me around when everyone else he had known seemed to get shoved away once their usefulness was gone. "I don't know", I said taking another sip of my drink, "maybe he just wants one person around he trusts, one person he can trust with anything no matter what happens.".
​
"But why you", she persisted, "why does he trust you and no one else".
​
"I haven't given him a reason not to, in the entire time I have known he has never had a reason to doubt my loyalty just as I have never had a reason to doubt his trust in me.", again I take a drink, savoring the burn of the American spirits. We were venturing into sensitive territory, territory that I had not explored much, "also its not just me, he has a wife you know".
​
She looked surprised at my last comment, "I thought Armenalo's relationship with his wife was strained at best".
​
"No", I scowled, my blood raising a degree on behalf of my friends, "Don't believe everything you read, especially when its spread by the agents of countries and people who would rather not see us succeed". I kill the last of my drink and gesture the waitress for another, despite her beauty that last question had somewhat dampened my mood.
​
"Us?", she said quizzically.
​
"Yes us", I half snarled back as I watched the waitress take my glass. Turning my attention back to her I wondered if it was finally time to share the story, the story that Armenalo had said I could tell when I was ready and thought the time was right. For the time it took for another whiskey sour to be mixed I gave her a hard, silent stare, one that she almost enthusiastically returned, as if daring me somehow. The clink of my drink on the table served as the bell for my internal boxing match. "I suppose I should tell you a little more".
​
"Yes I suppose you should", she said with the same seductive smile that had first got me sitting in front of her.
​
"You see", I began, "I was nice to him once. He was just a kid then, lonely and scared". I paused for a moment with another flutter of hesitation, until her face contorted as if to say 'is that all'. I tried my drink, it wasn't as good as the last one, the bartender likely beginning to slip now that the night was getting later and the crowd bigger. "He was just a kid, 10 years old, fell and skinned his knee when his bike tire gave out. I was only 15 but a man, shouldn't have been but I felt like it and looking back I was. Went to war a week after I turned 14, took shrapnel in my femur a week before I turned 14 and a half."
​
The reporters face was one of slight discomfort but not surprise, I suppose after so long even child soldiers become almost everyday. I took a long drink, perhaps I had judged the bartender too harshly. "I was a vagrant at the time, my father dead, my brother at war, and my mother and younger siblings missing. I almost kept on walking but I said no, I'm a man now and its time to step up. So I went over to him and did the best I could, 'its okay buddy what's wrong, just a little blood you're okay, the bikes an easy fix'", I shook my head as I remembered the hollow words and the light pat on the back that was all I had to offer on those dusty and deserted streets. "I guess that was the first kindness he had seen in a long while so it all just came poring it out, his father was a soldier and his mother was dead, he had no siblings and he didn't know anyone left on his block. He hadn't eaten, was out looking for food when his old bike finally quit. I spent maybe an hour calming him down before going on my way, then I saw him the next day, and the next, and by weeks end I had kind of taken him under my wing."
​
At some point my gaze had slowly drifted down to the warm brown of the hardwood table, its dark color reminding me more of the streets then a beautiful face could. I tore my gaze from it and focused back on the woman. "I didn't know it at the time but that one simple act of kindness, and all those that followed, bought me more than I could have dreamed of, and a friend that I truly love more than any brother or father. And all else I had to do was trust, trust and be loyal".
| 2022-02-07T21:34:54
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